#i really want to post more about recollections actually

[lohstandfound]

🍬🍩🥠

🍬What's a genre/trope you've never written, but might in future? ooh.... i dont know! i really want to write a royalty au one day (i have like. popular kids polycule royalty au idea floating around) also if i could return to my fae au. i dont know if i will

🍩What advice would you give to aspiring fic writers? Spend some time daydreaming to know your plot. If you live it then you know how your story is gonna layout/know major plot points you need to connect jot down any notes or ideas you have, you can always come back to them. if you're editing something and decide to delete a line or paragraph or something, put it in a separate document, don't delete them completely. you can always reuse those snippets for other stories

🥠What's your approach to world-building? bear with me this is going to be very jumbled

tldr: i dont have a great approach, the world creates itself most of the time, looking up resources is a great help, trying to write a story with a co-writer who a. doesn't write and b. doesn't look at any of the notes or snippets you have written just makes co-writing much more difficult

If I look at my graphic novel series.... not well. I like to think i have a pretty good grasp on the world-building for that but my co-creator keeps changing things up on me. it's not really a discussion, he just makes the executive decision that this is how things are going to work and does not listen when i try to bring up my concerns

anyway!

most of the time, the worldbuilding just happens as i write. i have a basic concept (reincarnated greek heroes, what if the bmc kids were deities of some sort, jake brooke michael and rich write poetry together, four childhood friends with connections to the mafia) and then everything else about the world just comes up as i write (flashbacks to past lives, creation stories mirroring already existing mythologies, how did they come to make this poet quartet and how do they work together, jason's girlfriend is a member of a rival mafia family)

(most of my other fics are grounded in the bmc canon somehow, so its just building on already established worldbuilding)

like most stories, it starts with a concept.

recollections started as a final fantasy self insert story. it has grown a lot since then. my co creator already had a basic plot and characters and abilities and such when he told me about it. i started thinking about where magic came from (taking a similar approach to how energy can not be created nor destroyed, just changed).

if im actually taking the time to plan it all out, like recollections, i look up worldbuilding tips and resources, taking the ones that will fit my purposes better. fantasy worlds would take a lot more worldbuilding than ones based in some sort of reality. recollections is taking a lot of planning to figure out how magic works and where it comes from, and magic is different for each person but it also can be a choice to decide whether or not you want to harness magic. the magic system and the world itself needs a lot more work because i think some of the elements that my co-creator wants to impliment (using astrology to categorise magic, treating magic as xp in a video game and everything is held within birthstones) just dont quite fit the world we already created

[averlym]

(click for better resolution, etc.)

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Harry Potter is Actually Really Clever

So often, I feel like Harry is underrated in his own series and I want to talk about how much I love Harry James Potter. Harry is my favorite character in the books and I want to showcase some moments of Harry proving the Sorting Hat knew what it was talking about when it comes to Harry possibly doing well in Slytherin and even Ravenclaw.

(I have more moments listed in my notes, and I'm in book 6 in my current reread, so I definitely am not covering everything)

Let's start then with the words of the Sorting Hat itself:

“Hmm,” said a small voice in his ear. “Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting….So where shall I put you?” Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin. “Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that

(Philosopher's Stone, page 88)

The Hat says Harry is brave enough for Gryffindor, clever enough and talented enough for Ravenclaw and has the ambition and thirst to prove himself for Slytherin. And the hat isn't wrong about it's assessment of Harry. Harry is clever and talented and I so often find it underplayed in fics, or ones that do include it, acting like it's fanon characterization when it's really isn't.

Harry Potter is canonically a BAMF.

So, here I'm going to talk about his cleverness and give some moments of Harry being clever from the books.

(I'll have a different post for his magical prowess.)

Harry Has Brilliant Memory

So, Harry James Potter practically has close to an eidetic memory, and no one really seems to mention it.

An eidetic memory is described as an almost perfect recollection of images or events. And Harry actually shows himself as being very capable of it:

Angelina: “…Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 379)

In thus scene its raining during a Quidditch match and Angelina asks Harry about a spell he used a year before. Harry remembered that moment, remembered Hermione was actually the one who cast the spell, a spell he himself never cast before this moment, and he then casts it perfectly from memory.

Harry remembers the incantation and wand movement perfectly enough to succeed on his first try.

Actually, almost every time we see him cast spells he gets the wand movement and incantation right on the first try (even his first attempt at a patronus worked, the happy memory just wasn't strong enough)

In general, they moments we see Harry fail at casting spells on the first try is when he overthinks it and fails himself like that.

Harry stared at the letters in brackets. Nvbl . . . that had to mean “nonverbal.” Harry rather doubted he would be able to bring off this particular spell; he was still having difficulty with nonverbal spells, something Snape had been quick to comment on in every D.A.D.A. class. On the other hand, the Prince had proved a much more effective teacher than Snape so far. Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick and said Levicorpus! inside his head. “Aaaaaaaargh!”

(Half-Blood Prince, page 239)

Harry tends to fail potions, and nonverbal spells when Snape is breathing down on him expecting him to fail, though, in this example, the moment Harry feels he can succeed the spell and isn't overthinking it, he casts it perfectly and nonverbally on the first attempt.

He is the same with potions:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favorites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 660)

When Snape wasn't breathing down his neck and stressing him, even without the Half-Blood Prince's superior instructions, Harry is good at potions. He accomplishes the potion to a level of Exceeding Expectations easily. The problem is never his skill, memory, or talent; usually, it's stress, being stuck in his own head, or carelessness (did anyone diagnose him with ADHD?)

Another example of his eidetic memory in OOP:

“Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,” said Hermione fairly. “I suppose something in that snake’s venom dissolves them or something. . . . I wonder where the tearoom is?” “Fifth floor,” said Harry, remembering the sign over the Welcome Witch’s desk.

(Order of the Phoenix, page 508)

When Harry describes St. Mongos for the first time (about a week before the above scene) he reads a sign that describes what is located in each floor of the hospital.

A week later, without reading that sign again, Harry can recall where the tea room is since he has that sign he read once a week ago, memorized.

Harry is Sneaky

Harry is a proper sneaky slythein and actually has more cunning moments than some slytherins in the books. Here are a few examples I have from my notes:

“Should call Filch, I should, if something’s a-creeping around unseen.” Harry had a sudden idea. “Peeves,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, “the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible.” Peeves almost fell out of the air in shock.

(Philosopher's Stone, page 197)

Harry is a good liar and scared of Peeves like this in his first year.

“…He likes to keep in touch with me, though . . . keep up with my news . . . check if I’m happy. . . .” And, grinning broadly at the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face, Harry set off toward the station exit, Hedwig rattling along in front of him, for what looked like a much better summer than the last.

(Prisoner of Azkaban, page 435)

But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

(Goblet of Fire, page 24)

Again, Harry lying and tricking the Dursleys so they won't hurt him. Leveling Sirius as a threat against them.

“Not unless you can answer my riddle. Answer on your first guess — I let you pass. Answer wrongly — I attack. Remain silent — I will let you walk away from me unscathed.”

[the riddle and Harry thinking through it]

“Spy . . . er . . . spy . . . er . . .” said Harry, pacing up and down. “A creature I wouldn’t want to kiss . . . a spider!” The sphinx smiled more broadly. She got up, stretched her front legs, and then moved aside for him to pass. “Thanks!” said Harry, and, amazed at his own brilliance, he dashed forward.

(Goblet of Fire, page 629)

I skipped the sphinx's riddle, now the riddle isn't a hard one, but still, Harry isn't stupid. But he thinks he is. He even tells himself during that scene:

Harry’s stomach slipped several notches. It was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him. He weighed his chances. If the riddle was too hard, he could keep silent, get away from the sphinx unharmed, and try and find an alternative route to the center.

(Goblet of Fire, 629)

But it's just Harry and his low self-esteem. He solves the riddle quickly thinking aloud near the Sphinx and he does solve it, and is amazed by it because he doesn't think of himself as smart, even though he is.

Most of the riddles to the Ravenclaw common room are probably along this line of difficulty too. It just goes to show he isn't stupid.

“There,” she said, handing it to him. “Drink it before it gets cold, won’t you? Well, now, Mr. Potter . . . I thought we ought to have a little chat, after the distressing events of last night.” He said nothing. She settled herself back into her seat and waited. When several long moments had passed in silence, she said gaily, “You’re not drinking up!” He raised the cup to his lips and then, just as suddenly, lowered it. One of the horrible painted kittens behind Umbridge had great round blue eyes just like Mad-Eye Moody’s magical one, and it had just occurred to Harry what Mad-Eye would say if he ever heard that Harry had drunk anything offered by a known enemy. “What’s the matter?” said Umbridge, who was still watching him. “Do you want sugar?” “No,” said Harry. He raised the cup to his lips again and pretended to take a sip, though keeping his mouth tightly closed. Umbridge’s smile widened. “Good,” she whispered. “Very good. Now then . . .” She leaned forward a little. “Where is Albus Dumbledore?” “No idea,” said Harry promptly.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 630)

Harry is clever enough to recognize drinking anything Umbridge gives him is a bad idea, so he doesn't. And he does so without her realizing.

“even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?” “Umbridge’s office,” said Harry quietly. He had been thinking about it for a fortnight and could think of no alternative; Umbridge herself had told him that the only fire that was not being watched was her own. “Are — you — insane?” said Hermione in a hushed voice. Ron had lowered his leaflet on jobs in the cultivated fungus trade and was watching the conversation warily. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, shrugging. “And how are you going to get in there in the first place?” Harry was ready for this question. “Sirius’s knife,” he said. “Excuse me?” “Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that’ll open any lock,” said Harry. “So even if she’s bewitched the door so Alohomora won’t work, which I bet she has —”

(Order of the Phoenix, page 658)

Harry can and does strategies. He planned how to get into Umbeidge's office. He employed his friends and actually led them. Being a leader and a strategist — rules we see him grow more into later.

Harry’s mind was racing. The Death Eaters wanted this dusty spun-glass sphere. He had no interest in it. He just wanted to get them all out of this alive, make sure that none of his friends paid a terrible price for his stupidity . . . The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. Azkaban had hollowed Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, making it gaunt and skull-like, but it was alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. “You need more persuasion?” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Very well — take the smallest one,” she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. “Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I’ll do it.” Harry felt the others close in around Ginny. He stepped sideways so that he was right in front of her, the prophecy held up to his chest. “You’ll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us,” he told Bellatrix. “I don’t think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?” She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth. “So,” said Harry, “what kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?” He could not think what to do but to keep talking. Neville’s arm was pressed against his, and he could feel him shaking. He could feel one of the other’s quickened breath on the back of his head. He was hoping they were all thinking hard about ways to get out of this, because his mind was blank.

(Order of the Pheonix, page 783)

This is a bit of a long quote, but I really like it. Harry gets the Death Eaters at an impasse because they can't destroy the prophecy. Then, when they threatened Ginny, he changed tactics and got them talking to buy time.

And even when he says his mind is blank:

“What?” whispered Hermione more urgently behind him. “Can this be?” said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again, and under cover of their laughter, Harry hissed to Hermione, moving his lips as little as possible, “Smash shelves —”

...

“NOW!” yelled Harry. Five different voices behind him bellowed “REDUCTO!” Five curses flew in five different directions and the shelves opposite them exploded as they hit. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart

(Order of the Phoenix, pages 785-786 and 787)

He's still the one coming up with plans and pulling them out of there.

And if we look at his grades:

(Half-Blood Prince, page 102)

He is very far from failing academically. Actually considering how little studying Harry actually does, he receives very high grades, even for Hogwarts' abysmal education standards. Harry is naturally smart enough and talented enough that with the bare minimum of effort, he can get almost exclusively Es (his failing being in History, an exam he didn't finish, and Divination, which Harry has only been thought bullshit in).

Makes me wish we saw him put in an active effort. I bet it all would've been Os with his memory.

Even Potions, which Harry is supposedly bad at, he got an E...

I just... Harry is just really smart and it kind of frustrates me how I don't see enough fics that treat Harry being clever and with a cunning streak as if it's canon, even though it very much is.

I don't know, maybe I'm just reading the wrong fics...

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

the babbit masterpost

HELLO welcome to the Babbit's Blog masterpost!!! On this post you'll find some fun facts about yours allegedly (me <33), some ref's for my different 'sona's, and a couple links to my fics and whatnot! Are you ready? No?? Excellent neither am i let's do this

Meet the Babbits!: the self-inserts/personas

the first ref is for my general/most commonly used persona, Babbit! They aren't really an anthro/furry as much as they are a humanoid with the head of a rabbit. I like to think of this one as the 'me' that's in my head- the purest form of my thoughts and feelings, but not the solid real-life me. The second ref is my self-insert persona, Rabbit, the one i picture using most often when i'm reading a fic or imagining a self-insert scenario lol. This one is like the me that people see and meet and speak to in real actual life, if that makes sense. It's the way I come across to people and all of the things I wish I could iron out of my crumpled up real-self <3 The third is a much more specific 'sona, Hazel, who started off as a FNaF:SB animatronic self-insert. She does have a backstory and lore now, which i think makes her more of an OC than a self-insert, but a lot of her is still me and a lot of what she experiences in her backstory is from my life/instills the same feelings that were taken away from things that happened to me, so I think she kinda counts enough to put a ref for her here sdkjfsdhfj (Why the different names?: makes things a little easier, and they hold meaning to me symbolically, I guess!)

Content!: Here's a short list of my various fics that will get updated as I create more! (it was, in reality, not fine.): FNaF Sun/Moon x Reader fanfic, gender neutral, for general audiences, fluff-fest, idiots to lovers "You're the new tech/repairman at the Fazbear Mega Pizzaplex, unfortunately. Your first task? To make the Daycare Attendant into two separate animatronics. It's an amazing opportunity, really, and there is nothing you love more than getting a chance to really work with such tech! The only bad part is that you don't know how to tell anyone that you just might be in over your head. (You are extremely in over your head.)" After Everything Was Fixed (but you were still broken): AU FNaF Sun/Moon x (Animatronic) Reader, gender neutral, read with caution, angst, harm to sentient robots, traumatized main character, hurt/comfort slow burn, romance slow burn "The virus was gone. Everyone was fixed. You had been put back together. It's a time for a new beginning, to do things right this time, to wash away the past and paint a better future. Their memories of the infection had- mercifully- been taken away from them. Yours had not. He doesn't understand why you try to avoid him. Even if you could tell him, you're not sure you would. You want to be his friend, but it's difficult; every time you see him, you remember the hundreds of times he killed you." A fic where you are a repairman-themed STAFFbot, taking place post-virus. In the past, Moon, infected by the virus, took delight in attacking and dismantling the reader during the night. Now, in the present, you find yourself burdened by the memories of the past while everyone around you has no recollection of the events. It gets more complicated as Sun and Moon, both now cleared of the virus, grow curious of you. This fic will follow a series of arcs, presently on arc one. For anyone curious, feel free to send an ask about the arcs in 'After Everything Was Fixed'! The Sun, the Moon, and the Blazing Comet (title subject to change): AU FNaF Sun/Moon/Eclipse x Reader, gender neutral, teen and up audiences, travel/journey, betrayal, hurt/comfort slowburn, reconciling, themes of breaking the mold, found family (TBA) Hold My Broken Hands (title subject to change): AU FNaF Sun/Moon x Reader, gender neutral, mature audiences, dark romance, dark comedy, severe bodily harm, mutilation, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, lovesick (TBA)

My AU's!: i'm going to make a Babbit-AUs-Masterpost and then put the link here i swear, i just have so many im sorry jdfhsjdfhs (like more than twenty)

Fandoms!: I enjoy, have been in, made or make content for: Pokemon Undertale FNaF Creepypasta (YEAH I KNOW LET ME LIVE OKAY) My Little Pony (I KNOW OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE) Steven Universe Star Trek Warrior Cats i'm sure theres more but i just forgot everything i have ever liked wheeeeeze

Whomst the hell?: HI I'm Rabbit! Or Bones! Or Babbit! Or Avarice/Ava, if you want to go for a more legitimate-sounding name. I'm 24 years old, prefer to use they/them pronouns, and so, so incredibly ace. I've been drawing as long as I've had the ability to hold a pen, writing since I was in grade school, and being a plague to the ones around me since the beginning of time! If you've seen my art, its probably from the absolute mountain of fluffy-wuffy love-dovey (y/n) x Sundrop/Moondrop/Eclipse doodles I've been sharing for several years now sdfjhsdj. If you've heard of my fics, it was probably the one I made just for fun that's now turned into an actual fanfiction that I enjoy writing, the silly-lovey-fluff incarnate (it was, in reality, not fine.) !

Likes n Dislikes!: I'm a sucker for sap, fluff, and lots and lots of love-dovey bullshit! I also like stories about finding oneself and monsters being befriended or loved. I like space, aliens, robots, the odd and strange, injecting humanity into things not human, monsters, creatures, animals, the fae, concepts of spirits and karma and the afterlife, and more! I dislike 'fanservice', most anime tbh LOL it's not personal I just don't enjoy it im srry, FLY BABIES i know they have an actual name but i hate that word too pls just dont i will scream, sexually aggressive/forceful content/characters, being made to feel small, dumb, or trapped,

Other!: I have a pretty high gross-out tolerance! I also have a pretty high 'wow that's messed up huh' tolerance, in that sometimes I will just say stuff that's super grim or dark or messed up and not realize it lmao. I am full of random facts and anecdotes, especially weird or gross ones! sometimes i get on tangents that can go for actual hours so pls forgive that lol

WARNINGS: THIS BLOG MAY FEATURE CONTENT BASED ON/RELATED TO THEMES OF GUILT, CHILDHOOD LOSS, GRIEF, SELF HATRED, DISCONNECTION FROM REALITY/SELF, TRAUMA, AND SEVERE DEPRESSION/ANXIETY. YES I AM GETTING HELP. YES I AM OKAY. THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND UNDERSTANDING.

bonus persona: crybaby

[luna-andra]

Domesticated!König Headcanons: Meeting the future In-Laws ✨

Image: @Skavod29 on Twitter (Source)

I was floored by how much attention my first headcanon post got. Y'all had me fucking emotional and I am so happy it's something people actually like. It keeps me coming back to post more of my silly little ideas. Forever grateful for your support! ❤️

I also need to reiterate that my blog/posts are 18+ so MDNI, this one has some NSFW bonus HCS 💋

If you missed the first one, here :) StepDad!Konig is here!

I got other stuff! Masterlist pinned on my blog

When you decided it was time for your parents and König to meet, you were tempted to slip a Xanax into his morning coffee. It is not like he hasn’t said a polite hello and a few words over the phone or when you facetime them, but now he was finally meeting them in person. You’ve seen him more calm talking to two- and three-star generals than this, the kinds of things that rattled your nerves.

You swore he changed attire more times than you did. The sight of him re-rolling his sleeves on his button up shirt made you intervene before he undid them all over again. He paused when your hands held his, then flicked his azure eyes up to you. “They’re gonna love you, my king.” Your gentle smile and comforting words got through to him.

They welcomed you and the mystery man with open arms at their front door. Mom never knew how to keep her thoughts to herself, but she really did mean well. Of course, the first thing they all notice is how König has to duck under their doorway to come inside. “You weren’t lying when you said he was tall,” mom said. You gave her a warning look followed up with an apologetic smile to König. He managed to chuckle it off, it was nothing new for him. It did make him curious about what else you’ve said to your mom about the two of you.

You gave König a tour of your childhood home, nearly having to pry him from the wall of photos of you and your family. He had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face of the little timeline displayed in pretty frames; your first elementary school photo, a photo of you in a boy/girl scouts uniform, another of you during extra-curricular activities (band/orchestra, JROTC, sports, theater, robotics team, etc.), a prom photo with you and old friends, and lastly your high school graduation picture. König wanted a copy of one of them to keep in his wallet, mom promised to get him one behind your back.

König's field day got better when you showed him your childhood bedroom. Depending on how you last had it decorated, you were either low key bashful or regretting even showing him. It was like traveling back in time for him, giving him a glimpse of the kid and teen, you used to be. A chance to fall in love with every facet of you.

He was getting more comfortable when he found out your dad wasn’t out to get him as much as he thought. They ended up sitting in the living room, talking about a topic after your dad played twenty questions to figure him out. Something either about guns, hunting, hiking, fishing, blue-collar work, and if your dad is a veteran, they got along faster than you could imagine. You and mom caught up in the kitchen as you helped her finish up with cooking and setting the table.

If you have siblings, they showed up in the nick of time before dinner, to share embarrassing stories of you when you were a kid, or the stories you all waited to tell when you all were adults to avoid from getting in trouble. König watched and listened as you got more animated with laughter. Loving every second of this. He had a handful of memories he could count on his hand that were of happier times, but your memories became his favorite ones.

Everyone pestered the two of you for the story of how you met. And since you’ve been doing most of the talking, you looked to König to tell the tale. Your eyes never left him as he started the story from his point of view, recollecting the moment he saw you and how he was trying to come up with an excuse to try and talk to you. It donned on you that this was the first time you were hearing the way he saw you. “And now we’re here,” he concluded, looking over to you with a grin and a touch to your hand underneath the table.

NSFW Bonus:

König couldn’t stop thinking about taking you in your childhood room, nearly fantasizing what it would’ve been like if the two of you met as teens/younger adults. Indulging in the idea of sneaking into your bedroom window or standing outside with a boombox in 80s/90s style fashion.

Of course, your parents offered you to stay with them, not wanting you to have to rent a hotel room or travel back (depending on how far away you lived from them), so the later the night got, the more distracted König became with fulfilling his dirty thoughts.

It was just like the old days, having you home and hearing the music coming from your speakers when someone passed by the doorway. You were just showing König your CD collection, right?

It definitely wasn’t because you were trying to muffle your moans and screams as he pounded you into that fucking mattress. Making you a drooling and brainless mess under his rutting hips. He kept praising you for taking him so well and for being so quiet like the good little fuck thing you were, making it harder not to cum so fast. Secretly, this was your fantasy too, and you wanted it to last a little longer than the 10 minutes of foreplay and fucking you had already endured.

Likes & reblogs are always appreciated! Stay tuned for more to this unexpected series! Asks are opened for requests & ideas for others.

[yurislotusgarden]

Tying their hair up!

ʚїɞ Separately! Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya, Platonic! Kyouka Izumi x Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ I got this idea after seeing this post! It's not really related but I got the idea, so here it is. I will most likely make a part 2

ʚїɞ word count: 1206 (Dazai - 428, Chuuya - 446, Kyouka - 336)

ʚїɞ Tw's: None! Just pure fluff, pet names: 'bella, doll, reader's gender is not specified in any way (if it is please tell me so I can edit it)

ʚїɞ I WANNA THANK THE 22 PPL WHO FOLLOWED MY ACCOUNT <33 I did not expect ppl to like my works??? Like at all??? I actually posted my first works here thinking they're gonna end up with maybe 10-15 notes with luck, and there they are with much fucking more, so thank you if you interacted with any of my works<33

Dazai Osamu

If you entered the armed detective agency office at the moment, you would see people working, someone missing out on a job but the possibly first thing would be able to notice is that the workers are stealing confused glances at Dazai because… since when does he tie his hair up?

“Hey Dazai, what’s with your hair?” Kunikida asked, wanting to know why the oh so lazy bandage wasting machine changed his hair. In the 2 years he’s been working with him, he never saw the brunette tie his hair up.

“Oh? A fabulous question, Kunikida!” The grin on Dazai’s face could really compare to Kenji’s sun smile. 

“I feel like I’m about to regret this question” A mutter from where Kunikida is standing was heard, but the older detective ignored it.

“You see Kunikida, my beloved Belladonna has done it! And I couldn't bring myself to ruin said happiness they got from seeing me with my hair like this, so I just came in like this!” The bandaged man had stars in his eyes upon recollecting what happened before he came to work.

Dazai looked like he was about to talk more about what happened earlier this morning… Yea Kunikida is regretting his questions, why did he have to ask?

//////////////////

Dazai was sitting on the floor in front of the couch between your legs while you were sitting on the couch behind him, tying his hair up into a ponytail around the back of his head since you decided it would be better for him instead of a higher one. Surprisingly, when tied up, the ponytail was quite long - longer than you first thought it would be.

“You were meant to tie my hair up, not play with it ‘bella” A subtle comment, but enough to get you to stop just running your fingers through his hair, you would've been done by now if you didn’t do that, but hey, you're gonna take any chance to play with his fluffy hair.

“you can’t blame me, your hair is too soft to not play with it when I have a chance” You chuckled, finishing up the ponytail and tapping his shoulder to indicate that you're done and he can stand up or turn around, whichever he prefers.

And as it is with Dazai, he preferred to turn around and hug your waist, burying his face in your abdomen.

…Goddammit you want to play with his hair like you always do when he’s like this, but you can't or you will have to repair the ponytail. Sigh.

Nakahara Chuuya

“Chuuya-san?” The ginger turned towards the voice, who turned out to be a woman with red-ish hair colored hair, Kōyō Ozaki.

“Yes, Ane-san?” The shorter of the two turned fully towards the taller woman.

“...May I ask what happened to your hair?... And where did your hat go?”  Kōyō asked, actually confused. After all, it’s not every day that you see the hot-headed executive with his hair up, much less without his hat. She’s sure she barely ever saw him take it off besides when in closed private spaces, and his hair being tied up into a high ponytail? She never saw it, but even tho she doesn't voice it out, she thinks the look really does fits the man.

“Ah, I decided to leave the hat at home for once, it would destroy the hair.”

“Why do you not want the ponytail gone?” Kōyō understands that technically it’s easier to do things when your hair is tied up, but she knows that longer hair never caused any problems to the short mafioso.

“[Name] is the one who made it, and they seemed really happy to see it on me”

///////////////

“Please Chuu?” You asked for maybe the hundredth time today, -surprised your boyfriend still has patience for you- about to give up on asking your partner if he would let you tie his hair up. You just wanted to see what he would look like! You can bet your life he would look better than those guys on magazines many droll over. They could never compare to your boyfriend anyway.

A sigh could be heard in the room, a head full of orange hair moving to look at you. Chuuya was getting ready to go to the Port Mafia Headquarters and was about to say no, but when he looked over… yea it was over for him before it started.

“Just don’t rip my hair out, doll”

“Hey! You know I’m gonna be careful!”

Next thing you two knew, he was sitting in front of the mirror while you were standing behind him, making the ponytail high on the back of his. ‘Why is his hair so soft wtf’ had appeared in your head but didn't voice it out.

You hooked your arms around his shoulders and neck, putting your chin on his head. “You look so pretty like this” When Chuuya looked at you in the mirror -as if he wasn't the whole time- the soft smile you had on simply killed him. He couldn't bring himself to destroy the little thing that made you happy so he ended up shocking your ass later on by not bringing his hat to work for once.

Platonic! Izumi Kyouka

just to see how she looks

“You look so cute!”

“Really?” 

You and Kyouka were the only ones apart from the clerks and Yosano in the clinic doing who knows what in the agency building as the others had missions, so you decided to do random things as you have already ended all the paperwork assigned to you for the day.

“Your hair is perfect for any kind of hairstyle but I think you look adorable with a ponytail, it suits you” You smiled at her. It really did fit her the same as her usual hairstyle, you just wish you had some hair accessories at the moment. Her hair would look even better!

“I’m glad you think so [Name]” A soft voice came from the younger girl.

You two continued to make small talk while you fixed her hair, before turning towards the office door when it opened.

“What you two doing over here?” Yosano looked at the two of them with a small smile appearing when she noticed Kyouka’s hair change.

“Messing with Kyouka’s hair. There’s not much to do at the office at the moment but we shouldn't leave the office yet, it’s still quite early” You said quietly, starting to look through your desk to see if you have any accessories for hair. Colorful to be specific.

“Hmm, Can I add myself to the fun?”

“You want to do something with my hair?”

“I have hair clips and more in my infirmary desk”

You looked up at her with stars in yours with such speed that Yosano couldn't help but ask herself if your neck is okay.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go to your office, Kouka’s hair needs something more!”

The rest of the agency slowly started to come back one by one, to not only Kyouka’s hair being colorful from hairclips and more, but also to yours and Yosano’s hair being the same. There was some confusion about what they missed, Atsushi and Kenji just so happened to join in, to say the least.

Notes, comments, reblogs and anything else is greatly appreciated <3

[moonrisecoeur]

carnage — leon kennedy

author’s note: this is a secondary piece to apathy, another fic of mine!! that fic was mostly a vent fic, as i wrote it to kinda soothe myself and my own worries about how i feel as a person. however!! this fic was requested to be significantly darker and sadder, so if you don’t vibe with that, then i have good news for u !! leon and reader actually lived happily ever after in that universe!! the original intent of that fic is that the reader just has the self perception of a bad person but is actually not at all!! but this fic… is not that haha.. 

author’s note: if you see typos, no you don’t. they’re not real. this fic is... really messy. i'm kinda ashamed but i've been working on it so long that i need to just post it lol.

word count: 5.3k 

content: leon x reader, sub!leon, dom!fem!reader, angst angst angst, biting, hickieys, riding, choking, leon gets lightheaded and passes out, violent language. there's also a reference to a scene from apathy but from more of leon's recollection and memory! :)

warning: this fic is dark content, containing the topics and depictions of emotional abuse, manipulation, love-bombing ish, narcissistic reader, along with dubcon as reader doesn’t listen when leon expresses a boundary around choking. 

—

notes:

“you’re killing me here,” he says, a soft tone to his gravel-like voice. he is tired, exasperated. you are ripping him apart, stealing any sense of joy from his aching soul. he gives and gives and gives and he doesn’t know how much longer he has in him before you…  before maybe he admits that you were right. maybe you would ruin him.

you don’t know the half of it, you think. maybe i will really kill you one of these days.

—

leon is growing.. tired of you. 

not really. that’s a lie. he loves you dearly, so much that it kills him. you refuse to open up to him and he respects your boundaries. he just can’t keep begging you to let him in. he can’t do this forever. 

he’s not mad that you’re closed off, that you’re a loner and you’re introverted. he accepts you for what you are. he loves you regardless, but can’t you see this hurts him? can’t you at least make an attempt to make him feel better? pushing him away only hurts him, and why did you agree to a relationship if you knew that all you were going to do is hurt him? 

he supposes you warned him. that beautiful night that he convinced you to let him stay in your heart. he looks back at that moment, how you looked close to tears, pushing him back, telling him that you’ll ruin him and anything else you touch, and all he could think about is how badly he wanted to kiss you, to hold you close and wipe away the tears of frustration. he’s fond of that moment, when you decided to stay with him. when you said you’d take your time, move slowly, but you’d eventually let him in. he just had to be patient.

but its been months, and leon hates being wrong, but he might have been that night. 

–

leon’s always seen the good in you. he admires how gentle and sweet you are. you say it’s just a facade, and you know what? he doesn’t believe you. he knows you’re trying to protect yourself, but you’re lying. the version of you that you think is the real you is actually the facade. he knows it. he believes it, believes in you.

“i will begin to despise you if i let you in, you realize that, right?” you said to him that night, and he just shook his head, smiling. he adores you, almost amused at how you were making yourself out to be an awful monster in hopes he’d have understood that he could never fix you.

“and i will adore every moment of your resentment,” he said, and then followed it up with a whisper, under his breath, one you might not have heard, “i will let you ruin me.”

your touch is lethal, that much he’s certain of. he knows you’re not trying to hurt him, he’s convinced it's not in your nature to be intentionally cruel, “i won’t get better. i won’t change for you. this is what you’re stuck with.”

but what was he supposed to do? listen to you? heed your warning? he’s too foolish, too lovesick.

“it’s okay,” he reassures, reciprocating your harsh touch with his gentle one, fingertips making acquaintances with the way your skin feels in his grasp, the warmth of your touch. he’s starting to feel like this beautiful monster in front of him is a lot more human than she feels, “i like you as you are.”

-

leon doesn’t quite remember when you got so overbearingly possessive. maybe you were a little controlling, a little too demanding. it didn’t really make sense because anytime he tried to be possessive over you, you hated it. you certainly weren’t clingy. leon learned to control the instinct, the one that screamed in his head that you were his.  he gets it. you’re independent, not exactly into the jealous boyfriend type, sure. it only hurts his ego a little bit. 

he doesn’t really even remember when your behavior started going downhill. it was just like.. one day, he woke up, and you had left. not actually, you were just outside, but it feels symbolic somehow. he calls your name, and you don’t answer. he takes a couple steps closer, but he gets this eerie feeling he’s stepping into dangerous territory. he wonders if he should turn back, give you some time and let your soul come back to your body. 

“i don’t love you,” you said to him that day. 

it shattered him momentarily, but he knew your ways. he was aware of how you act and talk, your bluntness didn’t even surprise him anymore. he learned not to try and fight you on this stuff anymore.

that’s not true.. is what he wanted to say.

“…since when?” is what he actually ended up saying. 

you sigh, “i don’t know. i just woke up today and i realized i didn’t love you anymore.”

“do you… feel love for someone else?” he asks, but that’s not what he’s really asking. leon would never believe you if you said you cheated on him. you don’t even like people. you could count on your hand the amount of people you liked to talk to. 

leon maintains being one of them, of course. how could he believe that you made a connection with another man when you can only tolerate him? 

so, what he’s really asking is ‘do you… feel anything right now?’. sometimes emotions go away. sometimes you find yourself sitting outside in the early morning even though it’s cold and you’re shivering, wondering why you don’t love your boyfriend anymore. 

he puts his jacket over your shoulders. that feels symbolic somehow too.

it usually passes, but there’s something so final in your tone. like… for the first time, leon was worried you’re being truthful. he was worried you didn’t love him.

he had every reason to be. you used to pull away and then come right back to him, and now… you almost seem to resent him. crazy, it’s almost like you said this would happen. he hates that he was wrong about you, he hates that you were right. 

you flinch away when he touches you sometimes. your words are harsher than usual, more venomous, more lethal. you’re slipping away from him, you’re running away, and he’s begging for you to come back to him. just come back to him.

and even now, he looks at you and you aren’t the girl he fell in love with. but maybe you never changed. maybe he has just been blind. 

maybe you were exactly who you said you’d be. 

did you even want him? or would you get off anyway on taunting him?

did he mean anything to you?

-

“i am your… sculpture. your muse. i am everything you made me to be,” he says softly, one day during a vicious argument (only one of you is truly venomous), his eyes still red from the tears you made him spill, “if you do not like me, or if you don’t like what i’ve become, it is your own fault. i am only what you… did to me.”

he says pretty words that tug on your heartstrings if only to get some kind of empathy out of you. you’d normally scoff, spitting at him that he was a broken mess before you fixed him up, made him useful to somebody. 

“you act like i ruined you. like i made you worse. i did not drag you down with me. we were both broken. both disasters who just wanted to be loved,” you know you’re bullshitting just for pity points. doesn’t change the face that leon almost falters. almost gives in, lets you win. you were right, in a way. you were just being intentionally oblivious. 

“me wanting to be loved was… so much different. i wanted to be cherished and…held dear to you. you wanted a trophy that would make you feel better about yourself.”

“i am not the monster you say i am,” you scowl, finally he sees your harshness, your cruelty, and your dismissiveness in full force. how was he so blind?

“you’re right…” he says, “you… are so much worse.”

“then push me off of you, make me leave,” you groan, pinning him down like a caged animal. 

“i’m not… i..” i stutters, looking up the ceiling, “oh my god..”

“i am the only god you get to call out for,” you say as you press kisses to his collarbone, “i hold that power over you. i am your god.”

“i won’t worship you anymore,” he gasps, but his hands reach up to hold your hips, latching onto you for support and intimacy, like you are everything he’s ever needed and he despises you for it, “not what you’ve become. i can’t accept this…. version of you.”

“this is me, leon,” your voice is distant. resigned. he’s given up on you. and you’ve given up on him. 

so why do you demand his reverence so desperately? if you didn’t want him to run, why didn’t you treat him right in the first place?

“i love you, you know,” he says, tears pricking at his eyes, “i am just your design, molded to how you wanted me, but you designed me to love you… so that’s what i do.”

“i didn’t ask you to destroy yourself for me.”

“but i did anyway,” he closes his eyes, breathing ragged, “but i did and i did it because i loved you. i did it so that maybe one day you wouldn’t run away from me if i loved you too much. i.. i don’t act overbearing or clingy like i am inside because i am horrified of you leaving me. if i try too hard, if i want you too much, if am too desperate for your company… i will lose you. i can’t live with that.”

“then why do you call me worse than a monster? if you need me so badly?”

“because i..  i wanted you to destroy me and build me anew. recreate me in your image so you could have exactly what you wanted. make me exactly what you wanted!” he’s desperate for you to understand, but you never will. you don’t know desperation like he does, “i.. i just made the naive assumption that you would love your creation more than you loved what i used to be. that somehow.. if i let you ruin me, you’d finally love me.”

“i do love you,” you whisper, voice heavy with a tragedy you are all too familiar with.

“no… you don’t love anyone,” he bites, his teeth grazing his own lip like he would draw his own blood, “not even yourself. you’re incapable.”

“then it is your fault..” you say, cruelty laced into your voice, but how could you not be cruel when leon’s finally biting back? “you did this to yourself. you ruined yourself for someone you knew couldn’t love you.”

he feels broken. betrayed. how is this his fault? how could you hate him so intensely? how could you want him to suffer? do you enjoy watching him suffer? is that the only way he can make you happy anymore?

is that the only thing you want from him? his suffering? his tears?

does he give that to you? just… as one final way to make you happy? he’d ruin himself again and again to please you if you said so.

he’d give you anything.

you push him down, and he stumbles back onto the bed, looking up at you nervously. he notices the look in your eyes, the look of possession, you see him like an object or a toy. maybe he is. a trophy. you look at him like he’s something that makes you feel proud to carry around. leon kennedy. he’s a survivor, he's a killer, been through literal hell on earth. yet… your hands on him make him feel weak. he feels like he’s 21 again, on that bridge holding onto the last girl that dug her nails into his heart. 

“you’re fucking mine,” you growl in his ear, and he gasps and shudders, when did you get so close to him? you can’t put your hands on him like this, you can’t do this, his mind will go numb to the pain you cause and suddenly he’ll be held beneath you, inescapably yours. 

“you.. you need to… oh my god..” he was so close to saying it. so, so close. he tries so hard to push you away. to get you off of him. not in a way that he couldn’t stop you if he really didn’t want this. but that's just it; he’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t want you for his own sake.

you make it so hard to hate you, truly. 

“you’re mine,” you growl in his ear, your nails digging into him like claws of a predator into its most delicious prey, “i own you. say that back to me.”

he cries like a baby, hating that he was naive enough to believe that the devil could love him, she could never love him and he could never please her enough to make her stay, “i’m yours, and.. and you own me,” he says, sniffling. he buries his head into the pillow. you push him, hold him down like he’s your captive. he might as well be. 

“and that means i own your pretty body, doesn’t it?” you smirk, god this control over him has always been addicting. you.. really own him.

“y-yeah..” 

“that means i can do whatever i want with you, doesn’t it? i can break you in every way possible, like a girl scribbling on and cutting the hair of her barbies. you don’t exist outside of me, outside of my pleasure.”

-

“fuck, you’re so hot when you’re sad..” you groan as you press kisses to his hip, and he didn’t even realize you had gotten his shirt off and his pants pulled down. he must have dissociated again. he sighs, upset but unable to will himself up to stop you.

at least you’re trying to please him, he supposes. your hands wandering all over him makes him feel alive, but he wonders if you’re imagining wrapping your hands around his throat and squeezing until he stops moving. maybe you would take a liking to killing. 

or maybe it’s just because it’s leon. leon is your weak, pathetic boyfriend that you’ll play with like a ken doll until you’re bored of him, and then you’ll either put him out of his misery or leave him to rot. maybe murder is mercy for him. the worst part is he looks just like a ken doll, blue eyes and blonde hair, except he’s a bit more broken. a bit scarred. damaged. is that why you don’t want him? he’s not perfect enough?

and then it happens. 

everything stops, his breath catches in his chest, he flinches almost like he’s surprised you still had it in you, but you kiss him. it’s not possessive and dark and commanding like he expects, like he’s begun to tolerate, but it’s you. it’s your softness, hidden underneath, that gentle lover that he misses so desperately. she’s back. she’s real again. 

you rest your forehead against his as you pull away from the kiss, leon chasing your lips briefly before remembering this is your moment, at your pace, but he’s looking up at you like you put the stars in the sky, his eyes sparkling with magic and passion and hope he hasn’t felt in a while. 

“come back to me..” he whispers gently, “i miss you.”

“i.. know,” you frown, and leon can tell you feel guilty. you are the monster in his nightmares, but you are also his guardian angel, “i told you, leon-”

“i know you did, i- i don’t want to fight with you right now,” his eyes flutter closed as you press your lips to his forehead, god he feels so cared for in moments like these.

but he knows they’re not real. he knows this version of you isn’t real, that your love is a false pretense and he is a fool for being swept off his feet by such an obvious facade. a monster that loves you is still a monster.

and leon knows it. knows that you love him, despite his insecurities and doubts. maybe it was safer or easier to ponder whether or not you loved him, to listen to you when you said you didn’t, instead of realizing that you did… just not enough.

he feels your grasp on his waist, the way your hands and mouth ravage his body. he knows you’re possessive, but it still shocks him how truly cruel you are. 

“please…” he whimpers, “be gentle with me..”

“ah, leon.. survived the apocalypse but can’t handle his girlfriend biting him a little too hard..” you chuckle, and it’s soft and you’re being sweet with him again and everything is okay. 

“don’t be like that, come on. it still hurts,” his voice is shaky, making you smile. such a sadist.

“don’t be such a baby,” you tease.

“just- okay, fine, but i don’t want any hickies or bite marks or anything. n-not anywhere visible, at least,” he stumbles when your fingertips drag across his collarbone, “please, baby. i need to hide them, my… my coworkers will get worried.”

he sees it in your eyes. mercy. begging always saved him.

“hmm… open your mouth,” you say, and he’s not even trying to follow the command, but the surprises causes his jaw to drop slightly, and you lean closer, before spitting directly into his mouth. 

your saliva tastes like your favorite flavor of gum, and leon smiles as he recollects that fact. it’s sweet of you to only do something like that to him when it wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant. maybe you didn’t think it out that far, but he likes to think you did. he wants to think you were considerate. he groans as he swallows it without even having to ask, almost sounding dehydrated, like you are his lifeline. 

your intentions, while a tad bit humiliating, are not cruel. but again, you’re showing possession. leon is yours to do whatever you please with. it’s marking your territory, in a way.

“thank you..” he shudders, hands clutching your arms, keeping you close. he’s not truly grateful, but he’s learned his place. 

“you’re welcome,” your tone is condescending, but leon’s thoughts are too far away to realize that. all he knows how to do anymore is be obedient.

a brief silence settles for a moment, as you rest atop of him, gazing at him like a predator does their next meal. 

“do you… want to fuck me now?” he asks awkwardly, cringing at how completely uncool he is. 

maybe someone else would laugh at his lack of charisma, but you just smile softly. 

“is that what you want?” in truth, he does want this. he does want you. and he prides himself on giving you whatever you want, everything, absolutely anything. it’s too bad all you know how to do is take.

he sighs, feeling heavy-hearted and drained. he can’t pinpoint why, “i love you. do whatever you want.”

you blink, and he wonders for a moment if you feel guilty again, but part of him can tell you’re not.

you narrow your eyes. he seems.. broken down by this point. honestly, ‘broken down’ might not exactly be the right wording. ‘broken in’ might be more appropriate. like a pair of boots that are only comfortable once you rough them up a little. 

it’s at that moment that he realizes the softness he saw in you just now is fading away rapidly, replaced again by the monstrous beast that is his darling lover. at least she’s familiar now. it’s his fault. you are exactly who you said you were. he should have believed you. 

he thinks this is it, that this is the last time he’ll get to have you before you leave him. you steal all of his sunshine like a parasite, robbing him of all of his life energy and taking it for yourself. the only way you can feel whole anymore is to take leon apart and use him for everything his mortal body and soul has to offer. 

he remembers being the light in your life, cheering you up when you were down. you were his moon, and he shined his light onto you like the sunlight gives way to moonlight. 

but that isn’t real anymore. you aren’t the damaged but loving person he used to know. 

“are you… going to leave after?” he asks. he’s pouting ever so slightly but he doesn’t realize it.

you just gaze at him, eyes soft but knowing, and he can’t help but crying. he tries so hard not to be clingy or ‘too much’. makes himself less and less to make you comfortable. 

“please don’t leave me,” he cries, “please, i can’t bear to think about it. my… my love, please..”

part of him feels like if he lets you leave again, you won’t ever come back.

he can’t understand why he’s so desperate for you to stay. he feels your hand around his neck as you lean in close to kiss his shoulder, you don’t squeeze but your presence is known and feared just like you like it, your other hand falling lower and lower until… 

leon can’t fathom just how wrong he was about you, about everything in general, but what hurts the most is putting the timeline together. it starts with him realizing he loved you. you realizing you loved him. the gentle, sweet months he got to spend with you. sure, you were unconventional, but he’s not the nuclear family type either. 

to him realizing you didn’t love him, actually. 

to then realizing that you did love him, but not enough to change for him. that one hurt the most.  knowing that you’ll always choose your comfort over him.

and to finally coming to terms with the fact that your love is strong and real but it is rotten, that you and your heart are corrupting him and made something tragic out of him. 

he sighs, letting it all happen. he might as well let you have what you want. he feels your hand rubbing against the fabric of his pants over his crotch, teasing him. 

he’s almost happy you’re using him one last time for sex. it’ll give him something to distract his mind from the sadness that’s creeping into his heart.

“i think… my boy needs to feel good.. so he can stop thinking sad thoughts..” your free hand pulls his sweats down and feel him up over his boxers, and he hates that he’s getting hard. that he likes this. he likes being taken by the big, bad monster.

he lets you touch him, lets you strip him down both metaphorically and physically, until he’s bare, a blank canvas ready to be ruined. he has literal scars from bites that drew blood, teeth bared into his skin like you’re trying to consume him alive. 

maybe you are.

this isn’t intimate sex between two lovers. this is carnage. this is ravaging, taking what is rightfully yours. it may not be violence in its usual form, but you are no less deadly. 

you really can’t help yourself when you have the urge to grab his throat, can you? hold his life in your hands, why don’t you?

he wants to make love to you, to hold you close like he used to, fuck you until your mind let go of its need to be in control, to be apathetic and composed and cold and just let you be the soft soul he knows is in there, fucking somewhere in there. 

instead of that, he gets something completely different. claiming. ownership. you mark your territory like an violent dog, biting and scratching and ruining him until everyone else in his life got the hint that he wasn’t allowed to play with anyone else. 

you’re violently possessive, that’s the only way he can put it. and even now, when he should be kissing you and moaning in your ear about how good you feel around his cock, how perfect you are for him, how he wants to be good for you, exactly what you want in your man, he.. can’t. 

all he can do is whine and whimper like an injured puppy. 

instead of kissing you, he’s begging for mercy. instead of making love to you, he’s lost in a daze of pain, mixed in with the pleasure of his cock buried inside of you. your teeth fucking hurt when you bite him like a damn vampire. just like the last time you were in a possessive mood, you bite him hard enough to make him bleed.

“i… i love you,” he whimpers after the fact, his voice is shaky like he’s desperate, “i love you but you’re… i don’t like it when you’re like this”

“who do you belong to?” you ask, suddenly. 

it feels unrelated, but even though leon’s eyebrows furrow at the question, he responds, like it’s an instinct, or rather more it’s a response he’s gives hundreds of times, “you. it’s.. always gonna be you.”

“… i love you too, you know. sometimes i think you don’t believe me,” rich coming from the ‘i don’t love anybody’ girl, he thinks, “but i do. i’m always gonna love you. you just don’t like the way i love you.”

“because the way you love me is killing me.”

“i’m not a killer. you asked me to let you in. this is the real me, leon. if you don’t like what you see… then don’t look.”

“i do but i-”

“you wish you were the exception to the rule. you want to be the reason i change. honestly, leon? i’ll never get better. and i told you that months ago, but you never listened. you thought you could fix me.”

“you aren’t broken,” he whispers.

“then why do you insist on changing me?” 

he scoffs, “that’s rich coming from you.” he knows you’ll get annoyed at him for his sass, but he can’t help it. you’re a violent hypocrite and he adores you, but he can’t ignore the irony of you feeling forced to change.

you tighten your grip on his neck, and he should have told you months ago but he hates being choked. brings up old memories that he’d rather not remember. he doesn’t really know why he lets you do it, why he tolerates it. maybe it’s because you seem so pleased to be in control of his life like that. he can’t afford to piss you off too much. you might like murder a little too much. 

“why do you insist on fixing me?” you ask again. loosing up your grip to let him talk.

“i… i never wanted to fix you. i just wanted you to love me. i wanted… to make you happy.”

he lets out the cutest gasp when you finally use your free hand to pull his cock free, not even bothering to pull his boxers down all the way.

“awh, you’re still so soft, baby. do you not want me?” you taunt him, and he quickly tries to reassure you, shaking his head. 

“n-no! i do! i want you, just.. just give me a second..” he stutters helplessly, but his voice gives out when you lean down to kiss his hip bone, and then your lips trail down lower and lower, adoring his thighs with the remnants of your lip gloss, “oh god…”

he’s pretty. pretty like a prey animal. 

you decide that maybe its not fair to him that he’s almost butt naked and you’re still fully clothed, so you undress too. leon appreciates that you do it to please him. 

“i… you’re so fucking pretty,” he whimpers, begging you to kiss him again. can he just pretend like you’re making love? instead of… whatever this is? 

his cock isn’t super big, so it’s not hard to fit inside, especially since he’s just barely getting hard. seeing your body was enough to get him going. he likes everything about you. every beauty mark or mole or freckle, every scar and each divot and curve, he adores you.

your smile isn’t appreciative. it is greedy. avaricious. you.. need more of him. 

“you feel… so perfect inside of me..” you groan, the grip on his neck tightening as he obediently rocks his hips up to fuck you. his hands grasp at the sheets, white knuckles displaying how tense he feels. 

a shaky, almost fearful moan escapes his throat, “please.. please don’t squeeze that hard.”

again, leon doesn’t like being choked.. so many times he’s almost been killed, and yet… you don’t seem to care. you don’t squeeze hard enough to make him pass out, but he’s getting lightheaded, so much so that you’re having to pick up the slack of bouncing on his cock since he’s unable to keep pace. he just lays there helplessly while you steal away his life.

“leon..” you tease, holding in a giggle, and trying to stir his attention, but his eyes get cloudy and he can’t focus on you, can’t look you in the eye meaningfully.

all he can respond with is a half-hearted attempt at a ‘huh?’. it’s honestly kind of cute how easily fucked out he gets. you ease up, and he breathes deeply for the first time in a couple minutes, gasping out ‘thank you’s like you just saved his life instead of almost killing him. 

“i’m sorry you got stuck with someone like me, baby,” you murmur, you’re not really sorry. tears fall down his cheeks, and you lean down to lick them up like a dog drinks her water. he cringes, disgusted at the feeling, but you own him so intrinsically.. how could he ever stop you from doing exactly what you wanted to him? this was your world. he just lived in it.

—

leon wakes up the next morning, expecting to be alone in your shared bedroom after you had left. you’re not completely awful, you clean him up and bandage any cuts after you finished with him… and leon realizes he doesn’t exactly remember anything after you choking him a little too aggressive, he must have passed out. did he cum even while unconscious? he’s almost impressed.

he doesn’t remember you leaving, just the looming thought in his mind that you will leave. there was no doubt about it.

you’re not there, clearly, and he doesn’t hear you anywhere in the bathroom or in the kitchen. the silence is deafening. 

maybe you’re on a walk to clear your head? 

maybe… you’re really gone.

but your stuff is still at home, so he thinks you might still stay. he cant decide if that’s a good thing. sure, he can’t exist without you, so codependent it’s pathetic, but… you’re not exactly good for him. maybe it’d do him some good to pull himself together and get over you. if he even can.

he loves you. helplessly. desperately. but you love his pain more than you love him. that’s the truth and there’s no denying that. you are.. exactly who you said you’d be. it’s his fault for not believing you.

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Hi can you do headcanons for Levi, Eren, and Armin with a reader who has cardiophobia and gets really panicky/emotional after sex ^^. I would really appreciate it.

:)

Disclaimer/Reminder: NSFW works with the 104th will always be set after the times timeskip where they are adults. With that being said, Eren is... post timeskip Eren, so not the most 'adjusted' or the romantic as you might've liked. You know, tragic hero falls and knowingly becomes the thing he hated most and becomes the villain and dwells on it shenanigans.

(General neutral reader)

(Very light NSFW contents given subject matter below the cut)

Levi Ackerman

Like mentioned here, Levi has complications feelings with sex in general for the longest time until after he gets into a comfortable place doing it a couple times with you so he knows the feeling. However, during those first few times it's moreso during than after with him that you have to ease him more into relaxing when he gets cagey or overwhelmed with the feels™ you can be his rock to ground and comfort him through it. So if you get similar feels post sex it's only fair for him to do the same for you, right?

You will have to thoroughly explain it to him exactly what you're feeling it going through though - even if in the moment it might be a bit hard, so maybe bring it up beforehand? If not in the moment that first time he's going to automatically assume the worst and think he's hurt you and bad past shit is going to flare back up - again, sex is a complicated subject for Levi - and he's going to insist you two never do this again unless you can properly explain that it's nothing but just an anxiety thing and that you're fine, it's nothing to do with him and he didn't hurt you and you would actually like to do it again. He's going to hesitate a bit but he trusts you - he wouldn't be here with you right now if he didn't - if you really say you're okay and everything's fine he'll believe you. He's careful with you, especially like this an emotional wreck on his bed, but he'll still believe you and try to focus on what you need now.

It takes a couple attempts to get into a steady rhythm and healthy pattern, while during sex Levi learns more about how to be more vulnerable loosing himself with you after you both learn what it takes for you to be as comfortable as possible afterwards.

Do you need space? After collecting himself - kissing you one last time if you're comfortable - he'll completely vacate your space and drift off a bit somewhere else. Depending on how much space you need, he can either retreat to a corner of the room and talk with (or at if that helps) you there or he can get completely dressed and go shower - if he comes back out and you're still in need of space, he can then go back out to his office and make himself busy with some of the hundreds of piles of busy work shit Erwin has him to do until whenever you are comfortable enough to go out and seek him again. Either way he's always respectful of you maybe wanting to be alone to recollect yourself.

Do you need constant affection? Or reassuring comfort? He can do that. He doesn't think he's very good at it (he very much is) but he'll try. Once you've made it clear by eloping your arms and/or legs around him like you'll never let go and bury your face in the crook of his neck, he'll slightly return it by having a stern grip around you - once he's more comfortable with the dynamic even coming up to trace his fingers along your body or even play with your hair if you're comfortable. You need kisses? He'll give them. You need to just hear him talk about anything? He can pull the most random shit out of his ass to complain about. More specific but you want to hear a story from him? He's limited because half the shit isn't very comforting or appropriate for this setting to try and calm you down, plus given how you're here in the first place he's told you all of it, but he does manage to come up with a couple 'fun' stories, usually involving Isabel - she was a fun person, his fun kid sister.

Like the time in the small apartment he used to live in with Kenny before he left and then lived in with her and Farlan, he went to go discover the source of a smell in the attic that overlooked Isabel's room one night and discovered the source was a leaking wine barrel and not even five seconds after making the discover and was he about to move it to assess the floor damage did an ODM wire break through from up the floor and through the barrel and shot up past his ear until everything fell around him and he crashed to the floor below covered head to toe in wine and where Isabel loudly spewed off about some kind of 'monster' while wielding her blades in her nightwear until the dust settled and the 'monster' was revealed to be Levi. He remembers it was just as Farlan stepped in to see what the hell was going on that he got so mad at her, which looking back now on he definitely wishes he didn't yell at her the way he did but they didn't have the money to make such the repairs to the house now with the giant gaping hole in Isabel's bedroom... but they ended up pinning down a large blanket to the hole as their 'solution', it definitely didn't help during winter nights or when rats from the attic would fall through the cracks and onto Isabel while she slept giving her nightmares for weeks... and here he was making the story depressing again, he hates when he always does that without realizing - but cuddled up next to him you tell him it's fine, in a way it shows how much he cared about his adopted family even despite all the depressing hardships they went through.

No matter what he's always willing to make changes and adjustments for you to suit and help with your current needs, after all you do the same for him when he needs it so besides him genuinely wanting to it's only fair as he sees it. He loves you, like actually genuinely loves you and you mean the world to him, you two wouldn't even be here to experience this dilemma in the first place if he didn't. If you can make adjustments and changes for him to deal with his whole complicated struggles he's more than happy to do the same for you.

Eren Jeager

Already somewhat aware of it before you two even fuck in the first place. Being said, Eren at this point in time is aware of a lot of things but always chooses to keep them to himself. He has to. After all, there's no point. Everything is leading to one place. No matter what. There's no point. He's going to hell in less than year anyway for the tragedy he's going to make occur. You're nothing but a temporary distraction from that. Hell he doesn't even know if you're going to survive it. You might. Or might not. Either way he's going to be dead before he can even figure that fact out. Mikasa is going to kill him in the end - he knows that much. Nothing he does now matters, that diplomacy meeting just proved that. They are going to one future. No matter what. Eighty percent. Eighty damn percent. He's going to hell and he's going to rot there, he knows that.

You're a temporary distraction. He tells himself that over and over. He'll fuck you and leave. Not even taking the time to really watch your emotional reaction afterwards, if you need space and need to be alone then it's not much of an issue - hell, he's actually helping you but it still hurts with how cold-hearted he forces himself to be. If you need comfort and affection you're completely shit out of luck. You are a temporary distraction. Over and over he reminds himself. Will you be a part of that eighty percent? He doesn't want to think about it. So he doesn't think about it so he doesn't pit your emotions in consideration... at least for awhile.

His younger version of himself still in him is very stubborn. His old emotions he use to feel are very stubborn - biting him at the worst possible times. He ignores it - tries to. But it's at the absolute worst when it's around you.

If he were that dumb kid - hell himself a year or two ago - he would've taken immediate action to comfort you in the best way he could. He would've stayed and been there for you, comforted you if you needed it. If he were that same puppy lovesick kid he would've done anything for you, he would mold and do anything for your needs. He would put all your emotions and feelings into consideration and in account. You mean so much to him, if only he had the courage to tell you that before the Truth hit him all in the face with that one Touch of That hand. Maybe a sick twisted part of him wishes that connection moment seeing the horrific future He would create never would've happened and he could have lived in ignorant bliss, he could've been happy with you and all his friends. But the future leads all one way, he reminds himself. No matter what. Eighty percent.

But as time get closer, he looses up a bit. Let's himself have a moment of respite and selfishness he knows he doesn't deserve. The one time he either doesn't immediate leave or goes only far enough of a comfortable distance from you but still able to speak to you as he sits across the room. He doesn't talk, even if you want him to. But he'll sit there either next to you on the bed for you to hesitantly cling onto him or he'll sit by the windowsill and just stare outside. But he'll stay there. Unlike before.

You can talk if you want, he won't stop you. Talk about whatever through choked out sobs and struggled breaths and he'll listen. He doesn't know why he's letting himself but he does, even still he likes hearing your voice.

If you're beside him you can touch him if you want, his longer hair is very soft and his hands are surprisingly very smooth and delicate against your skin - probably from the constant new layers of molded over skin from his transformations. He'll let you do whatever you want except he won't outright touch you in return. He won't let himself.

If he's across the room staring out the window however, he will actually speak. But he does so without ever looking at you. He'll tell you stories about his childhood, tales about Mikasa and Armin, how really important they are to him, how he liked you for so long but was a coward to never be able to say it until too late, and how it fucking hurts him knowing what all you and them are going to be put through when he's finally gone past the point of no return - but you never for some reason remember that part. Not until after the dust has settled after the Battle of Heaven and Earth. There's a lot of things you don't remember him saying to you until after he's gone.

Then rationality sets back in. He wants you to find someone else, someone else you can properly attune and care for your complex needs - someone that's not him. You do mean too much to him. He's not deserving of that. He's not deserving of having you share such vulnerabilities with him. He's not deserving of your tender emotions. You two can't do this anymore. He wants you to hate him for the evil he's going to do. The future only leads one way. And he's not going to be a part of yours.

Eighty percent.

Armin Arlert

Literally so understanding and accommodating. Once you tell him about your anxieties and with up to date medical knowledge books from Marley he's actually able to find the scientific term for it and uses those books as somewhat of a blueprint to try and maneuver through it the best way possible.

However, he actually overwhelms himself however overlyworrying that you're uncomfortable with talks a mile a minute asking suggestions of the things he's read to a point it actually distracts you for a brief moment that it's actually cute seeing him like this and you'll have to flat out tell him exactly what you need or he'll go on and on for hours without even realizing he's doing so and that could potentially overwhelm you too and make things worse and you obviously don't want that. So it's best to be blunt and forward about it, he'll do anything you suggest and give you as much space as you want or as much less space as you want if you need to be held.

Once you're all situated and on the verge of be more calmer now (or at least on the road to be) Armin becomes less stressed about worrying over you now that he sees you bit by bit slowly easing out. He's either as far or close as you want him but he still makes sure to check on you, asking simple yes or no questions you can answer with a simple head nod or shake until he's completely satisfied that you're okay.

If you need it quiet, he can stay quiet, either petting along the small of your back and/or pressing a couple kisses to the top of your head as you still lay naked on top him if comfortable and if close enough. Or - and he can do this both is farther away in the set aside chair at his desk or right next to you in bed - he can read to you, he loves reading to you. His voice is so calming when he reads and it can settle as a very good distraction to help shove away any remainder nerves and uneased emotions.

He'll read your favorite books but also from a couple his parents left behind to him as a kid that he still keeps, he loves reading those to you especially given how much they mean to him. His grandpa use to read them to him before bed too, but he tries not to think about even in the dead of night while he stared aimlessly at the ceiling still (sleep was a very hard thing to do after Maria fell) he could hear his Grandpa's cries from downstairs in the shotty house they rented. The book was the only thing he had left of his daughter - Armin's mother - after all, so they obviously meant a lot to him too, increasing their value more. To read them to you means a lot, even in a situation like these.

He can also talk about other things though if you want, Armin is a busy guy with all sorts of future things potentially planned and honestly he'll appreciate it if you're comfortable and willing to let him ramble on about his plans and ideas for the Peace Diplomacy and other important Commander things of the sort to pick at his brain for a bit. You don't have to pitch in or offer anything to it but if you do it's always considered and appreciated. And it doesn't just have to be about strictly professional stuff either, it can be about anything you want it to be. But things can tend to dampen the mood if the past gets brought of given... everything. Speaking of you two really need to go visit Mikasa soon...

It doesn't matter how much of a mess you're in Armin will always pick back up your pieces, no matter how long or how much time it takes to pick them back up. He'll kiss away your tears and ease your stress away time and time again however you need it. No matter what or however long, he'll do it until death takes him and he reunites with Eren in hell. That's a promise.

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

[jakeyt]

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great. 

Was. 

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home. 

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 16.6k+

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

Two Weeks Later

Friday, August 26, 2022

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

Saturday, August 13, 2022 

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

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

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

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

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

Surely he had an ulterior motive. 

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t. 

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

More you couldn’t have. 

But for now, you’d pretend you could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had a soft smile resting on his lips.

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

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

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

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

And so, without considering anything else, you did. 

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

His brow raised, questioning your words. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay. I want to listen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?” 

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

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

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

Your lips lifted, back in the moment with him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Stayed with them until. . .?”

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

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

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

“Don’t like writing anymore?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Incredible?” He smiled. 

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

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

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

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

His next words confirmed it. 

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

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

“Has no one ever told you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“And you still let it happen?”

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

“Wanted it to,” you remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“For trauma dumping?” You giggled. 

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

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

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

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

It felt so freeing.

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

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

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

“That’s terrible.”

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

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

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

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

You blinked a couple times before responding. 

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

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

“Twin life?”

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

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

“I’m jealous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So fucking handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, the length.

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

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

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

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

The little raspy laugh beneath you gave him away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you like about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

Once he was completely naked, he repositioned above you. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dear God.

But he seemed dissatisfied.

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

But it seemed he still wanted your help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your toes curled with a moan. 

“Still too long.”

“Impatient.”

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

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

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

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

“I fucking love it.”

Oh.

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

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

It was painful and delicious all at once. 

Fuck he felt so good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His body was a work of art. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck.

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t. 

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

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

Till your kiss helped me name it.

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

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

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

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

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

Pieces you’d forgotten even existed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as another favorite of yours came on. 

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

Like the sweet morning dew, 

I took one look at you,

And it was plain to see you were my destiny.

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

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

It always was from this position. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jakey,” you moaned. 

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

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

“Best fucking feeling in the whole world.”

Your tummy lurched at that, butterflies fluttered their wings. 

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

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

“Oooohhh,” you moaned, your body shaking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before much more could be said, he sealed the interaction with a slow, sure kiss and got up to fix you both breakfast.

Now that you’d had his cooking the night prior, you were really looking forward to the breakfast. You’d learned the man was extremely gifted in culinary— just as he was in music. 

But, even as the bacon crackled and the vanilla-laced smell of fresh waffles wafted in through the open layout of the apartment, you weren’t really thinking about his cooking. 

No; inside your mind, you were swirling back and forth with how close you’d felt to him. How sex was starting to feel so effortless and all-encompassing with him. . . And that coupled with how much you’d been feeling in the moment?

It was obvious he’d carved a place in your heart.

A big one.

But you’d worry about that later. 

Because. . .what was clawing at you more was one particular thought. 

You now had a nagging curiosity of what it might feel like to have him actually finish inside of you. 

How in the hell had you let it come to this?

-🌼🌼🌼-

Every year, it was tradition to have a family dinner at your grandparents’ house to celebrate a new year of school. 

But this year, on a whim, you decided to make it a little different. . . You acted on impulse and invited Jake to it. 

To your surprise (and excitement), he’d agreed with no hesitation.

And before the annoying voice in your head could say anything, you reassured it that him coming with you wasn’t a couple-y thing. 

Not at all.

You’d had time to think back on the way you’d started cracking during sex the other morning. 

And you had already started the process of tying your heart back up, protecting yourself from a whirlwind of unnecessary, surely unreciprocated emotion.

He liked having sex with you, that was it. And it could be that way for you, too. It had to be.

The flash of feelings you’d felt during sex a few mornings back honestly meant nothing— you chalked it up to just being caught up in the moment. You had simply gotten far too ahead of yourself.

As you got ready that night, you thought back on the few times your grandma and grandpa had asked about your roommate. You were sure you’d only thought to invite him, because you’d been subconsciously thinking it would appease your wondering grandparents. 

You also just really enjoyed spending time with him. That much you could come to terms with. And, admittedly, you really wanted him to meet your grandparents.

Of course, you were a little nervous at the prospect of him meeting your them (more your judgmental grandfather than your grandma). But, nonetheless, you were really looking forward to having him there with you. 

And, the cherry on top: Elsie would be there to alleviate any weird tension your grandparents may add. . . So, truly, it was the ideal time to have him come meet them. 

At 5:00, thirty minutes before it was time to leave, he still wasn’t home. You knew he had a few lessons today, but he’d assured you that he would be home on time. 

Though, you couldn’t help feeling nervous that maybe he’d regretted saying yes, and he was going to run late on purpose just to get out of going to dinner. 

Before your thoughts could get too crazy, you got a text from him. 

Jake, 5:10 p.m.: so I’m still working with this fuckin client :( 

But at the sight of the text, your stomach sank. 

I knew it, you thought, downhearted. He’s gonna try to get out of it.

Then, another text came through.

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: and I think it’s the time of day

Jake, 5:11 p.m.: but I’ve had like 3 Ubers in a row cancel on me for my scheduled time

He’s really pulling out all the stops, you thought, feeling your chest tighten, anger coming into play. Just say you don’t want to go.

While you were sulking, you noticed one more text pop up in its gray bubble. 

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: I hate to ask you to do this 

Here it comes.

Jake, 5:12 p.m.: but can you pick me up on your way to your grandparents house? I really don’t wanna miss it

You could’ve sighed with relief. In fact, you did. Watching the screen for a few more seconds, you contemplated waiting a bit to respond. Play the classic ‘hard-to-get’ and ‘make-sure-he-knows-I-don’t-take-this-too-seriously-game’ and keep him on the line. . .

But you couldn’t wait. And probably too quickly, you texted back. 

You, 5:13 p.m.: I’d be happy to. I’ll be there soon. Just send me the address.

And within five minutes, the address was sent as you were scooping Stevie some fresh food in her dish. And as soon as you saw it, you were making your way out the door, hurriedly making your way to the car. 

Why am I so anxious to see him when I literally just saw him this morning? You thought, as you started the car, hearing your soul music playlist take over the car’s stereo. Calm the fuck down, y/n.

But you couldn’t help it as you pulled quickly out of the parking lot, buzzing with excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

-🌼🌼🌼- 

When you pulled up to his client’s house, you suddenly saw the appeal of the private lessons. You were sure he got paid good fucking bucks to give lessons to whoever it was that lived in this mansion of a place. 

You were busy admiring the giant home, when you felt your stomach flutter at the sight of him, carrying his acoustic guitar case. 

Though, your gaze didn’t stay on him for long as you caught sight of the beautiful woman with flowing, jet-black locks, walking out of the door behind him, her pristine black dress. Her full ass, big tits, and small waist accentuated perfectly in the outfit. You saw her blatantly checking him out and saying something as she followed behind him. 

Whatever it was she was saying, it made him laugh. Truly laugh. His dimples were showing and his mouth was open wide, then he said something back. 

But he was seemingly oblivious to her glances at his ass as he continued walking ahead of her. The perfectly straight, gleaming white smile on her glowing caramel skin was wide with whatever he said and whatever it was that she was saying in return. 

Your blood was boiling. And it just got worse as you watched her come up behind him and lightly grab his bicep, turning him gently to face her. 

For a few brief seconds, you watched in terror, afraid that you were about to witness a kiss between him and this woman. 

Thankfully, you didn’t. 

But what you did see still made tears climb up your throat. 

You watched him sit his case down, and then saw an extremely genuine, heartfelt hug take place between the two. It wasn’t a quick, friendly side hug, it was a full-on hug. She was grasping him tightly, holding the back of his head as she clung to him. Her eyes closed as she continued speaking over his shoulder.

At one moment, her mouth closed and you saw just how beautifully shaped and plush her soft lips were. She was strikingly gorgeous. Everything about her. 

Was this her house? Was he giving her lessons? Or did she have a kid that he was giving lessons to? 

Whatever the case may have been, you had to swallow back every tear that was threatening to escape as he started walking toward you, case in hand again. 

She stayed on the sidewalk, watching him walk down the steps to the curb where you’d pulled up. 

Right as he got to your car, he turned around to wave at her once more. 

And then, what you heard him say through the closed door made your heart fall to the very pit of your stomach.

“It’s my favorite part of the day!” He laughed heartily, before finally opening the door to the backseat. 

His favorite part of the day? Was it being with her? Fuck.

You turned to face the front of the car, gathering yourself as you stared out the windshield. You were so embarrassed. For a variety of reasons. 

Your hands shook as you held tightly to the steering wheel. 

The back door shut, and you prepared yourself for him being close to you by clearing your throat and reminding yourself of a few important things.

We are not together. I don’t love him. God no I don’t, you shook your head at the idea of that. And he can be with whomever he pleases. It’s none of my business. 

But when he opened the door to the car, all thoughts from before vanished. The musings from your self-mantra and your worries of the girl had dissipated as soon as he spoke in his ever-raspy, sweet tone. 

“Hi, beautiful.”

You glanced over at him, a tight smile on your lips working to mask any worry that there may have been. Working to convince him and yourself that things were okay. 

You couldn’t help but ask. “Is she a client or does she have a child taking lessons?”

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his nose. “Oh, she’s the client,” he said, his smile matching his tone as he spoke of her. “She’s doing really well. I’m proud of her progress.”

The next question slipped from your lips out of pure curiosity, nothing more. “Does she live in that giant house all by herself?”

“Yep. Single. No kids,” he affirmed. “Crazy, huh? Oh! I almost forgot,” he reached over the armrest and into the backseat to click open his case and get something from it. 

His proximity to you was overwhelming, the intoxicating smell of sandalwood and amber infiltrating your senses.

Please want me more than you might want her, you pleaded silently. 

When he was sitting in his seat again, he lifted to reach into his back pocket, getting his wallet out.

“What did you almost forget?” You inquired, trying to mask your ridiculous thoughts with a plain tone.

“This,” he held up a guitar pick, before opening his wallet to put it inside. “My lucky pick. I always use it at my lessons. Forgot to put it back in my wallet today. Got carried away talking to her.”

Fuck. 

Then, without meaning to, you caught his gaze. The a/c blowing against your hair and face, cooling you off from your distressing thoughts.

But your bearings were almost lost again with the sincerity you found in his eyes, and with the hand that fell to squeeze your thigh as he leaned over the console to kiss your cheek. 

Closing your eyes momentarily, you turned your attention back to the road right before you put the car in drive.

We are not together. Everything is fine. Whatever we are— it’s fine. Stop worrying, you chanted all of this internally as you increased the volume on Victoria Monet, gearing up for your playlist to serenade you for the duration of the drive. Drown out your ridiculous train of thought.

“I actually like this,” Jake commented, his hand still on your thigh. His thumb sweeped wide circles on your inner thigh, burning through your jeans. “What’s it called?”

Coming to the stop sign at the end of the street, you waited for the car on your right to go as you responded. 

“We Might Even Be Falling In Love,” was your simple response, right before you took your turn at the four way stop.

-🌼🌼🌼-

The car ride to your grandparents’ was slightly tense at first, but eventually you got over it as Jake started making his regular small talk. He was the same as always. Anytime you talked with him, he reminded you of his brother with how intent and caring he was about every word that left your mouth. 

But, for you, it meant more coming from him than it did Josh.

Jake was just. . .special to you. And you wanted to be special to him.

It was a relief. And by the time you pulled up to the quaint, familiar house, everything felt the same as it always did. You were feeling better. . he was him and things felt normal. Felt okay. 

As you walked up to the front door, him following you closely behind, you felt comfortable. And when you entered the house, it felt so good to have Jake in tow, the never-changing atmosphere of the home combining perfectly with having him near. 

You were giddy with the fact that he was there.

And it just continued to get better as the night wore on. 

Both of your grandparents greeted Jake with open arms, real welcoming smiles adorned their wrinkling faces. Your chest, warm with contentment as you watched the three of them interact. Jake, continuing the theme of coming out of his shell, as he made smooth conversation with your people. 

As you’d been standing in the entryway chatting, Elsie’d rounded the corner from the kitchen. And to your delighted surprise, Josh had been in tow behind her. 

You knew they’d decided to take it to the next level after the night at the bowling alley. They were becoming the power couple. So it made sense that he’d be here tonight, too.

Everything was absolutely perfect. Elsie and Josh being there made the ideal mix of people for Jake’s first time meeting your family. 

Then dinner came.

“Joshua, I will never get over how sweet it was for you to make the drive to us with Elsie a few weeks ago,” your grandmother commented as she poked some salad with her fork. “Didn’t leave her alone on that late night drive.”

“She is in good hands with you,” your grandfather agreed, making sure to catch Josh’s eyes to emphasize his words. 

“I’m lucky to have her,” Josh smiled in response, kissing Elsie’s cheek. 

Everything was going great, conversation flowing until your grandmother spoke next.

“Y/n, honey, how long have you been seeing Jake?” 

Your eyes stayed trained on your plate, suddenly feeling all eyes on you. You heard Jake clear his throat from where he sat next to you. Fuck. Of course she’d ask this. Assume that you two were dating.

To your relief, Elsie started speaking for you. 

“Grandma, they aren’t together,” she said, covering smoothly with a giggle to top it off, trying to alleviate any tension.

You took that as your cue to look up, monitoring the situation. 

“Oh,” your Grandma responded, a little smile on her face as she put an aged, perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “Silly old me. I guess I just assumed because you were here together tonight, sis,” she looked at you, her eyes apologetic. 

“You sure act like it,” your Grandpa chimed in, motioning with his fork at you two sitting next to each other. 

“Howard, quit,” your Grandmother defended. 

At your Grandpa’s comment, you finally found your voice. 

“Elsie’s right. We are not together,” you stated, leaving no room for argument. “He’s just my roommate.”

“Harsh, kid,” your Grandfather interjected. “Not even a friend?”

“I guess,” you shrugged, looking over at Jake who seemed to be trying his best to stay focused on his plate, dodging any involvement in the conversation. “But mostly just my roommate.”

For some reason, the awkward air persisted, hanging in the air around you. 

Your words felt wrong. You knew you were friends (and more than that), but you didn’t want to get too mushy, for fear of being questioned further. You were trying your best to diffuse the tension, fixing it so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

You were so fearful of somehow exposing your current predicament—especially to those in the room. You hadn’t even told Elsie of your whole ‘fuck buddy’ situation. Shockingly. 

She’d known about you two having sex that first time. . . But you had never told her anything further than that.

Honestly, you’d been too focused on Jake the past few weeks to even think to inform her. It was something that only you and Jake shared and you mostly liked it that way. 

You also didn’t want to tell her because you were positive she’d question the situation. Make you admit things you didn’t want to. Things you couldn’t admit. Push you to say too much. You didn’t need her to make it anything more than what it was. 

It was your little secret. And you intended on keeping it that way. 

Josh swooped in seamlessly, taking over the conversation with talks of all things music and film. 

Eventually, Jake tuned in to the music talk. He’d stayed quiet for longer than you’d anticipated . . . surely feeling the awkwardness of the initial question with you. But he’d played it off well. 

And as you watched him interact with your grandparents, the version of him that you witnessed made your heart flutter. Your senses were filled with all kinds of happiness. 

Eventually, you, the twins, and your Grandpa had migrated to the living room as Elsie and your Grandma went to prepare dessert.

You sat there, across the room from him. You, on the couch, him on the ottoman next to your Grandpa’s chair. Why he’d sat so far away from you, you didn’t know – but you didn’t care. You just enjoyed watching him talk. 

The way he got along with your Grandpa made you light up with joy considerably. 

Your Grandfather was a hard nut to crack. Not to compare the two, but you wouldn’t ever put it past Josh to get through to your Grandpa (because Josh was, quite possibly, the easiest person in the world to talk to). So seeing his easy talk with your Grandpa was expected. 

But Jake? Jake was just a quieter person by nature. Not in a bad way, by any means. . . He just was. You liked him that way. He was thoughtful and kept parts of himself hidden. . . revealed more of himself the more he trusted someone. You really liked him for all of his ways. 

But the way he was bonding with your Grandpa? It was just astonishing. 

By just being himself, Jake was making your Grandpa open up more than ever.

You’d never seen your Grandpa this way.

As you watched the three of them, Jake’s efforts to connect with your Grandfather honestly seemed to flow more smoothly than the other twin’s. 

Josh had even ended up leaving the conversation, going to join your Grandma and Elsie in the kitchen, as the other two seemed to be venturing into their own conversation. Neither Jake nor your Grandpa needed a buffer. But you’d stayed anyhow, too intrigued by them to want to leave. 

And, you just really liked being where Jake was. He made you feel so calm and happy.

You also just couldn’t miss out on the moment in front of you. . .you’d never seen your Grandpa talk so animatedly.

The way he talked about music with Jake was shocking to you, as you didn’t know he loved music to the depths that you did. 

But apparently, Jake knew how to bring out that side of him. The smiles exchanged with the topic of conversation were exhilarating— so joy-filled.

Then, to your complete shock, your Grandpa brought up how he’d played guitar for years before your mother had been born. 

“You played guitar, Grandpa?!” You couldn’t help but ask, as you quite literally sat on the edge of the crisp, floral sofa. “How come you never told us?!”

“Well, I never really felt the need to revisit that part of my life,” he said, sighing. “You two girls didn’t need to be privy to that. It’s all in the past.”

You shook your head. “I love that about you, Grandpa. . . I wish you would’ve told me.”

He just looked at you with his eyes, so much behind them, left unsaid and filled to the brim with an unnamed emotion. A sad smile came to sit on his face.

“Did you have a favorite to play?” Jake asked, looking at him. 

“I did. I feel like all of us do.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth,” Jake grinned, nodding. “Do you still have your favorite one?”

“I sure do,” he looked at your roommate, a big grin spanning his usually-sunken cheeks. “I’ll show ya.”

Jake offered to go get it for him as he watched the old man try to stand. But when he was finally on his feet, he waved him off. 

“Nah, son. It’ll be good for me to get up and around to get her.”  

As he left to grab it, you waited for Jake to turn to you. But, he didn’t. 

Instead, he just looked at all of the photos on the walls rather than anywhere in your direction. The living room was so quiet, you literally heard every breath he took as he looked at the pictures of you and Elsie as children. 

You cleared your throat, trying to get a reaction from him.

He kept looking around the living room, not paying you any mind.

It was awkward.

Why was he avoiding looking at you? You weren’t used to him acting in such a way anymore. 

Unable to take it any longer, you cleared your throat again, harsher this time. 

But he still ignored it.

“Jake,” you sharply stated his name, irritation seeping through your tone at his behavior.

When he finally looked at you and you met his eyes, he looked distant. But after watching you for a long minute, his eyes started lightening a bit, seeming to come back to himself just a little. 

You tentatively grinned at him and shook your head. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked quietly, your eyes searching his face. 

“Nothing,” he stated, his voice sounding far away, jaw clenching.

“Jake.”

He just ran a quick, stiff hand through his hair, looking ahead of him for a few seconds and then back at you. 

You didn’t tear your focus from him, trailing your eyes past his face and watching his Adam's apple bob in his throat. 

When you looked back into his eyes, your heart beat rapidly as his eyes seemed to sink into your own. He was observing you so intently, your nerves sparking to life under his attention. You shivered a little under his stare. His gaze was dark, something hiding behind his amber-brown irises. 

You felt vulnerable and stark naked.

Instead of shying away, you kept your eyes on him. And the more you studied him—challenged him—an urge started creeping from below the surface. You watched him swivel further to face you.

You let your eyes drift again. Down his body, where his legs were spread. 

And just as you were about to take him somewhere private to talk, maybe even offer him a tour of your childhood bedroom. . .

Your Grandpa reappeared. Jake’s eyes quickly averted from yours, growing huge at the gorgeous white guitar your Grandfather had in tow. 

“A White Falcon?!” Jake asked in astonishment, his eyes growing bigger the closer it came. “Holy sh— wow.”

Your grandpa gave a belly laugh, handing this hidden, prized possession over to the long haired man. “You can say it, son. Holy shit is right. She’s a beauty.”

“A 1960. . .?”

“She’s a ‘67,” your Grandpa replied, admiring the nearly spotless guitar. The gold accents practically sparkled under the yellow glow of your Grandmother’s lamps. “A rare one.”

“You’ve got that right,” Jake said, inspecting the relic. “These are worth thousands these days. Especially in a condition like this,” he commented. “But I’m glad you kept it. I would have, too.”

Your Grandpa made his go-to clicking sound with his cheek. He seemed to be agreeing and disagreeing. (Normal behavior for the aging man.) “I debated getting rid of her a few times here and there. . .but ultimately, I decided she was far too precious to me for me to ever give her up.”

You couldn’t help but feel every single emotion you’d been (uselessly) working to bury, rise to the surface. He had you completely enraptured. . . he was driving you crazy.

Back to observing him and your Grandfather, you lost yourself in thought at the man in front of you. He’d done the impossible. Not only had he started cracking your hard shell, he’d brought out something you’d never seen in your Grandpa. He had helped you to discover this bright side of your Grandpa that you’d doubted for years even existed.

An easygoing, free-minded person that had apparently been lurking below the surface your entire life. 

But it made sense that Jake had been able to do it.

He really had done it for you, too. You’d trusted him with countless things. Your emotions. Your body. Your home. Your TV shows. Your cat.

Jake held the guitar so delicately. But his hands were simultaneously strong and purposeful, making sure to protect the guitar. It was so similar to how he handled you. 

The thought made your blood feel hot in your veins and your legs weak. You crossed your legs, watching his hands hold the keepsake just right. 

The rest of the words exchanged were technical terms about the original price, what it’s currently worth, how it played. . . 

But you weren’t really focused on all of the technicalities as you observed Jake’s fingers on the body of the guitar. How intensely he stared at the instrument as he kept steady conversation, his voice, deep and raspy. . .

You didn’t want to expose yourself with how entranced you were by him at that moment. 

So, you decided you needed to escape as soon as possible. 

“I’m going to search my room for something,” you said, glancing at Jake— who, yet again, wasn’t acknowledging you speaking. What the fuck? “I’ll be back shortly.”

Your Grandpa acknowledged you, giving a little wink before going back to his discussion with Jake.  

-🌼🌼🌼-

Once you’d walked the couple of short hallways to get to your childhood bedroom, you sort of regretted using your bedroom as the excuse to get away.

You hesitated to open the door for a few long moments. 

You hadn’t been back to this room since that day in the car where Elsie had brought up the parts of your childhood that you’d forgotten. 

If you were being honest with yourself, it was intimidating to stand before the door as memories flooded back. 

There was the unnecessary screaming at your sister, coming back to you first. And as you thought back on that, you outwardly cringed at the words you now remembered saying to her. Terrible, hateful, completely untrue things. 

Then, you saw yourself throwing objects. Only ever at Elsie. With her being the person you felt safest with, naturally she was also the person punished most. In particular, a dent in the wall, adjacent to the door, reminded you of this. It was something that your grandparents and Elsie had always dismissed, saying it had ‘always been there.’ 

How in the hell had you blocked these things so intensely? Looking back on it now, it seemed as if those things had happened almost as soon as you’d moved in with your grandparents. 

To be fair, you had been very young and very recently grieved by the things which had occurred at your mother’s house.

Had it been a bad case of disassociation which had made you lose these fragments of time? 

Trauma-induced memory loss? 

Your childhood counselor had used the terms. You remembered that. 

Based on what you could vaguely rehash from those sessions, you probably had disassociated to protect yourself from the dark things. 

Disregarding what happened after moving to your grandparents’, there were several other things you literally couldn’t remember from your time with your mom. Distant flickers of barely-there echoes from a much darker, secret life. 

You were apparently an extreme pro at blocking out anything that may hurt you, and times with your mom and the things you’d done as a child were just that. 

Your eyes tracked the old wooden door, contemplating opening it when you saw the hole at the bottom of it. 

Another thing that had ‘always been there.’ But, right then and there, you could recollect the moment it happened. Clear as day. 

You’d been home alone with Elsie. Something had happened that had you screaming at her. Throwing things at her. Chasing her. If you were seeing the memory correctly, you had even managed to hit her with something. She’d gotten scared and the place she’d thought to run and hide had been your room. She’d been so stricken by the incident, sobbing for you to ‘stop, please!’ But you hadn’t listened. When she’d escaped behind the door, she shut it and locked you out. It had angered you more, making you release every last bit of bottled emotion with several hard kicks to the bottom of the door, resulting in the obscurity that now faced you, taunting you.

Then your grandparents had returned home, observed the incident, and decided that you both needed to immediately start counseling.

Without even realizing it, you were beginning to choke on dry sobs. Your breaths were becoming short and hard to catch. You couldn’t breathe. 

Your vision was fuzzy as you held to the door frame to balance yourself. But seeing it as pointless, your body going limp, your arms shaking, you slid down the wall to the floor. Putting a hand to your chest, you focused on taking deeper breaths, working to count each one you released. 

You pinched your eyes shut and tried to think of something to calm you down. 

Long hair that smelled like citrus. Smooth, tanned skin, glowing in the sun. A kiss underwater. A hand smoothing over your cheek, catching your tears. Soul-filled eyes, like dark whiskey, watching you closely and carefully. A body around yours, protecting you in the most quiet and intimate moments. The smell of sandalwood and amber.

But, right now, that smell was more present than it just being a figment of your imaginings. 

You slowly opened your eyes, still focusing on breathing, to find him right there, next to you. 

He was crouched down, a hand on the wall next to you, using his body as a shield around you. 

Your eyes welled with tears at the sight of him. It was like he knew you needed him.

“You were gone for a bit longer than what seemed normal,” he said, worry evident in his words. “What’s going on?”

Tears were escaping down your cheeks steadily. He took his flannel off, clad in a black t-shirt underneath, collar torn (on purpose?). Then, started dabbing at your cheeks for a few moments with his flannel. Once finished, he handed it to you, for you to wipe at your face with it. 

“Nothing's going on,” you gasped on a breath, almost bringing the flannel to your face when you stopped. “I don’t want to get it dirty with my makeup, Jake,” you gasped, still trying to calm yourself. But the relentless crying was making it near impossible. 

“I don’t care,” he went from crouching, to sitting against the wall, right beside you. His shoulder was a couple inches from touching your own. You caught yourself naturally leaning into it. “I want to help you. Let me.”

You didn’t say anything in response to that, letting the heartfelt words hang in the air around you two, laying your head on his shoulder. Bringing his flannel up to your face, you closed your eyes at the wonderful smell of him that lingered on the shirt and wiped your face with the plaid material.

Keeping your eyes closed, you used his steady breathing as an aid, trying to breathe in time with him. Anytime his shoulder would lift your cheek with a breath, you took one, too. It worked well, your chest feeling less tight, the tears subsiding. 

After a bit, you heard him speak again. His voice, causing a comforting rumble against your cheek. “What happened, honey?”

Honey. Your heart lurched in your chest at the name.

You slowly pried your eyes open again, focusing on the light beige of the walls and the way the textured paint on the wall made a sort of pattern.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. You feared bringing up the details of the way you used to behave. The idea of saying anything was embarrassing. It was daunting to think of exposing yourself like that. “Stuff from the past that’s embarrassing and awful.”

“Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

“Wrong.”

He snickered, placing a hand on your thigh. His trusty black hair-tie, wrapped around his middle finger. You traced the long digit, his knuckle, and then picked at the hair tie, pulling at it to see the skin beneath the band. 

Before you could do any more to his hand, he removed it from your leg. You watched, your head still leaning on his shoulder as he took the black rubber band off. Suddenly, you were moving from his shoulder as his body shifted. Peering up curiously, he motioned for you to turn your head. You did so, and within seconds, your hair was pulled up and away from your hot face. 

You looked over your shoulder at him, growing goosebumps as his fingers lingered on the skin of your neck. “Thank you.”

Situating yourself in your position from before, you decided on a whim to wrap your hand underneath his arm. You continued until you were lacing your fingers through his, his calloused fingertips wrapping around to rest on the top of your hand. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he started, voice low, as if keeping a secret. “But I’m here. I need you to know that. Whatever the case may be, I am here for you.”

“Thanks,” you hummed, squeezing his hand. “Jake?”

“Hm?”

“How did things change between us?”

He chuckled. “Well, it started when you walked into my bedroom the night of—.”

You shushed him, not able to hide your light giggle as you used your other palm to hit his hard chest. How was he able to turn things around so quickly for you? Your body felt so light and airy now, calm and at peace. The foggy memories weren’t so scary when he was with you.

“I mean. . .how are we like this now? Cordial?”

“We started trusting each other, I guess,” he said, all joking gone from his tone. 

“Yeah. . .,” you agreed. “And as silly as it is, I think you were onto something with mentioning the first night we. . .”

“I don’t think it’s silly, honestly. . . If we are being honest with ourselves, sex changes everything,” he stated, his thumb tapping a light beat against your hand. He was right. It truly did change things. For good or for bad, you didn’t know. 

“And those Aretha Franklin songs the other morning. . .,” he pushed a breath from his lips to follow his words.

You gasped. “You felt it too?” Finally looking up from his shoulder, you ignored the voice that was telling you to not give into the moment as you turned to him. Because when you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes were familiar, honest, and real. You couldn’t help but let them be your safe place. That was what they’d become. 

It can’t be this way forever. Stop while you’re ahead, the voice warned. Stop giving in.

But you kindly told it to fuck off as you swam in his irises.

“It was impossible not to. The music and the moment. . . ,” he grinned, a dimple presenting itself in his cheek. Then he raised a brow, turning his head a bit, keeping his eye on you. “But, don't forget. We’re just roommates.”

You flushed. “I had to say that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you sighed, hearing them from his mouth, you realized that your Grandpa had been right about your words being harsh. “Didn’t want anyone catching onto anything? I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, but still there. His eyes traveled the walls around you. You could tell his mind was still looming on how he’d found you in the hallway, only minutes ago. 

The column of his neck hypnotized you, the muscles that flexed beneath the flesh so strong and sure. You were aching to put your lips on the skin, then his eyes found yours, caught you watching him, yet again. He lifted a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, staring at your mouth as you licked to wet them. 

When he bit his lip, it was over.

You couldn’t help it. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart was racing. . .

Without even worrying about getting caught, you angled yourself towards him until your lips met his in a kiss. You had to be near him. Needed to be closer, closer, closer. 

He gave it back, matching the force behind your kisses.

It continued like that for a few short moments, but right before you could slip your tongue between his lips, he placed a hand to your cheek, gentle as he held your face steady, pulling back to study your features.

He waited for you to speak. You both knew why he’d put a stop to it. 

And as if to drive the point home, Josh’s laugh echoed through the entire house— a blatant reminder of why you couldn’t do this here.

You looked down to see where he was situating himself in his black skinny jeans, your skin heating all the more. 

As much as you wanted to leave at that instant, you didn’t want to seem abrupt or strange by doing that. You knew it would be best to eat dessert and then leave. 

You tucked a couple of loose strands, having fallen from your makeshift ponytail, behind your ears. Then, you asked. “Wanna eat some pie and then get out of here?” 

“Sounds perfect.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Laying in his bed later that night, sweaty limbs pressed together and chests heaving, your head resting on his chest as he twirled fingers in your hair, now loose around your shoulders. . . You decided to tell him.

“Earlier tonight, when you found me,” you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words. “I was trying to recover from a panic attack.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you said, pausing. As much as you wanted to look at him when you told him the next part, you decided it would be easier to keep your eyes on his SG, sitting on its stand across his bedroom. “I get them sometimes.”

“Why?” He asked, voice light and calm. 

“Different things. . . tonight, it was because I started having these extremely vivid flashbacks from my childhood.”

“About your mom?”

“Not necessarily— not this time,” you cleared your throat as tears pricked at your eyes. It hurt to think about the nasty, younger version of yourself. “This time, it was more about what I used to do when I was younger.” Tears were falling on his chest, your chest was tight as they kept coming, his skin prickling in their wake. “I–I’m sor–sorry.”

“Why, baby?” His voice settled your nerves. Warm. Soft. Him. 

“I hate that you have to see me cry,” you sniffled, wiping at the tears on his chest. But instead of letting you continue, he held your hand there, so you could feel the stable beating of his heart. 

“If crying is what it takes to heal, I’m here to listen to you as you wade through it.”

This time, you were crying from his words and the way his skin felt against your own. He was your safety. He was here. He was real.

He was here to help. Let him.

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to settle your breaths, focusing on the way his heart beat rhythmically under your hand. 

So, you opened up. You told him about everything that Elsie had reminded you of that day in the car; told him what seeing the door had done to you – and everything that had reared its ugly head all at once tonight.

“Wow,” he let out a deep breath in response. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. I was such a fucking demon,” you muttered sadly, your heart breaking as the images and sounds were once again coming back. “And I can’t escape it.”

“Why can’t you?”

You wrinkled your brows, resituating to lean on your arm beside him. His eyes followed you, open and honest and Jake. “I caused severe trauma for others– just like my mom did. I made mistakes that I can never take back.”

“You said you were ten?” He asked. You nodded. “You were a child.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But you need to give yourself some grace.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re human.”

“But so were the people I hurt.”

“Who would you say you hurt most?”

“Els.”

“And has she forgiven you?”

“I think so,” you muttered, remembering Elsie that day in the car.

“I’ve moved on. Anytime you did any of that stuff, I moved on as soon as you’d done it.”

“You were in pain and somehow, I just knew it. . . I knew then it wouldn’t be fair for me to hold something against you that you probably didn’t mean. I knew the only reason you were acting that way was because someone else had hurt you. It wasn’t all your fault. It was mostly mom’s. You just didn’t know how to react to it.” 

“Then you need to forgive yourself,” he said, moving some tresses of hair behind your shoulders to be able to put an open palm to your chest, right where your heart laid beneath the flesh. “Your heart is beautiful. That’s what matters. Always has been, always will be,” he gave you one kiss, deep enough to emphasize the words. It left you dizzy as he went back to his spot, never letting his hand leave your chest. “I just want you to understand that people make mistakes,” he smiled, reassuring. “I’ve made a shit ton.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, both of you sharing a knowing laugh. 

“But," you started, feeling the need to encourage him as well. "That wasn’t you. You were hurting.”

“So were you, back then,” he reasoned, his voice soft. 

“I guess,” you relented slightly. “Elsie told me a lot of this, too, but I just couldn’t believe her. It’s hard to see the good in myself from back then, though, knowing all of the horrific things I did,” you stated simply. You held his hand to your chest as you laid on your back, not wanting him to move it. “I just can’t shake how I let myself forget it so easily. I’ve gone all these years not truly knowing who I was– who I am.”

“Have you ever considered going to therapy again?”

“No,” your heart beat faster at the prospect.

He could feel it, and reacted as such. He came closer to you, his chest and stomach pressing into you, more skin-to-skin to help calm you. “Would you consider it?”

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hand and his, still over your heart. “Depends, I guess.”

He hummed. “Okay,” he answered, relenting from the hard questions. “How about you work on forgiving yourself and I’ll look into different types of therapy? Let you know what I come across?”

Your heart slowed down, the tiniest smile lifting your lips. Your hand gripped his. Your anchor. Your safety. “Alright.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

A couple days later, you sat on your couch, mesmerized by Jake, who was sitting next to you. 

Well, kind of. He was on the cushion at the opposite end of the sofa as you. 

All you wanted was to be closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could trust yourself.

These days, if he was close enough for you to touch him, you were going to be touching him. Whether it be rubbing his shoulders, playing with his continuously growing hair, or laying on top of him (sometimes naked, sometimes not).

But you were appreciating your vantage point tonight. Watching closely as he played through some new songs with Josh. Josh would sing, and Jake would play the same thing. Jake would play, then Josh would sing it verbatim. 

It was interesting to watch them, bouncing off of each other creatively like that. 

Twin telepathy at its finest.

You were stuck in a trance, trying your damnedest to give equal attention to Josh, so as not to raise any suspicion. But it was getting harder and harder to resist watching Jake– being near him, day by day. 

Trying to find other things to focus on, your eyes floated across the room, observing all of the men around you. They’d all been growing their hair out as well. And, normally, a guy growing his hair out was not a huge deal. 

But with these guys? It seemed to you, it was a visual for their changing life. The longer their hair got, the more it was obvious that they were moving onto a new stage of life.

They were becoming rockstars. Truly.

Not only were they making music day in and day out, playing it live every week, preparing for a humongous music festival that would feature many huge bands. . . they were looking more and more like it, too. 

But they were still your boys. 

Never changing.

Sam’s ever-nasally voice interrupted your rambling thoughts, as if on cue. You smiled in his direction, pointing your attention to him. 

“Jake,” he started, excited as he looked intently at his phone screen.

“What, Sam?” He responded with a slight growl to say his younger brother’s name. “Can’t you tell I’m creatively processing?”

Danny let out one loud laugh, his eyes sparkling with a laugh. Josh joined in momentarily, then went back to humming

“Oh, fuck off, Jake,” he rolled his eyes, a smile still adorning his baby face. He trotted his lanky legs over to the couch, sitting between you and your roommate. “Look at this picture of Maya,” he angled the phone so it was right in front of Jake, but turned just right so you couldn’t see it. 

You giggled at Jake having to pull away from the bright screen to get a better look. “God, Sam,” he said, annoyed, grabbing the phone out of Sam’s hand. “Turn your fucking brightness down.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Jacob,” he responded, flipping his hair and rolling his eyes. He turned in your direction for support, throwing a thumb behind him at Jake. “He’s annoying.”

You were still laughing as you asked your question. “Who’s Maya?”

“Jake hasn’t told you about Maya?!” He wondered aloud, his voice raising a decibel or two. 

“No, I haven’t, Sam,” Jake said, his tone clipped, holding the phone tighter in his firm grip, long fingers flexing around the device. “Shut the fuck up.”

Your brows drew in at his behavior. Now you were dying to know who Maya was and why he was suddenly acting so weird about her.

“I ask again, who is Maya?”

“She’s asking Jake,” Sam stated, as if he’d won. “I’m telling her.”

“Sam–.”

“Maya is Jake’s super hot client that he used to fuck. When he first moved here,” Sam clarified. “Still does, I think. I mean, who wouldn’t?!” Then he laughed, hitting Jake’s stiff arm with the back of his hand.

He was doing what, now? 

Chancing a look at the man in question, you noticed he was angry.

Seething was a better term. 

You could tell as he gripped the neck of his guitar, his chest rising with constricted breaths, nose flaring, staring at Josh, who was simply shaking his head in return. 

Sam took his phone from Jake’s hand, gaining it with some effort. But getting it in his grasp anyway. Right as he’d done so, the hand Jake’d been holding it in clenched to a fist, his jaw tightening. The hand on the neck became dangerously tight.

“Sammy. . .,” Josh tried intervening. His eyes jumped back and forth between each brother, desperate for there to be peace. 

Social cues apparently off, Sam was still smiling wide. 

“This is Maya,” he said, flashing the phone in front of your face, holding it there for you to get a good, long look. 

No. Couldn’t be.

The air left your chest, your vision zeroing in on the bright screen of the phone, everything else blurry around you as your head suddenly felt extremely light, body heavy. 

Surely not. . .

You squinted, taking a closer look at the phone before you jumped to any sort of conclusion. 

But the house behind her, as well as her long, dark black hair. . . 

You knew you were correct in your assumption of who it was. 

The joy that the youngest brother exuded was the exact opposite of how you were feeling. The giant stone that had fallen to sit at the bottom of your stomach was suddenly weighing you to the couch. 

You nodded at the screen, pushing the device away from you, hands shaking slightly. “You really do need to turn your brightness down, Sam,” you said, clearing your throat as it got painfully tight.

Play it cool, play it cool.

You were working so hard to hide your emotions. A small smile twitched at your lips. The tears in your throat made them wobble a tiny bit. 

Stop it, y/n.

Jake’s voice cut through, directly to your ears.  “It meant nothing—.” 

You didn’t look at him, only focusing back on Sam as he spoke. You tried hard to keep your eyes wide and clear of anything concerning.

“He still sees her for lessons,” he said, wiggling his brows. “What happens at guitar lessons, stays at guitar lessons,” he elbowed Jake’s arm, tense as the muscle in his bicep flexed, fist still bunched. “Am I right, brother?!”

Sam was the only one smiling in the room. 

The room was tense, Sam tucking his phone back into the pocket of his silky, vibrant button down. He pushed his sunglasses further into his hair.

You were frozen, not even daring to look up at Jake’s face. You studied your hands, then grabbed your phone off of the coffee table to pretend you were checking it. The frenzied emotions in your gut were not trustworthy. If you looked at him, you were sure you’d fall apart.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re still fucking, you tried to reassure yourself. Right?!

But then, you thought about him taking a while at her house. All of his excuses were adding up. 

Had three Ubers really canceled? Or had he just been too busy fucking her and lost track of time?

It made sense, considering the way she’d watched him leave. The hug. 

And what he’d said to her right before he got in the car. Talking about his ‘favorite part of his day’ . . . Fuck. Your chest hurt, the words making so much more sense now. . .

His favorite part of the day. . . 

Your vision got cloudy. What were you? Sad? Angry? Both? You couldn’t fucking tell.

You just needed to get out of the room. 

As you stood up from your spot, your legs wobbled a bit, your mind scrambling for the first excuse that could come to it. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Still not looking at Jake, you walked as fast as you could to the bathroom. 

The last thing you heard before shutting the door to the bathroom was Danny’s voice, trying to break the air-right atmosphere.

“How about dinner?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: uh oh. . .

alsoooo, you'll notice that we haven't even gotten to the scene from the sneak peek yet. . . all of that will come to you in part 2. . . see you again soon, loves ;)

send in your thoughts!! i love hearing from you <3

thank you for being the best readers in the world!!! love you all so much!

& as usual, it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all. :( so please check to see that you’re down there because if you’ve asked to be on the taglist, i tried to tag you. buuuut tumblr wouldn’t let me do it for everyone 🙃 ugh. and if i somehow forgot to tag someone, please also let me know that! (i'm a NOOB and i have terrible memory)

Taglist: @joshym, @gretavanfleetposts, @alyson814, @fretaganvleet, @lallisonl, @writingcold, @gvfpal, @twinszka, @jessicafg03, @reesetrippingthelight, @sacredjake, @laurenlovesgretavanfleet, @gretavangroove, @222headedcalf, @dreamssingold, @carbondancingthroughtime, @raviolilegs, @way-to-go-lad, @jakekiszkasmommy, @katgvf, @objectsinspvce, @jaketlover, @vanfleeter, @thetroublegetssloud71, @seditabets, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlove, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend, @aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee

Fill this form out if you'd like to join my taglist!

[the-s1lly-corner]

TADC CAST COMFORTING THE READER WHEN THEY HAVE A NIGHTMARE

been a minute since i did a group post like this; might make a crp version of this too later.. though i already kind of have one of those, i might rewrite it mwehehehehe genuinely unsure if i did this before, i know i did this with jax and i had a bad dream scenario where the canon characters are the ones with the bad dream plus it wasnt the full cast but shrugs

CAINE:

i dont think he would waste anytime in waking you up, probably shakes you awake.. maybe talks really loudly too because this man is probably incapable of speaking in a whisper. he explains that he noticed you getting restless in your sleep.. what? no he totally wasnt watching you sleep...! thats not the point! since you dont need to sleep in the digital world and hes well aware of that i dont think he would try to get you to go back to sleep. if anything he might be thrilled that youre awake again because that means he can spend time with you... is it selfish? a little, yeah, but does it truly matter if you dont need rest? leaving that up to you! takes this as a chance to get started on the days activities and as a moment to have you all to himself

POMNI:

shakes you awake too, but much more gently than caine.. probably just grabs one of your shoulders and rocks you until you wake up. you likely woke her up, but i dont think she would tell you... she doesnt want you to feel bad about that... lets you know that if you want to talk about it , that shes all ears! takes one of your hands and gently pats it while you speak... offers to take you outside so you can walk around on the grounds and get some of that cool simulated fresh air.. it probably turns into both of you talking about your dreams to one another.... though, now that i think about it, can you have dreams in the digital world?

RAGATHA:

sleeps simply so she can rest her mind, so you probably wake her up with your nightmare... might take her a moment to fully realize whats happening, but i dont think she would be upset that youve woken her up due to you being freaked out. very very understanding.. switches on her bedside lamp for you if you dont want to sit in the dark. takes you into her arms and rubs circles into your back. you both kind of just sit there in bed for a while, until you calm down enough to talk about what happened.. if you feel embarrassed or ashamed about it, ragatha is going to stamp out those feelings. nightmares happen to the best of us and its nothing to feel terrible over.. i think she would check in on you throughout the day to make sure youre okay

JAX:

will not take kindly to being woken up. i dont think he would be mean or like. actually get mad at you, but i do think he would be a little annoyed... his attitude kind of says that hes 'so over it'... might even dismiss your fear in his groggy half asleep mind.. tugs you closer to him to try to get you to stop squirming. though if youre still asleep and having the nightmare i think he would wake you up just so that it gets cut off and you can recollect yourself. very blunt in telling you that you were dreaming, and that everything is fine and nothing bad is happening. tries to get you to go back to sleep so he can go back to sleep... though i do think if youre upset about his lack of attention he might try to make it up in his own way during the day when hes more awake and aware

KINGER:

he gets nightmares too, so you guys might be able to relate over that... and in a way it kind of takes away that embarrassment of getting scared and having to wake the other person up... though i dont think kinger sleeps much.. hed much rather stay awake and alert, keep an eye on his surroundings in case something terrible happens.. so your nightmare only lasts for a second, just long enough for kinger to notice and shake you awake. hushed but rushed tones while hes whispering to you asking if youre okay.. visibly calms when he realizes youre not in pain and you just had a bad dream.. offers to let you hold onto him, or maybe even walk around the halls... or would you rather he construct a pillow fort so you feel more secure? really just tell him what to do and hes going to instantly get on it

ZOOBLE:

i think they would be similar to jax in regards to them not being... that attentive when theyre woken up. i do think they would put in more effort than him, though. probably asks whats wrong.. i think they would offer a massage.. i cant explain why, i can just see it in my head. not the best given they feel like hard plastic and theyre uncoordinated from just waking up but the effort is there and it doesnt go to waste.. groggily asks if you want to talk about it.. even props themselves up so they lower the risk of falling back to sleep.. solid effort, giving them a gold star

GANGLE:

i think she'd be a light sleeper so she wakes up fairly fast when you start having your nightmare. very gently shakes you awake... going to take a minute for her to work up the nerve to wake you up since shes unsure if youre actually having a nightmare or just trying to get comfortable in the bed... very quietly asks if youre okay, is slightly relieved that you were in fact having a bad dream and she did not wake you up for nothing.. offers to le you talk about it, i think she would be a good listener... i dont think you guys would go back to sleep, you probably end up getting started on the day... or at least do some activities with one another; likely sticking to one of your rooms instead of going to one of the common areas

[cosmicjoke]

Levi's Gratitude as Proof of His Innate Goodness

I was talking about this on another post with someone, but it's something important that I wanted to bring up on my own blog, too, as a separate thing.

I think Levi’s memory of his mother is vague, at best. I brought this up in my analysis post of "Bad Boy" as well.

When recalling his memory of Kuchel, Levi talks about how he thought, against the filth and rotten air of the Underground, his mother's "elegant posture" stood out all the more.

He says, specifically, "I was born in the Underground, and have only ever seen things that are Underground. So I thought... It's hopelessly dirty here. Even the air here is rotten. The more I realize this, the more I feel that mother's posture is so elegant."

And we see a panel showing only a partial image of Kuchel's face. We never see a fully realized image of her.

Levi then says on the next page, “That’s all I remember clearly”, referring to her elegance.

This story is told entirely from Levi's perspective, so I think it's plain from us never getting a full picture of Kuchel's face, and from what Levi says about her elegance being the only thing he "remembers clearly", that he doesn't have a solid or vivid recollection of her.

I think he was probably too young when she died to have any clear or solid memory of her. He likely doesn't remember what she actually looked like at all, really. All he’s left with, then, is the impression of her elegance against the backdrop of filth and rottenness he was surrounded by growing up. And I think he probably only remembers that elegance because of how sharply it contrasted with everything else in his life. That’s also why we see him fixate on it so much.

And it serves to truly highlight just how deprived Levi was of anything good in his life, that something so vague and even intangible became so meaningful to him, almost to the point of obsession.

He literally had no other anchor point of positivity, no experience or memory of anything good, than this hazy and uncertain impression of his mother’s beauty. That truly is heartbreaking, and it only serves to highlight further how extraordinary it is that Levi turned out to be such a good man.

Because the fact that Levi is so grateful for even that single moment of fleeting good in his life, a moment he barely even remembers, shows his own, innate goodness and the extraordinary strength of his character.

Most people would be bitter and resentful at having so little, (take, for example, Zeke), and even want to lash out at the world by making others suffer in the same ways they did, or take from others to fill the void of their own deprivation, but Levi instead cherished this one, good thing he had, and tried so hard to hold onto it, and preserve it. He appreciated it endlessly, and never lost that appreciation, no matter how bad his life got, no matter how horrible everything else was, how bleak and worthless his existence must have seemed, or how profound his loneliness.

I think that's a testament to Levi's innate goodness, to his innate kindness, that he holds such gratitude for something so small, especially in the face of the deluge of misery that was the rest of his life, and how he tries in turn to give people more than he had, to actively prevent them from suffering in the same ways he did, even to the point of sacrificing his own comfort for others, as in the case of him giving Petra's badge to Dieter, or rescuing Ramzi from that crowd in Marley, letting the kid have his own spending money, or holding that dying soldier's hand, even as Levi couldn't stand the feel of blood on his skin, just to comfort him in his last moments. I think we see Levi's gratitude for even the smallest kindnesses reflected, also, in the way he always goes out of his way to express his gratitude to others, always thanking his comrades for their efforts, always making sure to let them know that their efforts matter and are important. Like when he thanks Nifa for riding all night to bring him Erwin's instructions, or when he thanks Eren for saving them all in the underground cavern beneath Rod Reiss' estate, and tells Eren that it's thanks to him they can retake Wall Maria. Or when he tells Erwin that it isn't him he should be thanking for helping to capture the Female Titan, but all the soldiers who died in the effort.

It takes an extraordinary strength of character not to let the emotional devastation of his upbringing and life overwhelm him, and to still have the strength and desire to want to help others, when I'm certain there were times when Levi just wanted to lay down and die. Or when he wanted to hide away and protect himself from any more hurt or loss. That's why I always talk about how selfless Levi is. Even when he knows it's going to bring him more pain, he still does all he can to try and help others. He's never able to stay detached from people, or remain unaffected by the pain or loss of others, even as he tries to keep his distance, because he just cares too much, he has too much compassion and empathy in his heart, and too much generosity, even for people he doesn't really know.

I just think it's extraordinary how grateful Levi is for something that, for so many, would seem so insignificant and insubstantial, especially if they had lived a life as hard as Levi's own, or had experienced even half as much deprivation and despair as he had. I think it's proof of the fact that Levi was born with a good and generous heart. That he's an innately good person.

[polichinelle]

yeah fuck it i'm making this its own post. basically very long winded (but still not as extensively detailed as i'd like) thoughts on adam & ronan (sort of) & whelk & noah

i remember reading the raven boys back in 2014 (ten years of rot in my brain!) and being sooo disappointed that there was basically zero fandom interest in whelk & noah beyond "omg whelk is evil and awful and terrible, poor baby noah!" when that is not the narrative surrounding them, not really. i feel it's a disservice to both of their characters to do that, especially noah's:

there is nuance there. there are implications. like... it's ALL about the implications!!! we basically see nothing of whelk and noah beyond what's left after the carnage. and it's a theme in trc for characters to have irreparably changed before we ever meet them (gansey, ronan, whelk, noah). we don't know what they were actually like when noah was alive, when they were best friends. when they were tight as ticks.

what we do know is this: whelk was noah's gansey. whelk was cheating on his own girlfriend with noah's, which is a shitty thing to do for sure, but something we also have zero context for. we also don't know how true it is, because whelk has such a self-inflicted warped view of his past. he keeps rewriting his own memories to think lesser of noah, because his absence hurts that much! we know they were best friends, the same way adam & ronan are best friends with gansey. we know they did everything together

okay, changing gears a little.

i'll paste the part where adam is possessed, sorry for the amount of screenshots:

and this line from a bit further along the chapter:

then, from noah's possession scene:

compare this to whelk's recollection of killing noah, and the effects it had on him:

"red lines streaked in the corners of his vision" "in whelk's head, unearthly voices hissed and whispered, words blurred and stretched together" "dictated by something larger and more powerful than himself" "somehow invited into his body through czerny's death" yes i am going there, yes i am making that point. i think, to some extent, barrington was possessed when he murdered his best friend. neither noah nor adam get their own pov while possessed, so...

i mean, time is a circle. noah needed to die so that gansey would live. noah had already died, gansey had already lived. it needed to happen, and so it would.

where the difference lies, i think, is in barrington's reaction to being possessed, versus adam/noah. for all that i'm arguing possession, i don't think barry's a stand up guy, he's a kid who's never had good role models (need i pull out the quotes about his shit parents) and who was raised by money and objects and reputation, which is why i think the possession worked. the idea to kill noah might've seemed like his own in the moment, an escalation of the situation he was already in, but unlike adam/noah there was no one to hold him back (not to mention barrington isn't as familiar with magic things(?) as they are). in that moment, whelk did truly lost it. he did the unforgivable. but there is no universe in which he doesn't.

for every time we see noah reenacting his death, we also need to imagine barrington whelk, seventeen and shivering. realizing as he's committing the act that he can't go back. perhaps realizing too that he couldn't stop his hands from gripping onto that skateboard, no matter how much he wanted to after that first hit. ("But instead, he remembered the sound Czerny made the first time he hit him.")

there's also adam in this. both him as a parallel to barrington, and as a strange sort of part of noah in a way. adam and noah interact the least out of the main group, arguably, but they too are a two-headed creature; they started out as one singular character and you can sort of tell. something something hands and eyes, something something sacrifice. ronan sort of parallels noah, in that he is not the same lively person we hear about, and he never will be that person again. both are cabeswater personified (although in different ways).

some more things:

"he once had been tight as ticks with his roommate czerny" "only whelk and czerny, treasure hunters and troublemakers" "it was possible that czerny's death wasn't for nothing after all" "[...] his days a ribbon floating aimlessly in water" (in relation to: "he had been a swimmer himself, once") "czerny, you're in a better place than me, i think" "whelk, standing in the wreckage of his life, didn't laugh this time" "the dry, half-eaten burger on the passenger seat / the first fast-food burger he'd had in seven years" "these days, when whelk was trying to comfort himself, he told himself that czerny was a sheep, but sometimes he slipped and remembered him as loyal instead" "[...] took him back to that moment, the skateboard in his hands, the sad question gasped in czerny's dying sounds "we were friends like —"

also, whelk dying in the same place noah did. these lines:

both noah and barrington look the same in the end. broken, rumpled, forgotten. noah's family will never know his bones were reburied outside of their family plot. whelk's mother, however distant she is, will never be notified that her son has died. i think in a way barrington died at the exact same time noah did; something something invited into his body through czerny's death.

basically what i'm getting at is, noah and barry could've been ronan and adam i think, had the circumstances been different. they never will be, but i think about it sometimes.

and there's so many more things i'm not even gonna TRY going into, like noah and whelk both being parallels to gansey (the three of them kings in their own right), or the disparity between whelk talking about czerny vs adele talking about noah, or whatever the fuck is going on with whelk's backstory in general (what's the deal with his mother? how the hell did he get the aglionby job? a random headcanon of mine is that his and noah's search for the ley line lead them to fox way, seven years before the events of the book, and that's partly why whelk refuses to give out his name to maura, because barrington is hard to forget, and easy to trace back)

there is so much to talk about here and i'm so peeved no one is doing it properly... why are we still talking about declan bringing his weekly girlfriend over to monmouth for no reason when we could be talking about whatever the fuck kinda soul-fate-destiny bullshit noah and whelk have!

[nonbinarypirat]

Learning how to be selfish (another iruma focused deep dive. Spoilers for iruma kun manga)

I promise I won’t ONLY focus on iruma as a character. I plan to do a post on many characters and scenes, especially since I have been breezing through the story. As a hobbiest writer and actor, I love to go back and reflect on scenes, read them multiple times, and learn why a character did what they did. And I want to share these thoughts with y’all. It’s just that, I have hit Opera becoming a teacher and decided this is the perfect time to take a pause and reflect on this new side of iruma we are seeing poking through. (And YES I most definitely screamed when they became a teacher, my nonbinary icon.) so yeah, I plan to make a lot of posts, but it’s another iruma only one today. Take a shot every time I say selfish or greedy in this tho, I repeat it so often. No thesaurus is being used today.

Ok, im loving that Iruma is becoming more selfish. I especially loved Iruma telling Purson that he’s learned that it’s ok to do selfish acts and stick with what you want to do rather than doing what people want or expect of you. This is the first sign of Iruma breaking out of just saying yes to things. Saying no can be so difficult, especially if you have lived your entire live thinking that was the only option for you to do. He’s too kind, and trained, so he said yes to basically anything even at the risk of hurting or exhausting himself. I appreciated this moment because Purson similarly doesn’t feel like he has many choices. He loved his family and wants to support the family business, but feel dragged along with the whims of his father.

Though I guess it’s kind of a misnomer to say that the scene with Purson is the “first” time we have heard greedy being applied to Iruma. Amelie was the first person and at first I didn’t fully get what she meant. I think I kind of just dropped that part of the conversation as unimportant. But it’s actually super important for us as the audience to understand his character going forward. At the beginning, Iruma didn’t have a lot of motivations, merely being led by whatever happened in the Netherworld. He was in a manner of speaking, selfless to an unhealthy degree. It was only by learning to set a goal for himself that he started to feel (at least to me) as an active participant to the world at large. And Amelie was the one who inspired that in him in the first place. Amelie was the first one to call him selfish/greedy (to my recollection) which is fitting as the character who pushed him so far.

I also think I should clarify that I don’t use the term selfish in this case as a negative. In fact, I’m happy he is becoming a greedy character. Because Iruma won’t abuse this trait of his. Selfishness without kindness and care is dangerous. Without empathy and compassion, greed quickly turns into cruelty. Iruma has these traits though. He has the morals and love to utilize his selfishness to the fullest. Selfishness and kindness can go hand to hand. In fact, I think this is the best quality for one to have. The desire to strive towards your wants while understanding that you can’t treat the people and environment as expendable. And Iruma has the deadly combination of selfishness, caring, and determination.

Which leads us into the 13’s Dinner in which they talk about food bringing out who a demon really is. I loved this scene because it highlights what people could see on the surface when faced with Iruma’s gluttony (aka greed). Baal said “it’d terrifying to think of what he’d be like as a king” (paraphrasing) but that’s without understanding the core fundamentals of who Iruma is. We see him try to force this idea onto Sabro too, saying iruma is pushing his grandfather’s weight around to turn him against Iruma. That’s just widely untrue. Baal, and honestly so many of the Six Fingers from what we’ve seen so far, believe that people are just like them. That deep down, they are (or could be forced into) the rotten type of selfishness that their group takes pride in. True, people can be forced to do cruel things. That doesn’t mean thats who you are fundamentally however. Baal lacks the love that Iruma is overflowing with. And so he equates selfishness with cruelty. He thinks that if he experiences this certain flavor of the trait, that must mean everyone else experiences it the same way too.

Either way, Iruma is a character that is shaping up to be someone who has many desires. From zero to infinity, And what makes him so likable is that he’s willing to do anything to protect those desires. To protect the life he has built and the people he has come to cherish. He wants it all. His friends, soulmates (and yes you better believe I will post a screaming post about that at some point), Amelie, family, good food, fun, adventure, Balam, Kalego and so much more. He wants everything. And he’s also willing to do anything it takes to protect these desires. More than that, he’s always grateful to the life he has built here, to the people who have opened up their hearts to, and for the beautiful home he has created. And that’s the reason why I can’t wait to see Iruma grow into the wonderful selfish person he deserves to be.

[theheirofthesharingan]

Okay, sorry if this was asked before but I'm curious and I'd really like to learn more. You've mentioned in a couple of posts now that Itachi wasn't retconned. Could you please elaborate further?

Hey! No, this wasn't asked before. I was thinking of making a separate post for this, but procrastination is evil. So, I am one of the 'Itachi was meant to be a good guy/was not evil/had more to him than he let on' people. Watching the anime, it was the feeling that there was more to him. His reveal was along the lines of devastation and shocking for me than surprise. Detailed post is below the cut.

First thing first.

This was Itachi's first look that Kishimoto had planned.

Itachi was originally conceived as the leader of Konoha's Special Assassination and Tactical Squad called the "Anbu", dubbed the Itachi Squad (イタチ隊, Itachi-tai), which would have been a 70-man group divided into four teams, specializing in assassination and other illicit operations. However, this idea was scrapped in favour of the current Itachi working for the Akatsuki.

The above paragraph is from Itachi's wikipedia that cites a couple of interviews as sources. People can't be too blind in their delusion to think the author who wrote the story had no idea what he was writing.

Next is the Naruto Databook that has some fishy things if we look closely. In the first glance it's not very obvious, but after learning the truth it seems very much obvious.

It says, "the ones who know the reason of its downfall are very small". Go back to Obito's words about only four people being aware of the reason of the clan's downfall.

Additionally, Itachi carried out 134 B-Rank missions. Zero A Rank. And one S-Rank. The S rank mission being the Uchiha massacre. It's very fishy that he was given one s rank mission without any A tank mission. Suspicious? We know later on why.

It's also interesting because the first databook was published in 2002 and Itachi first appeared in 2003. If his twist wasn't planned from the beginning this databook is very telling.

Since I mentioned how he looked, here's him in Sasuke's flashbacks for the first time.

He looks far from evil or sadistic. You want to know who enjoys killing for fun? Hidan. Itachi, on the other hand, on the day of the massacre itself, looks miserable and lost.

In chapter 7, he in a haze-like manner he talks about crying. In many English translations it's translated as 'he made me cry' and in many it's this. It's very, very vague, but his statement is complimented by Sakura's question, to which he still responds in the similar way 'My..' Maybe he was trying to say 'My brother', but he instead finishes his speech with 'my goal is to take revenge' etc., Since it's still very early so it might not be the strongest evidence, but a few chapters later in chapter 27, during their fight against Haku, when Sasuke awakens his Sharingan, he has two tomoe in his right eye.

Yes, he might have awakened it this way, but it also suggests that maybe already had his Sharingan and that's why this is 'asymmetrical' awakening? In the later chapters we find out he actually did have his Sharingan he awakened after the massacre.

This flashbacks in chapter 127 most firmly establishes Itachi's twist. The tilted head-protector. Sasuke remembers it vaguely, but he has no recollection of Itachi crying that night, because his mind is still hazy from the "truth" Itachi wanted him to believe. We know later on the significance of this scene.

There are three moments before Itachi was even introduced that give away what we see right after his truth reveal and connect to the chapter 403.

The 'Itachi was retconned' camp also uses 'Itachi was meant to be older (than 13) but Kishi made him younger later on' as an excuse to justify their retcon bullshit.

Kakashi, in chapter 142, states Itachi was 13 when he was made the Anbu captain.

Itachi graduated when he was just seven. Sasuke is the same age as Itachi was when he graduated from the Academy. Itachi is 17 at the time of his first appearance and Sasuke is 12. It is enough to tell lies were spread about Itachi. We, obviously, learn later on why.

Some more obvious hints were his interaction with Asuma, Kurenai, and Kakashi.

The criminal infamous for annihilating one of the strongest clans refuses to indulge in fight?

He also asks Kisame to keep things low key and not get too much attention. That's an excuse. He's not here to wage war. Yes, later on he does ask Kisame to go ahead. But that's because he's a spy. He cannot let Danzo know he dropped his guard. One single mistake from his side that could unearth the truth of the massacre and Danzo would lay hands on Sasuke. Plus, while he's strong, his opponents aren't just fragile saplings who couldn't stand any blow he or Kisame cast. He knew reinforcements would be on the way.

Kakashi also wonders why Itachi didn't just kill him. Again, yes, the torture was brutal, but they're ninja who are meant to do and endure cruel things. Itachi had to look like he was a menacing criminal reputed to have killed the Uchiha singlehandedly.

So, he completely avoids fighting Asuma and Kuernai, takes on only Kakashi because he's strong and can take it, also has Sharingan. But he completely refuses to go against Jiraiya. Jiraiya may or may not be stronger than him. Maybe they were equal. However, recalling Obito's words again: Itachi devoted himself to fighting Sasuke to death.

Two conclusions come from this:

He didn't want to fight Jiraiya because it would result in a massive bloodbath and killing a leaf Shinobi is out of question for him. He's not a coward. He just doesn't want to fight him.

As we know from later on, he wanted to fight and die at Sasuke's hands only. Killing a Konoha Shinobi or dying at the hands of someone that isn't Sasuke isn't a part of his plan.

This can also be tracked further when Kisame captures the Four Tails.

Kisame most likely knew about Itachi's illness, knew Itachi wanted to die at Sasuke's hands. The reason Itachi didn't fight Jiraiya and Rōshi was most likely the same.

Kisame comments on Itachi's 'lingering affection' towards the village. The Akatsuki pairings' dynamics are quite opposite. Deidara and Sasori love art but have differing opinions on eternal vs explosive. Hidan and Kakuzu represent religion vs materialism (money). And Itachi and Kisame represent treachery vs loyalty. Itachi isn't loyal to Akatsuki, Kisame is.

They also wonder why is Itachi taking the matter of kidnapping Naruto so lightly. He could have done it very easily. We know now that that wasn't his intent and his objective to visit the village was something else.

As popular as 'Itachi knocked on the door before kidnapping Naruto' meme is, the truth is, he wasn't there to kidnap him at all. Replace Itachi with Kisame alone for a moment. Knock on the door? No, sir. Naruto would be half-dead. Or replace him with Hidan and Kakuzu. They're sadistic bastards and would have damaged Naruto in the worst possible way.

Furthermore, when you think of it, he revealed 'Akatsuki are after jinchuriki' years prior to the Akatsuki even began collecting the tailed beasts. It was a message he left because it was important. His job in the Akatsuki wasn't to "pass on the info to the village." It was to keep tabs on them so they don't attack Konoha.

After the massacre, Sasuke's unwavering faith in Itachi despite being put in Tsukuyomi. At first it doesn't seem too much, but we later discover that Itachi used to be a kind and gentle boy. So this bit isn't just Sasuke is blind, but also that Itachi was a kind child before the tragedy happened.

Sasuke's flashbacks in chapter 220 also hint towards Itachi being trapped in the politics of the village/clan. Fugaku is speaking to his own son but the discussion is so intense that he has to activate his Sharingan to convey the message to Itachi.

These are the flashbacks from the chapter #221 that further shed light on Itachi being a spy.

He's the "pipeline between the clan and the village" - a spy. Later Obito says Itachi was callously used for his devotion towards the village, this is an example of his clan doing this to him.

This is Itachi right after being accused of Shisui's murder. He looks in grief, while also processing the news. Once the narrative delves deep into Itachi's story (through Sasuke's eyes) in VOTE1, he continues to look miserable, lost, in pain, and in dire need of help. And once we begin to see more of him before his death, he is quite human. But again, Kishimoto had his whole story figured out by that time, knew what he was to do with Itachi's arc and Sasuke's future there.

_______________

Kishimoto isn't a terrible writer because some people choose to ignore what's written right there or cannot accept happened. Usually the deniers of this are those who question his morality. His morality is never the subject of the debate because Itachi isn't exonerated for his crimes. He's a part of a world that's cruel and violent and his actions align with it very much. The ones who "praise" him have their own bias, and that gives him nothing in return. Characters in fiction always, I mean, always respond to the information based on their morality. When Hashirama praises Itachi, it's because he grew up in the warring era and lost all his family. He learns there's this kid who chose a path with the least damage but at the cost of his life, he's a good Shinobi. Hiruzen also has his bias as well as his guilt. Naruto's praise for Itachi is not only because of stopping a war, but also for loving Sasuke. No one other than Sasuke sees him as a person whether anyone likes him or hates him. He's praised by other Shinobi for doing things that are expected from a Shinobi.

Either way, at the end of the day, Itachi himself doesn't see himself who is worth forgiving, worth loving, worth being remembered. That's his whole arc.

Some things above in the post I took from this thread. Some information I ommited from it, so feel free to go through it, please.

[jishyucks]

Out of Snow, Out of Mind – ksm

‣ pairing: kim seungmin x reader

‣ genre: fluff, frenemies to lovers?

‣ wc: 2.8k

‣ summary: After cursing the city and their poor excuse of cleaning the streets, you eventually swallow your pride and call your friends to help you free your car from the snow. And out of all the people that could have come, it really had to be Seungmin…

‣ warnings: nothing really!!, reader has poor knowledge of car care, mistletoe cliche, thts about it?, half-assed proofreading

‣ an: it's the literal way I was supposed to post this in January but my life said fuk u and your hobbies so just pretend this isn't like 2 months late thank you,, please enjoy!

Series Masterlist

You’re tired and you wanna go home.

That’s it.

You’ve been awake since six in the morning to get ready and get to school and now, just shy of five in the afternoon, almost twelve damn hours of using up your energy, you were ready to head home and take the nap you’ve been craving the entire day.

It really did not help that the sun was already setting. It already feels like it’s late in the evening when really, this was the time that most people would be returning home from work. It shouldn’t feel like it was an hour past dinner, but of course, winter meant shorter days and longer nights.

The cold weather causes a shiver to run up your back as you stiffly make your way down the neighbourhood near the university. 

Anything to not pay the overpriced parking, you always remind yourself. Besides, the parking wasn’t too far from the campus grounds. It was just far enough for you to tolerate the weather. 

You hadn’t realized that your face had been moulded into a scowl until you finally spotted your car parked and nestled against the curb. Muscle memory allows you to unlock the vehicle from the keys in your pocket before you carefully step off the sidewalk to get into your car. 

A sigh of relief leaves your mouth in the form of condensation, the interior of the car cold from sitting there all day, though it wasn’t as cold as you thought—probably from the works of the sun. You immediately start your engine, plug in your phone, and turn the heat up toward the windows so they can defrost.

The last playlist you had playing starts playing over the hum of the engine and you let yourself sit back and wait until the car was warm enough for you to actually move. It gave you time to recollect yourself, thoughts only occupied by the nap you’ve been wanting to take once you finally get home and then the essay you had to half-assedly begin because it was due in a week or so. 

The second you stop shivering, you sit up in the driver’s seat and huff, mentally preparing yourself for the careful drive home. 

That is… if you can even get out of your parking spot. 

You test the gas again, gently pressing your toe against the pedal to make sure that you weren’t just being a dumbass and stepping on the brakes. But when you audibly hear your wheels struggling to dig your car out of its place, you feel your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. 

Fuck, just try again, haha, maybe it’s just… a little bit stuck! 

You let out a nervous chuckle and then you try again… and again… and again… 

And no matter what you tried—backing up and accelerating forward, angling your wheels in different directions, hell, you even tried climbing onto the curb for some traction—nothing worked.

You step once more on the gas, “Oh, c’mon Nimby please just go, please!” (Yes, your car was named Nimby. It comes from the word cumulonimbus because it was white like a cloud).

You were stuck. 

And from the looks of it, the road around you was practically empty, there was no one around who could help you. 

“Shit.” 

You hit the steering wheel and decide to get out to see if you could scope out what you could do to get out. 

The cold air hits you once again and all you want to do is jump back into your car where it was toasty and cozy. Yet, the desire to be an independent adult and figure out what the hell was going on keeps you outside.

You inspect the outside of your vehicle, waddling around it like you were protecting territory, and surely enough you spot the very reason why the car wasn’t budging at all. 

Your front left tire was flat. Or at least it looked flat. 

“You better be fucking kidding me,” you mutter. You check on the tire, using the tip of your boot to press against the rubber.

Yeah, it was flat. So now you were both stuck and you had a flat tire. 

And you had no fucking idea how to get out of both problems. 

The first person you think of calling was Chan, simply because you knew that that man had knowledge for practically anything. And if anyone could get help you get out of shit, it would be him. 

You dial his number, and slide back into your car, letting out a sigh as the persistent heat greets you again. The phone rings several times before diverting to Chan's voicemail. You decide to end the call.

Okay, so Chan wasn’t an option. 

You huff and scroll through your contacts, right down to the Ms because your next option was Minho. 

The phone rings once… twice…

“What’s up?”

“Are you busy right now?” You’re chewing on your bottom lip and your other hand is playing with the ripped-up receipts in your pocket. 

“I’m at the vet for Soonie’s checkup,” Minho replies, “Why?”

“Um… car trouble? I was wondering if you could help me out.” You hated the feeling of asking for help. It felt as though you were begging for money despite knowing your friends never minded helping out. 

“I mean… I can but I just got to the vet’s so it could take a while.” At the other end of the line, you can hear the voice of a woman and Minho replies with Soonie’s name. 

You frown. Surely, you could wait for an hour at most, but you really didn’t want to. He could be the last resort if none of your other friends could offer help. 

You hum, “I’ll call the others first and if none can’t, then I’ll just text you?” 

“Of course, Y/N,” he says through the phone, “I’m sorry I can’t come sooner.” “You don’t need to apologize,” you frown, “You didn’t do anything wrong… I’ll talk to you later. I’ll ask the others.”

Minho makes a sound of acknowledgement before you both hang up. 

At least now you have an option. 

You scroll through your contacts, hitting up every friend you think might know a thing or two about cars, hoping one of them can swoop in at the last minute to rescue you. And from what you’re understanding, this was the worst time to get your car stuck. 

Changbin and Hyunjin were out on some outing, Yeji was stuck doing group work with Lia, Felix was sick, and Jisung wasn’t answering. 

Now you’re down to two final options.

In this situation, you knew Seungmin was a better option than Jeongin, simply because you were well aware that the man had better car knowledge between the two. But were you that desperate to ask Kim Seungmin for help? When Jeongin was still a pending option?

Your thumb hovers over Seungmin’s name and your heart starts to beat erratically simply by the sight of his name. 

No, you weren’t that desperate, but a small part of you wanted to see him again just because you needed to confront him about the Christmas party a few weeks ago. Besides, you’re sure you weren’t the only one itching to talk about it. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“Kiss! Kiss!” 

The feeling of your heart falling to the pit of your stomach was absolutely sickening—especially when you had specifically told Jisung to keep you and Seungmin out of his shenanigans. But when Jisung had clues clear as glass that indicated your blooming feelings on the boy you claimed to ‘strongly dislike’, he knew he had to take action.

You hate the way the voices practically echo, bouncing from one wall to another. All eyes were on the two of you, Jisung standing further back as he held the mistletoe high above and between you and Seungmin. And you couldn’t do anything but stare at Seungmin in pure shock.

“Don’t be killjoys!” Someone hollered from the back. 

You gulped and blinked at Seungmin, “A… a peck wouldn’t hurt?”

The expression on Seungmin’s face was unreadable, features flat except for the way his mouth was slightly parted, “It wouldn’t…”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

You cringe at the memory. 

Not because it was disgusting… but because you were the first one who had suggested going through with the kiss… you were the one who leaned in first… and you enjoyed it. 

Worst part of all was the fact it’s been almost three weeks since the kiss and you’ve been thinking about it ever since. 

You shake your head, consciously scrolling away from the S’s in your contacts and back up to the J’s, not even hesitating to tap on Jeongin’s name.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You let out a sigh of relief, greeting the boy back with half his energy before you go on to explain your situation. “And you’re practically my last resort!”

Jeongin’s end of the line is silent because he knows that you know he sucks with all things cars. Then he speaks up, “Have you called Seungmin Hyung?” 

“...No.” It’s funny because you know what Jeongin is implying. 

He sighs, “Send me your location.” 

You thank him and quickly follow his request, making a side note to yourself to give Jeongin the tightest hug when he arrives. It was honestly so heartwarming knowing that he was willing to help despite his limited car knowledge. 

As expected, you think. 

You feel your stress begin to ease, a newfound sense of optimism washing over you as you settle in your heated seat. For the first time today, you finally get to relax, drowning yourself in your music as you wait for Jeongin to arrive.

You’re later pulled out of your thoughts the second you see a car turn onto the road you’ve been sitting on for the last twenty minutes. The way it slowly inches closer causes you to perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat just so you can watch it approach you through the rearview mirror. 

Then, it parks right behind you. 

“Hm?” The inner ends of your brows almost touch when you realize that the car is not Jeongin’s. No, you couldn’t name his exact car model, but you knew his car was a dark blue. This car, however, was sleek black, looking like it had just run through the car wash even though the streets were covered in dirty, slush-like snow. 

Your eyesight fails you when you squint to figure out who this is, ocular muscles trying their absolute best to focus on the face of the car’s owner. And then…

“What the fuck?” 

You hastily open your car door and get out, the owner doing the same, “What are you doing here?” 

Seungmin is planted behind his opened car door, using it as a barrier between the two of you. His flat expression doesn’t budge, “You needed help.” 

Your heart is pounding simply because you weren’t mentally prepared to actually see Seungmin right now. If Jeongin had warned you that he was going to be sending him, you would have at least run lines in your head of what you could be saying to him. 

“Not from you,” you shake your head, “Where’s Jeongin? You can go.”

Seungmin takes a step back and shuts his door, “Just show me what you need help with.” The tone in his voice was considerably serious and you know that no matter what you did, he wasn’t going to leave you without his help. 

The air is a tinge bit awkward when you both stand there before you finally choose to reply, turning around without bothering to wave him over. You kick at the nuisance of a tire and explain your situation for the millionth time today. And when you look up at him, Seungmin’s already looking back at you. 

“Did you get all that?” you ask.

He nods and quietly squats down to inspect the tire. Then, after a while, he lets out a huh before standing up to open your door. You’re not entirely sure what he’s doing, but you let him do whatever he needs. 

Seungmin says something to you over his shoulder but you don’t catch it. He pulls himself out from inside and then stands stiffly in front of you, “Did you pump the tires when it said low tire pressure?” 

Your eyes widened, “No…?”

He puffs his cheeks, “That explains it.” 

Your brows fall closer together and your lips tighten, “You came to help me and you’re choosing to be mean to me?”

Seungmin brushes past you, heading straight for his car, and for a moment, you fear he's about to leave. You hesitate to stop him, mainly because you don’t want him to leave. Sure, he’s offering you help, but you haven’t seen him since the party. 

But as he reaches his car's trunk instead of the driver's seat, a wave of relief washes over you. He pulls out a metal box, a rubber coil poking out like a tail. 

“You should’ve pumped the tires while it was warning you,” Seungmin says quietly, twisting off the cap of your tire. He forcefully pushes the air compressor’s hose onto the valve stem and then flicks the machine on, “It leads to flat tires.” You watch as you visibly see your tire inflate, the front end of your car rising along with it. 

“Get in the car and slowly press on the gas.” Seungmin flicks the machine back off and pulls the hose off, twisting the cap back onto the stem, “I’ll push.”

The third time Seungmin walks straight past you, it dawns on you that he is avoiding eye contact, keeping his gaze at your feet or at his toes. 

There was no way he wasn’t. No one could go that long conversing with someone without making eye contact. 

“Are you sure you can do it on your own?” Your hand’s already hovering over the door handle. 

He nods, eyes flickering toward you before he redirects them to the back end of your car, “You wanna go home, don’t you?”

Then you pause. 

“I do,” you answer and then swallow the spit that’s been pooling in your mouth, “But—”

“You’re wasting gas, you know,” he interrupts.

 “Let me speak,” You groan, air visibly leaving your mouth. “Are we going to talk about the kiss?”

“There’s nothing about it that we need to talk about,” Seungmin mutters. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, “Now, hurry up.”

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow, “What are you implying?”

“I mean you only did it to please everyone, right?” He shrugs, “It didn’t mean anything, right?” 

“What makes you say that?” Seungmin was pissing you off. He can’t be speaking cryptically and consciously choosing not to explain himself. 

“I don’t know,” Seungmin mumbles, “Can you just get in the car so we can get out of here?”

You clench your jaw, frustration bubbling inside you like a pot ready to boil over. Why the hell did Seungmin choose to help you out if he had no intentions of confrontation? "No, Seungmin, I can't just ignore this," you retorted, your voice firm. "We kissed, and pretending like it didn't mean anything isn't going to make this… this whatever it is go away."

Seungmin’s shoulders tense and his gaze flickers to his feet. "Look, I don't want to have this conversation right now," he says, his tone bordering on exasperation. "Can we please just deal with the car and talk about this later?"

“Did that kiss mean anything to you, yes or no?” you say bluntly. Your hand drops to your side and you fix your eyes on him.

Seungmin's gaze holds yours for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he processes your question. The tension between you crackles in the air, the weight of the moment heavy on both of you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Seungmin lets out a slow breath, keeping the muscles in his face as still as possible. He attempts to keep his expressions at bay. "Yes," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper but clear as day. "Yes, it meant something to me."

The words hang between you, and the silence that follows is filled with possibility and uncertainty. You feel your heart race in your chest, a rush of emotion flooding through you at his admission. And although you had mentally prepared yourself for either answer, imagining the answer was far different from actually hearing the words. 

"I like you, Y/N," Seungmin continues, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. "More than I thought I did."

The confession sends a shiver down your spine, a surge of warmth spreading through you at his words. For a moment, neither of you speak, the weight of his confession hanging on a thin thread between the two of you.

Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, you reach out and take his hand in yours, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. And softly, you tell the boy the thing you’ve been keeping to yourself for months. 

"I like you too, Seungmin.”

taglist: @tytrackfebreze @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi @ariadores @reignessance

an: 11/12 im almost there

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hello!

Can you maybe do Chris McLean x reader, where the reader is comforting him after Sierra blew up his plane at the end of season 3 episode 23?

Funnily enough, I actually had a rough draft of this scenario already written in my notes 😭 Thank you giving the request that enhanced it! I hope you enjoy reading it💖

COMFORTING CHRIS MCLEAN (WORLD TOUR) ONE SHOT

Post signing off the show, Chris is secluded into your arms, sobbing into your chest over the loss of his plane and other luxuries.

“I lost everythiiing!” he wept, one of the few times he didn’t care about his image of being an apathetic host.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby...” you reassure, holding him and dragging your fingers down his spine. You think about how vulnerable he is,”Oh...I wish we were on a hammock, so I could rock you back n forth.”

“A hammock...?” He looks up with his tears whitening his despondent eyes,”W-We can get that...”

I’ve never seen him so... Well, I have, but in this state, not really.

“Aww. See, isn’t that thoughtful?” You kiss him on his forehead, his whimpering and sniffling still very audible,“Oh darling.” you then repair your sight to his face, landing other kisses on his tears, especially near his eyes,”Come rest your head back on me, you can wet this shirt as much as you need.”

He does so, holding on as much as possible. You worry about how safe you were inside the damaged plane, but at least it wasn’t blown up completely.

You did feel bad for him. Sure, the plane itself was in absolute shambles aside from his personal quarters, but there were a lot of memories made in there- the laughter, the spontaneous devouring danger, the fitting elimination ceremonies, chatting with Chef at the front of the plane- all things that aren’t cheap.

“We could try to rebuild it.” you suggest after taking another head turn around the demolished piece of transport, the indigo of the sky having more appearance than the ceiling, spread out and open like the parting leaves of trees that sat at the top.

“There’s no point...” he sulks,“The budget is already tight enough for this season... I don’t want to use it anymore anyway.”

“Really?” that differed from your expectations. Money was never a problem for Chris, so you don’t see why he wasn’t up for getting it renovated. Maybe he was that heartbroken that he doesn’t want to? Oh God... That could be it. Maybe reminding him of one of his possessions would light some motivation,“But your hot tub?-“

“I’ll buy another.” His voice becomes sterner, but the sorrow was still clear,”It’s nothing I can’t afford. In fact, the second this season is over, that’s the first thing I’ll do. Maybe get two.”

Again, not the reaction you thought, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore,“Aw see? You gave yourself something to look forward to.”

“...” he was still holding you tightly,”I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t here.”

You stroke his insanely fluffy hair, appreciating the lengths he went to keep his appearance vigorous, whispering,”My love, this is just what’s expected of me. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

By now, you felt your shirt sticking warmly onto you. You suspect he may have blew his nose with it without informing you, but you don’t care.

“I wish I can treat you like this as well...” he mumbled.

Woah woah woah. Chris wishing he could be the one giving emotional support?

“You’re not drunk, are you?”

“Why would I be drinking on a night like this? A night where...” his voice broke as it attempted to carry the recollection of his plane’s destruction, warning you that a second round of crying was very very near.

“There there, Chris.” you lightly smack his back,“Remember your plans. You’re still wealthy beyond compare. So wealthy you can buy three hot tubs made out of gold.”

“Right right... I’m not a poor guy... I’m not poor... I’m not poor...” he repeated it until he fell asleep. Must have put years on him.

You were wrong to think he would loosen his grip in his sleep. You sigh, but it wasn’t much inconvenience.

Chris is like a child at soul; as his lover, you were naturally his favourite teddy.