June @gvfleetwood - Tumblr Blog

May 6, 2025

vanfleeter-deactivated20260120

Quick little Dad!Jake blurb that I wrote the other day with absolutely no editing or proofreading. Enjoy!

Summary: Jake can't wait until you get back to cuddle the baby so he risks waking her up to satisfy his needs.

It’s currently noon, which means it’s baby feeding time. Jake, making the wrong decision to stay home with Lily and Tommy while you went to the store. He made an even worse decision when he took Lily out of her baby swing in the living room where she was peacefully sleeping. Tommy watches from the coffee table where he colors, just knowing that wasn’t the right move.

“Papa, she was sleeping.”

“Yes, I know.” Jake says. “But I want some cuddles.”

“Mommy said not to wake her though. If you wake her, she’s your responsibilery.”

“Yes I heard what Mommy said.” Jake says as he carefully unbuckles Lily and gently scoops her out of her swing. She grunts a little, scrunching up in his hands. He softly hums a tune and bounces her gently to keep her calm.

You knew he couldn’t last long enough to let you go to the store to pick up a few things for this week’s dinners and then come back home to feed the baby. He was obsessed with cuddling his little girl, rightfully so. He did the same thing with Tommy. No wonder Tommy grew so attached to his father, always wanting to be following him around, hanging off his back or holding tightly to his legs as Jake dragged him along wherever he went. You wouldn't be surprised if Lily turned out the same way. Although from the day she was born, she immediately bonded with him and would want no one except him. Although she made exceptions when it came to being fed, considering you were the only one who could do it and she preferred breastfeeding over a bottle.

Jake cuddles her close to his chest as he hums a different lullaby and bounces on his toes. But it was nearing her feeding time and she was awake before she needed to be or wanted to be. It was a risky move but it was worth it.

“Look at you–so tiny. So pretty.” He coos, her tiny hand wrapping tightly around his thumb.

“Papa, what are you going to do when she needs to eat? Mommy isn’t even home yet.”

“We have milk here too,” Jake says.

“She doesn't like the bottle. She likes drinking from Mommy’s–”

“I know, I know.” Jake says as he continues bouncing Lily. “I have the wrong parts.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Tommy says, making Jake laugh. “I just know she’s always attached to–”

“Okay! I think we should change your diaper before Mommy gets home.” Jake says as he quickly leaves the living room. He’ll do anything else before he gives a five year old a lesson on biology and body autonomy.

He continues humming that little lullaby as he works to change Lily’s diaper as she begins to grow more and more irritated and upset. You were running behind schedule and Jake was beginning to panic. It is her feeding time and he just knows she won't take a bottle.

“Shh, shh.. It’s okay Lilypad..” He says as he pats her bottom, holding her against his chest and rocking side to side. “Mommy’s going to be soon.”

“I told you..” Tommy says from the doorway of the nursery.

“Now is not the time.” Jake says. He hisses when he feels Lily latch onto one of his nipples. “Gah–fuck..” He says as he pries her off, which only makes her more upset. “I’m sorry darling, but these aren't functional in that way.” He desperately spins back around to face the door, now seeking help from a five year old. “Please please please go warm up some of the milk that Mommy has stocked in the freezer. You remember what she showed you?”

“Papa, she won’t drink from a bottle.”

“Just please..” Jake sighs. “Help me out here.”

“Okay..” Tommy huffs as he leaves the nursery to go downstairs while Lily proceeds to scream off Jake’s ear.

“Oh I know.. You’re hungry and Mommy isn’t here and I only made you more angry for having the wrong parts.. But your big brother is getting you your food all warmed up for you so you can have something while you wait for Mommy..”

Minutes later, Tommy comes back upstairs with the fresh bottle and hands to Jake. He watches as Jake tries to give her the bottle, gently rubbing the nipple of the bottle along Lily’s mouth. “Papa..”

“Tommy, she’ll take it. She’s too hungry not to.” Jake says as he goes over to the rocking chair and sits down.

Jake looked frustrated as he sat there, slowly rocking in the chair and doing anything he could to get her to take the bottle. He was so good with everything else one had to do to care for a baby but feeding his own child he just couldn't do. She wasn't anything like Tommy. In fact, she was the complete opposite.

He hears Tommy sigh and he looks up to watch him as he shuffles over to the basket beside the rocking chair and pulls your feeding pillow. “Papa, she likes to lay on this while Mommy feeds her.” He says. Jake lifts the baby up high enough for Tommy to situate the pillow on Jake’s lap.

Feeding Lily after that was beginning to get easier. Her tiny body loosened up and her cries softened to small whimpers. Her teeny hand reached up and clutched onto the metal bracelet wrapped around Jake’s wrist. He fed her the nipple once more and she successfully latched on. Her cries quilted down and she sucked hungrily.

“Oh thank you..” Jake sighs in relief, resting his head against the back of the rocking chair.

“So what did we learn today?” Tommy questions, raising his brows in a mocking fashion as he smiles.

Jake sighs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t wake a sleeping baby.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“That’s she’s your responbilery–responsa–”

“Responsibility.”

“Yes. Big words.”

Jake chuckles and reaches his free hand over to ruffle Tommy’s hair. “She’s always my responsibility–just like you are too. But I’m sorry, I haven't held her all day because she all wanted was Mommy’s–”

“Boobies?”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Yes..”

“Like you do?”

Jake wasn't sure how much bigger his eyes could get as his jaw fell open. “Hush it.”

“I don't get it..”

“And you won’t until you’re forty.”

“Isn't that how old you are?”

Jake’s eyes narrow and Tommy giggles. “I am not forty.”

“Your gray hairs say either wise.” Tommy says. “Grandpa told me that when you start getting gray hairs, that is when you’re getting old.”

"Well your grandpa is wrong. I am not old. Just stressed…because of you.” He jokes, stretching out his leg to wrap around Tommy’s small frame and pull him closer to the chair. “You’re too smart for your age, you know that?”

“I know I am.” He says.

Jake rolls his eyes. “Go finish your coloring. And then when Mommy gets home, I am so discussing some things with you.”

gvfleetwood

May 6, 2025

hailthegodsong

INSOMNIA

One-shot ~ Jake Kiszka x Female reader

Word Count: 6.7k +

Summary: When you discover Jakes lifelong struggle with insomnia, you’re determined to find a cure. Little did you know, Jakes lullaby is something much simpler than white noise.

A/N: I am very aware that this story is medically innacurate and insomnia is not this easy to just get over, but I thought it was fluffy and sweet so hope you enjoy!

Content Warnings: talks of insomnia, exhaustion, and description of (sad) sleepless nights, guilt, flirting, playful banter, swearing, love bombs. SMUT 18+ INCLUDING: illusions to sex and love making, the tail end of protected sex, aftercare. Disclaimer: the cure to his insomnia is not gonna be sex.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

“Oh baby right there, you feel so good for me,” Jake moaned into your ear, hips thrusting erratically into you.

You whined, hands gripping his shoulders, fingernails digging into the warm skin there. “Fuck, Jake, I’m close.

“Me too, baby. Come for me, please,” he practically begged, eyes squeezing shut tightly. “Please, please, please, please.”

The whiny, neediness that laced his voice was enough in itself to send you over the edge. Jake thrusted into you mercilessly as you clamped down around him, crying out and gripping onto his body like a vice.

A moan sang from your chest, and Jake struggled to maintain his composure above you, hips a stuttering mess against you, before he let go as well. His body flattened against yours as he rode out his orgasm, wet lips rubbing against your shoulder, and hot breath fanning over your skin as he moaned out a poetic mix of profanities and your name.

Once he had calmed, you both lay there for a moment, sweat licked skin pressed together and chests heaving in synchronicity, hearts beating against one another. Reluctantly, Jake pushed himself up on shaky arms and slipped out of you with a whispered ‘ahh’. You sighed, watching him dreamily as he stood from the bed, taking off the condom and disposing of it in the bin, ass swaying with each step he took.

He glanced back at you on the bed, laughter lingering in his breath, eyes catching yours before trailing downward— over your flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat painting your skin, the evidence of your pleasure still glistening at your core.

“You look so beautiful laying there…” he murmured, voice hushed with something tender, something almost awestruck. His gaze drifted over the rise and fall of your chest, the way your nipples remained peaked in the cool air, your body still trembling slightly in the aftershocks of him. Then, with that familiar mischievous glint, he lifted his hands and mimed taking an imaginary picture.

You giggled, warmth creeping up your neck as you covered your face with your hands. “You’re so lame.”

Jake grinned, entirely unbothered, before tilting his head toward you. “Let me grab you a towel to clean up…” His lips twitched, eyes flicking teasingly down your body, “...Your mess.”

With a gasp, you snatched a small pillow off the bed and hurled it at him. He barely dodged, yelping before scampering away toward the bathroom, still bare-cheeked, and giggling under his breath.

When he returned, he was gentler, quieter. He climbed back onto the bed beside you, warm cloth in hand, and without a word, he pressed it to your skin. The damp heat glided over your inner thighs, slow and delicate, wiping away the remnants of your pleasure with a tenderness that made your breath catch. You should have felt shy, maybe even embarrassed by the mess you had made, but with Jake, it was impossible. He never let you feel anything but adored.

“There we go,” he murmured, shifting to wipe himself off next, swiping the cloth over his own thighs before tossing it somewhere across the room without a second thought. “All clean.”

Then, before you could say anything, he flopped onto the bed, collapsing right on top of you with a satisfied groan.

“Jake!” you wheezed out a laugh, pushing at his chest, but he only hummed, wrapping his arms securely around your waist and rolling onto his back, bringing you with him.

Jake’s lips brushed your temple. “That was nice,” he murmured.

You smiled, pressing your face against his chest. “Mmm. It was.”

“Can't believe we waited that long to do it,” he commented. It was true. Though you and Jake had been together for a while, you had waited a fair while before sleeping together. There was no real reason for it, it just had happened that way. “I will say though, I wasn’t expecting you to moan like that.”

Your face burned. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He laughed, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “No, really. You sounded so sweet, baby— ‘Jake, oh my God, right there’—”

With a horrified gasp, you smacked your hand against his mouth, but he just laughed harder against your skin, licking your palm playfully. You scowled, pulling your hand away, “Okay, but I wasn’t whining, like you.”

His smirk faltered. “I did not.”

“Oh, you so did.” You patted his chest in mock sympathy. “Like, this real desperate little ‘please, please, please’ situation.”

Jake groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. “Alright, maybe a little.”

You grinned, victorious. “Mmm. Thought so.”

Jake huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” He didn’t even hesitate. His voice was so warm, so full of certainty, that it made your stomach flip. He tilted his chin down, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple before settling back against the pillows, arms tightening around you.

Tangled together beneath the sheets, you let yourself melt into him, head resting against his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you toward sleep. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, warm and absentminded, and with every slow stroke, the world around you faded further, shrinking down to just this— just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

A yawn slipped from your lips, and you nestled closer, murmuring weakly, “I’m sleepy.”

It was nothing, just an exhausted mumble, but you felt the way his hand hesitated for half a second against your skin. And when you blinked your eyes open, you saw it too.

The flicker of something in his gaze. A hesitation, the shadow of something sad.

But the second he noticed you looking, it was gone— swallowed up by a soft smile, by the warmth that was always there when he looked at you.

“Okay baby, go to sleep,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be right here,” he said, gentle as ever.

But now you were awake.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you lifted your head to look at him properly, studying the warm brown of his eyes, the way they reflected the dim golden glow of his bedside lamp. “Jake,” you said slowly, “What's wrong?”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then, shaking his head, he let out a quiet laugh, as if you were being ridiculous. “Hm?”

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Just now. You looked… I don’t know. Sad.”

He exhaled, glancing away, his fingers moving to toy with the edge of the sheet draped over your waist. “Nothing’s wrong. I just— I like talking to you, that’s all.”

Your heart softened at that, but still, something didn’t sit right.

“Jake,” you pressed, shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow. “It’s nearly two in the morning. Aren’t you tired too?”

A pause. Then, finally, “Yeah… Yeah honey I'm tired too. Let's get some rest.”

The hesitation in his voice made your stomach twist. You reached for his face without thinking, cupping his cheek so he couldn’t look away. “What is it?”

Jake looked embarrassed. He rubbed at the back of his neck, his gaze flickering downward. “I, uh… I just can’t sleep… sometimes.”

Your brow furrowed. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded faintly, “I um… it’s like insomnia.”

Your heart squeezed. “Oh, Jake…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he rushed to add, giving you a small, almost sheepish smile. “I’ve had it forever. I’m used to it.”

But that didn’t make you feel any better. You thought back to all the times he’d answered your late-night calls without hesitation, how you’d never once considered that maybe he wasn’t just being sweet— maybe he simply couldn’t sleep.

And now, knowing that, you couldn’t just curl up and drift off in his arms, not when he would be lying awake beside you for hours.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his fingers still trailing over your back in those slow, absentminded patterns, like he was soothing you, not the other way around. You swallowed the guilt pressing against your ribs and whispered, “How long have you had it?”

Jake huffed out a small breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “A while,” he admitted. His voice was low, like he didn’t want to wake the night any more than necessary. “Since I was a kid, I think. Some nights are better than others.”

You tilted your head, peering up at him in the dim glow of the streetlight slipping through the curtains. His face was soft in the quiet, but there was something there, just beneath the surface— something that made your chest ache.

Still, he saw the look on your face and huffed out a soft laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Feel bad about it.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

You wanted to protest, wanted to insist that it wasn’t fair for you to rest while he suffered in silence. But the warmth of his arms around you, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, and the exhaustion tugging at your limbs made it impossible to keep your eyes open much longer.

So, reluctantly, you let yourself drift.

Jake held you close the whole time, staring at the ceiling long after your breathing evened out, long after your fingers, curled lightly against his chest, finally went slack.

Sleep wouldn’t find him for hours. But he didn’t mind so much. Not when you were here.

His arm remained wrapped around you, reveling in the way your weight of you pressed atop his own body. It was comforting, the warmth of you— so close, so trusting— but it didn’t change the fact that sleep wouldn’t come. It never did. And he had stopped expecting it to, a long time ago.

Instead, he let his fingers ghost over your back, slow and absentminded, tracing the curve of your spine like muscle memory. It was a habit by now— something to keep him grounded while the hours stretched thin around him.

He thought about how you had noticed the brief flicker of hesitation he thought he had hidden. You, who had asked— not just out of curiosity, but because you cared. And worse, you had looked at him like that, all soft eyed and concerned, like it actually hurt you to know he struggled with something he had long since accepted as part of himself.

He exhaled slowly, careful not to disturb you. The last thing he wanted was for you to lose sleep over him.

The morning came slow, soft, golden. Sunlight stretched lazily through the curtains, casting gentle streaks of warmth across the sheets, and for the first time in a long time, Jake let himself pretend.

He stayed still, eyes shut, letting the illusion of rest settle over him, breathing in sync with yours. Maybe if he lay there long enough, if he kept himself tucked against you like this, he could convince himself he had actually slept more than two hours. Maybe he could convince you.

But then you stirred.

A slow, sleepy inhale, your body shifting slightly against his. He felt the way your fingers flexed against his skin, the way your leg slid between his like you were instinctively trying to tangle yourself with him. And then— just as he knew you would— the first thing out of your mouth was a drowsy, mumbled, “How did you sleep?”

Jake’s throat tightened. He could lie. He wanted to lie, just to keep you from looking at him the way you had last night, eyes big and worried, like you were about to declare war on every sleepless night he had ever endured.

But instead, he gave you a small, guilty smile, fingers threading lazily through your hair. “Same as usual.”

You frowned, barely awake, but still alert enough to catch the thread of guilt woven through his voice. “Jake…”

“Mmm.” He hummed against your temple, voice slow and drowsy, like he could fool you into thinking he was just as groggy as you were. You weren’t buying it.

“You didn’t sleep at all?” you pressed, rubbing slow circles against his chest with your thumb. His skin was warm beneath your palm, his heartbeat steady, but there was a quiet tension in the way he held you, a stiffness in his limbs that told you his body hadn’t truly rested.

Jake sighed, a soft huff against your hair. “I slept a little,” he assured, but the look on your face was anything but. “I told you, baby. It’s normal.”

Normal. As if lying awake for hours while the rest of the world drifted peacefully into dreams was just something he had accepted as part of his life. The thought made your chest ache.

You shifted onto your elbow, propping yourself up so you could get a better look at him. The morning light cast a soft glow over his face, catching in the stray hairs that had fallen across his forehead. His eyes were tired but still so unbearably warm when they met yours, like he would rather focus on you than the exhaustion weighing down his own body.

You reached up, brushing the hair from his face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Jake blinked, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind. “So you could be tired too?” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “No way. And I like watching you sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“It’s not creepy when you’re in love.” His grin was slow, lazy, but it softened just as quickly. “I just like knowing you’re here, that’s all.”

Your stomach fluttered, but you refused to be distracted. “Jake.”

He groaned, clearly sensing another lecture coming. “Sweetheart, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” you argued, smoothing your palm over his shoulder. “You can wake me up next time. I mean it.”

Jake exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head like you were being ridiculous. “What would you even do, huh? Sing me a lullaby?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

His smile faltered— just for a second. Then, before you could think too much about it, he tugged you back down against his chest, wrapping you up in his warmth. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead.

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him that you weren’t being ‘too good’ to him— you just loved him, and loving him meant wanting him to take care of himself, the way he always took care of you. But you could feel the weight of his exhaustion pressing into you, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, and you knew that right now, pushing him would only make him retreat further.

So instead, you sighed, settling against him, letting your fingers trace slow, absentminded shapes over his ribs.

“You know…” you mused, voice softer now, teasing, “If you ever need help tiring yourself out, I can think of a few ways.”

Jake let out a breath of laughter, warm against your skin. “Oh yeah?”

You tilted your head up, chin resting against his chest as you smirked at him. “Mhm. I mean, it might not have worked last night, but I reckon some practice couldn’t hurt.”

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re terrible.”

“I am.”

His eyes twinkled as he tipped your chin up and kissed you— slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe, just for a moment, he could forget about the hours he had spent lying awake in the dark. Because right now, the sun was warm, and your body was curled into his, and nothing else really mattered.

Jake’s smirk hadn’t faded, even as you pulled away and flopped back against his chest. His fingers traced lazy shapes against your spine, his warmth seeping into your skin. You could have stayed like that all morning, wrapped in the quiet comfort of him, but your mind was already working— turning over everything he’d just told you.

He had insomnia. He’d had it for years. And yet, he’d never mentioned it. The thought unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.

You propped your chin on his chest, gazing up at him. “Have you ever tried anything for it?”

Jake hummed, his eyes still half-lidded sleepily. “Like what?”

“Like… melatonin? Sleep tea? Sleep music? Therapy?”

He cracked one eye open, brow lifting. “Therapy?”

You swatted his shoulder. “I mean, if it’s been going on for years, you could at least talk to someone about it.”

Jake snorted. “‘Doctor, I think I’m allergic to sleep.’”

You huffed. “I’m serious, Jake.”

His expression softened at that. He reached up, brushing his fingers along your jaw. “I know, sweetheart.” He exhaled, tilting his head against the pillow. “I don’t know. I’ve never really… done much about it. It’s just how I am.”

But that wasn’t good enough. Not for you.

You pressed your lips together, something determined settling in your chest. If he wasn’t going to take this seriously, you were going to do it for him.

For now, though, you let it drop. You let Jake pull you closer, let him kiss your temple, let him pretend that this was just another morning. But in the back of your mind, a plan was already forming.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Later that day, once Jake was off doing whatever the hell the boys did when they claimed they needed ‘artistic excursions’ (Josh’s words, not yours), you curled up on the couch with your laptop.

Insomnia causes. How to sleep better. Chronic sleep deprivation.

You scrolled through page after page, reading everything you could. Some of it was common sense— limit caffeine, stick to a schedule— but some of it made you pause.

Increased anxiety and stress can worsen insomnia. Irregular routines can make it harder for the body to recognise sleep cues.

You chewed your lip, thinking about it. Jake’s life was nothing but irregular routines— late-night shows, unpredictable travel, never knowing where he’d be from one week to the next. No wonder his body had given up on sleep. The more you read, the more determined you became.

When Jake came back that evening, he barely made it two steps through the door before you ambushed him.

“Alright,” you said, hands on your hips. “We’re fixing your sleep problem.”

Jake blinked at you, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you countered, stepping closer. “I did some research—”

“Jesus,” Jake muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

“—And I found all kinds of things we can try,” you continued, undeterred. “Herbal teas, magnesium supplements, cutting back on caffeine—”

“Now you’re just attacking my way of life.”

You shot him a look. “I’m serious, Jake.”

His smirk softened. He reached for you, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans and tugging you closer. “I know, baby,” he murmured. “And I love you for it. But I don’t think this is something you can fix overnight. ” He raised a brow, “... no pun intended.”

You deflated slightly, because— eah, he was right. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try.

You sighed, resting your hands against his chest. “Will you at least try some of it?”

Jake studied you for a moment, then exhaled, nodding. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll try.”

You smiled, feeling victorious.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “God help me.”

The first week, it was tea.

You had read somewhere— one of the many articles you had frantically scoured— that chamomile, valerian root, and lavender were supposed to help with sleep. So, naturally, you stocked up on every sleepy-time blend the grocery store had to offer, piling them onto the kitchen counter with the determination of a woman on a mission.

Jake sat at the table, watching with an amused but patient expression as you rummaged through the boxes. “So… which potion do I get tonight, Doctor?”

You shot him a look, tossing a box of chamomile tea in his direction. “This one’s supposed to be the best.”

He caught it with one hand, glancing at the label. “Mmm. Flowers and dirt. My favorite.”

“Oh, hush,” you scolded, already reaching for the kettle. “You promised we’d try.”

He huffed but didn’t argue, leaning back in his chair as he watched you work. The sound of water bubbling to a boil filled the kitchen, followed by the quiet clink of a spoon as you stirred in a bit of honey, just to soften the taste.

A few minutes later, you set the mug in front of him with a proud smile. “Drink up.”

Jake lifted a brow but obligingly wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic. He took a sip, paused, then grimaced slightly. “Tastes like… grass.”

You rolled your eyes, taking the seat beside him. “It’s tea, Jake.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head before taking another sip. This time, he didn’t complain.

Later that night, curled up in bed beside him, you watched his face carefully. He had been quiet since finishing his tea, the usual restlessness in his body dampened slightly. It felt promising, but you wouldn’t celebrate just yet.

Your eyes grew heavy as you waited, the warmth of the blankets lulling you into a soft haze. You fought against the pull of sleep, wanting to make sure it worked for him, but the weight of exhaustion settled over you like a thick, drowsy fog.

You didn’t remember closing your eyes, and you didn’t remember shifting closer, your body naturally seeking out his warmth.

But Jake did. Because as you fell asleep beside him, his mind still hummed, still restless. The tea had taken the edge off, maybe, but not enough. He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet rhythm of your breathing as his fingers drummed idly against his stomach.

Each night following was the same.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Week two was white noise.

You had read about it in a sleep forum— something about how consistent background sound could soothe the brain, help it settle. You weren’t entirely convinced, but you were willing to try anything.

So, armed with your phone and a playlist of carefully curated ambient sounds, you climbed into bed beside Jake, pressing play on a loop of gentle rain sounds.

The soft patter of droplets filled the room, blending with the hum of the fan overhead. You nestled into the pillows, the sound already making your body feel heavier. “Better?”

Jake was silent for a long moment, staring at the ceiling.

Then, finally: “I feel like I’m in a sad indie movie.”

You snorted. “Shhh. You’re supposed to be relaxed.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the sound of artificial rain wash over him.

For a while, you thought it might actually work. His breathing deepened, his body growing heavier against the mattress. You let yourself relax, curling into the warmth of the blankets, waiting for sleep to claim you both.

And it did. For you, at least.

Because while you drifted off— easily, effortlessly— Jake’s mind refused to quiet. The rain sounds were nice, sure. Almost comforting. But still, his fingers twitched against the sheets, his body unable to fully surrender.

He glanced over at you, fast asleep beside him, curled into the blankets like you had done this a thousand times before.

With a sigh, he turned back to the ceiling, drumming his fingers against his stomach.

Every night that week was painfully similar. This one was a bust, too.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Week three was melatonin.

You had done the research, read through every study you could find, and even consulted a pharmacist at the store before tossing a bottle into your cart. It was supposed to help regulate sleep cycles, trick the brain into winding down properly. You handed Jake a small, white tablet with a hopeful look.

"Natural sleep hormone," you explained as he examined it between his fingers. "Your body makes this already, so it's just… a little boost."

Jake rolled it around in his palm before flicking his eyes up to meet yours. "You really thought of everything."

You crossed your arms. "I told you, I'm taking this seriously."

With an indulgent sigh, he popped the tablet into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of water. "Alright, let's see if it does anything."

You nodded, satisfied, and climbed into bed beside him. As always, you waited. You curled up, watching him with quiet determination, searching for any signs that it was working.

Your own body betrayed you first. Within minutes of being curled up beside him, your limbs felt heavier, your thoughts slower. Your blinks stretched longer, and soon enough, sleep claimed you before you could even witness whether or not the melatonin worked.

Jake, as usual, remained awake. He felt a bit sluggish, sure, a little hazy around the edges. But sleep still eluded him. He lay there, fingers idly tracing patterns over his stomach, listening to the even sound of your breathing as you slept soundly beside him.

He sighed, shaking his head to himself, convinced that he must just be broken.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

There were other things you tried—over weeks— magnesium supplements, blue light blockers, guided meditation. Each remedy was met with Jake’s willing cooperation and your hopeful determination. Some nights, you sat up in bed, reading articles in the dim glow of your phone while Jake humored your efforts beside you.

But none of them worked. Not really. And after weeks of watching him run on empty, it started to wear on you.

One evening, as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, you moved closer, settling yourself between his legs. Gently, your thumbs brushed over the dark circles beneath his eyes, smoothing over the delicate skin.

His hands dropped to his lap, his tired eyes meeting yours.

"You look exhausted," you murmured, voice softer than you meant it to be.

Jake exhaled, tipping his head slightly into your touch. "I do sleep," he assured you. "Even if it's just a little."

You didn’t look convinced. Your thumbs traced over his cheekbones, lingering at the corners of his eyes. "When are you actually going to go to the doctor for this?"

Jake sighed, already shaking his head. "Sweetheart—"

"I'm serious," you pushed, sitting up straighter. "They could prescribe you something. Real medication. Something that actually works."

But Jake just leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to be medicated. I can deal just fine."

You frowned. "Why not?"

"I just don’t," he said, shaking his head again. "I don’t want to rely on something like that."

Your heart clenched at his stubbornness. You felt helpless, like you'd tried everything and still hadn't come close to fixing it. And maybe that was the part that hurt the most— knowing that, no matter how much you cared, no matter how much effort you put in, you couldn't help him.

Jake saw it in your eyes, the way you dropped your hands from his face, defeated. He exhaled, reaching for you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrists. "Hey," he murmured, voice softer now. "I'm okay."

"You’re not, though," you whispered.

"I am," he insisted, squeezing your hands. "I promise. It’s just how I am, baby. It’s okay for me."

You wanted to argue, to tell him it wasn’t okay, that he deserved to rest, to sleep, to not feel like this all the time. But the way he looked at you, the quiet plea in his eyes— it stopped you. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He meant it. And for now, you had to accept that.

So instead of fighting, instead of pushing the issue further, you leaned in, resting your forehead against his. Jake sighed, his hands slipping from your wrists to your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of him, the steady weight of his hands, made something in you soften.

You let yourself relax into him, let your lips brush against his without thinking.

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you—slow at first, unhurried, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you. But soon, his grip tightened, and the exhaustion in his body was replaced by something else entirely. The shift was gradual, a slow-burning need that deepened with every touch. He moved with purpose, with reverence, his hands tracing over you like he was committing every inch to memory.

The world melted away.

It was always like this with Jake— sweet, unrushed, as if time itself bent around the way he loved you. He kissed you through it, whispered against your skin, held you like you were something sacred. Until all that was left was tangled limbs, quiet breaths, and the warmth of him wrapped around you.

After your unintentional detour, your body felt warm and spent, your skin still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Usually, you were the one curling into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, sighing as his arms wrapped around you.

But tonight, Jake was the one seeking you out.

He shifted, his body draping over yours, heavy and boneless with exhaustion. His face pressed against your bare chest, breath warm against your skin. His arm slid around your waist, holding you in place as if he needed the anchor.

You let out a breathy laugh, fingers finding their way into his hair, slightly damp with sweat. "Well, this is new," you mused, voice still thick with satisfaction.

Jake made a small noise in response— something between a hum and a grunt, his lips barely moving.

You smirked, twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers. "If I didn’t know any better, I'd say you just wanted to use my tits as a pillow."

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Best damn pillow I’ve ever had," he murmured against your skin, voice muffled.

You rolled your eyes, still smiling, and let your fingers glide through his hair again. He sighed at the feeling, his entire body seeming to melt into you.

Then— softly, almost involuntarily— he let out a low moan.

You blinked down at him. "Did you just moan?"

Jake huffed a breath, but didn’t lift his head. "Shuddup,” he muttered. “Just… feels really good.”

Your lips curled in amusement. You continued, dragging your fingers through the thick waves, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. His body softened even further, the tension he always seemed to carry dissipating bit by bit. His breaths grew slower, deeper, the warmth of him sinking into you.

For a moment, you just enjoyed the quiet, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the feel of his fingers resting at your hip. But after a while, your mind wandered.

"Hey," you murmured, still carding your fingers through his hair. "Do you ever think about what you'd be doing if you weren’t, like... a musician?"

Jake made a noise that might’ve been an attempt at words, but it came out garbled against your skin.

You laughed. "I’ll take that as a no."

He shifted slightly, his lips brushing against your sternum as he finally answered. "Haven’t really thought about it. This was always it for me."

You nodded, continuing your slow strokes through his hair. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You all seemed like you were meant for it."

"Mhm," he hummed.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, your hand twirling lazily through his locks. "I feel like I could’ve gone into something completely different. Like... some kind of research job or something. Something boring and stable. Or maybe I would’ve just ended up as a professional cat lady. Could've been my calling."

Jake huffed against your skin, his lips twitching into a lazy smirk. "Still could be."

You grinned. "Yeah, if you ever get sick of me, I’ll just adopt seventeen cats and disappear into the woods."

"Sounds peaceful," he murmured.

"Right?" You sighed dramatically, fingers continuing to drag lazily across his scalp. "I’d live off the land too.”

Jake hummed, but it was quieter this time, slower.

“I’d grow my own vegetables, make my own soap—"

"Soap?" Jake mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.

You ignored his skepticism and kept going. "Yeah, like those little artisanal bars with the dried flowers in them. I’d sell them at a farmers’ market. Maybe start making candles, too. Oh! And I could do those shaped candles that look like things. Like bodies or ropes, or just cool shapes, like the ones we saw at that small-business festival. Remember the one?"

You waited for a response, still threading your fingers through Jake’s hair, the strands slightly damp beneath your touch. The room was quiet except for the soft rustling of the sheets and the steady sound of his breathing. You expected a hum, a lazy murmur in response, maybe even the faint press of his lips against your skin. But nothing came.

"Jake?" you whispered, barely above a breath, glancing down.

He didn’t answer. His face remained nestled against your chest, the warmth of his exhales brushing softly over your skin. His arm, once wrapped securely around your waist, had gone completely slack, fingers no longer tracing idle patterns into your hip. Even his legs, usually curled slightly or shifting restlessly, were still, his entire body draped over yours with a weight that felt heavier than usual.

A soft, almost imperceptible snore filled the space between you. You blinked.

It took a second for the realization to fully hit you— he was asleep. Actually, truly, deeply asleep. Not the restless kind where his breath hitched and his fingers twitched, where his body always seemed braced for some invisible disruption. No, this was different. This was undisturbed, absolute, the kind of sleep you had never seen take him before.

All those nights of trying— melatonin, herbal teas, white noise, magnesium, even those ridiculous blue light glasses you had insisted on. None of it had worked. Every remedy had been met with the same inevitable outcome: him lying awake, hours passing like sand slipping through his fingers. And yet, here he was, out cold, wrapped around you like you were the key to some elusive, unsolvable puzzle.

Shaking your head, you smoothed your hand over his back again, barely brushing your fingertips along his spine. He didn’t stir. His breath remained slow, deep, steady.

Jake slept deeply, the kind of sleep you had only ever wished for him, the kind he had convinced himself he wasn’t capable of. His breath fanned warm against your skin, steady and slow, his lashes resting dark against the curve of his cheek. You couldn’t help but watch him, memorizing every little shift in his expression, every flicker of movement as he lay draped across you.

Even in sleep, he had his little habits—his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against your ribs, like they were searching for the strings of a guitar, and his lips pursed the way it always did when he was deep in thought. His lips parted slightly, breath slipping out in soft exhales, and once in a while, his nose would scrunch up, as though reacting to a dream he wasn’t quite awake enough to register.

Your fingers idly traced the slope of his shoulder, skimming over the ridges of his spine, and he responded instinctively, burrowing impossibly closer. His nose nudged at your collarbone and your heart clenched.

Jake Kiszka, the man who never stopped moving, who was all restless energy and sharp wit, who carried the weight of sleepless nights and endless thoughts— he was still, finally, in your arms. His body was loose, his breathing deep, his face soft in a way you had never seen before.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat and smoothed your hand over his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He let out a quiet, contented hum in response, his fingers flexing against your skin before going slack again.

God, he was beautiful.

Not just in the way the dim light kissed the high points of his face, or in the way his locks splayed messily over your chest, but in the way he let himself be held. In the way he had finally given in, trusted you enough to let go.

You pressed another kiss into his hair, lingering there for a moment, breathing him in.

"Sleep well, love."

Jake didn’t stir, just sighed softly in his sleep, and you smiled, feeling warmth bloom deep in your chest.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The first thing Jake registered when he woke was warmth. A deep, encompassing warmth that cradled him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. The second was the gentle weight of your hand still buried in his hair, fingers lax but present, like you had never moved throughout the night.

His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he stirred, shifting just slightly, and it took him a second to process the way his body felt— heavy, but not in the way exhaustion usually weighed him down. No, this was different. His limbs were languid, his head light, his mind free from the usual fog of a sleepless night.

He blinked, adjusting to the soft morning glow filtering through the curtains, and then—

His lips brushed against skin. Warm, soft skin.

Jake let out a slow, contented hum, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips as realisation set in. His face was still pressed against your chest, right where he had fallen asleep, and now that he was aware of it, he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to move.

His cheek brushed against your softened nipple as he tilted his head to see if you were awake. You were– just barely. A sleepy chuckle rumbled in his throat as he exhaled, voice still rough from sleep. “Not a bad view to wake up to.”

Your only response was a drowsy sigh, your fingers twitching slightly in his hair. He took a moment to take in the soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your features were still heavy with sleep. You looked peaceful— so peaceful that for a moment, he simply watched, letting himself drink in the sight of you like a man starved.

Then, after a few more heartbeats, he murmured, “What remedy did we do last night again?”

Your brows knit slightly, still hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. “Hm?”

Jake sighed dramatically, stretching slightly before settling back against you. “Which remedy did you use? Because whatever the hell it was, it worked.”

That seemed to rouse you fully. You blinked down at him, lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. “Didn’t use one last night. I think Baby just likes his hair played with,” you teased.

Jake smiled bashfully, but his brow furrowed, and you could practically see the cogs turning in his head as he processed that. His fingers absently traced lazy shapes against your ribs, his mind catching up to the fact that, for the first time in ages, he had actually fallen— and stayed— asleep.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, more contemplative. “I don’t think I even moved all night.”

“No,” you confirmed softly. “You fell asleep like this… and woke up like this.”

Jake exhaled slowly, like the weight of that realization was settling deep in his bones. Then, after a beat—“Are you sure it wasn’t just the boobs?”

You let out a breathy laugh, swatting lightly at his shoulder. “Jake.”

“I mean, you can’t rule it out.”

You rolled your eyes, but your amusement was evident, and Jake grinned lazily before nuzzling back into you, like he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

But underneath the teasing, you could tell he was thinking about it. About how much sleep he had gotten, and about how rare that was. And so were you.

Because every night from then on, it was the same. Whether he was curled into you or you into him, your hand would be in his hair, fingers carding gently through the strands, nails gentle running over his skin. And every night, he slept. Not just light, restless dozing— but real, deep sleep.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Tag List: @frogkiszka @hailtheaeon @allof--mylove @scarabsinthestardust @musicislove3389 @lightsofthe-living-gvf

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