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headkiss · 3 months ago

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fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.��

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3

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wolfiesmoon · 11 months ago

Text

A day to remember

Inumaki x gn!reader

this is a request!! thank u so much for requesting💗anyways time for jujutsu tech prom hehe😌 (lets pretend prom is a thing in japan and that there's actually enough students to do a cute thing like this lmaoo)

also since this is a prom fic, the second years are now third years and the first years are second years

@noomon one tag for uuuuu

The atmosphere was oddly lovey-dovey at Jujutsu Tech recently. Prom was just around the corner, so it wasn't exactly odd that spirits were high, but considering the usually grim faces that you see in the halls of the school, it does feel strange to see everyone so excited.

Then again, you suppose it is better to make the most of every day as a sorcerer and little joys like this are precisely what make all the death and injury worth it.

But, on the topic of prom... You don't know who to go with! You might just end up skipping out or going alone if you must (Gojo will probably force you to go). After all, prom isn't all about dancing with a guy and romantic stuff, it's about having fun with your friends and laughing at the memories you made as students of this school.

Or, well, for this kind of school, maybe some of the memories are better forgotten.

"Hey, senpai!" you heard a familiar voice behind you. It was Yuuji and Nobara! They often come to talk to you about random things so you aren't at all surprised to see them.

"Hello." you greet them, wondering what crazy story they'll tell you today.

"Do you already have a date for prom?" Yuuji and Nobara beamed.

"Do I- No, no I don't." that's the question you were expecting the least. Why are they asking you this anyways?

"Great." Nobara huffed, very satisfied with your answer. Yuuji seemed even more excited than before. You had little question marks floating above your head.

"Why are you happy about me being single? Are you two trying to tell me something?" your eyebrows furrowed slighly. But then again, Nobara and Yuuji are idiots (affectionately), so you don't think they're seriously trying to insult you.

"Oh, actually, it's because-"

Nobara slapped a hand over Yuuji's mouth before he could continue his sentence. "It's nothing, don't worry about it." she smiled at you, dragging Yuuji away and muttering something you couldn't quite catch.

Huh. How strange.

But now that you think about it, there is one person you'd really like to go to prom with.

The next day, Panda approaches you after class.

"Hey, you should like, totally follow after me right now. I have something to show you." Panda suggested cheerfully. And why not? Knowing Panda, he probably just has something funny or stupid to show you, which is always a pleasure.

As you followed him, a strange feeling started rising up inside you. You felt oddly fidgety and excited. Maybe it was the whole prom thing. I mean, with the strange conversation you had with the second years just yesterday is it that much of a stretch to assume that you're about to get confessed to via a prom invitation?

Nah, you shouldn't get ahead of yourself. If anything, Panda's going to let you in on someone else's promposal plan so you can help them out. Not that that's a bad thing, you just really get your hopes up sometimes.

You were being lead down a dimly lit hallway in one of the more secluded areas of the school. There was even candles here and there, to set the mood, you assume. Wow, this is really a last minute invitation. They're asking you to help out at the last possible moment, huh?

You soon found yourself in front of a group of students, all lined up to make a little walkway for you and Panda. Panda stops right at the end of the line, motioning for you to continue walking. All the other third years lined up were smiling knowingly at you. What in the world is going on?

You walked down the line of students a bit hesitantly, taking the flowers each of them handed you along the way. Oh wow, this is impressive. And also definitely means that this promposal is meant for you. You can feel your heart start beating faster with excitement when taking each rose into your hands.

Who orchestrated a confession so grand? Please be him...

Nobara handed you a rose when you walked by her, smiling proudly at you. Now the question from yesterday makes perfect sense.

At the end of the line of students, you saw a few of your classmates holding up signs that said "I know I'm not a man of many words, but I really need you to kelp me out here. It's almost prom night and you're still not together with me (which is criminal in my opinion). This isn't just a prom invitation, by the way. Will you go out with me tunaight?"

There's only one person that could have written those signs. Not just because of the familiar handwriting, but also because of the words he chose. And sure enough, Inumaki Toge was proudly holding up the middle sign, looking at you.

You clutched the makeshift boquet of roses in your hand. It was him after all.

In all three years of your schooling at JJT, you've found Inumaki Toge to be especially charming. You had a bit of trouble talking to him at first, but you quickly got along after you bridged the whole "onigiri ingredient" gap. Honestly, you don't know how long it's been since you felt... a special way about him.

It took you a while to realise, but you definitely like him. More than a friend.

And knowing it's mutual...

He looked at you with such hope in his eyes that it made you want to hug him and kiss him all over. And so you did.

The sign he was holding fell to the ground as you embraced him tightly and he immediately hugged you back, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to him. As if that is the place where you belong.

"Yes, yes, I'll go to prom with you!" you yelled happily, leading everyone around you to cheer. You didn't really notice it because you were busy kissing Inumaki's cheeks, but all the other third years looked satisfied, knowing their ship has sailed at long last.

"But bad onigiri ingredient puns, really? I'm feeling the second hand embarrasment real hard right now." your face scrunched up slightly, cringing.

He simply giggled quietly in response, squeezing you again.

You can't deny, that is so him.

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whotfislai · 3 months ago

Text

Focus on you | seventeen, chan!

pairing lee chan & fem reader. (he says girl once)

genre fluff type shi

doei speaks! i love lee chan and you should too😤 ++ dividers came from h-aewo <3

it was one of those nights again. you were cuddled up under your silky sheets, missing your boyfriend.

dating an idol wasn't easy but the two of you made it work. being in LOVE with channie just felt good.

and he felt the same way about being in love with you.

you were the one thing that was constantly on his mind. from when he woke up, to during practice, and deep into the late hours of the night.

and you knew this because when you least expected it....

my channie♡ [12:50]: BABYYY I MISS U SO MUCH!! i need u right now😭

(yn) [12:51]: AWWW i miss u so much more <33

(yn) [12:51]: but its okay, you have an off-day in a couple of weeks from now or something, right?

my channie♡ [12:52]: i think so? but fuck. that's not soon enough.

(yn) [12:53]: i agree w that😔 BUT we'll spend time together soon, we both just have to be patient yk🥰

you weren't sure exactly how soon that would be, but for him, you'd wait and see. (THAT RHYMED AHAHAHAHSHS)

although, you wouldn't have to wait much longer.

around twenty-ish minutes of your conversation, you'd fallen asleep. but only ten minutes later, two notifications from your boyfriend woke you up.

my channie♡ [1:23]: babe, i know you're probably sleeping but i couldn't take it anymore

my channie♡ [1:23]: i need u SO BAD. i forgot my key pls open the door or imma have to break in

and almost immediately after reading his texts, you heard faint knocking at the front door.

"oh...no way..." you whispered to yourself as you tiredly got up, and made your way to the front door.

when you opened it, you were instantly engulfed in the tightest hug. he quite literally swept you off your feet.

but it was sweet, the way he held you so tight, almost cutting off your airflow. and even when he set you down so he could step inside the house, it was only momentarily.

"(yn), baby, i missed you so, so much." he whispered in your ear, pulling you into another breathtaking hug.

you returned the intensity of his hug as best as you could, plastering sweet kisses all over his face in the process.

and oh my god, chan loved every second of it.

"not being able to have you for that long would have KILLED ME, i swear. i just need you for tonight..." he mumbled, giving you a tiny kiss in the crook of your neck.

and then another one, and another one, and....

"lee chan!! you JUST got home, at least cuddle with me first!! gosh, you're so needy for me." you said, half-jokingly.

he laughed, releasing you from his death grip. "so what if i am? you're everything to me (yn). i need you to live y'know, i could DIE."

most people would assume he was joking but to be honest, you weren't too sure he was joking about that.

i mean, he did just sneak out of his dorm at one in the morning to be with you sooooo 🤭!

the two of you headed back into your shared bedroom, and began cuddling one another in bed, when you paused.

"are you sure this is okay?" you whispered, avoiding to look him straight in the eye. "i love that you're here, but what if you get in trouble for leaving? channie please, if you need to go back that's okay, i understand."

chan tilted his head a bit, narrowing his eyes. as much as he disliked worrying you, knowing you cared about the consequences he may face made his heart explode.

he gently pressed his hand to your chin, causing you to look upwards at him.

"(yn)...my sweet, beautiful girl. i couldn't give a shit about any consequence i might face. being with you is worth it all," he cupped your cheek, "and if you thought this was bad, you'll hate the things i plan on doing for you in the future."

before you could ask what the hell he meant by that, he leaned in and gave you a tender kiss on the lips.

so naturally, you brushed it off and decided tonight you'd focus on him.

just as he had been doing to you.

End!ㅤ

thanks for reading! i js love dino SO MUCH & i wanted to write a cute fic for him.

reblog / like it if you enjoyed <3

#〹⠀lai originals #svt #seventeen #svt dino #lee chan #seventeen fic #dino seventeen #svt x reader #svt x you #svt x y/n #lee chan x reader #lee chan x you #svt dino x reader #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #lee chan imagines #svt dino imagines #seventeen imagines #svt drabbles

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jakeyt · 1 year ago

Text

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 16.6k+

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

Two Weeks Later

Friday, August 26, 2022

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

Saturday, August 13, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

Surely he had an ulterior motive.

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

More you couldn’t have.

But for now, you’d pretend you could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had a soft smile resting on his lips.

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

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

And so, without considering anything else, you did.

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

His brow raised, questioning your words.

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay. I want to listen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

Your lips lifted, back in the moment with him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stayed with them until. . .?”

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

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

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

“Don’t like writing anymore?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Incredible?” He smiled.

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

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

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

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

His next words confirmed it.

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

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

“Has no one ever told you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“And you still let it happen?”

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

“Wanted it to,” you remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“For trauma dumping?” You giggled.

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

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

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

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

It felt so freeing.

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

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

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

“That’s terrible.”

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

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

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

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

You blinked a couple times before responding.

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

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

“Twin life?”

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

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

“I’m jealous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So fucking handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, the length.

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

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

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

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

The little raspy laugh beneath you gave him away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you like about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

Once he was completely naked, he repositioned above you.

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

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

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

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

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

Dear God.

But he seemed dissatisfied.

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

But it seemed he still wanted your help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your toes curled with a moan.

“Still too long.”

“Impatient.”

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

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

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

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

“I fucking love it.”

Oh.

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

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

It was painful and delicious all at once.

Fuck he felt so good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His body was a work of art.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck.

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t.

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

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

Till your kiss helped me name it.

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

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

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

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

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

Pieces you’d forgotten even existed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as another favorite of yours came on.

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

Like the sweet morning dew,

I took one look at you,

And it was plain to see you were my destiny.

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

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

It always was from this position.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jakey,” you moaned.

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

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

“Best fucking feeling in the whole world.”

Your tummy lurched at that, butterflies fluttered their wings.

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

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

“Oooohhh,” you moaned, your body shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A big one.

But you’d worry about that later.

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, another text came through.

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

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

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

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

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

Here it comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

You were giddy with the fact that he was there.

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

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

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

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

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

Then dinner came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your relief, Elsie started speaking for you.

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

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

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

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

“Howard, quit,” your Grandmother defended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d never seen your Grandpa this way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did. I feel like all of us do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was awkward.

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

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

But he still ignored it.

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

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

You tentatively grinned at him and shook your head.

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

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

“Jake.”

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

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

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

You felt vulnerable and stark naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A 1960. . .?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trauma-induced memory loss?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

“Wrong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“How did things change between us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flushed. “I had to say that.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

When he bit his lip, it was over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds perfect.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“About your mom?”

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

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

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

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

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

He was here to help. Let him.

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

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

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

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

“Why can’t you?”

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

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

“It’s not an excuse.”

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

“Why?”

“Because you’re human.”

“But so were the people I hurt.”

“Who would you say you hurt most?”

“Els.”

“And has she forgiven you?”

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

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

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

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

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever considered going to therapy again?”

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twin telepathy at its finest.

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

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

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

They were becoming rockstars. Truly.

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

But they were still your boys.

Never changing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ask again, who is Maya?”

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

“Sam–.”

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

He was doing what, now?

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

Seething was a better term.

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

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

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

Social cues apparently off, Sam was still smiling wide.

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

No. Couldn’t be.

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

Surely not. . .

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

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

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

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

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

Play it cool, play it cool.

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

Stop it, y/n.

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

You didn’t look at him, only focusing back on Sam as he spoke. You tried hard to keep your eyes wide and clear of anything concerning.

“He still sees her for lessons,” he said, wiggling his brows. “What happens at guitar lessons, stays at guitar lessons,” he elbowed Jake’s arm, tense as the muscle in his bicep flexed, fist still bunched. “Am I right, brother?!”

Sam was the only one smiling in the room.

The room was tense, Sam tucking his phone back into the pocket of his silky, vibrant button down. He pushed his sunglasses further into his hair.

You were frozen, not even daring to look up at Jake’s face. You studied your hands, then grabbed your phone off of the coffee table to pretend you were checking it. The frenzied emotions in your gut were not trustworthy. If you looked at him, you were sure you’d fall apart.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re still fucking, you tried to reassure yourself. Right?!

But then, you thought about him taking a while at her house. All of his excuses were adding up.

Had three Ubers really canceled? Or had he just been too busy fucking her and lost track of time?

It made sense, considering the way she’d watched him leave. The hug.

And what he’d said to her right before he got in the car. Talking about his ‘favorite part of his day’ . . . Fuck. Your chest hurt, the words making so much more sense now. . .

His favorite part of the day. . .

Your vision got cloudy. What were you? Sad? Angry? Both? You couldn’t fucking tell.

You just needed to get out of the room.

As you stood up from your spot, your legs wobbled a bit, your mind scrambling for the first excuse that could come to it. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Still not looking at Jake, you walked as fast as you could to the bathroom.

The last thing you heard before shutting the door to the bathroom was Danny’s voice, trying to break the air-right atmosphere.

“How about dinner?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: uh oh. . .

alsoooo, you'll notice that we haven't even gotten to the scene from the sneak peek yet. . . all of that will come to you in part 2. . . see you again soon, loves ;)

send in your thoughts!! i love hearing from you <3

thank you for being the best readers in the world!!! love you all so much!

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

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bullet-clubs-bitch · 4 months ago

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AEW/ NJPW Wrestlers Pregnancy Headcannons

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Main Masterlist

Wrestlers Mentioned: El Phantasmo, Drilla Moloney, Clark Connors, PAC, Jon Moxley

(Mentions of abortion)

El Phantasmo

It was no secret Riley had been going through a touch time. He was depressed, he felt alone. All his friends had moved on from New Japan yet he coudn't get himself to leave the place he called home for so many years. When you found out you were pregnant you were shocked. You didn't think it would happen so soon. Sure you and Riley talked about wanting to start a family but now that you were pregnant you started to have second thoughts. When you told Riley you were pregnant he was over the moon. It was like he was relieved. His mood was instanly changed. He was instantly out of his depressive state. RIley was so exited to be a dad, he was contanly buying things for the new baby and woudn't leave your side. He was so supportive and encouraging during your whole pregnancy. There was nothing he woudn't do. The two of you ended up having a son and he and Riley instantly became best friends. It was almost like your son saved Riley.

Drilla Moloney

You were terrified when you found out you were pregnant. You and Dan where nothing more than friends that sometimes slept together. You didn't want to tell him about the pregnancy, in fact you didn't even want to keep the baby. Your friends convinced you to at least tell Dan about the baby before making any decisions. When you told him about the baby he was mortified. He was in no state to have a child. Dan was supportive during the process, he went with you all your appotiments and was understanding when you told him you didn't want to go through with the pregnancy. At the end of the day your relationship grew closer due to all of it.

Clark Connors

When you found out you were pregnant you knew it was more than likley you would have to do it on your own. Clark was terrfied when he found out he was going to be a father. All he did was party and do drugs, simular to what you did. He saw how easy it was for you to get your act together and get clean after finding out you were pregnant but knew he wouldn't be able to follow suit. For the majority of your pregnancy you were alone. It was hard, it was depressing. You didn't know how you would be able to raise a daughter on your own, especially in this economy. You called Clark dozens of times but it was no worth it. Two weeks before you have birth to your daughter Madaline, Clark showed up at your front door in tears. His hands were filled with gifts as he begged for foegiveness. He explained how he checked himself into a rehab and got sober. He admited to being a jerk and was genuinely sorry. He wanted to be apart of you and your daughters life. Clark would end up being a great dad. He spoiled your daughter and would play dress up with her. In fact he was such a good Dad you would end up having 3 more kids together.

PAC

Pac and his son were best friends. It was like you cloned your husband. Your son Wyatt was a absolute menance, he was a little bastard like his father. I just know Pac and his son would get up into trouble. The two of them were in a constant prank war to see who could scare you the most. He would teach Wyatt how to hunt, fish, fight and more than likley some illegal things aswell. When you told Pac you were first pregant the look on his face told you he was planning on knocking you up. You wondered if he replaced your birth control for sugar pills. I feel like Pac would be obsessed with your pregnant body, he loved the way your skin glowed and body changed. He wanted to keep you pregnant all the time.

Jon Moxley

Mox is such a girl Dad (I mean look at him and Nora). He would spoil your daughter to death. From a far he looked scary. He was always that sketchy looking guy at the park that often scared the other parents. But up close he loved your daughter. He would spend hours playing with her. She would play dress up with him, do this makeup and play with dolls together. Mox's soft spot was his daughter. Even though he did lots of "girlie' things with your daughter he made sure to teach her every sport. He would teach her Death Jitsu and how to fend for herself in the scary world. When you told him you were pregnant he was so happy. He coudn't wait to be a dad. He truly is the best father.

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syn4k · 8 months ago

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Two Idiots, One Body | Start • Previous • Ao3 Link • Next (Coming Soon!)

Iskall woke up with a yawn and a tired grumble into the blankets still tucked up to his chin, eyes still shut as she rubbed them into functioning. Today there was important work to be done- the gathering of enchanted books, the formation of farms, and, most importantly, the annoying of Beef, assuming he was online at all.

Opening his sleepy eyes to get them acclimated to the early morning light, Iskall shut them temporarily a moment more before suddenly sitting upright and looking around wildly.

"This is Beef's house," she said out loud, getting out of bed as quickly as his legs would allow without collapsing under her torso. "This- what? Dude. What?"

Confused as fuck, Iskall wandered around Beef's house, absently taking note of how nice it was. The kitchen was well-planned and well-cleaned, there was a little hallway up to the stairs, and the living room was tastefully decorated and thoughtfully arranged, if not exactly to Iskall's taste.

The main question here, obviously, was how the fuck he'd gotten here, because unless she'd gotten blackout drunk or something, Iskall definitely had not gone anywhere near Beef's house yesterday except for to sneakily replace a block or two in the floor. Which was concerning.

Come to think of it, thought Iskall now, making the split second decision to borrow one of Beef's glasses and a little of his milk to sip as he took a seat at the dining table, she didn't remember anything of yesterday. Or at least he was pretty sure it was yesterday. Yeah, the server had started yesterday on Monday. Today was Tuesday, right?

He pulled out his phone to check the date. It was Wednesday.

Well, shit.

Several people had also messaged her to let him know that Beef had been online yesterday and she had completely missed it.

Well, shit!

<Iskall85> stress <Iskall85> did i get really stupidly drunk yesterday and do something that i'm going to regret once i remember what it is <Stressmonster101> idk did u? <Iskall85> IM BEING SERIOUS <Mumbo> Mate you weren't even online yesterday <Mumbo> are you ok <Iskall85> i think i might need to see a doctor for memory issues <Docm77> what kind of doctor lol <Iskall85> NOT YOU <PearlescentMoon> wow

With a sigh, Iskall stood up and walked out of the door. There was only one person he could think of who could help her solve this mystery.

"Nope," said Xisuma, eyes unreadable behind his helmet as he scrolled back through several days' worth of server logs. "No teleportation commands have been used on either you or Beef since you joined. I have no idea how you ended up in his house."

"Well, that's just great," sighed Iskall, one hand placed on his hip in habitual annoyance. "I can't even ask him what's going on because he's not online right now!"

"Hm," said X, tone indicating that his mind was drifting elsewhere at the moment. "You said you'd only visited once?"

"Yes, yesterday," said Iskall. "To fix his house. The whole thing is really weird, man. I woke up in his bed."

X glanced over at her, and Iskall realized too late that he might have said too much. "You woke up in his bed without realizing how you got there," he said, deadpan.

Iskall had to fight to maintain eye contact. "Yes," she said. "I swear it's not what it looks like. Come on," he added, finally breaking composure and snickering into one hand, "we hate each other, dude."

Xisuma sighed. "I'm not calling you a liar, Iskall," he said. "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on here. Whatever you two have going on is," he waved one gloved hand vaguely in the air beside him, "none of my business."

Iskall groaned in sudden realization. "Wait. Oh no. Now everybody's going to think we're together! X. I-sooma. You need to do me a favor."

"I need to do you a favor?" asked Xisuma, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes," said Iskall, leaning forwards desperately. "If anyone, ANYONE asks about me and Beef, please tell them that we have nothing to do with each other. We are not together. We haven't even been online at the same time. Please. Grian would never shut up about it."

X blinked twice, assuming the exact air of a lizard who had just walked outside into the middle of a hurricane expecting its natural habitat of the desert. "Ok."

Iskall clapped her hands and rubbed them together, standing up. "Okay. Great. Thanks a million, man. I need to get home before my cookies burn. Bye!"

"Good luck," X called after him as she ran out of the door, sighing as it closed behind him with a slam. Sometimes he really wondered how he ended up in this situation.

"Would've been nice to be an admin for a normal Minecraft server, you know," he grumbled to nobody in particular as he leaned back in his chair and took a second glazed look at the admin console that was still pulled up in front of him. "If those even exist."

Iskall hummed to herself as he hammered a sign directly into Beef's nice shiny hardwood floors, the surface of it still shining with fresh black paint. She figured that if he was going to not even bother to be on at the same time as him, she may as well leave a message while he was at it.

Noticing a typo, Iskall quickly painted over it in red paint, then stepped back to admire his work. Hallo Beef, the sign read. Where are you? We keep logging on at different times. We should coordinate something. Your loving neighbour, Iskall.

With a stretch and a yawn, she walked out of the house, not bothering to shut the door behind him. Beef would be online to shut it tomorrow, if present trends persisted. Besides, her head was starting to go all foggy. Iskall figured it was time for a quick afternoon nap. He just hoped she didn't miss anything.

#ray's tag #mcyt #hermitcraft #keys' writing #two idiots one body

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catboydogma · 3 months ago

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🍉🍊🍍🍇 for the ask game ^.^ ?

there is a whole basket in here!! thank u sm :D

fruity lil ask game

🍉 - Do you prefer to write short fics or long fics? Multichaptered works or single ones? Why?

for convenience and publishing/interaction i like short fics (easier and faster to get them out, they're one and done so i dont have to worry about them after like a night or two of writing, and they tend to get a higher popularity:effort ratio lol) but i like WRITING long fics, especially with multiple chapters. i have some kind of beast in me that turns what should be short story ideas into full length novels. i get an idea and oobh baby i just get so excited about naming chapters and engineering subplots and making up some nice Motifs and Themes. vide noir and CHTHONIC are good examples honestly, i originally planned for both of them to be single works--so vide noir got weird pacing and then dropped and picked back up as a result and i essentially wrote CHTHONIC in one night, went "oh god this is too fucking long" and chopped it in three pieces. i just like things to have a slow release arc when writing and plotting, so long works with multiple stages and movements are just extremely satisfying for me to both plot and execute lol

🍊- Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? (They’re so interesting! But maybe you have trouble pinning them down, or keep getting distracted by another blorbo…)

DOGMAAAA. yeah. sorry everyone who followed me for the url and my early dogma fics. i do have a longfic force sensitive dogma in the works (VERY preliminary works) but i do keep getting distracted lol. i've always wanted to write a hanzo shimada-pov overwatch fic, and i'm really tempted by one day writing a qui-gon or qui-gon-and-obi-wan centric fic.

🍍- What kind of AUs do you like? Are there any AUs you hate or just generally have beef with?

i honestly like any au that's real fucking weird or takes a stock au and puts a twist in it (eg i had SUCH a fun time writing chronic illness hanahaki in heavy off a golden hue). even though they usually are my least-read/-commented fics, i also have a huge soft spot for niche fusion aus, like sw in pacific rim dark day/brighter night or sw in overwatch where the stray things go (more coming soon?? perhaps 😌) or the cyberpunk au with empire & the sun .

i usually won't read/write soulmate aus (i did enjoy writing them but both one billion day funeral and give the world away/wake up lonely were both prompt fills) because 1) the base soulmate au contrivance is tedious (IMO. NOTHING WRONG WITH ENJOYING WHAT YOU ENJOY. I SIMPLY DO NOT ENJOY IT) and 2) to me it's simply not worth wading through the oodles of soulmate au to find one that has an interesting "how do you know your soulmate" worldbuilding idea AND handles the whole "soulmate" thing in an interesting manner. i also will never write a time travel fic because i do not like time travel. not really sure what it is but i've always despised time travel as a plot device lol. but i have read a couple that i quite enjoyed (reccing miyaji_08's and back we go and blueberrywizard's i have seen too much (i haven't seen enough) and cjwritesfanficnow's (you were) meant to save them for this) so i'm not the man i once was ....

🍇- What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

ouagh i feel like in my time in sw servers and talking to other sw friends that i've gone on and on about stuff that i find underrated but i've forgotten everything i've ever said about star wars now. i'm not really In There but spymaster satine (can't remember who brought this to me, maybe @/deniigi?) e.g. a satine that is a pacific willing to get her hands dirty like, you know, an actual and productive pacifist and not just a "hm .... i simply choose to do nothing" kind of "pacifist." relatedly, and i haven't done much for this so i'm a hypocrite, i'm a padme/satine truther. i also loooooove fics where the GAR structure is changed so the clone commanders have rank over the jedi but criminally i think i've only read like one (GO READ FIRST CHOICE BY SMILEBACKWARDS!!!)

#thank u for the lovely ask i had such a fun time answering all this #asks

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goblinratman101 · 2 years ago

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i am back and ready to flood ur inbox with requests😈

for starters, how do you think some of the haikyuu boys would confess to their crush? specifically kuroo, asahi, bokuto, and iwaizumi, would it be an accident or planned?

love u my beloved moot (^з^)♥︎

Haikyuu Confession Headcanons

| Characters: Kuroo, Asahi, Bokuto, Iwaizumi|

| Warnings: None |

| Genre: Fluff |

| I got you Udon |

| Sorry if some of them are short I’m just getting to know how to write for the characters, sorry if it’s bad and the boys are ooc |

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Kuroo

ok so Kuroo is a flirt

but he is also pretty clueless when it comes to actually confessing

and if you take away all his flirting and cockiness he's just a big ol nerd

he would first try and be your friend once he realised he had a crush on you

and falls even harder for you while helping you with your Chem homework

if you ever hang out with the volleyball club Kuroo would try to act as natural as possible

he does not need everyone Yaku teasing him

he probably wouldn’t confess unless he knew 100% you liked him back

he didn’t want to get his heart hurt :(

he would probably confess with a chemistry pun smh

‘Are you made of copper? Because I can Cu in a relationship with me’

this is so cringe I had to look up chemistry pick up lines😫

even though he’s a lil dumb you still said yes

unfortunately for you your stuck with him for the rest of your life

thoughts and prayers 😔

but hey at least you get Kenma as a buddy out of your relationship so that’s a plus

as well as a life supply of chemistry puns and pick up lines

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Asahi

Jesus Asahi our favourite nervous baby

he saw you and instantly fell in love

but then he remembered he is a nervous wreck

he blushes at the littlest of things

if you accidentally bump into each other or you give him a smile instant blush

if you even stand near him he is a blushing nervous boy

you two are probably in the same class and are seatmates

you would probably have to initiate conversations but it is worth the effort

Asahi would probably tell The boys accidently and then they would do the best thing in this situation

they teased him as well as pressured him into confessing to you of course

Asahi would definitely confess accidentally

he would be yelling about how he could never confess to someone as pretty as you

that was until you heard him and asked if he meant it

he then stuttered out a yes as he tried not to faint from embarrassment

after you said yes boy was so overjoyed and happy

he was smiling all day and didn’t get discouraged at all during practice

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Bokuto

you probably were Akaashis friend/classmate

you were going to the volleyball club to give Akashi something he forgot in the classroom

Bokuto was in his emo mode as the team were now dealing with him while Akaashi walked up to you

but unfortunately for you Bokuto had seen you

to everyone’s shock Bokuto became quite and was just staring at you

that was until Bokuto regained his composure and ran up to you two

‘Akaashi! Who is this? Are they a friend of yours?’

after Akaashi explained you gave the owl boy a big smile and a wave goodbye leaving the boy quite as he stared at you

‘Hey Akaashi . . . I think I’m in love’

from now on Bokuto will try and be around you as much as possible

he is always happy around you and rarely goes into emo mode only when you have to leave

I’m pretty sure Bokuto would have no idea he had a crush on you

unless Akaashi or someone else points it out you would probably have to confess instead

once someone told you he would immediately find you and confess right then and there

doesn’t matter if you were taking a test or eating he is going to tell you as soon as he sees you

Akaashi is so thankful if you go to their games since Bokuto almost never goes into emo mode and always wants to show off in front of you

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Iwaizumi

lil baby doesn’t know how to process emotions

he was probably yelling at Oikawa then saw you and froze up

you just looked so pretty

poor boy thought you looked so cute

but he was pretty guarded since other people he liked would always go for Oikawa instead of him

for him to really fall for you, you gotta be a non Oikawa fan

if you ignored any advances from Oikawa you are the person of his dreams

he is literally ready to pull out a ring for your hand in marriage

man if only😩

he would probably have no idea on how to act around you

he’ll be all nervous and barely get a sentence out without stuttering

if Oikawa ever found out he would try and be match maker I swear

after a while Iwaizumi would slowly warm up to you and become much more comfortable enough to make a coherent sentence around you

Iwaizumi would probably not confess either being too nervous or just not wanting to make it awkward between you two

Oikawa would have to tease encourage Iwaizumi to confess saying stuff like ‘Someone else could get to you first’ or ‘It won’t be the end of the world if they reject you’ Iwa was about ready to spike a volleyball to his head

when he does confess to you it would probably be when he either walks you home or when you two would go out for lunch somewhere quiet with not a lot of people

when you say yes he’ll probably be so happy that he hugged you and lifted you up while spinning you around

boy was so sure you would reject him smh

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#asahi azumane #iwaizumi hajime #bokuto kotaro #kuroo tetsuro #x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons

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thessalian · 4 months ago

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Thess vs Progress

Not to say that things are necessarily going well in the grand scheme of things (I mean, shit, just look at ... all of that ... out there - or don't if you need a break from unrelenting horror), but from a personal-life perspective, there are good things to note.

For all I promised myself this week off was supposed to be about relaxing, I did Do Things. Well, I Made Things. So far - chicken stew, potato salad, and brownies. I have plans in the direction of cereal bars, potato soup, sweet potato soup, beef stew, and risotto. Need to get out to the shops soon, though, because I need courgette for bolognaise and some more vanilla extract for any further baking I may wish to do. Like I said - month of batch-cooking. Though my appetite's on the decline at the moment and I'm not doing great pain-wise, so today might be a tin of soup, some potato salad, and maybe a sandwich if I'm feeling up to it.

The better news, though, is about my living situation. Long story short: there are two flats in this building, and my mother owns both, and both require renovation in a major way. So I'm shuttling around like the ball in a shell game between the flats. Or ... that was the plan, anyway. I moved into this flat from the other flat ... a little more than four years ago, I think? And for most of those four years, very little seemed to be getting done. My stepfather didn't get near the place. So the longer he waited, the longer I was stuck in the flat I'm in now - the flat which, while better laid out than the old flat, has the most atrocious plumbing it has been my privilege to experience. By which I mean:

No shower pump (so it's been baths in a tiny-ass tub for four years and I would commit a minor felony for a shower)

Leaky tub, in the carpeted bathroom. (Well, I think it's just that the tub is this cheap, badly-installed piece of plastic crap and because the cold tap leaks when I turn it up higher than a trickle, it seeps through the very bad grouting and onto the floor. The carpeted floor. IN A BATHROOM. I don't know what the people who designed this place were smoking)

By "bad grouting", I mean that some of the wall tiles literally fell off the wall and into my bathwater when I was taking a bath a couple of years ago.

Wonky boiler (though at least my stepfather installed a working timer on the damn thing so I don't have to switch on the day boost for two hours to get enough hot water to bathe)

Leaky faucet in the kitchen which has been half-assedly patched with electrical tape. (Literally. My stepfather thought this was even a vague solution.)

The kitchen sink drain doesn't have a U-bend, so using drain cleaner on it is a waste of fucking time (which is great when it's the drain that probably sees the most overall debris and gunk of any drain but the toilet)

Also the place is just ... grungy in ways I can't fix. There are cracks in various of the walls. The carpet is well past its best. The light fixtures ... the only ones that give light worth a damn are the bare bulb in one end of the living room and the kitchen lighting that my stepfather put in when I told him I didn't have enough light to make sure I was washing the dishes well enough. The others are gaudy-ass chandeliers. The less said about the curtains, the better. I don't generally complain because, I mean, it's a roof over my head that I don't have to torture myself to pay for, and my stepfather replaced the non-functional heaters last year so I'm not freezing my ass off trying to be mindful of the electricity bill like I was during that cold snap in 2022. So I was willing to wait and cope with the problems of the place for as long as necessary because you don't go being a choosing beggar in this kind of situation.

My mother, however, has been over for dinner a few times, and while I try to downplay it, she knows I'm struggling with the whole thing. So I figure she's the one who lit a fire under him, and he's been working himself ragged on the other flat for a few months now. I've been gifting him with baked goods every so often, partly because I can never eat a full batch of anything on my own before it gets stale but mostly because I appreciate the work he's putting in, especially with his back issues.

Which is when we come to today. Despite a bad pain day (weird agony in my outer left thigh and some grip strength issues on top of the rest of the increased OW), I made brownies, and I brought him some while he was working. He showed me the work on the kitchen (SUCH an improvement over when I first lived there, you have no idea!) and told me the current plan. Apparently, the goal is to get that flat liveable - not necessarily finished, but just done enough for someone to be able to, like, cook and bathe and sleep and everything - and then move me into it so they can start doing this flat. No real timeframe given on the work here yet, but I figure it's going to be a lot because if nothing else, they want to move a whole wall to give me a kitchen worth the name, size-wise.

Point is that if everything continues according to plan, the other flat will be liveable in about a month. I could be living in a flat with access to regular showers by mid-August - early September at the latest. I give a little extra time on that because I'm going to need to be able to book time off around then, since my stepfather's going to want me to move all my stuff in one day again and I will hurt for days afterwards. That and I have to get my phone and internet transferred and that might take a day or so, and I obviously can't work without it. Thus, better to be sure it's all organised for maximum efficiency. Either way, actual showers soon.

It's a nice thing to think about to keep from dwelling too hard on the election tomorrow. I've already voted, and the final results won't be in until Friday morning, but ... honestly, given that Starmer's been making noises about how trans women don't belong in single-sex spaces and how he wants to meet with JK Rowling at some point and is actually trying to arrange that (like TERF-In-Chief is a front-bench cabinet position now or something), and how he's almost certainly going to win, it's depressing. That's ignoring the rest of his so-called policies. It's not as big a mess as what's going on in the US, but it's mess enough. The US still has a chance to turn its would-be dictator away; we have "meet the new boss; same as the old boss" - damn near literally.

I'mma play Tavern Talk or something for awhile. It's fun and cute and will probably cheer me up at least a bit.

#Thess cooks #Thess has a living situation

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lady-lycany · 2 years ago

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Since I had a little breakdown last morning, I wanna talk about it... It started cuz I was looking out of the window and watched people living their life... It gave me the realization and the strong feeling that I simply not belong here. I don't mean the planet itself, but the role I'm supposed to play... U know, back in school, there were the students, that were for example good at math but bad at sience, and then there were students that sucked at math but were very talented in sience... I would be neither of them. For real, no matter what job I think about, I don't feel qualified or comfortable... and I know that masters are not born. You have to learn something to get good at it... But in todays society, you have to either already have knowledge about something or they expect you to learn everything in like two weeks... I simply can't keep up with it. And to be honest, I don't even want to... I wish, I really wish, I would be one of the 'normal' npc people that don't question how the world works. They go to school, they learn a job, they work... It seems so normal to them... To me it's not... Really. Working your life away to have some free time when you're too old to do shit? Being incredibly tired from all the work, that you have to use every vacation just to sleep and stay at home? It's just so. so. so wrong to me. It's such a waste of life.

But at the same time, the way I'm living right now isn't better at all... You need to work, in order to get money, to even get the chance, to live and travel... So like this or that, I'm wasting my precious lifetime away and don't know what I'm supposed to do...

As Mark once said, "there's work, and there's passion, and some people have incredible passion for what they do, and you notice that". I don't have that kind of passion for anything job related. Even if I had the chance to become some sort of influencer for example, it still takes time of your life away... The recording, the editing, the planning... This is all stuff, that's nothing for me... Like for real, whatever job I'm thinking about, it doesn't feel right to me.

Really, the only spark of hope is my book, cuz I really hope, that it'll get sold well. But for this to happen, I have to write it, but I'm stuck in an endless spiral of procrastination and fear of failure. (I plan to force me next year to write everyday for at least five minutes. cuz five minutes is not much on a day but can be a lot in a year... Maybe I make a little progress like this... idk)

I'm stuck in every aspect of life and somehow I can't move on... "soon, soon" but when is soon?

I know how fast the time is running, how important it is, how you spend every minute of your life, cuz you only have this one... So you should use every minute to do something that means something to you and makes you happy. And it's driving me insane, that I can't live and enjoy it as I would love to... I would love to see as much of the world as I can, as long as I am here... The world is so big and we have such little time....

Long story short, I'm basically crying over the fact that I don't have a place in this world, but at the same time, I'm not even trying to find one...

Three months as a free wolf seem to be more worth, than three years as a human, I could run wherever my legs carry me to, and just have to think about gettin food and water, the rest is just living in the moment...

#werewolfkin #wolfkin #wolf therian #otherkin #therian #lycanthrope #caninekin #alterhuman

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velvetporcelain · 5 months ago

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“ no. “ —- I thought. this is my time.

let see if we can channel the dull chatter. i see you have came to other one of my sermons. it’s nice to see you back my love.

nothing to preach today. just chatter. today i ran. and I had this picture in my mind of it being absolutely horrible. — but it wasn’t. (proving everything before but is bullshit) —- I walked the first half mile, then ran the two miles — i felt so in control- i felt good- i felt present. my gym boyfriend has been avoiding me, he’s angry at me because he thought i was easy. hahahahahahahahaha. so - i am in the middle of a set— he walks up to me — I don’t get up, I finish my set- make him wait. he said he was driving by and looked to see if my car was in the parking lot. *he knows my car, duly noted* — I said “where have u been?” But he was beating around the bush— “meh I’ve been —“ I cut him off and said “shut up, you hate me right now” —-he stopped and stared at me — and starting laughing — I was nodding my head up and down laughing as well. I’m not stupid. He wanted me to leave with him, god I must have stupid bitch tattooed on my face too— I was like shaking my head in rejection— — “have a nice day mark— I will see you tomorrow” —— he got all excited and wide eyed and said “you’ll be here tomorrow?” With an undertone of anticipation and excitement. —- I smile and laughed — “yes, I will be here tomorrow” —-he says— “oh I got a big workout tomorrow” 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭—- omg this is so fun. 🤭 yes, i may be just a bit bored with life. he obviously has not stopped thinking about me — he’s tried to forget me, but he can’t. I am all he thinks about. — poor thing— sometimes i do feel bad manipulating the fuck out of this man, but it’s worth the show— fuck— sorry, that was mean.

it’s more of a selfish desire to know what i am capable of. just how potent IS my femininity? i already know how potent my masculinity is — so i am genuinely curious, trying to remain my authentic self to see if it changes the way someone actually feels about me. i will no longer make men my identity, as i have made my husband mine for so long. i want to be me, but i also want to be a human being too. i have a thing for mind cruelty— dark psychology— now I wouldn’t do this on anyone i loved —-that would psychopathic—- i like to think that what i do is more enigmatic to the moral psyche. hence my deep dive into to the genealogy of morals —— to better understand myself and our instinctual love for cruelty. If you judge me, then you have probably been on the receiving end of the manipulation—. sorry, that was mean.

anyways, tomorrow i plan on going in and saying “it’s my birthday tomorrow, what are you gonna get me?” —- and see what he says. 😌 I know, cunty. he’s my little experiment, leave me alone. *puts nose in air*

nashville is coming soon. i can’t wait to be my entire self there— forget about all the fables for awhile- be around women that i love. we haven’t had one of these together in about ten years—- im excited to go out with them as adult women———-

—- full grown queen bees looking for honey, well at least i will be the one mind fucking. and no one will know but me, and everyone will feel my beautiful, love goddess energy. 🙇‍♀️✨

-x

#wednesday vibes #hello void #hello tumblr #raw thoughts #girl interrupted #dream girl #alpha female #diary #tumblr diary #diaryposting #personal diary #poetic #writeblr #writing #writers and poets #poetry #poetry blog

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adultswim2021 · 2 years ago

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Frisky Dingo #20: “The Debate, Part One” | October 8, 2007 - 12:00AM | S02E07

Did Frisky Dingo peak during the last episode? I say yes. She said yes.

The loathsome Killface is preparing with his debate with the loathsome Xander Crewes. There’s another pointless Ferris Bueller reference (”Something D-O-O economics”). Xander is imprisoned on the Xtacles ship which… I might not have mentioned at all in my last episode recap? I actually wrote that entry like two days after watching the actual episode. I try not to let that happen. I’m sorry.

Speaking of stuff I don’t think I touched on: Wendell visited Cody in prison. That’s a holdover from season one, where Wendell shoots one of the other agents while solemnly declaring “this is for Cody”, who he did not actually kill. In fact when Cody shows up, alive, Wendell throws the gun into his hands as to pin the wrap on him. The joke here is basically that Wendell just loves shooting people dead to get out of trouble, I guess.

Also worth noting: we return to the use of documentary talking head segments, which I think they’ve been taking a break from. They were present in the first episode of the show especially. I’m guessing there’s some need for this later on? (I am lying: I am writing this after having watched the next episode. I am not guessing. I sorta know).

Okay, so the reason Xander is imprisoned on the ship is because Sinn, known to the Xtacles as Hooper, has taken control on the Xtacles ship. I believe her single-minded goal is to murder Killface, so taking him prisoner seems gratuitous. I guess she just doesn’t want him taking back over. He gets stuck in a cell with Ronnie, who raped him in season one, LOL. This is why we need to strengthen the men’s right’s movement in this country, because this is an outrage.

Hey, just kidding, everyone. I don’t have opinions or values of any kind, except for when it comes to pointing out references to old TV shows. Ronnie references Jack Benny when says “violin man with slave”, by the way. Also his poster hiding the big hole in the side of the Xtacles ship is a reference to Shawshank Redemption. Ever seen it? Check it out! Just go to the IMDB Top 250 and click the link and you can watch it for free probably.

So Killface shoots his campaign manager because she insults the Anhiliatrix, which is currently being looked over by Sinn/Hooper and the Xtacles. She wants to get it back in working order. Xander and Ronnie crash through a gazebo after running out of rocket fuel in Xander’s rocket pants. They don’t land on any nerds, but they do run into Wendell, there for some drug or arms deal. Xander and Ronnie pretend they’re the guys he’s looking for to get a ride from him on his scooter. He’s dressed like a neo-nazi (complete with skinhead bald cap) as part of some new fundraising scheme from Killface’s campaign (at least that’s what he says).

This one is okay. The plot moves, and that’s fine, and so far the story is more cohesive than season one. It seems like they may have actually made plans for the whole season, even. Season one was full of self-conscious attempts to make fun of their own lack of preparation with meta humor. But the sad truth is it’s only a little above average compared to the rest of the series, and doesn’t reach the heights of the previous episode. Not by a long shot.

MAIL BAG:

You're a man! you're the man! And soon you will be a Robot Chicken man!

*screaming it so loud that it hurts u* FUCK YOUUUUUUU

#adult swim #frisky dingo #adultswim2021

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staryuee · 2 years ago

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Lotus Rib Soup — Domestic Genshin Hcs ⸝⸝

— [warnings]. as always , not proofread and also written by sleep deprived me at 7am

— synopsis . . . some simple fluffy domestic headcanons

— characters . . . ayato , ayaka , zhongli , ningguang , xiao

— notes . . . these are just general domestic things i can imagine them doing :) not necessarily after marriage (but u can ofc interpret that they r!)

K. AYATO

— now if you thought he was clingy and overbearing before, be prepared for that to TRIPLE once you start living together

— you tell him constantly to ‘not go overboard’, but this is the head of the yashiro commission we’re talking about so of course he won’t listen

— he S P O I L S YOU , you simply gazed at some pretty jewellery on your walk today ? it’ll be sitting on your vanity desk the next morning, said you were craving some food ? he’s having it prepared right away

— now this man is a classic and dare i say traditional romantic, so you will get the sappy ‘breakfast in bed with a kiss on the forehead’ treatment every morning before he heads off to his duties

— every single day no matter how busy he is, he will give you a bouquet of flowers accompanied with some kisses, because hey who doesn’t enjoy some flowers (me, i have hayfever)

— before you he just let thoma clean up around the place, but now with you it feels rather intimate to him to complete some chores together , it just makes him happy

— overall 20/10 , wife husband material !!!

K. AYAKA

-- another one that completely spoils you rotten, but in a much more subtle way (at least she hopes because if she comes off as clingy she’ll probably hide herself from you until the next century)

— one thing she will absolutely never get tired of is hand holding , to the majority something like handholding is just a normal custom to any sort of relationship

— BUT !! to ayaka , it’s something that she finds to be a form of comfort, it makes her feel so much more comfortable and safe knowing that you won’t be leaving her any time soon

— what she loves even more than that is kisses, the passionate and chaste ones are always lovely and welcome however the ones she really prefers are the ones where you’re both laughing over something stupid - it makes everything seem so much more real to her

— she literally loves the random moments where you just twirl her around, it could be simply to give her a greeting or even a hug , but for some reason it makes her heart flutter

— your anniversaries would be so nicely organised and beautifully done , she’d probably plan months in advance because she just wants you to know that she loves you much more than she can show

— ayaka is very prone to loneliness, and having someone with her who she’s able to cherish and be so close with makes every hardship she faces worth it, every day when she’s done with her duties or even while she’s still performing them, she’s dreaming of being there with you

ZHONGLI

— this old ass man istg (affectionate)

— he will pester you SO much about your physical and mental well-being , always telling you, “ai ren, you’ll strain your eyes if you keep looking at those papers in the dark, come to bed,” OR ,”darling, i’m not sure venting your frustrations on some hilichurls will solve your problems, but im always free to listen.”

— now that he’s trying to live out his ‘mortal life’, he’ll definitely start appreciating and noticing minor details about you; whether that be your mannerisms, your tonal shifts, to your laugh or even your posture

— since he’s still technically an archon he just sorta ditched his job because he couldn’t be asked, he doesn’t necessarily need sleep BUT he absolutely adores the nightly routine you two have (once he finally coaxes you into going to bed that is)

— cooking is most certainly one of his favourite activities to do with you, not only is it enjoyable he gets to see you dance around the kitchen trying to find utensils and ingredients - honestly just looking at you doing anything makes him have the most love stricken expression on his face.

NINGGUANG

— now if you thought the kamisato siblings spoiled you, the tianqian takes that to the extreme

— if your gaze even lingers on an object for a second ningguang will have it in your possession in the next minute or so , ‘anything my dearest wants they’ll get’ that’s basically her motto

— she literally creates a room just for you in the jade chamber that she allowed you to decorate however you wished (most of the jade chamber has your touches added to it anyway)

— early mornings with ningguang don’t last long but they’ll always leave an impact on you both for the rest of the day , you’ll wake up with limbs tangled together and with your bodies pressed closed together, ningguang will give you special morning kisses to help boost your energy for the day but it honestly makes you just yearn for her more and distracts you

— she’s a rich and powerful chinese auntie ok, and she absolutely adores little kids she wants nothing more but for them to be happy and healthy - so when she sees you with kids her heart just simply explodes (crystallises? lol)

— “how can just a singular person be so precious and adorable … rex lapis thank you.”

— will ask about your thoughts on starting and raising a family, nothing too major of course maybe just one or two kids. anything you’re up for, she’s more than willing !

XIAO

— he’s been through way too much (especially after that new quest..) and being able to come to you and safely say “i’m home” genuinely makes him feel so loved and happy for once

— one thing he really enjoys while staying at home with you, is being cared for. you always reassure him that it’s just what he deserves, and your not doing any of this out of pity but out of love, and he absolutely knows that and cherishes that fact.

— wether it be back massages to relieve stress, cute little at home dates, intriguing conversations at three am as neither of you can fall asleep - xiao holds it all dear in his heart

— xiao doesn’t really have much of a morning ? i mean he doesn’t sleep and if you try to coerce him you’ll get turned down with the “i’m not mortal, i’ll be fine.” - but as soon as he says that line you respond back with the “but i’ll be so lonely without you” and he is dragging you to bed with you

— when you finally wake up together it’s the prettiest sight anyone could bear the witness of seeing, both of your bodies entangled together with xiao’s arms strongly hugging your waist in attempt to close the non existent gap between you

— he insists that this is all “useless” and that he’s waiting precious hours of the day, but with the loving way his eyes gaze at you ever morning and the way he tucks locks of your hair away from your face to look at you - it’s impossible to believe him

— your nighttimes are usually just spent with you coddling him and perhaps singing or humming a sweet melody to him

— kids are out of the question with him btw , buuutttt maybe if you begged enough times-

#i have a couple of work ideas that are just tied to the mxtx novels #what can i say i’m a xie lian worshipper #yes i have a problem 🤧#genshin x reader #genshin x gnreader #genshin #genshin x gn!reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #ayato x reader #ayaka x reader #ningguang x reader

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thus-spoke-lo · 3 years ago

Text

Where You Belong || Reigen Arataka x afab!reader || NSFW/18+

Summary: Reigen asks for your help doing some light bookkeeping at Spirits and Such for the afternoon. You decide it might be fun to tease him into having his way with you while you two are working all alone in the office, but your brattiness leads to some unforeseen consequences. Word Count: 4.5k CW: dom/sub play, spanking, praise kink, fingering, afab reader [no pronouns used, but “good girl” used] AO3 Link: here

It was a Friday afternoon, the sky overcast and the air cool, as you lazed about your apartment, committed to doing absolutely nothing for as long as humanly possible. You were laying on your couch, wrapped up in your favorite blanket, drifting in and out of a hazy nap while your TV flickered in the background and the book you’d been reading started to slide down your body, centimeter by centimeter, threatening to fall on the floor. As the show you weren’t watching came to a close, your phone started to vibrate insistently on the table beside you; you reached over, arms heavy from sleep, to see multiple texts in a row from Reigen, who refused to text you in complete paragraphs and instead would routinely send you a barrage of messages with a few words at a time—it was profoundly annoying, as your phone vibrated over and over and over again in your hand while you waited for him to finish (though a small part of you couldn’t help finding it charming at the same time). You reached over and fumbled for the remote, muting the TV so you could focus on sifting through the bombardment of messages through your sleep-blurred vision.

[Reigen]: hey [Reigen]: pretty baby [Reigen]: i need u to come in and help [Reigen]: just with paperwork [Reigen]: it shouldn’t be long [Reigen]: maybe a couple hours [Reigen]: im the only one here all week [Reigen]: im really behind [Reigen]: :( [Reigen]: honey [Reigen]: sweetheart [Reigen]: baby answer me

You groaned and laid the phone face-down on your chest, laying one arm over your eyes while you considered your options—you’d managed to secure a Friday off for the first time in a long time, and wanted to spend a good portion of the first day of your long weekend reading, napping, and eating greasy takeout. You had plans for Reigen to come over after he closed up for the day, but you certainly held no ambition to do anything productive for even a moment before then. He couldn’t possibly need that much help, could he? you wondered as you set about responding.

[You]: but it’s my day off :( im really busy [Reigen]: doing what [You]: reading. sleeping. very very busy :P [Reigen]: aw come on [Reigen]: i need help [Regien]: i’ll make it worth ur while baby [Reigen]: >:)

You sat up on the couch, intrigued by his suggestion. You had helped out around Spirits and Such more than a few times (usually after a string of pitiful, pleading messages), but the two of you were never, ever alone—there was always a client or one of Reigen’s actual employees around, so the most sordid things you ever had accomplished were batting your eyes in his direction, or quietly spouting off a few well-placed innuendoes that were just subtle enough that he was the only person to catch them (or at least you hoped he was). It occurred to you that it might be exhilarating to play dirty boss and naïve employee for an afternoon, as you quickly texted back, thinking about how much you’d love to seduce your way into being bent over his desk.

[You]: oh, you will? [Reigen]: YES [Reigen]: I WILL [Reigen]: if ur a good little assistant we’ll have some fun before we leave for the day [Reigen]: maybe even give u a raise [You]: will I be employee of the month? [Reigen]: u know u will be baby [You]: well that’s all you had to say! :P I’ll be there in a little bit [Reigen]: good girl, see u soon

Your heart leapt at the “good girl” on your screen—he always knew exactly what to say to stir that appetite within you, the one that craved his words of praise and wanted to hear him tell you what a good little thing you were for letting him corrupt you. You threw the blanket off and scrambled to get yourself ready and head over; you weren’t thrilled about having your lazy afternoon disturbed, but if it meant you’d get to pretend to be the perfect office assistant and hopefully toy with Reigen mercilessly until he had his way with you, it was worth the interruption.

***

It was a chilly, grey afternoon, most certainly too brisk a day for the length of skirt you were wearing as you walked over to Spirits and Such—if Reigen was promising you some fun, then there was no reason not to spend the entire work day being an absolute tease towards him for having the audacity to make you leave your couch in the middle of the day just to sort through receipts and file papers. You walked upstairs and entered the office, poking your head around the corner before the rest of you to keep your outfit a secret for a moment longer, hissing and whispering his name to get his attention. Reigen whipped his head up from whatever had his attention on his laptop (you could only assume it was making his website even gaudier), and beamed at the sight of you, quickly standing up to come greet you. As he walked over, you stepped out of the doorway to reveal your outfit—a skirt that would never pass for appropriate office attire under any other circumstances, slouchy knee socks, and a sweater that hung just a little off your shoulder to reveal the strap of your lacy bra. You leaned against the wall, smiling coquettishly and idly playing with a string on the sleeve of your sweater, trying to appear as demure as possible.

Reigen stopped in his tracks as soon as you rounded the corner, his eyes wide as he was rendered uncharacteristically speechless, if only for a moment. “Well, someone certainly dressed to get fucked today, didn’t they?” he said with a nervous laugh.

“I might have,” you teased, as you walked up to him and started pawing at his suit jacket. “I mean, why wait? You said it’s just us today, right?”

“That is true, I did say that,” Reigen answered, cupping your cheek and kissing you softly on the lips. “But remember, I said we’d have some fun after work?”

“I know, but why not now?” you pouted, hooking a finger into his belt loop and pulling him closer. “Not like a little bookkeeping can’t wait, right?”

“Because I said so,” he scolded, pulling away from your grasp and straightening his tie. “I just want to get this stuff over with so we can actually spend some time together, alright?”

“Fine,” you said with a huff, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, don’t be a brat,” he said as he walked back to his desk.

“Aww, but I thought you liked it?”

“Oh come on, you know I do,” he sighed. “But you won’t if you keep it up.”

“Ooh, what are you gonna do, boss, punish me?” you said mockingly as you gathered up a stack of papers that needed sorting.

“Watch that pretty little mouth or I might,” he said under his breath as he settled back in at his laptop.

You grinned at his empty threats, feeling a familiar damp heat building between your legs at the idea of him doling out some sort of punishment just for mouthing off, as you sat down on the floor to start sorting invoices and planning out your afternoon of flirtation. If he was expecting that you’d take it easy on him, that you’d actually listen to him and focus on sorting through stacks of ramen receipts and train tickets until he was ready to lock up for the night, he had another thing coming.

***

For the next little while, you did everything you could think of to distract Reigen from his work as you filed papers and entered earnings into the shoddy, makeshift ledgers: you let out cute yawns and gave big, over-the-top stretches that lifted up your sweater and exposed the soft skin of your midriff; you fibbed about how warm the office felt and supposed that maybe you should just take off your shirt to cool down; you hiked up your skirt a little whenever you’d get up to walk around, exposing just a bit more leg each time; and you even tried to slip some innuendos into your conversations about how “long and hard” the day was, but to no avail—Reigen would acknowledge you briefly, then go back to his screen as he furiously typed away at something. His refusal to indulge your flirtations only made you more determined to earn his attention, as you decided to amplify your efforts and make sure that before long, he’d be hoisting you onto his desk and spreading your legs so he could take advantage of his very best assistant. You wandered over to him, swinging your hips as exaggeratedly as you could muster, a small stack of receipts in hand, and perched on the edge of the desk, your skirt hiked up high on your thigh. “Hey boss,” you cooed sweetly as you leaned in towards him and ran your fingers up and down his forearm, “could you maybe tell me how these receipts need to be filed? I can’t quite figure out where they should go.”

“Hey, come on, knock it off,” he said, detecting a slight waver in his voice. “I know what you’re up to, and you aren’t very subtle,” he muttered, his hand clicking away on the computer mouse.

“Well, is it working?” you asked, batting your eyes and swinging your feet as you practically laid down across the table, trying to take up every inch of his unoccupied space until he gave in.

He finally glanced over at you after a lengthy pause and shot you a look of dire exasperation. “Yes. Of course it is. But I already told you, we’ll have our fun after we get through the rest of the work for today.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yes, really. I’m not changing my mind.”

Feeling momentarily defeated, but unwilling to let him deny you the reward he had promised, you hopped down and walked back over to where you’d been sitting on the floor with papers spread out in a circle. Determined to break him down, you made a show of dropping the handful of receipts and watching them languidly flutter to the ground. “Oh no, I’m so clumsy! Guess I’ll have to pick those up!” you said in mock surprise as you took the opportunity to bend over bit by bit, your skirt hiking itself up over your backside, exposing the delicate lace fabric of your panties that barely covered your ass. You placed your hands on your knees to steady yourself and turned around to see Reigen’s reaction, wondering if this would finally be enough to convince him to set aside whatever work he had and satisfy the growing desire within you.

“You��re being impossible, you know,” he exhaled, his chin resting in his hand as he stared at you from his seat.

“So do something about it, boss,” you implored him, wiggling your ass a little. “Come onnn, I want you.”

“Now you see, if I give in, I’ll just be giving you what you want, and showing you being a brat gets you everything,” he said, letting out a low groan, “but I told you from the very start—work first, then I fuck you. That’s the way it is.” You saw him gradually lower one hand to his lap; you couldn’t quite see below the level of his desk top, but the slow, rhythmic movements of his arm suggested he was stirred by your display.

“Is it? Are you sure?” You turned to face him and dropped to your knees, your thighs spreading out deliciously under the hem of your skirt, your hands clasped in your lap demurely as you deigned yourself to beg for what you wanted. “Please? Come on, please Arataka? I came all the way over here to be your assistant for the day, and you can’t even take advantage of it for a little bit before we finish? I just want your cock and I know you want to give it me, don’t you?”

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you peered through the shadows under his work table to see him aggressively palming the front of his pants. “Okay, okay—that’s enough,” he panted, placing both hands on the desktop in front of him as he inhaled deeply as if to calm himself. You watched Reigen coolly push himself back in his chair and stand up from his desk, shutting his laptop with a firm click. He reached down to adjust himself, the clear outline of his interest pressed against the fabric of his slacks, and walked past you, not even looking down at you as you watched him from your spot on the tile floor. He walked around the corner and you heard the clunk of the office door being locked—what was he up to?

He appeared again in front of you, hands in his pockets, his face serious, his breathing choppy. “Give me your hand,” he commanded, holding his out insistently. You slowly raised one hand up and he quickly grabbed it, placing it on the hardness that strained against his thin grey trousers. You felt him pulse and twitch under your palm as he held your hand against him firmly, slowly grinding against you as he asked, his voice low and rough, “Is that what you wanted, dirty girl?”

“You know it is,” you sighed as he pressed your hand even more solidly against his growing arousal, your own excitement becoming harder and harder to ignore.

“Well that’s all you’re getting for now,” he said suddenly, “now get up.” He grabbed ahold of your wrist and promptly pulled you up from the floor; you stumbled into him as you got to your feet, and he spun you around and faced you towards his desk. “I want you to put your hands flat on the desk and bend over,” he hissed in your ear. “Right now.”

Your heart racing, you quickly complied and leaned over the desk, placing your palms on the cool surface. You felt the heat from Reigen’s body radiating next to yours, then felt your skirt being pulled up, the fabric dragging against you and bunching up around your hips. You felt a warm hand placed on each of your hips as he took his foot and pushed your legs apart just a little further, before grasping onto your lace panties and slowly, agonizingly pulling them down to your ankles. The coolness of the office air rushed over you, causing a shiver to run up your spine—though you weren’t quite sure if the shiver was truly from the temperature or from overwhelming and unexpected exhilaration of the predicament you found yourself in.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked calmly, his hand softly running over each of your ass cheeks, gently caressing and kneading your chilled flesh as he went.

“Because you’re mean?” you teased, trying and failing to turn around and look at him as he placed one hand on the small of your back and pressed down, keeping you solidly in place.

He squeezed the meat of your thigh forcefully, digging his nails into your tender skin as you yelped. “I said do you know why you’re here?” he growled.

“Because I’m being a brat?” you said quietly, a surprising shockwave of pleasure washing over you from the surprise of the pain, feeling your arousal start to trickle down the inside of your thigh.

“That’s right,” he said calmly, giving each ass cheek a gentle tap. “I asked you to come help me today, and you’ve spent the whole time you’ve been here being a little flirt and a tease, even after I told you to stop.”

“But why can’t we have some fun?” you whined as your pulse quickened. “We’re all alone and you said you didn’t have any more clients today.” You sensed that every protest, every whine and gripe, was testing him further; you couldn’t help but want to push him just a little further and see exactly what your boss for the day was going to do to discipline his insubordinate employee.

“Aw, and we would have once we were done with a little more work—you know I can’t resist it when you wear this skirt,” he said, as he slowly dragged his deft fingers over your damp slit, stopping to press into your pulsating clit and rub firm circles against it. “As a matter of fact, I was gonna bend you over this desk, just like you are right now, and stuff you full of cock the minute we were done with work. But now you don’t get the satisfaction. You don’t make the rules, understand?” he asked condescendingly as he wiped your slick from his fingers onto your shaking thigh.

“But why not? I’m so cute,” you purred, wiggling your hips as much as you could with his hand pressing down on you.

Without another word, he landed two swift smacks on your ass, one on on either cheek, the sharp noise of his hand against your skin ringing in the air before you had even registered the biting stings. An astonished wail jolted from your lips, taken aback by the blows; despite his earlier threats, you figured the most that would happen is he’d sigh and complain at you a little more, but this was a vulgar side od him you didn’t expect to bear witness to. This throbbing heat on your backside awakened something in you, and though you wanted nothing more than for it to end and for him to slip his cock inside your dripping cunt, you found yourself vibrating at the thought of him continuing to treat you like a petulant, unruly little thing that needed to be taught a lesson.

“Hey, answer me,” he insisted, another harsh swat to either cheek punctuating each syllable and breaking you out of your lustful haze. “Do you understand that I make the rules or do you not?”

“Shit, yes, I understand!” you cried, blinking away the formation of hot, angry tears, your face beginning to flush red hot.

“Good girl,” he said, rewarding you with two of your favorite words, as you felt your legs start to wobble underneath you. “Now you’re going to take your punishment, so you understand that being a brat doesn’t mean you get your way.” Before you could even consider uttering a word of protest, he let forth with repeated, blistering swats, as you writhed and jerked your body under him, uselessly kicking your legs out behind you, his hand still firmly planted on the small of your back to keep you in place. Your every nerve felt as though it had been set ablaze, your mind rendered completely blank, your head the emptiest it had ever been—no thoughts left, only the sweet stinging sensation of his palm smacking against your ever-more inflamed skin as silent tears dribbled down your cheeks and splashed onto the desk.

After what seemed like both an eternity and no time at all, the torment came to a stop. “Are you gonna be good now?” Reigen asked, his breathing labored, as you felt his hand hovering over your burning cheeks, as he waited for the right response and prepared himself to help you learn your lesson even more should you continue to defy him.

“Yes, yes! I’ll be good, I swear!” you keened through ragged breaths, your legs quivering under you, threatening to give way at any moment, as you tried to press your weight into your hands to keep yourself aloft.

“I believe you. You did so well, sweetheart,” he said, “took your punishment like a good girl.” There it was again—good girl. You closed your eyes and replayed the words in your head, the way he sounded almost…proud of you? The feeling of elation that set you alight at hearing his words of praise was nearly enough to make you ignore the hot throbbing of your backside.

He released his hold on you, lifting his arm off the small of your back. “Now, since you were so good, why don’t you hang tight for me and I’ll give you a reward?” He leaned in, placing one hand on one side of you and sliding the other up your thigh, as he kissed and nibbled along your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh, his teeth dragging over your sweat-dappled skin. He caressed the warm, dripping cleft between your legs, spreading your juices over your swollen pussy lips. “Fuck, that got you so wet, you filthy girl,” he groaned into you as he deftly slid two fingers into your drenched hole, and a profound moan tumbled from your lips as he caressed your trembling walls.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like it when I’m a little mean to you,” he said, his voice thick with lust, as he sunk his fingers deep inside your body, and you felt electricity shoot through the core of you as you mewled.

“I think…I do,” you confessed between rasping breaths, your walls tensing even more around his agile fingers, your juices dripping and coating your thighs and his hand. You rocked back and forth against him, matching his rhythm, as the heat in your core became practically unbearable, your arousal almost agony, as you clawed and scratched at the desk and moaned plaintively. “Please…make me cum?” you whispered, barely audible over the lewd sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping wet depths.

“That’s my good girl, cum for me,” he breathed hotly into your ear, as he reached his other hand down and began rubbing swift circles against your swollen, aching clit. That was all it took to drive you forward to the release you were so desperate for; you whimpered as you felt your core tighten, your hands balling up into fists as you struggled to keep yourself standing, your legs trembling as the tension coiling up within you reached its peak.

“Oh shit, ’m gonna—ahh!” you cried as you were overcome by wave after wave of shuddering, clenching spasms, as you bucked against him with every tremor. He held you steady against him, pressing his body into yours, as you continued to grind into his hand, your walls fluttering around him as you rode out the last tremors of your orgasm, your thighs sticky with sweat and the juices that were flooding from your aching cunt.

“Did that make up for your punishment, baby?” he asked, panting hotly into your neck, as he gently pulled his fingers out of you. You meant to answer him, you truly did, but as you opened your mouth to respond, all that came spilling out of you was a deep wail, as thick, salty tears welled up and started streaming down your cheeks in hot rivulets.

“Aw honey,” he said delicately, brow furrowed with worry, “it’s okay. C’mere, stand up if you can.” He wrapped an arm under your waist to bolster you as you pushed yourself with trembling arms up and off the desk and turned to face him, but your legs quickly began to buckle, your body wracked with the ebbing tides of your pleasure and the searing pain of your punishment. He grabbed you up tightly with both arms and pulled you into him; you threw your arms around his waist and began to weep into his shirt, suddenly feeling acutely aware of the scorching pain of your backside. You clung desperately to him as you gasped for breath between sobs, as you felt more vulnerable and weak than you had in a long time. Reigen wrapped his arms around you protectively, one hand on the back of your head gently stroking your hair, as you shook and convulsed against him; you were rendered speechless, your whimpers the only sounds that you could muster.

“Take big, deep breaths,” he implored, rubbing concentric circles on your back, “you’re alright. Everything is alright.” As you nestled your head against him, you silently remarked at how kind he sounded—not that he wasn’t always sweet and good to you, but there was a sensitivity in his tone that was markedly different than usual. His sweet murmurs of reassurance (as he held you so tightly you thought he’d break you) were lacking in his typical bluster and bravado, and all that was left was a raw tenderness that he so rarely exposed to anyone, even you. Once your breathing had slowed from ragged gasps into measured sniffles, Reigen finally loosened his hold on you. He reached one arm up to grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilt your head up to look him in the eye and asked “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled. “That was just…a lot.”

“Are…we okay?” he asked, an expression of unease settling into his face, as he used his shirtsleeve to wipe away the streams of tears that still clung to your cheeks.

“Of course we are, Arataka. ‘M sorry I teased you so much,” you sniffled.

“It’s alright, just don’t be such a brat next time and you’ll get what you want way faster, okay?” he said as he planted warm kisses along your jaw and cheek, his hands lazily running up and down your arms.

“Okay,” you said, nodding solemnly.

“Good,” he responded, a wry grin creeping across his face, “I can’t have my favorite assistant thinking that she gets to make the rules around this place. I am the boss here, after all.”

Ah yes, there it was—the Reigen swagger you were accustomed to, the one that always made you snicker and groan a little every time you heard it. You were half-tempted to roll your eyes at him again, but the excruciating throbbing on your backside suggested it may be unwise.

He cleared his throat and straightened his shirt before fishing his wallet out of his pocket and passing you a small bit of cash. “Why don’t you go get us some takoyaki and we’ll sit and eat for a bit? Then we’ll finish up for the day?”

“Okay,” you grinned, “I’d like that.”

“And after we close up, if you’ve been very good,” he said, running a hand up your plush curves of your thigh, his hand coming to rest firmly against your soaked, swollen cunt, “then I’ll flip up this little skirt, bend you over this desk again, and fuck you til you can’t take it anymore. Deal?”

“Deal,” you whispered, knowing you would aim to be the very best assistant he could ask for upon your return.

#reigen arataka smut #reigen arakata #reigen arataka x reader #reigen x reader #if i didnt write reigen smut at some point i would literally explode #lo writes

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