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prolix-yuy · 6 months

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Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Incubus!Dieter Bravo x Virgin F!Reader

Summary: Have you no idea that you're in deep?

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.

Notes: Like most things Dieter's involved in, it takes twice as long but you reap the most rewards. A little late for Halloween, but spooky season is 24/7 and I needed to put this out into the world as soon as possible. Very special gold star mutual thanks due to @ezrasbirdie who gave me the prompt for this story and then talked me through some of the ideas she had. Religious corruption kink is super new for me, not being raised in a formal religion, but it was incredibly interesting to explore in this way. Apologies for the sacrilege, friends, it's all in the pursuit of sexyness.

A big disclaimer! This is not a blueprint for losing your virginity! This is some wildly unrealistic sex, especially for someone who has never experienced PiV intercourse before! Please be safe and careful with your bodies. While we thirst over these scenarios and would love to take monster cocks, always practice safe and fun sex with partners who care about your comfort.

A second disclaimer that in this fic, the Reader defines losing her virginity as experiencing penetrative sex and breaking her unbroken hymen. Virginity does not look the same for every person, and each individual's circumstances may be very different. Virginity is also a social construct that has some gross stigmas around it, which we'll be briefly addressing. I've also kept the reader's age unspecified (18+ of course) but that she has gone to college, so whatever age you may be reading this, your own sexual journey moves at your pace and if/when you define that you've passed this milestone, that's the right time for you.

Cross-posted on AO3

The lines chalked into your hardwood floors glow with a sudden and panic-inducing heat, smoldering as a phantom breeze whips around your kneeling body. The lights in your apartment flicker and dim as a sooty haze hangs around your ankles. Springing to your feet, you frantically search for something to smear the careful symbols to nonsense while a crackle of electricity raises all of the hair on the back of your arms and neck.

It’s much too late to go back now.

Something pulls in the center of your chest as the room expands and contracts like a great beast breathing. You try to stand strong but the tremble in your frame chatters your teeth. Suddenly the room plunges into darkness, and a crack echoes in your ears before the light swells back to full strength. Bracing yourself for what may be in the circle you foolishly copied, you peel open your eyes.

Then, your mouth falls open, because never in your wildest dreams did you expect Dieter Bravo, famous actor, to be sitting in the middle of your half-assed summoning circle.

“What the fuck?”

He looks just as bewildered as you do, cross-legged on the floor and pulling his lips from a turquoise bong cradled in his lap. He’s wearing sunglasses - did you spirit him here from halfway around the world? - and an open silk bathrobe patterned with roaring tigers. The waterfall of folds bundle in his lap, and for a mouth-drying moment you wonder if he’s got anything on beneath. Then he shifts, billowing a cloud of skunky smoke at your ceiling and placing the bong at arms length.

Well, he is wearing socks at least, pulled halfway up his legs and under Crocs. You don’t know whether to laugh or choke on your tongue.

“What the fuck to you too,” he grumbles, creakily getting to his feet and dusting little frills of ash from his shoulders. It’s now easy to see he’s sporting tiny black boxer briefs, and your eyes fight to land anywhere but there. They finally find the book, opened to the page you scoffed over until your finished glass of wine goaded you on.

“This can’t be happening,” you finally squeak out, shifting on the balls of your feet as you spin and press your fingers into your cheeks.

“Sure is,” Dieter says, one hand on his hip and looking at you with naked curiosity. He’s swept back the robe on one side, showing off the shapely curve of his thigh, the soft definition of his stomach, how large his hands…

“I didn’t…I couldn’t have…you…go back,” you stammer, heart and head pounding. Does this mean you’re a witch? Did you honestly summon something with a book you rented from the library? Nothing makes sense with this man staring at you - practically leering - as you contemplate whether you’re having a dusty-old-book-based hallucination.

“Breathe, baby,” Dieter purrs, hands making soothing motions in the air between you. Taking in a big breath and letting it out explosively, you follow Dieter’s motions to sit down with him. The floor is hard and unforgiving on your bottom, but you criss-cross-applesauce with him as he leans back on his hands.

“Normally when I show up, people aren’t all that surprised,” he says, and his voice is raspy and sonorous in the room. You swallow hard, finding comfort in twisting the hem of your pajama shirt in your palms.

“Well, it’s pretty damn surprising to have THE Dieter Bravo in my living room,” you say, a momentary swell of pride when you realize your sarcasm hasn’t flown the coop with your sanity. Dieter chuckles, tilting his head onto one shoulder.

“Who were you expecting?”

“Honestly, no one. Nothing,” you lie. Half-lie. You were hoping for something pretty specific.

“Very cute, but let’s not pretend we don’t know what’s going on here. I know exactly what you were hoping would pop up in this pretty little circle of yours.”

Your eyes wander to his inner thigh, then snap to a symbol on the floor.

“I thought…” You sigh, ducking your head. “I thought I was summoning some sort of…sexy demon. At least that’s what the book said.”

“An incubus,” Dieter offers, and you nod.

“But clearly something went wrong, because you’re here, somehow.” You scrub a hand over your face. “No idea how I messed up this bad. I didn’t even know you could mess up this badly.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Dieter says in a carefree voice. “Mess up, that is.” You arch an eyebrow at him.

“But I got…you.”

Dieter leans forward, elbows on his knees as he cocks his head with a knowing smile. In the dim light of your apartment his eyes seem even darker than before.

“Exactly what you asked for. At your service.” He tips his head, tongue slipping from between his plush lips to swipe along his full lower one. A sudden patter of arousal grips your hips, and he half closes his eyes and breathes deep.

“That can’t…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

“Yes.”

“You’re an…incubus.”

“Also yes.”

The next question blurts out of your mouth too quickly to stop.

“Why?”

His laugh is just as quick and breaks some of the tension digging into your spine. The warmth of it wraps your head in cotton, smiling along.

“Oh, starlet, I should be pissed as hell to be pulled away from that fantastic party I was about to ruin, but this is turning out to be much more fun.” Your cheeks warm at the affectionate name. “How many people do you think summon incubi these days? A demon’s gotta get by.” He’s sliding closer to the edge of the circle but not moving past it. A small voice in the back of your mind notes that he might not be able to.

“So…acting,” you say, not without a little smirk. He seems to like that, smile stretching wider and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“What, should I be slinging burgers?” he asks with another snort of laughter. “C’mon, don’t tell me it doesn’t make sense. Beautiful people, sex appeal galore, fast living and high octane relationships? I haven’t been hungry in ages.”

Your hands still in your lap, studying your fingers as you let the silence linger. Dieter allows it for a time before his voice pulls you back.

“But you summoned, and I came. You must have a reason.”

Now that the silly half-buzzed fantasy is mere feet from you, saying it aloud is daunting.

“You’ll…you won’t get it.”

His eyebrows lift in slow surprise.

“Try me.”

You're turned on more than you’ve ever experienced in your life, and Dieter’s nostrils flare as his jaw ticks.

“I was having a drink. A couple,” you correct, the dregs of the bottle giving you away. “And I was just hating the way I was feeling about everything going on and I looked at this book and it seemed like a funny thing, to try and summon a demon…”

“Incubus, get it right,” Dieter purrs, and the air thickens.

“I didn’t think it would work,” you protest, hands coming up to cradle your temples.

“But you hoped, enough to do all this work on the one day of the year when magic is easiest to grasp,” he teases, tilting his head to the side to catch your eye. It’s definitely not helping the situation that he’s Dieter Bravo, solid C-list star who’d captured your attention in more than one of his movies. Thoughts of his dark eyes and full lips drew your hands down your body on more than one occasion before…

Dieter growls low and frustrated. “Let’s cut to the chase, starlet. You’re laying out a buffet and I can’t even have a taste.” You blink owlishly at him before he smirks, licking an incisor. “I can smell how much you want me.”

Shock slams your mouth shut, face burning. Your traitorous body has failed you again.

“You called and I answered. I’m still in your circle, so you could send me away, but I doubt you know how to do that.”

He’s right. You’ve trapped him here. With little old you.

“Or, you could tell me what you really wanted when you spent all this time writing all these little symbols so carefully.” Dieter’s fingers dance along the chalk lines, smile turning cheekier. Steeling yourself, you let the truth out into open air.

“I called you because…I’ve never had anyone before.”

Dieter’s face remains cooly neutral, but you can see his nostrils flare briefly.

“You’ve never…”

You shrug, self-deprecating smile cutting through the awkwardness.

“I’ve done some things, by myself, but never…I’ve never had sex with anyone in the…classical way.” The words are starched and wooden but hit a chord with Dieter. He repositions to sit back on his knees, hands splayed on his bare thighs. The smooth expanse of his chest begs to be touched.

“I thought I smelled something special here, and I was oh so right,” he rasps, nipping at his lower lip while he drags his eyes over your body. “Human virginity is a social construct, but inexperience in pleasure? Being allowed to revel in your body discovering all the ways it can feel? That is a rare treat.”

You don’t expect the sudden rush of emotions at Dieter’s eagerness. Years of people either finding you broken or fetishizing your “purity” had given you an even larger complex than you thought.

“It’s not…fucked up that I’m doing this?” you ask.

“What sounds better to you, letting some Chad fumble through trying to pleasure you when his dick can barely handle your sweet cunt, or allowing someone with centuries of experience give you everything you ever desired?”

Your aforementioned cunt knows which one she wants.

“May I ask why you’ve waited until now?” he says, interrupting your railroading thoughts. Shyness and shame clouds your eyes.

“My parents were very religious. Lots of ‘thou shalt nots’ and ‘obey thys’. But I wanted to be a good daughter. So badly.” Dieter’s eyes are darkening as you speak, fingers pressing divots into his thighs. “So I did everything they said. Followed all the rules. And I grew up their perfect little girl. Never got caught sneaking out with a boy, never drank or smoked or anything.”

“How…boring,” Dieter comments. It stings between your shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much all I heard when I went to college. That I was boring for not liking weed. A buzzkill because I was nervous about breaking rules. And sex…”

Here you swallow, your lower lip trembling before you bite it back.

“I thought I was doing everything right. Everyone told me I was doing everything right. And then I get into the real world and nobody wants…” Looking up you catch a softer expression on Dieter’s face, true understanding blunting the lust.

“How have these fumbling fools tried to pleasure you?” he asks, and maybe the wine is still thrumming in your veins (it’s not), but your tongue is looser than it’s ever been.

“Grinding mostly. I think they’ve…cum…but I don’t. Not like when I do it myself.”

Dieter snarls softly. “Fuckers,” he rumbles, an oncoming thunderclap crackled with electricity.

“Every time I feel like I’m damaged goods,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I thought maybe this would…fix me.”

The lights in the room dip low as Dieter chuckles. Darkness seems drawn to him, settling around his shoulders like a fine stole.

“Betrayed by the God you worshiped so faithfully,” he muses, rolling his shoulders and licking his lips. “Don’t worry, starlet, I’ll take care of you tonight.”

“Can I…do anything for you?” you ask. Dieter’s smile softens, tutting quietly.

“Believe me, you’ll be perfect,” he praises, the heat in your cheeks even more unbearable. “Like I said, I’m rarely hungry anymore, but your arousal will be delicious. I’ll gorge myself on your peaks and leave you sated…and ruined for any after me.”

That should be a warning. It only makes your want greater.

“Okay,” you breathe out. Dieter’s smile widening again. Are his teeth…sharper?

“Now we can fuck to our heart’s content in this summoning circle here,” Dieter says, tapping his finger in the air. Motes of copper light and sparks rain down from an invisible barrier. “I’ve had more challenging obstacles. But if you would like me at my best, break the circle starlet.”

Standing back up, you retrieve a cloth from your kitchen table. When you return Dieter is standing in the center, prowling ever so slightly in his tiny prison. You move to wipe the line connecting the circle when…

“Are other celebrities incubi?” you ask, kneeling in front of him with open curiosity on your face. Dieter’s predatory smile quickly shuffles to confused and incredulous.

“I mean, maybe, I don’t keep close tabs.”

“Tom Hiddleston could totally be one. Or Robert Downey Jr. Heck, maybe Marvel just employs incubi to keep their revenue going…” Leaning down, you move to wipe the mark.

“Strange little starlet,” Dieter chuckles, and a warm breeze tickles the back of your neck. With one swipe the circle is broken.

“Hannah Waddingham would totally be…” you start to say, nerves tumbling words from your lips, but thankfully Dieter’s stop them.

He moves so quickly for a moment you’re sure he’s going to devour you, tear you limb from limb for imprisoning him. Instead he crashes your mouths together, hand firm on the back of your neck as his broad shoulders press you on your back. His hips slot between your thighs so smoothly you’re arching into them before you can think straight. Once your head is carefully lowered to the floor his hands find your wrists and press them above your head, maneuvering your thighs to wrap you around his waist. The dizzying feat of agility pales in comparison to his kiss.

Dieter commands your mouth to submit, tongue hot and lewd between your lips. You’re afraid you’ll choke on your own but he strokes delicate paths into the lush depths that keep you barely breathing. His lips are plush and yielding, pulling away to drag against the corner of your mouth or teasing the edge of your lips. And his teeth. You’d had boys clack against you, or press them harshly against your lips. Dieter knows exactly when to scrape them against your tongue, how much pressure to put with your lower lip trapped, the anticipation of them sliding against your skin before he dives in again.

“What a soft, pretty thing you are,” he rasps, and there’s a deep grinding quality to his voice now. Like stones moving slowly past one another, it vibrates straight to your clit as he inhales deeply behind your ear.

“Dieter…” you manage, his face lifting from his ecstasy to study your own. His eyes are somehow losing the edge of white, expanding into inky blackness. He lazily laps at his lower lip, and when you lean up to kiss his chin he snarls and presses deep into your apex.

“I’m sorry, starlet, I forgot you’ve been waiting to break promises,” he teases, sliding a hand down to knead at your ass. As quickly as you were laid out you’re suddenly in the air, legs wrapped around Dieter’s waist as he carries you out of your living room. His strength has you feeling light as a feather, barely a nuisance as he searches out a place for his plans.

“The bedroom.” You motion to a half-opened door and Dieter’s knowing smile precludes entering.

“Eager, aren’t we? What if I wanted to lay you out for everyone to see?”

The image of your body laid bare, covered in moonlight and monstrous hands, flutters your eyes as the bedroom door shuts behind you.

“No, tonight you will remain in my confessional,” he says, kneeling down on the bed and letting you fall back into the mess of pillows and sheets.

“You’re very fond of religious metaphor,” you rib, rubbing your thighs together as Dieter sheds the robe and his Crocs, a brief moment of clarity bubbling a giggle up your throat. Dieter’s motions slow as he regards you again, kneeling between your legs.

“Maybe I am rather fond of…corruption,” he husks, the word lighting on your skin like sparks. “Maybe I like seeing you forsake all for me.”

If he asked, you just might. The high of his attention is so great.

“But in this moment, what I mean is we will speak no lies in this room.” His hands trail down your thighs, and now your body remembers it has no experience from here. You shake, heart pounding as Dieter crawls up your body with only brief brushes to guide his way. “My promise is that you will know pleasure as great as I can offer. And you will tell me everything you think, and feel.”

He hovers over your body, broad enough to block the paltry light through your window.

“Would you like to be pleasured?”

“Yes, Dieter, please.”

His smile is wicked, and the scrape of his fingernails up your ribcage arches your back. In a fluid slide of his fingers your shirt is over your head and tossed into darkness, leaving you bare-chested under him. He hums with appreciation as his face descends, curved nose dragging along your tender skin. Time hangs in the balance as you tense for what may come, but Dieter only traces dizzying paths with the tip of his nose and the fullness of his lips. Up one side of your ribs, placing kisses at intervals, then along the underside of your breast. His hot breath warms skin, nipples hardening sharp and sensitive at the scratch of his facial hair. Then down the center of your stomach, a long and cyclical detour around your bellybutton. Stomach trembling, he hushes you as his fingers slide under your waistband and bunch your sleep shorts and underwear in his hands.

Another fluid drag and you’re nude, still swimming in endorphins at Dieter’s skilled touch. It’s only when hot palms wrap around your knees and begin easing them apart do you balk. Instinctively you clamp your legs together, heat flooding your face. Dieter tuts, smoothing his hands up and down your jittery thighs.

“What are you afraid of, starlet?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over the apex of your sex. Just the brush against your mound steals your voice, that same hot shame and anxiety pulling you in on yourself. When you don’t answer, Dieter commands more firmly, “Look at me, sweetheart.”

Dragging your eyes from the ceiling back to him doesn’t help. He’s all mischievous eyes and knowing smiles, pressing a kiss to both of your knees as he rests his chin on them.

“I can make it easier for you,” he says, fingers finding a soft crease in your hip and stroking along it. “Give you something for the nerves, for any pain. I’ll only let you feel good here with me.”

You take two more grounding breaths and ease the pressure on your knees.

“”Sorry, I’m just…no one’s ever…” you say, but before you can explain your woeful inexperience he’s wedging his way between your legs and holding your thighs open in his firm tight grip.

“I’m the first to taste this forbidden fruit?” he asks, and you clench involuntarily. He waits as you gather yourself enough to nod. A deep, dark chuckle falls from his lips. “Starlet, you have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

The question claws up your throat but no sooner has he glanced at your pussy he’s diving in to press his tongue deep and sweeping through your folds. The velvet slither arches your back off the bed, a strangled cry earning a satisfied hum between your legs.

“Holy shit, Dieter, oh my god,” you rasp as he flicks his tongue in fast swipes over your clit. It’s foreign and taboo, so much wetter and softer than your fingers and you can barely stop your hips from bucking into his mouth. One hand presses you down to the bed, his chin tilting up to catch your eye. Slick shines his mouth, and your pussy throbs when you realize his eyes are the shiny black of nightmares and creatures used to the dark.

“No god here, sweetheart. Only me. Only take my name in vain,” he growls, and the rush of blood in your ears speeds up when you realize the hand pressed on your abdomen spans the width of your hips. Black-tipped claws indent the flesh, prickling your skin just shy of pain. Dipping low again, Dieter swirls at your entrance and prods in, nose pressed tight to the button of your pleasure. The supple stretch is unfamiliar, pulling at a primal need to let him fill you. It tightens your thighs and shudders you against him as he forces you down again, the bite of claws a sharper warning. His jaw doesn’t stop, plunging and delving into you as deep as he can manage.

“Dieter, it’s never…oh fuck, it’s never felt this good before, please…please, I can’t stand it,” you beg, a rush of slick coating his tongue. Now a true snarl seeds your cunt, and in the charcoal dark his silhouette thickens, shoulders broadening under your knees. He pushes you further up the bed, pulling even greater cries from your chest. Dragging his tongue from your sopping hole, he sucks greedily on your clit, hands wrapped around your waist to lift you half off the bed. Suspended and flowing with arousal, your hands unclench from the sheets and circle his wrists. The skin is hot under your palms, and they dig deeper in at your scrabbling touch. It’s not enough, so with a boldness you pull from a dizzying depth you bury your fingers in his curls.

At first touch they’re soft. Long enough to wind around your fingers. You give a gentle tug and swear you feel a shudder around you. But as you bury them deeper another sensation tickles your palm. Something unyielding and curved, smooth like bone. Two protrusions fit in the webbing of your thumb and forefinger, short enough that the blunt tip brushes your knuckles. Horns, you think. A demon is eating me out and he has horns. And where you might have tried to wake yourself from a nightmare at this thought, instead you wrap your fingers around them and tug.

Like lightning something changes in Dieter. His lips tear from you with a roar that fills the room, your mind, spreading like forest fire and drying your mouth out. You hold on as he drops you back to the bed, the sound still ripping from his throat. Then there’s pain, supernova-like in intensity and scorching through arousal and fear. Your eyes snap down to Dieter’s mouth, but it’s no longer defiling your pussy. It’s clamped hard on your inner thigh, air puffing sharply through his nose. The pain radiates, and you realize he’s bit you. Not an overzealous love bite, you can feel the puncture of incisors and pump of blood into his mouth, the same pattern as your racing heart. Your hands release his horns, pushing you up as your mouth drops open in horror.

“Dieter,” you gasp, but with his horns released the pressure abates. His eyes open slowly, catching your terrified face. The curve of his brow morphs from surprise to apology to determination. Then a thumb presses firmly to your clit and circles it, washing pain away with pleasure teetering right on the edge. His fangs remain in your thigh as you stare at him, incredulity on your face but pleasure rocking your hips. He adds pressure to the bite again, speeding up his fingers as your brain struggles to differentiate one from the other.

Then, just as your spine begins tingling and your fingers go numb, one slick finger penetrates your cunt, smooth and deep, barely noticeable compared to the symphony of sensations. Like a reward, Dieter gives you the final stroke that crashes your orgasm over him, slamming you back to the bed as pain and pleasure and shame and exhilaration floods your brain. You barely register Dieter’s jaw releasing, fingers working you through your orgasm as the slow laps of his tongue lull you back to your body. Every muscle quivers, attempts to sit up failing twice before you manage to come up to your elbows.

Between your legs Dieter is pressing devotions to the spot he bit, open-mouthed kisses with peeks of tongue soothing the injury. His finger is still inside, a lazy caress of your walls foreign but not unpleasant. Finally he lifts up to his knees and turns his attention back to your face.

“I’m sorry, starlet, you got me a little too riled up there. I’ve fixed it, but you might be sore tomorrow.” A bloom of teeth circle your inner thigh, but no blood oozes out. You felt the pop, felt him inside you, and somehow he’s taken it back. “Can’t have you injured because of me, not very professional.”

“I hope it stays,” you pant, fingertips tracing the dark marks. The tenderness arcs down your spine.

“Fuck, you’re made for sin, starlet,” Dieter purrs, and now your attention can turn back to him. Grounding yourself with a healthy, “oh fuck,” is the only way you can fathom what he’s become.

He towers over you even kneeling, broad body only more tantalizing as he’s grown in stature. The well-known triangle tattoos you’d seen in paparazzi photos are joined by swirling patterns up and down his arms, concentric rings and text you can’t read patterning his skin. Where only wild curls were before now jut two smooth horns, curved away from his face and looking suspiciously similar to a goat’s. His skin almost steams in the room, wisps of smoke or condensation haloing his silhouette like an ominous aura.

Then his hand flexes again and you realize how full you are with just one finger inside, even observing how thick and wicked they’ve become.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and there’s only a hint of teasing now as he works his finger inside.

“It’s…okay,” you gasp, staring at the place where you’re connected. His thumb ghosts over your clit again, but so soon after your high it’s over sensitive, making you hiss and tremble.

“Shhh, starlet, just relax. Thought it would be better to take advantage of the pain.” With a final stroke that lights up your nerves he slips out, holding his fingers up for you to see. They’re wet with your arousal and a little blood, a lot less than you thought. “Now that’s out of the way, we can take our time giving you the best fuck of your life.” With a knowing smile, he pops his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean.

“Fuck, you really are…an incubus,” you say, acquainting yourself with the dull ache of your loss. There isn’t much fanfare, no swelling of emotion. If anything, breaking your hymen is probably the least memorable part of your night. Dieter’s smile falters briefly, and in a dizzying turn of events he shrinks back, closing in on himself. Ducking his head, you might think he was embarrassed, or shy. It looks stranger than the horns on him.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Touching the horns got me a little too worked up. Let me open you up on my fingers for a little while longer, that’ll give me enough time to…change back.” His smile is sheepish now, hands roaming your thighs and stomach. Instead of the skin-crawling terror you thought that would instill, you’re practically preening under his touch.

“Is this you? This form?” you ask, and you let your boldness move to your hands. You stroke your fingertips over his, investigating the smoothness of his claws, how the joints of his fingers are more pronounced than yours. He scoffs an uncomfortable laugh.

“Uh yeah, mostly. But you’ll have a lot more fun bragging that you lost your virginity to THE Dieter Bravo,” he redirects, shaking his head like he’s annoyed he’s not that man yet.

In your brief and paltry handful of intimate moments, you never considered yourself bold. You’d let men touch you until your discomfort was too much, or your embarrassment pulled to the forefront. You never asked for the touches you enjoyed, or sought out the pleasures you dreamed of. But now, with a creature that’s endearingly vulnerable before you, your voice is finally strong enough to be heard.

“I’d like you to stay this way,” you say. Sitting up further, you skim your hands up his arms to cup his face. Your touch snarls his lip briefly before he settles.

“You can’t handle that, starlet. I’ve kept my human form reasonable, but you will not be able to take my cock,” Dieter husks. Tugging your wrist down to his waist, you palm him through fabric barely able to contain him. Thick and long in your hand, he drops his head and thrusts against you and gets bigger.

“Ruin me, then,” you whisper, filthy and naive into his ear. “I’ve waited all this time, saved myself for no one but you. Make me take no lover but you. Make me pray to you for ecstasy.” Leaning in to the metaphor rewards you. With a dangerous rumble he pushes you flat on your back, one hand wrapped around your throat.

“You want this, starlet? All of it?” he grits out, sickening cracks and pops echoing in the room. His hips force yours wide, planting his other hand by your head and carefully watching your face. The shine of his fangs whips your heart into a gallop, more ink dancing on his skin as he transforms from something beautiful to something magnificent. The room darkens perplexingly until you realize wings spread from his shoulders, thin light gleaming through the stretched web of skin. His aura crackles with molten motes, a whiff of fire and smoke making a home in your lungs. When he looks back at you, half familiar and half transcendent, his roguish smile brings one to your lips.

“Strange little thing, wet and ready for me,” he croons, removing his hand from your throat. A rip of stitching signals he’s as nude as you are now, and your eyes widen when the heavy length of his cock rests on your mound, curving past your navel and thicker than your hand can circle.

“Say you want Dieter Bravo back, and I’ll have just as much fun wrecking you in that form,” he says, but there’s something cautious between you now. A shimmer of anxiety and distrust. You’re holding a thread of something truer than he intended to give you, and if you drop it you’ll never find it again.

“Can you help me make it feel good?” you ask, sliding your palms along his chest. Without proper pupils it’s hard to track his expression, but you think it’s awestruck.

“Of course, starlet. You’ve learned to cum from pleasure and pain, but I won’t have you suffer more than necessary.” Dieter leans down and cups your head, bringing your nose to his neck right where it meets his shoulder. “Breathe,” he instructs, and you inhale deep. Below the smoke and heat you smell sweet new earth, lush and fruitful. It makes your mouth water, clutching at his shoulders as he begins rocking his hips against yours. His monstrous cock slips in the wet mess between your legs, slicking the underside generously.

“Fuck, you arousal is so delicious, I could taste you for centuries,” Dieter whispers. Lifting up, he smiles at your dazed expression and wandering hands. They trace his features, lingering on his lips. “How are you feeling now?”

You want him inside you, filling you up to bursting, to breaking. The need is hotter, all-encompassing. It’s surety that he won’t hurt you, that you’ll be shown pleasure beyond anything you’ve experienced. It’s lust but also trust.

“Can you kiss me?” is what you say, and Dieter’s smile is a touch softer before he leans down and claims your lips.

You swear you hear a hiss when he touches you, his skin scorching but not enough to burn. Parting his lips and nudging your jaw open, he traces the inside of your lower one with the tip of his tongue. One hand cups the back of your head, cradling you to his mouth, and with a forbidden thrill you realize his hands are now large enough that his fingertips caress the perimeter of your face. The threatening pressure of claws in your skin arcs arousal back in your cunt, winding your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he orders, and with a magnificent beat of bat wings his silhouette glows with dancing light much like a breath sparking fire to life. The warm hue of his human skin has gilded to gold, tattoos moving along the dips and peaks of his body. Eyes black and fathomless, his smile is a lifeboat in a raging ocean. He lets the heavy weight of his tongue wet his lower lip as your eyes widen, hefty cock lifting from your mound to press at your entrance. Scrabbling fear overtakes you, and you clutch at Dieter’s shoulders as the pressure mounts.

“Again, starlet,” he croons, but his voice is the rumbling of great stones moving over one another as you inhale deep of his scent. Cool water pours through your limbs, easing your muscles and letting your legs drop open wide. His other hand presses at your lower back and arches you off the bed, resting your thighs atop his own. Then, with a controlled push his head breaches you, wrenching a wrecked moan from deep in your chest. He stops as soon as he’s engulfed in your heat, the only betrayal of his own state residing in the long exhale of breath that tickles across your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Tell me if you need me to stop,” he grits out, but you shake your head and roll your hips. It’s sloppy, inexperienced, but he moves ever so slightly within you and it punches a groan from between Dieter’s clenched teeth.

“Please, Dieter, more,” you beg, his claws tightening around you again. Another measured advance, another wail, more snarling and groaning from the creature stuffing himself inside you. Whatever aphrodisiac he’s fed you is working magnificently. You’re full, the pressure intense, but the pain is dull and quiet. He’s watching where you’re joined so closely, stretched obscenely around his cock, waiting for your thighs to unclench before backing out and pressing deeper in.

“Touch your clit,” he gasps, “Rub that pretty clit so you can take all of me.”

Your fingers are nowhere as decadent as his tongue but they pull bursts of ecstasy close to the surface. Venturing a look down, you’re dismayed to see he’s barely halfway there, so much more of his pulsing cock still to take. He already feels like he’s in your stomach, battering against your lungs. Tears spring to your eyes, lower lip wobbling.

“It’s not going to work,” you whisper, and even with the knowledge that Dieter could turn human at any point you still wallow in the rejection you anticipate. Not good enough for anyone, not even the person you called for.

“Shhh,” Dieter soothes, easing you back down to the bed. He tugs over pillows to tuck under your hips before covering you with his body, still looking in your eyes even at his towering height. “Breathe. Do you want me to stop? I can let you rest, change back to my human form. If you can take all of this…” His hips twitch forward, a soft cry tumbling out. “...then you can take my human cock perfectly.” With a tenderness your eyes water for, he strokes his thumb along your cheek. “Do you want me to stop?”

It’s already so much, so intense and mind-blowing, but you can’t help yourself.

“I want all of it, Dieter,” you say, consequences be damned.

Much in the same way touching his horns unleashed something in Dieter, hearing those words unlocks something even more primal and greedy in his face. Dropping down to his elbows, he presses your face against his neck.

“Bite,” he orders, the word igniting every pleasure center in your body. “Hard, starlet, give me one as good as I gave you.” The words are barely out before you sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, but instead of blood or other ichor you’re flooded with pleasure. The sensation rips an orgasm out of you, hips bucking on his cock. You register Dieter pulling out to the tip before slamming his hips into yours, seating himself fully inside your throbbing cunt. You don’t know how your body makes room for him, how you’re not screaming (well, maybe screaming some), but he’s inside you and littering your body with, “oh fuck, oh fuuuuucks” as he swirls his hips.

“I did it,” you coo in pleasure-dipped delirium, head flopping back on a pillow as Dieter starts thrusting into you in slow passes.

“You sure fucking did sweetheart, look at that perfect pussy taking my monster cock,” he praises, now sliding along your clit with focus. The overstimulation rolls right into desire again as your cunt learns how to gorge itself on pleasure.

“It feels…good,” you say, bearing down on his thrusts to meet him with a little more force. He purrs in admiration, starting to speed up ever so slightly.

“Yeah? Like how good you feel all stuffed full?” Dieter asks but it’s nonsense now, his focus pulling between your face and his cock pumping in and out of you. There’s a little more pain now, places where his cock brushes that zip sharp up your spine, but it’s far from unpleasant. In fact, you might like it. Maybe really like it.

“More, Dieter. Want to feel you. Please,” you moan, restraint flickering in Dieter’s eyes.

“Fuck, baby, you can’t say shit like that when I’m so deep in you, I won’t be able to…” His thought falls off as his thrusts speed up, a little more force at the end each time. It’s kissing at something devastating inside, something clawing its way to the surface through years of shame and dread.

“Please Dieter, I’ll beg for it. I’ll…” Your brain wraps around a wicked idea. “I’ll pray for it.”

That does the trick. Dieter’s lips curl back in a snarl as he rears up to his knees, wings spreading to fill the room with only him. Hands gripping your hips, he looks down at you not like a lover, but like a fallen god.

“Then do it, starlet,” he challenges. His smile is cool, but his cock twitches in your cunt. You have him.

“Glory be to you, Dieter,” you say, and hellfire light erupts around him. Dragging himself out of your cunt, he holds tight as a bowstring.

“And to your…fucking massive cock,” you continue, eyes rolling back as he fills you to the brim. “And to your true form, in all its beauty,” you add, softer now, drawing his eyes back up to you. Time hangs as he studies your face before dipping down and sealing your lips with a kiss that means too much for words. When he lifts away you finish the prayer.

“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.”

Dieter’s smile glints.

“A-fucking-men,” he rasps, giving you just enough time to press your hands against the headboard before he starts railing you.

You’re lost in pleasure and ache and sin and Dieter pounding recklessly into your cunt. His grip paints bruises along your waist, battering thighs marking the inside of your hips. His claws dig into your flesh and sharp scrapes tighten your nipples. Hands roam up over your breasts, around your neck, pressing your wrists into the bed as ominous splintering and cracks echo in your ears.

“Another before I cum on your tits, sweetheart,” he pants, spitting down onto your clit and circling it with vigor. You cry out, hips bucking as the thickness of his cock impedes on your quivering walls. “It’s so close baby, just cum around me. Let me feel you cum on all my cock this time.”

“I can’t,” you cry out, shaking and sobbing around him. Dieter tuts, his rapidly increasing slap-slap-slap of thrusts maddening.

“You can, and you will starlet. You didn’t think you’d take my cock. I didn’t think you’d take it, and look at you now. So you’re going to cum. You’re going to cum now.”

The order shakes the room, pictures rattling on the wall as a final flick hurtles you off into oblivion with Dieter’s roaring triumph right behind. He’s somehow still fucking his cock into you even though you’re so tight it almost hurts to be cumming so good. A final crackling roar and you’re achingly empty, followed by a hot splash of cum across your stomach. Then another cresting your breast, and more and more until you’re covered in it, sticky trails sliding to pool in your bellybutton and drip over your sides onto the covers. Dieter is gasping above you, glowing like a sacred artifact as he pumps the last drops from his cock.

You close your eyes once and it’s a mistake. As soon as you let your eyelids touch exhaustion grips you, fighting your desperate attempts to reopen them. It’s battling this bone-deep tired when you experience Dieter’s return to a human form. The horns receding, tattoos fading to just the ones that grace tabloid pages. The wings fold away, and soon a sexy as hell rumpled and soft body replaces the supernatural one.

“Wore you out, starlet?” Dieter Bravo asks, kneeling between your parted knees with a rakish smile. You try to return it with a nod but your whole body is heavy, the mess barely bothering you. Dieter hums thoughtfully, and in a few moments a warm washcloth is cleaning up his cum.

“Side effect of my influence, helps a lot in the moment but it’s got some pretty strong sedative properties. Good for a speedy exit.” His chuckle sounds faraway now, even as you try to clutch at it.

“Stay,” you manage to croak out, hands seeking his body. You find his hair again, nose buried in your sex as he licks softly at your folds. The building ache there creeps back down to something dull and manageable.

“Our contract is up, can’t stay once you’ve given me what I’m owed.” Dieter’s lips start leaving small kisses along your abdomen, fingers soothing your skin. “Even if it was very, very good.”

“Please,” you try again, racking your rapidly puttying mind for anything to keep his hands on you.

“Even when you say it so sweetly,” Dieter says, but there’s melancholy now. It glances off your fingertips as sleep pulls you under.

In the between world of dreams, you think he says something more to you, but Morpheus snatches it away.

Hail, starlet, full of grace, Dieter is with thee.

This might be the silliest thing I’ve ever…well, hmm…

Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, all those delectable orgasms you gave me.

Holy starlet, bringer of…something special.

Pray for this sinner.

There’s blood on your sheets when you wake, though less than you expected. There’s also less pain, though the ache takes your breath away when you sit up too fast. Hobbling to the bathroom with the cool pink of morning light guiding, you inspect your body in the mirror.

You don’t look much different than before. Some strange notion of losing your virginity making you suddenly appear “mature” is dashed away. Maybe there’s a little glint of a secret in your eye, but not much more. Actually, surprisingly not much more. You expected bruises, scratches along your body and love bites marring your landscape. Instead your canvas is unblemished, no marks or injuries to hide. It’s almost as if he’d never been there.

Sitting down on the toilet, you wonder if maybe he wasn’t. That you dreamt up debauchery due to food poisoning or someone spiking the punch at the Halloween party. You couldn’t possibly have summoned an incubus.

A dark mark inside your thigh catches your attention, and any doubts dissipate. A ring of teeth, four larger fangs prominent, marrs the inside of your thigh. Brushing your fingertips over the circle, the skittering thrill of those memories settle in your chest.

You ride on the endorphins for a few days, a handful of people noticing. A work friend tries to interrogate you on it but “a lady never tells” is a saucy enough reply for her to give an approving look. You buy a new bed online, the base of yours splintered to ruin, but you keep the cracked headboard like a souvenir.

Online dating doesn’t seem as daunting now that you’re not so worried about the dreaded “first time.” You even accept a few dates, meet some generally nice men with generally boring personalities. They don’t make your heart race like a certain celebrity whose name you googled briefly before slamming your laptop shut. They certainly don’t kiss like him, or make sexy little jokes or terrify you as much as intrigue you.

So for a while you try to move on. There’s no other option, right? Dieter Bravo the Movie Star would never give you a second thought. Dieter Bravo the Incubus surely has better things to do, more lascivious living. So you try to find something even remotely like what you felt that night.

It’s mid-November when you find yourself sitting on your living room floor again, piece of chalk in hand. You lit candles this time, bought black lace lingerie, made yourself up to feel pretty. It doesn’t help your shaking hands as you pull the rug off the summoning circle. Touching up a few spots, you settle by the broken line where you released Dieter. It all popped off when you completed the circle last time, so with a deep breath and a swipe of the chalk, you reconnect the chalk.

And you wait.

And wait.

A bulb in a lamp flickers but it’s brief. An errant breeze almost snuffs out a candle. But nothing happens. Your knees are sore, eyes watering but you blink the tears away.

It was a long shot, you have to admit. A fluke chance, never to be repeated. You’ll have to settle for something bland, safe, loving but…

Nothing like Dieter.

You’re about to get up from the floor when one other idea tempts you. Something you thought he might have said before leaving you ruined.

Pray for this sinner.

Clasping your hands in your lap, you close your eyes and take a deep breath.

It’s been a long time since you last prayed.

“Dieter…” you whisper. The fine hairs on your neck rise up, but you press on.

“Dieter, I pray to thee,” you continue, closing your eyes. “Come to me in my hour of need.”

A pause, then a final entreaty. “Please.”

A rumble creeps into your body, tiny puffs of candles snuffing out reaching your ears. You dare not open your eyes yet, too hopeful for disappointment. Instead you wait, and hope.

A hot hand, thick fingered and human, slides up your chest, over your throat and cups your chin. Relief floods your body, melting back against a solid chest and chuckling lips.

“Hello, starlet,” Dieter croons in your ear, wrapping his arm around your waist and tucking his head into the crook of your neck. Your fingers search for curls, burying in his hair as you lace your fingers with his.

“You came,” you breathe, sparks igniting on your skin as he presses a line of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

“How could I not, when you prayed so sweetly?” he teases, tugging you back to sit in the cradle of his crossed legs. “Smart of you to try the circle, but outside of all hallow’s eve you don’t have access to enough power for that trick.”

“But you came,” you repeat, turning your face into Dieter’s ministrations. He nips at the side of your jaw, soothing it with his lips before murmuring a confession into your skin.

“I hoped you would call again.”

A thick emotion swells in your chest, and you spin in his grasp to crash your mouths together. The momentum knocks him backwards to the floor, letting you straddle his waist and feast on his ample lips. His hands roam your back, reverent in their paths. When you break to suck in lungfuls of sweet air he leans up to mouth at your neck, possessive hand on your ass urging you to grind against him.

“Have you let anyone else fuck you?” he growls. To your delight the anxiety and trepidation that colored your first encounter is nowhere in sight. You smile wolfishly down at him.

“How could I? You’ve ruined me for any man,” you tease, and under your body he writhes, the whites of his eyes trading for inky black. “Plus, one time is hardly enough to know if I even like sex. I’ve barely begun to explore.”

The fangs flash between his kiss-swollen lips, and under the promise of any delight you desire you glimpse the even more exciting fondness that will draw you back to him again and again.

“Then we have a lot of work to do.”

END

Crawlin' back to you Ever thought of callin' when You've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new Now, I've thought it through

The Arctic Monkeys, "Do I Wanna Know?"

#dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #incubus!Dieter #virgin reader #prolix fics

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nixster627 · 3 months

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Jiang Cheng: We need to get you help for your drug addiction.

Wei Wuxian: I'm not addicted to drugs. I'm only trying to raise the dead.

Jiang Cheng: And it would make me feel a lot better if it was because of a drug induced haze and not a conscious decision to collect dead bodies.

#mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #cql #mxtx #incorrect quotes #incorrect mdzs #incorrect cql #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #source: me

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staticscreenz · 3 months

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"I'm fine... I'm fine." "I don't think so."

redraw of that one scene from Evil Dead 2. bit of lore context under the cut

Jonathan Crane murdered his thieving co-worker for trying to take credit for his work-- but not before inhaling a good amount of the fear toxin that killed him. As he disposed of the man in a drug-induced haze, Jonathan would take a good look at himself... and find something else staring back.

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #Scarecrow DC #blood tw #unreality tw #its my Jon and i get to choose the mental illness #generic art tag

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oneforthemunny · 11 months

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switching it up |dom!brat tamer!eddie x sub!brat!reader|

prompt: "go pick a switch" with mean!dom!brat tamer! eddie. based off a horny hours ask from my old account :)

for those who don't know a "switch" in this is referring to a small, thin branch that's picked and used (typically and in this case) for discipline. sorta like caning.

contains: mean!hard!dom!brat tamer!eddie, sub!bratty!reader, spanking, dom/sub themes, oral fem receiving, p in v sex, minors dni 18+

"Go on, now, baby." Eddie nodded from the steps, leaned up casually against the metal, rusted railing of the trailer. He inhaled deeply, cigarette crackling and ash falling by his feet, eyes trained on you, deep and dark.

You fidgeted in the grass, only a few paces away from the steps. Eyes cutting around you, looking to see if anyone was around, praying they weren't. Hoping that they wouldn't see the slow journey you were making to hickory bush, long and overgrown at the end of the gravel drive, scissors behind your back.

"Don't make me wait, sweet thing." Eddie blew the smoke out, eyeing you carefully. "Or I'll take that switch to ya right out here." He smirked at the threat. How your spine went rigid, cheeks flushed a deep crimson when you looked back at him, but you quickened your pace to the dreaded bush.

The idea had come to him while watching TV a few weeks ago. Some old, western movie from the fifties, he'd been too stoned to change it. Plus, he liked those kind of movies, reminded him of when he first moved in with Wayne as a kid.

The gruff male lead, mean and stern with the female lead, grabbed her arm, threatening to "take a switch to her hind-end" if she didn't obey. The threat made him twitch, cock stirring even in his drug induced haze. He was always looking for new things to try, new ways to get you embarrassed when you bratted, put you back in your place before fucking you relentlessly. You'd been taking the cane so well lately, he figured a little switch would be nothing.

"What's a switch?" You'd asked, nose crinkled in confusion when he presented the idea to you.

Eddie gawked at you. "You never heard about kids having to go pick a switch?" He blinked at you with a small smile. You shook your head. He laughed. "We came from different worlds then, baby." He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and pulled you to the window so you could see the bush, long, thin branches that he explained you cleared the branches and leaves off before it was used on you.

"Kinda like the cane." Eddie grinned, hands rubbing up and down your waist, excitedly. "But you have to go pick it, cut it, clear it. Whole thing before you ever get spanked with it." What he didn't say was the before process added to the embarrassment of it all, a fact that he knew you loved- a sort of embarrassing foreplay that had you dripping before he ever even touched you. You grinned, agreeing to try it, thighs clenched in excitement.

It wasn't until today, nearly a month after the conversation, that Eddie actually used the threat. He always did that, waiting until you thought he forgot or changed his mind to act on it.

You'd been huffy all morning, a little whiny and snappy, like you always got when you wanted him to ruin you. Get you crying and your ass aching until he relented and fucked you stupid. He'd told you before you could just ask, he'd always oblige, but where was the fun in that?

"Hey, you better watch it," Eddie warned, snapping a finger at you after your third eye roll of the day. "Keep it up, and I'll take a switch to you."

Your eyes lit up, cheeks heating and tingling at the threat- the promise. Eddie bit back a grin, staying stern and stoic though he wanted to laugh at how excited you got. You got even more bratty, just like he expected, until he finally turned you over his knee. He took to spanking you with his hand, scolding you about being a naughty brat, until you whined and begged him to stop. A part of you thought he might have backed out of the initial threat, rubbing your ass and pouting. Until he crossed over to the kitchen, scowling at you sternly. He grabbed the scissors, shoving them in your hand and telling you to go pick your switch, that you'd earned it.

You fished through the scratchy branches and leaves of the bush, thankful it was overcast and chilly or the entire park would've been out, kids riding bikes and adults tending gardens- all to witness you cutting a branch, retrieving it and bringing it back to Eddie for his inspection. Fetching and retrieving back to your master like a dog. The humiliation of it all was enough to get your cheeks tinging pink, pussy throbbing and nearly aching.

You looked around when you walked back, tiny, limp branch in your hand, quick paced when you brought it back to Eddie. "Here," You muttered, holding it out with a furious blush.

Eddie scoffed, bumming his cigarette into the ash tray. "Baby," He tutted, taking the small, pitiful excuse for a branch. "You really think this is going to work? Look," Eddie lifted the branch, it was limp and blowing in the small breeze when he pulled his hand back, cutting it through the air with a small, whistling swish! before promptly snapping in half.

Eddie gave you an unimpressed look, arms crossing over his chest. "Go, try again," He nodded towards the bush.

You huffed, stomping down the stairs. "Hey," Eddie snapped, hard and gruff.

You didn't turn, continuing on to the bush, knuckles scratching through the rough branches until you found a better one. Sturdy but not as thick as some, enough for some movement and a nice swish.

"How's this?" You pouted, holding the second branch back up to Eddie.

He took his time, rolling the branch between his hands, inspecting it carefully. He swung it in front of him a few times, relishing the way you jumped, thighs clenching and squirming with excitement.

"Is it good?" You asked, gaze lifting to his, rounded eyes desperate for approval.

Eddie hummed. "I dunno." He sighed, lips twisting. He stepped back, swinging it behind you before he snapped the branch down, suddenly on your sweatpant clad ass.

You yelped, jumping at the sting of the hit, even through the thick cotton. "Ow!" You hissed, glaring at him, hands furiously rubbing the sting. Your head whipped around, scanning to see if there was anyone out who could have saw, cheeks red with embarrassment at the thought, but you were pulsing between your legs.

Eddie grinned. "What do you think? Is it a good one?" He asked, cheekily. The little shit.

"It hurt." You pouted, rubbing your already sore cheeks, still sensitive from the spanking he'd given you only a few minutes prior.

"Hm, seems like a winner then." Eddie smirked, grabbing the scissors from you. "Go inside. In front of the couch. I'll be there in a minute."

You pulled the screen door, watching him click and clean the leaves and spare branched away. Your tummy flipped, squeezing and rolling with excitement, heat shooting from your heart down to your core. You scampered in front of the couch, kneeling in front of the middle cushion that Eddie always favored.

The squeak of the screen door's hinges followed by the clatter of it closing came soon, Eddie's heavy steps coming in, spinning the branch in his hand. His eyes were excited, darkened with his domineering demeanor.

"You ready?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, you nodded eagerly.

Eddie grinned. "I'm gonna have you bend over the back of the couch. That sound alright?" He asked. You stood, hurrying to bend over the couch by him, his hand stopping you. "Pants down, baby."

You shimmied out of your sweatpants, kicking them to the corner. Cotton panties, thin and bikini cut, a little faded with countless cycles in the wash that made them irresistibly soft. Eddie's mouth watered. There was a reason he made you keep them at his trailer, "just in case", he told you, and you pretended you didn't notice them in the dirty hamper from time to time, covered in his release.

"You know, maybe this will teach you to not be such a bad little brat. What do you think?" Eddie hummed from behind you, pinching the hem of your panties and bunching them up, so they rode further into your crack, exposing your cheeks.

You shivered. "I don't think we'll know unless you try." You snipped, looking over your shoulder, thighs rubbing together for some sort of friction.

Eddie smirked, swishing the branch through the air so it whistled, taunting. You squirmed with anticipation, excitement building in the pit of your tummy. "Hm," Eddie hummed. "Eyes forward." He snapped.

You straightened your posture, focusing on the small hall towards Eddie's room. You felt the branch, scratchy and hard rubbing across your cheeks, splotchy and red from the assault of his hand from earlier.

"I think ten to start." Eddie suggested, looking down at you carefully. He lifted a brow, scanning your features. "That good?"

You nodded, legs bouncing and squirming. "Just do it already, Eddie." You huffed.

Eddie scoffed, walloping your ass with his hand so you yelped. "Keep it up, baby," He warned, tapping the switch across your throbbing ass. "I'll take you outside. Make you bend over, grab your ankles, and really take this switch to ya." He grinned when your thighs pressed together.

He tapped the branch to your cheeks, lining up his first hit. He pulled back, sending the branch forward and snapping into the meat of your ass. Not as hard as he would with the cane, he was unsure with this and didn't want to hurt you. You yelped anyways, back recoiling at the hit, fisting the blanket in front of you.

Eddie paused, looking down at you carefully. "How was that?" He asked softly. This was pure play, a fun, adventurous thing for the both of you. Sure, you'd bratted earlier to get your way, but when didn't you.

You groaned, low and throaty. The switch stung, worse than the cane, which was saying a lot. It was surprisingly rougher than you expected, you didn't think you'd be able to tell the difference, but the sting across your cheeks told you otherwise. A sharp, nearly itchy type burn that had you desperate to rub the irritation out, attempt to soothe it.

"I'm good." You sighed heavily, back relaxing back into an arch, toes curling into the mesh carpet. You tried to not focus on how painful the throbbing was between your legs, pulverizing heat that left your head spinning.

Eddie grinned, lifting the branch back up. He aimed lower for the next two, quick snaps against your lower cheeks, hitting close to your core. Your legs shook, crying out at the pain, feet stomping into the carpet. He watched the way you writhed, crossing your legs tight, rolling your hips to try and relieve some of the ache in your pussy.

"I think you'd like that if I took you outside," Eddie brought the switch down on the top of your thighs, right where the meat of your ass curved into them. You howled out at the sting, far more uncomfortable than you expected it to be.

"I think you'd like the idea of someone seeing what a bad girl you are." Eddie purred, barely giving you a chance to register his words before he brought it back down harder this time.

Tears flooded your vision, hands clenched tight, your nails biting and digging into the palm of your hands. Eddie rubbed the ragged bark on your ass, taunting and mean, you squirmed. He brought it down again, unmerciful, relishing in the way you cried out, back arching with the hit.

"You like the idea of someone seeing you get put in your place? Yeah?" Eddie mocked, pulling his arms back, the switch hissing through the air, high pitched almost as a warning of the searing pain that was to come milliseconds later. "Or do you just like it when I'm a little mean with you?"

You sniffled, blubbering through the tears that ran down your throat, down your face and into a damp puddle beneath you. "N-No." You shook your head. "I don't li-like it." Your breath stuttered, thighs clenching at the sizzle of your skin.

"No?" Eddie challenged, mocking. He brought the switch down again, making you wail, before his hand was between your legs, pressing onto the cotton fabric of your panties, your slick arousal wetting them easily.

Eddie hummed. "Well, something's got you all turned on, baby." He snickered, tapping the switch to your red cheeks, furious at the assault. He brought it down again, this time towards your center again, making you jump, whining in protest.

"Do you just like it when I treat you like a bad girl?" Eddie mocked, laughing at your small whimpers. He moved so he was leaning over you, lips near your ear. You could feel his curls on your cheek, your neck, tickling you and making you shiver. "I think you like it when I put you in your place. When I make up new ways to punish you when you've been a brat. Isn't that right?"

You shuddered, stammering breaths that hitched and caught in your throat. He was right, and he knew it. He could tell by the way you were grinding into the arm of the couch, so desperate for any type of release on your aching core, you'd do anything.

Eddie's free hand swatted your bottom, not enough to be punishing, but hard enough to get your attention, reigniting the fire on your cheeks and making you cry out. "Isn't that right?" Eddie repeated, a low growl that had you whimpering.

"Yes," You croaked, eyes cutting over to him. Eddie smirked. "Yes, I like it." You admitted softly, squirming against the couch, hips rotating softly.

Eddie snorted, softly, though his eyes were dark like they always were when you played. "Last one." Eddie warned, switch tapping against your lower cheeks.

You braced yourself, brows pinching while he toyed with you, tapping and rubbing the branch, pulling it back just to watch you flinch and laughing at you when you did. You heard the ominous whistle of the switch catching wind before you felt the final blow, thin lined and scorching, sending you forward on the couch.

Eddie grinned when you heaved, a sob muffled into the cushions of the couch. You were grateful when he set the branch down, hands rubbing down your abused skin, easing some of the burn. You knew you'd be struggling to sit for at least a few days, burning skin that would reignite when touched.

"Good girl, you did so good." Eddie whispered, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands kneaded the flesh, warm and buzzing in his large hands.

You were limp, ass still elevated over the couch, body slumped into the cushions, crying at the sting and release. Eddie grinned, tongue running over his lips when he pulled your panties down slowly, eyes widening at your slick lips, peaking out from between your thighs.

"I think you deserve a reward baby, for being such a good girl." Eddie cooed sweetly, fingers running between your sopping folds.

You sniffled, turning your head to the side. You couldn't see him, knelt and hidden by the couch, but you could feel him. You could feel the small kisses he pressed into your skin, pressing one particularly sloppy, lewd kiss into your aching center.

"What do you say, hm? Want me to lick you, baby? Show you what a good girl you've been? Let you cum on my tongue?" Eddie asked, hands spreading your red cheeks apart, drooling at the sight before him. He was trying to restrain himself from devouring you right away, the sight of your clenching hole when he asked you nearly making him wither.

"Please," You croaked so pitifully and sweet that Eddie was sure his heart would melt.

He didn't waste time, no teasing or mocking. He licked you furiously, lapping at your clit like a man starved, nose buried in your tangy scent, eyes rolling back when you squirmed, pushing your hips towards him.

"Oh! Please, Eddie, 'm so close!" You cried out, toes clenching beneath him. His hands stretched the hot skin, making it burn and sting, only aiding to your rapidly approaching orgasm.

You wiggled, the tip of his nose nuzzling into your sopping hole while you whined, high and desperate. His hands squeezed the fat of your ass, abused and raw after his switching, tongue swirling around your clit, moaning loud into you. The vibrations from his throat made you clench, abdomen tight and eyes pinched, gushing over him, wetting his face. He didn't stop, not until you calmed, no longer thrashing and gasping out his name, hands reaching back to push him away.

Eddie fucked you hard after that, furiously humping into you, hands on your hips as he grunted loudly, slapping skin and sick squelches filling the trailer. You were glassy eyed already, whimpering at the sensation when he pulled out two more orgasms out of you.

Eddie finished his cigarette later, the thick smell of sex still linger in the air and mixing with the smoke. You were still ass up in the couch, glazed eyes and his release leaking down your thigh. Your cheek was squished the the cushion, drool and tears drying beneath you.

Eddie inhaled slowly, picking up the switch he'd thrown across the room. He turned it in his hands, inspecting it like he'd done before. "I think we should put this somewhere," He grinned, smoke clouding out of his nose. You blinked up at him, too fucked out and tired to fully engage. "Keep it somewhere special. A little keepsake, don't you think?"

He placed it on the TV stand, behind the framed photos and trinkets that littered it. A little reminder of your fun you'd had today, and a reminder to you to behave or he'd make you pick another one. Of course, that never deterred you much.

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spooklies · 5 months

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# Taste - Yan!Mike Schmidt x F!Reader

♡ ... › Everything about you was perfect. Someday, he hopes you see yourself the way he does.

— Words - 600+

♡ ... › Warning(s) - Mentions of a previous drugging. Slight physical harm. Mike’s a bit of a perv.

— A/N - Something short I wrote to get a feel for writing again. Enjoy <3

Mike brushes away the few strands that flowed onto her face and then gently pinches those strands as if he were memorizing the texture and length to memory. He’s learned so much in the time you’ve worked under him yet somehow he had no idea about the way your hair reacted when twirled, or how feathery soft the ends were when pressed against the pads of his fingers. Ingraining the memory of your hair may have been insignificant to most, but to him it was a part of the many reasons why he found himself smitten with you.

There’s so much more to you and it's killing him inside that he’s only able to grasp what’s presented to him on the surface. Like a butterfly hit with a particularly strong breeze your eyelids flutter open. Those beautiful and glossy eyes of yours perceiving him through a sleep-induced haze that you tried to shake away with a few toss and turns of your head. Upon the groan you let slip Mike instinctively grabbed ahold of your chin, keeping your gaze on him and from wondering elsewhere.

“Hey, take it easy, there’s no rush.” As always you were stubborn. He could tell you still weren’t completely deprived of your will by the way you attempted to free your chin. But Mike’s always been someone who’s had to adapt – his willingness to compromise outmatching any of your stubborn fits you still liked to display. “I said, take it easy.” His grip became vice-like and that’s what got you to settle. You still appeared trapped in delusions, an Alice running from the world she brought upon herself.

This was your fault, after all. And much like Alice, you have no one but to blame but yourself.

“If you move around so much you’ll probably give yourself an even worse headache.” To emphasize his point he began harshly shaking your head back and forth, only regretting it when your attention left him in favor of screwing your eyelids shut. You groaned out a quiet plea, wanting him to stop so he did. “What? Isn’t that what you wanted?” You opted to sniffle out a barely concealed sob instead of speaking. That was fine with him though, he didn’t need you to say anything to understand what you felt or thought about something. He believes he knows you well enough to be able to make these translations himself. “Doesn’t feel so nice, does it?” He flicked your chin away and stood up, feeling a drop of water land on his head and the distant echo of traffic from outside the house. His basement wasn’t the most ideal place for him to house you in but with everything you’ve done it’s the place you’re most deserving of.

“I’ll be back after work.” He told her apologetically. The constant shifts of emotions he went through was enough to give anyone whiplash. “If Abby tells me you’ve been loud then I won’t hesitate to muzzle you. Is that what you want to happen, Y/n?” At his inquiry you squirmed, shaking your head in denial and then stopping right after. Mike smiled, pleased with how quickly you were adapting. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t. So let’s not make this drugging thing a habit anymore, okay?” He didn’t like having to do these sorts of things but if his hand was forced then what else was he supposed to do?

You graced him with one last look of acknowledgement before seemingly drifting back off into your little wonderland. Mike couldn’t help himself and immediately knelt back down, cupping your face in his hand and swiping his thumb against the droplet of water you produced. Mike brought that same thumb to his lips, his tongue wrapping around his fingers and his lungs contracting as he sucked the taste of you off himself. You were perfect. And the way you tasted proved that fact tenfold.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere mike schmidt #yandere fnaf #yandere five nights at freddy’s #mike schmidt x reader

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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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Oh!Dealer Pt II

Summary: Drug Dealer! R and Vada try to figure out how this is all going to work.

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language, drug use

A/N: This has been cooking in my head for a while, so here it is, finally! A little smutty, a little angsty. Hope you guys like it!

Part I

You wake up with a heavy arm draped across your naked hip. Your eyes feel heavy, like weights are tied to your lids by a delicate thread. Your entire body is spent, aching, and exhausted. If it weren’t for the hand resting on your stomach, you know the depths of the withdrawal depression would have you spiraling into despair right now.

But the sight and feel of that arm brings back memories of your night spent in a euphoric, drug-induced haze. A haze half caused by the owner of the arm herself, Vada Cavell.

If you weren’t at a chemical low, you’d probably feel giddy at the realization of the fact that not only is she still there, she’s still naked. Instead, you feel a dull excitement, like knowing you’re going on vacation, but it’s still months away. It’s present, but so far away, you can’t actually immerse yourself in it.

Not completely, at least. But when her fingers begin to stir, her nails softly scratching at your skin, the vacation feels like it’s only days away instead of months.

She’s buried under a mountain of blankets and pillows, the only thing visible to you is her hair and her arm draped over you. You can feel her legs still intertwined in yours, but she’s almost entirely swallowed up by your bedding.

“Uuuuuugh,” she groans, her voice raspy, “I think I’m dying.”

You take a long, slow breath in, nodding even though she can’t see you. “I think I’m dead.”

Vada presses a flat hand into your stomach, squirming under the blankets until her eyes appear half closed. “Can you tell whoever resurrected us that we want to stay dead?”

“I don’t think any higher power is going to help me after what I’ve done.”

Vada pushes her bottom lip out, “Do you think we’ll ever be happy again?”

You give her a tired smile, “In the next four to six business hours, we should be among the living again.”

She whines, rolling back into her blanket cocoon. You close your eyes, content to sleep the morning away.

“Y/n,” Vada’s voice is muffled and soft beneath the blankets.

“Vada.”

“Could we like…I don’t know, would you maybe wanna…” she pauses, and you sigh.

“What?”

Her voice is small, almost childlike, “Could you cuddle me?”

You open your eyes, frowning at the pull you feel in your chest. You consider the proposition. It’s not the worst idea. Maybe your recovering brain chemicals lower your guard, or maybe it’s just her absolute vulnerability at the moment. But you find yourself carefully pulling back the covers, crawling under them with her, and pulling her body close to you. She feels so small in your arms, a teaspoon of a little spoon.

She sighs contentedly, squirming her body back until not an inch of your skin is separated. You fall asleep like that, holding her against you, your nose in her hair.

——

Vada’s constant squirming wakes you again. You’ve shifted a bit, your face pressed against the back of her neck, her hair fanned out on the pillow above you. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but the sun is shining through the cracks in your curtains, so you think it must be at least mid-morning.

Vada whimpers, shifting her hips back against you again. You lift your head, trying to look down at her, but it’s almost impossible with the duvet over your head.

“What’s wrong?” You croak, your throat dry.

She lets out a shaky breath, “Uhm,” she hesitates, “you’re kind of turning me on.”

You jerk your head back, her words rattling the sleep from your brain. You take stock of your position, and it makes more sense. Your lips were brushing the skin at the top of her spine, your legs are intertwined with hers, and your hand is resting just below her belly button.

You startle, trying to pull away, but you’re met with an iron grip of Vada’s fingers around your wrist. It’s strange, to feel turned on when you’re still recovering from the ecstasy. The warm pooling in your lower belly is there, an aching between your legs. It’s not hungry, more indulgent than anything. But it’s certainly present.

It becomes gluttonous when she draws your hand down, luring your fingers between her legs. It’s almost automatic, the way you begin to touch her, your lips on the curve of her neck.

She pushes her hips back into you, whining as you lazily circle her clit. You press a gentle kiss into her neck, breathe her in while you indulge her. She stays quiet, breathy, and sighing, rocking back into you. She whines when you pull your fingers away, catching your wrist again.

“Sshh,” you whisper in her ear, “let me.”

A small noise comes from the back of her throat, her grip dripping from your wrist. You push her top leg over, run your fingers up the back of her thigh. You kiss her shoulder again, your tongue slowly tracing over her skin. Your hand slides between her legs, cupping her, making her gasp. Your palm presses into her, then you trace your fingers down until you can gently push two fingers inside of her.

She groans, her body pushing into yours. Your pace is languid, sluggish, lazy strokes into her, but it’s enough. She tries to turn toward you, but the finds the angle less satisfying, so she holds the pillow to her mouth instead.

It feels good, a small pinhole of light in your withdrawal. Her whimpers and whining into your pillows, the steady rocking of her body against yours. It’s almost enough to trick you into thinking you’ve recovered.

Her orgasm is patient, creeping up on her and slowly tingling through her. It’s longer than you expect, but somehow more satisfying than the night before. More real.

She turns her head away from the pillow, and the quiet moan that leaves her is what you imagine the first breath of life must sound like. Relieved, satisfied, joyful even.

She shivers and pushes your hand away, forcing your fingers out of her. You lift your arm so she can roll into you, her chest pressing into yours. She tucks her head under your chin, kisses your throat, and hums softly, her arm wraps around her waist, and yours pulls her into you, your hand flat on her back.

You can feel her eyelashes against your skin, her jaw slack as she falls asleep again. You think you should probably get up, get to work, but find yourself unwilling to untangle yourself from her. Your eyes slide shut again as you give in.

——

You wake up the second time that day to an empty bed. A shuffling behind you makes you roll over, squinting your eyes in the light.

You can see Vada’s outline, picking through your records on the shelf below your window. She turns to you, holding up a Chopin vinyl. As your eyes adjust to the light, you can see the perplexed look on her face.

You stretch your arms over your head, frown at her and drop them. “What?”

“What is this?” She asks, her voice soft.

“Chopin?” You tell her, confused.

She gives you a look that tells you that’s not the answer she’s looking for.

“But why do you have it? And why is your bed so nice? And your house? And why do you have a piano?”

You sit up, scratching your head. Grab your t-shirt from your nightstand and pull it over your head. She waits for your answer, her eyebrows raised.

“I like Chopin. Is that a crime?”

Her voice is high, tight when she replies, “You’re a drug dealer.”

You rub your eyes, not following her logic. “So?”

She drops the vinyl onto the shelf. Your eyes shoot to it. It’s not where it belongs, and that itches at your brain unpleasantly.

“So you’re supposed to be…supposed to be,” she gestures around with her hands, searching for the right words.

Your brows furrow, beginning to feel insulted, “Supposed to be what, Vada?”

Her face scrunched with worry and confusion, “I don’t know. Scary. Shady.”

Your teeth grind together at her words, her judgment. You slide out of your bed, walking around to your bathroom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t meet your expectations of a drug dealer. I’ll try harder to be more shady next time.”

“No,” she says, coming around your bed to the bathroom doorway, “that’s not what I mean.”

You brush your teeth, narrowing your eyes at her in the mirror. “Why don’t you say what you mean then?” You slur around your toothbrush.

She opens her mouth to speak, then snaps it shut, deflating, “I should go.”

You spit into the sink, close your eyes, and sigh, “Do you need a ride?”

“No. Nick is on his way.”

When you open your eyes again, she’s gone.

——

The next day, you wake up in a much better mood. You feel guilty for snapping at Vada, apologize through text. She never replies.

It just so happens to be your twenty-first birthday, but you don’t tell her. After the way you treated her, you don’t deserve her attention anyway.

Your grandma makes you pancakes and fusses over you the best she can. You remind her that you live there so you can take care of her, not the other way around. She just responds by waving you off, mumbling something about love on your birthday.

That afternoon, your phone rings, and when you see who is calling you, your heart nearly stops.

It’s Whisper.

“Hello?” You answer the phone, willing your voice not to shake.

“Centennial Park. Twenty minutes.”

“Wait, what? Why-“The line goes dead before you finish asking.

You sling your phone onto the coffee table, completely unnoticed by your snoring grandmother. You press your fingers into your eyes, stressed about what your dealers may want.

Birthday or not, you have to get your ass to the park. You growl in frustration and stand, grabbing your phone and heading out the door.

——

Whisper and Noodle are under the gazebo, looking for all the world like a heavily tattooed couple out for some sunshine. You gulp, striding over to them. When they see you, Noodle waves his arm over his head like an overjoyed child. Whisper’s eyes track you like a predator following its prey.

You approach the gazebo, lean on the wooden pole with your arms crossed. You’re trying to look relaxed, but you chose to stand there because it would allow you a quick escape if necessary.

“Sit down, kid.” Whisper directs you, pointing to the bench across from him.

You hesitate, and he narrows his eyes at you, his nostrils flaring in irritation. You sit obediently. You glance between them, nervous and unsure.

“So, uh, what’s up? It’s only been two days I haven’t-“

“You need to move double.” Whisper interrupts, kicking a black bag across the gazebo. It slides to a halt at your feet.

“I…what?” You look up at him, confused.

“Double. You have two weeks.”

Panic lays itself across you like a shroud. Your heart races, your stomach twists.

“I can’t move this much, man. It takes me two weeks to move my usual stuff.”

Whisper curls his lip, his hand drifting to his hip. You know his gun is there, hidden under his tank top.

“I don’t recall asking you a fucking question, little buddy.”

Noodle giggles. You gulp, your hands shaking.

Whisper stands, looks down at you, “I don’t care how you do it, just do it. Or else.”

“Yeah,” Noodle laughs, standing with Whisper, “or else!”

A cold chill goes through you, emanating from your gut to the tips of your ears. “O-okay.”

Whisper smirks at you, a gold tooth flashing in the sun, “That’s my little buddy. Now get the fuck out of here. See you in two weeks.”

You sling the bag over your shoulder, and you can’t stop yourself from running to your car. You throw the bag into the back seat and hightail it out of the parking lot, sweat beading on your forehead. You have no idea how you are going to push double the amount of drugs you usually did. Your mind races, trying to come up with solutions. You find none.

You finally begin to calm down on your drive home, the trembling in your hands subsiding. With your nerves frayed, you pull into a gas station and park. It’s your twenty-first birthday, and you’ll be damned if the last few days didn’t deserve a drink.

You go inside and make your way to the beer fridge. You quickly find a case you want, open the fridge, and pull the box out. As soon as you stand, the cardboard tears, sending cans rolling every which way around you. They clatter on the tile, dented and spinning.

You stand with a now empty box, staring at the cans sliding across the tile floor.

“Of course,” you say, your voice nearly breaking.

You tilt your head back, and squeeze your eyes closed. Take a deep breath. Drop your shoulders and open your eyes, setting to work at gathering the stray cans and sorting them back into the rolled box like some kind of karmic Tetris.

A man steps over you as you knelt down, reaching for the cans. Your hand shakes, irritated at his indifference toward you. You shoot him a glare, and he looks down at you like he feels bad for you. You grit your teeth, gather the box in your arms and stand.

The man at the checkout counter doesn’t even check your ID.

When you drop back into your car, feeling defeated, you set the torn box of beer on the passenger seat. You rest your forehead on the steering wheel, your hands on either side of your head.

“What have I done to deserve this?” You grumble to yourself.

You check your phone, nothing. Vada still hasn’t replied to you.

With a cold sickness in your belly, you start the car and begin your drive home. About ten minutes into the drive, a flash of movement behind your rearview catches your attention. Your body goes rigid as you try not to jerk the steering wheel.

A fucking wasp is inside your car, clinging to the glass just above your head. You grind your teeth, searching for a place to pull over, praying the stupid thing doesn’t drop into your lap.

The one saving grace of the day is when you pull over, jump out of the car, and watch the wasp leave without too much of a fight. You know you must look like a crazy person, your windows all rolled down, throwing things at the bug, but at this point, you don’t give a shit. The last thing you need is an angry wasp stinging you relentlessly as you’re trying to drive your sorry ass home.

With the dramatics of the winged creature over, you finally climb back in and make your way home. You’re feeling sorry for yourself, cursing the universe at your bad luck. You start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you're living in a sitcom.

A shiny blue bicycle is on its side in your driveway, and you wonder who it could belong to. You shoulder the bag of extra drugs you hadn’t asked for and scoop up your beer in one arm. You eye the bike as you walk up, not recognizing it as one belonging to the neighborhood kids. The front door is unlocked, and you tell yourself to scold your grandmother for her negligence.

There are voices coming from the kitchen when you kick the door shut behind you. You frown, curious. You turn the corner, and your grandmother is at the oven, grinning. The smell of cookies fills your nose, distracting you from the visitor at the island.

“What-“ you stop mid-question, realizing who else is in your kitchen.

“Hi. Linda was just telling me about how you used to cry until they let you play the piano.” Vada says, her eyebrow rising as she teases you.

You scowl at her, then at your grandma. Vada couldn’t be bothered to text you back, but she was willing to come over, unannounced and hang out with your grams? Who the fuck did she think she was?

Vada must have sensed your dismay because she shrugs, her nose crinkling as she smiles apologetically.

“I think we should talk,” she says gently.

“It’s her birthday today, you know,” Linda says, her eyes twinkling at Vada.

The last thing you need is for your grandma to fall in love with Vada. Then she’d ask you questions about her every day, and you’d have to explain who she was to you. Not your girlfriend. That much was certain.

Vada looks at you with sad eyes, “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, set the beer on the counter, “Why should you?”

She frowns, thinking hard about your question, “You could have told me.”

“Kind of hard, when you ignore my texts,” you grumble, turning to place the beers in the fridge.

“Well, I’ll leave you girls to it,” Linda chirps, hobbling away from the oven.

When she’s out of earshot, Vada tilts her head and speaks, her voice quiet, “We should talk.”

You crack open a beer, shut the fridge, and lean back against it, “Okay. So talk.”

“I’m sorry, for running out the other day.”

“You didn't run out. You don't need to be sorry.” Yoru voice is harsher than you want it to be, but you can't find it in yourself to be soft when your day has gone the way it had.

“Still,” Vada says, “I’m sorry. It’s just. I don't know, I was surprised.”

“That I’m a person and not a walking pez dispenser?” You bite back.

“Vada sighs, rubs her eyes with her fingertips, “No, thats not what I mean.”

You huff; you’re being petulant, you know it. But it’s your birthday, and you can cry if you want to. “Vada, just say what you mean, for once. Please. Save us the time.”

She jerks her head back, hurt apparent on her face. She shakes her head, chewing on her lip, stands up from her chair. Her eyes dart toward the hall that leads to the door, and you can tell she's considering escape. You don’t blame her. Your foul mood would drive anyone away.

“Maybe we should talk later,” she says, moving past you. She turns in the doorway and looks back at you, “Happy birthday, y/n.”

As soon as she’s gone, you regret it. You want to run to the door, ask her to come back. Apologize for being a royal prick. But you don't. Instead, you grab another beer and lock yourself in your bedroom with a giant bag of pills you have to figure out how to get rid of.

#jenna ortega x reader #vada cavell #vada cavell x reader #vada x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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wannaeatramyeon · 6 months

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Samuel Seo x Reader: Food

G/N. Soft. Sorta. Inspired as always by brainrotting with @steamedeggs

Samuel is no stranger to fine dining, the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in Seoul.

Places where ordinary people are waitlisted for months, yet all it takes for him is a phonecall and a mention of his name.

Tastes acquired and refined over the years to shed his roots and forget about the dilapidated shack he grew up in. The musty mattress on the floor, the rumble of empty stomachs and replacing dinner with sleep.

It's ironic though, how much harder sleep comes when you're hungry.

Samuel's taste never catches up with his titles or appearance.

Steak is fine. Wagyu, fillet. A bit rich for his palate but he orders it anyway. Lobster, the bottom feeding crustacean, unsettles him. He still eats it, cracking shells like his knuckle-dusters breaking bone.

But.

The first night you spend together, him staying at yours after a chance meeting in a bar where your guard was down and so was his-

You surprised him.

After hours of casual fucking, wrapped around one another, you offered to make something. A midnight snack.

You return to bed with two bowls. One for you and one for him. Rice, topped with fried egg and kimchi.

"My mom used to make this for me when I was hungry," you say, a little abashed at serving such simple cuisine to Samuel Seo, whose outfit worth millions of won now litter your bedroom floor.

Samuel schools his face, swallows the lump in his throat, "...Mine too."

It's true. Sort of.

The occasional nights she was in a good mood. Coherent enough and not in a drug induced haze. When the guilt is like a shot of clarity, cutting through her resentment at Samuel's existence, and his stomach rumbling is all she can hear.

It's always the same.

Rice. Topped with a fried egg. Kimchi.

The rice was microwaved, egg burnt, kimchi too sour and over fermented. But it was warm, and it was filling.

"Eat up, brat" accompanies it. Good natured for once, and Samuel was never sure if he was dreaming or not.

"Thank you," Samuel says when he finishes, neatly balancing his chopsticks and spoon on top of the bowl.

And he falls asleep, back then and tonight too, with his stomach full.

And he falls asleep, tonight, with you in his arms.

#im feeling soft for this unhinged maniac. stop it #lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #lookism fic #samuel seo x reader #samuel seo #seo seongeun x reader #seo seongeun #wannaeatramyeon

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coneyislandbabey · 1 year

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she's a rainbow. -> w.rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, pining lol

SYNOPSIS: Warren's got it bad for Camila's childhood best friend. word count: 2,008

NOTES: Written for this request!

You dragged your paintbrush across the canvas, a trail of plum purple in its wake. You were sitting on your deck, the sky a cloudless blue, the morning filled with birdsong and a soft breeze only making itself known through the occasional soft rustle of your hair and clothes. June was a ripe peach in your hands, pink, perfect, fleeting.

“What are you painting today, Picasso?” Warren’s clear voice rang out through the morning air. He was standing on the deck of his own house next door, forearms resting lazily on the railing as he gazed over at you. You glanced up from your work to send a smile his way.

“Shocked to see you up this early,” you called by way of greeting. “If you wanna see what I’m painting, come over and look.”

At your words, he disappeared back into the house, and you knew that in a minute he would be opening the sliding door and stepping out onto your own deck. You did this almost every day, ever since you followed your childhood best friend Camila across the country, moving into the house next to hers and her boyfriend’s band in Laurel Canyon.

In the months since you arrived, you’ve gotten incredibly close with all of Camila’s housemates. Whenever you weren’t doing a shift for your part-time job at a coffee shop or at your own place working on your art, you were at their house. You and Camila spent a lot of time one-on-one, getting together for wine or lunch or anything else while the band was working, but the band loved you so much that you found yourself hanging out with them almost even more than with her, especially since Warren started inviting you to their recording sessions down at the studio.

You had become so absorbed in your painting that you didn’t realize Warren had arrived on your deck until his hands were on the back of your chair and he was leaning over your shoulder to get a good look at the canvas.

“Oh, it’s our street at night,” he observed, taking in the deep purples and night blues that the familiar street was rendered in. “It’s beautiful. Looks like a place I’d wanna be.”

You rolled your eyes. “It already is a place you wanna be, Warren. You live there.”

Though you couldn’t see it, Warren grinned, swooping down to press a kiss to your cheek. “I only wanna be here so much ‘cause it’s where you are, mama.”

You scoffed, sending a rueful smile his way as he sat in the chair next to yours. He pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and offered it. You took it between your lips and inhaled before sending it back his way. For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, Warren merely observing you as you painted. He had told you once, the two of you high as kites while hanging out late one night, that he loved to watch you paint. He said watching you paint was as intricate a thing as watching a musician play their instrument, that it was captivating. You had hung onto his words even through the drug-induced haze, had thought about them for weeks on end.

“You’ll come over for dinner tonight, right?” he asked after a while. “Camila saw me leaving to come over here and made me promise to get you to come.”

“Man, I don’t even buy groceries over here anymore ‘cause I’m always just eating at yours,” you laughed. “Course I’ll come. Can’t beat the company.”

“Good,” he said, standing. “I gotta get back to the house; shockingly, I actually have responsibilities to see to today.”

“Oh, well color me impressed,” you responded, happily accepting his parting kiss on the cheek.

Eddie watched, amused, as Warren got up for the dozenth time in the last half hour, drifting back over to the windows and peering outside, toward your house. Dinner was set for twenty minutes from now, and you were expected to come. Though some, clearly, were expecting you more than others.

“Man, can you chill the fuck out? You’re making me antsy,” he said, after watching Warren pace the room for a few minutes while still pretending to look casual.

“I am chill! I’m totally chill!” Warren said, having the gall to look incensed at his best friend’s words.

Eddie leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Do you think you’ll finally just tell her how you feel so you can stop being such a fuckin’ freak every time she comes over?”

Warren sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “Don’t you think if she was into me she would’ve said something by now? I’m not going to embarrass myself or ruin our friendship. I know when I’m gonna strike out.”

“Clearly you don’t, idiot,” Eddie retorted. “First of all, she could say the same about you because you haven’t made any moves either, man. All of what you just said means nothing.”

“She’s definitely into you, anyway,” Graham said, joining the conversation as he walked into the room.

“What makes you think that?” Warren asked, ignoring Eddie’s comments, which were clearly too logical for him.

“Why else do you think she hangs around here so often? I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re all friends, but everyone knows it's different with you two. Most of the time she’s here for you,” Graham explained.

“Yeah, and don’t forget that she comes to our recording sessions because you asked her to,” Eddie chimed in, a smirk growing on his face as Warren’s cheeks grew redder. He didn’t have the chance to answer before someone knocked on the door.

“You wanna go get that?” Eddie asked, raising a teasing eyebrow.

Warren made his way to the door, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of the conversation that had just happened. He had never felt the way he did about you before, not about any woman he had ever met. When you first met, things had been flirty between you, at least more flirty than you were with any of the other guys, and he almost plucked up the courage to ask you out in the first week of knowing you. But then the two of you got high together one night, and you got him talking about his hopes for the band, and you told him about all of your ambitions when it comes to your art, and he could feel himself falling in love a little. He had real, undeniable feelings for you, and that made it all too scary. So, he’d convinced himself that there was no way you could have feelings for him too, because thinking he had no chance with you was easier, more comfortable, than pining after you.

He put a valiant effort into feigning nonchalance when he opened the door, all of these thoughts still a monsoon in his mind. You stood on the other side of the threshold, a bottle of wine in one hand and a covered plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other.

“I baked ‘em!” you said proudly, holding up the plate and smiling widely at him. For a minute, his mind blanked, and all he could think about was the way your eyes sparkled in the porchlight, the way your dress fell perfectly on your figure. You knocked him dead every time he set eyes on you. Snapping out of it, he unburdened you of the bottle of wine and the cookies, widening his arms so he could take you in a hug.

“Are they cookies? Or are they cookies,” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and smacking him playfully on the shoulder. “They’re just cookies, Rojas. This is a family dinner, not a late night recording session.”

“Family dinner?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged as you walked through the door. “This is a family, isn’t it?”

“Guess it is,” he responded, because you were right and because he would agree with any statement you made ever for the rest of your lives.

“Honey, you made it!” Camila shouted, coming over to hug you as you walked in. You greeted her warmly, and then did the same for everyone else standing around the kitchen helping to make dinner (or, really, getting in the way of Camila and Graham, who were the only ones actually cooking).

Dinner was, as usual, the highlight of Warren’s day. After listening to Billy get grouchy and boss everyone around in the studio all day, getting to come home and actually unwind was a godsend. Plus, he got to see you, warm and pliant with wine and good food and good company. You were so effortlessly funny and charismatic, easily commanding the attention of the room with your stories and jokes without ever trying to. He could listen to you talk for the rest of his life. He could stand to do a lot of things with you for the rest of his life.

After dinner, the group of you took the cookies you made and moved to the living room, settling in to watch a movie. You snuggled with Warren under a blanket on the loveseat, Eddie, Karen, Graham, and Camila squished into the old couch. Billy had retired to his room prior to the movie, citing that he needed to get some writing done. Graham had already fallen asleep, and Karen and Eddie were providing a running commentary of how bad the movie was.

Warren nudged your side, and when you turned to look at him, he took a joint out of his pocket and tilted his head toward the door to the deck, a silent question. You nodded and he stood, you following close behind after wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You didn’t see the exaggerated wink Eddie shot Warren’s way as you left the room, or the way Warren mimed slitting his throat in response, sending Eddie into a fit of laughter that he desperately tried to stifle.

Outside, you settled into your usual chair, Warren pulling one up close to you before sitting down. You turned your body towards him, leaning your head on the back of the chair and gazing at him affectionately as he lit up the joint, and, as usual, offered it to you before himself. You took a hit before handing it back to him, settling back into your position of observing him as the joint went to his own mouth.

“What are you lookin’ at, mama?” he asked, a mixture of curiosity and amusement gracing his face.

You hummed, shrugging your shoulders noncommittally. “You should let me paint you sometime.”

“Paint me? Why?” he asked, brows raising.

“Because you’re pretty,” you said bluntly, Warren’s heart stumbled over itself. “You’d make a good muse.”

Warren laughed, trying to steady himself. “You think I’m pretty?”

You leaned toward him a bit more, a small, private smile on your face. “Of course I do, Warren. I’m sure dozens of other people have told you as much.”

“Not like this, no,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “And it wouldn’t mean anything coming from any but you, anyway.” Your brows raised, mouth dropping into a small, understanding ‘o’. Then you were smiling at him again, the corners of your eyes crinkling in a way that made his heart overflow.

“Are you finally going to kiss me now?” you asked, and Warren choked, smoke emitting from his nose and mouth.

“I- uh, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he stammered, shaking his head as vigorously as he could in his buzzed state.

“Good,” you said, leaning over the arm of your chair. Warren crossed the rest of the distance himself, connecting his lips to yours. You led the kiss, firm and gentle, your thumb stroking reassuringly against his cheek.

“So, about me painting you,” you said breathlessly once you pulled away.

“Anything for you.I’d be honored to be your muse,” he grinned.

tag list: @xleiaorgana @neptunes-curse

#daisy jones and the six #djat #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #graham dunne #camila dunne #julia dunne #karen sirko #karen karen #billy dunne

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justmeinatree · 10 months

Text

Open Up And Looking Down

Summary : you get home to louis getting stoned & watching porn.

TW : smut, drugs (weed)

Word Count : 1.5k

your work meeting had ended a good hour early, and thank fuck because you were so over this day.

you walk into your house, throwing your keys onto the nearest surface, and slipping your shoes off. you drop your bag just as your nose perks up, the faint smell of weed lingering in the air.

you pad your way further into the house, sniffing out the trail of smoke, heading up the stairs, seeing a cloudy haze coming from your bedroom.

as you round the corner and peak through the half open door, you catch louis laying on the bed, legs splayed out, one arm tucked under his head, his phone up against his stomach. he was watching something on his screen, lit joint in hand. wearing just a plain white undershirt and his boxers, you notice that he’s semi hard.

you walk into the room, making yourself known, smirking at him as he startles into a sitting position. he clearly hadn’t noticed you were home, looking at you with wide eyes for a moment, before furrowing his eyebrows.

“you’re home early,” louis hums, slight nervousness to his tone.

“yeah, meeting finished early. s’that okay ?” you chuckle, raising an eyebrow.

and that’s when you hear it, the loud moan coming from the speaker on louis’ phone, making both yours and his eyes go wide.

“fuck, thought i stopped that,” louis shakes his head, quickly shutting off the video, taking a long drag from the joint.

you’re still standing, taking in the scene in front of you, a giggle escaping your lips. “didn’t know i’d be interrupting something,” you smirk, slowly making your way closer to the bed, stripping your shirt and pants off, leaving you in your bra and panties.

louis’ eyes go wide, as he looks over you, bringing the joint to his lips, taking a puff, before passing it off to you, once you’re settled on the bed.

you’re on your knees next to louis, welcoming the smoke into your lungs, as it starts to relax you. louis watches as you inhale, watching your cheeks suck in, chest puff out, the calming effect washing over you. “good day ?” he asks, his fingers tracing patterns against your naked thigh.

“no,” you say shortly, shaking your head, taking another puff, throwing your leg over louis’ waist to sit against his cock.

he looks up at you as you pass the joint back over to him, a smirk playing on his lips, “and how do you plan on dealing with that ?”

you wait for his lungs to be filled with smoke, before answering with a roll of your hips, your clothed pussy grinding onto his prick. which you notice has hardened significantly since you first caught him.

louis groans, eyes rolling back as everything hits him at once. “fuckin christ,” he blows out the smoke. “want these off. now,” he hums, tugging on your panties, watching you shuffle over him to get them off.

you sit yourself back on his hips, rolling your centre against his as you pluck the joint from his fingers, “now what ?” you smile, taking a puff.

he grips your hips, pulling you forward so you’re sitting more on his stomach, closer to his ribs. he bends his legs at the knees, feet firmly planted into the mattress, as he pushes against your chest to make you lean back.

“get comfy, love. gonna turn this day around,” he coos, eyes fixated on your cunt. he can see your arousal starting to glisten, his fingers reaching out to glide through your folds.

with the lightest bit of pressure he’s using, your head leans back, eyes closing in bliss, bringing the joint to your lips as his fingers keep exploring.

and that’s all he does. in his weed induced haze, he watches attentively as his fingers play around with your heat. he can’t say he’s ever done this. just had someone’s cunt in his face and watched as his fingers prodded, glided.

he felt like he was exploring something for the very first time. properly exploring. he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to you. too hyper focused on watching and fiddling. that is, until your legs start to tremble on either side of him.

“s’this feeling good ?” louis asks, noticing how much wetter you’ve gotten since he started touching you.

“fuck, you have no idea,” you moan breathlessly, feeling louis’ other hand pluck the joint from your fingers.

“drenching my fuckin fingers,” you hear him murmur around the filter that’s tucked between his lips.

he keeps at it, lightly moving your folds around, watching for your body’s reactions when his fingertip nudges your clit, or when his fingers tickle your entrance.

“louis,” you whimper, all of this becoming too much. he was making you feel so good. so effortlessly fucking good. christ, he wasn’t really even doing anything. and you were going mad. the weed surely wasn’t helping the situation, making your body feel his touches a hundred times more.

“hmm ? what do you need ?” louis coos, watching your legs and stomach twitch with every glide and flick over your clit.

“more,” you whine. “need more, please.”

louis presses the joint to your mouth, in an effort to stop your pleas, two of his fingers slipping into you effortlessly.

you gasp around the filter, your legs spreading on their own accord, exposing yourself even more to him, your head tipped far back against louis’ knees.

his fingers curl up, rubbing against your inner walls, his thumb running up and down from your entrance to your clit and back again.

your moans get louder, having trouble with the joint, as your brain is too focused on louis’ fingers. you blindly pass it off to him, which he thankfully accepts, keeping it perched between his lips.

his fingers keep working, inching their way to the spongey spot inside you, louis absolutely torturing you with the way he’s touching you tonight.

his other hand makes its way up your stomach, pressing down against your tummy right as his fingers hit your sweet spot, rubbing hard.

a whimpery moan escapes you as your body starts trembling, hand reaching out to grip into louis’ arm, nails digging into his skin.

“fuckin christ, love,” he groans, the stinging of your nails in his arm sending a jolt to his cock.

“dont stop, dont stop, dont stop,” you whine, gasping for air, his fingers not letting up, keeping a steady rhythm over your most sensitive spots.

“right there, yeah ?” louis smirks, watching your body writhing under his hand, feeling your cunt clamping down on his fingers.

you whimper, nodding your head as your orgasm rips through you, your muscles seizing up, air knocked out of your lungs.

his fingers work you through your high, slowing down as your body relaxes. you flinch slightly as he pulls his hand away, reaching up for your mouth, slipping his fingers past your lips.

“clean these, would you, love,” he hums playfully, the high having very much hit his brain as he finished off the joint. always in a playful, teasing mood when he’s high. “good of you to clean up the mess you made.”

you hum, sucking his fingers past your lips, tongue working over them to lap up every bit of your arousal. as he pulls his hand from you, you murmur, “wanna make another mess,” both your hands reaching out for his, bringing it back to your mouth.

you work over his finger just as you would his cock. pecking his fingertip, swirling your tongue around it, slowly taking it into your mouth, sucking, as your tongue works the underside.

“christ, yeah, okay. m’so fuckin hard,” he groans, reaching for you, and pulling you in for a kiss.

“don’t think i’ve kissed you yet,” louis chuckles against your lips, tasting your orgasm on your mouth as his lips lock with yours.

you smile into the kiss, as you realize how much you missed his lips, the taste of him. weed, and the tea he obviously had earlier. just as it always is, and it’s so comforting. coaxes you into relax mode when you get home.

but you find yourself pulling away, wanting to stay true to your promise, knowing he must be painfully hard right now. you make your way down his body, between his legs, as he stops you for a moment, reaching over to the nightstand.

“wanna smoke another one while you’re giving me a blowie, always wanted to do that,” he laughs, lighting the joint, leaning back on the bed as he takes the first puff. “right then, love. whenever you’re ready.”

you giggle, shaking your head, fuck you loved this man. and you’ve no idea why.

……

Masterlist

#louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson fic #louis tomlinson fanfic #louis tomlinson fanfiction #louis tomlinson blurb #louis tomlinson imagine #louis tomlinson one shot #louis tomlinson x reader #louis tomlinson x you #louis tomlinson smut #smut #drugs #louis tomlinson masterlist #one direction #louis tomlinson writings #writings #justmeinatree

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jakeyt · 6 months

Text

Covet: Chapter 8 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Covet Summary:

Life was good. No, life was great.

Was.

Until.

Jake Kiszka crashed into the picture.

You welcomed him into your life—your home.

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

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

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

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

Chapter Word Count: 16.6k+

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

Please enjoy the playlist as you read 🖤

-🌼🌼🌼-

Two Weeks Later

Friday, August 26, 2022

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

Present Day

Saturday, August 13, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

Surely he had an ulterior motive.

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

More you couldn’t have.

But for now, you’d pretend you could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had a soft smile resting on his lips.

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

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

And so, without considering anything else, you did.

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

His brow raised, questioning your words.

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to tell you.”

“Okay. I want to listen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

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

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

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

Your lips lifted, back in the moment with him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stayed with them until. . .?”

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

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

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

“Don’t like writing anymore?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Incredible?” He smiled.

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

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

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

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

His next words confirmed it.

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

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

“Has no one ever told you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

“And you still let it happen?”

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

“Wanted it to,” you remarked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

“For trauma dumping?” You giggled.

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

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

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

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

It felt so freeing.

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

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

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

“That’s terrible.”

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

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

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

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

You blinked a couple times before responding.

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

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

“Twin life?”

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

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

“I’m jealous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So fucking handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, the length.

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

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

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

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

The little raspy laugh beneath you gave him away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you like about them?”

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

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

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

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

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

Once he was completely naked, he repositioned above you.

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

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

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

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

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

Dear God.

But he seemed dissatisfied.

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

But it seemed he still wanted your help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your toes curled with a moan.

“Still too long.”

“Impatient.”

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

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

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

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

“I fucking love it.”

Oh.

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

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

It was painful and delicious all at once.

Fuck he felt so good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His body was a work of art.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His toned pecs and his solid stomach— fuck.

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

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

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

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

But he wasn’t.

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

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

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

“Agreed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When my soul was in the lost and found,

You came along to claim it.

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

Till your kiss helped me name it.

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

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

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

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

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

Pieces you’d forgotten even existed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just as another favorite of yours came on.

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

Like the sweet morning dew,

I took one look at you,

And it was plain to see you were my destiny.

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

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

It always was from this position.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jakey,” you moaned.

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

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

“Best fucking feeling in the whole world.”

Your tummy lurched at that, butterflies fluttered their wings.

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

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

“Oooohhh,” you moaned, your body shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A big one.

But you’d worry about that later.

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

Not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, another text came through.

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

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

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

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

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

Here it comes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully, you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

You were giddy with the fact that he was there.

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

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

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

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

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

Then dinner came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your relief, Elsie started speaking for you.

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

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

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

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

“Howard, quit,” your Grandmother defended.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d never seen your Grandpa this way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did. I feel like all of us do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was awkward.

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

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

But he still ignored it.

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

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

You tentatively grinned at him and shook your head.

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

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

“Jake.”

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

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

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

You felt vulnerable and stark naked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A 1960. . .?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-🌼🌼🌼-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trauma-induced memory loss?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing you do is embarrassing.”

“Wrong.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“How did things change between us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You flushed. “I had to say that.”

“Why?”

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

“It’s okay,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes, but still there. His eyes traveled the walls around you. You could tell his mind was still looming on how he’d found you in the hallway, only minutes ago.

The column of his neck hypnotized you, the muscles that flexed beneath the flesh so strong and sure. You were aching to put your lips on the skin, then his eyes found yours, caught you watching him, yet again. He lifted a brow, eyes flickering to your lips, staring at your mouth as you licked to wet them.

When he bit his lip, it was over.

You couldn’t help it. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart was racing. . .

Without even worrying about getting caught, you angled yourself towards him until your lips met his in a kiss. You had to be near him. Needed to be closer, closer, closer.

He gave it back, matching the force behind your kisses.

It continued like that for a few short moments, but right before you could slip your tongue between his lips, he placed a hand to your cheek, gentle as he held your face steady, pulling back to study your features.

He waited for you to speak. You both knew why he’d put a stop to it.

And as if to drive the point home, Josh’s laugh echoed through the entire house— a blatant reminder of why you couldn’t do this here.

You looked down to see where he was situating himself in his black skinny jeans, your skin heating all the more.

As much as you wanted to leave at that instant, you didn’t want to seem abrupt or strange by doing that. You knew it would be best to eat dessert and then leave.

You tucked a couple of loose strands, having fallen from your makeshift ponytail, behind your ears. Then, you asked. “Wanna eat some pie and then get out of here?”

“Sounds perfect.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

Laying in his bed later that night, sweaty limbs pressed together and chests heaving, your head resting on his chest as he twirled fingers in your hair, now loose around your shoulders. . . You decided to tell him.

“Earlier tonight, when you found me,” you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for your next words. “I was trying to recover from a panic attack.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, pausing. As much as you wanted to look at him when you told him the next part, you decided it would be easier to keep your eyes on his SG, sitting on its stand across his bedroom. “I get them sometimes.”

“Why?” He asked, voice light and calm.

“Different things. . . tonight, it was because I started having these extremely vivid flashbacks from my childhood.”

“About your mom?”

“Not necessarily— not this time,” you cleared your throat as tears pricked at your eyes. It hurt to think about the nasty, younger version of yourself. “This time, it was more about what I used to do when I was younger.” Tears were falling on his chest, your chest was tight as they kept coming, his skin prickling in their wake. “I–I’m sor–sorry.”

“Why, baby?” His voice settled your nerves. Warm. Soft. Him.

“I hate that you have to see me cry,” you sniffled, wiping at the tears on his chest. But instead of letting you continue, he held your hand there, so you could feel the stable beating of his heart.

“If crying is what it takes to heal, I’m here to listen to you as you wade through it.”

This time, you were crying from his words and the way his skin felt against your own. He was your safety. He was here. He was real.

He was here to help. Let him.

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to settle your breaths, focusing on the way his heart beat rhythmically under your hand.

So, you opened up. You told him about everything that Elsie had reminded you of that day in the car; told him what seeing the door had done to you – and everything that had reared its ugly head all at once tonight.

“Wow,” he let out a deep breath in response. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. I was such a fucking demon,” you muttered sadly, your heart breaking as the images and sounds were once again coming back. “And I can’t escape it.”

“Why can’t you?”

You wrinkled your brows, resituating to lean on your arm beside him. His eyes followed you, open and honest and Jake. “I caused severe trauma for others– just like my mom did. I made mistakes that I can never take back.”

“You said you were ten?” He asked. You nodded. “You were a child.”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But you need to give yourself some grace.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re human.”

“But so were the people I hurt.”

“Who would you say you hurt most?”

“Els.”

“And has she forgiven you?”

“I think so,” you muttered, remembering Elsie that day in the car.

“I’ve moved on. Anytime you did any of that stuff, I moved on as soon as you’d done it.”

“You were in pain and somehow, I just knew it. . . I knew then it wouldn’t be fair for me to hold something against you that you probably didn’t mean. I knew the only reason you were acting that way was because someone else had hurt you. It wasn’t all your fault. It was mostly mom’s. You just didn’t know how to react to it.”

“Then you need to forgive yourself,” he said, moving some tresses of hair behind your shoulders to be able to put an open palm to your chest, right where your heart laid beneath the flesh. “Your heart is beautiful. That’s what matters. Always has been, always will be,” he gave you one kiss, deep enough to emphasize the words. It left you dizzy as he went back to his spot, never letting his hand leave your chest. “I just want you to understand that people make mistakes,” he smiled, reassuring. “I’ve made a shit ton.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, both of you sharing a knowing laugh.

“But," you started, feeling the need to encourage him as well. "That wasn’t you. You were hurting.”

“So were you, back then,” he reasoned, his voice soft.

“I guess,” you relented slightly. “Elsie told me a lot of this, too, but I just couldn’t believe her. It’s hard to see the good in myself from back then, though, knowing all of the horrific things I did,” you stated simply. You held his hand to your chest as you laid on your back, not wanting him to move it. “I just can’t shake how I let myself forget it so easily. I’ve gone all these years not truly knowing who I was– who I am.”

“Have you ever considered going to therapy again?”

“No,” your heart beat faster at the prospect.

He could feel it, and reacted as such. He came closer to you, his chest and stomach pressing into you, more skin-to-skin to help calm you. “Would you consider it?”

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your hand and his, still over your heart. “Depends, I guess.”

He hummed. “Okay,” he answered, relenting from the hard questions. “How about you work on forgiving yourself and I’ll look into different types of therapy? Let you know what I come across?”

Your heart slowed down, the tiniest smile lifting your lips. Your hand gripped his. Your anchor. Your safety. “Alright.”

-🌼🌼🌼-

A couple days later, you sat on your couch, mesmerized by Jake, who was sitting next to you.

Well, kind of. He was on the cushion at the opposite end of the sofa as you.

All you wanted was to be closer to him, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could trust yourself.

These days, if he was close enough for you to touch him, you were going to be touching him. Whether it be rubbing his shoulders, playing with his continuously growing hair, or laying on top of him (sometimes naked, sometimes not).

But you were appreciating your vantage point tonight. Watching closely as he played through some new songs with Josh. Josh would sing, and Jake would play the same thing. Jake would play, then Josh would sing it verbatim.

It was interesting to watch them, bouncing off of each other creatively like that.

Twin telepathy at its finest.

You were stuck in a trance, trying your damnedest to give equal attention to Josh, so as not to raise any suspicion. But it was getting harder and harder to resist watching Jake– being near him, day by day.

Trying to find other things to focus on, your eyes floated across the room, observing all of the men around you. They’d all been growing their hair out as well. And, normally, a guy growing his hair out was not a huge deal.

But with these guys? It seemed to you, it was a visual for their changing life. The longer their hair got, the more it was obvious that they were moving onto a new stage of life.

They were becoming rockstars. Truly.

Not only were they making music day in and day out, playing it live every week, preparing for a humongous music festival that would feature many huge bands. . . they were looking more and more like it, too.

But they were still your boys.

Never changing.

Sam’s ever-nasally voice interrupted your rambling thoughts, as if on cue. You smiled in his direction, pointing your attention to him.

“Jake,” he started, excited as he looked intently at his phone screen.

“What, Sam?” He responded with a slight growl to say his younger brother’s name. “Can’t you tell I’m creatively processing?”

Danny let out one loud laugh, his eyes sparkling with a laugh. Josh joined in momentarily, then went back to humming

“Oh, fuck off, Jake,” he rolled his eyes, a smile still adorning his baby face. He trotted his lanky legs over to the couch, sitting between you and your roommate. “Look at this picture of Maya,” he angled the phone so it was right in front of Jake, but turned just right so you couldn’t see it.

You giggled at Jake having to pull away from the bright screen to get a better look. “God, Sam,” he said, annoyed, grabbing the phone out of Sam’s hand. “Turn your fucking brightness down.”

“Don’t tell me how to live my life, Jacob,” he responded, flipping his hair and rolling his eyes. He turned in your direction for support, throwing a thumb behind him at Jake. “He’s annoying.”

You were still laughing as you asked your question. “Who’s Maya?”

“Jake hasn’t told you about Maya?!” He wondered aloud, his voice raising a decibel or two.

“No, I haven’t, Sam,” Jake said, his tone clipped, holding the phone tighter in his firm grip, long fingers flexing around the device. “Shut the fuck up.”

Your brows drew in at his behavior. Now you were dying to know who Maya was and why he was suddenly acting so weird about her.

“I ask again, who is Maya?”

“She’s asking Jake,” Sam stated, as if he’d won. “I’m telling her.”

“Sam–.”

“Maya is Jake’s super hot client that he used to fuck. When he first moved here,” Sam clarified. “Still does, I think. I mean, who wouldn’t?!” Then he laughed, hitting Jake’s stiff arm with the back of his hand.

He was doing what, now?

Chancing a look at the man in question, you noticed he was angry.

Seething was a better term.

You could tell as he gripped the neck of his guitar, his chest rising with constricted breaths, nose flaring, staring at Josh, who was simply shaking his head in return.

Sam took his phone from Jake’s hand, gaining it with some effort. But getting it in his grasp anyway. Right as he’d done so, the hand Jake’d been holding it in clenched to a fist, his jaw tightening. The hand on the neck became dangerously tight.

“Sammy. . .,” Josh tried intervening. His eyes jumped back and forth between each brother, desperate for there to be peace.

Social cues apparently off, Sam was still smiling wide.

“This is Maya,” he said, flashing the phone in front of your face, holding it there for you to get a good, long look.

No. Couldn’t be.

The air left your chest, your vision zeroing in on the bright screen of the phone, everything else blurry around you as your head suddenly felt extremely light, body heavy.

Surely not. . .

You squinted, taking a closer look at the phone before you jumped to any sort of conclusion.

But the house behind her, as well as her long, dark black hair. . .

You knew you were correct in your assumption of who it was.

The joy that the youngest brother exuded was the exact opposite of how you were feeling. The giant stone that had fallen to sit at the bottom of your stomach was suddenly weighing you to the couch.

You nodded at the screen, pushing the device away from you, hands shaking slightly. “You really do need to turn your brightness down, Sam,” you said, clearing your throat as it got painfully tight.

Play it cool, play it cool.

You were working so hard to hide your emotions. A small smile twitched at your lips. The tears in your throat made them wobble a tiny bit.

Stop it, y/n.

Jake’s voice cut through, directly to your ears. “It meant nothing—.”

You didn’t look at him, only focusing back on Sam as he spoke. You tried hard to keep your eyes wide and clear of anything concerning.

“He still sees her for lessons,” he said, wiggling his brows. “What happens at guitar lessons, stays at guitar lessons,” he elbowed Jake’s arm, tense as the muscle in his bicep flexed, fist still bunched. “Am I right, brother?!”

Sam was the only one smiling in the room.

The room was tense, Sam tucking his phone back into the pocket of his silky, vibrant button down. He pushed his sunglasses further into his hair.

You were frozen, not even daring to look up at Jake’s face. You studied your hands, then grabbed your phone off of the coffee table to pretend you were checking it. The frenzied emotions in your gut were not trustworthy. If you looked at him, you were sure you’d fall apart.

It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they’re still fucking, you tried to reassure yourself. Right?!

But then, you thought about him taking a while at her house. All of his excuses were adding up.

Had three Ubers really canceled? Or had he just been too busy fucking her and lost track of time?

It made sense, considering the way she’d watched him leave. The hug.

And what he’d said to her right before he got in the car. Talking about his ‘favorite part of his day’ . . . Fuck. Your chest hurt, the words making so much more sense now. . .

His favorite part of the day. . .

Your vision got cloudy. What were you? Sad? Angry? Both? You couldn’t fucking tell.

You just needed to get out of the room.

As you stood up from your spot, your legs wobbled a bit, your mind scrambling for the first excuse that could come to it. “I’ve gotta pee.”

Still not looking at Jake, you walked as fast as you could to the bathroom.

The last thing you heard before shutting the door to the bathroom was Danny’s voice, trying to break the air-right atmosphere.

“How about dinner?”

-🌼🌼🌼-

a/n: uh oh. . .

alsoooo, you'll notice that we haven't even gotten to the scene from the sneak peek yet. . . all of that will come to you in part 2. . . see you again soon, loves ;)

send in your thoughts!! i love hearing from you <3

thank you for being the best readers in the world!!! love you all so much!

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cre8inghavoc · 1 month

Text

What are friends for?

PT. 6

Status: ongoing!!

Updates: no set date.

WC: 3780

Pairing: megumi fushiguro x FEM!reader

Genre/Warnings:[18+] Characters are aged up. This story contains toxic boyfriend, cursing, name calling, self-doubt/hate, angst, breaking up, post-breakup, alcohol, drug use, drunk moments, new friends, dating!au, college!au, no curses!au, dark humour, dark jokes. SMAU.

RECAP:

"Why..." Your voice trembles with emotion. "Why are you so kind to me? You barely even know me..." you say, feeling a surge of sadness.

He holds your chin gently, tilting your head up to meet his gaze fully. A smirk plays on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He's so effortlessly attractive... his gaze alone stirs something deep within you, igniting a rush of desire. If only he knew the effect he has on you...

"And there's a lot you don't know about me, sweetheart."

You start to respond, but before you can utter a word, you watch in pure shock as he slowly brings his hand to his mouth, still locking eyes with you. With deliberate intent, he places your last edible on his tongue and swallows it.

You stare at him, utterly shocked. Trying to wrap your head around his actions and motives becomes a challenge, especially with the haze induced by the drugs clouding your thoughts. Why in the world would he take your last edible?

"Megs... why would you do that?" you ask, your words a bit slurred from the drugs.

"Why would you?" he shoots back, still close, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your cheek, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine.

"I... do you even know how strong it is?" you try to divert the conversation, struggling to keep up with his questioning about your own choices.

"Tell me," he urges softly, his gaze now heavy-lidded, a whole new energy flowing from him that sets your pulse racing. It's like he's looking at you with hunger, and before you realize it, you're squirming slightly, trying to ease the sudden heat pooling between your thighs.

"I... it's around 35mg..." you manage to stammer out.

He just hums in response, one knee finding its place on the bed for support as he leans closer, never breaking eye contact. Your heart thumps wildly as he inches closer to you, his eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he notices your breath hitching.

You can't help but giggle at a sudden idea that pops into your head.

"What's so funny, angel?" he asks, his tone sweet and curious.

"Oh, just a silly thought," you dismiss, feeling a bit embarrassed about the idea.

"Tell me, I want to know," he insists, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you sure you want to know?" you tease, flashing him a playful smile.

"Absolutely, angel," he replies with a grin.

"I was just thinking about how our friends were so surprised to see us together earlier... wouldn't it be hilarious if we pranked our friends into thinking we were together? I mean, it's kind of silly, but..." you trail off, chuckling at the absurdity of the idea.

"Let's do it," he says, his smirk growing wider as he continues to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

"Really?" you exclaim, surprised by his response. You hadn't expected him to agree to such a stupid plan, but the idea excites you nonetheless.

"Yeah, it would be funny to see their reactions. So, how do we pull it off?" he asks, watching as your face lights up at his agreement. He can't help but find you utterly adorable.

"Okay, so I was thinking we could take some pictures together, like holding hands or something, and then post them on our Twitter pages. That way, they'll see them in the morning..." you explain, your excitement bubbling over.

"Sounds perfect. Give me your phone," he says.

You hand him your phone, watching as he opens the camera app and then takes your hand in his. Your heart flutters at the touch, and you glance up at him as he snaps the picture. As he focuses intently on capturing the picture, you can't help but feel a rush of warmth coursing through you at the sensation of his touch. It's just for the photos, you remind yourself, but the way his hand feels against yours sends shivers down your spine. Despite knowing it's all part of the prank, his touch alone manages to stir up a rush of emotions within you. Once he's done, he passes the phone back to you, a soft smile on his lips.

"You can post this one. It looks good," he says, still holding your hand.

You open Twitter and upload the photo, with Megumi responding to the tweet to make it seem more believable.

Setting your phone aside, you realize that he's still holding onto your hand, and the realization sends a wave of flustered excitement through you. The intensity of the moment seems to increase with each passing second, and you can sense that he feels it too from the way he's looking at you. His gaze locks onto yours, and you feel a magnetic pull drawing you closer together.

"Think I know another way to make it more believable..." Megumi's voice carries a hint of mischief as he speaks up.

As he leans in, his eyes flicker down to your lips, signalling his intentions, and your heart races in anticipation of what's to come. "Meg-" you start to say, but he leans back from your face, teasing you, and you hate how he's pulling away again. But something inside you snaps. Maybe it's because you’re intoxicated, maybe it's sheer desperation, but you can't hold back any longer. You need it... You need him... So, you grab ahold of his wrist and pull him back over you, his smirk widening. For a brief moment, you lock eyes, both of you breathing heavily, and without hesitation, he crashes his lips onto yours.

Finally... finally, his lips meet yours, and a fierce hunger flares to life within both of you. Fueled by raw desire and longing, you surrender to the intoxicating embrace, every touch, every kiss, a testament to the passion that's been simmering between you.

Suddenly, he bites your bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from you as he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Climbing onto the bed above you, he grasps the back of your neck, deepening the kiss, eliciting another moan from you that causes him to groan in response. It feels as though his body has a mind of its own, perhaps the effects of the weed already kicking in. You find yourself instinctively reaching up to caress his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers trail down his abs, tempted to tug at the hem of his sweater and pull it off, but you know you shouldn't. Instead, you slip your hand under his sweater, relishing the sensation of his warm, bare skin against your fingertips. You feel his abs tense beneath your touch, revealing the effects you have on him.

Fuck… he's so toned…

The craving for more of him is overwhelming, but you know you shouldn't give in. Reluctantly, you pull away, locking eyes with him once more.

"We shouldn't," you murmur softly.

"Yeah," he agrees, still lost in your gaze.

All you can do is bite your lip and return his gaze, fighting the urge to pull him back in.

Suddenly, he swiftly lifts you up and gently turns you onto the bed, positioning himself beneath you. He situates you on his lap, his hand still on your cheek before trailing down your neck, his thumb grazing your lip before placing his hand around your throat.

"You're just so beautiful," he murmurs, applying gentle pressure, enough to allow you to breathe.

Then, he pulls you in for another kiss, this time even more passionate than before.

Caught off guard, you let out a gasp, unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you. It's almost impossible to resist him; he's undeniably attractive, and his presence alone makes you feel like you're on fire. The way he makes you feel special, calling you beautiful and igniting sensations that pulse through your body—it's intoxicating. The thought of him being able to sense just how much he affects you is both thrilling and utterly embarrassing. But in this moment, it's like nothing else matters except the desire that burns between you.

He gently pulls away from your lips, leaving you momentarily confused.

"Give me your phone," he requests suddenly.

"What? Why?" you inquire, puzzled by his sudden request.

"Give it to me, angel," he repeats softly.

You can't help but melt a little at that pet name. You love when he calls you that. Unable to resist, you hand over your phone, watching as he returns to the camera app and snaps a picture of you on top of him.

"What was that for?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips as you gaze down at him.

He turns the phone to show you the photo.

"You look way too pretty like this," he remarks, and the words alone send a jolt of heat through you. It's as if he has a direct line to your desires, because just hearing him say that makes you feel even more aroused. You swear he must sense it, cause in that moment, his gaze drifts down to your thighs before returning to meet your eyes, a wide grin spreading across his face.

As you glance at the photo on your phone, you can't deny the aesthetic appeal of the scene captured: him beneath you, his hand delicately around your neck. It's undeniably alluring, and you can't help but enjoy this moment more. But beneath the surface, a conflict rages within you, tearing at your heart and clouding your thoughts. On one hand, there's an undeniable attraction pulling you towards him, urging you to give in to the intense desires that swirl between you. Yet, on the other hand, there's a voice of reason cautioning you against rushing into something new, especially when you're still healing from the scars of your past. It's a battle between the longing for his touch and the need to protect yourself no.... to protect him from potential heartache, because of how fucked up you are. Caught in this internal struggle, you find yourself torn between what you want and what you know you should do. You know you crave him, want him more than anything, but the timing feels all wrong. You've just ended a toxic relationship, and diving into another one feels… reckless. As much as you want him, you know deep down that you're not ready for it, that you don't deserve him, not now, not in your mental state. So, despite the overwhelming temptation, you force yourself to pull back, to resist the urge for something more, knowing that it's the best choice for both of you, at least for now…

"Hey... are you okay? Did I say something wrong?" Megumi's voice is laced with concern as you suddenly move away from him.

"No, no, not at all," you hastily assure him, trying to quell the rising guilt within you. "I'm just feeling a bit dizzy and tired, that's all."

You offer him a reassuring smile, wanting to convey that the time you spent together was enjoyable. But deep down, you wrestle with the guilt of holding back your true feelings. You want to be with him, but you know rushing into something new wouldn't be fair to either of you.

"Alright, let's sleep then," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"Goodnight, angel," he murmurs softly.

"Goodnight, Megs," you reply, feeling a warmth spreading through you at the endearment. With his kiss lingering on your skin, you close your eyes, allowing yourself to drift into a peaceful slumber.

You both slip under the covers and eventually drift off to sleep. This time feels different, though. With him beside you, you feel a sense of safety and security wash over you, as if all your worries have melted away. There's a peacefulness in the way you sleep, knowing he's right there next to you, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself able to truly relax and let go.

"W-what the fuck?!" Nobara's voice pierces through the room, causing you to jolt awake in surprise and terror. You lean up, your heart racing, and see her standing at Megumi's door, staring at the two of you in disbelief.

As you glance at Megumi, you realize the compromising position you both fell asleep in: his arm wrapped around your waist, your head resting on his shoulder, and one leg draped over his. Quickly, you move back, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you realize how it must look.

"Why didn't you tell us you're together?!" Nobara's voice is loud and accusatory as she addresses both of you.

You and Megumi exchange a sheepish glance before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. Just then, you hear Itadori rushing towards Nobara, concern evident in his voice.

"What the heck happened?! Are you guys okay?" Itadori questions, his eyes wide with alarm as he rushes into the room, not initially noticing the situation.

"We're fine, but look!" Nobara shows Itadori her phone, displaying your Twitter feed and the photo you posted.

"What the heck, Megumi? You said you weren't together?!" Itadori's surprise is evident as he glances up at Megumi. Suddenly, his gaze falls upon you, still in bed beside Megumi, and realization dawns on him. Shock registers on his face as he processes the unexpected revelation.

Still chuckling at their reactions, you exchange amused glances with Megumi, who simply shrugs with a smirk on his face.

You and Megumi exchange a knowing glance, silently agreeing to play along with the prank. Without saying a word about your "relationship" (or lack thereof), you both decide to keep up the charade by not giving any definitive answers. It'll be much more amusing to let them speculate and question the authenticity of your supposed relationship as you continue to post more relationship-like pictures on your feed. With mischievous smiles, you both nod in agreement, ready to keep the prank going for as long as possible.

As the week passes by, you realize it's been a while since you've hung out with your friends, including Megumi. It's not that you've been intentionally avoiding him, but there's a nagging feeling inside you, a sense that getting too close to him might lead to something you're not ready for… Truth is, you're scared… scared of getting too close to him, scared of losing control over your feelings, you're hesitant to pursue a relationship, not due to lack of readiness, but because you're grappling with the emotional scars left behind by your past.

Every time you're around him, you feel this undeniable pull, an urge to be closer to him in every way possible. It's not just physical attraction; it's a desire to hold his hand, to spend endless hours talking to him, to have him by your side always.

You don't even realize it, but you've been unintentionally brushing off Megumi's attempts to reach out to you. It's not like you're doing it on purpose; life just seems to be pulling you in a hundred different directions right now.

You've made some big decisions recently, like deciding to move out of your house and transfer to a new school. It's a mix of wanting a fresh start but also feeling scared… Your ex-boyfriend's threats still hang over you like a dark cloud, reminding you of the danger you're trying to escape.

The decision to move homes and schools wasn't easy, but it felt necessary for your own safety. You're terrified of what your ex might do, and you'd rather not take any chances. Initially, you were planning to stay with one of your friends temporarily until you figured out your next move. However, when Yuta and Maki suggested moving in with Inumaki, given the ample space in his house (due to his parents being rich), the opportunity seemed too good to pass up.

With five bedrooms available, one for each of you, and even a gaming room for Toge, the prospect of living with your friends fills you with excitement. Not only will you get to see them every day at school, but now you'll also have the chance to spend time with them at home. It feels like the perfect solution to your current difficult situation, offering safety, companionship, and a fresh start all in one.

As your move-out date approaches, you realize you haven't even started packing, let alone arrange for moving trucks to haul your stuff. Thankfully, you don't have much furniture to worry about; it's mainly your personal belongings in your room and your TV that you want to take with you.

But before diving into your own packing, you're determined to rid your home of any reminders of your ex-boyfriend. You gather up everything that holds a piece of him: his sweaters, sweatpants, photos of you both, the jewelry he once gifted you, and even the love letters from the beginning of your relationship, when he wasn’t such a shitty person. As much as you're tempted to toss it all out or maybe even burn it, you can't bring yourself to do it. Despite everything, you're not the kind of person to be petty. So, you pull out your phone and shoot him a text, asking him to swing by and collect his things.

You open the door to find your ex standing there, a smirk playing on his lips as he greets you. You can't help but roll your eyes at his cocky demeanor.

"Missed me, sweetheart?" he taunts, but you're not having any of it.

"Oh, shut it. Don't bother coming in fully," you retort, cutting him off before he can take his shoes off.

"I'm just giving you your things, then you can leave."

"Sure, whatever," he replies, rolling his eyes in response to your dismissal.

As you head to the kitchen to retrieve his belongings, you're interrupted by another knock at the door. You hesitate, wondering if you're just hearing things, but ultimately decide to ignore it and continue with your task. Grabbing the box of his stuff, you make your way back to the living room.

Meanwhile, your ex opens the door slightly to find a tall boy with dark hair standing outside. Recognition flickers in his eyes; he remembers this boy from last week, the one who stayed at your house. A smirk spreads across his face as he realizes how the tables have turned.

Megumi stares at your ex with a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Why is your ex here, in your house? Was this why you've been avoiding him? The questions linger, unspoken, as a tense silence settles between them. He refuses to let his true emotions show, masking his hurt and confusion behind his usual nonchalant facade. He stares at your ex, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he's affected by the situation. Breaking the tense silence between them, Megumi finally speaks up.

"Where's Y/N?" he asks, his tone casual despite the turmoil swirling inside him.

"She's busy right now. Do you need something?" your ex responds, clearly enjoying this more.

"Yeah, tell her to call me when she's not busy," Megumi replies evenly, refusing to let your ex get under his skin.

"Will do, bro," your ex says with a smirk, enjoying the tension before Megumi turns to leave.

Megumi walks back to his car with measured steps, his expression carefully neutral, betraying none of the chaos within. As he reaches his car, he pauses, taking a moment to collect himself before getting in. Once seated behind the wheel, he lets out a silent sigh, his facade finally dropping as he allows himself to acknowledge the uneasy emotions swirling inside him. With a heavy heart, he starts the engine, steeling himself to navigate the storm of feelings that threaten to consume him.

As you make your way back to the living room, the sound of your ex's voice blends with another, familiar one at the door.

Was that Megumi?

A sinking feeling settles in your stomach, and you quicken your pace, but it's too late. You watch helplessly as Megumi gets into his car and drives off, leaving you standing there in a state of panic.

Realization hits you like a ton of bricks as you grasp how the situation must have appeared to him, especially since you haven't spoken much since you shared your first kiss. The weight of the misunderstanding presses down on you, and you curse yourself for not reaching out sooner to explain the situation. You realize now that you should have let him know about your plans to move out and how you only invited your ex over to collect his belongings before packing up and moving in with your friends.

Driven by a mix of frustration and desperation, you quickly kick your ex out of your house once you gave his stuff, disregarding his protests as your thoughts are consumed by Megumi. With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone and dial his number repeatedly, each call going straight to voicemail. The unanswered rings only serve to heighten your anxiety, amplifying the sense of urgency to set things right.

Fuck... Megumi, please answer me....

You try calling him a few more times, hoping he'll pick up, but it's no use. The silence on the other end only increases your anxiety more. You know you should probably give him some space and time to cool down, but the fear of losing him grips you tightly. Your mind races with a bunch of thoughts, and your hands shake uncontrollably as you attempt to text him. You have to remind yourself to take deep breaths before you can even begin to type out your messages.

Looking back at the last messages you exchanged only deepens the feeling of self-loathing within you. You remember shutting him down when he invited you to hang out with his friends, and then ignoring his goodnight text. The realization hits hard– you've been acting like an asshole. And then, him seeing your ex at your house only adds to your guilt and shame. You wouldn't blame him if he decided to cut you off completely.

You really fucked up this time.

Now that your ex has retrieved his belongings, you're on a tight deadline to get everything packed by the end of the day. You have to move out tonight, especially since you're starting at a new school tomorrow. Plus, moving everything out today will make it much easier to settle into your new room before school starts. And, it's a good way to pass the time until 6:40 PM tonight, when you plan to head to the park.... Tonight will be the moment of truth to see if he decides to show up. You're overwhelmed with the need to apologize for your silence all week and for turning down his invitations to hang out. And then there's the mess with your ex, which just adds to the chaos. You really want to explain to him that your ex was only there to pick up his stuff before you move, but it's hard to make him understand when you hadn't even mentioned your plans to move to begin with.

It just feels like everything is just spiralling out of control...

please ignore the twitter likes being different and the times on the texts —I was kinda too lazy to fix them....

i originally wanted the time on y/ns text to megumi (her spamming him) to be set at 11:20am but it lit wouldn't work so i gave up...

Also, not totally sold on this chapter, feels like I rushed it a bit.... well not necessarily rushed but to be honest, I had a hard time figuring out how to end it. Had a few ideas but none of them rly felt good enough and i kinda wanted to set up the next chap with the way i was going to end it....

sorry if this is confusing its 3:40am and ive been writing for hours.... 😀

TAGLIST <3

@lavender-hvze , @xbarrjallenx , @atinymonbebestay , @1l-ynn , @chilichopsticks , @dr-fluff-meow, , @lostfracturess, @maya-maya-56, @ichorstainedskin , @luciiferslover

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