Greta Van Fleet // Oneshots

Cinematic // Josh Kiszka

Warnings: none apart from some "suggestiveness" and some kissing ;)

This fic was an interesting request  to write--I feel like I've seen a few "muse" fics going around recently so I didn't want to be another cliche. Well, I think we (or rather, you) address that with Josh so...cliche or not, I hope you enjoy!

P.S. the tail end of this was a little influenced by Def Leppard's "Photograph" so...credit where credit is due.

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After so many years, you'd gotten used to Josh carrying his camera (sometimes cameras) around everywhere he went. It was actually really nice to see after him and his inanimate companions having been gone for so long--you'd missed your little sidekick with the camera around his neck, the clicking sounds and the tiny fluttering of the shutter, the shots of you taken by surprise or the shots of the world when it didn't even know it was being photographed or filmed. He was able to find something special in just about anything and the excitement he got from getting the perfect shot--or even an interesting imperfect shot--radiated even to you. You'd never wanted to try and learn the craft for yourself, though Josh offered to teach you, and he seemed more than content to have you along for "creative inspiration" as well as occasionally someone to help with his equipment.

You hadn't been able to spend a summer with him in a long time--you were making the most of it and admittedly kind of clinging to him, quietly desperate for him to stay, to be with you. Josh never protested. He actually leaned right into it, the texts between you two most nights and mornings delegating your plans for your days off flowed together, both of you seeming to be on the same page. By mid-July, when the heat of the summer started to tear through, you hadn't gotten sick of roaming around the plains and fields with him, or taking drives and bickering over music, licking ice cream cones at dusk and looking through his photos from the day.

This evening was frozen yogurt and Josh had doused his own in boba and matcha syrup, a swirl of green, pink and cream that you deemed disgusting and he just snickered at your remark. Sitting outside on the patio, with the sun just starting to shed some deep pink light in the west, you found yourself watching the way Josh ate the frozen yogurt more and more carefully--the way he turned the spoon over and licked it once, then slid it into his mouth and pursed his lips around it, slowly sliding it clean out and repeating.

His eyelashes fluttered when he looked at you, drawing the spoon out of his mouth again. "What?"

"Nothing," you responded quickly, sharply, averting your eyes.

"You can't judge me for my taste, Y/N," Josh said, tapping his spoon against the paper bowl. "You haven't even tried it."

You looked at his lips again, then at the frozen yogurt. "Fine, I'll try it." You leaned forward in your chair and looked in his eyes to add, "You have to feed it to me, though."

He laughed and grabbed your hand--sparks. That had been happening more and more when Josh touched you. You wondered if it was just because he'd been gone off and on for so long and you just had grown out of it, not used to it, but it only became more intense the more he did it. Innocent touches, but they made your heart race and your skin grow hot.

"Alright," he said, giving your hand a little squeeze, then he winked. "I can do that." He dipped his spoon in again, making sure to get a stripe of the syrup and a couple boba, and then inched closer to bring it to you.

You leaned forward more, your hands still clasped together, and took the spoon in your mouth. It tasted bad--the thought of I want to know what he tastes like came to be and you nearly jumped back at the silent musings of your own brain. But what did he taste like?