#jimi sharp

[tomoleary]

Jimi Hendrix Explosion by Martin Sharp (1968)

Source

[anotherdayinbliss]

Jimi Hendrix Explosion Poster by Martin Sharp, 1968

[rjk1ve]

AGORA HILLS

────────── BASED OFF OF THIS EDIT.

summary: you and jimin are in a fwbs relationship until things take a turn and feelings get involved.

pairing: global pop star m!reader x model!jimin

warnings: fully self indulgent (sorry not sorry), cheating, frottage, lots of kissing, oppa kink, pet names (princess, baby etc), oral (jm & reader receiving), feminisation (reader calls jm’s hole a pussy like one time), fwbs turned… well it’s complicated, reader is a literal ass to his fiancée lmao, manipulative reader, some teasing, confessions, unintentional subspace, jm is so smitten, so is reader tbh, ass eating fr, bareback (pls use protection ppl), breeding kink

Your phone vibrates in a continuous loop—an indicator of a call that remains silent within the four walls of your sumptuous bedroom, currently accompanied by the body of your sleeping fiancée next to you.

The clock in the top left hand corner of your screen reads 01:37am. It’s not late, but it isn’t exactly early either, and honestly, if it were any other person on the line except for him, you may have just popped a vessel or two, thumb lifting up to caress your brow line as you get up and head somewhere downstairs.

Jimin knows you very well, probably better than your own oblivious fiancée and even your friends, and for that reason, he also knows he gets to get away with this every time.

“Hm.” You grunt once you pick up—your way of letting him know you’re listening and that you’re there when you’re not in the mood to talk. Jimin sighs heavily on the other side.

“Are you still mad at me?” He asks, a pout clearly evident in the tone of his voice. When he receives nothing but silence from your end, he continues, “Baby,” and his voice is sweet—honey sweet with drops of dark chocolate, a rich, breathy note that sings its way into your veins. It’s a tone he only ever uses with you, but even that had become meaningless in the face of greedy fingers pulling another man close to him tonight.

There’s some shuffling on his end of the line before he speaks again. “Are you not planning to talk to me at all? I called because I missed you, wanna hear your voice.” he says, and you hear more shuffling, a light vibration crackle through the line. Your eyes fall onto the glittering moon as it reflects against the still waters of the pool, your body leant by the pillar holding up the entrance to your backyard.

“If you’re gonna call me to apologise, at least have the decency to try and hide your horniness,” You comment, voice low, but the corner of your lip twitches upwards, until it doesn’t, because Jimin mewls, inhaling small breaths of air, and the sudden rush of arousal goes straight to your dick.

“Are you playing with yourself right now?” You ask, fingers resting on your chest to scratch through the cotton fabric lazily. Jimin doesn’t answer, instead you receive a sharp exhale from him before he whimpers. “Answer me, kitten.” You demand, voice firm, and he whimpers again at the use of the pet name.

“I have to,” He gasps out, “Since all these men around me have gotten so useless lately.” and he says this as a jab to you—not in the sense that you’re not good in bed, because fuck, Jimin doesn’t think he’s even seen a cock half as impressive as yours, stamina eye widening. He says this because he misses you, wants you, needs you, wishing to irk you into action, but your stubbornness always overpowers his pleas, even now.

“Mm, have fun with your little toy then.” You tell him, and Jimin picks up on the finality of your tone, knowing you were soon going to end the call and so he has no choice, pulling out his last resort.

A sniffle filters through to your ear within seconds, and your eyebrows knit together, understanding exactly where this is going. “Are you serious?” You growl lowly, voice rough and cracking through your meticulously crafted facade. This is a regular Thursday for him, an act of vulnerability that shouldn’t affect you so much after its tireless misuse, but this is Park Jimin. And you’re you.

“It didn’t mean anything,” his voice trickles with something you’re unfamiliar with—it sounds honest, almost regretful. “She was clinging to you all night. Y-you wouldn’t even look at me. I couldn’t think of anything else. I just… I wanted your attention.”

Your fingers cascade through your hair, your resolve breaking with a sigh. It wasn’t exactly a lie; Jimin was right. Your fiancée was being clingier than usual at Jung Hoseok’s album launch party tonight, and she was never the clingy type. Perhaps the threat of endless socialites was too grand, or maybe she simply wished to show off her man in an unfamiliar crowd, wanting to feel like she actually belonged. Either way, Jimin noticed and was clearly affected by it.

“She’s my fiancée, sweetheart.” You didn’t know what else to say. It’s not as if the arrangement between you and Jimin meant anything. You were just fuck buddies—someone the other could use for stress relief and to maybe complain about your actual relationships from time to time. That’s all you are, or were supposed to be, because Jimin doesn’t like your reply.

“Come see me.” He demands instead, blunt with a layer of desperation seeping in. It’s been nearly a week since he saw the last of you, soothing the itch of separation that burns beneath his skin through gentle and excited reminders of your long awaited encounter at Hoseok’s party.

He did not wait a week for you to ignore him. He did not wait a week to watch you guide your pretty little fiancée out of Hoseok’s lavish venue just because she couldn’t handle her alcohol too well.

“Jimin-” You start, but he cuts you off quickly, already aware of the words of rejection sitting on the tip of your tongue. But you should also know, he isn’t one to give up so easily, and he knows exactly what gets you going.

“Please, oppa.” He begs, a pitched whine that you can envision on his pouty lips that immediately shuts you up, erasing any previous plans of denying Jimin his demands. “Need you to stretch me out on your cock, need to let everyone know they’ll never be able to accommodate me like you do. I need it.”

See, usually when your brain’s in charge, moments like this… those days where Jimin is extra needy and sultry with his words, they don’t affect you. But tonight, after all of the shit with your fiancée practically ruining your time out with your friends, your dick is starting to take hold of the reins, twitching and leaving behind a feeling of tightness in your loose joggers.

“Fine. I’ll see you in ten.”

──────────

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please.” Jimin cries, pressed up against the wall to his bedroom, desperately wishing to grind back into you who licks a long stripe up his neck. You nibble on his earlobe, lips ghosting the shell of his ear.

“God, yes,” Jimin moans as your hands roam over his body, pulling his back flat against your chest. He can feel your cock pressing against his ass, seeking more friction as you grind against him. “Please, stop teasing.”

You chuckle softly before spinning him around, slamming him against the door with enough force that it rattles in its frame. Your mouth is hot and wet against his as you kiss him deeply, exploring every inch of his lips and tongue, tasting him, owning him.

His eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open in a soundless, vulnerable offer, submitting himself to you as you continue to tease him, fingers digging into his hips, nails scratching lightly against his skin.

The intensity between you both is undeniable, electric sparks crackling in the air as desire consumes you whole. Jimin's mind goes blank as your lips move to trail down his neck, his fingers digging into your shoulders in order to hold himself upright. Each touch from you ignites new flames within him, threatening to engulf him utterly.

You retract, lips glistening with spit and saliva as you grip his chin, breath heavy on his lips. “Look at me.” You demand, and he looks up at you with wide eyed innocence, mind hazy, hands desperate to hold you tightly against him. “What do you want, baby? Do you want oppa’s cock?”

He’s like putty in your hands, melting under your every touch as he nods desperately. “Yes,” He breathes out, voice husky with need. “I want everything oppa has to offer.”

You smirk, wickedness dancing in your gaze as you grasp onto his waist, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. His legs wrap around your hips as you carry him towards his bed, every step sending shivers through his entire being. He’s missed you so much. He tells you exactly this.

“I missed you too, baby,” You reply and it’s honest.

As soon as you lay him down, he spreads his thighs eagerly, inviting you closer. With hunger in your eyes, you crawl between them, tracing circles along the insides of his knees before slowly dragging yourself upwards, placing a lusty kiss upon his lips as his fingers entangle themselves in your hair, tugging harshly at the roots.

Jimin gasps as you break away from his lips, trailing kisses across his jawline and down his chest. Everywhere your mouth touches sends jolts of pleasure throughout his body, leaving him panting for breath. As your teeth graze the sensitive skin beneath his collarbone, he arches his back, begging for more.

Your hand wanders lower, skimming over the fabric of his pants before dipping inside. The rough texture of your palm strokes against his hardened cock, making him groan loudly. Your other hand reaches up to pinch and twist his nipples, drawing sharp intakes of breath from him.

Jimin grips onto the sheets, trying to steady himself as waves of sensation crash over him. “Oppa,” he whines, clutching onto your arm. “Don't stop.”

You coo, using your free hand to quickly pull out your own leaking cock from your joggers, pressing its larger size against Jimin’s own smaller one. He whimpers as he looks down, and you guide both of his hands to wrap around your cocks. “You can take over for me for a little bit, can’t you?”

It’s not even a question that needs answering as Jimin sits up, reaching over to his nightstand to grab some lube, tearing it open and immediately lathering both of your cocks. His thighs rest comfortably over yours, toes curling as he begins jerking. You hum, watching his small hands struggle to hold you in place as you strip yourself of your shirt and discard it onto the floor. Jimin’s breath catches.

“Have you upped your workout regime? You look even bigger than last time.” He says, practically drooling at the way your biceps stretch and flex with every move. His eyes trail along every part of you; from your broadened shoulders to your heavily developed pecs, you could simply consume him whole.

“If I don’t work out, who’s gonna protect you?” You ask, and he perks up at that, hands stuttering their ministrations for a second before speeding up. Clearly, he likes that you seem to think about him outside of your little get togethers, cheeks colouring pink. Your hand wraps around his wrist then, before you flip him around onto his stomach, fingers digging into his hips as you hold his ass up in front of you.

“And if I don’t protect you, then perhaps any old bastard’d get access to this, no?” You continue, voice low and dripping with a hint of venom. Jimin’s hole puckers at the recollection of your jealousy; a little apologetic but satisfied with the effect he now knows he has on you.

“Oh, you like that?” You spit on his hole, thumb rubbing gentle circles around the rim, stretching it just a little bit so you can get a better view inside. Jimin whines, head turning to look back at you.

“No teasing, oppa.” He pleads once more, already pretty sensitive from his earlier play session. You ignore him however, spitting onto his hole again before you shove your tongue inside to get a taste. Jimin’s fingers curl around silk sheets, bunching up the fabric as he pushes his ass back, trying to meet you halfway. “Yes, yes, yes. Like that. Just like that, please!”

Your hands move to spread Jimin’s ass cheeks apart, squeezing and kneading the flesh as you shove your tongue in deeper. The slide is easy, his hole gaping and ready to be used but you want to prolong the foreplay, want to spend every extra second in his welcoming embrace. “What a desperate little bitch in heat. It’s like you can’t function at all without a cock in you, huh?” You mock, slapping his ass. He squeaks at the impact, head lolling onto the mattress.

“Not just any cock. Your cock. Can’t live without oppa’s cock, want it all to myself.” He says, and his voice slips into shy territory, attempting to bury his reddened cheeks with the silk sheets. You pause, catching the change of tone, and what would usually be harmless dirty talk seems to take a different connotation for Jimin.

“All to yourself?” You move away from Jimin’s ass, climbing over to press yourself firmly on top of him, holding most of your weight up with your arms so as to not crush the younger. Jimin can barely make eye contact, continuing to hide his face within the sheets.

Your head settles within the crook of Jimin’s neck, your hand reaching down to rub your cock between his ass cheeks in a steady rhythm as you nibble on his tan skin. “What’s wrong? You can’t look oppa in the eye when you make confessions now? Look at me, baby.” And your hand wraps around his throat, tilting his head up to make eye contact, foreheads pressed together.

“I want you to myself. I want you to stay the night.” He confesses, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It’s not something you’re used to; his shyness, his insistence on your time, but you’re already in a state of mounting bliss, cock now positioned against his hole. You insert it in without much warning, earning a surprised scream from Jimin, but before his head can pull away, your hand reaches up to keep it in place, pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

“I’m all yours, princess. Oppa will stay the night if it makes you happy.”

And that moment there—that is probably the start of when boundaries really began to blur.

──────────

“I just don’t like the way he clings to you. I think you should set some boundaries, don’t you think?” She asks, chopping up some carrots. It’s a casual slip in, her obviously thinking she was acting quite nonchalant about it as to not create a scene. You hum, scratching your ear as you read through the setlist your manager had sent to you. “I mean, I know he’s your friend, but last time when we went to Jieun’s party everyone was commenting about how close you two seemed. Some of them even thought you were dating! I mean, isn’t that crazy?”

You settle back in your seat on the couch, switching channels on the TV as you reply to Hoseok’s message about covering a dance challenge later and then Namjoon’s invitation for his first night out as a newly single man. Your fiancée continues rambling in the background.

“It’s just… strange. When was it that you got to know him? He acts like he’s known you for a lifetime. Every now and again is fine, but-” She finally looks over at you, pausing when she realises you’ve been paying her no mind, “Oppa!”

Rolling your eyes, you finally turn to look at her. “What?” You grumble, switching your phone off. She huffs like a little child and you simply raise your brow. “Well? What?”

“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying at all this entire time?”

You shrug, gaze turning to the TV upon hearing Jimin’s name on the presenter’s lips. The man’s discussing the upcoming Paris Fashion Week and Korea’s anticipation for Jimin’s appearance. Your diverted attention simply irks your fiancée even more as she storms over to you in order to grab the remote before switching the TV off altogether.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. She crosses her arms over her chest, visibly upset.

“Don’t you understand what I’m trying to say?” She exclaims. “Your friendship with Jimin-ssi has become unhealthy. I don’t want him coming between us. You need to make sure there’s a clear boundary between your personal life and your professional one.”

You scoff at the ridiculousness spewing out of her lips, averting your eyes as you grab yourself a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table. “Personal? Professional? Like you said, he’s my friend. We’re just close like that.” You dismiss, pulling the lighter out of your pocket.

“But your behavior around him is different,” She says firmly. “You’re always making excuses to spend time with him, canceling plans with me or avoiding social events because you don’t want to be away from him for too long.”

“Now you’re just making shit up.” You comment, beginning to stand up. You make your way over to the balcony but she follows you, exasperated.

“I’m making shit up? Are you serious? Everyone can see it! Your friends see it, my friends see it. The media sees it, so why can’t you?”

Lighting your cigarette, you inhale deeply, your eyes drifting down to the ends of the cigarette burning lightly in your hand. Everyone sees it?

“People like to stir up drama. Especially about guys like me, sweetheart. You should know this.” You tell her, bringing the cigarette back up to your lips. She stays silent for a second, and you hope she’s finally settled down until her voice reaches your ears once more, triggering the oncoming symptoms of a headache you’d rather not deal with.

“They’re only stirring up drama because you’re giving it to them on a silver platter. You need to stop spending so much time with Jimin-ssi. Or at least stop letting him cling to you the way he does.”

As you exhale another puff of smoke, you can feel your temper starting to flare up. “What’s wrong with spending time with my friend? And what do you mean by ‘cling’? That’s just his personality.”

Your fiancée throws her hands up in frustration. “You’re not listening to me! I’m saying that it’s too much, that your friendship with him is crossing a line and I don’t feel comfortable with it. Can’t you see how it affects our relationship?”

You let out a sigh, flicking the cigarette butt over the balcony railing. “I understand that you’re uncomfortable with it, yeah? But I’m not cutting him out of my life like that.” You reply calmly, trying to diffuse the situation. “Jimin’s been there for me through a lot of shit, and I’m not going to throw away our friendship because of baseless rumors.”

Your fiancée looks at you, her eyes pleading. “I’m not asking you to throw away your friendship, I’m just asking you to set some boundaries. And maybe spend more time with me instead.”

You nod, but your internal feelings to defend Jimin still bubble in your chest. “I’ll try to find a balance, alright? But you need to trust me. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise our relationship.”

Your fiancée nods, a bit of relief on her face. “Okay,” she says quietly. “I trust you.” You pull her into your arms, holding her gently.

“I love you,” You whisper, kissing her forehead.

But one has to wonder just when did it become so easy for you to lie like this?

──────────

“That’s right, baby. Keep going. Good, good boy.” You hiss lowly, fingers tangled within Jimin’s head of hair as he bobs his head, sucking your cock past his plump lips messily, hollowing his cheeks.

You bite back a groan, hips thrusting up, slow and steady before they pick up pace, fucking Jimin’s throat like it’s your own personal fleshlight. “God, your mouth. I fucking love your mouth.” You growl, and he looks up at you through thick wet lashes, fingers running along your thighs in an encouraging manner.

“Take it all, princess.” You hold his head still, pushing in deeper as his eyes roll back from every extra inch of your cock that invades his throat. His muffled moan vibrates through your cock and you stroke his cheek, getting him to look up at you with pleading eyes.

“So pretty like this. You’re so good, always helping oppa relieve his stress.” You whisper, and he moans again, nodding, always willing to help. His lack of a gag reflex means you can continue to push his head all the way down and he lets you until his nose presses against your pelvis, cock buried fully within his warm walls.

You hold him in place for a hot minute, head settling back against the couch as you shudder, lips parted, swallowing hard as your fingers brush through his hair. Jimin’s hand moves to fondle with your balls, mouth dribbling the longer he holds your cock down before you pull him off and he heaves.

It only takes a moment before he’s back to appeasing you, licking long stripes up your cock, cheek pressed against your thigh. “Oppa,” he babbles, breathless and needy, and you understand fully as you guide him up to sit on your lap. He immediately presses his lips to yours, shoving his tongue down your throat. You can taste the remnants of your come through the kiss, fingers digging into his perked ass cheeks, spreading them apart.

“You want it that bad?” You query teasingly, eyebrow raised with a lazy smile. He presses himself closer to you, wiggling his ass against your cock as he nods desperately, nibbling on your bottom lip for another taste of you. You hum, pulling away with a tsk. “Words, sweetheart. What did I say about using your words?”

“Oppa!” He cries out with a pout, actual tears forming along his lash line, “Please. I’ve been good. Can’t cum without oppa’s cock. Can’t cum without you in me. Can’t do it. Please.” He begs, giving you much more than you’d asked for, and it satisfies your ego immensely, fingers cascading down the front of your shirt that drapes over Jimin’s figure before sneaking underneath it to run them along the smooth expanse of his skin.

“You have been a good boy, haven’t you? Go on then.” You jut your chin out and his being fills with vibrance, hand reaching back to position your cock against his entrance, but choosing to get payback for your little teasing seconds prior by rubbing his already lubed ass against your hardened length, only ever pushing your tip in slightly before pulling out.

You growl, lips curled down slightly. “Baby, are you playing games with me right now?”

He smiles, eyes turning into little crescent moons as he pecks your lips, his free hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for balance before finally he plunges himself down onto your cock, earning synchronised moans from the both of you.

Jimin’s head nestles itself into the crook of your neck, giving you access to skin that you suck on gently, wishing to form generous marks of your time together before he moves away, shaking his head. “No marks, oppa. The makeup noonas get mad.”

You tsk, although you try to compose your disappointment. Jimin still seems to catch onto some sense of it however, because he’s quick to comfort you, hands cupping your cheeks as he gyrates his hips slowly. “Don’t- don’t be mad. You’re the only one that gets to have me like this.”

“I better be.” You grumble, but Jimin’s insides swell with pride when he notices the way your attention catches at this information. It’s news to you, having thought Jimin would be seeing plenty of other guys in his spare time aside from you but he isn’t.

You’re his favourite. His only one.

“Does oppa like the thought of having me to himself~?” He asks, lips grazing gently against the shell of your ear. He nibbles on it, earning a hum from you as your hands rest on his petite waist, squeezing.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. Guess you’ll never really know, will ya?” You chuckle when you feel him pout, his tight walls clenching around your cock. He wraps his arms around your shoulders.

“I’m not moving until you tell me.” He says stubbornly. You pretend to huff, fingers lifting to guide him to face you as you caress his cheek with softened eyes.

“Baby,” You begin, and Jimin perks up, eyes wide with anticipation as he nods, urging you on. He’s so excited thinking you’re going to admit his impact on you until he blinks and suddenly you’re on top of him, having flipped your positions with ease. “You should know better than to provoke me.”

His arms still hold onto your shoulders loosely, and it takes him a minute to register what had just taken place before he whines like a little child, thrashing beneath your weight. “I hate you.” He huffs after failing to push you away, pout deepening as he turns his head. You thrust in and out of him slowly, watching the way his face contorts immediately and his lips quiver, trying his hardest to hold back even the subtlest hint of pleasure until his back arches once you bottom out, nails digging into your delts.

Your hands rest on either side of Jimin’s head, held up by the arm of the couch as you lean down. “I love you.” You whisper, thrusting in deeper, harder, and Jimin tenses at the sudden confession. His thighs loosen and tighten around your waist all at once, almost as if he’s unsure of reality itself. He’s zoned out for a moment, eyes glazed over and then he starts to cry—fresh hot tears stream down his face as he looks up at you, and the look in your eyes is so pure and unfiltered, so full of vulnerability that it makes him cry harder, pulling you as close to him as humanly possible.

“Again.” He pleads, legs spreading wider now, heels digging into your ass to push your cock further into his depths. You press your lips to his in a hot passionate kiss and he responds enthusiastically, nails scratching roughly along your back. “Please. Please say it again. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.” You tell him again, obliging to his every whim as your slow and powerful thrusts turn to honest lovemaking. His cock twitches at the admission, pre-come leaking out which accompanies pretty, flushed cheeks.

You kiss his tears away one by one, cooing at the way he seems to take on a more docile and dependent role as opposed to his usual bratty one. You’ve even witnessed him on his more desperate days where he’ll do anything just to grab your attention, but not this. This was something different.

“Baby,” You call out to him, hand cupping his cheek. He simply nuzzles further into your touch, mewling at the warmth you provide as you press yourself against him completely, his eyes twinkling as he stares up at you.

“You okay?” You ask, just to be sure. He doesn’t respond with words, but his hands lift to wrap around your wrist, the other settling on top of your palm as he guides your thumb past his lips. He suckles gently, hot tongue circling the pad of your thumb and this is answer enough.

You’ve unintentionally caused him to slip into subspace with your confession, and as you realise this, your heart swells. Those simple words that had come out of your lips had meant so much to Jimin. His ears had practically been yearning to hear them and now that he had, he couldn’t possibly imagine anything more euphoric. He loved you so much.

“Did you like oppa’s confession that much? You liked it so much that you’ve gone dumb, hm?” You chuckle, licking your bottom lip as he nods eagerly, not even denying the accusation. “Good, because oppa’s gonna breed this pretty little pussy until you’re begging me to stop, baby.”

Pulling your thumb out of his mouth, you move your hands back to the arm of the couch where Jimin’s head lays, knuckles tense as your fingers dig into the fabric, thrusting at an angle that has Jimin screaming your name.

“Oppa, oppa…” He’s babbling in your ear, nails scratching along your back subconsciously and you know he’s definitely left some semipermanent marks by now that you’ll have to hide from your fiancée. He’s never been this clumsy, never left any marks on you like this but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it.

“Doing so well for me.” You praise into his ear and he bites down on your shoulder, earning a groan from you as you press a kiss to his temple. His walls clench rhythmically around your cock as if it’s physically attempting to stop you from pulling out at all, loving the thought of being impaled on your girth for eternity. He would be such a good cocksleeve for you, wouldn’t he?

Soon, you turn him on his back where he holds himself up on all fours quite poorly, his cheek smushed against the leather couch as you hold up his ass. Your tongue immediately slips inside to get a taste and he cries, pushing his ass back even further for your pleasure. “Want oppa’s cum… want all of it in me.” He pleads.

Humming, you lift yourself up, pressing light kisses along his back before your chest slots itself perfectly against Jimin’s back. You guide Jimin’s head up, your bicep wrapped around the younger’s throat in order to hold his head upright before your cock shoves past his walls again. “Mm, there we go.” You smirk upon finding your target, hitting his prostate over and over rapidly.

Jimin thrashes a little at the mounting pleasure but you hold him securely, the veins in your arms popping.

As you continue to pound into Jimin's tight whole, sweat drips off your forehead and onto his skin, mingling with the sheen already slick between your two bodies. The sounds of flesh meeting flesh echo through the room and you both moan and grunt with each brutal thrust.

Your grip around Jimin’s neck tightens slightly as you feel his muscles begin to spasm around your cock. “Oh god,” he whimpers, his voice strained and breathless. “Don't stop... please don't stop.”

With a low growl, you drive deeper into him, feeling his inner walls contract around your dick as you hit his sweet spot once more. It takes everything you have not to lose control right then and there, but you force yourself to hold back, wanting to draw out his pleasure as long as possible.

Slowly, you pull almost entirely out, only to plunge back into him again with renewed vigour. Jimin screams your name as you repeat this torturous cycle, the tip of your cock rubbing against his sensitive nerve endings each time you withdraw.

As the intensity builds within Jimin, his body begins to tremble uncontrollably. Sweat glistens on his skin, mixing with tears that stream down his face. “Oppa,” he chokes out, clutching desperately at the couch cushions beneath him.

Ignoring his cries for mercy, you continue to pound into him relentlessly. Every stroke sends waves of ecstasy coursing through his entire being, leaving him gasping for air.

Finally, with one final push, you erupt deep inside him, filling him completely with your seed. Jimin lets out a keening cry as he comes with you, writhing underneath you as you collapse against his back, spent.

For several moments, the only sound that fills the room is the steady beat of your hearts intertwined together. Eventually, you lift yourself up, pulling out of Jimin’s quivering hole. As you do so, he collapses forward onto the couch, exhausted and utterly satisfied.

“Thank you, oppa,” He whispers weakly, closing his eyes, but then he opens them again almost immediately—this time with slight insecurity etched within them, not giving you time to answer before he speaks again. “Did you… did you mean what you said?” He asks, his voice meek and timid. “About, uhm, the confession?”

You pause, considering your words carefully. Now that the rush of pleasure and adrenaline had passed you by, the words exchanged between the both of you become clearer, but you don't regret anything.

“I meant every word.” You tell him honestly, your fingers gripping his chin gently. He brightens at the words, hopeful. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” He replies, pulling you down into a kiss.

TAGLIST ───── check out this post to see how to be added.

[builtbybrokenbells]

CAPITAL VICES | PRIDE

Pride: an excessive view of one’s self without regard for others

Masterlist

Listen while reading: Little Wing - Jimi Hendrix, Nobody Home - Pink Floyd

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, morning sex, quickie (ish), fingering (f!receiving), choking, praise, degradation, name calling, sir kink, begging, dom/sub, overstimulation, rough sex, dirty talk, touch of bratty sub, showering together, fluff (lots), angst, arguing, fighting, crying, breakups/mentions of breakups, mentions of death/dying, mentions of loss of a parent, grief, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

I wasn’t going to post this today but I just couldn’t help myself 😁 don’t hate me too much ;) as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

“Wake up, sweetheart.” A soft kiss was placed on your shoulder, the light tickle just the right amount of sweetness to wake you up in a good mood. You had grown accustomed to Jake’s presence in the early mornings; your defence was down, and in some strange way, you’d even grown to love it. You hummed in response, neglecting to open your eyes and see what he wanted from you. You could still feel him wrapped around you, your back pressed tightly against his chest and his touch warming your soul. A light hand was on your hip, his fingers lazily holding you in a show of clear affection. Whatever he wanted was nothing important, and that you were certain of.

“Five more minutes.” You protested, pulling the blanket closer to your chest. He chuckled at your reluctance, continuing to pepper kisses across your shoulder.

“It’s late, angel. You should get up.” He tried again, the little white lie slipping past his lips to encourage you to open your eyes. His hand drifted a little further downwards, his fingertips now grazing your bare thigh.

“I have nothing to do today.” You argued, trying not to give into his gentle touch. The temptation was impossible to resist, but you put up the fight for as long as you could.

“Nothing to do?” He teased. “Not even me?” Even with your eyes closed, you had to fight off the urge to roll them at his shameless flirting.

“You’ll be here all day,” you grumbled, struggling to ignore his hand that was drifting towards your heat. You had only been awake for a moment, but the familiar ache was already growing too strong to ignore. “I’m sure you can wait a little while.”

“Haven’t you learned that lesson already?” Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slipped between your legs. “I don’t like waiting, angel.” A rush of arousal ran through you at the memory of the night before. Although he gave you what he thought was a punishment, it did not seem to deter you from wanting to deny him again. Whatever he was trying to teach you did not seem to stick. Whether that was due to his poor teaching ability or your undying need for him, you did not know. What you did know was that despite his efforts, he could not seem to fuck the brattiness out of you and his form of punishment was highly enjoyable. You were eager to press the same buttons just to experience sex like that again.

In truth, there were a million lessons he had tried hard to teach you, but you never cared to listen. It had nothing to do with his ability, and everything to do with your own stubbornness.

Perhaps if you listened, you might have avoided the disaster that was looming just overhead.

“Maybe you need to remind me again.” You yawned, and although it was not on purpose, it seemed to fit the narrative perfectly. “Not sure if I remember correctly.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t start with me again.” He sighed, his fingers finally reaching your cunt. You took in a sharp breath in reaction to the feeling, still sore and sensitive from the night before. “I thought I fucked that little attitude out of you?” His finger ran through your wetness, trailing it all the way up to your clit where he began tracing slow circles. You shifted, rolling over on your back to allow him easier access to you. His eyes drifted over your face, a small smile stuck on his lips as he admired your beauty in the light of the early morning. “Nothing to say?” He questioned, keeping his movements steady, but light.

“Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.” You lied through your teeth, knowing that he was right. You had zero arguments, and the only reason you felt the need to talk back was because you wanted him to touch you. Now that you had gotten what you wanted, you felt that you could comfortably remain in silence.

“Right,” he chuckled, unable to find the desire to chastise you.

His eyes were fixated on your face as he drank in every detail you had to offer. The specs of brown that floated amidst the color of your irises, the way your eyelashes drooped down and dusted the dark circles under your eyes every time your eyelids fluttered closed. He stared long enough to notice the speckled freckles that littered the bridge of your nose, barely noticeable from a distance but mesmerizing when he got close enough. He studied the few scars that were painted on your skin, reminding him of a lifetime that he did not know about but so desperately wanted to. They were so light now that they barely even existed anymore, but he was so immersed in the constellations they formed across your face that he was sure he would never miss them again.

He watched as your lips parted as waves of pleasure washed over you, wishing so desperately that you would let a moan slip past your lips just so he could have the chance to hear the melody again. He wanted to kiss you, or to at least speak his adoration into the universe, but he seemed frozen in place. He had locked himself in with lust, stalemating his own feelings and making it so they could never surface. What he felt for you in that moment was a feeling stronger than love; it was adoration, safety, happiness, and a sense of home he hadn’t felt since he was young, nestled in his childhood bedroom after his parents tucked him into bed. He felt all of the things for you that he was certain this lifetime would never grant him, and he had no idea what to do with all of it.

That night at the bar, he found you so compelling that he could not force himself to walk away. Your beauty was blinding, and your charm was irresistible despite your rejection. Had he known at that moment that you would be so important to him, he never would have spoken a casual relationship into fruition. Dating was not his forte, and he never wanted to do it again, yet now that he sat face to face with his love for you, it was the only thing he wanted. He wanted all of the things he previously denounced as long as it was with you, but he was terrified of his own revelations. It made him want to run, to hide and never be seen again just to ensure that his heart would be safe. Then, he looked at you for a second too long and he realized he would run for so long and so far that he would land straight back in your arms. If he left, he would search for you until the day he died, and if he still could not find you, he would spend the next life searching, too.

Through the weeks of hookups and long nights spent sleeping beside you in bed, he’d fallen for you unintentionally and beyond anything he’d ever known. He fell in love with you in the most sincere and honest way, and the intensity in which he felt it nearly gutted him. He loved you without expectation, nor any requirement. He loved you silently, and he loved you loudly. Through smiles and shared touches, through small stories about the young girl that lived through travesty so the young woman he adored could flourish, and through memories made by the cumulative hours spent holding each other and laughing with each other after sex. He loved you through spoken words, shared jokes and playful banter. He loved you enough that it was hard to be away from you, and he loved you enough that his apartment felt like it belonged to you more than it ever belonged to him.

As he watched your face, the man who had seduced you into bed for the first time ceased to exist. He was no longer a devilish being that was driven by concupiscent thoughts; he was a boy who wanted more than just the sex the two of you had based your entire relationship around. For the first time since knowing you, the last thing he wanted to do was fuck you. He wanted to hold you until the morning bled into the afternoon, cocooned in blankets and suffocating in the sweetness of your laughter. He wanted to ignore every single growl of hunger, and every scorching sensation of thirst. He didn’t need anything other than you in his arms, and he didn’t want anything more than the simplicity of loving you.

The devil had finally met his maker, and it was far more sinister than anything he ever imagined before. You were everything all at once, the very thing that breathed life into his soul, and the only thing that could take it away. If he had half a brain, he would have already ran out the door, but he could not fathom leaving your side. His fear made him withdraw, and his love made him stay. He was being ripped apart by his own moral struggle, but he felt so much love for you that it completely overshadowed the pain that came along with it.

Instead of facing his conflict, he slipped his thumb to your clit as his fingers rested on your entrance. Before he could debate the consequences, he began pumping his fingers into you as he moved his thumb in time. With his eyes still fixated on your face, he tried to harness the same energy as the first night he met you. The filthy desire for you, rather than the love that ran so deep it made his veins dry of blood.

“That feels so good, baby.” You whimpered, your eyes fluttering open to catch sight of his own. Had you not been so lost in bliss, you might have noticed the pain that was shining through the cloud of desire. He could not respond, fearful that a confession might slip out instead of an encouragement. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your own. It silenced you from spewing any more beautifully venomous words that would in turn convince him to tell you all his heart felt for you.

As he kissed you, it did nothing but worsen the ache in his chest. His hand continued working at you, begging for an orgasm to hopefully lessen the discomfort of love and heighten the lust that so often burned in his chest. He was desperate for you to orgasm, but it was for a reason much different than all of the times before. It had absolutely nothing to do with remembering, and instead, everything to do with forgetting. He watched your expression twist into one of pleasure, and he hurt at the thought of you being so oblivious to the things that he was feeling for you. He wondered, just for a moment, if you had ever felt that way about him in the time you had spent together. He could not focus on the thought, because it pained him to know that you did not.

“Fuck, Jake.” You gasped, feeling the pit of your stomach ignite with a fire he so often caused.

“Yeah? Does that feel good, angel?” He crooned, his eyes heavy and a lazy smile plastered on his lips. He did a great job at covering up the damage he had done to himself. “Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes, please.” You groaned, your hand clasping around his bicep in hopes of keeping him there forever. You had a slight mistrust for him since he denied you of the pleasure so many times the night prior. Little did you know, denying you anything was nearly impossible for him, especially in that moment when sleep was still threatening your eyes and your need for him was primal.

“You sound so pretty when you beg for me.” He muttered, imagining the sight of his hand driving you to insanity underneath the blanket. He took in a long breath as his eyes fluttered closed, listening intently to the noises falling so delicately from your lips. “Cum for me, sweet girl.” The silky smooth tone of his voice was all it took to push you over the edge. You clenched around his hand, uttering ugly curses painted with the beauty of his name. The vulgarity of the scene would turn any man to his knees before god, yet somehow it was so ethereal when the obscenities were doused in his name, like holy water working to rid you of the sin. “That’s it, angel.” He coaxed you through it, gentle and sweet as if he wasn’t opening the gates to hell and pushing you inside.

As you rode out the euphoria, your eyes settled on his face in a similar manner as he had been watching you. You thought your heart might stop and you would ascent to the heavens from the picture of his beauty alone. He was looking down at you, his warm brown eyes casted down upon the bridge of his nose to soak in every inch of your expression of pleasure. They were warm, inviting you in and promising to keep you safe. The permanent upturn of his lip made your chest ache and your eyes cross with stars. The smirk, although infuriating at first, had quickly turned itself into something you could not live without. The soft locks of brown hair hung down to frame his rosy cheeks, flushed at the sight of you in such a state. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, barely enough to notice, but too much for you to bear. His dark eyelashes casted a shadow over his stare, but it did not offset the intensity of his eyes burning into you. The blemishes and scars left behind on his skin were in tune with your own, allowing you to realize that the man you’d made out to be a godless entity was nothing but a boy who was mindlessly trying to make it through life alive, strikingly similar to yourself.

When you breathed out the last of the pleasure from your orgasm, you expected the fleeting moment of adoration to fade away with it. When your chest was steady, back to its normal rhythm, it did not seem to disappear. The cloud of sexual tension dissipated, and so did the sensation in the pit of your stomach and between your legs, but the swell of your heart did not seem to want to follow. He gave you a few slow blinks, the smirk turning into a smile as he recognized the far away look in your eyes. It was the same one he had been watching you with, but he would never speak a word to you about it. The confirmation in your expression was enough for him to move on from it without speaking it into existence.

You bit down on the inside of your lip ever so gently, holding back the words that were begging to be spoken. He didn’t interrupt your moment of clarity, but he did admire you while the reality washed over you. He withdrew his hand from you, but you were too enthralled in the details of his face to notice, the ones that only you had access to. You loved him in every way you knew to be possible, but it felt like you were choking on the confession. Slowly, the words would suffocate you and you would never get the opportunity to speak the truth.

“You’re beautiful, Jake.” You choked out, managing the compliment if nothing else.

“As are you, sweetheart.” He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. You were struggling to find another word to speak, but your train of thought was cut off by the ring of the doorbell. You snapped out of the trance in a panic, wondering who would be knocking at your door so early in the morning. Before you could scramble out of bed to investigate, he laid a gentle hand on your stomach as if to tell you it was okay.

“Almost forgot why I woke you up.” He chuckled, sending a soft, reassuring smile your way. You raised an eyebrow as he stood, adjusting himself in his pants before he retreated to answer the door. “I ordered food, and I didn’t want it to get cold before you got the chance to eat.”

“Oh,” you breathed, your head still swimming with confliction about the feelings arising in your chest. “Thank you.” He watched you for a moment, his head cocking to the side in confusion at your lack of argument. When you didn’t follow your statement up with any kind of rejections or insults, he gave a slow nod before walking out of the room.

You collapsed against the pillows as soon as he was out of sight, heaving a heavy sigh of relief. You were so disoriented that you almost considered asking him to go home so you could sort through your thoughts, but the idea of him leaving struck a painful nerve in your heart. You had no idea why you were so infatuated with him, or why the sight of his face brought you to such weakness. He was the same Jake that had laid in your bed dozens of times before, and it was the same hand between your leg giving you the same, earth-shattering orgasm. Although those were all good things, they weren’t any different than the days that came and passed before. What changed, you did not know.

Denial is a disease, and you were plagued with it.

You were so deep in your pondering about the strange feelings sparking in your chest that you failed to realize Jake was bringing you not only breakfast, but was intending to bring you breakfast in bed. It was the furthest thing from your agreed upon rule, but it was so minuscule to you now that you barely even thought twice about it. Breakfast was the least incriminating thing the two of you had done together in regards to romance, and you knew that, even if you didn’t want to face the truth.

So, instead of either of you digesting the feelings and speaking up about them, you compartmentalized them and simply pretended they did not exist.

Sloth still had its deadly hold on your hearts, and it was slowly beginning to take a control of your lives.

Before Jake returned, you stood and made your way to the kitchen in attempt to mitigate the effects of breakfast in bed. You were still dazed and completely lost in your thoughts when you took post by the kitchen island. When he returned and noticed you were not in the same spot he left you, he stood beside you without a word, a takeout bag in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other. When he sat the items on the counter, relief flooded you instead of fear. You were not relieved to be sharing such an intimate meal, but because you would have something to occupy yourself with while you tried to swallow down your confessions of love.

Then, when your hand grabbed the bag, you could not seem to bring it any closer to you. Your body was rejecting the thought of food, and the smell was nearly sickening. You were so distraught from your revelations that you couldn’t even stomach the idea of eating. Jake mindlessly sipped away at the cardboard cup in his hand, barely noticing your stunned gaze. He’d already gotten over the painstaking realizations and had pushed them so deep down inside of him that they barely existed at all.

“Not hungry, angel?” He asked, his hand finding your hip as he moved behind you. Your eyes closed at the contact, the relief instantaneous and the comfort immeasurable.

“No, guess not.” You muttered, trying your best to focus on the feeling of his touch rather than the emotion running rampant in your chest.

“Interested in something else, by any chance?” You could feel his erection pressing into your ass. Pleasing you had worked him up to the point of no return, and now eating breakfast was the last thing on his mind.

“Is sex all you think about?” You chuckled, feeling the unease begin to fade. Everything was easy to forget about when his hands were on you, holding you so close.

“You make it hard to think about anything else.” He admitted, slipping his hands underneath his t-shirt that was resting on your thighs. You couldn’t deny the feeling that blossomed in your stomach, and you had to agree that when the two of you were together, sex had always been the most pressing thought.

“Don’t put the blame on me for your filthy imagination, Jacob.” You smirked, finding a shred of your normal personality making a return.

“Wasn’t blaming you, angel. Simply just stating a fact.” He pushed the shirt to your hips, a low growl sounding from his chest at the sight of your exposed lower half. “You know I always have to finish what I've started.”

“Make it quick, honey. I’d hate for you to waste another coffee on my behalf.” You breathed, trying your best to make it seem as if the position was not affecting you. In truth, your legs were quivering at the thought of him being inside you again, and your stomach was already tied in knots, ready to snap from the tension.

“Haven’t I told you already?” He freed himself from his sweatpants, forgoing any formalities or foreplay. Getting you off had already pushed him to the point of insanity, and he feared that if he had to wait a second longer he might die from the disease of needing you. He rested the tip of his cock on your entrance, pausing there only for a moment so he could speak again. “This is worth more than anything else in the world.” His words were firm, forcing you to believe it to be truth even if you wanted to refute it. He avoided what he really wanted to confess, knowing that if his emotions were coated in a protective shield of lust, it was less likely to scare you away. He so badly wanted to tell you that it was not the sex that was worth the world in gold, it was you.

He hated the fire burning in his chest, not because of the intensity, but because he knew that you were the one who so often ignited it. He promised that love would not complicate your relationship, but love had been tangling itself in your souls since the first time your eyes locked together. It was there before the first word was spoken, and long before the first touch. It was there in the beginning, before he ever stepped foot in the bar. It guided him to you, speaking soft whispers through the moonlight in hopes of landing him directly by your side.

Of course, fate was such a twisted little thing; to make two people who denounced the callings of their own heart fall irrevocably in love was a sinister act, but it was undeniably true. The two of you were meant to find each other, to experience such serenity at the hands of another and to find love that did not make you want to seek shelter from the explosion. You were meant to learn love in its true form, not the kind where raised voices and fists chilled the warmth it created, and not one in which infidelity and mistrust blackened its golden glow. Most of all, you were meant to give it to each other as much as you were meant to learn it. Sloth had affected you so badly because you were so good at caring for each other in a way nobody else had, and it was a heinous crime to withhold that kind of care from each other.

This love did not leave a bitter taste in his mouth, nor did it leave one in yours, but it did strike so much fear within you that it was nearly paralyzing. You knew you felt strongly about him, and you knew why you felt that way, but it did not make the fact easily digestible. You hadn’t felt a feeling so strong since before the tragic end of your last marriage, and you had been perfectly content with never feeling it again. It was not warm and fuzzy like it was to so many others; to you, it was violent and painful, and it made you ache all over when you thought about how much he meant to you. You were terrified of letting him in, but you were even more fearful of losing him. Above all, you were so scarred from the past that you feared that once your guard was down, the Jake you knew would morph into a monster that would hurt you far beyond what anyone else had done.

You knew you should not blame him for the mistakes others had made, but what you had experienced at the hands of love made the whole idea turn sour in your mind. You knew it was implausible, but if you could, you would have lived the rest of your life alone and never let anyone get too close.

When he pushed inside of you, the turmoil living inside both of your hearts immediately settled. Nothing ever seemed to matter when he was so close to you, and perhaps that was the most dangerous of all.

“God, you feel so fucking good angel.” He groaned, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t let any more sweetness slip out. “What do you do to me?” He muttered, looking down at his hips as they fucked into you. His eyes focused intently as he slowed his movements slightly, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, instead. He was so infatuated with you that the sight of him fucking you had quickly turned into his favourite sight to see.

“Harder, Jake.” You pleaded, gripping on to the countertop as you prepared for more. The feeling was already overwhelming, your last orgasm still lingering on your skin. The newly discovered feelings did nothing to aid your ability to withhold a climax, and if anything, feeling such things with him inside of you was only worsening the love blossoming in the deepest depths of your heart.

“You want more, angel?” He smirked, doing exactly what you wanted. A yelp sounded as he slammed against your cervix, your knees buckling under the weight of your body as you struggled to keep yourself upright. “Tell me how good I make you feel.” He ordered. His words were heavy, and the intent had nothing to do with the power trip he usually found himself in during sex. It had everything to do with how badly he needed to hear you say it, how badly he needed to know that you needed him the same as he needed you.

“You make me feel so good, Jake.” You felt no need to fight the truth, and if feeding into his ego would ensure he never stopped, you would praise him until your lungs collapsed from a lack of oxygen. “Nobody can make me feel this good, only you, Jake.”

“Fuck,” he huffed, reaching down and pulling you up off the counter. He only withdrew for a second, just long enough to grab you by the hips and lift you up. He sat you on the counter, wasting little time before making a home between your legs again. He pulled you to the edge of the countertop, lining himself up with you and pushing back inside. “Being so good for me, today. What’s gotten into you?” He teased, smiling down at your pleasure ridden expression. The new position limited his movement, but it was all the more euphoric now that you could see his face.

You could not tell him the truth as to why you were so well behaved, because it had everything to do with the aching feeling of love burrowing into the muscles in your chest. You could not confess because of your own fears of falling in love, but even more so because of the fear of him not feeling the same. He had been just as intent on keeping your relationship casual, and you worried that if he knew you were losing your grip on your sanity, he would run and you would never see him again.

Instead, you leaned forward and captured him in a kiss, silencing yourself before you said something you could not take back.

Pride was filling the room, protecting your own ego’s while destroying anything that tried to infiltrate the walls you’d built up so high.

The two of you needed to hear the word so badly, but you could not let down your guard enough to give each other the satisfaction.

He let out a moan into your mouth as your walls clenched around him. You drank in the sound, letting it settle into your bones and overtake any moral and rationality that still existed. In that moment, after hearing a sound, no, tasting a sound so beautiful, you would have given your whole life for him without a second thought, just so you might be able to experience it again.

“Cum for me, angel.” He was begging you, and this time he had little choice in hiding it. “Please, baby.” The vulnerability in the two words absolutely shattered your psyche, and you no longer had control of the climax. There was no holding back, even if you wanted to. Your legs locked around him and your stomach burned as the muscles tightened. The pleasure you were feeling was maddening, and the only thought you could form was his name. It fell from your lips like a prayer, but there was no holy entity that could save you from his wrath. You had reached the pits of hell and there was no way you could climb your way out of it, now. The embers were familiar, and the brazen flames were inviting. The truth was harrowing, but you knew you would live within his sin happily for the rest of eternity. He made the worst of suffering seem pleasant, and he could even make the cold grasp of death seem comforting.

As you were coming down from the high, he pulled back from the warm embrace of your arms wrapped around his neck. You were so weak that you could not even mourn the loss of the closeness. He took one quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring that there was nothing laying on the table behind you. When he noticed the area was clear, he pushed your top half down on the table with the ferocity of a wild animal. He cushioned your head as you descended onto the frigid granite countertop, but did not care too much about your shock at the change in temperature. With a rough motion, he pulled your hips towards him again, tapping your leg so you knew to keep them locked around him.

With the new found freedom, he resumed his pace with a whole new type of strength. The obscenities falling from your lips were filthy, painting the kitchen with a sinful memory you would remember fondly for years to come. One of his hands trailed up your stomach, the light tickle offset the burning overstimulation from the movement of his hips. His fingers settled loosely around your neck, but he did not apply any pressure straight away. His thumb and index finger landed on your pulse points, and his eyes watched your face closely, clouded with desire and heavy with love.

“Can you do it again, sweet girl?” His voice was husky, his fingers tightening a little more with every word he spoke.

“I don’t think I can,” you whined, unsure if the burn of the overstimulation would ever subside into the pleasure he so often gave you. His pace felt bruising, and the pain for once seemed to overshadow the enjoyment.

“You can, baby.” He encouraged. “You’re being so good for me, angel. Just one more.” You choked out a moan at the sound of his sweet words. He slipped his other hand between your legs, his thumb tracing circles over your clit as he tightened his fingers once more. “Or do you just need to me to treat like a whore?” He questioned, his jaw hard set and his stare fiery. “Is that what it takes to get you off? Being treated like a slut?”

“Oh, fuck.” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at his filthy question.

“That’s it, angel.” He hummed, feeling his hips stutter at the look on your face. You had always been his biggest weakness, and even after months of doing the same dance, that never seemed to change. The knot in your belly tightened, the pressure nearly unbearable. He seemed to pry the orgasm from you without even trying. All it took was the right words, and he had you in a complete mess for him. “You take it so good,” he hissed, trying to think of anything other than how good you felt wrapped around him.

His hand locked in against your throat, constricting the blood flow to your head. Your heart was pounding against your chest, the sound filling your ears and begging to be felt behind your eyes. You tried to keep your gaze focused on his face, his hair sticking to the soft, tan skin in the most delicious way. His eyebrows were furrowed together, and the animalistic expression was driving you mad. Your head felt woozy and your chest burned for air. Your eyes fluttered closed as the pressure reached its peak, and for a moment you feared that you might fall unconscious because of his unwavering hold. The pleasure was skewing his judgment, and he was teetering on a dangerous line. With both hands focused intently on you, you descended into a climax with no way of voicing your euphoria. A raspy croak left your lips to let him know you were there, but he could feel the clench of your cunt around him and the lock of your legs drawing him further into you.

He caught your eye, noticing the far away look and instantly feeling a wave of panic. He released his hold on your neck, allowing the blood flow to return and a breath of air fill your lungs. As you rode out the high, he let his fingers gently massage the place they’d just assaulted while he fucked you through it. When you relaxed against him, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. His hips stuttered and pleasure took over, sending him over the same edge you’d just fallen from. He spilled his release into you, his pace remaining steady until he milked every second of pleasure from the orgasm as he could. He leaned back slightly, watching as he fucked his release back into you. The sight nearly brought him into a second climax, intoxicated by the fact that only he was lucky enough to have you in such a way.

When his hips slowed to a stop, a lazy smile crossed both of your faces. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” He chuckled, letting his eyes drift over your chest still clothed with his t-shirt.

“I’m not complaining.” You assured him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, inspecting your neck. There was lingering redness from where his fingers were holding you, but it seemed superficial.

“I am.” You promised. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” His purchase of food and the sweetness of his morning wake-up was different than usual. Paired with the carnal desire and the overly concerned look in his eyes, you began to fear he was feeling the exact same way as you were.

“I don’t know.” He lied, giving a small laugh to avoid the subject. He knew exactly what had gotten into him, but it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He was terrified of the love he had for you in his heart, and he was nowhere near ready to bring it up. “Let’s get cleaned up.” He said, running a gentle thumb over your blushed cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, and for a moment, you wished to stay there all day immersed in the moment of intimacy. You turned your head to the side, placing a small kiss on the pad of his thumb. The small gesture made his knees weak and nearly sent him falling to the ground. His heart sang with affection for you and his stomach twisted into knots.

He was a dead man walking, and you were not far behind him.

With his help, you slid from the counter and made your way to the bathroom. You cleaned up first, your eyes lingering on the shower, yearning for the feeling of warm water soothing your aching muscles. You pulled your shirt over your head and took a step towards the faucet, flicking it on without a second thought. You looked over your shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“You want me to fuck you in the shower, now?” He laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you shook your head, your voice quiet and anxious. You weren’t sure why you asked, but you desperately hoped that he would agree. The simple innocent intimacy seemed enticing, and you so badly wanted to be surrounded by his comfort for a little while longer. “Just a shower.”

“Oh,” he tried to hide the surprise in his tone, not wanting you to take it the wrong way. “Of course, angel.” He couldn’t seem to muster the strength to voice his enthusiasm over the idea, but his whole body was filled with delight at the thought of showering with you.

A small smile crossed your lips as you stepped inside, holding your hand out to him. He stepped towards you, his hand landing delicately in your own. When he was under the water with you, he slid the door shut, the steam already billowing around you both and fogging the glass. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling your body into his as the droplets washed down over both of you.

“Do you have anything else to do today?” You asked, your palm pressed lightly against his chest as you gazed up in admiration at his face.

“Nothing more important than this.”

Casual was long gone, and you were digging your graves. The final resting places were side by side, a tunnel dug through the earth so you could decompose hand in hand until the end of eternity.

“You must have really missed me, then.” You smiled, brushing the wet hair from his face.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He teased, placing a kiss to the top of your head. You both knew he missed you more than words could express, and you missed him just the same. For a moment, the two of you remained in each other's arms in silent bliss. Then, you reluctantly pulled away from him to reach for the bottle of shampoo that was on the shelf behind him. “Here,” he whispered, reaching for the bottle. You handed it to him, confused at his motive. You watched as he poured a small amount into the palm of his hand, then he placed it back on the shelf. He motioned for you to turn around, which you did without argument. His hand came to your head and he slowly began massaging the shampoo into your mess of tangled locks.

You closed your eyes and leaned against him, enjoying the soothing touch and feeling your chest ache with the intensity of adoration you held for him. You weren’t sure you’d ever experienced such kindness and gentleness at the hands of another, and you had no idea why you ever doubted that it would be from him that you received it. When he was certain your hair was fully coated in shampoo, a smile began to eat away at his lips as he brought all of your hair together at the top of your head.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, feeling the shake of laughter run through his body.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He dismissed you, still trying to form your hair together.

“If you’re trying to get it to stand up, it’s not going to work.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter, finding the childish humor contagious.

“You have no faith in me.” He let out a disapproving tsk, reaching his arms upwards in hopes that the makeshift mohawk would stay. For a few seconds, it stood, then it toppled over under the weight of the soap. The two of you burst out into laughter as the hair fell into your face, splattering the soap across your skin in a dramatic fashion.

“For good reason.” You explained, stepping forward into the water to wash the suds away from your eyes. He took a step towards you again, raising his hands to your head to help you wash the shampoo out. “Your turn.” You said, ringing the water from your hair as you stepped out from under the shower head.

“My turn?” He questioned, looking down at you with curiosity. You let out a hum of agreement, nodding your head.

“Unless you don’t want to use my shampoo, then it’s okay.” You digressed, worried that he might not want to smell your memory long after he went home.

“No, it’s okay.” He promised, fearful he gave you the wrong impression. A smile crossed your lips as you reached for the bottle again, this time bringing your hands to his hair as you massaged the soap throughout his long locks. When the soap was sufficiently sudsy, you compiled all of his hair into a neat little knot on the top of his head.

“I don’t think I’m tall enough.” You giggled.

“That’s okay, angel.” He found your laughter contagious, both of you giggling at nothing other than the joy that came from being together. Before you washed your hands free of soap, you quickly swiped a few of the bubbles onto his nose. “Hey!” He scolded, trying his best to look down at the bubbles littering his face. He reached forward, snaking his arms around your waist as he pulled you into him. You let out a shriek of laughter as he leaned down to kiss you, inevitably getting soap all over you, too. The blissful bubble the two of you existed within in that moment was impenetrable.

But, all good things must come to an end eventually, and not even your perfect little world was safe from the harshness of reality.

You both finished washing yourselves, reluctantly stepping out of the warm water and into the cold air. You tossed a towel at Jake while you grabbed one for yourself, wrapping your body in the fluffy fabric and relieving yourself from the frigid air. Once you were both sufficiently dry, Jake wrapped the towel tightly around his waist, watching you as you secured yours around your chest. You grabbed a smaller towel from your closet, wrapping your hair in it and settling it on your head.

You walked out of the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to make sure he was following. He thought it was laughable that you worried he wasn’t, because if he had it his way, he’d never let you stray too far away. He followed you into your bedroom, hoping for a second that your towel would falter. The boyish part of his brain never left, and he seemed to always be in that state of mind around you; pure, unadulterated joy that knew no bounds. He was always excited to see you naked, even if he’d seen it a hundred times. He was always thrilled to see a smile on your face or a laugh stuck on your lips. He loved listening to the words you had to say, even if they were mindless insults thrown his way. You brought out the part in him he thought he’d lost long ago, and he was afraid of the feeling fleeing him again.

As you dressed yourself, he watched intently. It was not in a sexual way, nor with any hidden desire. He loved admiring you even in the simplest of ways. He didn’t move to find clothes of his own until one of his t-shirts was hanging down to your thighs and a pair of shorts was secure underneath. He slipped on a pair of his sweatpants he’d brought with him and discarded his towel in your laundry hamper.

“I suppose we should probably eat.” You chuckled, stepping towards him but going no further. He smiled at your comment, realizing that you’d left your breakfast without a second thought. His hand landed on your waist as he pulled you into him, and he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“Let’s go, then.” He always wanted you to move first, just so he could be certain you wanted it and weren’t doing it just because he wanted to. You lead him back to the kitchen, looking over the counter that you’d just disgraced with your sinful actions. At the memory, another feeling of arousal blossomed in the pit of your stomach. Instead of acting on them, you grabbed your coffee cup and stuck it in the microwave. He grabbed two plates and put the respective sandwiches on them. When the microwave beeped, he passed the food to you to warm next while sipping on his cold coffee.

He’d grown to like it that way, because with you around, he never seemed to drink it while it was still warm, and you had yet to hear a single complaint about it.

“Thanks for getting this,” you hummed, taking a sip from your own cup. You’d still neglected to process that you were breaking the only rule you’d put in place. He did not order breakfast for any spiteful reason, or to push your boundaries; he did it simply because it felt right, and he was itching to do something nice for you after going so many days without you.

“No need for thanks.” He said, brushing off the acknowledgement. He felt no desire to be praised for something he was so eager to do. Once your food was heated sufficiently, you held your plate tightly in your hand, thinking intently about your next move. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You looked up at him, your eyes catching his own for a moment. The sweetness in his stare made your next choice the easiest one you’d ever made.

“Come with me.” You nodded down the hallway, hoping he wouldn’t protest. Little did you know, he’d never say no to anything you asked of him. You led him through the dining room, all the way to the end of the hallway where a door sat, rarely opened and never seen by a guest before that day. You balanced your coffee cup on your plate carefully, twisting the knob with great caution. You took a deep breath as you pushed the door open, willing yourself to keep moving forward as you stepped inside.

He was close behind you, silent and eyes wandering the new room he had yet to see. When you were fully inside and waiting for him to join you, he took a step inside, too. His eyes scanned the walls, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest as he drank in the detail and tried his best to sear it into his memory. Your heart was erratic against your ribs, your anxiety plaguing you as you watched his expression intently.

The picture frames decorated the walls, leaving little room to spare. Some were so close together that the delicate designs of the frames blended together. They were filled with photographs of smiling faces, so bright and beautiful that it nearly took his breath away. The daylight poured in from the windows, casting a golden glow over every object that made home inside the room. In the middle sat a piano, the top looking slightly dusty from months of being forgotten about. Piano books littered the few bookshelves that fit on the walls between the picture frames. On one sat an old camera that looked to be from the nineties, and just below it sat an acoustic guitar on a stand that appeared to be homemade.

“Welcome to my life.” You whispered, taking a seat on the bench sat in front of the piano. “What do you think?”

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this all this time.” He breathed, exasperated at the thought. “This piano is stunning.” He said, taking a step towards it and gently running his hand over the top.

“Thanks.” You gave a small smile, still incredibly anxious to have another person in your space. It was a room full of memories that you did not like sharing with anyone else, and aside from very few people, he had been the first to see it. There was a trust in your heart for him that you couldn’t comprehend, and for a moment, you felt like you could tell him everything.

“Did you take all of these pictures?” He asked, now stepping towards the walls. He was beyond excited that you finally took the step to show him a part of yourself you liked to keep hidden, but he did not want to express it too loudly in fear it might ruin the moment.

“Most of them.” You replied, watching him as he took in the photographs. “Every one of them that I’m not in.” You clarified, chuckling at the fact. “It’s mostly just pictures of my family.” It was true; there were pictures hung on the wall ranging back to when your hands first held a camera, and up until the recent years when your skill had vastly improved. It was mostly your parents and your sister, but there were a few of your childhood pets and friends.

“Is that your mom and dad?” He asked, pointing to a picture of a couple he did not recognize.

“Yep,” you nodded, smiling at his interest. You wanted to say more, but the words seemed stuck in your throat. You were having a hard time processing your desire to tell him more, so you sat with it instead of acting on it.

“You look just like your mom.” He noted. “You have your dads smile, though.” Your heart warmed at the sentiment. “That must be your sister, too, because you look like twins.” He pointed to a different picture.

“It is.” You chuckled.

“I can’t wait to meet her. If she’s anything like you, I know I’ll love her.” You both dusted over the ‘L’ word as if it were nothing at all, barely registering the fact he’d said it.

“She is pretty great, but I think I’m biased.” You grinned. When it came to your sister, you would talk praise until you could no longer hear yourself speak.

“You take stunning photographs, y/n.” He said, not a hint of a joke in his tone. Your cheeks reddened as you bit into your sandwich. You let the compliment hang in the air for a moment before responding.

“Thank you, Jake.” You said, feeling the fear melt away the longer you sat together. “Did you… did you want to play a song on the guitar, maybe?” You asked, hesitancy written all over your face. You thought that it was finally time to take the step, and now that he knew such intimate details about you, you craved the same from him.

“You want to hear me play?” He turned back to you, shocked at your words.

“Yeah.” You nodded, certain of that fact. “Just… just be careful with it, please. I don’t want anything to happen to it. The strings are old, too, so it might not sound the best.”

“Of course.” He assured you, carefully grabbing the acoustic from the stand. Your stomach was twisting with anxiety as he held the instrument in his hands, but you managed to swallow your fear. “This is a beautiful guitar, too.” You hummed an agreement, knowing that he wasn’t just saying it as a formality. It was a stunning instrument, and it was your most prized possession. He walked over, taking a seat beside you on the bench as he settled the body in his lap. Carefully, he plucked the strings and tuned them to his liking. “Anything in particular you want to hear?” You pondered the thought for a moment, knowing there were plenty of songs you’d love to hear him play, but curious about what he would choose. After a few seconds, you shook your head.

He looked over your face, knowing that his best shot to impress you might also give him a chance at expressing his feelings for you at the same time. Carefully, he began a melodic intro, carefully plucking away at the strings as he smiled at your expression of awe. With a lot of courage, he sang softly along with the sound of the guitar, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“Well she's walking through the clouds

With a circus mind

That's running wild

Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams

And-a fairly tales

That's all she ever thinks about

Riding with the wind

When I'm sad she comes to me

With a thousand smiles

She gives to me free

"It's alright", she says

It's alright

Take anything you want from me

Anything

Fly on, little wing.” Slowly, he stopped playing, looking up from his hands with a hopeful expression.

“You really are a rockstar,” you gave a soft smile “that was fantastic.” Deep down, you hoped that he picked that song for the reason you wanted him to, but you were too nervous to ask.

“Thank you, angel.” He smiled, looking down at his hands to hide the redness that was plaguing his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you could sing, too.”

“I usually leave the singing to Josh.” He admitted, brushing some dust off the body of the guitar. “He’s way better than I am.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” You whispered, the profound emotion in your statement almost too much for him to handle.

“I, uh, I didn’t know you played guitar, too.” He changed the topic, feeling the burn of love begin to sear the skin of his lips as he tried to hold it back.

“Oh, I don’t.” You chuckled. “I tried to learn when I was a kid, but it’s not my thing. I kind of sucked at it, if I’m being honest. The piano has always been my choice of instrument.”

“So where’d you get this?” He asked, inspecting the details of the fretboard.

“It’s my dads.” You replied, swallowing down your sadness with a sip of coffee. “He played it all of the time when I was a kid. He tried to teach me, but I was too stubborn to learn.”

“And that camera is his, too?” He asked, his eyes flickering back towards the bookshelf on the wall. “I remember you told me you used your dads camera when you started doing photography.” Your heart fluttered at the thought of him remembering all the small details you told him.

“Yeah, it is. For an old camera, it takes pretty good pictures.” You tried not to let your stare linger on the camera, feeling the sorrow fill your chest up so much that it made it hard to breathe.

“You must be pretty close to him,” he noted.

“You can say that.” You gave a slow nod. “My dad was my best friend for my entire childhood. We did everything together, and so much so that I think it made my sister jealous sometimes. Wherever he was, I had to go with him. Mom got mad at him a lot, because he never said no to me. We’d stay up until midnight watching cartoons and we’d eat ice cream for breakfast on the weekends.” You explained, looking down at your hands as you spoke. “He was just one of those people that understood me, and I think when you’re a girl growing up, not many people do. He always listened, and he always had the best advice. I love my mom, but my dad and I were just… we got along better than anyone else in the world, I think.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiled, looking over at you with adoration in his eyes. He was thrilled to hear so much about you, and he never thought the two of you would get to this point. “I’d love to meet him.” You looked up, catching his eye with a sympathetic smile.

“He would have loved you.” You replied, seeing the light in his eyes change. He wanted clarification before he spoke further, and you could see that in his expression. “He passed away not long before I graduated high school.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He felt bad for his earlier words, even if he did not know the truth.

“Don’t be,” you shook your head “you didn’t know.” You reached over, brushing a strand of his long hair out of his face. “I was lucky to know him for as long as I did, and I’m still just as lucky to have him as a memory. Seventeen years with him was equivalent to a lifetimes worth of love. I wish he was still here, but I know that he’s not really gone. He’s in that guitar, and that camera, and he’s proud of every accomplishment and he’s still picking me up off the ground when I fall.” You explained. Although you knew it might not be true, it always felt like it was. Since he died, you neglected to believe that he just lived when he was alive. You felt the love so strongly sometimes that it was impossible to believe he wasn’t still around in some way. “He really would have liked you, I think. He loved Jimi Hendrix, too.” You laughed, finding his song choice impeccable.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you felt the confession sitting heavy on your chest when you looked at him for too long. Whether it was the blatant vulnerability, or the way he looked at you the same even after you expressed such horrible things about your life. Whatever it was, the moment made you want to scream your love for him, even if you knew you shouldn’t. You had never been so transparent with anyone before, and you never wanted to be so open about your life, but there was something so compelling about him that it was impossible to ignore the desire to be close to him.

“Jimi Hendrix is pretty good.” Jake laughed, astounded by the strength that lived within you. He didn’t think it was possible to admire someone as much as he did for you, but here he was, sitting in front of you and feeling all of the feelings he believed to be impossible.

The air was different, and both of you could tell that whatever dynamic you had before that day had shifted drastically.

For good or for bad, you weren’t sure yet.

You turned inwards, placing your hands on the keys of the piano. You did not want to show off, nor did you want to prove your own talents; the moment was moving, and all you wanted to do was share more of yourself with him. You began a slow intro, working yourself up to speed. It had been a while since you played, and it was fantastic to feel the keys on your fingers and the sound fill your heart.

“I've got a little black book with my poems in

Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in

When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.” You took in a long breath, nervous to be showing such an intimate part of you to him. Little to your knowledge, he was watching you with hearts in his eyes and nothing but love in his heart.

“I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on

Got those swollen-hand blues

I got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from

I've got electric light

And I've got second sight

I got amazing powers of observation

And that is how I know

When I try to get through

On the telephone to you

There'll be nobody home.” You closed your eyes for a moment, playing for a little longer than you needed to so you could regain your composure. Quietly, you could hear him picking away at the guitar, not in an attempt to outshine you, but to accentuate your playing. The two of you were in perfect harmony, moving in time with the music surrounded with more comfortability than you’d ever felt in your entire life. Your heart felt like it was going to burst with the emotion you felt for him.

“I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm

And the inevitable pinhole burns

All down the front of my favourite satin shirt

I've got nicotine stains on my fingers

I've got a silver spoon on a chain

Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains

I've got wild staring eyes

And I've got a strong urge to fly

But I got nowhere to fly to

Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone

there's still nobody home.” You hit the last few notes, letting the sound ring through the quiet room. You looked up, staring at the wall for a moment to gather your thoughts before turning back towards him.

“You’ve got quite the voice, angel.”

“It’s nothing to call home about.” You chuckled, taking a long drink from your coffee.

“I think it is. I’d tell the whole world about you, if I could.” In that moment, the ability to hold back his thoughts fled him. “I… I think that you’re fantastic, y/n, and I hope that you know that.” You looked up at him, nervous about the confession but knowing that you felt the same way. “And I think that I’d like to do this part… more often.”

“What are you saying?” You breathed, trying to understand if he was expressing what you thought he was trying to say. Anxiety gripped you with its deadly force, panic overtaking your mind before you could even appreciate the sentiment in his words.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He sighed, hating that he couldn’t seem to keep the feelings buried. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. We’re in here, showing each other parts of our lives we try so hard to keep hidden. This has been more than sex for a very long time, and I think that you know it, too.” A spark of terror filled you, and you recoiled away from him. He was right, but your fear was larger than your heart, just like it always had been. Love was less daunting when it was buried underneath the surface, and when he expressed it so outwardly and obviously, it morphed into the monster that only lived in your worst nightmares. You weren’t ready to discuss it, and you weren’t ready for anything to change. By speaking it aloud, it changed everything, and you could not stomach that thought in the moment. Change was terrifying, and you did not have enough strength to endure it.

So you did what you knew best; you shut down and locked him out, your heart rebuilding the thick iron bars that often protected it so furiously.

“I brought you in here because we’re friends.” You took the defense, terrified of speaking the truth because you had not yet processed what it truly meant. Your vulnerability had taken a toll, and you began to realize that you had dug yourself a hole too steep to climb out of. You loved him so deeply that it pained you, that it made opening up to him easier than anything else, but facing it was an entirely different thing. Your harshness did not come from your lack of love, but from your abundance of it. You loved him so much, but you did not know how to love anymore. As much as it hurt to reject him when all you wanted to do was fall into his arms forever, you knew it was the best thing to do. You would hurt him more by trying to love him than you ever would if you rejected him. “You were so desperate to be friends, and I thought that was all you wanted. You can’t… we can’t.” You shook your head.

“Friends.” He reiterated, unable to explain the incessant ache in his chest at the word. “Right.” He was angry at himself for ever pushing that title on you, and he wondered if it would have made the difference if he didn’t.

“Jake,” you warned, pleading for him to listen before he jumped to any conclusions. You did not want to end your relationship, but you did want to slow down before things got out of control.

“No, y/n. I hear you loud and clear.” He said, making a move to stand. “You’re right.” His obstinacy had rivalled your own since the very beginning, and you could finally see the infuriating effects of it. His lack of understanding prompted a rush of anger through you.

“You don’t get to do that!” You shook your head, standing up with him.

“I don’t get to do what?” He snapped back, placing the guitar back on the stand with great caution. His words were harsh, but his actions were not. He would never disrespect an item of such importance to you, no matter how upset he was. “I don’t get to be upset? I don’t get to talk about the things that I’m feeling?”

“Christ, Jake, stop putting words in my mouth!” You were panicking, and all of your fear was projecting outwards with an angry mask. You were terrified of loving him, but you were horrified at the thought of him leaving. You did not know what to do to make it better; if you said you loved him, you would be sealing your own grave, and if you didn’t, he would walk away and you would lose him for good. “I didn’t say that, and you know that!”

“Then what? What is it, y/n?” He sighed, watching you with a small shred of hope that you’d double back on your word. He knew you felt it too, and it killed him that you refused to accept it. The entire day was filled with nothing but wordless acts of love, and to deny it and throw it all in the garbage was worse than any physical injury you could cause him.

“You said this wouldn’t happen. You promised that you wouldn’t do this, and then you come here, and you treat me better than anyone ever has, and you make coffee, and you text me just to let me know you’re thinking of me, and then you buy me fucking breakfast!” You exploded, pointing to the coffee cup still sat on the piano stool.

“Jesus Christ, it always comes back to fucking breakfast! Please enlighten me on what is so bad about it?” He yelled back, just as much intensity in his voice.

“Because I don’t know if you’re going to wake up tomorrow and change your mind!” You admitted, running a hand through your hair. “I don't know if you’re doing all of this because you want me to keep sleeping with you, or if you truly mean it. I don’t know anything, and I don’t want to be in love, and I never wanted this!” You did not want to be in love, but by god, you were. If it had been anyone else, they would have been gone before they had the chance to order breakfast. They would never have stepped foot into the room you were fighting in, and in truth, you never would have brought them home at all. If it were anyone other than Jake, you would not have looked twice, but you were so head over heels for him that you were fighting for him to stay, even if it did not seem like that was what you were doing. He watched you, carefully inspecting every detail of your pained expression. Questioning his care for you was the most heinous act you’d ever committed. You knew he cared, and he knew you did, too, but you were so damaged that it was easier to convince yourself that he didn’t. Although he held sympathy for that fact, he could not seem to choke down the pain that you caused with your sharp tongue and violent words. “You promised me, Jake. You promised this wouldn’t happen.”

“I did.” He nodded, casting his gaze towards the ground. “And I meant it. You don’t have to fucking worry about it.” He could not fight another losing battle, and he knew that was exactly what this was. He could not win your heart if it was never offered as a reward. You did not want him to love you, and he could not force you to let him. Instead, he was walking away.

Well, he was threatening it whilst hoping you would ask him to stay.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You knew it was not justified, but you were hurt over the fact that he wanted to take his confession back. You felt it just the same as he did, but you were too scared to admit it. All he could see was rejection, and the injury was bleeding both of you dry. He wasn’t even sure why you were fighting, or where it came from. The sweetness that had carried you through the morning was long gone, replaced with a feeling he’d never felt around you before: resentment. He resented the situation, but in that moment, it felt like he resented you.

“Exactly what I said; you don’t have to fucking worry about it.” He repeated, venomous and dangerous. A different man stood before you than the one you knew just moments before. This one was cold, unfamiliar, and someone you did not want to be around. The heartbreak turned him vile, and now all he wanted to do was hurt you the same way you were hurting him.

“So that’s it?” You whispered, feeling the room fill with anguish. Your safest space now housed the worst of memories. The situation turned into everything you feared most, but you were the only one to blame. Had you been able to admit to all you were feeling in your heart, the situation may have changed for the better.

“That’s it.” He agreed. “You don’t have to worry about me falling in love. You don’t even have to worry about me liking you. No love, no feelings, nothing. You were a great lay, but not worth much more than that, sweetheart. I hate that I ever thought otherwise, but you are just sex to me. That’s it.” He didn’t mean a thing he was saying, but he was so blinded by hurt that anger was the only thing he could show. If he could have taken the words back, he would have. The pain in your eyes nearly brought him to his knees, and he knew he would never be able to repent from the suffering he caused.

“I have no idea why I ever thought you were different.” You spat, the choke of tears beginning to suffocate you. “I can’t believe I let myself fall for it.” You muttered to yourself. “Get out, Jake, and don’t ever come back.”

“My pleasure.” He agreed, pushing past you without another word. You did not even turn to watch him walk away, instead settling your gaze on the guitar that he’d tainted with his touch. You heard him gather his things into his bag, and after a few moments, the slam of your front door let you know that the struggle was over. He was gone, and he would never return, just like you asked. You had pushed him away to the point of no recovery, and the tears that stained your cheeks reminded you that you were the sole blame for the failure of your relationship.

Pride has outweighed sloth in every aspect, but the sins you had committed for once were completely different than Jake’s.

He had too much pride to apologize, and too much pride to recognize that you were hurting more than he was. If he had swallowed his feelings for a moment to see the ache that was plaguing you, he would have understood that your rejection was not because of a lack of love, but because of an abundance of fear. You loved him just as fiercely as he loved you, but you were so damaged from the love that came before him. You could not choke down that hurt, and you could not see past it for long enough to recognize that he only had your best interest in mind. Jake did not want to hurt you, and he would never have treated you in the ways that others had, but you had pushed him to the point of cruelty. It took a lot for him to muster the courage to say how he was feeling, and you had faced him with nothing but bold-faced rejection.

His attempt at protecting himself only made him more vulnerable, and in turn, only hurt the person he loved most. The cruel words he said were not true, and they replayed in his head for the entire drive home. Pride made it so he appeared stone cold, and that his feelings were more important than yours. In truth, there was nothing more important to him than the sound of your beating heart and the things that made it possible to do so. He wished so badly that he could have put his guard down for a moment, to let you in and tell you everything he wanted to say to you. Instead, his last heartbreak left so little of him to give to you and he could not face the truth without defenses.

He was plagued with the knowledge that other people took so much of him that he could not give you all that you deserved.

Your sinful entanglement with pride came from your inability to confess your true feelings to him. You were too prideful to realize that he needed to hear it more than you needed to keep it hidden, and you were too stubborn to admit that you knew he would keep all of your confessions safe. Instead of facing the truth, you wallowed in the consequences of dishonesty. You loved his sweet words and his messages confessing that he missed you. He did treat you better than anyone ever had, and you knew that it was not because he wanted to keep you on a hook, but because of the love he held for you in his heart. Most of all, you knew that you loved sharing a breakfast with him while you shared the most intimate details of your lives.

You loved Jake with all of your heart and soul, and you had never loved anyone with quite as much intensity. You loved him selflessly and wholly, and although you loved being alone, you loved being alone with him even more. You knew that he was what your heart desired most, but for some reason, when he confessed his own likeness to your heart, you could not handle the profound feelings. You were terrified, and that much was obvious, but it was even more than that. You could not handle someone as wonderful as Jake loving you so deeply, because you did not feel like you deserved it. You could not imagine bestowing your own sorrows and suffering upon him, and you could not bear the thought of making his life harder when he made yours so much better.

He was too prideful to show that you hurt him, and you were too prideful to let him know that he had the ability to hurt you. He let you know that he cared for you, but he could not see past his own hurt enough to realize that your words had nothing to do with his character. He took it personally when it had nothing to do with him at all. You could not admit that you cared, but it was not because it was him you cared about. Loving him was easier than falling asleep, but being in love was a dangerous game, and you feared if you fell again, you might not survive it.

Lust drove you to each other, and his otherworldly charm made you gluttonous. You needed him so badly that you had resorted to greed, and sloth had paralyzed you into submission at the hands of love. Pride, although not the most powerful sin, seemed to be the most deadly yet. It had driven you away from the only home you’d ever known, and it ensured that you severed the bond between you with expert precision. Sin was bleeding from the walls as you sat in a pool of your own tears and self pity. You begged for forgiveness, for mercy at the hands of an entity that knew no such thing.

The devil doesn’t bargain, and he was ensuring that you would suffer the consequences of your own mistakes. You were so far gone that the grace of God could not touch you, and the only relief could come from Satan himself.

When fate is in the hands of evil itself, hope is a feeble word, and any shred of hope you still held in your heart had been struck down without a trace.

With only two of the capital vices left to go, sin seemed like the only thing you knew how to do. You feared that after so long of defying the gods, salvation would never be found.

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlover @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-firerod-blog @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby

[linos-luna]

Hide and Seek (Pt. 2) 🔪

Yandere!Jimin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, threats

🎀 (Pt.1) (Pt. 2) 🎀

🎀 ————————————————————— 🎀

You open your eyes and sit up. Your head is throbbing. How long have you been out? It didn’t matter to you and you got up to go to the door.

You suddenly felt a sharp pain in your ankle and shrieked as you fell to the floor. It was swollen, you could tell even under a sock that it was sprained… or even broken, who knows.

You were on your stomach and tried propping yourself up on your elbows and one knee.

J-Jimin…?!” You called out, hoping he was nearby. “Jimin…? Are you there?!“

The door opens and you see your boyfriend standing there with a sweet smile.

“J-Jimin…!” You cried, putting your head down for a moment, rubbing your forehead to soothe the headache.

“Hi baby. Why are you on the floor?”

“Jimin…” you whimper with tears rolling down your cheeks. “I-it it hur-h-hurts…!”

At this point you weren’t sure if you were referring to your ankle or headache. Both were an overwhelming pain, practically making you shake.

Your boyfriend sighed and lifted you by your arms, seating you on the bed.

“Do you want medicine?” He asked while tilting his head, sweet smile still apparent. “I can give you something.”

You nodded while wiping your tears and Jimin left to the bathroom. He came back with a bottle of ibuprofen, holding it up and shaking the bottle lightly. Sure it wouldn’t fix your ankle but it definitely will help lessen the pain in your head.

You reached out to grab it but he pulled away.

“I don’t like you playing games with me, jagiya.” He said bluntly.

“I’m sorry…” you whimpered, reaching out again. “Please jimi! I’m sorry!”

“Awww baby….” He teased with a pout. “Does it hurt? Is my poor baby hurting?”

You covered your face with your hands while quietly sobbing. You swayed a little when you were suddenly pushed.

You fell on your back just to see Jimin looming over you.

“You like playing games with me? I’ll play games with you.” He laughed.

You whimpered as he grabbed your chin to hold you still and lowered himself to kiss your lips.

“Should I play your favorite?” He asked while kissing your lips. “Should I hide with the pills? You have to seek them. Or… should I hide the pills and toy with you? That sounds fun.”

“No jimi… no!” You cried.

Jimin chuckled, finding your crying and whining adorable.

“Hm… maybe I’m not that mean.”

“Please Jimin… I’m sorry…” you said in almost a whisper while trying to rub his cheeks. “I love you, jimi… I love you…”

“I know you do, jagiya.” He said before helping you sit back up. He quickly left the room and came back with a glass of water.

He held the pill bottle and water out to you before pulling it away again when you reached out.

“DONT try leaving me again.” He said sternly. Before handing the two items to you.

“O-okay…”

“Or else… I will kill you.”

[moon8th]

Thoughts on Sagittarius Risings 💭

Spreading their Truth

The Ultimate Rebel placement, there are literally too many forms of pictures/music/art in general I can’t fit on this 1 post about these expansive Jupiter natives

Sagittarius is tapped into the higher chakras, (knowing, thinking, speaking) acting as “The Teacher” archetype, some able to touch the world 🌍!! don’t get too self righteous about that saggy, stay grounded, honestly I think life naturally humbles us anyway

~Bob Marley ~Jimi Hendrix

Rockstar Lifestyle!! Bc of there Gemini 7th house ong these natives want to learn about anything they deem will expand their minds for the best! Most Sag Risings desire to travel the world!! Explore and experience, they deeply impact there partners life by expanding their psyche and expanding their own

Aries 5th house,, these natives are most creative when they are just expressing themselves, (Aries is the self) so whatever fires them up emotionally and makes them passionate is wholeheartedly what you’ll see them lean into!

Humanitarians! Every single person I list on this post is/was for the people, Libra 11th house makes them see “the other, the partner” on a societal level. They really do care and want to help the world as much as they can

~Jhene Aiko ~Erykah Badu

“I am Alice, I’m in Wonderland” ~Jhene Aiko Bc of their Pisces 4th house, ooof these people come from such a confusing upbringing! As they grow, they wake up from their dream-like state and feel the extreme need to bring big truth and healing to the world (Virgo 10th house)

Sag 1st house, something is always big about them lol, it most likely is their presence in general (aura) but added to that it can also be their huge smile/muscle prominence/really tall/ really short/eyes/voice/etc.

Aquarius 3rd house, our mouths are slliiiicckk lmaaoo fast and sharp🔪, maybe we should check ourselves before we speak 😭😭, but some ppl need to hear the truth 🗣️🗣️

~Bruce Lee ~Wiz Khalifa

They are heartthrobs. please just look @ them broo 😭 too unique

But fr bc of their stubborn Taurus 6th house, they should build a healthy everyday routine, they can really benefit from doing some form of spiritual/traditional/body centering workout such as martial arts/yoga/kickboxing/swimming/weightlifting/etc.

Tattoos for us can be spiritual af, I have very sentimental ones, but look up Jhenes fr

As a Sag Rising, I always get called “spiritual” by ppl whether they mean it in a nice way or not.. which is fine when ppl are being nice🫶🏽 , but the people that are judgmental, they’re just trying to tame me, it backfires- I dare someone to try to tame a Sag Rising 😭😭✌🏽🖕🏽

~Nelson Mandela ~Princess Diana

Wellllll I feel as though these 2 don’t need an intro lmaoo, I forgot that they even knew each other!! Big Humanitarian Energy!!

Scorpio 12th house.. tbh it’s hard for me to fully grasp this placement bc it’s mine, however I do know it can make someone very intuitive- you can literally look at Diana in old videos and tell by her eyes she was reading everyone correctly

Tropical Sagittarius in Vedic can be the nakshatras Anuradha, Jyeshta, and Mula, which one is your ascendant?

All I can say is wHAT a line up! I tried not to be too bias, but I love us fr lol 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 lmk what y’all think

[fishklok]

Scrapped Magnus drawing inspired by this Jimi Hendrix poster by Martin Sharp

[dustedmagazine]

Listening Post: Mdou Moctar

Mdou Moctar is, without question, one of the pre-eminent rock guitarists of our time, as much a master of heavy, hazy grooves as of double-tapped Van Halen-esque shreddery. His music is steeped in a very specific desert blues aesthetic, the swaying, side-to-side rhythms that evoke camel caravans, the keening call and response that suggests lonely attempts at communion in remote campsites, the hard-bashed but intricate percussion, the silky multi-colored tunics that the band sports onstage. And yet, it’s universal in the same amp fried lineage as Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Eddie Hazel and, oh right, Eddie van Halen.

Dusted has been enamored of Mdou Moctar for quite some time, beginning with Patrick Masterson’s highly entertaining review of the Akounak Tedalat Taha Tazoughai OST in 2015—the music for a remake of Prince’s Purple Rain in the Tamashek language— on Sahel Sounds.Masterson observed, “The idea of a Tuareg Purple Rain would have been unthinkable in 1984, not least of all because —and I cannot stress enough how funny I find this — there is no Tamashek word for ‘purple.’ Yet, 31 years later, here we are — the magic of a smaller world has helped bring an academic outsider’s joke to life. The punchline, of course, is that it’s as good as advertised.”

We collectively fell for Ilana (The Creator) and its out-of-hand shredding in 2019.Isaac Olsen noted, “If you still have a punk-induced allergy to flashy guitar solos, be warned; there’s not a track on Ilana where Moctar doesn’t take every available opportunity to — no other word for it — shred. Fortunately, Moctar earns the right to play his ass off by recruiting a band whose hungry energy matches and spurs on his own and by, for the first time, writing a whole album of tunes worthy of his chops.” The record brought a normally fractious Dusted roster to unity and dominated the 2019 Mid-Year feature.

Two years later, Afrique Victime won praise for its less showy, more groovy vibe. Said Jennifer Kelly in her review, “While he’s been one of rock music’s best guitarists for a while, the larger platform takes him out of the niche desert blues category and into the broader multinational arena. He might be excused for capitalizing by leaning into the rock elements of his sound, but instead, he’s putting forward the droning, mystic, call-and-response twilight magic of northwest African guitar music.”

And so we come to Funeral for Justice, another scorcher. The new record is as sharp and impassioned as any Moctar and his band have done so far, and it is inflamed with political energy. It comes after a period of exile after civil war in Niger. It calls out the injustices of colonialism, economic inequality and exploitation in cuts including the title track, “Oh France” and “Modern Slaves.” It cooks on the strength of a band that has never sounded better or more locked in, and it has one or two guitar solos, too.

Intro by Jennifer Kelly

Jennifer Kelly: How are you all liking the new Mdou Moctar? I’m feeling like it’s the best thing he’s ever done, not different exactly but more intense and volcanic. Definitely turned up to 11. 

Bill Meyer: My first reaction is that while Funeral For Justice definitely foregrounds the shredding, I miss the layered sound of Afrique Victime. But I’m tickled to hear the increased prominence of electronic percussion and autotune. It’s kind of a roots move, given that the first time a lot of people heard him was on a tune originally identified only as “Autotune,” which appeared on the Sahel Sounds compilation, Music From Saharan Cellphones. 

Tim Clarke: I saw Mdou Moctar live last year at a music festival, and it was very loud and thrilling. This is the first time I've listened to a full album. It makes me realize how little I'm drawn to fast guitar playing! And the band's trademark "cantering" rhythm feels like a bit of a musical rut. But when they explore outside these parameters, things get more interesting, especially when they play around with a mix of recording fidelities at the start of second track, "Imouhar." I also like the fact the record is concise and well-paced. Definitely piqued my interest to hear more of what the band can do. 

Christian Carey: The combination of desert blues and intense rock solos is amazing - and fairly singular. The group vocals create an appealing contrast to Mdou's shredding. 

I'm not sure that he can raise the intensity level any higher than this — turned up to 12?

Jennifer Kelly: I'm so glad you guys picked up on this. Lots to think about.

First regarding Bill's comment about a "rootsier" sound, it's complicated isn't it?

We look to third world artists for authenticity, which in its most reductive form means less electrification, fewer electronics, etc. But as Bill points out, Mdou's early stuff was heavily autotuned, as for instance here:

And a lot of the Sahel Sounds’ (and thanks, Bill, for making sure we gave them credit for being first with this stuff) cellphone compilations have a very slick, disco-electronic vibe. And that's music largely produced for African audiences without much consideration of a global audience. So which is authentic?

Also, my understanding, Tim, is that the rhythm is based on the way camels walk and a nod to West Africa's nomadic culture and heritage? You hear the same beat in Tinawarin's stuff.

Tim Clarke: I can definitely hear the camel's gait in the cantering rhythm section, that slightly awkward, loping feel. It's certainly unique.

Bryon Hayes: The almost hard rock riff in the intro of the title track originally confused me (did I put the right album on?), but I found it really powerful upon further spins of the album, especially how it segues into the cantering rhythm. Also, the roar as the lower fidelity section of “Imouhar” transitions to a higher fidelity is downright mind-melting! He’s experimenting with song form, and it really works.

Michael Rosenstein: As much as I've liked Mdou Moctar's music, I have to admit that this one is starting to lose me a bit. But that has way more to do with my musical proclivities than it does to the music at hand. What originally drew me to Moctar's music was the rawness of it; that uneasy balance of "shredding" that others have mentioned with a trance-like, cyclical flow. That was really foregrounded in his early albums like Afelan or Anar both of which were released a decade ago. This new one sounds, to my ears, much more heavily produced and fussed over. I admit, though, that I'm really uneasy with my assessment in that, as much as I hope I'm not, I fear I am just bringing my old, white, privileged judgement to bear. Is this just me judging that the music is no longer "authentic" enough? Or is it just that he is embracing the rock leanings inherent to his music and that just resonates less with me?

I do find it curious that, as far as I can tell, none of Moctar's music on Sahel Sounds is available anymore (including the one track on Music from Saharan Cellphones: Volume 2 referenced by Bill.) I have no idea if that is by his choice, by contractual obligations with Matador, or by the choice of the Sahel Sounds folks.

Jennifer Kelly: I noticed that those records were missing, too, when I looked for the Sahel Sounds records to hear the autotune. I wonder what happened?

Some of the songs are still very trance-y..."Imouhar," for example, especially at the beginning (it gets loud later), "Takoba" all the way through. The production seems about the same as on Afrique Victime to me, clean but not overly so. (Though, I will admit that I probably like the rock stuff more than Michael does.)

We haven't really talked about the political backdrop to this record, have we? The fact that Civil War in Niger has left them stranded in the States since 2023. I don't speak Tamshek but it seems that a lot of the songs with English titles are about politics and colonialism, which may affect the way they play and present the material, yes? It's different from writing songs about village life or falling in love with the local beauty.

Ian Mathers: I'll admit, there's at least a part of me that wishes this whole record was just unabashedly Going For It as hard as the opening title track does. Not that I don't like the relatively more restrained material; I'm not terribly knowledgeable about African music in general but "Takoba" reminds me of one of the few records from the continent I do very much know and love, the one Ali Farka Toure did with Ry Cooder (Talking Timbuktu) that my dad played all the time when I was in high school. Toure was from Mali, which at least shares a border with Niger, so hopefully I'm not being too ignorant hearing similarities in some of the guitar playing there. The more monomaniacally the band gets cooking here, generally, the more I like it (I really like "Sousoume Tamacheq," for example). I think I probably like it a little more than (the also excellent!) Afrique Victime, although I think for similar but opposite reasons to Michael, that it's just more to my taste and not necessarily a better record.

I'd also love to see a full set of lyrics/translations, and everything I've read about the sociopolitical context of the band and this music has been fascinating, but mostly right I'm just appreciating and enjoying this record in a similar way to, say, Oneida's "Sheets of Easter" or that U SCO record I picked for our 2023 Slept On round up.

Tim Clarke: Further to what you're saying about enjoying the "everything on 11" aspect of Moctar's sound, I can't help wondering what the band would sound like recorded by Steve Albini. That I'd like to hear!

Ian Mathers: Oh, good point; maybe because we talked about African Head Charge a while back I'm now also wondering what Adrian Sherwood would make of them.

Bill Meyer: I don’t think you’re too far off the mark in seeing a similarity between Moctar’s and Ali Farka Toure’s music, Ian. Toure worked with the languages and styles of several ethnic groups from the Malian interior, soI’m sure he would have been acquainted with the precedents for what Moctar does. Moctar is from subsequent generation, so his music is more in touch with what has been popular in the Sahel in this century. But another thing they both have in common is that they’ve been worked a lot on non-African stages, gotten hold of gear that isn’t particularly available back home, and undergone a personal course of development on a world stage. 

Their politics are different, though. I think Toure was the mayor (or something similar) of his town. He was pretty invested in fostering the stability of the existing Malian state, thus all the songs in different languages that encouraged people to get along. He was the big man in town who responsibly leveraged his popularity as a musician to obtain resources for his community. Your CD purchases generated income for Niafunke’s farming community. Moctar, on the other hand, was just another guy on the street, albeit an artistically ambitious one, until musical opportunities permitted him to tour and make records outside of Niger. His stance, as far as I can grasp it, is critical of African leaders who don’t look out for their people, and even more critical of the foreign powers that have run roughshod over his country (mostly France and the US). 

Matador came through with the lyrics.

[Here are some excerpts.]

“ FUNERAL FOR JUSTICE”

Dear African leaders, hear my burning question

Why does your ear only heed France and America? 

They misled you into giving up your lands

They delightfully watch you in your fraternal feud

They possess the power to help out but chose not to

Why is that? When your rights are trodden upon

 Why is that? When your rights are trodden upon

“ MODERN SLAVES”

Oh world, why be so selective about human beings? 

Oh world, why be so selective about human beings? 

My people are crying while you laugh

My people are crying while you laugh

All you do is watch

All you do is watch

Oh world, why be so selective about counrties?

Oh world, why be so selective about counrties? 

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed

Yours are well built while ours are being destroyed.

Jennifer Kelly: Wow, that is fiery stuff. 

Ian Mathers: I can also see in the translated lyrics even more of a connection between the two countries, with Tamasheq described as "A helpless orphan abandoned by 3 countries / Mali-Niger, Niger-Mali and Algeria as the third." Interesting to note the gap between Toure and Moctar's respective places in society (at least right now, for Moctar). I didn't specifically think of reggae when I was reading the lyrics, Bill, but once you point it out there does seem to be a number of shared themes, maybe even some metaphors and imagery, there.

[cherrylng]

100 Albums To Understand Muse - Part 5 [STYLE Series #004 - Muse (August 2010)]

GONG Flying Teapot (1973) French progressive band led by David Allen. The trippy sound developed on a grand scale is often described as ‘space rock’. This album also features Steve Hillage's skillful guitar playing. A sound attraction aptly described as ‘music to be experienced’. -M

INTERPOL Our Love To Admire (2007) Pioneers of the post-punk revival of the 00s, hailing from New York but strongly influenced by UK new wave (Joy Division, Echo and the Bunnymen, etc.). This third album is based around a conventional sharp sound that blends dark wave and neo-psychedelic music, but with Rich Costey as producer, the overall grandeur and glamour of the band is amplified. -I

JANE'S ADDICTION Nothing's Shocking (1988) The style of Jane's Addiction, which is based on heavy rock and sprinkled with extreme colour psychedelia, is similar to Matthew's, including Perry Farrell's outlandish metamorphosis. The music, the staging, every part of the band is just sparkling and flashy. No wonder Matthew used their eccentricity as a reference. -J

JEFF BUCKLEY Grace (1994) A New York singer/songwriter who disappeared into the Mississippi tributaries at the young age of 30 with only one album to his name. His father was singer Tim Buckley. Matthew cites him as the one who removed his resistance to singing in falsetto, and even played the intro to the title track on a French radio programme. -H

THE JESUS AND MARY CHAIN Psychocandy (1985) A fusion of sweet pop melodies and distorted, eardrum-pounding, violent guitar noise. The debut album from the Glaswegian band led by the Reid brothers, who caused a stir at the time with their innovative approach. A historic work that influenced many later bands and movements such as shoegaze and grunge. -I

JIMI HENDRIX Axis: Bold As Love (1967) As a guitarist, Jimi was a tremendous influence on Matthew. A ‘genius’ who has never existed before or since in rock history. Of Jimi, Matthew says: "He was a genius, but he wasn't afraid to fail. I think that sincerity is a lot better than just playing perfectly". This is his second album as part of the trilogy of the Jimi Hendrix Experience. -K

JIMMY EAT WORLD Bleed American (2001) Arizona four-piece who have supported Muse on tour. Although the band is often introduced as emo, it should be pointed out again that, along with the Foo Fighters, they became the template for rock in the 2000s. Their third album is one of their best-known works, and is packed with great songs such as ‘Sweetness’ and others that are both fast-paced and poignant! -T

JOSE CURA, OLGA BORODINA, COLIN DAVIS & LONDON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA Saint-Saens: Samson Et Dalila (1998) Inserted in ‘I Belong to You’ is the famous aria from the opera Samson et Dalila, ‘Mon cœur s'ouvre à ta voix / My heart opens at the sound of your voice’. Matthew, a romanticist, has a typical sense of humour. Delilah is a hit role for Olga Borodina, and Samson is a profound listening experience with Jose Cura, who is very popular in Japan. Highly recommended. -M

[inbarfink]

List of which songs are included on each Polka under the cut

Polkas on 45: "Jocko Homo" by Devo, "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple, "Sex (I'm a …)" by Berlin, "Hey Jude" by The Beatles, "L.A. Woman" by the Doors, "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" by Iron Butterfly, "Hey Joe" by Jimi Hendrix, "Burning Down the House" by Talking Heads, "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner, "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" by the Clash, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" by the Rolling Stones, "My Generation" by the Who

Hooked on Polkas: "Twelfth Street Rag" by Euday L. Bowman, "State of Shock" by The Jacksons and Mick Jagger, "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top, "What's Love Got to Do with It" by Tina Turner, "Method of Modern Love" by Hall & Oates, "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes, "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister, "99 Luftballons" by Nena, "Footloose" by Kenny Loggins, "The Reflex" by Duran Duran, "Bang Your Head (Metal Health)" by Quiet Riot, "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Polka Party!: "Sledgehammer" by Peter Gabriel, "Sussudio" by Phil Collins, "Party All the Time" by Eddie Murphy, "Say You, Say Me" by Lionel Richie, "Freeway of Love" by Aretha Franklin, "What You Need" by INXS, "Harlem Shuffle" by The Rolling Stones, "Venus" by Bananarama, "Nasty" by Janet Jackson, "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco, "Shout" by Tears for Fears, "Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna

The Hot Rocks Polka: "It's Only Rock 'n Roll (But I Like It)", "Brown Sugar", "You Can't Always Get What You Want", "Honky Tonk Women", "Under My Thumb", "Ruby Tuesday", "Miss You", "Sympathy for the Devil", "Get Off of My Cloud", "Shattered", "Let's Spend the Night Together", "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction" - all by The Rolling Stones

Polka Your Eyes Out: "Cradle of Love" by Billy Idol, "Tom's Diner" by DNA featuring Suzanne Vega, "Love Shack" by the B-52's, "Pump Up the Jam" by Technotronic, "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M., "Unbelievable" by EMF, "Do Me!" by Bell Biv DeVoe, "Enter Sandman" by Metallica, "The Humpty Dance" by Digital Underground, "Cherry Pie" by Warrant, "Miss You Much" by Janet Jackson, "I Touch Myself" by Divinyls, "Dr. Feelgood" by Mötley Crüe, "Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice

Bohemian Polka: "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen

The Alternative Polka: "Loser" by Beck, "Sex Type Thing" by Stone Temple Pilots, "All I Wanna Do" by Sheryl Crow, "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails, "Bang and Blame" by R.E.M., "You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morissette, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" by The Smashing Pumpkins, "My Friends" by Red Hot Chili Peppers, "I'll Stick Around" by Foo Fighters, "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden, "Basket Case" by Green Day

Polka Power!: "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls, "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger, "Ghetto Supastar (That Is What You Are)" by Pras featuring Ol' Dirty Bastard and Mýa, "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" by the Backstreet Boys, "Walkin' on the Sun" by Smash Mouth, "Intergalactic" by the Beastie Boys, "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba, "Ray of Light" by Madonna, "Push" by Matchbox Twenty, "Semi-Charmed Life" by Third Eye Blind, "The Dope Show" by Marilyn Manson, "MMMBop" by Hanson, "Sex and Candy" by Marcy Playground, "Closing Time" by Semisonic

Angry White Boy Polka: "Last Resort" by Papa Roach, "Chop Suey!" by System of a Down, "Get Free" by The Vines, "Hate to Say I Told You So" by The Hives, "Fell in Love with a Girl" by The White Stripes, "Last Nite" by The Strokes, "Down with the Sickness" by Disturbed, "Renegades of Funk" by Rage Against the Machine, "My Way" by Limp Bizkit, "Outside" by Staind, "Bawitdaba" by Kid Rock, "Youth of the Nation" by P.O.D., "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem

Polkarama!: "Chicken Dance" by Werner Thomas, "Let's Get It Started" by Black Eyed Peas, "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand, "Beverly Hills" by Weezer, "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay, "Float On" by Modest Mouse, "Feel Good Inc." by Gorillaz featuring De La Soul, "Don't Cha" by The Pussycat Dolls featuring Busta Rhymes, "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers, "Slither" by Velvet Revolver, "Candy Shop" by 50 Cent featuring Olivia, "Drop It Like It's Hot" by Snoop Dogg featuring Pharrell Williams, "Pon de Replay" by Rihanna, "Gold Digger" by Kanye West featuring Jamie Foxx

Polka Face: "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga, "Womanizer" by Britney Spears, "Right Round" by Flo Rida ft. Kesha, "Day 'n' Nite" by Kid Cudi, "Need You Now" by Lady Antebellum, "Baby" by Justin Bieber ft. Ludacris, "So What" by Pink, "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry, "Fireflies" by Owl City, "Blame It" by Jamie Foxx ft. T-Pain, "Replay" by Iyaz, "Down" by Jay Sean ft. Lil Wayne, "Break Your Heart" by Taio Cruz ft. Ludacris, "Tik Tok" by Kesha

NOW That's What I Call Polka!: "Wrecking Ball" by Miley Cyrus, "Pumped Up Kicks" by Foster the People, "Best Song Ever" by One Direction, "Gangnam Style" by Psy, "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen, "Scream & Shout" by will.i.am feat. Britney Spears, "Somebody That I Used to Know" by Gotye feat. Kimbra, "Timber" by Pitbull feat. Kesha, "Sexy and I Know It" by LMFAO, "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis feat. Wanz, "Get Lucky" by Daft Punk feat. Pharrell Williams

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia di Musica #311 - Weezer, Weezer (The Blue Album), 1994

Nella classifica di artisti che hanno intitolato i loro lavori con il proprio nome, vincono a mani basse per quantità: in 17 anni di carriere ne hanno pubblicati 6 (che poi spiegherò come si distinguono). E questa decisione rientra nel loro modo alternativo e irriverente di fare musica, in un momento di passaggio che grazie a loro diviene quasi spartiacque. Rivers Cuomo è un ragazzo a cui piace tanto fare musica: ha 18 anni quando fonda il primo gruppo, gli Avant Gard, che era anche un modo per trovare nuovi amici dopo essersi trasferito da Los Angeles al Connecticut. Dopo un po', Cuomo incontra il batterista Patrick Wilson, che gli presenta il suo amico Matt Sharp, anch'egli musicista. Si trasferiscono a Santa Monica dove Sharp incita Cuomo a scrivere, e proprio in questo periodo, siamo a fine 1991, nascono le prime idee che confluiranno nella loro prima band insieme: Weezer (dal nomignolo che il padre di Cuomo gli aveva dato da ragazzino) insieme a Jason Cropper, che va alla chitarra. Il primo concerto come Weezer è a supporto della band di un giovane attore cantante destinato al successo mondiale, i Dogstar di Keanu Reeves. Diventano ben presto un gruppo con la nomea di grandi live, e se ne accorge anche Todd Sullivan, che li segnala alla Geffen che dopo aver ascoltato dei demo li mette sotto contratto nel 1993. C'è solo un problema: il loro stile, un power pop con echi punk, irriverenti e testi molto ironici era un bel po' diverso dal nichilismo grunge imperante. La Geffen li mette sotto le cure di Rick Ocasek, ex membro de The Car, una delle band più importanti della scena New Wave Americana, che li porta agli Electric Lady Studios, di New York, il leggendario studio di registrazione fondato da Eddie Kramer per Jimi Hendrix. Ocasek ha una intuizione geniale: decide di far cantare Sharp come coro di Cuomo, secondo un particolare stile a cappella (che negli Stati Uniti ha il nome curioso di barbeshop style), un'ottava più alto, così da riuscire meglio a integrare il suono di basso e chitarra, straniando ma allo stesso tempo enfatizzando la caratteristica "simaptica" della loro musica sin dagli esordii. Nel Frattempo licenziano Cooper, sostituito da Brian Bell, e registrano una quindicina di canzoni, di cui 10 faranno parte del loro primo lavoro. Che intitolano Weezer, uscito il 10 maggio del 1994 perchè, disse Cuomo, non "ci veniva niente di meglio da proporre". Verrà ricordato come The Blue Album per la copertina perchè succederà qualcosa in seguito che lo renderà "difficile" da ricordare come "Weezer". Cinque settimane prima, come una bomba atomica, era arrivata la notizia del suicidio di Kurt Cobain, e questo disco segna il passaggio, straniante e traumatico, da un'estetica all'altra.

Se ne volete una prova, il primo singolo, e successivamente canzone mito, era titolata semplicemente Undone, ma siccome è stata una delle prime scritte da cuomo e portata sul palco sin dai primi concerti, i primi fan la iniziarono a chiamare come The Sweater Song, perchè appunto parla di un maglione: If you want to destroy my sweater\Hold this thread as I walk away (Undone - The Sweather Song in verità è una metafora di tristezza rispetto al rapporto con le altre persone spesso prevaricatrici). Un muro di chitarra, echi di punk, i coretti che a volte sembrano quasi fuori posto, una musica che verrà definita "emo" ma che si rifà anche al periodo d'oro del rock. Come non citare in questo senso Buddy Holly, canzone diventata famosissima anche grazie al meraviglioso video di Spike Jonze (che vincerà decine di premi per il mondo) in cui la band è trasportata sul palco del Drive In di Arnold di Happy Days a cantare "Ooh-wee-hoo, I look just like Buddy Holly\Oh-oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore"; Buddy Holly è stato uno dei primi grandi cantanti del rock, tragicamente scomparso in un incidente aereo, insieme a Ritchie Valens, quello che scrisse La Bamba e ai The Big Bopper (a questo tragico incidente Don Mclean scriverà American Pie, "the day the music died"); Mary Tyler Moore è stata invece una attrice di cinema teatro e Tv tra le più famose degli anni '60 e '70 negli Stati Uniti. Il disco è ricco di canzoni stupende: Say It Ain't So (altro classico), nato nella testa di Cuomo quando si "autoconvinse" che il matrimonio dei suoi stava finendo per colpa dell'alcool, My Name In Jonas, ariosa e fresca, dedicata al fratello di Cuomo non risarcito dall'assicurazione dopo un incidente in auto, Only In Dreams, su un ragazzo che non riesce a dischiararsi alla ragazza che adora e così continua a vivere la loro storia d'amore "solo nei sogni". Manifesto del loro modo scanzonato e irriverente di fare musica è In The Garage: I've got an electric guitar\I play my stupid songs\I write these stupid words\And I love every one\Waiting there for me, yes, I do\I do\In the garage, I feel safe\No one cares about my ways\In the garage where I belong\No one hears me sing this song.

Il disco all'inizio è abbastanza incompreso, ma con il passare del tempo acquista sempre più rilevanza sia commerciale (venderà quasi 10 milioni di copie) che critica, stabilmente nelle liste dei dischi più importanti degli ultimi 30 anni. Sharp lascia dopo il secondo disco, Pinkerton (che mostra una evoluzione musicale ma perde un po' di slancio ironico rispetto all'esordio) dedicandosi ad un progetto particolare, i Rentals, con cui suona musica molto retrò dal gusto a volte kitsch. I Weezer lo rimpiazzano con Mikey Welsch. Ci metteranno 4 anni per ritornare ai dischi, con un nuovo album Weezer, conosciuto come The Green Album, perchè in una foto simile a quella del Blue c'è uno sfondo verde, e così succederà con Weezer (The Red Album, nel 2008), Weezer (The White Album 2016), Weezer (The Teal Album, 2019) e Weezer (The Black Album, 2019, dove almeno hanno delle tute orribili di latex su sfondo gotico di luci viola). Anche per questo vanno ricordati.

[sichore]

3 with Jimi and Pickles!

[3. Holding hands during a tense moment]

“Yes, Miss Calabash – what exactly is the nature of your relationship to Dethklok?”

Jimi's forced smile stays put, but she does blink in confusion. Pickles gives a mild lift of a pierced brow to the reporter, taking another long swig of his whiskey.

“Well,” Jimi chuckles nervously. “As we're establishing here, since I've been working with the band for a few years now, they decided to make me the creative director of –”

“Yes, yes, that's all well and good. We know. However, surely you've heard the rumors regarding your continued presence around Dethklok, who are only known to keep women around for one thing only. And women like you, in particular, aren't exactly a common sight in the death metal scene.”

A deep rush of murmurs rises from the crowd and Pickles’ goes rigid, his hand clenching his glass.

There's a screech of interface as Nathan grabs his mic, probably pulling it too much. “Hey asshole, in case you haven't noticed, Jimi's been the one behind all our sick new designs, and there is no one more qualified to –”

“That's enough, Nate.” Pickles doesn't have to speak too loudly. Just sharp enough for Nathan to catch his tone and the pointed slide of his eyes.

Nathan huffs and settles back down in his seat.

Jimi sits still, precious brown eyes widened in panic, in anger. Pickles feels their anxiety rolling through him in sharp rings, unsure of whether to stay quiet, stay calm, or fight.

He reaches over beneath the conference table to take their hand, lacing their fingers together until he presses fully against their damp palm. Reassurance rolls off him like mountain mist, velvety and red, and soon, he feels Jimi's response. A spark of luminescence, flickering as candlelight, and steadying into a flame.

Jimi takes a deep breath and lowers their shoulders. “I know I'm not the kind of face you see when it comes to death metal – which is why Dethklok made me the lead of their creative team. You've seen my work. You know I'm legit. So maybe you should show some respect to the only person who can turn Dethklok's vision into something you can hold.”

“Oooh, yowza!”

“Haha, gots ‘em!”

Some laughter and faint cheers bubble from the crowd as Murderface and Toki cheer Jimi on. Pickles’ smirk grows as Jimi squeezes his hand and leans back in their chair, shrugging.

“As for the rumors… Well, shit. Wouldn't you take advantage of company benefits?” And at that, the crowd erupts into a joyous roar.

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[taylorstomb]

Let’s talk about purposefully writing lyrics that sound like something else!

You guys know Jimi Hendrix? You know his song purple haze?

You know how “‘scuse me while I kiss the sky” is OFTEN misheard as “while I kiss this guy?”

Did you also know that Jimi Hendrix got out of the army because he claimed he had homosexual tendencies?

Besides the title being almost identical to lavender haze, my mind immediately goes to High Infidelity, specifically the lyrics “burn my city” which to me, sounds an awful lot like “burn my cds” which is what homophobic fans would do if she came out. “Regret meeting me” “picket fence is as sharp as knives” - all point to fans protesting her for sharing this part of herself.

The more I dig and the deeper I go in my analysis of her writing makes me deeeeeeply sad and I just want to give her a good long hug and tell her it’s all gonna be okay.

[ghostgirlgeist]

PHYLLIS GEIST👻🎹🪦 — a playlist

I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control... I want a perfect b o d y, I want a perfect SOUL... I want you to notice When I'm not around....

👻 creep — radiohead

👻 headstones and landmines — lizzy mcalpine

👻 this is me trying — taylor swift

👻 could you love me while i hate myself— zeph

👻 vienna — billy joel

👻 to be alone — hozier

👻 maine — noah kahan

👻 i miss you, i'm sorry — gracie abrams

👻 voodoo child — jimi hendrix

👻 people watching — conan grey

special mentions 👻 requiem in d minor — amadeus mozart 👻 fantasia in d minor — amadeus mozart 👻 waltz in c sharp minor — frédéric chopin 👻 sonata no. 14 in c sharp minor — ludwig van beethoven

[bobdylanfanpage]

my friend ranking classic rock bands based off of attractiveness

so i got an irl friend, a straight 15 year old boy to rate my favorite bands/musicians specifically based off of how attractive they are. here's the ranking and comments.

led zeppelin- "5. They're handsome but holy shit they don't know how to dress at all. In the last pic the guy in the left looks like 2 people standing on top of each pther in a Trenchcoat {that was Jimmy Page} , and the guy on the right is just wearing grandma's turtleneck😭" {John Paul Jones} -

early pink floyd (w/ syd barrett)- "Pink Floyd def more attractive and stylish, solid 8.5"

late pink floyd (w/o syd barrett)- "Mustaches, hair and drip is on fleek, I wanna go for a 9"

the doors- Mysterious looking and very handsome, all-round, not my cup of tea tho so prob 6.5"

the rolling stones (mid 60s-70s)- "They all look like pale zombies with 11th century English peasant haircuts. Hard 4"

the who- "Exact same problems as The Rolling Stones but the guy with the curly hair is lovely so 5" (we love roger daltrey appreciation!!!!)

the beatles- all together: "conventionally attractive and well groomed but some have a few interesting facial features or style choices. definitely a solid 7"

queen- "11"- no more comments were provided.

jimi hendrix- "looks lke a really chill crackhead, good 7!"

bob dylan- "Honest rating tho, 9. Very symmetrical and sharp face, clean style, soft looking hair. Only reason it's not 10 is smoking👺"

the monkees- "The fucking British peasant monkeys😭" - he doesn't know they're American. He then said "FOR ALL OF THEM YES- YOU COULD HAVE PUT ALL 3 OF THEM TOGETHER AND I WOULDVE THOUGHT THEY WERE THE SAME BAND" (he means the monkees, the who, the beatles and the rolling stones)

[inflammatory]

One day you think to yourself damn the guitar work on bigmouth strikes again is honestly mad, and the next

Foiled the bridge pegs - worked really great and just looks sharp even though you don’t…see the pegs, but i spun the peg screws out so the bridge sits rather high, got a proper ‘float’ over the body the way a thing called a floating bridge ought to. The treble side I put higher up to eliminate the superchoked treble strings (the issue was the very very low action, fretting any fret from around 10 and up rang out as like…22!)

With the raised bridge the rattle is worse! Because the jaguar/jazzmaster floating bridge sits in its sockets fixed in only by the tension of the strings. When you bring it up, there’s more room for it to rattle - so the foil wrapped pegs work to fill up the sockets, eliminating this rattle because it fits way more snugly

And anyway I finally found an explanation for the shim that I get that isn’t just a vague “oh it’s part of the offset equation” - hazeguitars explains it as a consequence of the raised bridge itself, cause the intention of raising the bridge for most is for the break angle, where the strings run from fretboard up to the bridge, then break downwards again towards the anchor point in the trem system. Which makes the tension/pressure on the bridge more effective, holds it better, and eliminates buzz (huge nightmare for jag/jm owners apparently but well, never really bothered me, what bothered me was the action so low that the guitar did not function as a guitar!!)

So the assumption is if you raise the bridge for the break angle you don’t want the high action that comes with it, so you put a shim in the neck pocket which will bump the fretboard up a little and keep your break angle without a high ass action.

Which is what I did blindly before I even brought the bridge up. My shim is flat and doesn’t angle up nearer to the body of the guitar because, repeating, this morning I was a sucker without a clue. Thing is because I fiddled with the bridge to fix my action, I believe my break angle isn’t extreme as the ideal is - my bridge still kind of buzzes (granted, not a problem that bothered me until today, I can’t really hear it!! Unless i actively listen out for it!)

Play wise it’s nice, fixed the choked frets and actually it’s better than before the problem even cropped up because it used to be a nightmare fretting high cause it wouldn’t ring as the correct note unless i pressed down really fierce. Now it works fine with normal fretting. I am no jimi hendrix but in this case i can actually say it wasnt all me it was squier by fender and their balls out shitty offset guitar stock set ups. From all the reading i did to understand this guitar I dont think you could play a jaguar nice off the shelf. But he’s never more trouble than he’s worth!!