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ivystoryweaver · 7 months ago

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Still With You

A With You standalone sequel - can be read on its own

"Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink."

"...but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands."

based on this nonnie and this @purple-amaranthe request

Pairing: Marc, Steven, Jake x gn!reader || Word Count: 3.2k

Content: they're all trying hard ok, domestic life, self worth probs, mentions of alcoholism/drinking, angst-ish, domestic fluff, moon dads-to-be, romance, sensual content, but nothing explicit

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MARC

10:58 A.M.

Florescent lights flickered out an annoying buzz in the otherwise silent waiting room.

Thumbing through an outdated parenting magazine, you intermittently pointed out cute toys or outfits to your husband, who would grant you a curt nod each time.

Realizing you likely weren't helping the situation, you set the magazine aside and covered his hand with your own, if only to stop his fidgeting. "Almost time."

Marc squeezed your hand, grateful for your grounding touch. "You're sure we're not late?"

"We're right on time. It's still not even 11:00."

"Okay," he huffed out, his knee bouncing of its own accord. The cheap vinyl of his chair squeaked as he shifted, attempting to externally calm and internal storm.

You smiled at him sympathetically, remembering how far he'd come to even get to this point.

Just yesterday, he paced the floor half the evening, pushing his hands tormentedly through his curls over and over.

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"They'll never approve me," he lamented. "I'm not...they'll think I'm not ready."

"Baby, we've taken all the classes. We've passed the home inspection." You nodded around at your new bedroom, eyes landing on the salvaged and restored night table he presented to you a while back.

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Marc had taken on several projects since then, turning one bedroom of your new place into a workshop and the other into a nursery.

"Do you think she'll like girl colors?" He asked, flipping through paint swatches at the local hardware store.

"Uhh, what are 'girl colors'?" You smirked.

He swatted your nose with his finger. "I'm trying to pick out what color to paint that vintage toy chest I restored for Akeyla."

Your heart melted at the sound of your future daughter's name, not to mention the fact that Marc had put together nearly every piece in her nursery himself.

When he wasn't on a mission for Khonshu, he liked to keep his hands busy. Sometimes that meant his hands were all over you for "stress relief." Otherwise, he would drive around town in the old truck he bought, looking for unwanted and discarded furniture to fix up, repurpose for the house, or sell.

He still labeled himself unemployed, but he sold a few refurbished pieces a month, which more than paid for the hobby, his truck insurance and even left some spending money.

Salvaging discarded things knocked the edge off wanting to drink.

"Maybe like...turquoise?" He prodded, tracing his fingers over a row of various blues and greens. When you neglected to answer what you assumed was a rhetorical question, he assumed it was a no.

"Or purple? Sweetheart?" The full intensity of the Marc Spector stare fell on you as he waited for the verdict.

"Sorry." You smiled at him, nodding toward the turquoise swatches. "Trust your instincts. You're always right." Leaning closer, you kissed him adoringly on the cheek.

"That's not what you said about the yellow bench," he chuckled, selecting a swatch labeled "Ebbtide".

"That's pretty, I like it."

Marc needed to hear your words. After a couple years of marriage, you knew this now more than ever. Whether telling him what you needed in bed, or giving your seal of approval for his newest restoration project, he valued your opinion more than anything and it meant so much to him to hear you voice it.

Akeyla's nursery had been ready for weeks. The vintage toy chest was the final touch. Marc found a rocking chair, a book case that Steven requested, and chest of drawers to restore. You drew the line at a creaky old toddler bed. Steven went with you to pick that out, brand new.

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It was finally here. Today was the day you would meet your little girl.

You weren't ready to take her home yet - that was longer process - but you would meet her and start visits. Very soon, she would enter your home through the foster system, and after a while, she would be yours forever, by adoption.

"What if they change their minds?" Marc urgently whispered, there in the waiting room, gripping your hand so tightly it hurt. "They'll want to put her somewhere without someone - "

"Marc," you reminded him, "they know all about us. It's okay."

"I know, but - what if they find out about Khon- "

"Hi, are you the Spectors?" a kindly voice interrupted Marc's fussing.

A smartly dressed young woman holding a tablet adjusted her glasses and smiled.

"Yes," you quickly answered, standing up and pulling Marc with you. "That's us. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She shook each of your hands. "Ready to meet her?"

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"What if I..." Marc whispered against your temple, holding you against him in bed the night before. "I want to be there to meet her, but if I'm not, it isn't because I..." He shifted restlessly, trying to explain.

"You know what I always say," you gently reminded him, raking one hand through the curls resting above his ear.

"It's our body," he repeated your words back to you. "Whoever's there is there. It's not a problem."

"Exactly," you remind him. "I know you want to meet Akeyla as much as Steven, Jake and I do. I know that."

"I do," he breathlessly repeated, and you realized it might be a long night, when he added, "I just don't want to scare her. What if she doesn't understand, you know, how we are?"

"Baby, come here," You pulled his head down to your chest, wrapping him up tightly, pressing soothing kisses along his hairline. He wasn't voicing any fears he hadn't already talked through a dozen times with you, his sponsor and his therapist, not to mention his alters.

"Sorry," he murmured against the smooth column of your neck. Shifting pleading eyes up to yours, he relaxed, as your soft smile soothed him. "I'm so nervous."

"I am too," you sympathized. "Believe me, Marc. I mean, we're meeting our daughter. I'm just as nervous as you are."

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Marc tangled his fingers with yours as you shuffled down the hallway toward the room that would change your lives forever.

The woman in front of you, who had identified herself as Elsie, paused before opening the door. "Ready?"

You glanced at your husband.

Sometimes he was so adorably terrified you were certain he forgot it was actually his idea to adopt.

Granting you a nod, he swallowed thickly. "Ready."

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STEVEN

9:22 P.M.

"So tense, mon cœur," your husband breathed against your neck, trailing tempting kisses over your damp skin. Strong forearms flexed against your abdomen, pulling your back closer to the slick heat of his bare chest.

Thick thighs surrounded you as you rested in your garden tub together, soaking in a bubble bath. Your head dropped to his shoulder as he whispered sensual French words on your ear. Long fingers traced down the shape of your abdomen, naughtily slipping between your legs.

"Steven, this is supposed to be a relaxing bath. Oh shit - " You moaned as touched you right where you craved. His other hand gripped your jaw, turning your face to his for a wet, hungry kiss. You went boneless in his embrace, completely at his mercy.

You should have known sweet Steven would seduce you during your "relaxing bath."

Later that evening, he sat beside you on the sofa, each of you working on a puzzle book from the "couch basket", enjoying a quiet evening in your new home.

“Got those pictures you wanted, love,” he commented. “The garden ones. Found another book too.”

You smiled adoringly at him, so excited to see them framed and hanging in Akeyla’s room. You had asked him to track down pictures of gardens from all over the world. Since Marc was in charge of furniture, Steven helped you pick out some unique decor.

He acquired a couple of first edition classic Children’s books as well. But you reminded him they would have to be stored way up high, away from the grabby hands of a toddler.

So he curated a brilliant little collection of toddler friendly board books for the lower shelves, as well as children’s books for her to grow into.

Steven had finished his bachelor's degree and was now working on a Masters of Anthropology. Already fluent in French, he was also studying Egyptian Arabic in an unofficial capacity, and toying with the idea of studying archaeology or linguistics as well. He just loved to learn and could never get enough.

After all was said and done, he'd probably end up teaching, which was a perfect idea because, in front of the right crowd, he was absolutely enthralling when he was passionate about something.

He still worked at the university library and thanked you almost daily for making most of the money for this little family, while he studied, and he, Jake and Marc worked part-time jobs.

You reminded Steven that their three part time jobs kind of added up to one job - plus as a student, you would give him a pass.

"Besides, you're going to be a sexy professor in another year or two, so I really see no downside," you'd tease him.

“Can’t wait to read to her every night,” Steven mused, pulling your mind back to the present.

Setting your puzzle book down, you snuggled up close to his side, wrapping your arms around his. “She’s always going to remember us reading to her. You’re going to be such a good dad, Steven.”

His throat bobbed. “You really think so?”

“I do. I know it.”

Gripping your hand almost as tightly as Marc had earlier in the afternoon, his head rested against yours. "Can't wait to meet her. Tell me again how she looked."

You warmly chuckled, nuzzling into his sleeve. "You've seen her picture a hundred times."

"I know, but...tell me again. What does her voice sound like?"

So you told Steven all about meeting your daughter for the first time, that afternoon, with Marc.

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JAKE

4:07 A.M.

The jangling of keys in the deadbolt dragged you from a foggy half slumber you'd managed in Steven's chair by the front door.

Jake had finally made it home after another night driving people around, and serving as Khonshu's fist of vengeance.

When he spotted you there, looking so adorably uncomfortable, he pulled his cap off his head and tossed it onto the entry way table with his keys.

Kneeling down in front of you, he smiled warmly. "What are you doing up, mi vida?"

"Mmm," you mumbled, relief surging through you at the sight of him. Leaning forward in the chair, you wrapped your arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. "Missed you."

"Missed you too." He held you for an indulgent moment before gently placing you back into the chair and standing to remove his jacket and gloves. Before you could whine out a protest, he helped you up just long enough to sit in the chair and pull you back down onto his lap.

Tucking you against his body, he reached for his jacket and draped it over you like a blanket. Jake knew you well enough. If he told you to go to bed, you would bristle and defy him, but if he held you like this, you would fall asleep in sixty seconds flat. Win win.

Your body settled against his and your breathing slowed, but you blinked up at him pleadingly. “Where have you been?”

Frowning in confusion, he rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, underneath the jacket. “You know where, cariño.”

Looping your fingers around his tie, you coaxed his temping lips to yours for a lingering kiss. Jake shifted underneath you, sighing against your mouth as you held him there for an indulgent moment.

“I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.”

“I see you almost every night,” he volleyed back.

“You know what I mean.” Realizing you were tired and there was an edge in your tone, you touched your forehead to his. “I know you guys don’t exactly have a schedule. I just wanted to tell you about Akeyla.”

His eyes flickered away as his jaw clenched. You and Marc met your daughter yesterday. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

For a while, Jake had to be asked or reminded to participate in regular, daily things. Sometimes, you would go a week, only seeing him in your room at night, so you would ask him to eat dinner with you or take you out somewhere.

You started late night dates with Jake, just to build memories with him, in his world. It was never really your scene before, but you'd been to bars, out dancing, to late movies and your favorite - midnight bowling.

In fact, you all adjusted your schedules to fit the boys' night owl tendencies. You moved to second shift and Steven didn't take any more morning classes. You all slept in as late as possible, ate brunch or lunch and then got started on your day.

So it was not unheard of for you to wait up for Jake, but sleeping in Steven's chair until 4 A.M. was a bit unusual.

"I was busy tonight," he cryptically remarked, which tended to indicate he was probably doing Khonshu's bidding. "I wasn't trying to stay away."

"I'm not mad," you sleepily assured him, laying your head down on his shoulder. "I can't wait for you to meet her. And with her coming home soon, everything could change.”

"Change how?"

"Well for starters, I doubt a toddler will let us sleep in as late as we do. She'll probably climb all over our heads at like 5:30."

Jake was uncharacteristically quiet and you were half asleep.

"I'm not mad," you drowsily repeated, curling into him, murmuring "missed you" as you drifted off.

He rocked you gently, his heart burning with how he'd possibly disappointed you. Now that you were finally asleep, he didn't dare wake you, so he laid his head on the back of the chair, hoping to join you in slumber.

Jake had seen the horrors of this world, and of worlds adjacent. Terrifying, supernatural threats had met the crunch of his fist, and his vengeance.

But the thought of caring for a little girl shook him to his core, and in a different way than it did Marc.

Marc was always worried about his alcoholism, his past, the fact that they were a system, but he wanted Akeyla so badly. The whole thing was his idea in the first place. Steven was ready to show this kid the world, both metaphorically and literally.

Jake loved you, and he would love his child. Beyond that, he had no idea what to do, or how to contribute. The urge to not take time away from Marc or Steven was so strong it almost felt like instinct.

You, Steven and Marc had lovingly and rather expertly crafted her a dream-worthy nursery, but where Marc's hands restored and your hands healed and Steven's hands inspired and instructed, Jake had brutal hands.

Unwilling to disturb you, he pondered how he could prove to you he was still in this with you.

Reaching into his the pocket of his jacket, which still covered the top half of your body, he pulled out his phone. Opening up a picture of Akeyla, he smiled, studying her cute, chubby cheeks, dark, round eyes and her tightly wound curls.

Tracing the shape of her face with his thumb, he wondered what he could possibly give his sweet angel, besides protection.

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Sleep came for a short while, but as the sun rose, so did you. Jake was asleep but his phone was playing a long playlist of videos. Hoping to not disturb him, you carefully removed the phone from his hand.

The video showed a young girl getting her hair styled. In fact the whole playlist was of dads styling their daughter's textured hair, including what products to try, and cute and useful clips, combs and the right brushes to help.

Chewing on you lip for a moment, you tapped on the search bar and saw that he had typed in, 'how to care for textured hair'.

Just the notion of Jake pulling off his gloves and styling your little girl's hair made your heart explode with love.

"Are these for Akeyla?" You whispered mainly to yourself, shifting your weight from one of his thighs to the other.

Jake groaned as circulation returned to that leg, making it tingle as he awakened from a very short nap.

"Sorry," you softly laughed. "I should let you get up, shouldn't I?"

The corner of Jake's mouth curled, but he nodded.

You helped him climb out of the chair and the two of you washed up. Jake slid into Steven's pajama pants and the two of you went to bed.

Already drifting back to sleep, Jake presented his small offering to you. Something to let you know he was all in.

"I think I could learn how to fix Akeyla's hair," he drowsily murmured, eyes already closed. "Watched a bunch of videos about it."

He couldn't build things and he wasn't book smart and he wasn't you. He wasn't even supposed to have a family. But you loved him so hard that he couldn't resist you and now he was about to gain everything he never knew he wanted.

Maybe the brutality of his hands could be used to do this tender thing for his daughter.

"I love you so much," you whispered, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes.

"Te amo," he whispered.

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ONE WEEK LATER…

“What’s your favorite color, Akeyla?” Marc asked on your next visit to with your soon-to-be-daughter. He sat beside her, adorably hunched with her at a child-sized table, coloring and drawing.

“Do you like red?” He asked, holding up a few choices of crayon.

“Fav-wit color wed!” She agreed, reaching for a yellow.

“Ohhh, you like yellow.” He winked at you, thinking of the yellow bench at home. “I like it too.”

“Yeh-yow,” Akeyla repeated, scribbling determinedly. Swinging her legs back and forth she repeated, “Yeh-yow, yeh-yow.”

“That’s right. We have a big yellow bench at home that I painted. We can sit on it together, just you and me. Is that okay?”

Akeyla seemed to ignore him, reaching over his arm to scribble yellow on his coloring sheet. Once she had saturated the paper to her satisfaction, she laughed out, amused with herself. “Yeh-yow bench. Okay, Dad-eee.”

Her nose scrunched as she showed him a silly toddler grin. Your heart completely melted as you watched them together.

“This is a good drawing,” Marc complimented, pointing to his paper she drew on. “Can I have it?”

Reaching out with chubby fingers, Akeyla scrunched the paper in her tiny grip, presenting it to Marc. “Here go. You hab it.”

“I can keep it?” He nodded hopefully. “Can I have a hug?”

She threw her arms around his neck. Lifting her up from the table, Marc offered one arm out to you and invited you into to this little family embrace.

Akeyla touched her forehead to yours, already a signature move for the two of you. Then she scrunched her nose and showed off that silly grin again.

"Want me to take your picture?" You offered. Grabbing your phone, you snapped a few selfies of you and Marc with Akeyla.

As soon as you were finished, she reached for your phone. "I watch Bluey."

And so it began.

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Ivy's 1st Ficiversary Celebration || Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

#ivy's ficiversary celebration #still with you fic #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #with you fic #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #steven grant x you #marc spector x gn!reader #steven grant x gn!reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #oscar isaac fic #moon boys #moon knight system

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gretavangroupie · 7 months ago

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Bluebird Lane - Chapter Two

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Pining, Mentions of Death, Sexual Themes, Kissing.

A/N: Gigantic, massive thank you to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for endlessly encouraging me with this one and daydreaming with me. Thanks for reading!

JAKE POV

A trickle of sweat slips down the side of your neck as you lift your mattress onto the bed frame. It falls heavily, sending a burst of air up around it, the sound echoing through the mostly empty house. Your bed is definitely too large for the room, but sleep is one of the things you refuse to compromise on, and this mattress was the best of the best. There is truly nothing better than finally sleeping in your own bed after endless months of hotel beds and tour bus bunks. The wooden bed frame really only fit in the center of the room, leaving you enough space for your dresser and a nightstand or two. You briefly wonder if you made the right choice giving her the larger of the two rooms, knowing your furniture was better suited to more space, but quickly shake away the selfish thought.

You place your hands on your hips, catching your breath as you look at the baren mattress. The house is warm, a little warmer than you want, but you knew that the constant rush of outside air coming in through the front door was to blame. The ceiling fans are running at full speed, but it just feels like it's pushing around the warm air instead of cooling the place down. You look around the room for the box holding your sheets and bedding, knowing that is the next task on the list if you want a place to sleep tonight. You snatch up the navy blue sheets, tossing the folded stack onto the bed with a thump and a huff of air.

Your heart is racing, but not from the effort you just exerted. Instead because you know Y/N is going to be arriving at any minute. You glance down to your watch knowing an hour has passed since she texted you that she was on her way, and that her car would be pulling into the driveway in the next few minutes. You worked all day trying to get as much of your belongings unpacked as possible before she arrived. Josh and Sam even spared the time to help you with the bigger furniture this morning. You knew there was no way you were wrestling that couch through the front door all on your own.

Truth be told, you were secretly hopeful she would want to keep your couch when you offered it. It was a bigger splurge item as of recent, the slate gray L-shaped Cloud couch stealing several grand from your bank account just a few months prior, but after sitting on it in the Restoration Hardware showroom, you knew you were not leaving without one of your own. Of course, your previous living room was much larger and was more accommodating to a couch of this size, but it filled the room here, and in a way almost made it feel more cozy. You knew she would put her own feminine touch on the room, balancing out your ‘guy stuff’ or whatever she called it.

You pull your hair up off of your neck, tying it into a bun before working to pull the sheets onto your bed, letting the fitted sheet snap into place. You toss the pillows to the top of the mattress and throw your comforter onto the bed, pulling the edges down to try and make it look like you tried a little. You could already tell you were going to sleep hard tonight, and the clean smell of the sheets made your bed all the more alluring.

You hear a car door shut, pulling you from your daydream and you know she is here. You wipe your sweaty forehead against your forearm and smooth back the hair at your temples, rubbing your fingers over your mustache as you nervously make your way into the living room to meet her at the front door. You pull the front of your shirt to your nose, praying you don’t smell as bad as you feel, dropping it quickly as she steps up onto the porch and hoping that she didn’t see you do that.

“Welcome,” you smile, opening the door all the way to let her inside. You are secretly nervous that she won’t like how you have things arranged, but swallow down the fear as her eyes light up.

“Hey, wow, it looks so…good in here already!” she says, dropping a potted plant down onto the floor. She drops her purse and keys with it as she steps further into the house, taking in the sight of all of the furniture in its place. “Jake, how did you– you did all of this today?”

“My brothers came by earlier to help, no sweat,” you answer casually, standing with your hands on your hips as you watch her. She turns to you and tosses you a playful knowing smirk as she eyes your sweaty shirt.

“Okay, a little sweat,” you tease. She shakes her head and walks around in the kitchen taking notice of the boxes still scattered around. “Is your car unlocked? I can start grabbing things?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that Jake, I can get it.”

Instead of arguing with her you smile and nod, heading out the front door towards her tiny silver car. It’s packed up to the brim with a small rental trailer attached. You take notice of the number of plants occupying her front seat and smile, hoping her green thumb will rub off on you. You grab a box from the backseat, carrying up the front porch steps and into the house, finding her in her bedroom opening the blinds to let some sunlight in.

“Jake! I can get it all, seriously. It’s packed in there like a clown car,” she giggles, “I shoved it all in, I can take it all out. I know you have your own stuff to do. Also, is this the mas– Why didn’t you take the bigger room? You were here first.”

You huff out a laugh, “What? What do you mean? Of course I gave you the bigger room. You’re going to be here a lot more than I am. It makes the most sense. It’s also closer to the bathroom and has way better natural light. And I just saw all those plants in your car…I think I made the right choice.”

“Are you sure? We didn’t even really talk about it,” she asks, pulling her bottom lip between her front teeth. You swallow harshly as you try to pull your eyes away from her lips.

“Absolutely. No question. Though, I will say, part of giving you the bigger room means I have to keep a guitar or two in the living room,” you pause, tilting your head towards her. “Now, where is the key for the trailer? Wanna get that thing unloaded while we still have some daylight.”

“Jake, really, you do not have to do all this…” she argues.

You stop and turn to her, raising a brow, “The key, sweetheart.”

Her cheeks color pink as she rushes past you out the door, bending over to grab the keys from the place on the floor. You do your damndest not to let your eyes linger on her ass as she bends over, but you fail. Miserably. Get it together, Jacob.

You follow her out to the trailer, unlocking the padlock and pulling up the metal door. Only a few small pieces of furniture occupy the space and you momentarily consider calling Sam to come back and help you just so that she doesn't have to, but before you can decide she is inside the trailer lifting the side of her dresser.

“Woah, woah, okay, take it easy. S’all this going in your bedroom?” you ask, stepping up into the trailer with her.

“I think so. You pretty much brought everything else,” she smiles, shoving the dresser forward.

“I can call my brother to come back over and help me get this in–”

“No, I can do it. How do you think I got all this in here?” she asks, a look of insult on her features.

“You did this alone?” you ask, feeling sick to your stomach.

“Are you surprised?” She smiles playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

“I mean, yeah. I am, honestly.” You pause, wondering how they hell she did it. “Okay, well shit, let’s do it then. You just tell me if you need to stop for a second.”

“I’m good, let’s do it.” she answers, lifting her side of the dresser, following your lead as you walk it out of the trailer and into the house.

The two of you continue this way until the trailer is empty, and the car is unpacked. She is now in a similar state as you are, sweaty and tired and in desperate need of a drink, however you both still have quite a bit to do before calling it a night.

You leave her to her unpacking as you rifle around in the kitchen looking for your toolbag. You know it's in here somewhere, using it just this morning on your own bed frame. You spot the bright red bag and snatch it from the box, making your way back into her room to find her packing her clothes away into the dresser. She looks at you, then to the tool bag in your hand as she raises her eyebrows.

“Your bed frame,” you answer, nodding towards the black metal frame leaning against the wall.

“Oh, I–”

“Can do it, yeah, I know, but so can I. Keep unpacking, let me do this,” you demand, dropping the bag to the floor. She doesn’t argue, instead turning back to her stack of t-shirts on the floor.

“Where do you want the bed to be?” you ask, looking around the room.

She glances around biting at her lips, “Right there in the middle,” she answers, pointing to the space beneath the windows. It’s probably where you would have picked, too.

You make quick work of the frame, finding it a lot easier to put together than your own. A few screws and bed slats later it’s ready for the mattress and box spring. You maneuver the box spring down onto the slats with a metallic clang, grabbing her attention from her place on the floor.

“You wanna help me get the mattress through the door?” you ask, pushing the hair off your face.

She nods quickly, pulling herself up with the edge of the dresser and following you out into the hallway where the mattress sat leaning against the wall. The two of you drag the mattress in through the doorway and into the room, ready to flip it and place it on the frame.

“You got it?” you ask, carrying the bulk of the weight.

“Yeah, drop it on three,” she pauses, “One, two, three!”

You drop the mattress onto the boxspring, both of you falling face first onto the bed from opposite sides. You both let out a relieved sigh, taking a second to catch your breath as you turn to your back to stare up at the old wooden ceiling fan spinning overhead.

“Your mattress is kinda hard,” you say, turning your head to face her with a smile.

“I like my firm mattress thank you very much,” she quips, giving you a playful smirk.

You suck your teeth as you answer, “You would hate my bed then.”

She rolls to her side to face you,“Why, is it really soft?”

“It’s the best mattress in the world, I have tried them all,” you tease, pushing up from the bed and grabbing your tool bag. You make your way to the door, stopping to look at her, still laid out on her bed. You swallow harshly as you push down the intrusive thoughts swimming through your mind. “I’ll leave you to it, just shout for me if you need me.”

—

You’ve almost got all of your clothes put away, not that you really had a ton to begin with, but nonetheless they are put away. Shirts hung, pants folded, coats hanging neatly in the back of the closet. You stack your books on your dresser and arrange your boots by the door, feeling pretty well accomplished for the day. The sun is set now, and the air in the house is finally starting to cool off. You can hear Y/N in her room, still working steadily as she unpacks her boxes and stacks them in the hallway. You push your last empty box into the hall, deciding to break down a few and take them out to the curb.

As you enter back into the house you spot the few boxes on the kitchen floor and the rumble of your stomach lets you know that unfortunately, emptying these boxes is a pressing task. You see a few of hers scattered with your own, hers marked ‘kitchen’ in purple marker. Hearing the sound of hangers sliding across the rod in her closet, you decide to unpack her kitchen boxes, mixing her things with yours. It's a plethora of coffee mugs and mismatched dishes, travel coffee mugs and reusable straws. You smile to yourself as you load them into the cabinets, stacking them neatly next to your own mugs, your souvenirs of places visited.

Your stomach rumbles again and you know that you need to deal with it before it gets out of hand and your mood starts to decline. It didn’t take much these days, but you were still trying to make a good impression on your new roommate. You pull your phone from your pocket and flip through delivery options, deciding that pizza is typically agreeable amongst everyone. You hesitate for a second, deciding that you should probably ask her just in case. You blow out a breath and head down the hallway, knocking on her door just enough that it swings open.

“Hey, I was uh– I was maybe gonna order a pizza? Are you…hungry? Do you like pizza?” you ask, feeling like an idiot for stumbling over such a basic question.

“Of course I like pizza,” she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who doesn’t like pizza?”

Your fingers fidget with the pendant of your necklace, rubbing against the face to try and calm your nerves, “Great question,” you laugh. “What kind of pizza do you like?”

She taps her fingers against her lips, and you can’t help but take notice how her fingers melt into the plush pink skin.

“I like everything, really. Just no olives,” she answers, rushing out the last bit and biting against her bottom lip.

A tiny laugh huffs from your chest, “No olives, okay. Got it,” you nod, pulling your phone from your pocket. “I’m gonna order it then jump in the shower.”

She swallows hard and nods as her cheeks turn pink, “Yeah, sounds good,” she answers, quickly averting her eyes from you as you lean into her door frame. You look at her for just a second, watching her place her perfume bottle on her dresser, fighting every urge you have to walk over and see what it smells like. Begrudgingly you pull yourself away and turn your attention to your phone, stepping into the bathroom and starting the water in the shower.

With the pizza ordered and on its way you strip out of your clothes, dropping the sweaty heap onto the bathroom floor. You pull back the shower curtain and step into the baby blue tub, letting the hot water fall around you, rinsing the dried sweat from your skin. It feels good, too good, and you find yourself staring off into space as your muscles start to relax. As you open your eyes you reach for your shampoo, seeing that the bottle is not alone on the shelf anymore, and is now joined by three others. A matching shampoo and conditioner has joined the lineup in two light pink bottles, sitting next to a bottle of green body wash that is said to smell like Cucumber, Seaweed, and Green Tea.

You wrack your brain trying to see if you can even think of what Green Tea or Seaweed even smells like, doing your absolute best to convince yourself not to smell her body wash. You shake away the thought, lathering up your hair, and refusing to let your eyes land on the pink bottles in front of you. You do not want to know what her shampoo smells like either. Not at all.

You rinse away the suds from your hair, reaching for your bar of soap, fresh from the box. You wet the yellow bar in your hands until it starts to produce bubbles, sliding it over your chest as the clean fragrance starts to fill the steamy air. You glide it over your arms and down your legs before depositing it back into the soap dish, using the soap left over to clean the rest of your body.

You slide your hands over yourself as your mind starts to wander again, eyes locked on that bottle of body wash, knowing that it holds the answer to the question plaguing your mind. Your hand wanders over your groin, spreading the soap over your length and gently tugging at it until it feels clean. You let your hand linger as the water pours over you, your eyes transfixed on the blue tile wall in front of you as your mind wanders with thoughts of the girl across the hall. Absent-mindedly your hand begins slow, languid strokes, the blood beginning to rush from elsewhere. It feels good, and you feel yourself starting to harden in your hand. But, as a thud sounds from the otherside of the wall, you’re quickly snapped from your transient thoughts, remembering exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pulling your hand away and turning to rinse to soap from your body. You shouldn’t be having these thoughts, and you especially shouldn’t be acting on them. You turn the water off and slide the shower curtain open, pulling your towel from the countertop. The fog on the mirror is starting to dissipate as you run your towel through your dripping hair, still kicking yourself for letting yourself get caught up. You dry the rest of your body, wrapping the dark gray towel around your waist as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Again, your eyes catch sight of the bright green bottle on the shower shelf, still calling out to you to taste the forbidden fruit. Unable to stand it for a second longer you forcefully snatch it off of the shelf, popping open the lid and breathing in the scent. You feel your body relax as you breathe it in, the perfect blend of fresh and sweet, sending your head into a frenzy as you pick out each note of fragrance. You close it up, and place it back on the shelf as quietly as possible, pretending you didn’t just cave to your own rules. You knew as soon as you did it that you shouldn’t have done it, but you did, and you’d never tell a soul.

It’s always strange trying to acquaint yourself with new places. You feel like a stranger in your own home even though you’re surrounded by all of your own things. The sounds the house makes are different, the smells are different, even the energy will take some getting used to. You drop your towel to the floor and grab a pair of sweatpants from your dresser, pulling them over your legs as you scoop the towel up from the floor. You toss it over your shoulder as you make your way to your closet, pulling an old ratty t-shirt from its hanger. You run your towel through your hair one last time on your way back to the bathroom, hanging it on the hook behind the door and shutting off the light.

You felt better now that you’d showered, though the hunger was setting in full force. You knew the pizza would be here soon, and the thought alone had your stomach growling angrily. You step out into the living room, turning on the floor lamp now that the sun was set and the room was dark. You grab your acoustic and make your way to the couch, promptly sinking into its buttery soft cushions. Still worth every dime. You sit there for a minute, feeling the tiredness of your muscles really starting to set in as you let your body relax. Your head falls to the back of the couch as you prop your feet up onto the coffee table. An exhausted sigh leaves your chest as your guitar lays over your lap, and you suddenly wonder if you even had the desire to play it now that you’d sat down.

The sound of a door opening in the hallway grabs your attention, your head shooting up from the back of the couch to catch sight of Y/N walking across the hallway and into the bathroom. The door shuts and the light came on, the tiny yellow sliver of light beneath the door lighting the hallway. You hear the shower turn on and the sound of the shower curtain opening and you swallow back the nerves rising up in your chest. You refuse to let yourself think of her in there, coating herself in that fucking delicious body wash. No.

You push yourself up from the couch, walking your guitar back to the stand before making your way into the kitchen. You know you need to find some plates to eat on before the pizza arrives, so you start digging around in the boxes until you find what you’re looking for. It doesn’t take much digging to find them, loading them into a cabinet with a few bowls and small plates.

A knock on the door fills the air as you close the cabinet, your legs practically sprinting to the door to answer. You graciously accept the pizza, tipping the driver and sending him on his way. As you shut the front door you hear the shower turn off, and you know that it will be only a few minutes until she smells the pizza and finds her way into the kitchen.

You turn towards the fridge, opening it to find a bottle of champagne sitting inside, along with a small white envelope taped to the lid. It has your names written in a messy scrawl and you know that Ralph has left this as a gift for the two of you. You decide to close the fridge and wait for her before reading it, not wanting to seem like a jerk.

You hear her soft padding of her footsteps as she makes her way down the hallway and towards the kitchen, and in some cruel twist of fate you can smell her before you ever lay eyes on her. She steps up to the kitchen counter, her cheeks pink from the hot shower as her hair hangs wet and wavy around her face. She has on a giant oversized t-shirt, with a faded and well worn image of Stevie Ray Vaughn on the front. You feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach as you realize she might have good taste in music, too. A sliver of red boxer shorts peek out from the hem of the t-shirt, her bare legs practically glowing in the dim light coming from the living room as a sleepy look crosses her face. Realizing you are definitely staring, you clear your throat and turn towards the pizza.

“Pizza is here,” you say, stating the obvious. A grin pulls across her lips as she eyes the box in front of you.

“I see that,” she teases, leaning her hip onto the side of the counter. “Just let me know how much and I’ll Venmo you.”

“Oh, no no. It’s fine, I’ve got this, don’t worry about that,” you say, not even registering that she would want to pay for part of it. You hand her a plate and motion for her to go ahead, watching her open the box to reveal the pizza.

“God, I’m starving,” she whines, grabbing a few slices.

“I figured you might be,” you smile, filling your own plate. “Do you wanna sit on the couch?” you ask, glancing over to the kitchen table piled high with boxes.

“Yeah, okay,” she nods, walking over to the couch and sinking down into the cushion. “I am so glad we decided on yours. Mine sucked.”

“I love this couch,” you admit, taking a seat at the opposite side of the L shaped sofa. You both start to eat fairly quickly, the room going silent as you both work to rid yourselves of the hunger in your stomachs.

“I’d ask if you wanted to watch a movie or something, but,” she teases, nodding towards the TV in the box on the floor.

“Yeah, that will be on my to-do list for tomorrow. That and internet, I feel like I’m in the stone age right now.” you pause, smiling at her. “Do you like to watch movies?” you ask, placing your empty plate on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I do. I like all kinds! What about you?” she asks, mimicking your actions. She folds her legs up underneath her on the couch, almost disappearing beneath her t-shirt.

“I like historical stuff, war movies, documentaries,” you answer, suddenly feeling pretty predictable. “But I don’t really have a ton of time to watch stuff like I want to.”

A side smile stretches across her lips and she nods, “So no Notebook for you, then?”

“Hey, give me credit. I do have a sister, and I have seen that at least twice.”

“Alright, fair enough I guess. I can get down with historical stuff, though,” she says, tilting her head to the side.

Really?

“Be careful,” you laugh, “Gonna get yourself into trouble saying that.”

“How’s that?” she asks, playing as if she doesn’t already know the answer.

“You’re gonna find yourself suffering through all of my favorites,” you answer with a smirk. “But that being said, what is your favorite movie?”

She giggles, “Just by looking at me, what do you think my favorite movie is?”

You look her up and down, suddenly feeling the overwhelming sense that it won’t be what you think. She knows that you want to answer and say some romantic comedy. She’s baiting you just to prove you wrong. “Okay, I’m gonna guess it’s something old school. You think I won’t guess… ”

“You’d be right. It is old,” she nods.

“Alright,” you continue, rubbing your fingers over your lips. “Can you give me a hint? Give me a genre at least.”

She sits up, repositioning herself on the couch. “It’s romantic, from the fifties.”

“Is it a movie I’ve heard of?” you ask.

“Yes. Everyone knows this movie. At least I hope they do…”

“Oh, um– The one with the cat– Ahh, what it called– shit, um, the tiffany's movie. Breakfast at Tiffanys?”

“So close, but no cigar. It’s Roman Holiday,” she answers, stretching her legs out to rest on the edge of the coffee table. Your eyes flick down to her legs, silky smooth from her shower and glowing in the lamp light, feeling a strange feeling stirring in your stomach. “Same actress, so I will give you points for that.”

“I don’t know if I’ve seen that one actually,” you admit, peeling your eyes away from her legs.

“What?! Oh, it’s the best. We will have to watch it.”

“You know, I was fully expecting you to say that it is some newer romantic comedy or something. I’m pleasantly surprised,” you confess. “I like the old stuff, too.”

“It’s kind of all we had. My mother was a hopeless romantic. We watched old films constantly. In fact one summer we watched one every night. We never had cable, or even real internet, honestly. We just had our old VHS tapes and each other.”

You feel your heart twist in your chest at her admission, suddenly feeling like the life you live is more fortunate than you’d previously thought. You suddenly feel stupid about your internet comment just minutes ago. You decide to change the subject, noticing that she is feeling a bit uneasy.

“So you mentioned gardening,” you pause, “How did you get into that?”

She smiles and nods, “My mother. She taught me everything I know. It’s therapeutic for me now, reminds me of her. Plus everything tastes better when you grow it yourself.”

“Sounds amazing,” you answer, “Seems like a nice hobby to have.”

“Wasn’t always a hobby. Sometimes it’s all we had. Was more of a necessity.” she answers, and again you can feel her uneasiness. You nod in understanding and change the subject again as your heart grows heavy.

“Did you get your stuff all put away?” you ask, standing up from the couch. You grab your empty plates and walk over towards the kitchen, listening as you walk.

“I did! Well, most of it at least. I still have a little bit to do tomorrow but I can at least sleep in my bed tonight.”

“Shower has good water pressure, I was happy about that,” you say, placing the plates into the sink. You glance at the fridge, remembering the champagne waiting inside.

“Oh yeah, Ralph left us something,” you say, opening the door and pulling out the cold bottle. You pluck the note from the lid and hold it up for her to see. “Left us a note too.”

“Oh, he is so sweet,” she whines, resting her head on her fist.

“Would you like some champagne?” you ask, holding up the bottle.

“Absolutely I do. I don’t think I have any glasses though,” she says, her face falling a bit.

“Don’t need fancy glasses to drink champagne,” you smile, grabbing two coffee mugs from the cabinet, feeling thankful you put them away earlier. You pop the cork on the bottle, pouring the bubbly liquid into the mugs and grabbing the note.

You walk back over, handing her a mug and the note, taking a spot a little closer to her this time.

“Barcelona, huh…” she smiles, reading the words on her mug.

You sip from yours, feeling the bubbles slide down your throat, “Mhmm, that one is newer. Got that a month or two ago.” You spin your own mug, reading out the city. “S’ones from London. Super old.”

“You really are gone a lot, huh?”

“More than I’d like but I wouldn’t change it for the world,” you answer, watching her take a sip from her mug.

She sets it down on the coffee table, opening the small white envelope and unfolding the lined paper. Her brows crinkle together as she reads the first few words, her eyes then shooting up to yours looking tearful.

“Shit, Jake…”

God that sounded sinful.

“What’s it say?” you ask, pretending the blood wasn’t rushing straight to your dick.

She clears her throat and begins to read. “Y/N and Jake, I hope this letter finds you both well and celebrating your new home. I figured a bottle of champagne would be enjoyed by the two of you as you ended your first day unpacking. PS- I hope it’s cold.” she giggles, moving her hands further down the paper.

“I thought that I would share with you a few of the memories my family made in this home, and hopefully inspire you to create your own. Every holiday was spent here, family traveling from all over to get a taste of Gail’s Thanksgiving turkey, and her Christmas cake. It was chocolate and was my favorite thing in the world. We always put the tree in the front right corner of the living room, just so we could see the lights through the window from outside. The neighbors on this street go all out for Christmas, lights and decorations and everything. It truly is a sight to see. We only got one white Christmas here, but maybe you two will get lucky.” You see her eyes starting to tear up as she reads, and you feel the lump growing in your own throat.

“I should tell you to watch out for that back porch step, the drop off is a little further than you’d expect. My son Johnny learned that the hard way. Broke his arm in the middle of the summer one year. Had to rush him to the hospital. Never did find a good solution for it. When it gets really cold out you’ll need to throw a blanket over the flower bushes out front so they don’t freeze. I left a few of Gail’s recipes taped in the kitchen cabinet, just didn’t have the heart to remove them after all this time. If you ever feel like making one of them, be sure to call me, I’d love to join you.”

You watch her swipe away a tear from her eye, your hand instinctively reaching for her arm to comfort her. You lay your hand on her forearm, rubbing it just slightly before pulling it away, feeling the pull to put it back more strongly than you thought possible. “You want me to finish reading it?” you ask softly.

She sniffles a bit and brushes her damp hair over her shoulders trying to regain her composure. She takes a long drink from her champagne, clearing her throat again to speak. “No, I'm almost done.”

“I hope that you two will love this house as much as we did. It houses a lot of very cherished memories and I have no doubt that it will house yours too. I’m so glad this will be home to such a wonderful couple. If you ever need anything please don’t hesitate to call me, love Ralph.”

HER POV

Your hands are shaky as you fold up the letter, placing it gently on the coffee table. You can feel Jake’s eyes on you, and you know you have to get your emotions in check before he notices. You clear your throat and take a sip from your mug, letting the alcohol warm your bones. You never had that life, the family memories, the special holidays, none of it. You were lucky if your mom could afford a Happy Meal on Thanksgiving. You never faulted her for it, though. She worked hard, throwing every penny she had at bills and keeping the two of you fed. Poorly, but that didn’t matter much then. There were no extravagant Christmases or big family dinners, no special vacations or birthday parties. You never knew those things existed, not really anyway. Not until you left.

Your eyes flick over to meet him, his head thrown back on the top of the couch cushion as he looks at you. His cheeks are pink from the champagne, his thread-bare Led Zeppelin t-shirt barely holding on for life as it hangs loosely over his shoulders. His hair is long and wavy as it dries on his shoulders, the ends curling up a little from the natural humidity in the air. He seems relaxed, his legs stretched out across the length of the couch, and his feet crossed at the ankle. He seems perfectly content to sit here and listen to anything you have to say, willing to talk about anything, not just respond, and for some reason it scares you a bit.

You decide to change the subject, not wanting him to ask about your sudden change in demeanor. “What’s your family like?” you ask, rotating your hips a little on the cushion to face him more.

A slight smile pulls at his lips, his head nodding just slightly as he tries to figure out how to give you the condensed version of his life.

“Well, there’s Josh and I, my sister Veronica, and Sam is the youngest. My parents still live up in Michigan so I don’t get to see them as often as I would like to, but when we do all get together, it’s always a chaotic multi-day party. Lots of drinking and laughing and cooking… I try to go up for holidays when I can, but sometimes with our touring schedule that isn’t always possible. Sometimes we fly ‘em out though, to wherever we are in the world. Incredibly supportive, good people. Wouldn’t trade them for the world.”

“And your brothers do the band with you,” you pause, “Does that ever get…” you trail off, trying to find the word you’re looking for.

“If you’re asking if we fight, the answer is yes. Every single day,” he laughs, “We are all way too passionate about our opinions and refuse to back down. But I think that because we’re all family, we have no choice but to work it out, and things always end up ten times better in the end. That and we usually have Daniel to mediate.”

You nod as you listen, feeling completely taken by the way he speaks about the things he loves. You can hear the conviction in his voice, and you can tell that his relationship with his family means everything to him.

“I bet your parents are very proud,” you grin.

“I like to think they are, of course, my dad would never say it to me directly,” he teases. “We are close, just in very different ways.”

“And your mom?” you ask, letting your eyes meet his.

“Karen,” he smiles, shaking his head in thought, “She is…Just like Josh. The light in every room. Our biggest supporter.”

“Do you talk to her often?” you continue.

“I do. We text mostly. I’m not a big phone call kind of guy, but occasionally. We talk at least once every day or two.” he pauses, “What about you? You close with your parents?”

“Oh, it was just my mom and I, and yes we were very close.” you answer quickly.

“Does she live close by? Where did you grow up?” he asks, and you start to panic, not wanting to reveal that part of your life.

“Um, not too far from here, about two hours away.” you answer. He furrows his brow trying to place where it could have been, but comes up blank. “We just…had very different lives. My mom passed recently and my dad isn’t in my life. He wasn’t a good person.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that,” he says, his face growing long as he realizes you don’t really have much family.

“It’s alright. I manage.”

He seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it, quickly nodding his head and attempting to change the subject. He lifts his finger and motions to your shirt with a smile. “I like your shirt. Love SRV.”

You look down at the old t-shirt, the image so faded you can hardly make it out yourself. “Oh, yeah, my mom loved him. She had a huge vintage collection. I kinda inherited it all.” you smile.

Your eyes flick over to the note on the table and another wave of guilt rushes through you. “I still feel really bad that we are lying to Ralph. That note was so sweet, and if he ever finds out the truth he will be crushed.” you whine.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, I promise. It will all work out. He will never know.” he urges, his eyes pleading for you to trust him.

It’s quiet between the two of you for a minute or two, only the sound of the refrigerator running and the cars passing out front. Your eyes scan over the room, seeing a few more boxes that need to be unpacked tomorrow. They are all labeled ‘Living Room’, and you briefly wonder where in the world you are going to store all of it.

“Hey,” you say, turning to look at Jake. His eyes meet yours as you continue. “We might not have cable, but I do have Scrabble.”

A grin pulls across his lips as he tries to bite them together to conceal it. “I am too good at Scrabble. I would hate to beat you on our first game night. That’s impolite.”

“No one has beat me at Scrabble in ten years, Jake. Hate to burst your bubble.” you smile, getting up and digging around in the boxes for the game. “I’ve been the champ my whole life.”

“You may have met your match,” he laughs. He works quickly to clear the coffee table, tossing a couch pillow to the floor for you to sit on. Your hand meets the tattered red box, pulling it out and walking back to the coffee table.

He watches you settle across from him on the pillow, setting the box on the table with a thud. His hand starts to reach for the box, but you stop him.

“Oh, I’ll set up, the board is really old and kinda flimsy,” you say, reaching for the box.

He grabs your hand and gives you a playful smile, “I will set it up. I’ll be gentle. You refill our mugs.”

You raise your eyebrow at him, feeling a swirl of butterflies in your stomach at his demanding tone. You quickly stand and return to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of Champagne from the fridge and filling the two mugs to the top.

“That should do it,” you giggle.

He smirks as he sees the practically overflowing mugs, “Yeah, I’d say so.”

You can hardly pull your eyes away from him as he leans over the table and sips from the top of the mug to empty it enough to pick it up. His lips are gentle as they press to the lip of the mug, his throat moving just slightly as he swallows down the bubbles. A heat blooms in your chest as you shake your head of the thoughts swirling around. You focus on the wooden tiles in front of you, positioning them on the stand to see what you’re working with. It’s not an amazing set, but you have a few solid options for your first play.

Jake does the same, and you watch as his fingers gently move the wooden tiles around to form words.. His touch is so gentle, that his movements hardly make a sound as the tiles are rearranged. You aren’t sure if it’s the alcohol or what, but you can hardly pull your eyes away from him.

“Ladies first,” he says, looking up at you now that he is happy with his tiles.

“You sure?” you tease, “Don’t want to make this too difficult for you.”

“Try me, sweetheart.” he smirks, nodding for you to start.

You bite back a smile as you place your letters on the board, spelling out the word ‘Vector’.

“Vector, hmm…” he hums, rearranging a few letters on his stand as fingers swipe over his lips. You swallow harshly as you imagine how that must feel.

“Alright,” he breathes, placing his letters to spell out ‘Hunter’.

You both draw your letters from the bag arranging them for your next play, as Jake fiddles with his phone. A few seconds later music starts to play softly from the speakers, just enough to fill the silence.

“This okay?” he asks.

“Of course.” you answer, just as your next words presents itself to you.

You place your letters on the board to spell out ‘Tenor’ and Jake nods.

“Hmm, maybe you will give me a run for my money,” he teases.

“I told you I wasn’t playing around.” you answer, watching him place his letters without a second thought. His letters spell out the word ‘Ovate’ and you’re positive he just made that up.

“That’s not a word!” you tease.

“Sure is. Means oval shaped.” he says, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Hmmm, okay.” you growl, placing your next word down.

“Aeon,” he grins, “Nice one.”

“Thanks,” you flaunt, shaking four letters out of the bag and into your hand.

He lays out the word ‘Young’, playing off of your letters and you feel yourself starting to get more competitive with every play. The two of you play back and forth for what seems like a hundred turns, Jake never faltering, and one upping every single one of your plays. He might actually beat you.

The words seem to be getting larger and larger and more complex with every turn, your body starting to ache from sitting on the floor crouched over the coffee table. Thankfully the alcohol in your system has you feeling a little more loose than usual. You decide to stretch out under the table, your legs resting dangerously close to his body. He looks down and notices but doesn’t say anything, instead playing his turn and spelling out the word ‘Nocturne’.

You silently look at your letters, trying to decide what word you can play off of his, when you feel a warm hand move to rest on the top of your ankle. You don’t dare look at Jake, knowing that if you do he might move it. Your heart starts to beat rapidly in your chest as you feel each one of his fingertips on your skin. Your insides feel like jell-o under the warmth of his hand, the small gentle gesture reducing your brain to mush.

With shaky breath you nervously look up at him as you place your letters on the board to spell out ‘Counters’. His hand doesn't move as he grins at you, silently commending you on your play. He taps your leg with his hand as he moves to play his word, using almost every single letter on his stand.

“Osculate?” you question, furrowing your brows. “That’s not a real word.”

He grins as he leans back onto the couch, his hand returning to rest on your leg. “It is, promise.”

You shake your head, “No, no way. I don’t believe you.”

“Look it up,” he nods, gesturing to your phone.

“No– What does it mean then? Use it in a sentence.” you urge.

He smiles and leans forward, repositioning himself to hover over the edge of the table. He grabs his phone and types in the word, seeming satisfied as he looks at the screen. He licks his lips before speaking, his eyes locked on yours.

“Well, it’s Latin for one, and it means lips,” he trails off. His voice lowers a bit and his tongue brushes his lips again, “Specifically the act of touching lips.”

You lean forward over the coffee table to look at his phone, needing to see it with your own eyes to believe it. Your face is only inches from his, and you can smell the Champagne on his breath and feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

You let your eyes meet his again, finally able to see the fleck of gold buried deep within the dark brown of his eyes. “I’ve never once heard that word,” you whisper.

He looks at you, letting his eyes flick down to your lips before moving back to your eyes. “Well I’m sure you’ve done it.” he smirks.

“Done what?” you ask, feeling the tension growing between the two of you. Your heart is hammering in your chest just from his proximity.

“Kiss,” he whispers, a devilish grin on his perfectly pink lips. His head moves slowly towards yours, tilting to the side before brushing his lips softly against yours. Chills fill your body as his lips meet yours, the taste of him shockingly present even if only for a moment. Your lips move against his instinctively, a soft whine sounding from you from the contact. Before you can even process what is happening he pulls away, your body already craving the feeling again.

“There, now we can be sure,” he grins, resettling himself against the back of the couch. It’s as if nothing ever happened as he plays his next turn, his hand returning to rest on your leg as your brain swirls with a thousand different thoughts.

You aren’t even sure what to say, or how to react to that. All you know is that you need him to do that again. You’re down to your last play, both of you teetering on the edge of a win and all it comes down to is this. With shaky hands you play the word ‘Twice’.

Jake tries his best to conceal his laugh, running his hand over his mouth as he lets out a knowing sigh.

“No way,” you breathe, “There’s no way,” you say, suddenly realizing that he knows he is about to win.

His eyes flick up to yours, half guilty and half victorious as he nods his head and bites his lips together. He places his final tiles to spell out ‘Wiz’ giving him the last fifteen points he needed to seal the deal.

You stare at him in shock, truly unable to recall the last time you lost at a game of Scrabble.

“You seem surprised,” he grins. “Told you I would win.”

“I–” you mutter, “I can’t believe it.”

“No one in my family will ever play me. Probably should have mentioned that.” he giggles, starting to clear the board.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, smiling at how beautiful his smile is. How pretty his laugh is. How alluring his eyes are in the dim living room light. You suddenly realize that it must be glaringly obvious how suddenly smitten you are with this man, feeling a rush of embarrassment overtake you.

“It’s fine, I need to go to bed anyway,” you mumble, pushing up from the coffee table. You’re unsteady on your feet, the champagne hitting you all at once. Jake quickly stands and catches you, steadying you before you topple over onto the floor.

“You okay, Y/N?” he asks, both of his hands resting on your arms. You can feel that warmth again, not only from his touch but also from his stare. The two of you look at each other for a few silent seconds, your eyes flicking down to his lips again, begging him to kiss you one more time.

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, taking a deep breath as he releases your arms. You nod and step backward, awkwardly looking around the room as you think of something to say.

“Thanks um– for playing with me,” you stammer.

“Of course, I will let you win next time.” he teases with a grin.

“Absolutely not. I want to win fair and square,” you laugh, grabbing your phone off of the coffee table.

“Fair enough. ‘M gonna lock up and put the pizza away, and I uh– I’ll see you in the morning, I guess?”

“Oh, I can do it,” you say, looking over towards the kitchen.

His arm reaches out and stops you, his touch soft and gentle, “I’ve got it.” he whispers.

You smile sheepishly and nod, “Okay…Um, goodnight Jake.”

He pinches his chin with his fingers as he smiles at the ground before looking back at you. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You slip into your bedroom and close the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you can finally let your real emotions loose.

Holy shit.

You frantically change into your pajamas, swapping your t-shirt for a thin pointelle tank top with a tiny pink rose at the top. You pull on the tiny matching shorts and put your hair in a ponytail, staring at yourself in the mirror as your mind swirls with thoughts of Jake. You cannot believe you just kissed your roommate, on the first night no less. But he kissed you, right? And why did you like it?

You quietly open your bedroom door, walking across the dark hallway into the bathroom to brush your teeth, turning on the light and settling in front of the left sink you claimed as your own. You were thankful for the double vanity, giving each of you your own space in the small bathroom. You reach for your toothbrush and turn on the water, lifting the toothbrush to your teeth as Jake appears in the doorway.

You’re positive you felt your heart stop at the sight of him, standing there in just his low slung sweatpants, the Led Zeppelin t-shirt long gone. Your eyes focus on the stack of pendants hanging against his tanned chest, his hair no longer hanging freely around his face, but instead pulled back into a bun at his neck. You rip your eyes away from him, trying not to stare, but you can feel his eyes on you just the same.

You quickly realize you are in significantly less clothing than you were earlier, leaving very little to the imagination. You keep your eyes focused straight ahead as you watch yourself in the mirror. He steps up next to you at his sink, grabbing his own toothbrush and turning on the water. His hand reaches for his toothpaste sitting in the cup on the counter. His eyes meet yours as he squeezes the toothpaste onto his brush with a smirk. Your heart is beating rapidly as you brush your teeth, your eyes wandering to look at him through the mirror as he begins to brush. You catch each other's eyes a few times, a soft smile taking over your faces as you both brush for the full two minutes.

You lean over to spit, suddenly feeling nervous for him to watch you, but you do it anyway, secretly wondering if this would be a nightly occurrence. You hear a soft chuckle leave his lips as he watches you, finishing out his two minutes of brushing as you rinse with mouthwash. Feeling squeaky clean you lean against the counter with your arms folded across your chest, watching him just the same as he watched you. He feels no embarrassment spitting in front of you, making a scene as he gargles his mouth wash and flashes you his bright white smile.

He raises his eyebrows playfully as he takes in the sight of you one more time, letting out a deep breath before turning towards the door.

“Night,” he winks, slipping out of the bathroom and down the hall before you can respond.

You make your way back to your bedroom, noticing his bedroom door is still open. His sound machine is on, playing a constant stream of white noise as his room glows a deep red. You catch sight of him in his bed just briefly, slipping into your room and shutting the door as your heart pounds. You slide into your nice cold sheets and let your tired muscles relax into the mattress with a sigh. The mattress Jake was laying on just hours ago. Shit. Stop it Y/N. You cannot have a crush on your roommate.

Right?

JAKE POV

You settle your head against your pillows, letting out a sigh as the fan blows cold air onto you. You can hardly shake the image of her in that little sleep set from your mind, wanting nothing more than to reach out and feel its softness against your hands. Those two minutes in the bathroom felt like ten, controlling every single urge inside of you telling you to kiss her again.

You aren’t even sure what possessed you to do that. It wasn’t something you typically did, but for some reason, it felt right. She felt right. The two seconds your lips were on hers were the best two seconds you’ve had in months, and knowing she was sleeping just one door over was killing you.

You reach over to your nightstand for your phone, seeing a missed text from Sam.

Sam

10:12PM: What is your new roommates name again?

You

11:07PM: Y/N

Sam

11:09PM: Is she hot?

You decide to send him a photo of her, knowing you can’t admit to him that you do in fact think she is hot, because he will never let it go. You open her instagram and take a few screenshots, sending them over to him to let him decide for himself. Though you already knew what he would say.

Sam

11:15PM: Wait…I think I know her. I recognize her.

You feel your heart start to beat a little harder. Shit, how does he know her?

You

11:16PM: How?

Sam

11:17PM: Hold on, let me go look at her Instagram.

It feels like a year passes before he messages you again.

Sam

11:25PM: Oh shit! Yeah, she gave me a massage a few weeks ago. Danny recommended her to me. He sees her too.

You

11:26PM: What?

Sam

11:29PM: Yeah! She works magic. I wonder if she would remember me…Maybe I will make another appointment.

Goddamnit.

You

11:30PM: Watch it, Sam.

Sam

11:31PM: Yeah, yeah, I think I will. Gonna talk about you the whole time like I don’t know who she is…

You

11:32PM: Do it and see what happens, I’m warning you.

Sam

11:33PM: Oh relax Jake

You lock your phone and toss it to your nightstand, wishing you never even responded to him in the first place. How was it that she had her hands on both of them before ever touching you? It seemed wrong. The thought alone makes your skin crawl. You want her to touch you like that.

You suddenly feel a wave of guilt creeping over you that you kissed her tonight. Even though she kissed you back, and it was in the name of fun, you know you should have asked first. You should have never crossed that line. But god it felt so right.

You know you need to apologize in the morning. Apologize and make things right between you. Tell her you shouldn’t have, and that you respect her as a woman and as your roommate. Show her that she's safe here. That she’s safe with you. That she has nothing to worry about or be afraid of.

You will do that for her, pushing your mounting feelings to the side, even if it’s not what you really want. You don’t know exactly how long she’s been alone in this life, but you do know that she wouldn’t be anymore. You were going to make sure of it.

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