#but all we can think about is our memories. the same ones the same thoughts same feelings

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 3

The Case Studies: Karlach and Gale

Welcome to the third and final part of this wild deep dive rabbit hole monstrosity that is the three-part series about illithid souls and whether mind flayers, or specifically you as a mind flayer, have a soul.

If you read Part 1 and Part 2, then you know that yes, illithids have souls, they're just different souls that the gods don't recognize as souls because they're non-apostolic, or incapable of divine worship (as opposed to being apostolic like most humanoid souls). You now also know that you turning into a mind flayer is a bit of a special case because of the Netherese magic in the tadpoles, and this might be why you retain more of your soul than normal mind flayers would.

Also, a quick reminder of the two theories we're working with here: Theory 1 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer they essentially just die and their (apostolic) soul moves on to the Fugue Plane and the mind flayer body just gets a new illithid soul from somewhere. Theory 2 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer their soul is transformed and altered into an illithid soul, which remains tethered to the mind flayer body. BG3 seems to operate more on the Theory 2 side of things, but as we'll see with Karlach and Gale, it's more complicated than you think.

So let's deep dive, shall we?

The Case of Karlach

I'm going to be candid here and say that the mind flayer ending for Karlach makes me really sad, even knowing that there's a very high chance that her soul is mostly intact and she is mostly still Karlach. But there's no denying she's at least a little different, though the game tries to comfort us otherwise after she transforms.

Narrator: *She is transformed. Her body is no longer hers, but her eyes, her heart - she is still Karlach, for now. Only - there's a hunger in her eyes that wasn't there before.*

That "for now" is rather ominous, isn't it? But we have enough evidence from Tav/Durge/other Origins and Orpheus to suggest that the likelihood of her retaining her memories and her personality is very high. In fact, when you talk to her during the epilogue, she does seem mostly the same, though her language has mellowed out to a more formal tone and she speaks less colloquially (and swears less and less).

If you talk to her immediately after she transforms, she marvels that she's still "herself" but also "more," which again reinforces that we all get to be special mind flayers who don't completely lose our souls. But I think there are some interesting lines in this dialogue:

Karlach: This is wild. I'm myself but... but more. Player: I don't like the sound of that. Karlach: Don't worry, soldier. It's still your old pal under all this purple. But suddenly 'I' am different than I ever knew. And my engine, it's... it's... silent. No heat. No gears. Still there, but no longer threatening to explode. Soldier... Player: I guess turning into an illithid has its perks. Karlach: Here I thought I was making a sacrifice. Thank the gods I'm a noble fuck! Shit. I'm gonna be all right. I get to be alive. I get to stay. As a hideous monster, sure. But one that can feel. Think. Live. But I'm still myself. And I know what our mission is. I'm glad I get to the do the honours.

Karlach reiterates over and over that she's still herself, but you can literally hear the change in her voice. Where normally her tone and volume would be boisterous, loud, and energetic, she's now calm and mellow, even when she's swearing. Her tone here is more one of wonder. It isn't just the internal and external fires that have calmed down, her overall demeanor seems "cooler" too.

Also, in her romance ending just before the epilogue, where you're both in the Elfsong Tavern room, you can mention that she does seem a little altered.

Player: I still love you, Karlach. I still want to be with you. Karlach: I love you too. Before, that love was an irrepressible inferno. Now it is a calm, cool object of beauty. Player: I can see you're still yourself, but there's something else in there too. An illithid calm. Karlach: Maybe you're right. I feel less... changeable. Less afraid. I feel ready for whatever is to come.

It doesn't tell us much, but it does reinforce that when we or any of our companions turn into a mind flayer, we likely retain a lot of our former personality, but in a much more calm, even-keeled kind of way. Again going back to the idea that our soul is still there, still mostly the same, but has been made a bit more illithid.

What is more interesting for Karlach, specifically, is her discussion of her diet as a mind flayer. Remember what souls are allegedly made up of? Intelligence, personality, and what else?

Memories.

Karlach: For example, my favourite food used to be mutton chops. Do you know what it is now? Brains, soldier. Brains. Player: Comes with the illithid territory, I suppose. Karlach: True. But I've found ways to maintain my values while respecting that which I am - that which made it possible for me to live. I've made arrangements with a healer in the city. When a patient is beyond saving, but still able to speak for themselves, they're offered a choice. They can go as nature intends to take them. Or, when they're ready - when their goodbyes have been said, their affairs settled, and all that awaits them is pain - I relieve them. When I consume their brains, I am nourished by much more than the physical nutrition. Their memories - from birth to death - become part of me. I've lived hundreds of childhoods, first loves, marriages, feuds and friendships. I remember them all. And in this way, we all live on. Together.

There's so much to unpack here. One, she still remembers her values, even six months later, but is trying to negotiate her former humanoid values (and personality, I imagine) with her needs as a mind flayer. That seems very Karlach, through and through.

But then, when she consumes these dying patients' brains, she absorbs and retains their memories. I imagine their souls still go on to the Fugue Plane, because I highly doubt that mind flayers also consume souls when they eat brains, but it still leaves me with questions. Karlach isn't part of a hivemind, which normally circulates memories between each other, but she's becoming a similar kind of receptacle for memories, and only she is the one that contains them, rather than an entire hivemind.

I have to wonder how much something like constantly consuming and remembering memories that are not your own affects you as a person/creature. Does that eventually lead to a loss of self, as you begin to "live" multiple different lives? Or does it all count as mere knowledge?

In some ways this would put her in competition with any elder brains still out there, but she's also not collecting knowledge for the sake of knowledge. She's collecting memories and living them out in her mind, which is a certain kind of tragedy. She's literally living vicariously through these people because her mind flayer body is too scary to go out and about in, and she's making up for a decade of life she didn't get to live. She's alive, but she's not...living if that makes sense. And again...how long before all these memories start to change who she is?

(An aside. I really don’t think her eating brains and collecting memories keeps someone’s soul from moving on. If you use the spell Speak with Dead, you don’t call back an entire soul, but the corpse still has access to its memories. I think in this case, even though memories make up part of a soul, Karlach consuming brains and collecting memories is more like her downloading a copy of the memories for herself. The dead person likely still takes their own memories with them to the Fugue Plane, where they will be judged by Kelemvor or collected by their favorite deity. She’s just copy/pasting data, not transferring everything from one hard drive to another, if that analogy makes sense.)

This arrangement where Karlach consumes the brains of dying patients is expanded or clarified a bit if you're romancing her during the epilogue, and also includes a reference to souls as well.

Karlach: I can’t wait to say hello, but to be honest, I’m keen to visit the doctor before it gets too late. He said there’s a potential in his infirmary. A very old woman recently diagnosed with a wasting sickness. She seemed interested in what I have to offer. I’ll want to have a good long talk with her before we make an arrangement. Though if I’m being very selfish, I hope she’ll say yes. I’m absolutely famished - and think of all those memories. Player: Glad to hear. I was worried you were getting hungry. Karlach: I don’t hide it well, do I? Some things don’t change, even when everything else does. It’s funny. I’m hungry in my body, but in my soul too. That woman has lived a long life - births, deaths, love, misfortune. And if she agrees, I’ll be able to give her a dignified end, and remember it all in her honour.

Or if you go with a different option:

Player: I'm still not sure how I feel about this arrangement. Are you sure it's ethical to feed on the dying? Karlach: I'm sure of very little these days. But at least this way, I can live. And those who offer themselves to me can live on too. Births, first loves, marriages, losses - I remember them all and always will. Each memory I've consumed is of value.

It's just so interesting to me. One, her remark that she's eager to say hello but slightly more interested in chatting to a doctor about her next meal suggests that some elements of becoming a mind flayer are much harder to ignore. I imagine if she's hungry, she feels less like Karlach. (And I have thoughts, for another post, about whether she becomes "too fixated" on living when she's a mind flayer, given the cost of what it means to stay alive as a mind flayer.)

But she also says she's hungry in her soul. Her soul seems deeply interested in these memories, and I wonder if that's because memories are (or could be) part of souls themselves. Maybe the remark isn't really that deep, but she specifically connects the hunger of her soul to all the memories a long-lived woman will have. It's almost as if these memories nurture her soul, but it's unclear whether that is because it's somehow healing to see and "experience" life in ways she can't now that she's a mind flayer, or if it's because the memories have some kind of tangible effect on her soul/souls in general.

I suppose we won't know for sure. What we do know from Karlach's case, however, is that a great deal of the original soul (personality, memories, etc) seems to stick around even six months later, though there are noticeable changes in personality, such as an overall calm demeanor. There are also hints that consuming brains could lead to further changes down the road, but there's nothing really concrete. Just hints.

In the end, Karlach is still Karlach, and her soul still has plenty of elements of the original Karlach, even six months later. This is a good sign, but we can't completely ignore that her new body/mind as a mind flayer will necessarily mean some things have permanently changed. Whether you judge those changes as good or bad is up to you.

With that said, let's move on to the final and most mind-boggling case.

The Case of Gale

If you play a companion as an Origin run, the mind flayer decision typically works out the same way as Tav...unless you're playing as Gale. Gale gets some extra options at the end of the game.

This is mostly because Gale has perhaps the most apostolic soul that hangs in the balance, second only to Shadowheart, and her soul pendulum swings between Selûne and Shar. Gale, however, seems to be walking on a knife's edge trying to retain or earn back entry into Elysium, Mystra's domain in the Outer Planes. He's allegedly already been there, though not as a dead soul, so he knows what's at stake if his soul suddenly becomes non-apostolic or disappears.

In other words, Gale has a formerly Faithful apostolic soul, but he spends much of the game probably worried his soul will be judged as False when he dies (since he lost Mystra's favor) until Mystra offers her brand of forgiveness, which is essentially "if you sacrifice your own life, I'll let you into Elyisum again." It's a guarantee that he ends up in the afterlife he wants to be in. That's what Mystra's forgiveness really boils down to.

Now, this is a man who does not want to sacrifice his soul, and also (Netherese orb aside) does not want to die if his soul is going to be judged as False by Kelemvor rather than welcomed into Elysium as a Faithful soul. We know that Gale finds the Fugue Plane exceedingly depressing, so I can't imagine he has any desire to wander around it for any stretch of time, even if Mystra does eventually deign to invite him into Elysium. I'm sure the thought of becoming part of the Wall of the Faithless might as well be hell to him.

Gale: It’s a relief to be back in beautiful Faerûn. The dreariness of the Fugue Plane oppresses one’s soul so very quickly.

[mumm's note: yes my man died in service of a Tactician battle against Grym, but he got better]

It's a little surprising to see how adamantly Gale would prefer to choose the Netherese orb over letting himself or anyone he cares for become illithid. Look at some of what he says when he tries to offer the orb as an option for the final battle:

Gale: An easy proposition for the Emperor to make - 'become a mind flayer' - it has no soul to sacrifice. If it did - perhaps it would understand the weight of what it's asking of us. And why we might seek an alternative.

I couldn't get this next dialogue to trigger in my game, but in the same conversation as above you might potentially get the option to remind him about Mystra's offer to cure his orb condition, and even then he reminds you of the stakes that come with becoming a mind flayer.

Player: Mystra will cure you if we bring her the Crown of Karsus. You don't need to do this. Gale: To cure me of the orb, yes. But what of the guilt of allowing one of my friends to sacrifice their very soul and become illithid?

Now keep in mind, up to this point no one has shown any evidence that turning into a mind flayer won't actually mean the total destruction of one's soul. Up until now, the only evidence anyone has of an original soul remaining intact inside a mind flayer body is the Emperor (we have no frame of reference for who Omeluum was before he was a mind flayer), and most of the companions do not trust the Emperor one bit. So Gale genuinely thinks that becoming a mind flayer means your soul is either destroyed or changed so much that it's no longer you.

I mean, think about it. He's half expecting you to take the tadpole the Emperor offers and literally cease to exist. He's expecting to fight alongside a mind flayer who has, at best, your name and a few scraps of your memory, and at worst, no shred of you at all. Because again, up until this point in the game, none of them realize that they could become a special mind flayer who does actually retain most (if not all) of their soul, including their personality and memories.

Gale literally thinks that blowing up and going to the Fugue Plane is better than you or any companion becoming a mind flayer.

But that's in a companion run. Obviously, if you play him as an Origin, you can have him turn into a mind flayer as a different kind of ultimate sacrifice. The decision plays out the same as a Tav/Durge run or any other Origin run. But after the game ends, Gale gets unique dialogue if he (1) sacrifices himself or (2) does not sacrifice himself and goes to meet Mystra with the Crown in hand.

Any run of his sacrifice (aka, using the orb, regardless of whether or not he is illithid) results in Withers finding him in the Fugue Plane for a brief conversation. This conversation isn't much different if Gale is a mind flayer when he uses the orb, since all it does is add an extra option to their conversation that references being illithid ("One illithid for the whole of Faerûn seems like a fair trade to me," which replaces the option "One wizard for the whole of Faerûn...etc").

(An aside, I don't have an Origin Gale run so I can't test this, but I think if he ends his life on the docks as a mind flayer, the way Tav/Durge can with a knife got the stomach, then he just gets the usual Tav/Durge conversation with Withers about how his form has "something of the spirit" about him. See Part 2 if you're curious about that conversation.)

What this conversation with Withers reveals is how much control Mystra seems to have over his soul, especially if/when he's a mind flayer. If Gale decides to sacrifice himself using the Netherese Orb, Withers remarks about how surprising it is that Mystra hasn’t picked him up yet.

Withers: Who flickers there ‘twixt the shadows? Gale, who didst surrender his very self for the salvation of Faerûn. I feared I might not find thee here - that Mystra would have already plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate. But she may wait a while yet.

It’s a little unclear if Withers uses “plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate” to mean Gale gets to go to Elysium or something else, and it’s equally unclear whether Mystra waiting is a sign of displeasure or a sign that she is interested in sending Gale back to the Material Plane. She is capable of doing that, after all, and has frequently resurrected her Chosens, like Elminster, if it suits her.

But I highlight this conversation to show that you can get it as a mind flayer, and (if you are a mind flayer during this scene) that Mystra waiting isn't because he's a mind flayer and she can't find his soul. She waits for a minute regardless of whether he's illithid or not. But Withers is certain Mystra will be able to find Gale's soul, because he was able to find Gale's soul and recognize it as Gale.

So, not to harp on this again and again, but it's proof that turning into a mind flayer didn't destroy Gale's soul. It's still Gale's soul, even in the Fugue Plane, even if he's mind-flayer-shaped, and that soul is still capable of journeying to Elysium, should Mystra bother to find it wandering the Fugue Plane (or wherever he is).

But things are a little different if Gale decides to become a mind flayer and then goes to visit Mystra with the Crown of Karsus in hand. Keep in mind, Origin!Gale always has the option to face off against Mystra after the defeat of the Netherbrain, and this face-off is where he decides to hand over the Crown, become the god of ambition, or straight up try to fight Mystra.

However! If Gale is a mind flayer, he gets a secret fourth option.

If Gale goes to meet Mystra as an illithid with the Crown of Karsus and then gives up the Crown to her, Mystra offers to take Gale to Elysium with her. More than that, she offers to literally restore his humanity and cure him of illithidness.

Sort of.

Mystra: So, Gale of Waterdeep, you have become the inheritor of Karsus’ powers at last. What do you intend to do with them? Gale: I came to surrender them. The Crown, the Karsite Weave - take it all. Mystra: This offering cost you greatly. There is no hope in life as an illithid, devoid of soul and conscience. It is within my power to restore your soul, and your humanity, if you are willing to leave the mortal realms behind. Return with me, to Elysium.

No one else is offering this kind of deal to an Origin-turned-mind-flayer. Selûne and Shar don’t care if Shadowheart turns illithid, and Withers isn’t exactly offering to restore souls and humanity (or…mortalness?) to everyone else. This is a signifier of the sheer amount of power Mystra has, yes, but this also hints at some other things.

One, despite evidence of the contrary, Mystra is adamant that Gale-as-illithid is or would be “devoid of soul and conscience,” even though we know that that likely isn’t true (just see Karlach, Tav/Durge, etc). Perhaps Mystra is unaware that Gale is a Special Mind Flayer (seems unlikely), or perhaps she’s simply trying to convince Gale to come with her. After all, what she’s offering is still a kind of reward.

Then again, maybe Gale and/or Mystra fear the long-term effects of illithidness. Maybe over time he would become less and less like Gale, perhaps due to consuming memories, or other factors that come with being a mind flayer. Still, though, saying that his life would be "devoid of soul and conscience" seems like a massive stretch on Mystra's part.

But anyway, the reward for him turning into a mind flayer and giving her the Crown is a restoration of his humanity...but only in death.

Mystra: Return with me, to Elysium. Devnote: respectful - Gale sacrificed his humanity to achieve what she asked. If he’s willing to die on the mortal planes, she will restore his soul and body but in the heavens.

Now before I get to what happens if Gale agrees to this reward, I want to point out that Mystra herself sort of acknowledges that Gale isn't exactly devoid of soul and conscience if he refuses her offer. Here are some of the ways Gale can turn her down, with her answer to each option being the same:

Gale: [Option 1] Thank you, but no. I have someone waiting for me. Gale: [Option 2] Perhaps one day, but for now there is more I need to accomplish. Gale: [Option 3] Being an illithid has its advantages. I'm content as I am. Mystra: Then you are free to go with both my thanks and my promise - henceforth, your prayers will always be answered.

The whole idea of an apostolic soul is that it means the person is capable of worshipping a divine being, and this worship ncludes prayers. She might have said that him being illithid would mean he would be devoid of soul and conscience, but in nearly the same breath she promises to answer all his prayers. So she recognizes something of a soul within him. So why say he would be devoid of soul?

Of course, things get weird if Gale accepts her offer to be restored and go to Elyisum. If Gale agrees, then she fulfills her promise and even restores his place as one of her Chosen.

Gale: I crave nothing more. Take me to Elysium. Mystra: So be it. Gale of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra. Cinematic Tag: Mystra transforms Mindflayer Gale back to his human form (hollow) and grabs Gale’s hand. They return to Elysium.

This is wild to me. You see, originally when I started this project I thought I was going to be writing posts about how interesting it is that when you become a mind flayer, your soul is probably hanging out in the Fugue Plane or something, and eventually I’d suggest that Mystra is able to restore Gale’s soul to him because it’s already gone to her domain or she knows how to find it because he used to be so faithful to her. But none of that works now.

Because now I’m convinced that the Netherese tadpole changes everyone into a Special Mind Flayer whose soul is still present in their mind flayer bodies, just altered or transformed. So what’s up with this stuff from Mystra? She recognizes Gale as Gale even when he's a mind flayer and promises to answer his prayers, so clearly there's some kind of apostolic soul thing going on here. So why does she offer to "restore his soul," and also, why only in death?

She does say that she will restore Gale’s humanity, so now I assume that somehow her powers allow her to un-alter Gale’s soul so that it isn’t so illithid anymore. My idea is that she’s essentially restoring his soul to its former state and not, as we might otherwise infer, literally giving him his soul back, as if it were separate from his body. Gale’s soul is still in his mind flayer body, if all the rest of the evidence holds any water, so Mystra must have merely changed it back to the way it was.

quick picture break, this is from Northalix's video, linked below

Which makes me wonder, can a completely original, apostolic-type soul exist in an illithid body? Or does the body dictate that the soul must be somewhat illithid in order to be compatible?

Because the thing is, this deal comes with an ultimatum. She’s not going to let him go back to the mortal realms after she’s restored his soul. She probably could—she’s probably capable of doing that, if only by giving him a completely new body (she's done that before with Elminster). But she doesn’t. The cure comes with a cost. He only gets to be human again if he agrees to die completely and join her in Elysium. There is no undoing the illithid sacrifice, which seems more like a game limitation than a Mystra limitation (although we can certainly brainstorm reasons why Mystra would be so petty as to basically say "I can make you human again but only if you die completely.")

I want to point out that Mystra doesn't offer to let Gale come back to Elysium as a dead guy if he's not a mind flayer. Like, we don't get the sparkly ascension scene if he blows up with the Netherese orb, we get the Withers visit in the Fugue Plane. This Elysium offer is an illithid-only option. If he's not a mind flayer and he returns the Crown, she cures him of the Netherese Orb and sends him back. There's no option to join her in Elysium. Why is this an illithid-only option?

Also, just...I need you to watch the scene.

There's a lot that bothers me about this. One, the gestures she makes are the exact gestures God!Gale makes when he ascends Tav/Durge if they romanced him and agreed to become a god with him. Do with that what you will. But two...it just gives me the ick. This is a different kind of ascension for Gale. It's a restoration of his place in Elysium, but it ultimately means his premature death. If this is the route you take as him...it's hardly better than him sacrificing himself using the Netherese Orb without becoming a mind flayer. Only this time, we get to see the scene where he goes to Elysium, I guess.

It also massively complicates the whole idea that everyone gets to be a special mind flayer with a mostly-intact, mostly-apostolic soul. If the soul didn't change, why does Mystra need to "restore" it? And if it did change, why is Mystra the only one capable of un-changing it back to its original form (is it because he’s her Chosen and is/was so faithful)?And if such a thing is possible, why offer it and then say "but you're dead now"?

It seems as though her "fixing" Gale's soul was really just her...I don't know, separating it from his physical mind flayer body so the illithid anatomy wouldn't mess with it as much, and then dusting off his soul, which is now bodyless, and taking it with her to Elysium. I'm not saying that's what she did, but that's the weird vibes I get from this interaction. Like, there seems to be some kind of implication that you can't have a fully humanoid, apostolic soul housed within an illithid body. The soul has to be altered somehow to work with the illithid body.

So why not just give him a new body, Mystra??? Fix is soul and give him a new body! You’re absolutely capable of that!

I have so many questions.

Of course, keep in mind that Gale can reject her, obviously, and return to the mortal realms as a mind flayer. She does acknowledge that he has at least something of a soul that can pray to her so...I mean, there's that.

Anyways, what have we learned?

The Summary

With Karlach, we see that being a mind flayer does necessarily change parts of a person's personality (which, again, is part of their soul). Usually this results in a person seeming calmer, more mellow, less emotional than they normally would have been, but it does seem that for Tav/Durge, the companions, and Orpheus that turning into a mind flayer doesn't completely destroy their soul. It just seems to alter it a bit. In my opinion, the soul just becomes a tiny bit more illithid. Karlach’s case does leave us with questions about how “good” consuming and retaining so many memories might be in the long run, but as of six months post-ceremorphosis, she seems fine.

From Gale, we learn that apparently it's possible to restore or un-alter a partly-illithid soul so that it goes back to normal, but this power is extremely rare and likely relegated to the gods alone (or a particularly powerful Wish spell). We're also reminded that keeping recognizable parts of one's soul, like the personality and memories, is a huge surprise, because that's not how normal mind flayers work. We know this from Orpheus, but Gale just kinda reinforced it.

I guess we also learned that Mystra is a massive—but I should keep this civil. We all know what Mystra is.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that she's unwilling to accept Gale into her domain while he is still a mind flayer, even though his soul obviously would fit the bill based on what a soul is/does for the gods. He has a viable apostolic soul, it’s just mind-flayer-shaped!I'm sure Mystra thinks she's being magnanimous by offering him eternity as a human in Elysium, but I think it ultimately just shows how shallow she can be. Gale only gets to come back if he’s not mind flayer shaped.

And I think, deep down, Gale has always suspected that would be the case.

And on that familiar note, my friends, thank you for joining me on this excessively long deep dive into mind flayer souls and things we can learn from the game and the lore.

~*~*~

If you made it to the end, congrats! More gold stars for you!

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

If you read through all three parts and also made it to the end of this one, you are the real MVP and I wish I had stickers or achievements to give you so you can be like "I survived another three-part deep dive from mumm." But I don't even have a lousy T-Shirt to offer you.

You can have this random picture instead though :> it's my Tav Dani looking very unimpressed by the Emperor's offer of sexy times (sorry not sorry Empy, she's got a man and his name is Gale and she prefers him and all her friends to be tentacle-free)

Enjoy the lore and remember that it's all up to you to decide what you want to keep or reject! I'm just showing you what's out there!

Tags for those who wanted an update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

When Paths Diverge - Y.JH

💔Who; Yoon Jeonghan x female reader 💔What; Angst. Established relationship. Break up. Vampires. 💔Wordcount; 2.2k 💔Warnings; Honestly, Jeonghan is not exactly a good person. Though it's not really explored in this. Reader realises that their relationship is not healthy and stands up for herself! References to turning/loss of humanity but no actual descriptions of that. I don't think there's actually anything specific to warn about, but let me know if I'm wrong.

Summary; After decades together, after everything you've been through, you can't believe that this is all it takes for the rose-tinted glasses to slip from your eyes and allow you to see the truth of Yoon Jeonghan, the man you thought you would spend eternity with.

-2024 Masterlist-

AN- I have no idea where this whole idea came from, it just hit me and it was supposed to be more of a quick flashback scene in a fic about them meeting in the future but instead this happened. It's very different to anything I've written in a long time so I hope it's okay. Big thank you to @kwanisms for helping me with the header by supplying Jeonghan pics! 💖

"You are not the person I fell in love with anymore." It's said so simply, so effortlessly, like he's rehearsed those words a thousand times in front of the mirror. Perhaps he has. You wouldn't put it past Jeonghan and his neverending need to be seen as nothing short of perfection. "You are nothing like the woman I fell in love with those years ago."

"You can't seriously be saying that." You respond disbelievingly.

"I am. You have changed, my dear, and not for the better."

"Of course, I've changed, Jeonghan! It's been decades since we met and you turned me in that time! Of course, I've changed!"

"I have not."

"Maybe that's the problem, Jeonghan. Your inability to make even the slightest changes to yourself and expect the world to bend and mould around the shape of you." You scoff and shake your head while getting up from the couch. He remains seated in the same formal upright posture he always does. Unchanged in all his centuries of life. You had given up your humanity for him, left everything behind for him, yet he can't even relax his posture even once. It isn't the first time you've noticed it but it is the first time you've ever spoken it aloud, spurred on by his own hurtful words. "Humans are supposed to change as we grow, Jeonghan."

"We are not human any longer. I cannot even remember how it feels to be human. Maybe that is the cause of our differences, that you can still recall those memories." He too gets up and straightens his already neat shirt as his always-so-level gaze meets your upset one.

While it usually settles you to see him so calm regardless of circumstance, always so in control and the voice of reason, now it just hurts. Even now, during what your entire being knows is the end of your decades-long romance, Jeonghan's expression shows no sign of feeling, well… anything.

Shortly, you try to recall a time when he let his truth show beside the gentle little smiles he's treated you to over the years, yet you can't recall a single memory. You don't know how you've never realised before how much that hurts.

Suddenly, you're struck with the thought that perhaps, you never truly knew Yoon Jeonghan. You had thought that you were his exception, the only person he allowed to see the man behind the mask, yet now you're realising that he has kept even you at arm's length even when you were wrapped up in them and tucked safely against his chest. You knew, still know, that he cares for you in his own way. You're just now realising that it's not enough and never was.

"Did you think I would become emotionless like you these decades? Is that why you agreed to turn me in the first place? To remove my physical humanity and hope the rest would follow?" Your heart breaks a little more when he just stares at you. There may be no sign of a response from him but Jeonghan is quick-witted and always has a retort, has never once missed the chance to correct someone. His lack of answer is louder than his words could ever be. "Right." You take a deep steadying breath, making his gaze dart down shortly to your expanding chest before he looks back at you.

You used to think he found your quirk of taking unneeded breaths amusing, or perhaps cute, but now you know the truth; he doesn't look at your chest fond of the sign of the human habit remaining. But in disdain. He's been waiting for you to drop all your links to humanity yet you refuse. Humanity may not be a very elegant species and full of flaws, but as a whole, they're good, have morals and work hard to stick to them. But vampires? Well, after so long living, morals seem to become a rather grey area for them so you've seen. You always thought Jeonghan was a rare exception to that, but you know you've overlooked more than you should've in the name of love. Not in his actions towards you but to other humans. He's always put himself above humans and so long as you continue to keep your little shreds of humanity in your chest, he'll always see himself as above you too.

"I guess I'll pack up and leave." You declare, already walking to your shared bedroom. You don't stop to look around it, take it in for one last time. You already know what you'll see. Signs of the both of you, old mixed with new, him and you. A clear distinction you had stubbornly refused to see for the truth of what is it, two separates that can't make a whole. Not when your edges have been formed in your humanity and the weaker points smoothed over by Jeonghan's hands to fit against his own edges, yet you still have too many sharp points he could never flatten out. You hadn't even realised he was trying to.

"Just like that?" He questions, following you smoothly and watching as you pull out the large case from under the bed, which usually only shows up when he takes the pair of you away on an expensive luxurious holiday somewhere cold in summer. To escape the sun blistering the sensitive vampiric skin covering your bodies. You had never seen him blister and had never experienced it yourself either as Jeonghan has always swept you both away at the first sign of the sun's heat but you trusted his words entirely. Trusted him.

It won't be until the coming summer that you realise that he hadn't been entirely truthful, yes a vampire's skin is much more sensitive to the sun's rays, but it's much less instantaneous than he had made out. The newfound knowledge will make you wonder what else he hadn't been honest about, and send you on a task to relearn everything you know about vampirism, and the world in general.

But now.

"Are you expecting me to grovel and beg for you to change your mind and allow me to remain by your side?" You huff, shoving items into the case, not everything you own because frankly, you don't care for all the silks and jewels. That's all Jeonghan, wanting you both to always be donned in the best money can buy. "Since when have I begged for anything, Jeonghan?"

"Never."

"Then I haven't changed as you claim."

"And you will not?" It's the first time he's outright about his wants here. It makes you pause your harsh packing to look over at him incredulously. "You said that you love me, you tell me every day, my dear, yet you will not even try to tempt me to open my arms again with an offer of change?"

"You think I am the one who should change here? Jeonghan, I gave up my humanity for you, I gave up my family, my friends, my life, everything for you and you think I need to do more to prove my devotion to you?"

"Is that not what love is? Proving one's devotion?"

"Then where are your attempts to prove your own to me?" You point out. "Over the course of this conversation, I've come to the rather jarring and honestly heartbreaking realisation that you have not once ever changed for my sake. You've spent decades manipulating my very heart to your own whims yet you remain as stone-hearted as ever. Unmouldable. I wish I knew that when we met, that you truly are just the empty shell of a being that man accused you of being. Thinking about it, maybe I should've picked him that night."

"That man is a vile excuse for a vampire."

"Is he?" You think of the beautiful tall man from all those decades ago. He hadn't seemed very vampiric to you at the time and even less so now that you think back on it. He seemed more, human. More like you. "I should've taken his hand and let him save me from you."

"Save you?" Jeonghan repeats softly. The first sign in this ordeal that he isn't entirely apathetic. "You have never needed saving from me, I have never done a thing to hurt you, nor will I."

"Not physically at least."

"There is no other way that matters."

"The fact you can say that and truly mean it, is perhaps the scariest I've ever seen you, Jeonghan."

"I do not understand."

"And that makes it worse." You turn and get back to your packing. "But at least I finally know you're capable of admitting to weakness."

"You are my weakness." That makes you pause again, though you don't turn to him. "I do not want you to leave."

"I don't want to either, not really, but I can't stay if nothing will change, if you won't change, Jeonghan. I deserve more than that. You always say that I deserve the best, that you'd give me every star in the sky if I wanted them to hold in my hands, but you won't even change your own centuries-old, outdated habits and thoughts for me." You pack slower this time, not because you're trying to put it off, you know your departure from the home you can no longer call your own is inevitable. You're moving slower because it's finally starting to catch up with you and bloom saltwater in your eyes. You're trying to stop it from falling any faster and hoping your own movements will slow the descent at least until you are out of the door. It will only hurt worse to be the only one crying again when he should be crying with you. But you know he won't. He never has.

"I do not know if I can do that, my love."

"Then I can't stay. If you ever manage, I'm sure you will find a way to let me know."

"You really are leaving? With no intention of seeing me again?"

"Not unless you change. I can't be the only one trying to be a better version of myself for the other." You shove a final jumper into the case and zip it up. You don't really have anything sentimental to keep, it all reminds you of Jeonghan and when he had turned you, he convinced you to let go of all reminders of your past as it would only hurt too much. You had believed him at the time, had full faith and hadn't taken a single memento of your family or human life. Though now you just think he was trying to make you lose all ties to your humanity to change you at your core, not to protect your delicate heart.

"Where will you go?" He asks, stopping you from leaving the bedroom by standing in the doorway and putting a hand on your arm. You brush him off though don't look at him, you can't.

If you did, you would've seen the pain starting to seep into his eyes.

"A hotel, I have enough money to do that until I decide where to make a home for myself."

"You will not go far, will you? I cannot bear the thought of such a distance between us."

"So I should suffer for you instead?"

"No."

"Then let me go without a fuss, you owe me that much at least."

Jeonghan is quiet for long enough that you almost lift your lowered damp gaze to look at him, yet he speaks just in time to prevent you from doing so. He hadn't known that you were about to look up and see real emotion in his eyes for the first time, that you would've seen his heartbreak and immediately reconsidered leaving. If he had known, he would've stayed quiet longer and let you see him for the first time. But he didn't know, so he opened his mouth and spoke quietly. "I owe you a lot more, I am starting to understand that now." He admits. "I will not stop you again, just know that I will be here waiting for you to come back. I shall do everything I can to change myself but this is our home, my love, and it will remain this way ready to welcome you back when I discover out how to prove myself to you. You can change it however you like when you return, but until then, it shall remain this way."

"Don't do that." You frown. "I won't want to return to this."

"I thought you love our home?"

"I do now, but I won't then. To find it unchanged will just remind me of the past. Let it change with you, reflect you and if you find me one day and bring me back, I can add pieces of me back into it again."

"If that is what you want." You nod and adjust your grip on your case. "I love you, I wish it was enough."

"Me too, Jeonghan." Your lips press together tightly to prevent more words from spilling from them in amongst the sobs threatening to bubble out into the thick air between you, and you walk past him the second he steps aside.

The front door of the house is barely closed behind you before the tears start to flow. You stop to take a shuddering wet gasp before rushing to your car to throw the case into the back and drive.

You don't know where you're going, you don't know what will happen but you hope with everything in you that one day, you'll find yourself back on the same path as Jeonghan and meet a man changed for the better.

A/N- Don't be shy to let me know what you think! As I said in my author note at the top, I don't really write stuff like this, all serious angsty type things but if I know people like it, I will try to write more in the future!

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

I wanna stop thinkinnnn

[adambomb82]

It's that time again

[makoodles]

I would give anything to know Ghost’s inner monologue during any part of the last fic you posted. Is he purposefully getting into her space at the beginning (because we all know Ghost is too aware of his body and his trauma to accidentally touch anyone, let along have his entire side against them)? When he walks in does he just blue-screen, is that why he doesn’t immediately leave? What is he thinking when he sees our wet cunt still stuffed? When he finds out no one has touched us that way, or made us cum? When we want him to fuck us so badly we beg him to do it raw? Does his heart break a little when he heard us say we thought he left us, while we were so vulnerable and still dirty? Is he also freaking out about the fraternization stuff, or has he decided that we are his in the same way that he is ours, and Price will just have to cover up another damn thing for his team?

yes to all of this

(a little drabble part 2 to this)

Ghost has a little habit, when you're concerned. He's usually hyper-aware of his body and his limbs and where he's touching, what's around and beside and behind him. His skin itches sometimes when he's touched without warning, though he always hides his reactions. But with you... he's not so careful. He lets his legs spread, his arms stretch, lets himself crowd into your space. There's something intoxicating about the way that you let him, the way you never lean away from him. You're just so soft, so warm, always letting him infringe on your space with a sweet little smile as though you're happy to see him. You're one of the rare people who are happy to see him, and it makes something uncomfortably warm wriggle in his belly.

So yeah, he leans into you when he sits next you in the rec room. It's mostly muscle memory, because you've never minded before. But today, you're a little tense. Ghost knows you, knows you well. He can see the way your spine is a little stiff, the way your eyes are a little glassy as you stare off into the distance. You look a little... ruffled. Ghost watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye, probes a little, but backs off when you dance around his question. He's knows boundaries well, and he won't push yours. Even if he thinks it's... strange that you leave so quickly, eyes averted.

Finding your phone wedged into the seat after you left was like an opportunity. Simon Riley has never had much, he's always made do, and yet he's admittedly greedy when it comes to you. He's not often a selfish man - he's never had enough to be selfish about - and yet he's hungry for your time, your smiles, your touch. And you're always so generous with yourself, so he doesn't second-guess his decision to follow you down the hall to your quarters. He's never been there before, and he wants to see your space, hungry for any shred of you he can get.

He should have knocked. It was rude not to. But he's so, so fucking glad he didn't.

He's a little rough when he opens your door, a little too eager to get into the room and see your pretty grateful smile when he gives you your phone back. But when he gets that door open, sees the sight of you on your back among your sheets, legs spread, head back, eyes fluttered closed, his mind goes fucking blank.

He watches you scramble, watches the mortification flash across your face as you attempt to shut your adorable little pink vibrator off as you shut your legs, depriving him of the prettiest view he's ever seen. Ghost is not a man with a weakness for pretty things, but it seems only natural that you're the exception, you and your pretty wet puffy pussy.

He hardly even knows what happens, his fingers and toes numb and his attention narrowed down to you, only you. Before he knows it, he's sitting on your bed, feeling enormous and ungainly next to you as you stare up at him. He reaches out, his big hands scarred and ugly against your pretty skin when he holds your vibrator, his blood buzzing at the thought that this had been inside you mere moments ago.

He never thought he'd be envious of a piece of fucking plastic, but here he is. A big man, a deadly soldier, reduced to a fool at your bedside. And yet, you don't even seem to notice. You're so good, so sweet, parting your legs when he asks you to and letting him look.

He asks you to finish. It's bold, and stupid, and greedy. He wants to see you come - he already knows it'll be the prettiest thing he's ever seen, that it'll be seared in his mind forever. In this moment, he thinks he'd do anything just to watch your eyes roll back, your face go slack, to hear the pretty little noises he knows you'll make.

It escalates faster than he could have imagined. Such a sweet thing, laying back and showing him how you use your vibrator. And he watches eagerly, his breath catching at the realisation that this is how you play with yourself when you're alone. You're clumsy about it, which is absolutely adorable.

But then you make a confession, and Ghost thinks he might be spiralling. You've never been touched, never been fucked, never come. It feels like an outrage. He thinks of how tense you'd been earlier, shifting beside him in your blue jeans, and he just thinks... what the fuck? Prettiest girl he's ever seen, and you don't even know how to touch your own cunt properly? He wants to show you, more than anything he's ever wanted before. Greedy. You make him so greedy.

"Let me try."

He's between your legs before he even knows how he got there, pulling your stupid little vibrator out so he can replace it with his fingers. And if he thought he was greedy, he soon finds that he's well-matched when it comes to you. You're just as eager, just as hungry. Spreading your legs and whimpering, all those sweet, sweet noises that spill out of your mouth, just like he knew they would.

You have the prettiest cunt he's ever seen. Pretty, slick, swollen, just as hungry as the rest of you. He alternates between his fingers and his mouth and your little dildo, a little drunk on your taste and your soft thighs when they squeeze around his head. He kisses you too, because he can't help himself. Greedy.

He's never been a chatty man, but his cock is so hard now and he knows his mouth is running. He can't help himself. Your salty-sweet slick on his tongue has loosened it; he barely even knows what he's saying, or what he's promising, but by god he's going to live up to it.

Then, your lovely sweet voice, all breathless and pitchy, asking “Can I try yours?”

Not only that, you beg. You plead with him to fuck you, to do it raw, as if he was ever going to say no. As if he'd ever be strong enough to say no. He can hardly handle hearing you beg like that; he feels as though he's going to blow before he even gets his cock inside you.

In his wildest dreams, he never imagined you so needy. You writhe, you're soaked, you make the most heart-stopping little noises deep in your throat when he presses inside. You're so hot and wet and tight that it feels as though you're about to squeeze his cock right off, and he tries so hard to feed it to you slow, to give you time to take him. You're so good, taking him even though you struggle a little. He's not a small man, certainly not an easy man to take inside of you for your very first time, but it's a testament to how slick and eager you are that he slides in with minimal effort.

After that, he loses himself. Hardly even knows what's he's doing, working based on pure instinct, filling and fucking you until he's losing his breath. God, you're beautiful, and he clenches his jaw hard to bite back his orgasm - he has to focus on you, only you while the tears are streaming down your pretty face as you gasp and cry for him.

He can see your orgasm creeping up on you before you recognise it yourself. When it hits you, it's a whole body event. Your back arches, legs spasm, stomach trembles, eyes roll back. Your cunt clenches down so fucking tight that it's a little bit painful. Simon doesn't dare blink - he's never going to fucking forget this. Your very first orgasm, and you're experiencing it on the end of his cock.

He loses it a little after that, his thoughts fizzing and slipping from his grasp as he loses his coordination. By the time he comes inside of you, cock throbbing and skin tightening, he's already decided that he's going to have to make you come again. Once isn't enough, not for someone as hungry as him. Or you.

He thinks he might have fucked you stupid. Your eyelids are fluttering and your lips are parted, but you're a little bit dead to the world. It's cute. He feels his pride swell, smug at the thought that he's fucked you so good that he's sent you reeling off into dreamworld.

He leaves, only for a moment, unable to be away from you for too long. He just wants to get a cloth, something to wipe you off with to make you all clean and fresh again. You're already awake when he comes back, though you're still hazy and clumsy and all teary-eyed.

He's happy to wipe you clean, despite your quiet mewling complaints, and then he hauls himself into your bed just so he can curve his big-ass body around your smaller one, relishing your sweet softness. God, he's wanted to hold you like this forever, but he's still a little nervous about hurting you. Killing and maiming and hurting have been the only things he's been really good at his whole life, and he's irrationally fearful of moving wrong and hurting you, even after the sex. Or maybe especially after the sex.

He can see your brow crease, the uncertainty in your eyes. He realises you're probably a little uncertain about where you stand with him, or what this is. That's fair. Simon has never been the most demonstrative man, but he's also been the type to cling on like a tick to the things he values, the things he wants to keep safe. He holds you, checking his strength, proud to be able to keep you safe in his arms.

He's going to make sure that you don't worry about it either. Your hair smells sweet, your skin is so warm, and your ass is so soft where it's pressed against his crotch. He's reaching for you before he can think about it, and his heart pulses hard when you spread your legs for him so easily. God, he's gonna ruin you. Just like he promised.

[loveemagicpeace]

🪐Saturn in your life🪐

🦋One thing you should know about Saturn is that Saturn is the planet of restructures, authority, discipline, represent the older people,responsibilities, good and bad karma. And Saturn is protector. He will protect you from the accident & in general from the things that can go wrong. With saturn, we can put too much stress on ourselves and push ourselves over the edge and become exhausted from it. The planet is known for its reality and practicality. Also by a tendency to excessive strictness. His expectations may be too high. Powerful Saturn in the chart it can indicate that we want everything in ours control life to the extent that we consider ourselves to be unsuccessful if we fail to achieve the goals we set for ourselves set themselves. There are some things about Saturn again. 🦋

✨Saturn in 1st house-Saturn in the first house makes the individual very difficult, self-centered or serious. The individual takes himself and life very seriously. You are ambitious, persistent and stubborn. You secretly want to do things in your way. In your own way, you deal with resistance, arbitrariness, etc. In some cases, you want to control others. You are inclined to thinking, withdrawing from the world, thrift and caution. The individual plans, predicts, moves forward slowly and surely. You usually value ​​good reputation and honor very much. Things take a long time to come true. You are also prone to accidents due to negligence or divine intervention. They also showed disappointments, sorrows and heavy responsibilities. You can often feel lonely deep down.

☁️Saturn in 2nd house-Saturn in the second house makes the individual thrifty and conservative, but has an abundance of energy. You have a need to acquire wealth and property. Life progress is delayed or difficult. Saturn in the second house it produces circumstances that do not allow the individual to take full advantage of certain circumstances that may appear in his life. There are constant misdirections, delays that are extremely problematic, and lack of opportunities due to lack of money. At the same time, it can make you a person who works very carefully with money. People will never fool you. But it can create pressure to be able to have money because you can feel that without it you have no power or you are not enough. Saturn here can find enjoyment and live in the moment.

🦋Saturn in 3rd house-these people are very intelligent, smart, thoughtful. They have good concentration and great depth of thought. When they compare themselves to other peers, they feel that they are smarter because their thoughts are much more structured and focused on the chosen topic. A person with Saturn in the third house can be stubborn and dogmatic, if you realize that you are in danger through inappropriate information, you value ​​the knowledge that have been achieved on the basis of experience and practical observations, which you then structure in your memory. A person with Saturn in the third house is very careful when driving vehicles, so accidents and accidents are not very likely.

🫧Saturn in 4th house- The positions of Saturn in the fourth house can be connected with the domestic atmosphere, private matters, relations with parents and family dynamics as a whole. Saturn in the fourth house strongly cools all relationships in the home environment.Home and family may be completely satisfactory, clean and orderly from a formal point of view, but there is emotional emptiness, repulsion and coldness among family members. Maybe it's hard to find or get love. But it is not necessary (some people have a very good relationship with their mother and the mother can be very caring). Here there can be many connections with the father (it is possible that the father is always somewhere on the sidelines or you do not feel a connection with him). You can already feel more independent and less connected to your family at a young age.

⚡️Saturn in 5th house- The ambivalence of this position is manifested in the simultaneous overestimation and underestimation of one's own abilities and talents. A person with this position is not able to openly show his love, but can express it through material forms, for example through gifts. You long for recognition and praise everywhere, because you cannot find it in yourself, and you are so demanding of other people that in the end you can remain alone. These people can be too serious when it comes to having fun. It's hard for you to be childish. You may also be embarrassed to show off your talents or be seen. These people should find their inner child.

🪐Saturn in 6th house you will be happiest when you do work that is related to you and is not tiring. In fact, it is good for these people to do something that is easy and calm. A job that is too stressful can indicate serious health problems and can make you sick many times. The pressures at the workplace are sometimes so difficult that a person is no longer there able to perform his work correctly and with high quality, because he is deeply dissatisfied, hurt and frustrated. Daily habits and tasks (for example, hygiene, cleaning, house order, principles of behavior, etc.)are very precisely determined, as the individual demands absolute order and compliance with the established rules. This position indicates great persistence and patience, which is why a person often keeps a job or a workplace. A person's health is most strained when the individual is stressed day and night with the problems and disappointments he experiences in life, and he sleeps poorly, does not feel well, eats improperly and does not exercise enough.

❄️Saturn in 7th house- these people tend to find true love only later in life. They may have some relationships or one that can change their life. These people can be careful when choosing a person because sometimes they can go too fast into a relationship, which can end up being a big disappointment. You can also be afraid to go into a relationship or you are afraid of disappointment. Maybe you take it very seriously and don't like to get involved with people who aren't serious. Many times you like people who respect themselves and are more like Capricorns or have such traits. These people can also be focused more on people with whom they can be practical and can do something together. This position indicates a marriage with a person who is loyal, extremely hard-working and has a great sense of humor. The other partnerships are also loyal, hardworking on or responsible.

🌙Saturn in 8th house- These people are very connected to mysteries, transformation, things related to death. This position indicates financial problems of a marriage or business partner who is not as well off as the individual. Therefore, this was shown by the lack of benefits in business relations or marriage. Life can be limited by lack of resources. But at the same time, he can bring a person into his life who helps him and together they achieve great power and do business together. Saturn in the eighth house showed a slow death. Old books claim that Saturn in the eighth house, if it is in an unfavorable position and in a water sign, indicates the danger of drowning. They claim that if it is affected by Mars or Uranus, it can mean the danger of accidents that are fatal. Of course, these are just indicators. All I would say is that people with this position can be more optimistic because it will bring them a lot of satisfaction in life.

☔️Saturn in 9th house-you can find faith in something or the meaning of life. That way you will be able to make yourself happy. Too much pessimism can lead you to dissatisfaction and sadness. These people should be spiritual and believe in something. Finding a place that makes them happy is the only way they will be able to deal with saturn. Saturn in the ninth house often indicates the individual's separation from his homeland or the desire to move on to another country. If it is in a good position with the Sun, this is a good indicator of a personality devoted to religion.

💫Saturn in 10th house- It produces an individual with a personality that is highly focused, hard-working, disciplined, level-headed and diplomatic. An individual can have a one-sided view of life that is egocentric. Progress in life is assured, but slow. Saturn in the tenth house is difficult to identify without aspects and sign. In general, it indicates ambitions and the need for a position in society. They have to observe life well and make the right decisions. Sometimes you can push yourself too much when it comes to career business and reputation. You want it all and you can consider yourself as being unsuccessful if things are not going into the way you want it to be.

Saturn in 11th house- Saturn in this house usually means few friends or problems with them. It can also mean that the person has older, more serious friends. This position usually brings an ambitious person whose hopes and dreams are not they have solid foundations. This position indicates a person who wants to succeed in society. It can also indicate that you are too serious when it comes to friendship and that you can quickly resent and leave. You can be a person who is firm and knows what you want and has hard-set goals.

🛼Saturn in 12th house-Saturn in this house causes the person to be modest and timid. A person struggles and has many opponents. This position indicates that he works without recognition or works in solitude. Saturn in this house makes an individual who has hidden pains and disappointments. It is also an indicator of going to prison unjustly. However, it should be understood that prison can be in physical or psychological form. It can also mean being trapped in your own thoughts. But it also means that you can understand life much better than people. This placement leads to a disciplined approach to spirituality, mysticism, and the subconscious mind. Saturn here can also have a hard time letting go.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🦋🩵🫧

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Three

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None that I can think of. Cassian, Azriel, and Y/n go to a romantic library

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“I. Can’t. Believe. It.” Cassian paced the floor in front of his brothers with his hands on his hips.

“I know.” Azriel said miserably. 

“I can’t believe it.” 

Rhysand smirked, leaning back on Az’s bed with his head propped up beneath his arm. They’d all been in shock leaving the Alcove. Even Helion had been uncharacteristically silent, contemplating what to do now that it looked like his daughter was mates with the Shadowsinger.

Upon return to the Sun Palace they’d found Azriel in his room, head in his hands as his shadows flurried around him in displeasure.

“You fucking ran away from your mate.” Cassian was incredulous, “Over 500 years you’ve been desperate for one, and the moment the bond snaps into place, you fucking run away? What the fuck, Az?”

“As if you or Rhys did any better.” Az growled. Already he could feel the tug of the bond towards you. It was part of the reason he’d run away in the first place. Better to hide and brood over this secret than overwhelm you more than he already had.

“He’s got a point there, Cas.”

“Shut up! Az should know better than to follow in our footsteps.” 

“That we can all agree on,” Feyre said, breezing into the room and finding her rightful place on the bed beside her husband. He kissed her on the temple and Azriel felt a wave of jealousy wash over him. He had a mate. A mate who had flinched whenever he came too close. The memory turned the contents of his stomach into ash. Bitter and cruel.

“It’s not that simple. You saw her tonight. She couldn’t stand being near me.” 

Rhys’s eyes fluttered down to the female in his arms and Feyre, always in sync with Rhys, glanced up at the same time, a look of regret in her eyes. 

“Sorry, Rhys.” Az apologized, but he waved it off.

“It might not have been you. We’ve no idea what kind of history she has. What her experience has been with other fae. With males.” 

Az’s eyes darkened, his shadows similarly taking on a more vicious tone. That knife in his gut twisted to the side at the thought of anyone hurting you.

“What Rhys means to say,” Feyre said, catching the flicker of darkness around Azriel’s edges, “Is that until you get to know her better, you can’t come to any conclusions about her actions tonight.” A light turned on in her mind and Rhys nodded his head in agreement, “You and Cass should go see her in the morning. Ask her to take you to the library with the romance books so he can find Nesta something. It should give you more than enough time to talk.” 

“I will not be supervised by Cassian.”

“Why not, brother? You and your little Librarian can’t be worse than Nesta and I were.” 

Azriel lunged at him, ready to smack him in the back of the head, but Feyre slid between them before he could get too close.

“No. No fighting tonight. You can pummel each other to a pulp when we’re home.” 

“Promise?” Cassian winked. 

Az rolled his eyes and frowned. “This is a terrible time for a mating bond, Fey. Koschei-” 

“Has there ever been a good time for a mating bond?” 

Azriel fell silent, unable to refute his High Lady.

“Rhys and I will take care of that business tomorrow with Helion.” She said with a tone of finality, holding Azriel’s face between her hands, “This is a good thing, Az. Enjoy it. Get to know her. Get to know your mate.”

Your mate. 

The words floated around in Azriel’s mind as he lay in bed and watched the light start to bleed back into the world. He’d been thinking about you all night. You with your soft hair and sheepish smile. You with your mismatched mugs and cheeks flushed with color. He was grateful that Day Court life started early, because he didn’t think he’d be able to stay in bed much longer.

Breakfast was a quick affair, and no one missed the way the Shadowsinger quickly ate, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he watched Cassian savor every bite of his waffles, berry custard, sausages, and tea. Cassian smiled from across the table and Azriel scowled, silently urging him to hurry up. They were wasting precious time.

The moment the last drop from Cassian’s cup was in his mouth, Azriel was hauling him out of his seat and towards the window. Helion narrowed his eyes at the pair but said nothing as their leathery wings flared out without hesitation and they leapt from the Sun Palace.

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat when you opened the door, fresh-faced and smelling like mint and rose. You blinked in surprise, once again half-hiding your body behind the cherry wood door. After his abrupt departure last night, you’d paced the floor of your kitchen, aggressively cleaning the dishes as you mulled over everything you must have done wrong in order for him to react like that. Perhaps you’d offended him somehow? Things had certainly felt fine before. You’d enjoyed talking to them… especially him.  

“My Lords,” You said with a quick dip of your head. Azriel cringed at the title and Cassian, for the sake of his brother, didn’t poke fun, “Um…why are you here? Or-sorry-what can I do for you today?” 

Cassian’s grin was broad and mischievous, “We were hoping you could show us the romance library. The one you told us about last night. I don’t think I could leave the Day Court in good conscience without something salacious to bring home to Nesta.” 

“Oh I um…” You glanced behind you at your living room. You’d hoped to finish reading two of your books on containment spells today, perhaps start summarizing some of your findings and look for connections.

“I-” He coughed, “We don’t want to burden you with this if you’re busy.” Azriel jumped in. 

Please say you’ll come. Please say you’ll come. He all but shouted the words down the bond. 

There was something so hopeful about the way he looked at you, as if he was silently begging you to say yes, that you couldn’t refuse him. 

“No, no. I didn’t have anything planned. Just… just give me a few minutes.” With that you shut the door in their faces and ran to your bedroom, reemerging exactly three minutes later wearing a pale yellow dress with sensible brown shoes and a matching coat. Aside from your hands - which you hid within your deep pockets - and your face, not a scrap of skin was to be found anywhere.

You hesitated at the doorway. Both Cassian and Azriel stood too close, crowding the marble steps leading down to the pale cobblestone streets. Azriel elbowed Cassian out of the way, all but pushing him down the steps with you following six feet behind.

“Lead the way, little Librarian.” Cassian said when they reached the bottom, swinging his arm out to the side. 

Despite the festivities that had taken place the day before, fae were already wide awake and winding through the streets with groceries and fresh baked bread tucked under the arms. The scholars were the easiest to pick out, milling about the coffeeshops and athenaeums with ink stained fingertips and the scent of old paper clinging to their coats. 

Since the war with Hybern, the Day Court’s borders had loosened to accept more visiting researchers from other courts. Intermixed with the usual jumble of fae were tawny-winged Peregryns from Dawn, salt-skinned sailors from Summer, even the occasional fluttering of Spring Court nymph wings could be spotted, shimmering iridescent pinks and purples. 

A quarter mile away, the weekly market was beginning to stir with life, offering up the best artisanal wares in all of Prythian. Hand-stitched leather bound journals, elegant fountain pens with a never-ending ink supply, satchels that could hold up to two-hundred pounds worth of material and still feel as light as a feather. Azriel would have investigated further if you hadn’t steered the pair down a narrower neighborhood street, a pink-stoned athenaeum waiting at the end. 

“This is the 69th sector athenaeum.” You announced. Cassian coughed into his fist, “And before you ask, yes, the location was selected very intentionally.” 

The Illyrian’s face turned a bright red, cheeks flaring out as he attempted to stifle his laughter. Azriel closed his eyes, one hand coming up to rub at his temples. You could have sworn you heard him mumble “Mother give me strength” beneath his breath.

“And what do you call this place?” Azriel asked curiously, trying to turn your attention away from a very immature Cassian, “The “69th sector atheneum” doesn’t have a very pleasing ring to it.” 

You blushed, “We call it The Loveseat.”

“A very-” Cassian wheezed, “A very appropriate-” Wheeze, “A very appropriate name.” 

You shook your head, hiding your smirk as you opened the double doors and stepped inside. The library dedicated to lovers took its theme very seriously, as most athenaeums were apt to do. Lush velvet couches, bouquets of flowers in every shade imaginable, and paintings of love and affection were carefully laid out in between shelves of auburn-stained wood that reached as high as the ceiling. Walkways criss-crossed above their heads forming a spiral pattern that ended at the domed ceiling where someone had painstakingly painted a collection of confessional scenes from Prythian’s most cherished romance novels.

Cassian may have been all teenage jokes before, but he melted at the sight of the ceiling. He thought of Nesta and tugged on the bond, letting her see the athenaeum before him.

“The more explicit works are in the back.” You said, pointing down towards the back staircase which would take any full-grown fae to the lower level. But Cassian had already drifted off, silently following Nesta’s guidance as he scanned the shelves.

“How do you know that?” Azriel asked once Cassian had all but disappeared.

“Hmmm?” 

“How do you know the more explicit works are in the back?” 

You fell silent, tugging your sleeves over your hands as you chewed the inside of your cheek. The Shadowsinger tipped his head back and laughed. Not a hidden smile, not a barely-there smirk, or near-silent chuckle, but a gentle full-bodied laugh that shook his wings.

You gaped at him, “A female is allowed to have hobbies, is she not?”

He shook his raven-black hair, the faint waves within it rippling and catching the warm light that trickled down from the ceiling, “I never said she wasn’t. And I would never deny anyone their smutty romance books if that’s what made them happy. After all, I am Nesta’s brother-in-law.” 

You leaned against a nearby bookcase, absentmindedly running your ink-stained fingers over the spines and getting flashes of knowledge - the death of a brother, a night spent sweaty and spent under the stars, the exhilarating lurch that comes when two lips kiss for the first time. You couldn’t help but insert the Shadowsinger into the picture.

“And what makes you happy, Azriel? What do you like to do for fun?”

There was a pause, as if no one had ever asked him that question before.

“I like to spend time with my family.” He said, slipping into the shelves and ducking down so he could see you through the space between the books. For the first time in a while, you disliked the physical barrier between you and another person.

You shook your head, pretending to read the titles so you wouldn’t look into those hazel eyes, “That’s not a hobby though.” 

He shrugged, “The nature of my work keeps me away from most things. I don’t often have time for things I enjoy.” 

“But you do have things you enjoy, don’t you? Something to take your mind off the nature of your work.”

Azriel stilled, no longer moving with you and you realized you must have overstepped your bounds.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you-” 

“I like music.” He said finally after some contemplation, “I like flying over the musician’s quarter in Velaris so I can hear what they’re playing at the theater. Sometimes I’ll sneak in and hide in the rafters.” 

He’d never told anyone that. But you only nodded in agreement, as if sneaking around in your own city and into shows you could afford in a moment’s notice were a normal thing to do. 

“That seems very appropriate for a Shadowsinger.” 

The strange dance you’d been dueting came to an abrupt end when the shelves stopped, spitting the two of you out into one of the narrow aisles face to face. 

Azriel smiled at you, exposing his teeth in a rare smile. Other than the smallest chip in his left canine, they were pristine - as perfectly imperfect as the rest of him.

“Now you tell me. What do you like to do?”

“Well you already know I like smutty romance novels.” 

“Naturally.” He said, gesturing to the space they were in.

You looked around the room, breathed in the smell of roses and ink. You shrugged, “I like to read.” 

“Naturally.” The Shadowsinger repeated.

“I… I suppose I like to sing.”

He leaned forward, as if it were a secret, “A little songbird then?” 

“No, no, I’m not good at it. But there’s a pianist who lives down the street from me so I end up memorizing her songs.”

You wracked your brain for anything more to say. Something that would make you appear more interesting, braver, kinder, special… someone worthy of the attention you were receiving from this male. You had never been the most physically inclined, hence why the elite Bookkeepers - Librarians charged with the physical protection of their respective athenaeums - had passed you over. You weren’t one for baking or crafting or gardening or hosting parties or any of the rest of those things. You didn’t know how to draw, you’d never picked up an instrument, you tried embroidery once and found it boring. 

“I think… I think that’s it, really.” You said, sounding defeated. 

Azriel hadn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time you were thinking. Not for a single second, “I don’t believe you.” 

“Well you don’t know me so…”

“Maybe not yet. But I would like to, Y/n the Librarian. If you’d let me.” 

The feeling that crept up into your throat and lodged itself there took you by surprise. Some mortifying realization that you were becoming emotional in front of the Shadowsinger. You cleared your throat, dipping your head down and diving back into the shelves so he couldn’t see your silvery eyes. 

“Tell me more about the kinds of things academics concern themselves with.” Azriel said smoothly, calling back your conversation from the night before as he peered over a dense set of bodice-rippers at you. If he wanted to take your mind off things, he was doing an excellent job.

“Hardcover versus paperback.” Your fingers skimmed over the book bindings. Bodice-rippers indeed.

“And?”

You pursed your lips, thoughts of Nesta and her smutty books coming into mind before you could help yourself.

“Ahhh, you just thought of something. Tell me.” 

“I don’t want to.” You mumbled, but the Shadowsinger only arched his brows.

You rolled your eyes in defeat. Not that you’d put up much of a fight. He was the Shadowsinger after all, he could learn what you had for breakfast three weeks ago if he really wanted to. 

“I… I once got into a heated argument with a certain erotica writer about the physical impossibility of a human having sex with a dragon-born fae…”

He blinked, tipped his head back, and laughed. One of those full-bellied ones again. You swiveled around, grateful to find that the only other fae on this floor were currently lip-locked on a sofa ten shelves down. They were far too preoccupied to make a noise complaint.

“It’s not funny!” You hissed, “There are certain anatomical considerations that can’t be ignored. You can’t-” Your futile attempts at explaining yourself were only met with louder laughter. It was infectious and suddenly that was all you two seemed to be capable of. Both of you doubled over with laughter on opposite sides of the bookshelf in a building that suddenly seemed too cramped, too small to fit the joy within.

“Please-” Azriel chuckled, “Please tell me how long this lasted.”

“I can’t breathe-” You gasped for breath, “Oh gods. Three months?”

“Three months?”

“There are nuances we got into. And they use a pseudonym so we were sending letters.”

“Letters?”

Luckily, or rather unluckily for you, you were saved from further explanation, because there was someone waiting at the end of the shelves with two thin fists propped up on curvy hips. 

You bit down on your tongue as she sashayed forward, forcing you backward like she knew you would. Azriel immediately stepped to the side as you careened back out into the aisle, your laughter long forgotten. A new crowd was beginning to spread throughout the athenaeum - shy couples on first outings, sheepish young ones searching for the most heart-wrenching stories they could find, older fae looking for a little spark in their comparably milder lives.

But Azriel’s full attention was on you and the displeasure written in your tight lips as the short-haired pixie came out in full view.

“Y/n.” She said, a sugary sweetness in the way she said your name, like rotten fruit.

“Marsha.” You replied curtly, instinctively stepping back and closer to Azriel as the female moved forward to hug you. She rolled her eyes at the rejection, immediately taking notice of Azriel’s dark and towering form. Her small, round lips opened in a surprised oh before sinking into a low bow, chest jutting forward in an attempt to make full use of her small bosom. She wore the signature pale blue robes of another athenaeum - The Blue Drink. 

“My Lord Shadowsinger.” More sickly sweet words.

For the first time in Azriel’s life, he didn’t correct her use of his title, already deciding from your reaction that this was not a female he wanted to associate with.

“It is good to see you out and about, Y/n, and in such distinguished company. Hardly anyone sees you anymore, my dear. I can’t imagine what you must be doing with all that time.”

You swallowed, “The High Lord has me on special business. But you already know that, Marsha.” 

“Bah. Special business.” She threw a hand in the air, swatting away your confidence, “Busy work.” 

“It’s not- '' You bit your tongue. Marsha was one of the few fae who knew you were Helion’s bastard daughter. A complex story that involved her close friendship with Helion's ex-lover who’d felt betrayed when he chose you and your mother over him. Since then she’d convinced herself that all you did was drain from the royal coffers and take advantage of her High Lord’s generosity like some parasite, “It’s not busy work.”

“Then why do you never share it with us? No papers written. No books published.” Even her frown was sickly sweet, “It seems a waste, doesn’t it?”

 You remembered what she’d said to you, back when you were an apprentice. What a waste of a Clairvoyant. Your mother didn’t fall into bed like a common whore for you to choose The Alcove and hide your power.

She tsked her tongue, once again shooting Azriel a deceptively sweet smile, “Well I suppose you have other things taking up your time. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I see.” 

Your face paled, half in embarrassment and half in anger. By all means she shouldn’t have known anything, but as it was with all Librarians, she had a stubborn streak for digging in graves that should remain buried. You could respect her loyalty to her friend. The rest you could not.

Your mother didn’t fall into bed like a common whore for you to choose The Alcove and hide your power.

“I’m happy for the pair of you.” 

Bullshit.

You finally opened your mouth to correct her, but Azriel spoke first, one hand ghosting ever so close to the square of your back, but never making contact, “Thank you. We were just leaving.” Azriel said curtly, jaw clenched. With just a few polite, yet dangerous words from the Shadowsinger, Marsha clamped her mouth shut and said no more. 

Azriel tipped his head towards the way you’d originally come, letting you take the lead. You shot him a look of gratitude to which he returned the subtlest of smiles. A kind of smile that said, we can talk later, if you’d like.

You didn’t speak a word to one another until you were outside. Fae mingled about, their conversations doing nothing to drown out your thoughts as you walked over to the small garden. The greenery was half-sunken in the ground beneath the two main stairs that wound together in the shape of a heart. If it were anatomically correct you’d be sitting in the tricuspid valve. 

Azriel sat down on the bench beside you, despite the discomfort it must have caused his wings. His shadows darted out, pooling out of his skin and beginning to cover your hands and arms in a strange hug. Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, some lingering shame of yours leaking through the bond without you even realizing it. 

“We should let Cassian know where we are.” You said quietly, hands folded in your lap. Your shoulders bent inward like the curling of paper when it begins to catch fire.

“He’s a grown Illyrian. He’ll find us eventually.” 

And even if he didn’t, I would be happy to sit here forever. 

Azriel had been furious inside the athenaeum, the already red room turning redder as he saw the light flicker out of your eyes at Marsha’s comment. Perhaps it was another sign of the mating bond that he’d so wanted to slap that prideful smile off her face. It would be beneath him, but satisfying nevertheless.

“Are you alright?” He asked gently.

You huffed, discreetly blotting out the moisture that had collected in the corners of your eyes, “I am alright. I’m sorry about what happened inside. It wasn’t anything important.”

“You don’t need to apologize for that.” 

Gods, he was being kind. Kinder than he needed to be. What were you doing charading two legendary Illyrian warriors through the streets of Day? Stirring up old emotions in public spaces and making a scene in front of him.

“No, I do. It wasn’t right of me to react that way. I should’ve hidden it better.” 

“You barely reacted at all.” 

Something about his insistence made you feel worse, not better. The emotions you’d been trying to tamp down since the party, and probably far longer than that, were bubbling to the surface. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Y/n. Tell me the truth.”

The truth… 

The truth was that you were a mess. You continuously shrank away from Helion’s attempts to foster a relationship with you, the discomfort you felt leaving your apartment for anything other than work was becoming an unignorable problem, and the mere thought of anyone touching you made your stomach clench. Even the Shadowsinger, whose touch you craved right now, felt like a beast behind a door that should never be opened. It might destroy you if you did.

Koschei.

Koschei.

Koschei.

What’s buried beneath the lake? 

What’s buried beneath the lake?

What’s buried beneath the lake?

“There you both are!” Cassian called out, his neck craning around a stack of books that were piled from his waist to his forehead. His cheeks were touched with color, eyes bright with mischief like a boy seeing a naked lady for the first time. No doubt a consequence of the visions Nesta had been shooting down the bond as he’d scanned the shelves and flipped through the pages.

Azriel hated the way you sprang up from the seat and smoothed your dress, like you wanted to be anywhere else but with him. He’d pushed too far. Come on too strong. Damn it. 

On the return trip to the Alcove, you and Cassian spoke casually about the books he’d selected. Or rather, Cassian rambled and you listened, occasionally chiming in if you were familiar with one of Nesta’s favorite authors and offering suggestions. 

Azriel walked a few paces behind, watching you as you instinctively tightened your back whenever Cassain or anyone else drifted too close, twisting and turning in a manner that seemed effortless, but which Azriel could see was constantly on your mind. There wasn’t a single step you took that was mindless and calm. 

Azriel clenched his fists so tightly he felt his nails digging crescent-shaped marks in his palms. He wanted to hold you close, beg you to tell him what was wrong, what he could do to help. But if there was anyone who could understand the fear of being touched, of touching others, it was him. 

So when they reached The Alcove, all he did was wave to you from the bottom of the steps as you turned and said goodbye. He committed the scene to memory - your smile, the flush of your cheeks, the swish of your skirt as the door closed shut with a gentle thud.

Cassian whistled low, kicking his brother in the shin with a wobble of books, “You’re whipped, Az. Absolutely whipped.” 

And he was right. He was absolutely right.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

*sighs* I just want Azriel to be happy...

As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

On a completely unrelated note: I watched Howl's Moving Castle last night and I think it altered my brain chemistry.

"There you are, sweetheart, sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you”

AHHHHHH just AKJDBFHAB ESKLCFNHSDN

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt @glitterypirateduck @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @acourtofdreamsandshadows @sakurafrost3-blog @utterlyotterlyx @vickykazuya @venussdovess @xxxalicerogersxx @mattiescove @goldenmagnolias @secret-ly-here @kindaslightlyacidic @brujitafantomatico @venussdovess @xxxalicerogersxx @earth-to-lottie @balsalmic-vinegar @darbuckle21 @justagingerliving

[risuola]

▶ ONE BEDROOM? — short memory about how you found yourself sharing a bed with two of your best friends.

contents: college!au, roommates to be, fluffy, silly Satoru, caring Suguru and all that jazz — 0,9k words

a/n: feel free to send me suggestions for entries of this series! any specific situations you think might be funny? any topics that sound interesting to you? let me know!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“Alright, I found one,” Satoru informed, a grin of mischief tugging on his lips and both you and Suguru knew immediately that there are some gears turning below the mop of white hair of your best friend. “Near our uni, rent’s cheaper than any other we looked at, it looks nice, and there’s even a balcony for the addict. Available anytime.”

It sounded too good to be true, really. You’ve been looking for weeks now, desperate to find the right balance between the price and quality and it turned out to be the hardest thing you had to face in your lives. It was honestly a nightmare, turned out that you were way too late to find a rental with three rooms in the college area – everything was already taken and you were forced to scratch the idea of all having separate rooms. Two bedrooms, turned out, were just as hard to find. You were slowly coming to terms that you’re gonna have to either spend three hours in metro every day just to get in and out of uni or pay an unreasonable amount of money just to live even moderately close. In your head, you already saw yourself searching for the second job.

“Where’s the catch?” Suguru’s raised an eyebrow, his mind analytic as always and his questioning tone matched your thoughts perfectly. He wrapped one arm around your waist and reached with the other to snatch a phone out of Gojo’s hands, but the snow-whites grin grew even wider as he dodged the attempt. You could feel your friend taking a deeper breath behind your back, you were seated next to him, resting against his body whilst Satoru was on the floor, with his head comfortably on your thigh. “Is it one of those ‘rent a room along with ten other students’ kind of deal?”

“Nah, it’s a separate apartment. It’s not big, by any means, but as far as I’m concerned, it should be more than enough for us,” you reached your hand, but instead of giving you his phone, Gojo put his chin on your palm, smiling with the typical amount of cat-like mischief. “In fact,” he said, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth with a loud pop and threatening to lick you. The trail of sticky sugar covering his lips in a reddish tint from the cherry, his favorite, flavored candy. “I already sent a message to the renter.”

“Toru, spill it,” you pushed, pinching his cheek and with a theatrical roll of his pretty blue eyes, he put his phone into your hand, sticking the candy back into his mouth. You leaned back against Suguru’s chest again and with his head on your shoulder, you swiped through the pictures of the offer. “It… does look nice?”

“Sus,” the brunette mumbled, reaching to swipe over the screen with his own finger. “Very sus. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Satoru said in fake offense and got up to his knees to peek on what you two were doing, sticking his nose in front of the screen so aggressively that you had to push him away. “But—”

“Wait, is there one bedroom in this apartment?” You noticed. The pictures you were analyzing all showed the same room and the living area with joined kitchen, the bathroom, and again the same room, and some weird kind of storage? and again the same room.

“That explains a lot,” Suguru laughed lightly and leaned back again.

“We can see the place in an hour” Satoru showed off his pearly whites. “Come on, let’s at least see it, yeah?”

“I guess we can see it,” you gave it a nod. “The price is really nice.”

“Alright… so let’s get going.”

And so, all of you hopped on the bikes, you behind Satoru, and took the ride to see the apartment. Turned out, it really was perfect. Despite the apartment having just one bedroom, it was spacious enough to fit all three of you. The bed was so big it could easily fit five and during the many years of friendship, you and two of your friends shared way too many single person mattresses, sandwiched and squished together to think twice about it. The odd storage room seemed to be a perfect candidate to become a guest room (later called: a fuck room).

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Satoru grinned, looking at both of you as he was bouncing his ass on the bed, testing it as if he was already the owner.

“It is nice, I’ll admit,” you said, looking at Suguru to hear his opinion, but the man seemed to be thinking still. “Sug?”

“For me, it’s perfect. But,” he looked at you, a concern clearly written in his eyes, “is it alright with you?”

Geto has a way of constantly reminding you why you love him. He doesn’t look like it, in fact, he looks quite intimidating to anyone who doesn’t know him, but to you he’s just the sweetest, most caring friend you could ever wish for. If anyone was to worry about your comfort, it was him because it is true that all three of you slept together already, sharing sheets and being as close and personal as it was possible, but a random sleepover doesn’t equal sleeping with them every single day.

“It’s fine with me, don’t worry,” you reassured him, squeezing his bicep playfully.

“If it’s fine with you, then I guess we have a place.”

taglist: @kibananya, @r0ckst4rjk, @rixo-19, @soraya-daydreams

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 2

The Case Studies: Tav/Durge and Orpheus

In Part 1, I went over some of the basics of what a soul normally is, where souls go after death, and whether mind flayers have souls. I ultimately ended up saying that most humanoids have apostolic souls (souls that deities recognize as being capable of divine worship), while mind flayers have some other kind of soul, one that isn't recognizable by deities or devils. This is why Jergal and Mystra and so on think that illithid don’t have souls. When a humanoid with an apostolic soul turns into a mind flayer, their soul is either ejected and moves on to the Fugue Plane, or their soul is transformed into a non-apostolic soul (depending on what you want to believe).

But the problem is, that's normal lore, and BG3 has made things a little strange by imbuing all the tadpoles that infect our characters with Netherese magic. And that, friends, makes the BG3 mind flayers different.

This post is going to look at some interesting context from the game for the Emperor, Tav/Durge and Orpheus. (It got pretty long so I'm moving Karlach and Gale to a third post.) We're going to figure out whether the rules about mind flayers and souls change now that there's Netherese magic involved. The ultimate answer is yes, but how? And is it consistent?

(Spoiler: it isn't, but you can use this lore to come up with your own theories and ideas)

Let's take another deep dive! Buckle up, and don't worry, I have a short summary at the bottom.

The Case of the Emperor

I'm actually not going to linger too long on the Emperor because for many reasons he breaks the lore. If he's Balduran and a mind flayer, he shouldn't have lived as long as he says he's lived. Not only that, his memory is allegedly flawless when the lore states he shouldn't remember any of his previous life (there are other inconsistencies too, but that's a different post). However, I do want to touch on a couple of things.

The Emperor both is and isn't our baseline for how a mind flayer normally exists. He should be a normal lore-accurate mind flayer (though a rogue one), because he wasn't infected with a Netherese-touched tadpole. But he's a Special Mind Flayer instead, for reasons we don't entirely understand (again, he generally breaks the lore). Perhaps this is because of his brush with Gortash and the other Chosen of the Dead Three, or perhaps he just somehow has a strong enough personality that when he broke free of an elder brain's compulsion a lot of his memories came back to him. Who knows?

But regardless, a few conversations with him reinforce the idea that mind flayers typically aren't completely soulless. At the very least, they still contain memories (he has his memories of his time as Balduran), intelligence (he's a schemer, that's for sure), and personality/emotions:

Emperor: You think that mind flayers are soulless husks who feel nothing. Belynne thought the same at first. You are wrong. Feeling is vital to the pursuit of anyone's goals. Even a mind flayer's. Like you, mind flayers know fear. Like you, we crave recognition. But unlike you, unlike the others of my kind, I am no slave to either. My end is and has always been freedom.

We can quibble about whether or not he's manipulating the player here, but his words are generally true. As discussed in part 1, mind flayers are not soulless husks. When they're enthralled, they might be more devoid of independent thinking, but they have emotions/feelings and can create memories. They just might have a smaller range of emotion than humanoids do (thus his reference to "not being a slave" to fear or desire) and their memories might not be entirely their own (more on that with Karlach in part 3).

Regardless, the Emperor is our leading authority for what it's like to be a mind flayer, so we're sort of forced to trust him when we ask him to explain what full ceremorphosis is about to do to us, especially because its his Supreme Tadpole that is about to change us.

Player: What would happen to me? Emperor: You would be altered in mind, body, and soul beyond all recognition.

So this is interesting. Altered in mind and body, that's a given. Altered in soul, though...what does that mean?

Remember in Part 1 where I offered two theories about what happens to the original soul of someone undergoing ceremorphosis? Theory 1: they just die and the soul moves on to the Fugue Plane, and the mind flayer gets a new illithid soul from...somewhere. Theory 2: The soul transforms and remains tethered to the mind flayer body, different than it was before (potentially unrecognizable as the original soul, but some elements of the original may remain).

The Emperor's words suggest more of theory 2 here. But is that, in fact, what happens when we become illithid? Well...let's find out.

The Case of Tav and Durge (or most Origin runs)

When you do turn into a mind flayer, the narrative typically focuses on how powerful you feel. Your mind and body feel as though they are one and you are also desperately hungry. There isn't much in the Narrator's dialogue or your dialogue with your friends to suggest that your soul has been completely obliterated, though.

In fact, there's an interesting moment that happens if you turn into a mind flayer without the Emperor there and go up to Orpheus still in his cage. The way I accomplished this was to ask to change into a mind flayer so the Emperor would give me the Supreme Tadpole, then I said I would change later, then stopped the Emperor from consuming Orpheus so he would leave. Then I used the Supreme Tadpole to turn into a mind flayer and went to examine Orpheus.

Narrator: *His eyes are unseeing, his voice silenced. But even with his mind caged, you can feel his power. You can almost taste the fluid beneath his scalp, cushioning that sweet, dense brain, and the power within it. You are hungry.* Lae'zel: I see that look, I know that look. Don't you dare. Player: [Wisdom Check] Cling to your former nature. Quash your hunger. This is not who you are. Narrator: *Your mind and body whine with disappointment. But your soul lets out a gentle thrum of relief.*

I find this fascinating for a couple of reasons. One, the check I chose (there are two, the second is a strength check) meant reaching out to a "former" nature and reminding myself (or my Tav's self) that this is not who she is. When I succeeded, my Tav's mind and body protested, but her soul was filled with relief.

So she has a soul! And it seems to be her own soul, but perhaps transformed. So this sort of supports theory 2, that perhaps when humanoids turn into mind flayers, their soul is altered. This could also just be a quirk specific to those infected with a Netherese tadpole, or even further, someone who transformed using the Emperor's Supreme Tadpole.

Because here's the thing. When Tav/Durge, Orpheus, Companion!Karlach, or any Origin character transforms into a mind flayer using the Supreme Tadpole, they become a special mind flayer. This is mostly due to the Netherese magic, which adds some weird and undefined changes to the whole mind flayer thing. I'm going to use "I guess it's the Netherese magic/Supreme Tadpole" as a scapegoat this entire post because I don't know what else to point to to explain how these guys are just Different Than Your Average Mind Flayer, so be prepared for that. But at the very least, we know something's different.

In fact the Narrator literally says you're probably different than the average mind flayer after you defeat the Netherbrain!

Narrator: *You are a mind flayer, the very thing you sought to eradicate. Whatever self you still possess is quickly ebbing away. Your friends and enemies alike are ripe for manipulation, and if not manipulation, then consumption. Soon you will be able to trust yourself at all. You will be a monstrosity beyond redemption. Or not. Perhaps you are unique among illithid-kind. Perhaps you will retain enough of who you are to resist your nature. A rogue mind flayer. Like the Emperor. The risk is certainly yours to take - will you?*

Unlike normal mind flayers who lose most of their memories (and allegedly most of their personality/former selves) almost immediately after transforming, it takes Tav/Durge/most Origins longer to lose that sense of self, if indeed they lose it at all. The Narrator suggests we might be losing parts of ourselves, but there's a chance we're unique and might retain our sense of selves.

We do see glimpses of us retaining our personalities in the epilogue of course, but what is more interesting is if you decide to imprison yourself post-ceremorphosis. Withers will visit you in prison for a final conversation. (This conversation shifts a little if you're a Durge, but here is the Tav conversation.)

Withers: Thou remainest in thy chains. A hero, sacrificed. I told thee once that an illithid hath no soul, and yet...something glimmerest about thee. Something is not lost. Dost thou feel it? The spark of the divine within thee? Or does thy hunger consume thee? Player: [Option 1] I'm still myself. I don't know if I belong here. Player: [Option 2] I feel the hunger. But I feel myself, too. I'm not sure which to trust. Player: [Option 3] Have you come to torment me with hypotheticals, old friend? Player: [Option 4] Does it matter? This is my life now.

If you go with option 4, you hear Withers ponderingly say, "Thy life...yes..." before moving on to say that fate isn't done with you yet, which is his response to all the other options as well.

But the more important thing is that even Jergal recognizes a "spark of the divine" within you. Your soul should either be cast off and already wandering the Fugue Plane (if going with theory 1) or so completely transformed that it's no longer an apostolic soul that Jergal would be able to recognize as a god. Yet Jergal recognizes the soul within your mind flayer body as being...well, partly apostolic.

Interesting!

We get a similar dialogue if you sacrifice yourself as a mind flayer, too, though this is fascinating because now it's Withers literally finding your soul (still shaped like a mind flayer, which is interesting) somewhere that is...very gray. There's a suggestion that this might be in the Fugue Plane, or in some limbo state where souls sometimes end up, but regardless, Withers, the soul-finder himself, was able to track down your lingering soul.

Withers: Thou flickerest in the dark - but with mine keen eye, I hath scryed thee. I told thee once that an illithid hath no soul, and yet thou seemest to have something of the spirit about thee. I cannot account for it. How delightful. Tell me, how doth it feel to roam about as thou art now, transformed? Player: [Option 1] Where am I? [mumm's note: he basically doesn't answer this question lol] Player: [Option 2] I still feel like myself. My memories, my feelings - all intact. Withers: No matter how many aeons I have roamed this world and beyond, I am ever-surprised by mysteries new and old.

Even Withers is surprised that the soul you have is something he not only recognizes as a soul, but as your soul. I love how amused and intrigued he sounds when he says "I cannot account for it. How delightful." He even smiles when he says it. He thinks you're super neat! And also a new phenomenon.

(As an aside, I wonder if you being mind-flayer-shaped but still recognizable as you is a hint that your soul did indeed transform to be illithid, but didn't fully transform into a non-apostolic soul like normal illithids would. Like, I wonder if your soul is now half-apostolic and just permanently mind-flayer-shaped. RIP. But this would explain why bringing you back via True Resurrection is kind of a nonviable option since you'd just come back as a mind flayer, and this is the ending where you took your own life to avoid being a mind flayer for forever, so I doubt you'd even want to come back if you couldn't come back to your original body. Things to ponder!)

Anyway, you having something that has glimpses, sparks, or hints of the divine/the spirit about you does tell us that as a mind flayer, your soul wasn't destroyed. It may have been transformed, but you're not as soulless as you thought you were going to be, and you're actually still pretty close to being who you were before the transformation.

Close, but not perfectly or exactly like you were before. You did transform, after all. But these changes become more obvious in other examples, such as with Karlach.

You having a partly-apostolic soul that retains all its memories and most of its original personality is obviously VERY unique and different to what most mind flayers experience. For example, if you turn yourself illithid and then free Orpheus (again, see the same steps above, but go a step farther and actually free him this time), then Orpheus will be utterly shocked that you're capable of independent thought.

Orpheus: What is this... A mind flayer in possession of its mental faculties? This is the stuff of fables. It is as if I am reliving the legend of Oryndoll. You are the illithid Urengol, rebelling against your own hivemind. And I am the noble githyanki Valraag who must now reconsider his position. An illithid capable of rebelling against the Netherbrain's instruction... Not only capable but willing... If your intentions are as righteous as they seem, this is an advantage I cannot overlook. An advantage that must be grasped, for our enemy is formidable indeed. Very well. I propose an alliance.

A couple of notes here: Oryndoll is/was a real mind flayer colony far, far below the surface in the southern regions of Faerûn (beneath the Shining Plains). Not only is it ancient, but the wealth of knowledge stored inside via illithid technology rivals and probably even surpasses that of Candlekeep's library. There's at least one book in the game that talks about a foolish drow adventurer searching for Oryndoll, only to end up a mind flayer, while another hints at Oryndoll's role in the history of the Duergar race. But these are the only mentions of Oryndoll in the game.

Oryndoll has a history in D&D lore, but there's no mention of Urengol and Valraag (that I could find). If this is a fable Orpheus knows, it's apparently so ancient that only he remembers it. But that itself is interesting, because it makes Urengol his closest reference to you having become a rogue, independently-thinking, and emotionally driven mind flayer. He can't think of any other examples, that's how unique you are.

The most important thing here is that Orpheus literally considers your independently thinking self as so baffling, so impossible, it should only exist in fables. That, I think, says a lot.

The next question is, does he think he would become just as unique?

The Case of Orpheus

We all know Orpheus can be convinced to turn into a mind flayer and sacrifice his soul for his people. I'm sure he genuinely does think he is sacrificing his soul, as there is no real precedent that he or anyone else seems to know of for a person who turns into a mind flayer and keeps their soul (or at least keeps their same memories, personality, and intelligence). But if he's surprised that he's kept all his memories after turning illithid, he doesn't really show it.

You can ask him about it, of course, after he's turned into a mind flayer and after you've defeated the Netherbrain. His response is kind of interesting.

Player: You're a mind flayer, but you're still you, aren't you? Orpheus: Yes. But for how long? My mind screams. It will never stop until it has slipped away from me entirely.

No one else seems to define their illithid experience this way. I'm curious if his mind screaming is referring to the hunger he feels, the same hunger he is actively trying to resist, but he doesn't elaborate on this. Regardless, he's certain that while he has retained his personality (and probably his soul) for now, it's not going to last.

This is why he asks for an honorable death after the defeat of the Netherbrain.

Player: You don't deserve to die. Orpheus: I will not be ghaik! I did what I did to save my people. [...] The rest is up to them. Someone else must rise within the ranks to lead the revolution against Vlaakith. Give me my freedom from this form, release my soul to the Astral Seas while I still have one to call my own.

Orpheus believes that he only has a temporary grasp on his soul or consciousness, which may or may not have transformed into a different kind of soul. Then again, if he thinks his soul is going to the Astral Seas, maybe it doesn't matter whether his soul was transformed from apostolic to non-apostolic. I'm not even sure if githyanki have apostolic souls at all, since they wouldn't really be interested in the deities that govern matters on the Material Plane. I mean, for a long time Lae'zel wants her soul to be eaten by Vlaakith (a literal lich queen who eats souls) via "ascension" so...

I also have no idea if his soul, once released to the Astral Seas, would be mind-flayer-shaped. I guess that's the great mystery. I would assume yes, but I also don’t know how souls manifest in the Astral Seas and finding sources on this has been difficult (it all boils down to “ask your DM”).

Orpheus can be convinced to stay alive and just hang out in a far-off "corner of these realms" to watch his people fight against Vlaakith from afar, and there's kind of a hint that him agreeing to do this means he isn't actually afraid he'll lose his entire soul. But at this point, we're getting too far into "maybes" and "what ifs" to suggest anything concrete.

Quick picture break of Orpheus contemplating the Supreme Tadpole to break up the text (I just thought it was a good shot)

Now I do have to acknowledge two things about Orpheus: one, he could be a special mind flayer precisely because of his unique abilities to shield his mind from elder brain compulsion, which means his unique abilities could also be the reason why he retains so much of his personality and therefore his soul. Since most of the time you end up eating his brain and absorbing his abilities, this could also explain why you retain so much of your own soul if you become a mind flayer instead.

In this scenario, you’re a special mind flayer because (1) you have a Netherese tadpole, (2) you transformed using the Supreme Tadpole, and (3) then you ate Orpheus’s brain. All three elements could be at play.

But not everyone eats Orpheus’s brain, so that theory has holes. I genuinely think you just end up being a special mind flayer because of the Netherese magic that messes with your tadpole. The Supreme Tadpole plus Orpheus’s abilities would only be the icing on the cake, so to speak.

The second thing I want to acknowledge is that there’s a glaring plothole for Orpheus even turning into a mind flayer at all, if you play the game a certain way. If you send the Emperor away to free Orpheus before the Emperor gives you the Supreme Tadpole (for example if you send Lae’zel over to smash the chains holding Orpheus captive without talking to the Emperor, which is what I did one time, and the Emperor was literally like “don’t talk to me again bye” and left), then how does he turn into a mind flayer? He doesn’t have a tadpole and you don’t have the Supreme Tadpole to give to him.

He gets around this with you or Karlach by saying he’ll lower his mental shields so that your tadpole hears the Netherbrain’s orders to transform and then replace the shields again.

Orpheus: My defences keep the voice of the Absolute out, but just as I can raise them, so I can lower them. I will allow the voice of the Absolute in. Once it reaches you, it will order you to transform. It will only take a moment. And once you are a mind flayer, I will fold you under my protection once more. You will be the saviour of empires, not least my own. Narrator: *With the withdrawal of Orpheus' power, your mind is rushed with the full force of the Netherbrain. You feel a compulsion unlike anything you've ever known - excruciating and exhilarating in equal measure. You wish nothing in the world but to evolve. Then - complete silence, as you are once again closed off from the Netherbrain's mind.*

So that makes sense, and it means you being a special mind flayer could boil down to your personality being hella strong + you being infected with a special Netherese tadpole. In this scenario, the Supreme Tadpole can’t be used to explain your unique soul-keeping abilities, and neither can you attribute your soul-keeping abilities to consuming Orpheus's brain (since he's still alive). So maybe the Supreme Tadpole and/or Orpheus's brain doesn’t have any effect on why you keep your mostly-unaltered soul.

In the end I guess it’s just the weird Netherese tadpole that does the trick? Honestly, I wonder if it all boils down to the fact that the Netherese tadpole doesn't eat your brain, it just lies dormant and incubating in your head, so you're not losing brain matter. (But this ignores or forgets that when you eat other tadpoles you literally watch them burrow into your brain matter so I'm sure the magic has something to do with it too.)

But anyway this still doesn’t explain why Orpheus, who shouldn’t have a tadpole, somehow turns into a mind flayer by, I don’t know, manifesting it??? Or why he is also a unique mind flayer once he does this without the Supreme Tadpole. I mean in his case I’m sure it is because he has special mind shield abilities but still. How did he turn into a mind flayer without a tadpole? Make it make sense, Larian.

He literally just touches his head with a psionic magic effect, which is the same gesture he uses to lower his mental shield to allow the Netherbrain to force you to transform. It's also interesting that if you have him transform using the Supreme Tadpole, then he doesn't say anything as he accepts the tadpole from you and absorbs it. But if you have him change without the tadpole, then he says, "The Netherbrain will be only too pleased to claim me."

Which...kind of implies that he's somehow able to communicate with the Netherbrain or hear its voice, so...maybe he secretly does have a tadpole? I mean, a popular theory is the Emperor probably did tadpole Orpheus off-screen since he seems to have a level of compulsion over Orpheus, but this is never explained or mentioned in the game so do whatever you want with that theory.

But I digress.

Let's do a quick summary, shall we?

TLDR: You're probably a super special mind flayer who gets to keep their soul mostly intact (or mostly unaltered) because your tadpole was imbued with Netherese magic and generally doesn't eat your brain. You might also be super special because you transformed using the Supreme Tadpole (optional) and/or consumed Orpheus's brain (also optional). Orpheus might be a super special mind flayer simply because he's Orpheus, and that is why he can still retain most of his soul/personality, even though he keeps thinking he's going to lose it. His status as special mind flayer seems unchanged whether he transformed using the Supreme Tadpole or not, so it really must be an Orpheus Thing.

Phew. That was a lot. And honestly, Karlach and Gale only complicate things, so they're going in a separate post. Keep an eye out for Part 3!

~*~*~

You made it to the end!!! Amazing, you deserve an achievement or something, but all I have are more gold stars.

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

Tags for those who wanted the update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[liaswills]

Pick a card: What does this person want to say to you? ❤️

Good evening lovely darlings! I'm back with another Tumblr Tarot post- for the delusional girlies, this is another What would this person want to say to you? Particularly love focused! This could be a message from a S/O- or F/s/o or perhaps even a f/o! Depending on your degree of delulu, ofcourse. :)

Pick a pile! Use the pics underneath or go based on intuition. Thankyou! ❤️

Oh, love of mine. What wonders there are to be found when you look into my eyes. This is all poetic, truly, but in my soul, the deepest parts of it, I know that you'll still be hoping to come back to me. It is the way things are. I can't change it- even if I wanted to. I watch you. I see you. I hope you know I do believe in you- I love you. When I see tears on your cheeks, streaking like some porcelain beauty, some victorian soul, gauging at what is left of me, gauging at what the eye cannot see, I long to hold your hand, softly press a kiss to it and tell you all I have seen in you that you do not see. I would take you to my favourite spot, walk the whole way just to talk to you, I would tell you what I have been wanting to let you know- that no matter where I am, or what you do, or who we are, in our very souls, we are always one and the same. We are alike. Perhaps in spirit, personality, or maybe just in how we devote ourselves to spirituality, or God, but I know that I am yours if you will be mine. But you haven't been coming to me. You don't want to be mine yet. I know you think you do- but you're not ready for this. Neither am I. I have found myself trying to build what was left- to build a new. I have found I wanted to incorporate more of the old into my new life and therefore I am struggling to find my way to you- it will show some day but I will make time free. Free time for you. I promise you this. I fear some day, you may leave me entirely. Yet even when this happens, I'm but a cinder. I'm but a memory. A distant person you once knew. Distant eyes you once reflected upon, talked to, listened to, hoped for, wished and yearned. I'll not be the same because you won't either. We grow with one another. Tell me you love me. I need to know this. I need you to tell it straight to my face, to my memory, to my thought, to my soul, just think it. Think, say, breathe it. I will know when you do. Thank you for thinking of me today, I appreciate it.

You'll always be my true love, you know? ❤️

It's in his kiss, that's where it is. You can feel when I love you truly, baby, because I would kiss you like you've never felt before. I'd go as slow as you want, as sensual as I could ever be, as loving as I could try, I would do it for you. I know we don't know each other that well yet. We are new. But even if you know me for a long time, this feeling is new. We haven't been together before- not in other lives. I haven't loved you yet. This is new to me. I think we would fit together.... I am confused about it however. I'm not really sure what I want. I know, I am indecisive. But with you- it does feel right, it does feel... like I am a child again kissing his first crush. It feels this way- which is why I think it's important that we continue to communicate, about what you want, about what I want... it'll make this easier because I can't smell what is on your mind. I can sense your feelings, I am very empathic, but I don't know what you're thinking. And I have the feeling you're led by your thoughts, just as I am. We are horrible in listening to ourselves. Perhaps, I am better at giving you advice than I am for myself but in truth, it should be me who has to do the work and approach you, romance you, love you, not the other way around. You're so kind to me- this bamboozles the shit out of me because I am not technically seen as an approachable nice person, so your energy it really confuses me for that reason. Am I not repulsive? Do you not... want to run away from me? You're making my bad thoughts about myself resurface and dissolve all the same. When I think or look at you, even for a second, I just know that I am looking at something good. I know this is something to be cherished. Can I trust my own feeling however? I'm not too sure. I want you to know this. Just to make some clarification about where I am right now. I am not trying to push you away- nor do I want you gone AT ALL I need you and I want you by my side but I am just a torn up dunderhead. Forgive me?

"She's one of my favourite things." This is what I say when people ask about you. Hm, yes, I know. From me? You're surprised. I know some days you may think I don't know you, or don't like you, but I do, I like you a lot. You're my princess, in any fairytale that exists. And the divine to my subservient self. I'd worship you. Cherish you. Because, I know, that for you not to leave me, I have to step up and treat you well. I will be forthcoming, I will be consistent, and I will try to make your life as much of a priority as I will mine. It's not black and grey with me. It's quite clear with me. I want you to be mine. I need to marry you- some day or now. I do not care when. That's how serious I am. That's how real this feels for me. I don't need to figure this out by a 10 hour astrology research to compare my charts to yours. I don't need to figure out via a deity about what time you're going to call or text. I need to know just one thing- and that is that I can trust my feelings. I want you to trust yours. If you do- if you do feel for me, If you do cherish me, or even like me, or god above, if you even love me, if you could, that you won't break it hard on me. Do it gently. Tell me how you love me, and when you leave me, so I know it's easier. If you ever leave me, I would try to have you one more day. I really would. Not in spite or because I want some silly disgusting energy break up sex but because...I would just want to look at you, once more, see you, breathe you, just touch your hand perhaps, or even your hair, to just sit there and tell you nothing or a lot. But I wouldn't ever try to hurt you, I will never try to do this I just hope... perhaps... that you won't hurt me, all right? Can you do this for me? Can you do everything gently? (Except the sex, I don't need it to be gentle ok) but you get what I mean. My heart, my feelings, are much more tender than I can confess. I may look tough. I may be someone you think is tough- perhaps I am, maybe I am also that, but one word of you can silence me forever. Trust on that. So use your words well with me, it'll be better for both of us. Don't you think? I love you. ❤️

God speed your love to me. You thought this was going to be the romantic pile, didn't you? Hahahaha! Bitch please! I am your worst nightmare. Just kidding, I am just incapable of showing you the love you so desire and dream of. What is it with you and me? You like me obsessively. Trust me, your guides and I have been chatting away for a bit and you're.... well, let's just say, you're at wits end about me, aren't you darling? Hehe. I like when you're mad. Some days, I just think how lovely it would be if you'd be in my arms and I could just... have a peek at that lovely chest of yours. Too dirty? I understand. You think I'm a pervert. Honestly, darling, I do too. That's what I hide behind, mostly, truthfully, I'm disgusting myself sometimes, especially during those solo hours. You don't want to believe the things I've thought about you- oh my god. If my life's work and thoughts would ever get published, it would be the biggest event of all lifetime. The world would stop. The M25 would be in a traffic jam all fucking year- don't know why, but it would, wouldn't it? Say, I know you from somewhere... that's what I always say, I always begin with that. And then, I would transgress your interest and I would try and lure you into thinking of me. And when you're thinking of me, I am thinking of how you're hopelessly and desperately thinking of me and then I'll- you know, get creative thinking of you. Honey, what am I to you? Though? Like- can we be real? Am I your friend? Your lover? Your nemesis? Your teacher? Your mentor? What the fuck are we? I am so confused ! 🤣 You say things that literally bolder me off the side of the road and throw me right into the cut. Like can we pretend that for one day, you and I aren't you and I and then we can be delusional together in our own little world? You'd like that right? Well, I would too. I need to escape whatever the hell this is, or this life is, and then we can get coffee and a drink or two and you can tell me what we're going to do about this, about us, because I can't stop thinking how we are going to solve this or do this or just... how. Hm :) You look good. Just wanted to say that. Take some medicine when you feel bad, especially cramps. Take good care of yourself. I could write to you forever- know that. You can reach out to me.

[tim-shii]

a blessing in disguise.

a/n: dad!sae and husband!sae in one post? more likely than you think. timmy being down bad for sae for the nth time, what's new? i didnt know where this story was heading while i was writing it halfway but the idea is dad!sae and husband!sae. also this is cute i love this work i will cry over this for months.

“sometimes, i’m pretty sure you’re only with me out of pity. how dare you? my love for you is sincere–”

“what are you babbling about now?” sae let out an exasperated sigh. you two are lounging in the living room. him, watching a soccer game of the rivaling team they’re going up against next week, and you, laying down on the couch with your feet on his lap, just blankly staring at the ceiling.

“…like i would even lay down in front of a moving train for you. or! i would, without a doubt, drink a poison that’s specifically for you. if you ever get in a coma, i would stab myself, juliet style, absolutely no hesitation. you don’t understand the lengths i would go through for you–”

“oh my god,” sae drags his palm down his face quite dramatically. “is this because i forgot to say ‘i love you’ this morning?”

“see? this is exactly my point. do you even like me?” you nudge his side with a sock clad foot.

he grabs a hold of your ankle and settled in back on his lap. “we’ve been married for five years. our son is literally five meters away playing with his sister.” sae replied with a pointed glare, visibly done with your antics. someone give him a break, he’s experiencing this exact predicament for the past seven years. he’s annoyed, yes, but it’s one of the reason he’s highly and deeply infatuated– in love with you.

you were about to retaliate but rushed footsteps and a sudden weight on your chest prevented you. “mommy!” speak of the little devil and he shall appear. kio, your 4-year-old son. behind him is kiho, your 1-year-old daughter, crawling as hard as she can trying to reach her older brother. immediately, you sat up on the sofa, pulling kio to your lap. “what– baby, are you crying? what’s going on?” you coo as you wipe the tears off his chubby cheeks.

“kiho bit me! we were just playing and then she suddenly–” while you were occupied with kio, sae abandoned his spot from the couch and opted to slide down to the floor instead. his eyes were focused on the adorable infant who is now crawling towards her beloved father. as soon as she’s only a foot away from him, sae scooped her up in his arms and retreated back to your side on the settee, “you bit your brother, kiho?” to which the infant just babbled incoherent with a wide grin.

sae smiles back at her before furrowing his brows. and it seems like you had the same thought as him when you looked at him with a confused frown.

“bit you?” you asked kio.

“yes, she did! it hurts! i think her bite left a mark!” he showed you his left forearm and there you see. the mark of a small baby tooth.

“she’s teething!” you exclaimed happily after kissing your son’s forearm. (“kisses make the pain go away.” you once told him when he tripped and scraped his knee at the park.) sae gently lift up kiho’s lips to peek at her gums, and ta-da! a cute tooth peeking back at him.

“she’s growing up too fast.” sae hummed, kissing kiho’s head, making her giggle.

“mommy, why did she bite me?” kio patted your cheek to get your attention back on him. “did i do something wrong? i thought she was having fun when we were playing together.” your heart felt stabbed, squeezed and stepped on ten times as kio looks at you with tears in his eyes.

“she was just showing affection, ki. she must’ve felt overjoyed with you but she didn’t know how to express it. she is a baby after all.”

“did i bite when i was a baby, too?”

“oh, absolutely. you bit your dad mostly.” you laughed at the memory of sae wincing in pain as his son decided to sink his growing teeth onto his father’s shoulder as he carried him.

“now. kiho, baby. say sorry to your brother.” sae held her in the middle of you two like a cat, his hands supporting his torso under her arms. however, instead of a garbled apology, kiho blew a raspberry to kio.

“hey, that wasn’t nice,” the little boy frowned.

“mom, don’t laugh– dad, stop laughing, too!” kiho followed the two of you and let out a gleeful squeal. all the while kio rubs the saliva off his face with your shirt.

“kio!” sae laughs even harder. kiho, too.

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

[scar-lie]

Save us [Natasha & Scarlett]

Summary : You're tired of fighting, you're losing hope and giving up for your relationship with your two girlfriends who don't want to fight for you

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader, Scarlett Johansson x Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Scarlett Johansson

Warning : Arguing

Word count : 1,723

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

You rub the side of your eyes, getting stressed by the endless argument you have had with your two girlfriends for four years now, and you're losing hope; you're losing everything you have to give for them the further you three argue.

You're getting tired and drained from giving all you have to them without receiving anything back. It feels like you're playing house with them, where they're going to need to go or get tired; they’ll just leave without considering you or your feelings, while you're left without anyone but your thoughts.

“Why can't you fucking understand that?! There are things that're more important than staying here. To what? ...to stay here, so you wouldn't mope around about how sad you are alone! "Natasha screamed, getting frustrated and irritated by the simple things you're asking, and so was Scarlett.

“I do; I do understand what you're pointing at, but you're not listening." You quickly shut your mount when Scarlett interrupts you, so you put your hand to your face, covering how broken you are.

“I act for a living, Y/N. This is what I do before you come into my life; this is my life. I can't just say to them, "Sorry, I’m going to be gone for a week or two; my girlfriend wants me to stay in.” That's not how fucking works.” They are ready to leave, bags already packed, already dressed up; only this argument is making them stay.

“And I save lives for living, so I can't just stop taking a break; just fucking think before you become selfish,” Natasha screamed, slamming the door shut on her way out.

“Not everything is in your favor, not because you're our girlfriend; you can just decide or dictate what we're going to do; you're just our girlfriend,” Scarlett followed suit, leaving you completely alone in your shared home, the one they bought because of how welcoming it is, how the house welcomes the natural light, how peaceful the place is, the big backyard where you're obsessed with growing flowers, fruits, and vegetables—this house is just perfect for their liking and yours. That's why they surprised you with the house.

This is your mark of a happy life ahead of you, and this is the house. That's why they surprise you with the house. “This is our mark of a happy life ahead of us,” “and this is our house that we will make happy memories,” they quote.

But now you're asking yourself if this house makes you three happy anymore—the same house the three of you are planning to have a family with and grow old with until your grandchildren drag your ass out to the backyard to play or do something interesting.

You're losing hope that this relationship will be the same; you're falling into a deep hole further and further down until you reach the peak, where there's no way out if you keep pushing yourself to them.

You're body collided in the soft mattress, your sobs are getting muffled by the pillow you're hugging—their pillow to be exact—soaking it with your tears, all the pent-up frustrating, sleepless nights, the feelings you're bottling are now erupting, making your body shake while crying, not caring if the neighbor can hear you—it's just all too much.

You have nothing else to give anymore; you're drained and done with months of arguing and please them to give you at least a little bit of their time, to put you in their first priority. You're tired of forgiving them over and over again, and you don't think you can open the door to let them in one more time. You have no cards to give to them anymore; all the best cards are already used.

They are again saying how sorry they are and how they are going to make it up to you—key word make-up "sex"—through text the next day, but you can't find any word to reply, so you stick with “ok, it's fine," laying your phone face down on the couch while watching some random movies, rom-coms, TV series, or just anything that can pass your time since you don't have anything to do.

But this doesn't sit right with Natasha and Scarlett, waiting for further massages that never come, or maybe they are waiting for your caring self to text them how they are doing, asking if they already eat or how's their day, or maybe they are waiting for your rambling or complaining about how’s your day goes, or how boring it is that your friends are being bitchy on the internet.

but that never came even in the following days; all they got was a short reply and a cold shoulder, making them uneasy through the next few weeks until they got home, worried and hopeful that once they step in the front door, you're going to throw yourself into them like you always do.

"Darling, we're home! "Natasha and Scarlett shout, dropping their bags in the hallway and locking the door.

“In the lounge,” you reply back, not bothering to stand up to great them properly, you're just sitting there in front of a TV while scrolling through social media.

“Hey, there's no kisses or hugs? "Scarlett sat down next to you, so you kissed her on the cheek, doing the same thing to Natasha when she sat on the other side, mumbling, “Welcome home,” then go back, scrolling down through your phone.

"Hey, stop giving us a cold shoulder; we're here. Isn't that what you want? "Natasha whispers softly, caressing your exposed thigh while trying to read you while Scarlett lays her head on your shoulder. The moves you know from the back of your hand indicate they want sex.

“I’m not in the mood.” You push Nat's hand and Scar's head gently, then stand up, going up to your shared bedroom.

“I think we should give her some space for now,” Scarlett whispered, following you with her eyes and sighing in frustration.

“She's just being dramatic, Scar; she's come running to us eventually,” Nat dismissed, going in the kitchen to drink some water and hoping there's food but finding nothing, so she looked back, giving Scarlett a smile, shaking her head while chuckling.

“Fine, what do you want? "Nat gives her a smirk, knowing her way to get her to cooking.

" Pasta, please” With that, they both chat in the kitchen, catching up and having a little fun like they always do right before you come on the picture.

Hearing them giggling and chuckling from the bedroom makes you hate yourself because they are happy without you, they can go to their day without you, and you hate how they can just continue their day without bothering if you're okay or include you.

So in the end, you just move to the farthest room, which is the guestroom. You three didn't use it much, but these past few months, Natasha and Scarlett have usually used it since you three were always arguing and they ended up sleeping in the guestroom while you're alone in your shared bedroom.

But as each day passes, you're feeling yourself uninterested. Sure, you three interact, but not like before, and today is another argument in Natasha and Scarlett’s minds since they need to go again.

“We're heading out now; be safe here.” Natasha kisses your forehead, followed by Scarlett, and you hum, continuing to read your book.

"Ok,” you simply reply, which sends a shiver down their spine.

“Ok? Aren't you going to tell us how workaholic we are? How come we don't spend time here anymore? Leaving you alone, aren't you going to ask us to give you some of our time? "Scarlett frowns while standing, and Natasha thinks the same way, waiting for your answer.

"No,” you're unbothered; not even a single emotion is showing in your face; you're just calm.

“Why? "You shrug at Natasha's question, turning to the next page.

“Why? "You chuckle sarcastically, making Scarlett uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to another and picking her skin, making Natasha step forward to stop her from getting herself hurt.

“You mean ‘begged you for your time? ’, what's the point? To make myself look desperate? Needy? Selfish? Self-centered? "You shake your head with a scrawl face.

“No thanks, plus whatever I say or do will never stop you from leaving or doing what you want; if you want to leave, then go leave; I don't care anymore.” Their hearts both sank down to the pit of their stomachs.

“Like you always say, what you do is more important than being with me for a few minutes, so I’m saving both of you and me the energy you needed for something and time.” Scarlett held Natasha's arm tightly, finding herself starting to have an anxiety attack, but Natasha was rubbing her back. Natasha felt hurt and worried that they pushed you too far.

Sure, she dearly loves Scarlett. I mean, they're already in a relationship when you join the couple, but that doesn't mean she loves you any less. You're the heart of this house; you're keeping them in their toes; you're their center; you're their foundation that's keeping everything in their surroundings magical; you're their Alice in their Wonderland; the apple in their eyes; their home in their heart; and their key to their locks.

In short, they couldn't function without you; you're the center of everything to them, so this makes their world turn upside down, but in a bad way.

“I-I wanna stay……I-I’ll just call to have at least 2 weeks leave,” Scarlett mumbles, getting lost of words, and all she can think about is being with you, to cuddle you, kiss you, hug you, and just be with you, and so does Natasha.

‘I-I wanna….stay too,” but before they can dial a number, you quickly stop them.

“Oh no, please don't. Don't let me hold you back. Just because I speak what's on my mind, please do leave and go on with your week.” You give them a tight smile, then go back to reading.

But the two shake their heads no, wanting to be as close to you as possible, but before they can approach the bed, their whole world crashes into pieces.

“Besides, I’ve fallen out of love.”

[gretavangroupie]

Edible

Word count: 16.0k

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Drugs. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Oral M!Receiving, Fingering, Oral F!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Breeding Kink (if you squint), Cum Play. Major Fluff.

A/N: The very last part of our four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my best pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy Jake's story to wrap things up! Thank you so much for reading these one shots over the last few weeks, maybe we will do it again soon! ❤️

Usually, Valentine’s day wasn’t a holiday that bothered you. As a single person in your mid 20’s, it’s almost expected that you dread the 14th of February. The years before and between relationships never bothered you, but as you slip into your pajamas at 7:50pm on a Friday night that also happens to be Valentine’s day, the realization that you’re alone hits a little harder.

You shuffle down the stairs in your slippers and matching PJ set, your destination being the bottle of red wine in the fridge. As you stand in front of the door and look at the dry erase calendar on your freezer, you avoid acknowledging the little heart you drew around the number 14 when you were clearly in better spirits. You also happen to see the little sticker that lives permanently above the column of Fridays. Trash day.

Letting your head fall back, you groan at the ceiling before turning on your heel towards the trash can. Lifting the half-full bag out and tying it off, you consider whether or not you really need to take the bin out to the curb… It’s so, so cold, and you’ve had a tough day already.

Shaking your head, you pull yourself out of your thoughts and decide to grow up. You get moving and elbow the door open, wincing as the cold air hits your skin. The short sleeve shirt and matching shorts combination are really not on your side at this moment as you jog down the four stairs towards the spot where your trash bins live. 

It’s a minute of wrestling before you get the bag in and flip the top closed, grabbing the handle and beginning to wheel it towards the end of your driveway. The rattling of the plastic wheels is so damn loud you feel like you’re waking up half your neighborhood. Oh, wait. They’re probably all out for Valentine’s day. You can’t help but roll your eyes as you kick the bin upright and position it on the patch of grass near the curb.

As you’re about to turn and head inside, you hear rumbling coming from across the street. When you raise your head and try to focus despite the limited light from the streetlamps and the clouded moon, you see your neighbor from across the street. For a moment you feel a little vulnerable in your pajama set, legs bare and no bra, but then you see he’s shirtless, a thin bathrobe over his shoulders and down his back, but it’s hanging open, giving way to show you his tanned chest and stomach. His sweatpants are hanging sinfully low on his hips, and even though you’re all the way across the street, you can see there’s just a tiny bit of hair peeking out from above his waistband.

He has his head down as he does almost the same exact thing you did- he shimmies the bin into position on the curb and makes sure it’s closed tight, left with some defense against the wind. His hair is in a low, messy bun, some stray strands of hair framing his face. 

As you stare at him from the shadows across the street, realizing you’re probably giving off way weirder vibes than intended, you think back on when you’ve seen him and try to remember his face. As you think, there’s a silhouette of a cat in his front window, a warm glow behind it. And then the memory comes to you.

There was one afternoon when you had first moved in, the summer, seven or eight months ago. He came and knocked on your door, a pair of sunglasses on, his shirt unbuttoned and paired with some breezy linen pants. You answered the door in confusion, but were friendly regardless.

“Hi. I’m, uh, I’m Jake. I’m your neighbor. I live across the street?” He said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Right, right. Hey. I’m Y/N.” You answered with a slightly concerned smile. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, um,” he started, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger as he gathered his thoughts. You watched as he crossed his arms over his chest in almost a nervous habit. 

“Do you wanna come in?” You offered, but he shook his head no, waving you off casually.

“No, no. I actually just have a weird and maybe cumbersome favor to ask of you.” He said, his confidence building as the conversation went on. You raised your eyebrows, a little confused, but wordlessly encouraging him to go on.

“There’s this cat that lives in my house and I usually leave him with my brother’s girl when I travel, but she’s actually tagging along, so I’m kind of in a pinch and need someone to feed the thing.” He said. You gave him a look of playful confusion.

“That’s a weird way to say you have a cat.” You quipped, laughing.

“I’m not keeping it! I just don’t want it to get hungry or get hit by a car or something.” He said, laughing through his words. Before you can poke any more fun at him, he keeps talking.

“He’s a grazer, so he really just needs his big ass bowl refilled once a day and he’ll be fine,” he said, flashing you a little smile. “And water.”

You considered it for a moment, but he had such a way about him that there was no way you would be able to say no.

“Okay. Yeah, sure. For how long?” You asked, leaning on the door frame. He fished out a key from his pocket, handing it over as he spoke. It was brass and there was a little soccer ball keychain attached. 

“Just for the weekend. I’ll be back Sunday night.” He said with a little excitement in his voice. Holding his spare key in your hand, you nodded and gave him a polite smile.

“I can do that. For sure.” You reassured him as he leaned from foot to foot, almost like he had somewhere to be. 

“I fed him just now and I’m about to head out, but when you go in, the kitchen is on the left and his bowl is there. The food is in the bin with… with the food. It’s clear so… you can see it.” He said, taking a few steps backwards. “He also bites, but he’ll probably hide from you anyway, so don’t sweat it!” He added, jogging down the two stairs to the sidewalk. 

“O-okay!” You answered, perplexed but charmed. He shouted across the road to thank you before he hopped into his car and backed out of his driveway.

When you eventually went over to his house the next day, you opened the door cautiously, not wanting to sneak up on the cat who you were warned would bite you. After a moment of wondering why you agreed to this, you shrugged and pushed the door open gently. As if the cat was waiting for Jake himself but then realized it was you, he went flying by so quickly you only heard the thump of his paws and the jingle of his collar. Your eyes almost immediately found the big bowl in the kitchen, sitting in the middle of a little placemat. ‘DAVY’ was etched into the porcelain, so you figured it had to be his. Like Jake mentioned, there was the bin of food about a foot away. 

You didn’t see the cat a single time that weekend. Sunday morning, after you fed him the last time, you left the key on the hook near Jake’s front door and locked it from the inside. You didn’t hear from him, but one day when you got home from work, there was a bottle of wine on your welcome mat with a card underneath, wax sealed with care. Inside, you found a card with a short note of thanks and his name signed in indigo ink. 

You’re pulled back to the present as a car flies down your street, headlights flashing in your peripherals. The light pulls his attention too, and it’s seconds before he notices you across the street. He raises one open hand, giving you a casual wave. You smile and wave your hand back and forth, a polite, neighborly greeting. 

“Look at you, all dressed up. Big plans tonight?” He says, projecting his voice all the way across the street. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, realizing he’s absolutely calling you out for being outside in your pajamas. 

“Oh! Ha. Yeah.” you say, the laugh incredibly forced, your nerves turning you into an awkward, stiff mess. Freezing cold, nervous, and a little embarrassed, you give him another quick wave and scurry inside your house, disappearing. You close the door and snatch the bottle of wine from your fridge, taking the bottle and glass with you into the living room. 

You practically dive under the blanket on your sofa and wrap it around you in a hurry. As you reach for the bottle of wine and pour yourself a little glass, you hear your phone buzz from somewhere in the couch cushions. Fishing it out from under your thigh and some layers of blanket, you squint and turn the brightness down immediately.

You have a few notifications from instagram and other apps, and one text from an unsaved number.

???

8:08pm: Sorry for being weird, lol

It has to be Jake. You hop up from the couch and shuffle to the bulletin board and dry-erase calendar on your freezer to see the torn piece of paper pinned to it. Comparing the two numbers, you confirm it’s the same. That leaves you frozen as you try to figure out how to respond.

You

8:10pm: Oh no worries, you were right. I’m clearly staying in tonight 🍷

When you get back to the couch, nuzzling yourself back under your blankets, you look over your shoulder and out the window at his house. There are a few lights on and the cat’s silhouette has disappeared from the window.

You decide to save his number quickly before finally taking a few sips of your wine. 

Jake - Neighbor

8:13pm: Likewise. I’m about to take an edible and spend the rest of my romantic evening falling down a youtube wormhole. 

Laughing, you think of something clever to send back. It takes a while because everything you come up with seems to be toeing the line of flirty and friendly. 

You

8:17pm: Sounds fun... If you open your curtains a little more I could probably watch along. 🙂

Jake - Neighbor

8:20pm: Or you could accompany me down said wormhole, meaning we both won’t have to lie about being alone on Valentine’s day tomorrow?

You’re immediately conflicted. This guy is your neighbor, and although he seems friendly, this feels like the beginning of a terrible Hallmark movie or even worse, one that went straight to Netflix. You think about the invitation as you stare at your glass of wine on the coffee table next to your kindle. It couldn’t hurt to just go hang out for a little while… right? It would be good to get to know him. Maybe you could convince him to mow your lawn over the summer or something.

Not to mention he’s cute. Your mind flashes back to the way he looked glowing under the streetlights, his messy bun and the tan line on his hips that you need to stop thinking about before your mouth begins to water. 

You

8:21pm: Lol are you serious? I don’t want to intrude 

You bite at your lip nervously, waiting for him to reply. The little bubbles that indicate he’s typing make your stomach churn as you look over your shoulder and out the window once more. There’s a little bit of a glow coming from the other side of his house now and you see his shadow move across the window.

Jake - Neighbor

8:22pm: It’s not intruding if I’m inviting you. 

It doesn’t take much convincing on his end, if any. You down the last of your wine for courage and ditch the blanket on the couch. Heading up the stairs, you grab the cardigan you left hanging over the banister and pick out something to wear. The matching jammies clearly aren’t appropriate, but you don’t want to dress like you’re trying too hard. 

You

8:25pm: Should I bring anything?

Standing in your closet for a few minutes, you ultimately land on a pair of yoga pants and an old t-shirt, a soft baby blue Rush tee with the band’s name spelled out in big, rainbow bubble letters. It was once your dad’s, but lives in your wardrobe as a slightly cropped version now.

Jake - Neighbor

8:26pm: Nope. Just yourself. Need the address? 😉

Pulling on the cardigan, you tug the back of it down a little to assure you’re not showing up with your ass on display from the get-go. You stand at the door with nothing but your phone and keys, bracing yourself for however this Valentine’s night is about to go.

You

8:28pm: I think I remember how to get there. I’m on my way 🙂

—

You pull your sleeves down over your hands as you climb the steps to his porch, the freezing cold wind whipping through your cardigan as if it wasn’t even there. You rap your knuckles against the wooden door, a small wave of nerves rushing through your body as you wait for him to answer. You hear his footfall against the wooden floors as he makes his way to the door, and as he opens it you feel a rush of warmth as the heat from inside blows past you. 

His eyes subconsciously look you over and as he realizes he pulls his eyes away, letting them dart around for a few seconds before landing on your face. He offers a shy grin and swallows down his nerve. “Any trouble finding the place?” he jokes, giving you a small glimpse of his real smile. 

“Oh yeah, traffic was awful...” you quip back, watching his full smile bloom across his face. 

“Come in, come in. I know it’s cold out there.” he says, ushering you inside. The house is very different from the last time you’d seen it. More art on the walls, a new rug or two, and most importantly there were lights on. A fire is going in the fireplace, the logs crackling drawing you into his home further.

“Your home is beautiful. I’m suddenly insanely jealous that I don't have a fireplace.” you smile, gesturing towards the beautiful brick hearth. 

“Thanks, I try to do what I can here and there. What’s a home if you can’t enjoy the time you spend in it…” he ponders, suddenly flicking his attention back to you. “I could…show you around if you want, it’s kind of a mess at the moment…” he pauses, rubbing his fingers over his lips as his eyes scan the room. You can tell he is feeling put on the spot and your chest warms at his underlying hospitality. 

“That’s okay, I know you were totally not planning on having a guest.” you laugh, hoping to ease his anxiety. 

“Yeah, I’m not here too often, and when I am, things kind of get strewn around and forgotten. It’s actually a fluke that I’m here now. Which brings me back to the part about enjoying the house while I’m here.” he says, trying to unnecessarily justify his lived in space. 

Your mind wanders as you recall his empty driveway the past few weeks, and you try to piece together if you ever remember him mentioning what he does for work, or why he’s gone so often. You hardly ever see him coming and going, just the glow from his windows on rare occasions.

He pulls you from your thoughts and you refocus on him, realizing that he too, has changed into different clothes. He’s added a slightly wrinkled black button down shirt to a pair of equally as wrinkled khaki pants, rolled at the ankle. To anyone else this would seem like a strange choice to hang out on the couch, but on him it seemed fitting, almost like these were his relaxing clothes. 

“Can I get you anything to drink, or?” he asks, gesturing towards the kitchen, a tiny little sliver of his stomach peeking from beneath the frayed hem, showcasing an unseasonably dark tan.

“Sure, um I will take some water?” you squeak out, trying to pretend you weren’t just staring at his waist. 

“Okay, you can just… sit wherever. I'll be right back.” he says nodding towards the couch. He walks off into the kitchen as you venture into his living room, the fireplace providing the perfect ambience for such a cold night. His couch isn’t huge, but it does seem comfortable. A few throw pillows are tossed to one side, giving you the hint that he was previously occupying the other side. You move a few of the pillows towards the center and position yourself at the opposite side on the chaise lounge, as you let your eyes glance around the room. The walls are dark and covered with art, and bookshelves line most of the walls. A large TV sits just to the left of the fireplace, the video he was previously watching paused and awaiting his return. 

You relax into the couch cushions, closing your eyes and listening to the perfect crackling sound of the fireplace. The glass of wine from earlier is seeping into your bones and you’re suddenly feeling just a little bit more relaxed. Jake returns a few seconds later, offering you a glass filled to the brim with ice water. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted ice or not, so I just made it how I like it.” he says, falling back into his place on the couch. He tosses a few of the throw pillows between you, down onto the ground so that there is less of a barrier, before kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. 

“Where’s your little kitty cat?” you ask, turning to face him. “Or did you find him a home after all…”

“Who? Ol’ Davy Jones?” he asks, an air of underlying affection in his tone. “Ahh, that little vagrant is around here somewhere. Truthfully, I just haven’t even had time to think about finding him a home.”

You smile because you can tell he is lying. “That’s funny, because it’s been what? Almost a year now?”

“Has it… Hmmm.” he says, staring off into space. “I’m sure he’ll be around, he’s a curious little thing.” 

“You know they say that you shouldn’t name pets that you don’t plan to keep…” you press, raising an eyebrow in challenge. 

“Well…” he pauses. You can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to piece together an excuse. “He wasn’t responding to ‘hey you feline’, so I was practically forced into giving him a name. You know how these things go. I really am going to find him a good home one of these days when I have the time.”

You nod your head with a smile, as he shakes his own head, stifling back a guilty grin. 

“So that is why he has a food bowl with his name on it, right?” 

“Aye, aye, what’s with the twenty questions, hm?” he barks, tossing a throw pillow towards you. You catch it and hug it to your chest, resettling into your place. 

“Oh, no reason. Just trying to get to know my neighbor and his cat, that’s all.” you say with a cheeky smile. 

“He’s not my cat. He just lives in my house.” he says finally, feigning arrogance. “Anyways, tell me about you…”

“Not a whole lot to know, I just moved here, well almost a year ago now, for work. I go to work, come home, watch trashy TV and cook, and sometimes on the weekends I catch some friends at the bar. I also occasionally feed my neighbor's cat. Oh, and spend most holidays alone, which is how I ended up here.” you laugh, not wanting to give too much away. 

“Well, I’m glad that you did, I’m rather enjoying having company for once. Listen, I was serious about the edible if you…” he trails off, nervously licking over his lips.

“Oh, yeah of course. Let’s do it.”

He stands from the couch, walking across the room and rummaging around in a backpack on the floor. The first thing he pulls out is an eyeglass case, tucking it under his arm. Then he reaches back in, searching for a moment more, before he pulls out a small black bag and returns to the couch, opening it up as he sits. He places the black glasses case on the table, then picks it up again, making sure there are actually glasses inside before closing it and putting it aside for later.

“Oh Jesus, Josh…” he mutters under his breath. He licks his lips and turns to look at you. “Okay, so, apparently they are peach ring gummies. My brother gave them to me, but didn’t specify the variety.”

“That’s actually fine, I love peach rings.” you blush. 

“Really? Okay, good. I thought–” he stops himself with a smile. “Okay, ladies first, how much do you want?

“Um, how much are you gonna have?” you ask, letting your eyes flick up to his. 

“Dunno…” he says, inspecting the bag for the details. “Okay, probably half. You think you can do half, or do you want a quarter?”

“I think it should be an even playing field, I’ll do half if you do half.” you answer. 

“Whatever you say…” he says with a smile, trying to pull apart the sticky yellow and orange gummy. It stretches beyond belief and he stops. “Okay, so. I think you’re going to have to bite it.”

“Are you sure?” you ask hesitantly. 

“Yeah, it’s no big deal, you just take half and I’ll take the rest.” he says, leaning over to place it in your hand. You bring it to your lips, biting half of the gummy with your eyes locked on him. He doesn’t dare blink as he watches your mouth, the sugar crystals collecting on your lips. You see him swallow as you pull it from your lips and hand the remainder back to him. He quickly pops it into his mouth and starts to chew. 

Both of you look at each other as you swallow it down, sour looks on both of your faces as the flavor of the strain shines through. 

“That was… not my favorite gummy I’ve ever had.” he winces, clearing his mouth of the flavor. 

“I think it was okay…I’ve definitely had worse.” you laugh, taking a sip from your glass of water. 

“I can’t believe I traded my good blunts for that.” he says, thinking back with a shake of his head. “So, what do you think we should watch? A movie? A TV show? Youtube?” he rattles off. 

“What would you watch if I wasn’t sitting here right now?” you ask, leaning your body into the arm rest. 

His demeanor quickly changes, his cheeks blushing and his tone growing a bit bashful. “If you weren’t here? Um, probably just youtube videos.” he answers, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. 

“Okay, but what kind of youtube videos? What fascinates you…”

He fidgets with the buttons on the remote, trying to decide if he should lie or be honest. His eyes flick up to the TV, then over to you. “Mostly history stuff, like old shipwrecks and stuff. Or maybe sailing videos or guitar videos, I don’t know.”

You can tell he chose to be honest, his fingers still scratching at the buttons on the remote as he waits to see what you’re going to say. 

“Okay so do it. Show me your favorite shipwreck. Enlighten me a little…”

“Really?” he asks, a look of shock painted across his face. 

“Yeah, why not? I like that kind of stuff too. It’s interesting.”

“Yeah, yeah it is really interesting. Okay, hold on.” he grins, clicking the remote to life and returning to youtube. He scrolls to his favorites and makes his way through what has to be a hundred videos, until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Alright, I know this is a little bit boring at the beginning, but I swear it gets better. I actually learned about this first hand at this little museum in the UK last year, and I really fixated on it, and had to immediately consume every piece of media I could find about it. If you hate it we can turn it off, it’s just… really cool if you can make it through it.” he explains, and you smile watching his eyes light up talking about it. 

You smile and nod as he clicks on the video titled, ‘Ghosts of the Mary Rose’. He settles back into the couch, balancing the remote on his knee, and slinging his arm across the back of the couch. You can’t help but notice the proximity of his fingertips as they rest just inches away from your shoulder. The fireplace is still roaring, and the edible is starting to kick in, and you come to terms with the fact there is no place you’d rather be than sitting here learning about this old boat.

Oddly enough, Jake wasn’t wrong. This was one of the cooler shipwrecks you’d learned about, and the fact that he saw it in person made it even better. He proceeded to talk through most of the video, further extrapolating on the points they were making, but explaining them better, in a way that was so purely Jake. 

It was clear history was a passion of his, his eyes simply glowing with pride as he spoke about what he knew about this wreck and others similar. You could tell that he was dying for someone, just anyone, to ask him a single question about it, and tonight, you gave him that and more. 

You wondered if he had people in his life that indulged him on this regularly, or if he kept it bottled up inside. The way he spoke about it so quickly, stumbling over his words just to get them out, had you thinking that maybe it was the latter, and you suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of him ever feeling lonely. 

After what had to be an hour or so, the gummy had met its full potential in your bloodstream. The two of you sat almost mute, staring at the TV screen as he selected videos for you to dive into, but little did he know that it wasn’t the TV you were fixated on. It was the glaring image of his hands as they reflected into the mirror hanging over his fireplace. You watched as they moved, the way his fingers wielded the remote, and the way his fingers would twitch every so often, quickly stifled back by the folding of his hands. You stopped yourself from turning your head to look at them, knowing that if you did you wouldn’t be able to pull your eyes away. 

They seemed large. Slightly larger than the average man’s hands, but they also seemed well manicured. Perfectly manicured actually, as if they were his top priority in his grooming habits. His nails were perfectly trimmed, no nicks or cuts, just perfectly tanned hands that tapped away against his thighs. You pulled your eyes away from the mirror to reach for your water, the dry mouth starting to take effect. 

You drank down half of the glass, and you could almost feel his eyes on you as you did so. You placed the glass back down, and allowed yourself one look at him, finding that you were correct in the feeling of his eyes fixed on you. His entire mood had shifted, you could tell he was feeling completely relaxed as he lounged on his couch. His eyes were a little red, slightly droopier than usual, and his cheeks flushed pink. His legs were crossed on the coffee table, and his bare foot bobbed along to the sound of the video playing in the background. 

You’re not sure if it's the fireplace, the edible, or the man sitting next to you devouring you with his eyes, but you start to feel warm and need to remove your sweater before you burst into flames. You pull the knitted fabric over your arms, and toss it to the floor, leaving you in just your cut off tee, and you swear you see his eyes widen a bit as he takes in the sight of your torso.

In the silence, you hear a faint jingling. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do, and your eyes shoot to the entryway. His cat trots into the room, probably only expecting Jake, but as soon as he lays eyes on you, he puffs up and hops straight up into the air, then bolts back the way he came, his paws skittering across the floor in a flurry.

The sound makes Jake’s head turn, pulling his eyes from your body and over towards the source of the noise.

“Oh my god, he’s real…” You say in amazement, a smile creeping onto your lips. Jake rolls his eyes at the cat’s dramatics, leaning back to see if he can catch where he went.

“Daaaavvvyyyy…” he calls out in a faux-cockney accent, his voice low and gravelly, rumbling through the house. You would be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make your stomach flip.

“He’s not a fan of me, I don’t think.” You comment, looking in the direction the tiny black cat ran. 

“Don’t think he likes anyone but me, honestly. Bites and scratches the absolute hell out of my brother’s girlfriend whenever she watches him for me.” He says with a chuckle, craning his neck to try and see the cat. He makes a quiet pspspsps sound, but Davy is nowhere to be seen or heard.

“When I found ‘em, he was under a dumpster behind a… a bar.” He says, sitting back up to look at you. “He was practically shouting at me as I walked by, like he was calling for help. So I walked over thinking it was like, a fuckin’ baby or something. I don’t know.”

You grin as he tells the story, which you’re finding quite endearing. 

“He called you over? Oh, he’s bold.” 

“Sure is. So I wrapped him up in my shirt and put him in the passenger seat… he seemed too little to eat the crunchy little cat food, so I went to the store and got some milk… I didn’t fuckin’ know what to do.” He chuckles and itches his nose, his eyes flicking to yours as he realizes you’re invested in the story and listening with bated breath. 

“We got home and he drank some… had a little milk mustache and everything. He seemed to feel better when I got him into the heat, so I made him a deal. He could sleep in the bathroom for the night if he hit the road and left town the next morning.”

“I see that worked out.” You quip, giving him a knowing smile.

“Yeah, the five-pound rapscallion didn’t hold up his end. Owes me a thousand souls now.” 

You hum with raised brows as you nod, letting him go on. 

“I actually…” he starts, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket he taps and scrolls as he talks. “I actually woke up the next morning and caught the poor thing asleep in a pair of me old dirty trousers.” He says, a little bit of that accent slipping in again. He turns his phone around and shows you a photo of Davy curled into a tiny ball inside a pair of patchwork denim pants, a few different shades of blue.

“Oh my god…” you mumble, popping out your bottom lip.

“Lookit his tail over his nose. How was I supposed to show ‘em the door?” He says, flashing you a grin. 

“But you’re still gonna rehome him, huh?” You shoot in his direction, your tone accusatory.

“Should we watch something else? Got any requests?” he asks, gesturing toward the TV with the remote.

“Mmm, you said you liked guitar videos, right? What’s your favorite guitar video of all time?” you ask, crossing your ankles as you stretch out on the chaise. 

“That is quite the loaded question, lass.” he quips, tapping the remote to his lips. His full, pink, totally kissable lips. Wait, he’s your neighbor. You have to stop. 

“Can you narrow it down to a genre?” he asks, flicking his eyes over to you. He takes a deep breath and bites his lips together waiting for your answer. 

“How about…I don’t know, rock? Rock n’ Roll, specifically.” you smirk. 

“I know a thing or two.” he chuckles, scrolling through his favorites. 

“Ahh, okay this one. This one right here. This man was instrumental in my–” he stops, clearing his throat. “He is one of the greatest musicians I’ve ever witnessed.” he finishes.

“Oh, who is it?” you ask, watching him select the video. 

“Pete Townshend.” he answers, starting the video. “He is an incredible guitarist, but that isn’t what makes him great in my opinion. He has this special ability to write insanely powerful rock songs where the guitar isn’t the main focus, or even the main instrument. His work with The Who is just… He isn’t flashy just for the show of it, because he didn’t have to be. His skill speaks for itself and that in itself is an accomplishment.”

“Wow, you know a lot about him. Would you say he is your favorite, then?” you ask. 

“Ahh, I don’t know. I have a lot of favorites. A lot of influences I suppose. Lots of people who shaped me.” he answers, and slowly but surely you start to realize he is letting you know him more and more with each passing second, and you’re hanging on his every word. 

“Shaped you?” you ask, trying to squeeze yourself through the tiny crack in his armor. 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom. You need anything while I’m up?” he says, standing up slowly and effectively shutting you out. His half smile is a little guilty, which tells you he’s well aware of what he just did. 

“I’m okay.” You answer, giving him a knowing smile as he shuffles out of the room, the sound of his bare feet on the hardwood the only sound under the music playing quietly from the tv.

It’s a minute or two before he gets back and this time when he comes to sit on the couch, he lays across the cushions on his stomach, grabbing the pillow to your left and tucking it between his arm and his head. He’s so, so close to you now, the smell of his shampoo making its way over to you when he nuzzles his head against the pillow. Once he’s completely comfortable, he takes a deep breath and then speaks softly.

“I’m a musician. So. When I said ‘shaped me,’ I meant it almost literally.” His voice sounds a little different when his cheek is smushed into the throw pillow.

“So I’m guessing you play guitar?” you say, blinking up at the TV as the man on the screen’s fingers crawl across the frets.

“I do.” He says it simply, but not in a way that’s short. You look down at his right hand, bent at the elbow and holding on to the pillow. At this distance, you can see there’s a little indent around his middle finger, like he wears a ring of some sort.

“I don’t really have any… creative talents. So I think that’s really impressive.” Your words are quiet and you’re trying to coax him back out of his shell. He lifts his head from the pillow, and when he’s looking up at you from below, his glassy brown eyes are enough to make your heart melt. You have to blink a few times through the brain fog to really focus on them, and when you do, your pulse quickens.

“I’m sure that’s not true. What do you do?” He asks softly, and luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re staring at him.

“It’s very true. I’m an accountant.” You answer, laugh bubbling out of you at the absurdity of it all. “Literally the opposite of creative.” 

He breaks into a grin, laughing with you for a second or two, and you think it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. 

“...Alright. You got me there. We can watch something else…” He says, looking for the remote, and you mourn the loss of eye contact. 

“No, no! I wanted you to pick something you’d watch even if I wasn’t here, and you did. Plus, I kinda like your commentary. This stuff is all new to me.” You say, and he chuckles softly. He rests his head on the pillow again, his arm grazing yours unintentionally. He pays it no mind.

“If you say so.” 

After another two videos accompanied by Jake’s narration, you find yourself so hungry, you think you might be withering away. When there’s a lull in his commentary, you whisper into the dim room from behind him. 

“Is it normal to feel like I need a snack so urgently I might pass away?” 

He stretches a little, rolling over to look at you again. You give him a slow smile, your eyes squinting as your cheeks push them closed. 

“I can go see what I have… It’s been a minute since I’ve been home but there’s probably–”

“No!” You interject, sitting up a little more. He jumps at the motion, a little startled. “I have this tray of chocolate covered strawberries in my fridge! My coworker called in today, and her boyfriend sent her like two dozen of them, so obviously I brought them home.” 

“Oh hell yeah.” He answers, smiling back at you. 

“I’ll be right back!” You say excitedly, hopping off the couch and swiping your keys off the table. You quickly slip on your shoes and head for the front door, darting out into the cold night. 

It’s not long before you’re kicking the refrigerator door shut and sneaking back out into the windy February air. As you cross the street you see his door open, and once you’re close enough, you duck inside. He takes the box from you right away as he shuts the door.

After putting it down on the table near his front door, he reaches for your bare arms, rubbing them to warm you up. He laughs softly as you smile up at him.

“You didn’t bring your sweater, you absolute maniac…” he chides playfully, and you laugh in response, a chill running up your spine. His hands are so warm and his presence so comforting that you find yourself resisting the urge to wrap yourself up in him.

“I didn’t think it would be that cold.” you mumble, trying to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Oh, you thought the cold snap had just let up suddenly?” he asks with a sarcastic inflection, and you roll your eyes with a smile as he lets go of your arms. “Figured it was probably a cozy 27 degrees instead of 22?” 

You pick the strawberries back up and walk past him, back toward the living room to take your seat again. Before you can offer him a snarky retort, he’s quickly heading up the stairs of his old house, taking them two at a time as they creak and crack. Footsteps sound from above you, moving in one direction and then the other, before he’s coming back down slower than he had ascended. When he appears in the entryway of the living room, he’s holding the biggest, plushest navy blue down comforter you’ve ever seen in both of his arms. He’s peeking over and around it as he navigates behind the coffee table, careful not to trip or bump into something. 

“What’s all this?” You ask, laughing at the sight before you as you sit criss-crossed on the chaise, the container of strawberries still sitting in your lap, uneaten. 

“The comforter from my bed, obviously.” He answers, snatching the berries from you once more and putting them on the coffee table. You groan, but it’s short lived, as he drops the entire giant comforter overtop of you. He arranges it to wrap you inside of it, letting your head peek out. He tucks it under your thighs and tugs it closed across your chest. 

“Thank you,” you mumble through a tight-lipped smile, finding him a little ridiculous, but also thoughtful and sweet. He plops down next to you, sitting similarly to you with his legs crossed, the box of strawberries between you. He opens them and offers you one by the stem, which you graciously accept. 

You take a bite, quickly moving your hand under your chin to catch any of the chocolate cracking and falling. You moan a little at the taste, smiling at him when his eyes cut to yours. 

He takes a bite of his own, his approach for avoiding a mess a little different than yours. His bite is so big that it takes him a while to chew through it, eventually speaking with some still in his mouth. 

“I don’t know who the fuck decided these are supposed to be a romantic food.” He has a little bit of chocolate in his mustache and you can’t help but giggle, his tongue quickly darting out to lick it. “I’ve never had a more difficult time eating anything in my goddamn life.” He says, a hearty laugh rumbling through his chest.

You’re so far under the influence and feeling so content from finally getting your hands on the sweets you were craving, all you can do is giggle in response. It’s the kind of giggle that lingers, when the joke is probably forgotten. He’s watching you with one raised brow as you cover your mouth and try to stop it. 

He eventually joins you, unable to resist the contagious, almost delusional snickering coming from you under the giant blanket across from him. It’s a sweet, silly moment, and it feels effortless. You spend the next few minutes chewing and laughing and stealing glances at him in secret. The edible has you at a point where you’re not sure if you’re speaking out loud or thinking the words in your head. So then, the question you’re considering asking him just slips out. 

“Why are you so tan in February?” You laugh, realizing it was a little forward of you to just ask out of nowhere. Luckily, you’re met with a stoned giggle of his own before he swallows and answers.

“I… went to a music festival in South America last week.” He says, eyes flicking up to yours, almost like he’s trying to see if you believe him.

“See anyone good?” You pry, your cheeks a little flushed the more you stare at him and catalog his mannerisms.

“Nobody you’d know.” He says, and you take him at his word. He smiles reassuringly, even though you don’t believe him, and it makes you giggle some more.

Eventually, it settles down and it’s just occasional quiet laughs cutting through the quiet of the room. He reaches for another strawberry and you realize it’s a little too quiet. You turn your head towards the tv, the last video having ended, and the countdown to the next one descending from 15. You squint your eyes a little to see what’s about to play next.

Rig Rundown: Greta Van Fleet [2021] is the title. But what really throws you is the thumbnail. The image is an older guy with coiffed silver hair, smiling and pointing at… Jake? He’s got a smug smile on his face, an arm on this other guy’s shoulder, and his hair down, which you think you’ve seen only once. He’s in a navy blue blazer with a hand on his hip, a guitar hanging across the front of his body. 

“...Is that you?”

10…9…8…

“Huh?” Jake says as he looks up at you from the box of strawberries, his mouth full, a stem pinched between his two fingers. He sees where you’re looking and follows your gaze towards the TV as it counts down. 

7…6…5…

“Oh, fuck–” 

You quickly grab the remote control from the end of the coffee table, trying to find the OK button so it will start playing sooner. Jake panics, tossing the carton of berries onto the table with reckless abandon. He lunges towards you, so you hide the remote inside the comforter along with as much of yourself as you can.

“No!” He shouts playfully, grabbing at the blanket and trying to unravel you. He kneels on the edge of the chaise, knocking you over and trying to get to your hands and arms under the layers and layers of soft, fluffy blankets.

“You have… to let… me watch it!” You argue with a laugh, avoiding his grasp. You finally decide to raise the remote all the way over your head, almost over the edge of the couch. He leans forward over top of you, his weight balanced on his palm next to your head.

“Hand it over.” He says, attempting to be stern, but there’s a smile pulling at his lips. A little jingle begins to play, and you can’t see the screen, but you’re positive the video is starting. You adjust the remote in your hand and crank the volume as he stares down at you. His eyes linger on your lips, then your eyes, then your lips again. His stare is only broken when he realizes it’s getting louder. A riff starts to fill the room, a song you can’t say you’ve ever heard before, and he huffs, reaching for the remote again.

You’re a little distracted watching him on the screen over his shoulder, his long hair and unbuttoned shirt and the way his hands look wrapped around the neck of the guitar. He snatches the remote from you with an extra stretch of his arm and you giggle softly. “Oh my god…” 

“Hey, hey! I’m John from Premier Guitar, and I’m here with Jake Kiszka from–”

Jake pauses the video, falling back into his seat on the couch. His head lolls to the side and he looks at you with a playful, annoyed glare. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Why the hell are you doing guitar interviews?”

“I told you I’m a musician.” He says, a little short, lifting the remote to exit the video.

“No, no, wait!” You plead, reaching for his forearm to lower it. “Just let me watch, like, a minute.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “If you don't, I'll just go home and watch it anyway.” 

He groans, mumbling a barely there “fine,” begrudgingly before pressing play and letting the guy continue.

“Greta Van Fleet! Jake, congratulations! Since I last saw you, you won a grammy! Or two grammys?” 

“Yeah, one…” 

“You have a fucking GRAMMY?” You exclaim as the video continues to play. You turn and look at him, but his eyes are on the screen, squinting with what you can tell is embarrassment. 

“Are you gonna talk through your allotted one minute of watching or what?” He says, giving you a little warning look. You grin, turning your attention back to the screen. As the guy goes on and on, you realize this isn’t the part you want to watch. 

“Can we skip past this guy? He talks a lot. This is not how I want to use my minute.” You bargain, and he just offers you the remote silently with a smirk. 

You fast forward a little until you see he’s about to play. It’s a few seconds of him playing something else you’ve never heard, and then he speaks.

“It’s hotter, it’s a bit hotter…”

You smirk with wide eyes, looking at him in your peripherals.

“Shut up.” He says, closing his eyes like he simply can’t watch any more. You laugh at his dramatics, and when he hears it he can’t help but crack a smile. His cheeks are rosy and you look back at the screen, eyes trying to decide on what part of him to land on. 

“This guy…” You start, shaking your head a little.

“He’s a bit much.” Jake says, looking over at you with a half smile. 

“He’s so sweaty!” You add, laughing through your words. 

He lets you watch for more than a minute. He makes a few comments, scoffing at himself, even running his hand over his face a few times. You can tell it’s a little painful for him, but you’re in your glory. You reach for another strawberry as you look over at his embarrassed face.

“So this is why you’re never here…” you say, turning the volume down a little. “And the music festival…”

“Yep. That would be the reason.” He says softly, sniffing a little as he watches. You turn to look at him and his eyes flick up to yours, his gaze traveling straight to your lips. There's a flicker in his eyes, and you hardly comprehend that his hand is moving towards your face. You feel his thumb swipe softly against your bottom lip, a tiny smear of chocolate on the tip of his digit. Your tongue immediately licks over the place his thumb was, tasting the sugary sweetness of the chocolate that was once there. He places his thumb between his lips, licking the chocolate from his own finger, while his eyes stay locked on yours. 

“Somehow, it’s even sweeter.” he breathes letting his hand drop from his lips. He settles back into the couch cushions resting his head on his hand as he looks at you. You can hardly pull your eyes away from his as your heart races in your chest, the video in the background long forgotten. 

“Tell me why you’re alone on Valentine’s day…” he murmurs, his pink lips barely parting to let the words escape.

“You tell me why you are…” you counter, blinking slowly as you stare at him.

He bites his lips together as he tosses around the words in his head. He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he starts to speak. “Well, to be honest… I’ve had trouble finding someone that can live with the burden of my lifestyle. It’s a lot to ask of someone. ”

“Burden?” you ask. 

“Yeah, that’s the word that always gets thrown around when things go south. And they’re not wrong I suppose. I know that I’m gone more than I’m home. Even you know that.” He says with a humorless chuckle. “Half the time I don’t know the next time that I’ll be home and get to sleep in my own bed. So naturally that sort of…uncertainty doesn’t lend well to relationships. Of any kind really…” he pauses, letting out a sigh. “It’s hard to find, let alone keep, any type of meaningful connection… Especially when I’m halfway around the world. But I swear it’s not for lack of trying on my end. It’s just one of those things that comes with the job whether you want it or not.”

You nod your head slowly, feeling your heart breaking for him. If you weren’t sure before, you are positive now that he is just a little more lonely than he is willing to let on.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be here now. We’re supposed to be traveling to New York right now. Though, everything happens for a reason I guess.” he says, offering you a little smirk as he brushes his hand over top of yours. “Now, your turn. Tell me why such an intriguing woman is all alone on the most romantic day of the year…”

You pull the fluffy blanket up a little further onto your lap, toying with the hem as you look up at him. “I haven’t really dated anyone since I moved here. I thought I would but, I just…haven’t. I thought that once I was settled into a good routine at work I could spend a little more time meeting people, but every time I go out I’m suddenly surrounded by twenty other girls who are by modern standards perfect, and I just don’t even stand a chance against them, you know?” you pause, letting your fingers roll over the stitching on the edge of the duvet. “I don’t look like them, and I never will. So I just work a lot, hang out with my friends when I can, and have zero expectations of ever being the person that is going to stand out in a crowd like that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you wait for his response, suddenly feeling stupid for telling this stranger your secrets. 

“You couldn't be more wrong.” he breathes, letting his arm fall against the back of the couch. There’s an air of demand in his voice as he speaks. His hand swipes the hair away from your face, letting his fingers brush your jawline. “You’re prettier than all of them. And smarter, and funnier. They have nothing on you. I’d pick you…In a crowd.”

“You don’t have to just say that to try and make me feel better. It’s okay, really.” you say dismissively.

“I’m not just saying that, Y/N. I mean it. You’re so pretty, and you’re so quick witted, and you listen to me talk about stuff no one else cares about...Shit, I can’t think of one person I know that would have sat through even the first video, let alone let me talk through the entire thing. I’m having one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, with you.” he urges, settling his hand loosely on the curve of your neck. His skin is warm against yours, and you can smell the remnants of the cologne he likely sprayed on his wrist this morning as it wafts towards your nose. 

You laugh softly, suddenly feeling shy as he compliments you. You lean into him without even noticing, your eyes closing as you breathe him in. The cushion dips as he leans towards you, meeting you where you were and pressing his lips to yours almost tentatively. His fingers grip into your neck as his tongue swipes against your bottom lip. If the gummy didn’t already have you feeling floaty, you were sure you’d be feeling it now. He pulls away from you and a small whimper leaves your mouth at the loss of his warmth. His hand slides down your neck and over your shoulder, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him. With his other hand, he picks up the remote and hits pause, not wanting the video to carry on in the background of what you think is about to be another kiss. 

“C’mere…” he growls, holding a hand out to you. You tuck your feet underneath yourself in an attempt to push up onto your knees, feeling slightly off-kilter. You grip his hand a little tighter as you reach for his shoulder, moving slowly until you’re straddling his lap. He positions your legs on either side of him, making sure you’re comfortable, and taking the opportunity to run his hands over your thighs. You rest your hands on his chest for some stability, your head in the clouds. His hands immediately find their way back to your face, cupping your cheeks as he pulls you in and kisses you again,though this time there is a little more urgency behind it. You slide your hands up and over his shoulders, letting your fingers weave into his hair, grabbing a handful of the chestnut locks and gripping it in your fists. He tilts his head back slightly in response. 

“Oh, fuck.” he groans. He looks at you with his head tilted back, his lids heavy, a barely-there crooked smile on his face. He’s such a sight with his dark eyes and pink lips, you think you might burst on the spot. You know you need to kiss him again, but you also want to hear him moan and curse again, and his exposed throat is calling to you.

Leaning down, you place a kiss to his jaw, the skin soft and warm. You feel like you’re in the passenger seat as someone else, a bolder and less inhibited version of yourself, calls the shots. One minute, you’re thinking about how the textured skin of his throat feels against your cheek, then then the next, you’re kissing and licking at it without a second thought. You feel his skin buzz under your lips as he whines, the taste of his skin and cologne mixed together so good you’re certain you’ll never be able to forget it. 

You feel yourself melting into him, your tongue pulling the delicate skin over his clavicle into your mouth as you suck and bite softly without any consideration for the fact that he probably shouldn’t be covered in love bites. When you lift your head, he’s got his own resting on the back of the couch, his eyes closed, his brows knitted together as you shower him in searing kisses.

Sitting up, you lean over him again for another kiss, this time taking it upon yourself to deepen it, grazing your teeth over his bottom lip as you lace your hands in his hair again, taking a bit of control. You feel him shudder beneath you, his hips bucking up in response. His tongue slides into your mouth and you can taste the lingering flavor of the tequila he was no doubt drinking prior to your arrival mixed with a hint of chocolate. His hands travel down your body, sliding underneath the hem of your shirt. He stops as his hands wrap around your waist, his thumbs swiping over your skin. You lean into his grip, feeling him pull you down onto his groin as his teeth nip at your lips now. 

You know that both of you are still feeling the effects of the gummy and there isn’t a shred of inhibition between the two of you. You release your grip on his hair and let your hands trail down the open buttons of his shirt, feeling the chest you’ve stared at all night beneath your fingertips. You slide them further down, letting your fingers toy with the remaining buttons, waiting to see if he will stop you, but when he doesn’t, you finish the job and push his shirt open completely. A silver necklace rests between his pecs, and you smile recognizing the coin as one of the artifacts you saw in one of the videos from earlier in the night. 

His mouth is like velvet on yours and you can’t help but to want more of him. You roll your hips against him, feeling him growing beneath you and spurring you on even more. Another groan leaves his mouth, his lips vibrating on yours. His hands move up a little further, his thumbs just dusting the underside of your bralette. You can tell he’s doing his best to be respectful, but you simply cannot wait another second to feel his hands on your body. 

You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, tossing it to the side. He swallows thickly as his eyes roam over you, his lips parting as he looks you over. His mind is struggling to keep up with the pace things are moving. He hums in approval as he runs a calloused fingertip over your navel, which pulls a lazy smile from you. Jake chuckles in response, now moving his hands to rest at your shoulders before pulling you down closer to him so he can press a wet kiss to your collarbone. His lips trail down your skin until they reach the fullness of your chest, and with his eyes now locked on yours, he sucks a hot, audible kiss into the rounded skin.

Your eyes flutter closed as his tongue swipes against your skin, simultaneously feeling his fingers pull the bralette straps down over your shoulders. With the extra support gone the cups fall slightly, revealing a little more of your chest to him. You grab his hands and pull them to your chest, giving him the green light to take things a little further. 

“God, you’re stunning.” he mumbles breathlessly, gripping into your tits as you roll your hips against him. You lean forward to press your lips to his again, licking into his mouth as his hands move to circle around your back, resting just at the base of your back. He presses you closer as you roll into him again, this time feeling his fully hard cock pressed against your core. He hooks a finger into one side of your bralette, freeing your nipple. He leans forward and takes into his mouth, sucking softly. You groan at the feeling, a breath of air leaving his mouth as you drag across the length of him. He pulls you closer, dragging his tongue over the sensitive bud as mewls fall from your lips. You usually aren’t as affected by something so routine in foreplay, but all of your senses are heightened and you think you could probably cum from the feeling of his mouth spoiling you with kisses and bites combined with how hard he is between your thighs.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, still glassy and blown out. “I promise this isn’t what I intended when I invited you over...” he breathes, his thumbs swiping against your back as he licks his lips, his blinks slow and lazy. 

“I know…” you answer with a bashful smile and lidded eyes, staring into his brown irises. “But it feels too good to stop.” 

“Yeah,” he says, more of a breath than a word. “I want you so fucking bad right now.” he adds, a smirk pulling across his lips as he makes the move to roll you to your back on the chaise of the couch. You're giggling as he’s now hovering over you, similarly to how he was earlier, only this time you know he’s going to kiss you and you don’t have to wish for it. He makes quick work of his shirt, pulling his arms from the sleeves and tossing it to the other side of the room. Your head is positively spinning, the room around you seems like a blur and the only thing in focus is him.

He runs a finger over your chest, hooking into the fabric of your bralette. “Take this off for me, sweetheart. Show me.” he mumbles, his lazy eyes slowly raking over every inch of you, needing more.

You practically burst into flames, rushing to pull the fabric over your head. Now completely exposed to him, his eyes flick down to your chest as he bites his lips together. He pulls back again, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down for some relief. He swallows harshly, letting his eyes meet yours again. You reach your hand up and hook it around his neck, pulling his face down to yours. You press your lips to his and he lowers himself down to his elbows, deepening the kiss as his body lays on top of yours. 

You let your free hand circle around his back, your fingers following the contours of his waist, dipping down to his spine as you run the length of his back. He groans at the feeling of your nails against his skin, and you find yourself wondering if he’s usually this vocal or if the high he’s experiencing has lowered his guard. 

He shoots up, turning his head around to look at the TV, muttering something under his breath as he grabs the remote from the other side of the couch. He exits the video and you giggle, realizing it was paused on a still of his brother, you assume, in the middle of talking with his hands, sitting behind a keyboard. He tosses the remote to the coffee table, leaning back down over you with a smirk. “Sorry. I just think three’s a crowd.” he smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He pulls away from your lips leaving a trail of kisses down your throat, and over your sternum, stopping just shy of the top of your yoga pants. His eyes flick up to yours, and you offer him a shy nod, silently thanking yourself for that “everything” shower this morning. 

He kisses your stomach one more time before curling his fingers beneath the hem, sliding them slowly over your hips and down your legs before letting them fall softly to the floor. You lay there in just your panties, and you think he may notice that you’re feeling exposed as he quickly stands to kick off his pants. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the heavy outline of his dick, visible and straining against the black fabric of his boxers. 

His eyes flick to yours but you can’t seem to take your eyes off of the tan line just above the elastic of his boxers, wanting more than anything to peel the black fabric from his hips. He kneels onto the chaise, settling himself between your legs and caging you between his arms. A few strands of his hair hang around his face, and his dark brown eyes are growing darker by the second. You bring your hand up to his stomach, letting your fingers sneak beneath the elastic of his boxers, sliding across the front of his waist causing him to clench up his stomach with a smile. 

“You ticklish?” you murmur, continuing to slide your fingers across his waistband. 

He drops his head to look at your hand in his boxers before looking back up at you with a smirk. “Not ticklish, just…sensitive…” he growls. You can tell that the gummy has made him a little more responsive to touch than he normally is.

His hips jolt forward on their own accord and you feel the brush of his dick against your fingers. He sucks in a harsh breath at the contact, his eyes connecting with yours. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you push your hand further inside, wrapping softly around his hardened length. A hiss leaves his mouth and he starts to breathe a little heavier as you squeeze around him. You slide your hand up and around the tip, rounding off at the end before sliding back down, watching his eyes flutter closed for the slightest second. 

“Fuck, wait…” he breathes, pulling back and taking a second to compose himself. He sits up a little more, hooking his fingers into your thong and pulling it swiftly down your legs. His eyes flick up towards the couch then back down the length of the chaise, “Move down a little for me, baby. Rest your feet on the floor. ” 

You quickly push yourself further down on the couch, letting your knees hang over the edge of the chaise until your feet meet the rug on the floor. He drops to his knees at the end of the chaise, running his warm hands up the length of your thighs. He kisses the inside of your thigh, humming in appreciation for the position he’d found himself in. 

He rests both of his hands on your hips, and as you look down at him, you see a faint silver scar up the length of his left arm. You wrap your hand around his forearm, feeling his veins pulsing against your palm.

His eyes meet yours as he slowly drags his tongue through your folds, hot and slow as you throw your head back into the couch cushion. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers pressing firmly into your skin pulling you closer as his lips suction over your clit. His tongue swipes against you again, flatter and with more pressure as you writhe beneath him. 

“Fuck…” he curses, his warm breath sending a shiver up your spine. “Had I known what I was missing…” he pauses to lick at you again. “I would have pulled you across the street months ago. You taste like heaven.”

You feel as if you’re floating on a cloud as you melt into his comforter, the warmth from the fireplace radiating across the room. A soft gasp falls from your lips as he laps at you, no urgency or strategy behind his method. He seems to just be enjoying himself, his eyes lifting to look at you, a little lazy, a little glassy. You shift underneath him slightly, but he’s not deterred. His mouth doesn’t leave you for even a moment, like you’re his only source of vitality in this very moment. 

You whine when you feel his tongue press to your entrance, and you feel the smile that pulls across his lips. Your hips buck up towards him, his nose brushing over your clit, sending you quickly towards a place you’re not quite ready to be yet. His tongue finds you again, pressing forward this time and entering just for a second before pulling back out. His lips suction over you again, and he shakes his head side to side, taking you to that place whether you’re ready or not.

“Jake…” you whine, sliding your hands into his hair.

“Mmm?” he hums into you, his eyes slowly opening to find yours, heavy with lust. 

“More…” you beg, shuddering the slightest bit as you see how dark his eyes have become.

He gives you one more slow, long lap of his tongue, like he’s savoring it and committing the taste of you to memory. He stands from where he was kneeling and taps your thigh gently, wordlessly telling you to shift back up on the chaise. You scoot backwards and he follows, nestling himself between your legs, propped up on his palm. With the hand he isn’t using for balance, he frees himself from his briefs. He strokes himself once, but then lets himself go and you feel him against you, his cock heavy and hard, landing on the inside of your thigh with the softest sound. He pulls back slightly and when he pushes his hips forward again, he’s sliding through your folds, slick and lewd. It makes your cheeks hot.

“You’re so fucking wet…” he grunts, his voice strained like he’s in pain. “Just wanna feel you for a second…”

He lowers himself to bury his face in your hair, his breath hot as he pants, gently rutting his hips against you, his thrusts a little uncoordinated and desperate. 

“Everything’s just so fucking sensitive.” he says, his now boyish voice cracking as it’s muffled by the pillow behind your head. He wraps his arms tightly around you and under you, like he’s worried you’re about to float away. “Feels so good.”

With a deep breath he releases you, sliding his hand down to fist his base. As he presses the tip to your entrance his eyes lock on yours, wordlessly asking if you’re ready, and when you nod he starts to press forward. His eyes flick down to your center, watching as he slides into you. The stretch is noticeable, but you welcome it. You want it. His eyes flutter closed for just a second and you feel him stop his movement, not pressing into you fully. 

“Fuck, give me a second.” he pants, his chest heaving. 

You feel him try to slide in a little more, but again he’s holding back. 

“I think– I think you’re gonna have to take the reins here.” he admits. 

“What do you mean…”

“If I move a single inch more I won’t–” he pauses, shaking his head as he blows out a breath. “I just need you to be on top.” 

His eyes are pleading, searching yours, and you can’t possibly fathom the idea of ever denying him. 

“I’ll make it worth your while.” he offers, and you can’t help but give him a little smirk, nodding. He withdraws and gives you a little space to get up, ditching his underwear before taking your place. You gingerly climb over him, taking a moment to brush one of the strands of hair that frames his face out of the way. He gives you a soft, lazy smile, his eyes barely open as he welcomes your gentle touch. 

His hand reaches between the two of you as he lines himself up, and you waste no time lowering yourself onto him, savoring how full he makes you feel. Intending to fly right out of the gates you lift your hips again, but he slowly settles you down, a soft hum rumbling through him. 

“That’s it. Yeah… Lean back for me?” he coaches, and you do as he asks without a second thought. His warm hand brushes down your abdomen until his thumb makes contact with your clit to rub gentle circles while his lidded eyes are open just a sliver to stare intently at where your bodies are meeting. His pink lips are parted slightly, his breathing shallow. You can’t help the wanton moan that escapes your throat at the sight paired with his careful touch.

“Rest your hands on my knees. I won’t let you fall.” he instructs, letting his free hand slide up your thigh. You do as he says, leaning back onto his knees, allowing you to take him a little deeper. “Just like that, baby. Fuck…” 

You roll your hips in figure eights, feeling him brush against that sensitive place inside you, eliciting a whine from your chest. 

“Yeah? Right there?” he asks, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You stay just like that. Let me take over.” 

He brings his foot up to rest on the cushion, giving himself a little more leverage. His hand firmly grips into your hip as he forcefully flicks his hips and fucks up into you. You gasp as he hits that spot, like he knew where it was the whole time. His thumb never relenting in its work on your clit.

“Yeah, damn. That’s it isn’t it, sweetheart? You feel so good like this... You just keep squeezin’ me, just like that.”

The force of his thrusts cause his silver chain to work its way up his body and into the crook of his neck. Your attention is quickly drawn to the metal coins rattling together with each thrust. 

“M’gonna cum…” you warn him so he can decide whether or not to back off, but he just groans and keeps his motions steady. You can’t breathe when it hits you, nor can you help the way you fall forward, gasping for breath. Steadying yourself with weak arms, you grasp at the plush comforter underneath him.

“Fuck me that’s tight,” he groans. “Fuck.” He grabs your wrists on either side of his head for leverage, thrusting up into you so hard you see stars. It’s like your vision goes white as your chest heaves and you meet your end, crying out a desperate wail of his name.

“Slow down for me now, baby.” he coos as you tremble and try to catch your breath. You nod, taking all of him slowly with each roll of your hips. Looking down at him, you can tell he’s struggling to keep it together. Something about the way he’s dewy with sweat, his chest rising and falling, his hair sticking to his face… It makes your head spin. You watch his stoned eyes rolling back each time you take him so deeply the head of his cock brushes against the deepest part of you and it’s almost too much to bear. 

He grips your hips suddenly, inhaling sharply. You freeze, knowing what he’s getting at, and you feel him twitch inside you. His brow is knitted up in concentration and a whine leaves his perfect, heart-shaped lips. 

“Goddamn… you feel too good. I can’t– I can’t hold it, fuck…” he babbles, his voice pitched higher than you’ve heard it all night. Before you can say a word, he continues on. 

“Can I do it inside? Please, baby, can I? Pl– oh, god, please? Wanna cum inside you so bad, so fucking bad… Can I? Baby–” 

“Do it.” you urge, desperate to give him anything he wants in this very moment. 

“Yeah?” he gasps. 

“Yeah, do it. Please. I need it…” you whine, squeezing him with everything you have one last time. 

“Oh fuck…” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you down and holds you in place as he pumps into you. “God damn, fuck me…” he cries out, grunting with each pulse inside you. His brows are furrowed and his eyes screwed shut before finally letting out a deep breath and slowing his hips. 

His chest is heaving and a sheen of sweat covers his tanned skin. His hand moves from your hips, swiping the sweaty hair from his forehead. You lift to your knees, knowing exactly why his eyes are still trained on the place the two of you meet. He wants to see his work.

As you lift up, you feel his release start to stream out of you and back down onto his cock. A huff of pride leaves his chest, his tongue swiping out over his bottom lip before biting it between his teeth. 

“Should we clean up?” he asks, watching the hot white streams drip down to his base. 

“I’m working on it...” you say softly, lifting off of him completely and dropping to your knees. You plant your hands on either side of his hips, arching your back and pressing your ass into the air as you lower your mouth over his cum covered cock. 

“Fuck…” he groans, watching your lips slide down his length.

Closing your lips over his base, you take him as far into your throat as you can, sucking his release from his skin as you work your way up, dragging your tongue over his every inch. You can feel him growing hard again as you reach the tip, lapping and circling your tongue around the sensitive skin. You drop down to his base again, but this time you feel his hand grip into your hair, holding you there as his hips jerk forward, propelling him further down your throat. 

“Look at me.” he demands, and you flick your watery eyes up to meet his. 

You gag around him and he releases your hair, his eyes dark and filled with desire. “Mmm…Yeah, fuck. We’re gonna revisit this...” he says, eyes fixed on you as you pull off of him with a pop. “Just needed to see how pretty you look with my cock down your throat.”

You can’t stop the tiny gasp that escapes you as you shoot him a playfully shocked grin. You blink once, raising your brows. 

“We have a lot to revisit. Where did that come from?” You ask through a laugh, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He chuckles, handing you your shirt. 

“Sorry, sorry. The edible’s wearing off.” He says with a smirk, attempting to get himself off the couch. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Jake shows you to the bathroom, then disappears into his bedroom while you freshen up. When you emerge, re-dressed and significantly less sticky, he hears your footsteps and comes out to meet you in the hallway. The two of you smile at each other, feeling the THC and endorphins and feelings starting to settle like you’re standing in a snowglobe.

“I'm glad you came over. Sorry I Jake’d you for a few hours.” He says softly, and there’s some jingling coming from his bedroom, which is probably Davy annoyed that you’re still lingering in his house. Jake hears it, reaching behind him to close his bedroom door without looking away from you.

“Jake’d me? Please don’t tell me that’s what you call–”

“NO, no, no. Oh, no. Getting ‘Jake’d’ is what my family calls it when I corner one of them into talking to me for an extended period of time about something they don’t really care about in excruciating detail.” He explains like he’s reading the definition from a textbook, a charming smile on his face. He seems a little embarrassed but at the same time, he sees the humor in it.

“Well I had a really great time.” you answer genuinely, pushing your hair behind your ear. “You can Jake me whenever you want.” You joke, a laugh bubbling out of you. You wiggle your eyebrows at him playfully and it coaxes a short, loud laugh out of him as well. 

“I just might take you up on that.” He says, and there’s a rosy tint to his cheeks even in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“You know where to find me...” 

As if he can tell you’re about to try and take your leave, he starts to walk past you and down the stairs. 

“...Have you ever watched those videos where they clean out old barns?”

–

The two of you ended up curled together on the chaise, tucked under his big comfy blanket. The exhaustion hits you all at once, and about 10 minutes in, you slip into a deep sleep, your head tucked into his shoulder, his arm around you, his hand gently scratching your scalp. 

Hours later, you wake up unsure where you are for a moment. As you shift a little, you feel there’s a heavy weight against you, which you soon realize is Jake’s leg. You’re no longer tucked underneath the giant duvet, a little sweaty, as Jake is asleep on his back. His hand is tucked into his sweatpants resting on his upper thigh, and you have to peel your eyes away once you spot the first sign of him half hard and half asleep. You can see his bold tan line and the slightest bit of hair through the gap he’s created. Sitting up, you try to search for a clock somewhere in the room or even your phone. Feeling around the chaise under you, you don’t find it. You look over on the other side of Jake hoping it’s there, but the only thing you find there is little Davy, curled into a ball and pressed against Jake’s back. 

Jake seems to feel you moving around and it wakes him, eliciting a raspy hum from his chest. He pulls you back in towards him, your back to his chest, and you feel him shaking his head against your shoulder.

“Morning,” you say through a breathy laugh, but at the sound of your voice, you hear the jingle of Davy’s collar and the tippy-taps of his feet as he runs as far away from you as humanly possible.

“Too early.” He grumbles, reaching blindly over his head to feel around for the curtains. When he doesn’t find them, he groans and gets up, tugging them closed tight. “Fuck. Slept with my contacts in.” He says, standing over you and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He stretches his arms over his head, his tanline peeking out again, and you squeeze your eyes closed trying to keep your head on straight. He sighs deeply before sliding back onto the couch with you, pulling you tight to him. The two of you fall back asleep soon after, the only sound you hear is the clinking of Davy’s collar tag against his bowl and some quiet crunching.

–

When you wake again it’s from the feeling of Jake’s fingers moving against your hip. You stretch your legs out along the chaise, feeling the brush of his sweatpants against your legs. You roll your body towards him letting out a yawn. His eyes open, a little red from the dryness of sleeping with his contacts in, but as they fully open you’re once again pulled in by the dark brown irises. 

“Still too early?” you whisper, your morning voice thick with sleep. 

“Mmm, a bit, but I should probably get up. I’m sure my phone is just completely blown up by this point.” he groans, stretching his own legs out. “You sleep okay? We should’ve just moved to the bed earlier.”

“Actually this couch is pretty comfy, no complaints from me.” you smile, watching a grin spread across his own face. 

“Speaking of complaints, your snoring…” he trails off. 

“I don’t snore!” you admonish, playfully pushing off of his warm chest. 

“No, you don’t. I’m just kidding. You are warm though, but that’s not a complaint.” he growls, tossing the comforter off of both of you. He pushes himself up off of the couch, his sweatpants dangerously low on his hips. “Coffee? You drink coffee?” he asks, searching for his phone on the coffee table. “Or I can order something to the house, though there’s really only one good place that deliv–”

You send him a knowing look and he stops himself. 

“But you know that already because you live across the street.” he sighs. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee’s good.” you answer, looking for your own phone. 

“How do you like it? Sugar? Milk? I don’t know what I have but–”

“Just sugar is fine…” you smirk. 

He leans over the coffee table to grab his phone, stealing a kiss on his descent. 

“Hey!” you laugh.

“You said just sugar…” he grins, swiping his phone and disappearing into his kitchen. 

You stifle back the smile on your lips, and a morning you thought might be slightly awkward, feels like you’ve done it a million times. You pull on your cardigan, and run your fingers through your hair, straightening up the couch cushions, and repositioning the pillows. You’re finishing folding up his comforter as he walks into the room. 

“Ahh, you didn’t have to do that.” he says, placing your mug on the coffee table.

“No trouble, just cleaning up our mess.” you smile, tossing the folded comforter down onto the couch. 

“You seem to be rather good at that...” he smirks into his coffee mug. 

Your cheeks grow hot as you recall what he is referring to. You grab your mug from the table and take a few sips, finding that somehow it’s made exactly how you like it. 

You spot your keys under the coffee table, bending to grab them. “There they are. Always getting away from me.”

He chuckles as he takes his normal seat on the couch, crossing his leg over his knee. You stare at him, just enjoying his coffee on his couch and you want to ask him if you can see him again, but you don’t. You think back to what he told you last night, and decide against it. 

You place your empty mug on the table, and bite your lips together before looking at him. “Thank you– for the coffee, and everything. It was nice.” 

“Yeah, it was nice, wasn’t it? Same time next year?” he jokes, offering you a wink. 

“Oh yeah, I thought that was a given…” you say through a laugh, “I mean, if you’re home of course.”

You grab your phone and keys from the coffee table and stand, ready to make your way towards the front door. He joins you in standing, the mug still clasped in his hand.

“Yeah, you just never know, ya know? I mean, maybe we don’t even have to wait that long…” he laughs, taking another sip of his coffee with a shrug. 

“Yeah, I mean, you have my number…” You smile, twisting the front door knob. 

“That I do. I definitely do.” he pauses, as you pull the door open. “Hey wait, let me walk you home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, it’s just right there…” you say nervously. 

“No, really. I want to. Just give me a sec.” he says, setting his mug on the entry table and rushing to grab a hoodie from his coat rack. He slides on a pair of dirty white Vans that have definitely seen better days, and opens the door further. “Alright, you ready?”

The two of you make your way through his front yard, giggling back and forth all the way to your front door as he quizzes you about the videos you watched last night. As you step up to your front porch mat you pull your keys from your cardigan pocket and start to unlock the door. 

“Thanks for walking me home. You’re such a gentleman…” you say, feigning romance. As you peek over his shoulder you see Davy sitting in the window, keeping a close eye on Jake. 

“Well of course, I couldn’t miss out on my kiss…” he smiles, a little dimple forming in his cheek. 

“What kiss…” you press, all the while secretly hoping for just one more. 

He grabs your waist and pulls you close to him, pressing his cold lips to yours. You can taste the remnants of coffee on his tongue, and as he pulls away his lips linger just a second longer. 

A hum leaves his lips as he steps back. “That kiss.” He says, stepping backwards off of your porch, taking a few steps before turning to head back to his house. As you step inside your front door you look over your shoulder at the same time as he does, throwing his hand up from inside his hoodie pocket to offer you a two finger wave. 

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you close the door behind you, and you feel like positively melting into the ground over the night you just shared with Jake. As you peek out the window you see Davy gone from his patrol post, and you smile knowing he’s definitely happy to have Jake all to himself again.

—

As you scrub away the remnants of the night before, you can’t help but to remember the way his hands felt as they moved across your body. So warm and so intentional, even in his intoxicated state. You wonder if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and if he’s thinking about it just as much as you are. You think back to every other Valentine’s day you’ve ever had, and not a single one holding a candle to the night you just spent across the street with your neighbor. 

You hear your phone buzz on the bathroom counter as you turn the shower off, wrapping yourself in a towel as you pick it up from the countertop. Your heart leaps in your chest as you see his name flash across your screen.

Jake - Neighbor

12:04pm: Probably should have watched the first one before the sequel. 😉

12:04pm: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWDf_CEkpoU&t=1382s

You quickly hit the link, watching as it directs you to youtube, pulling up yet another Rig Rundown video. This one is much older than the one you saw last night, and as you lean against the bathroom counter the intro music starts to play. You’re met with a much younger looking version of Jake, in a sweater and a bucket hat, looking bright and eager to talk about his craft. 

You quickly head towards your kitchen, pulling your own stash of gummies from your pantry. You pluck one of the small black bags from the basket and snap a photo as you pull up your texts and attach it to a message with a giggle. 

You

12:10pm: Should I take one of these before I watch it? 

12:10pm: By the way, love the bucket hat… 😉

You make your way back to your bedroom, dressing yourself in lounge clothes, knowing you’ll probably spend the rest of the day relaxing and catching up on your shows. Satisfied with your outfit you grab your phone to check for his response, only to be met with an empty screen. You sigh and make your way to the living room, flopping down onto your couch with your leftover take out from the night before, pressing play on the TV. 

You try not to think about the man across the street and what he’s probably doing. You know he must be into something since he has yet to respond to your message. That or he has no intention of ever speaking to you again. 

Feeling frustrated that it’s probably the latter, you toss your phone to the other side of the couch, catching a glance out your window. Your eyes snap to his driveway, seeing another car taking up the space next to his. Who the hell is at his house?

You stand up and make your way over to the window, taking a closer look at the white Jeep parked next to his car. You’ve never noticed it before…Or have you? You start to wrack your brain for the times you’ve even seen another car at his house, but you come up short. Never really caring before today. 

You sit back down on the couch and start the next episode of your show, feeling the soreness from the prior night's activities starting to settle into your muscles. You grab a throw blanket and your favorite pillow and snuggle down into the couch cushions, ready to nap away your troubles, and hoping to wake up to a new message in your inbox. 

A knock on the door startles you awake. You grab your phone and see that you’ve slept quite a few hours, and it’s now nearly 6:00pm.

You stand up and run your hands through your hair to combat the bedhead, clearing your throat as you reach for the door knob. Standing on the other side of your door is Jake, looking like he is fresh from the shower, as his damp hair lays long over his shoulders. You can smell his body wash wafting off of him and you practically melt into the door frame. 

“Did I wake you up? Did you actually take that gummy?” he laughs, pulling his hands from his pockets. 

“Oh, no. I didn’t. I just… I guess I was a little more tired than I thought.” you blush, trying to play it cool, and not like you’ve been thinking about him since the moment he left this morning. 

“Sorry I forgot to respond. My brother came over and I couldn’t get him to leave.” he laughs.  

His brother.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I was in and out of sleep all day anyways.” you lie. 

“So…” he pauses, taking a breath as he reaches into his pocket. “I may have acquired something a bit better than what we had last night.” he says holding a small black bag in his palm. 

“I don’t know, I kind of liked what we had last night.” you quip, a little smirk on your lips. 

“Mhmm, I know you did.” he smiles, sliding his hands back into his trouser pockets. 

“I don’t know if you had plans tonight or anything…” he trails off, kicking his foot against your doormat. “But I was thinking about watching this video I saw about how to make a barbecue smoker out of a filing cabinet. Really riveting stuff…”

His big brown eyes flash up to yours in question and you feel that flame in your chest reignite. You’re already eager at the thought of spending another night like last night. You knew right then that it wouldn’t matter if it was a filing cabinet smoker or a centuries old shipwreck, there was suddenly nothing more important than watching whatever it may be, with him. So with a shy smile, and the tap of your fingers against your chin you meet his gaze. 

“You know, I really have been meaning to look into that…”

Taglist: @ageofcj @britney-gvf @bladenotblaze @gretavanfan @peaceloveunitygvf @highway-tuna @anythingforjtk @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @myleftsock @gretavanmoon @aflame4goinghome @ascendingtothestarssasone @jjwasneverhere @sparrowofrhiannon @gvfstuddedmajesty @kiarraaldarondo @oliver-mf-reed @notjordie-gvf @starshine-wagner @starcatcherchords @sadiechar @spark-my-nature @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @mackalah @stardustofman @eyelinerjake @farfromthehomelands @abby-gvf @writingcold @fleet-of-fiction @stardustjake @sinarainbows @gvfsstardust @ageoflou @jarmonicasweat @jakekiszkasmommy @bubblyjake @jakeygvf21 @starrymoonslut @takenbythemadness @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @m0uthfl13s @floatinglikeaswan @bri-archer @Mama.likes72

[shanieveh]

— "what letters?"

; genshin men writing letters for a year only to have no reply

WRIOTHESLEY who fails to hinder his bitter stance upon seeing you after all these years, your face filled with bruises and tarnishes, once so spotless and clean. He wrote to you everyday, he loved you. Where were you when he needed you? But all those negative emotions can't stop his embrace, your scent still smelled like home.

Then forced in this prison by injustice, he finally became content. He didn't care about your guilty begging about not seeing his letters, he was just glad that this hell became heaven because of your embrace.

NEUVILLETTE whos drawers are filled with drafts of unsent letters, with no sender nor a promised reply. Some call him a mad man for writing these, but many turn a sympathetic view on him. After all, we all have our ways of grieving don't we? Even after all this time, why was he still expecting your reply?

He sometimes imagined the you knew of these confessions, of these intimate moments that was all in his mind. He would've forgave you in a heartbeat for not writing back. But now he stays right where you left him.

ALHAITHAM looks at your sobbing face right next to the crumpled papers. You thought he didn't care... that he moved on... that he never loved you—he did. He was in love with you. Each letter showing the longing you thought was one sided. He loved you like it was the most freeing thing he had.

And now it's over, as you look at him in the altar, knowing full well you already had your chance. He said it was too late... but you knew it was because he was never yours to begin with.

SCARAMOUCHE who was fuming at your false accusations only to realize that in all those months he wrote as if it was the only thing he had. None of those ever went back to you. How could fate be so cruel? As his cold eyes gave you a warm embrace. He was just glad... his soul found its other half.

After all the pain and suffering, the torture and madness. You both can finally be at peace, and no longer was hatred in his heart.

LYNEY's heart broke at your clueless expression. You didn't know... anything? The time. The passion. The pain. You were left to think that he never cared. He did. You were left to hate him, to find another, fate really let the greatest love of his life go away. As you begin to read it all, the past that you left behind. The path you didn't take.

It hurt. To see someone who waited, to see someone you love. To imagine the life you could've had. With the person you knew would treat you right.

KAVEH was a forgotten memory in your head, you grew old, you found someone new and now you are enjoying your life free from the burdens of youth. But as you look at the hidden treasure box at your old shared apartment, you saw the trinkets of your past and read the letters of his love. ...

...

His words felt like it described that of an alluring painting. You didn't even remember his face, the sound of his voice, but the feeling he gave you felt all the same. If only you could save him, if only he didn't let you go.

[jenscx]

ATTENTION 60 — attention (half-written)

the other girls had gone to get ice cream, leaving just you and minji on the sandy beach. the outing was suggested by danielle and somehow you were dragged into it as well. you wiped your clammy hands on the mat below you, leaning your head onto minji’s shoulder. the girl softened at your touch and placed her head onto yours.

slowly, your hand reached for hers, intertwining your fingers together as you watched the sunset. you were sufficiently tired out. hyein had managed to make you chase her around the beach the whole day, draining your energy. even after chasing hyein, you were forced to swim with hanni and danielle, discussing the newest idol drama shows. and after that, you had an intense debate with haerin about dogs and cats. safe to say, you were ready to pass out. minji had brought you to the shore, laying a mat out and bringing fruit juice to you.

“yn unnie, are you sleepy?” minji mumbles. your eyelids fluttered open, eyes crinkling into a smile and nodding.

“yeah, hyein tired me out so much.”

minji scoffs, laughing, “it’s not too late to back out.”

you frown, pinching her arm, “don’t say that, jinnie. i won’t leave you so easily.”

“why won’t you?”

“because i love you, minji. what type of question is that?” you ask, suddenly straightening up. minji winces, sighing and untangling your fingers from hers.

“i treated you like shit, unnie. i still don’t understand why you forgave me. seriously, if i were you, i would have never gave myself a second chance,” minji says, running her fingers through her hair, “i guess, i’m still unsure why you still want me.”

your gaze softens. to be frank, you had no idea why you forgave her either. if it was anyone else that came back begging, you would have gotten a restraining order and more.

“do i need a reason?” minji nods. “because you’re kim minji,” you place a hand on her cheek, caressing it softly, “we all make mistakes, especially since it’s our first. you’ve already apologised, why should i delay my happiness any longer?”

“but… unnie, i admitted to wanting to hurt you.”

you smile, “i know. and i still forgive you, because i’ve had those same thoughts before. when you came to talk things out, i was tempted to make you chase after me. but i don’t gain anything out of that.”

minji still looks unsure, uncertainty filling her eyes as she continues, “how could you have trusted me so easily?”

“can it be called love if there aren’t any risks? i was willing to risk my feelings and security to be with you, minji. in every universe, i’ll do the same. i gave you the benefit of doubt then, to enjoy every day after with you. i have no idea why i forgive you either, maybe it’s because you’re minji. maybe it was fate that brought you back to me. but do the reasons matter, when i have you in my arms again?”

the soft sounds of the waves crashing at the shore fade into the back. there’s no distinct chatter anymore. it’s just you and minji, staring at each other. her hair swirls in the wind, eyebrows furrowed as she takes in your every word. it’s moments like this that you gave up your guard for. you think about all the memories you shared with minji. it was all worth it.

“i can’t say that i’ve given myself to you completely, but just know i’m halfway there. let me be your other half for now,” you whisper, “to complete you.”

minji groans, “you can’t say these type of things. it makes me feel… i don’t know, feelings?”

“i make you feel feelings?” you grin, admiring the blush that slowly spreads across minji’s cheeks.

“yes?”

“that’s good,” you take minji’s hands into yours, “since you make me feel feelings too.”

your girlfriend smiles, one filled with affection. she brings your hands to her lips, placing one single kiss on them.

“i won’t let you regret your choice, ever.”

you feel warmth bubble inside you. your heart feels full. full of love and adoration.

“i’ll never make you feel that way ever again.” another kiss.

“i’ll give you my everything. my love, my patience, my body, soul, my heart. i’ll give you all my attention.” she leaves one more kiss on your hands, staring up at you with hooded eyes. you receive her signal, smirking and pulling her in for minji to place a final kiss on your lips.

masterlist | next

TAGS ! @ky-yk @urmom2314 @nasyu-kookies @limbforalimb @yoontoonwhs @be0mluver @lesleepyyy @eunhhh @edamboon @sewiouslyz @haerinfangs @impossiblesharkcashrebel @mightymyo @dexthzone @pandafuriosa60 @dmndtears @awkwardtoafault @hyehae @haerinkisser @chaerybae @yukianism @urwyf3 @manooffline @yerisdumbass @jeindall777 @jiwoneiric @justme-idle @imthisclosetokms

[mpregdimension]

I melted back against the couch cushions, savoring the warmth of Santiago's muscular arms wrapped tightly around me. At 7 months pregnant, my belly had ballooned out enormously, though the sleepy Santiago still thought I was only carrying one big baby. If only he knew the truth that I had twin sons brewing in there.

"It's time for you to tell me how your three weeks in Colombia went. How're your parents doing?" I asked, craning my neck to nuzzle against his scratchy cheek. Santiago had just gotten back from another Colombia trip.

"They're good, babe" he mumbled groggily, planting a lazy kiss on my temple. "Mom keeps bugging me about when I'll finally bring you to meet them."

I managed a smile, though part of me worried his mother might not be as accepting of our relationship as she let on. Since I found out I was pregnant Santiago has stopped talking about his parents, children and friends like he did before, even though he travels to Colombia almost all the time to visit them.

"What about your...other family?" I ventured cautiously.

Santiago immediately tensed up, his eyes flashing open. "Paul, you already know I'm still in the same situation, there's no need to ask every time, please don't make me talk about that damn ex-wife," he grumbled, suddenly sounding more awake. "That shitty divorce is still going on for years, at least my boys are fine, busy at university without having to get involved in those problems."

Deciding to drop it, I just nodded and leaned back against his chest, breathing in his musky, familiar scent. Santiago nuzzled against my neck, his hands roaming down to cup my huge pregnant belly.

"Damn, you're getting so fuckin' big, babe," he purred in that deep, gravelly voice. "I can't wait to meet our little man."

Our little man...if only he knew. I worried my lip, debating whether I should finally tell him about the twins. 

Before I could decide, Santiago surprised me by whispering hotly in my ear, "You know...it's been way too long since I pounded that sweet ass of yours. Why don't we head to the bedroom so I can really go to town on you?" His breath was hot against my neck.

My eyes widened in shock at the bold suggestion, panic fluttering in my chest. As much as I craved intimacy with Santiago, I couldn't risk anything that might inadvertently trigger labor prematurely.

"Babe, I...I really don't think that's a good idea," I stammered awkwardly. "The doctor said rough sex is off-limits this late in the pregnancy."

He let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Who said anything about rough? I was thinking nice and hard...Help get you all loosened up down there for when the big day comes." His hand stroked along my thigh teasingly.

I gulped nervously, my heart pounding as desire warred with prudence. Part of me was tempted to throw caution to the wind. But the protective father within wouldn't endanger the twins.

"Please, baby," I pleaded, putting my hand over his to stop the sensual motions. "I want the memories of going into labor to be peaceful, not because we got too carried away fucking like animals."  

A frustrated groan rumbled from Santiago's lips as he begrudgingly pulled his hands away. His eyelids were growing heavy again, that burst of frisky energy fading. I could see him struggling between the urge to ravish me and the siren call of sleep.

Finally, with a defeated sigh, Santiago seemed to give in to exhaustion. "You're right, babe. We'll save that for after the little dudes get here." Within minutes, his breath had evened out into the steady rhythm of slumber. The lingering secret about my twin pregnancy is still burning in the back of my mind. Would it be better to keep it a surprise?