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gretavanmoon · 17 days ago

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Saigneur- chapter three

Jake x oc, Sam x oc, Josh x oc

18+

A/n- sorry for the slight delay!! A quick thank you to my buddies @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon and @bathinginstardust for their continued support, encouragement, and editing

Playlist: Apple Music

This is a retelling of True Blood. The plot and situations follows the show’s first season ❤️

Trigger warnings: unprotected sex, prostitution, vampire shit, blood, violence, parental abuse, alcohol, alcoholism, drug use, drug dealing, death, murder, guns

“Maybe you oughta come on inside,” the vampire with the ponytail said with a twisted smile. He looked deep into Clara’s eyes, keeping eye contact with her.

“Are you trying to glammor me?” Clara asked. The vampires stopped hissing in unison. All three stared at her dumbfounded.

“Yes,” he said quizzically.

“That doesn’t work on me,” Clara said, unconsciously straightening her posture. She took a sort of pride in the fact that she wasn’t like other humans.

“Why not?” The bald one asked from behind her. He was southern too, as backwoods as Clara had ever heard. She turned her head to face him.

“I dunno, it just doesn’t,” she shrugged. All the vampires were staring at her in shock. This had never happened to any of them. She got back to the reason she was there. “Is Jake available?”

“Let her in,” she heard from inside the house. His voice was low and commanding. The female vampire placed her free hand on the door frame, stopping Clara from coming in.

“Diane!” Jake said loudly.

Diane rolled her eyes, “ugh, fuck him!”

“You have,” the one with the ponytail said, his mouth forming into a smirk. They reluctantly moved to the side, finally allowing Clara into the house. With no electricity, it was dark, only lit by candles on sconces and tables in strategic spots in the foyer. The inside was as dilapidated as the outside; the stained paint was peeling off the walls, floorboards were missing or damaged, covered up by oriental rugs. Diane followed behind Clara, intimidating and mocking her with biting motions and giggles.

Clara tried to ignore her as she walked into the living room which was lit by candlelight like the foyer. There were two dark red velvet couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. In the corner, in a chair in the dark, was Jake, watching Clara intently but not moving. On the couches were two people that Clara could hardly find the words for. A woman who looked as if the very life had been drained out of her. Her eyes were heavy, bags underneath like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her hair was stringy and thinning, her skin sallow and dull. The young man on the other couch was different. He was playing a role. He eyed the older vampire with the ponytail seductively as he rubbed his hands over his shirtless body. He was full of life, of potential. And unlike the woman, he wanted to be there.

The three vampires followed Clara closely, as if they were afraid their new snack would get away from them. She was nothing more than prey to them, like a mouse that a cat would play with. It was unnerving, to say the least. Nevertheless, Clara took a sharp breath and tried to speak to them calmly and confidently.

“If you guys would excuse me and Jake for a moment,” Clara said, trying to not think about what they wanted and how desperate they seemed to get it. “I have things to discuss with him.”

They didn’t just ignore her request, they defied it. Diane and the bald vampire closed in on her. Diane brushed her ponytail off her neck softly, revealing Clara’s arteries.

“Where’d you find this one?” She asked, eyeing Clara up and down.

The bald vampire sniffed the air like a pie was being baked, “she smells fucking sweet!”

“Doesn’t she, Liam?” Diane said. Clara could hear Liam behind her, breathing on her, his breath acrid like death.

“And to think,” the ponytailed vampire said, stepping out from behind them and looking at Jake directly. “You were just telling us you were mainly living on synthetic blood. Liar.”

Clara kept looking at Jake, pleadingly wordlessly with him to intervene. Frustratingly, he didn’t move. He continued to let these vampires play with her.

“I don’t know, Malcom,” Diane said. “She smells like a virgin to me.”

“That’s none of your damn business, you nosey bitch!” Clara snapped. Diane grabbed her by the back of her neck gruffly and pulled her head back. Liam laughed behind her.

“It is my business, cupcake. You wanna know why? Because virgin blood is the best tasting blood there is,” Diane said in a sinister voice

Liam pulled Clara into him, then pushed her head to the side. Her artery was fully exposed, waiting for them to bite. Diane proclaimed first dibs, readying herself to bite.

“Stop!” Jake had risen from his chair. His face was harsh and angry, his voice rough and commanding.

Diane froze with a small gasp. Then Jake said the words that saved Clara’s life:

“Clara is mine.”

Diane pushed Clara away, pouting. Liam let go, walking to the other side of the room with an annoyed look on his face.

“Well, if you're Jake’s I certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt your little arrangement,” Malcolm proclaimed. There was an air of unseriousness in his tone, as if the only thing that truly kept him from ripping her apart was Jake’s presence. Still, he smiled at the man on the couch as he approached him. “That’s why I always bring Jerry with me wherever I go. He’s like mad money.”

Malcolm plopped onto the couch and Jerry went into action immediately. He straddled Malcolm’s lap and they began to kiss passionately.

Liam gruffed a command towards the woman on the couch. There wasn’t any pretense about what she was there for. The woman got up, completely expressionless, and went to do her master’s bidding.

Clara was shocked and the disgust was evident on her face. Diane took a look at her from the arm of the couch she was sitting on and laughed. “Aw, she’s innocent!”

“She’s mine!” Jake snapped, still standing in the same spot, avoiding Clara’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking get it,” Diane grumbled. She turned back to Clara. “And why aren’t you serving your master? Can’t you see how hungry he is?”

“Uh, Jake, if you’re hungry you’re more than welcome to have some of Jerry,” Malcolm offered like Jerry was nothing but a plate of fries.

Jerry hopped off his lap and walked over to the other couch that Jake was standing behind. He offered Jake his neck and Jake couldn’t resist, his instincts as a vampire stronger than anything else in his head. He was starving and there was a free and willing meal. He let his fangs down and gave Clara an apologetic look, but all Clara could hear was Jerry’s thoughts.

Yeah, bite me you fucking vampire. Let’s see how you like being infected with hep D. Come on, do it!!

“STOP! He has Hep D!” Clara cried out. Jake pulled away from him as every vampire’s furious attention landed on Jerry. Malcolm stood up, his fangs out, his eyes filled with animalistic rage.

“You fucking bitch!” Jerry turned his attention to her and launched himself on top of her before anyone else could react. He pushed her onto the coffee table, trapping her, tears forming in his eyes as he wrapped his hands around her throat.

How did she know that? I didn’t tell a soul! Those motherfuckers killed Marcus he would’ve never left me if it wasn’t for them-

All Jerry’s pain was etched into his face, all his fury coming out through his hands. He squeezed tight, cutting off all airflow. He lifted his hand to swipe at her. Before his hand could land, however, Jake had grabbed it and pulled it back so forcefully that it broke Jerry’s arm and sent flying into the couch. He passed out from the pain next to a furious Malcolm.

Jake turned his attention to Clara. He sat next to her on the table, leaning down to her. He caressed her cheek as she coughed and gasped for air, his once steely expression was one of worry and regret.

“Well,” Malcolm sneered, his jaw clenched in now repressed anger. “This has all been very illuminating. We have a long ride to Monroe and I’m sure we’ll all wanna have a little talk with Jerry when he wakes up.”

He said his name with as much venom as he could muster. He grabbed Jerry by the arm and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman carry and headed towards the door.

“Well Jenelle, we’re being evicted,” Liam said to his human in resignation. He motioned for her to follow him and they headed towards the door.

“Hey!” Diane snapped, not moving to leave. “Isn’t anyone the slightest bit interested in how this little bitch knew about Jerry?”

Malcolm and Liam turned to Clara, looking for an answer to a question they hadn’t thought of.

“You can’t speak yet, can you sweetheart?” Jake said softly. The look on his face said it all: do not tell them. It is not safe. Clara shook her head quickly. Diane didn’t buy it. She was there in the blink of an eye, leaning over Clara in a rage.

“I can make her talk,” she hissed.

Jake turned to her, his tone measured but his face angry. “Diane. You forget.”

“Yeah, yeah. She’s yours. Whatever,” she angrily got up and walked to the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Jerry, you stupid bitch,” Malcolm said as he opened the door and walked out. The other three followed, shutting the door with a force that shook the house, leaving their unanswered questions behind.

Their car roared to live in the driveway. Clara could hear their tires crunch on the gravel as they backed out and drove off. Jake relaxed in relief. He pulled Clara up to face him gently. He went to pull her into him but she pulled away and stared at the ground.

The danger of the situation she was just in was overwhelming, to say the least. She didn’t expect other vampires to be like Jake exactly, but it was shocking to her how cruel and mean they actually were. Clara was playing the whole evening in her head. Jake sensed how uncomfortable she was. He stood up and walked towards the door. He looked through the window to make sure their car was completely gone. When he was sure, he turned her.. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. Their visit was unexpected”

Clara was still getting her bearings. She was still breathing heavily, running her hands over her throat. Unlike earlier, where she felt like she had to stand tall and present confidence, she let herself feel small and vulnerable. She paused for a beat then asked, “what’s Hep D?”

Jake leaned against the door. “Hepatitis D is the only blood born pathogen that we’re susceptible to. Malcolm must be furious.”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Clara said, realizing there was so much she just didn’t know.

“We’ve kept it out of the media. It’s a mutation relatively harmless to humans,” Jake said.

“And it makes you sick for a year?”

“No, just makes us weak for about a month or so. The biggest danger is being captured and staked during that time,” Jake explained.

“And what the hell did you mean ‘Clara is mine’?” Clara said, suddenly irritated as she remembered.

“I was communicating to the other vampires that you were my human and I was the only one that could feed on you,” Jake said, his voice rising in defense of himself.

“You certainly cannot feed on me!” Clara snapped, crossing her arms.

“Well of course I can’t, Clara, but if they knew that they would’ve considered you fair game and there would’ve been nothing I could do to stop them! It would’ve been 3 against 1 and Malcolm is much older than me and quite strong-“

“And you and Diane dated?” Clara asked quietly.

“We…had sex once,” Jake admitted. “Just after she made vampire in the 1930s”

“What? Gross,” Clara said. “Jake, she’s- they, they’re all so mean so-“

“Evil?” Jake finished. “Yes, they are. They share a nest. When vampires live in nests, they become more cruel, more vicious. Whereas vampires such as I…we live alone. We’re much more likely to hang on to some semblance of our humanity.”

He stepped closer, and she stepped back. She then stepped by him, towards the door. Jake followed her and reached out to her. She pulled out and handed him a piece of paper with a couple of names and phone numbers on it.

“Two electricians are willing to come out at night and give you a quote,” she said sharply. “I have to go.”

She made for the door when he asked, “can I kiss you goodnight?”

“No,” Clara said, tears welling up in her eyes, disgust on her face. “I couldn’t stand it after them.”

She turned and walked out, very aware of Jake’s eyes following her. He was angry. Not at her, never at her, but at the other vampires.

***

Josh cut off the sign on the front of Kiszkas, indicating that they were now closed. He walked behind the bar to restock the cooler when he saw Ruby there. She was wiping glasses slowly, obviously stalling.

“What’re you still doing here?”

Josh asked as he placed beers in the cooler.

“Don’t wanna go home,” Ruby said shortly.

Dawn walked out from the back. She headed towards the front door, the last employee there besides Ruby. “‘Night!”

“‘Night!” Ruby and Josh said in unison. Dawn shut the door, leaving them alone.

“Can I have one of those?” Ruby asked, gesturing to the Budweisers Josh was holding.

“As long as you’re not on the clock,” Josh said, handing it to her. She used the bar towel she was holding to open it, then took a large gulp.

“Do you think Clara is getting serious about the vampire?” She asked. Josh wasn’t keen on the topic. He tried to look disinterested as he continued stocking.

“I think she’s getting to know him,” Josh said. “Once she does, I don’t think she’ll get too serious about him.”

“I think he’s getting pretty damn serious about her,” Ruby scoffed. She dropped any pretense of working as she leaned against the counter behind the bar.

Josh looked up, his interest piqued. “How so?”

“I was over at the Stackhouses last night. He came over to call on Clara, all cleaned up and smellin’ nice. Lookin’ like he just stepped out of some piece of shit movie about pirates and shit,” Ruby said, clearly annoyed.

“How did Mrs Stackhouse seem to feel about a vampire being interested in her granddaughter?” Josh asked.

“Josh,” Ruby said. “It seemed like she was in 7th Heaven. It was fucking weird.”

Josh groaned, picking up more beers and placing them in the cooler. He could feel his chance slipping away. If he had the approval of Adele Stackhouse he was afraid the writing was on the wall.

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Ruby said like she read his mind. “It’s obvious you’re carrying a big one for Clara. I’ve known it since I met you!”

“Well it’s not any of your business now, is it?” Josh said, getting deeply annoyed and a little embarrassed. He turned over to the bar, trying to distract himself by putting glasses away.

“She’s always been…well, peculiar around men. She’s not gonna make the first move,” Ruby said, ignoring his irritation.

“Do I need to remind you that I’m your boss?” Josh snapped.

“Come on, Josh. Don’t pull any of that workin’ for the man shit with me. You should've said something and you know it,” Ruby said.

“How come you haven’t said anything to Sam?” Josh retaliated.

Ruby smiled and took a sip of her beer. “Cause I’m comfortable with him being right where he is. Unattainable. Which is a part of my whole fucked up thing: low self esteem, childhood trauma, blah blah snore.”

She left out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “What’s your excuse?”

“Not everyone likes to lay their guts out on the table like that, Ruby,” Josh said.

“They may not like it but they all dream about finding someone they can do it with,” Ruby said wisely. He had to agree with that.

“Y’know,” Josh said, turning to Ruby. “Funny thing is, I did kinda let Clara know the night before last.”

“If I were you I’d get in there while you still have a shot,” Ruby encouraged.

“No you wouldn’t, you just said so yourself,” Josh said. He paused. “She can’t hear his thoughts.”

“For real?” Ruby laughed. “Well, hell that explains everything!”

“I told her she can listen to my thoughts whenever she wanted to-“

“No see, that's the thing, she doesn’t want to hear anybody’s thoughts,” Ruby cut him off. “That requires constant work on her part. And now she’s met somebody and she can drop all the effort and just relax? Aw, man, you don’t stand a chance. Sorry, but you don’t.”

“You can go home anytime you want, Ruby,” Josh said darkly.

“No, I can’t,” Ruby said, draining the last of her beer. “Seriously.”

****

Clara couldn’t get out of the car just yet. She was tired, she was traumatized, and she was heartbroken. She checked herself in the mirror, wiping the tears from her swollen eyes, determined to not let her Gran see just yet.

When she was finally ready, she got out of her car. As she walked to the house she pulled out her keys and started looking for the right one. She lifted her head towards the door and yelped. Jake was standing there on the porch.

“Goddamnit, Jake! I told you not to do that!” She said, her heart palpitating.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he walked down the steps. “I just got here. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

She tried to hear his thoughts. She put all her effort into it. There was nothing. “Why can’t I hear your thoughts? Do you even have thoughts?”

“Oh, I have thoughts,” he said solemnly. “Many lifetimes of thoughts.”

“Then why can’t I hear them?”

He sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t have brainwaves.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m dead,” Jake said patiently.

“No, you’re not,” Clara said. “You’re standing here talking to me.”

“I have no heartbeat. I have no need to breathe. There’s no electrical impulses in my body. What animates you no longer animates me,” Jake said, stepping closer.

“What animates you then? Blood?” She couldn’t wrap her head around him. Around his existence. Around anything that was going on around her. It didn’t make any sense. “How do you digest it if nothing works?”

“Magic,” Jake offered.

Clara scoffed. “Come on, Jake! I may look naive but I’m not! And you need to remember that!”

“You think it’s not magic that keeps you alive?” Jake said passionately. “Just because you understand the mechanics of the way something works doesn’t make it any less of a miracle. We’re all kept alive by magic, Clara. My magic is just a little different than yours, that’s all.”

“I-I think we need to stop seeing each other,” Clara muttered. She turned and walked up the steps, the old wood creaking underneath her shoes.

“Why?” Jake asked, annoyed. He followed behind. He was tired of the back and forth, of the fact that she couldn’t wrap her mind around him and his existence. It was an exhausting conversation.

“Because you don’t breathe! Because you don’t have electrical whatever it is! Your friends would like nothing more than to rip my throat out. And because vampires killed that preacher and his wife and kid! You look me in the eye and tell me they didn’t!” Clara explained. The preacher’s death had weighed on her mind since she heard about it. After seeing the way other vampires acted, how easy it was for them to kill and maim, there was no doubt in her mind that they did it. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tightened. She could see his jaw clench, the same way it did when Sam said they didn’t deserve special rights.

“Humans have killed millions and millions in senseless wars and I don’t hold you responsible for that!” Jake said, his anger rising.

“Jake, the other night I had to bury my bloody clothes so my grandmother wouldn’t know I was almost killed. And tonight I was almost killed again. Why on earth would I continue to see you?” Clara asked.

“Because,” Jake walked up the steps, closer to her. “You will never find a human man you can be yourself with.”

Clara said nothing. The tears welled up in her eyes at the harsh truth that was previously unspoken between them. She turned to go inside, ready to be done with him and the night. He touched her shoulder, a silent plea to stay with him, to resolve their disagreement. She pulled away.

“Don’t touch me!” She snapped. He let go immediately. She opened the creaky screen door and sighed and said softly, “Just…go. Please.”

She slammed the door in his face. Jake stood there for a moment, processing the way the night had gone so far. This wasn’t over, at least not for him. With his night suddenly freed up, he took his leave to Monroe, intending to deal with the vampires that might’ve ruined his chances with Clara.

****

Josh and Ruby sat on the porch of his trailer next to the bar. It was old, in constant need of repairs, but it was enough for Josh. Ruby made herself at home, propping her feet on the railings of the porch, sipping whiskey that Josh had graciously offered to her. She let the calmness of the night and the warmth of the whiskey in her belly calm her body and spirit. Josh was thankful for someone to talk to that didn’t ask or want anything from him.

“Why can’t you go home?” Josh asked Ruby.

“This right here,” she held up her glass of whiskey. “My mama’s a drunk. Not just a slur her words kinda drunk, a waking up in her vomit kinda drunk.”

Josh looked at her with kind, sympathetic eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“I just can’t be around her when she’s gone like that. I know she might end up dying, lighting herself on fire with a lit cigarette, but I can’t. I won’t. So not only is the whole situation horrible, my guilt about it makes it that much worse,” Ruby said in a sad voice.

She downed the rest of her whiskey as Josh said, “why don’t you get your own place?”

“Why don’t you give me a raise?” She said, winking.

Josh laughed a little. “Has she ever tried AA?”

“She don’t need AA,” Ruby said. “She has Jesus.”

Josh nodded in understanding, then Ruby said, “can I ask you a personal question?”

“Just..hold on,” he smiled and downed the rest of his whiskey, relishing in the burn going down his throat. “Alright.”

“Are you lonely?” She asked. He wasn’t expecting that one. He thought on it for a moment, the alcohol swirling around in his system making him feel a bit vulnerable.

“Yes,” he said truthfully. “I am very lonely.”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” Ruby said. Josh laughed a little. “Plenty of the women in this town would go for you.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Josh said.

“You’re hot, you have a job, you’re not a serial killer,” Ruby said, her words starting slur.

“Who says that?” Josh laughed. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“We’re not talkin about me right now,” Ruby said. “Don’t deflect!”

“I have a hard time opening up is all,” Josh shrugged.

“Oh please,” Ruby scoffed. “What do you have to hide that’s so fuckin bad? In this fuckin town?”

“I said I have a hard time openin’ up, I’m not gonna do it,” Josh slurred.

“Don’t you ever get horny?” Ruby said. The mood was starting to change. Friendly conversation moving into a more intimate territory.

“Sure-“

“How long has it been since you had sex?” Ruby asked boldly. Josh had to admire how straight forward and unafraid she was.

“Few months, you?” He answered.

“8 months, three weeks,” Ruby said.

“That sucks,” Josh whispered.

“You don’t know!” Ruby said. Then laughed. “Well…I guess you do.”

They laughed together softly then josh asked, “you want another one?”

“I’ll need at least 3 more,” Ruby said. He grabbed their glasses and walked inside.

Ruby thought to herself. The night was getting late, he was hot, she was hot. She took her ponytail down and separated her braids all nice and pretty. What if…?

She followed him inside. The trailer was cozy, a bit run down. The furniture was all old, about as old as the trailer itself. Every surface had books stacked haphazardly on top of each other. It was clear that the time he spent here was time spent alone. He had sat the glasses down on the counter and was pouring Jameson into each when she proposed her idea.

“So maybe you and I should sleep together.”

He scoffed, screwing on the top of the bottle. “Yeah…right.”

“Nah, I mean, we’re grown ups,” Ruby said as he handed her the whiskey. “No strings, friends with benefits.”

“Ruby, I'm your boss,” Josh reminded her. It didn’t deter her at all.

“Aren’t you tired of not getting laid?” Ruby asked. “I know I am.”

“Yeah but that don’t mean we oughta-“

“You got condoms?”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Josh said softly.

“Alright, whatever.” Ruby said, walking over to the couch. She laid down on it. “I am not looking for a boyfriend. It’d be a one time deal. Hell we wouldn’t even have to mention it again.”

“No,” he said simply.

“Suit yourself,” she said, taking a swig.

He sighed and looked her over. A beautiful woman lying on his couch, offering to have sex with him. Her braids cascading over her shoulders, her skin absolutely perfect, her smile was so pretty. Finally he said, “Are you sure you could forget about it? Not let it effect work?”

“I’ve had to do much harder things in my life than that believe me,” she said.

“Cause if it got weird I’d have to let you go,” he said.

“You didn’t wanna hire me in the first place,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly smile.

He licked his lips and looked her up and down, “okay.”

She finished off her whiskey as he walked over. He crawled up between her legs.

“You smell nice,” he whispered.

“I know I do.”

He caressed her torso as he leaned in for a kiss. It deepened quickly, both of them searching for something within each other. He tangled his other hand into her hair, then cupped her cheek as things got hotter and heavier.

****

A ‘91 Camaro pulled up to the old mill house with Sam’s Ram still parked outside. Dawn got out of her car, excited and giggling. Sam was still there, probably tied up, definitely ready to have his way with her. She couldn’t wait. She practically skipped up the steps. As she pushed open the door and stepped through the threshold, she sat down her purse on a large rattan trunk at the entrance. She padded her way through her dark living room and into the bedroom, expecting to see him on the bed, waiting on her return.

But he wasn’t there.

She looked around for just a second before someone jumped out in front of her with a stocking on their head. She rolled her eyes and laughed as she tried to push them aside. They didn’t budge.

“Come on, Sam,” she said, smiling, rubbing their bare chest. They shook their head.

“You kept me waiting,” they said gruffly. “I don’t like to wait.”

Her smile faded, annoyed now. “This isn’t funny, stop.”

The person brushed up against her, caressing her cheek with their hand. She lifted her hand to the stocking and pulled it off. It was Sam, a big grin on his face.

“You fuckin idiot,” she laughed.

“Just think of it as foreplay, baby,” Sam said, pulling her into a fierce kiss.

They let their want lead their bodies, hands grabbing, pulling, and teasing every inch of each other. They fell upon the bed. Her shirt pulled over her head, his jeans on the floor, her bra unclasped, his hands pulling her thong off to gain access to her core.

Once inside her, he fucked her hard, something he’d been looking forward to all day. His body was ready, wanting nothing more than to ravish her all night….

But all he could think about when he saw her were vampires. All he saw when he looked at her were vampires. How she had been with them, how they fucked her, how they drank from her…and his cock softened. He stopped with a frustrated sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Dawn asked. She looked confused. He got off of her, settling down into the bed. She cozied up next to him.

“I hate that you’ve been with vampires,” he admitted.

She went from concerned to annoyed. “And how exactly is that any of your business?”

“Well they’re fucked up, Dawn, they’re fucking freaks. They’re dead!” He said angrily. “What’s wrong with you, letting something nasty like that even touch you?!”

“For your information it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” she said. His eyes widened. “And who are you to judge, you’ll fuck anything with the space in between its legs!”

“I thought I was the best sex you ever had!” He cried. “You told me I was!”

“Yeah and then you stopped callin’! And comin’ to Kiszkas and then I met that vampire!” She said, defensive.

“Which vampire? Tattooed? Bald headed? Crazy?” Sam asked.

She laughed. “No, actually he had a lot of hair. I met him in Shreveport at the vampire bar.”

“And you just let him bite you?” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah and I’m not ashamed of that!”

“You oughta be,” Sam said, seething.

“You oughta get off your high horse,” Dawn snapped.

“Is that who you thought I was tonight?” Sam asked.

“No, baby, I knew all along it was you,” she said, rubbing on Sam’s chest, trying to defuse the situation.

“You’re a lyin’ sack of shit,” Sam snapped. “You woulda fucked that vampire and let him bite you if he showed up tonight.”

“Ok this,” Dawn said, rolling over and sitting up, “is getting boring.”

She stood up, pulling her panties up. “I think you should leave.”

He laughed. “You gonna throw me out? I don't think so.”

“This is my house!” Dawn said, pulling a tank over her head.

“And I ain’t going nowhere!” Sam said, putting his hands behind his head.

“Ugh, just because you lost your hard on doesn’t mean you have to have a fucking meltdown!” Dawn said, pulling her robe on. “Believe it or not Sam, the world doesn’t revolve around your dick!”

“Where’re you goin?” Sam asked as she walked into her closet.

“To get a cigarette!” She shouted, then continued on. “Its not like I don’t know you’re a great fuck. It happens to every guy!”

“Stop talking about it!” He said, embarrassed. He lifted up the blanket, cursing his dick for betraying him.

Then she returned not with cigarettes, but with a gun. She pointed it at him with a smirk. “Every guy except for vampires.”

He laughed hard. She cocked her eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m laughin’? You do not own me, Sam Stackhouse. And if I want you outta my house, you better get your sorry ass outta my house!”

“I ain’t going nowhere,” he said defiantly.

“Oh, yes you are!” She pointed the gun at the ground and fired a warning shot.

He panicked, hopped up, and began to put his pants on. She walked slowly towards the bed, pointing it back at him.

“You are obnoxious, and full of yourself, and dumber than a box of hair, and now you can’t even get it up? I don’t think we should be seeing each other anymore,” she said as she climbed onto the bed. She was on her knees, still pointing the gun at him.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he muttered.

“You bet your sweet ass I am, now go,” she warned.

“Lemme get my pants on,” he said, hopping into a leg.

“Hmm, I don’t think I feel like waiting,” she pointed the gun at the ground and shot again.

He grabbed as much as he could and ran out, holding his pants up. She followed him out with the rest of his stuff.

“Limp dick motherfucker!” She yelled, throwing his stuff into the yard.

“Crazy bitch!” He yelled back, gathering his things. Her neighbor, and older lady, came out to see what was happening. They met eyes.

“You heard me! Your neighbor is a crazy bitch!” He said. She gasped and went inside. He threw his things into his truck and sped off.

****

Someone approached the Compton house. They opened the door quietly, padding into the foyer. Jake was reading in the candlelight, immersed in his book. As they got closer, Jake sensed their presence. He turned towards them quicker than they anticipated, fangs out, ready to defend himself.

But it wasn’t an enemy. It was Clara, dressed in a soft white nightgown, her hair down around her face, looking enamored, scared, and confused. He relaxed.

“Clara, don't ever sneak up on a vampire,” he warned. “What’re you doing here?”

Clara took a deep breath and blurted out, “okay, here’s the deal and this is a little embarrassing…I’ve never been with a man intimately for reasons we’ve already discussed but I feel things when I’m with you that make me think and I know this could be a huge mistake, one that I could regret forever, but it feels like you’re the one I’m supposed to, you know, do it with and I’m really nervous about it and frankly I’m scared to death of you so can we just get it out of the way already so I can relax and get a good night’s sleep?”

He placed a hand on each shoulder and she added quietly, “just don’t bite me, okay?”

Their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss, bodies entangled in each other craving one another. Jake slowly pulled her nightgown down, revealing her breasts. He cupped them gently as he moved down her body, to her core. She gasped and moaned….

Then she opened her eyes, back in her own bed with her cat staring at her while she pleasured herself. She looked down at Prue.

“Stop that,” she whispered, embarrassed. She spent the rest of the night thinking about Jake and all the things she wanted him to do to her….

****

Sam arrived back home. His parents' house before they died. He didn’t change much since he moved in, just added a small television on top of their old television, the fridge wasn’t filled with fresh ingredients but with beer, and it could use a good deep clean. He walked in and grabbed one of the beers from the fridge, frustrated, annoyed, and embarrassed.

Not being able to perform wasn’t something that happened to Sam. No, he was a stallion, he was a god in bed…as he took a swig of the beer he decided to distract himself.

He went into the living room and plopped down on his dad’s recliner and turned on the tv.

A vampire movie. Of course. “You gotta be kidding me.”

He changed the channel.

“The vampires assassinated my father because of his campaign against the vampire agenda,” a suited up younger man said. It was the reverend’s son, who was also a reverend, giving an interview to church members.

“Theodore Newland is a hero,” the other man said. “The first casualty in World War III”

“It’s Armageddon,” the son added solemnly.

“Amen!”

“Amen!” Sam mocked, then changed the channel. A show about vampire bats.

Sam leaned back and put his hands in his hair in frustration, then grabbed the remote and turned the TV off entirely. He couldn’t get away from them no matter how hard he tried. He took another swallow of beer, finally resigned to silence.

****

“Aww, Malcolm, come on baby!” Diane cooed. The vampires had returned to their home, a retro ranch with old school furniture and their coffins out in the open. Candles were scattered about, setting the mood. Malcolm laid his head on Diane’s lap, who was nursing a glass of blood.

“Damn,” Malcolm said sadly. “Ya know, I really liked Jerry.”

“Don’t worry,” Diane said sympathetically as she stroked his hair. “We’ll find you another hot little blood bag.”

“Let’s go down to LSU tomorrow night! Raid us a frat house!” Liam suggested.

“Oooooh, yes!” Diane exclaimed. “I’m in the mood for something dumb, thick, and juicy.”

Malcolm sat up quickly right as there was a knock on the door. He jumped over the couch and opened the door. Jake walked in, expression dark.

“Oh, look,” Malcolm announced. “It’s everyone’s favorite buzzkill!”

“Hey baby!” Diane said, a smile stretched across her face.

“Oh, Mr mainstream! Thirsty?” Liam offered Jake a pitcher of blood.

“No, Jake said shortly. Diane approached him, a hunger in her eyes he was all too familiar with.

“Hungry for something else?” Diane looked Jake up and down. “I remember you having a very sizable…appetite.”

Jake sent her flying and she crashed through a wall across the room. She got up, eyes wild, fangs out, and livid.

“The three of you will stay away from me and Clara from now on,” Jake declared. The three of them looked on, angry.

“I’m your elder,” Malcolm said, circling Jake. “You have no authority here.”

“There are higher authorities,” Jake pointed out.

“I’m not afraid of Daniel,” Malcolm smiled.

“Higher than him,” Jake said.

“Then she can speak to me,” Malcolm snapped.

“She can suck on sunlight for all I care,” Diane added walking back over to them, grabbing her glass of blood and drinking.

“You’re gonna hurt our cause,” Jake said, trying to appeal to them.

“Not everyone wants to dress up and play human, Jake,” Diane said, gesturing to him.

“Yeah,” Liam said. “And not everyone wants to live off that Japanese shit they call blood, either. As if we could.”

“We have to moderate our behavior now that we’re out in the open,” Jake said, leaning on the couch.

“Not everyone thinks it was such a great idea and not everyone intends to toe the party line,” Malcolm said darkly. He took Jake’s hand. “Honey, if we can’t kill people, what’s the point of being a vampire?”

“Where Jerry?” Jake asked.

“We left him on the side of I20. Well, most of him, anyway. I kept a souvenir or two,” Malcolm said mischievously.

“Jenelle felt so bad about what Jerry did, she made the ultimate sacrifice,” Liam said, sipping on his pitcher of blood.

Jake turned around. He could see her from another room. He walked closer, the other three following behind, Diane cackling.

Jenelle was hung from a rack upside down, much like a deer or a cow being hung up to be processed. Her throat had been cut, and blood was being collected in buckets underneath her on the dirty floor.

“Y’all make me sick,” Jake said quietly.

“You used to be fun,” Diane said. “This all on account of that little blonde breather?”

“If you insist on flaunting your ways in front of mortals, there will be consequences,” Jake said. He turned his heel and walked out of the house.

“Asshole,” Malcolm muttered as he slammed the door shut. This wasn’t the end for them. Not by a long shot.

****

Ruby made her way home after a long night of bad sleep. Every time she almost dozed off, Josh barked or growled in his sleep. She hadn’t been with a lot of men, but she’d never experienced that before.

She was hoping to sneak into her room, get underneath her warm blankets and squeeze in a nap before work. But as she crept through the door threshold, she felt something connect with the back of her head, hard. Her mom was hiding behind the door, Bible in her hand and infuriated.

“Where the HELL you been, you dirty whore?” Lettie Mae yelled, holding the Bible up.

“Mama!” Ruby cried, holding her head.

“Out all night doing god knows what! You the devil, child! You ain’t no child of mine!” Lettie swung the Bible again. Ruby moved out of the way. In her drunken stupor Lettie fell to the floor, holding onto the coffee table that was littered with liquor bottles.

“Oh Jesus-“ Ruby began.

“Jesus ain’t gonna help you!” Lettie yelled.

“Yeah that’s been clear for quite some time,” Ruby said, her voice quivering.

“You sass the lord and I will kick your skinny ass!” Lettie said.

“You can’t even stand up! You pathetic, ugly old bitch!”

She regretted it immediately. Her mother started wailing, grabbing at her heart dramatically. Ruby cursed under her breath and sighed then she began to help her mom up.

“I ain’t ugly,” Lettie cried. Ruby tried to help Lettie Mae up, resolving to once again help the woman that hurt her so much. But as Lettie Mae got to her knees, she grabbed a liquor bottle off the table and hit an unsuspecting Ruby in the forehead.

That was it. That was the final straw. As Ruby checked to see if she was bleeding, her mom laughed.

“Alright,” Ruby said, steeling herself. She turned to Lettie Mae. “You may have carried me, nursed me…but now you seem intent on killing me. And if I have to choose between me and you, guess what? You lose.”

Ruby grabbed her keys and slammed the door behind me, leaving her mother alone with her demons.

Ruby got in her car and drove. Normally she’d go to Clara, but seeing as she just slept with Josh and Clara had her hands full with Jake, she went to the next best person.

Ruby rapped on Lafayette’s door hard. She needed a place to stay, a place to calm down.

“I’m comin’ stop knocking on my fuckin’ door!” Layfette said, annoyed as he opened up. Ruby barged in.

“She hit me with a fucking liquor bottle!” Ruby said. “My head is bleeding!”

“I got a guest, he’s in the shower,” Lafayette said. Lafayette’s home was as colorful and unique as he was. Walls of royal purple, beaded curtains hung on every doorway. Two couches, one red and one leopard print, religious artifacts of all sorts. On the coffee table were all sorts of drugs, weed, and liquor. There wasn’t much Lafayette didn’t dabble in, but he always kept his wits about him.

“Do you think I need stitches?” Ruby said. Lafayette examined her head.

“Nah,” he said. “Put some peroxide on that. Then take some Vicodin, with a big glass of red wine and some badass ganja, baby. By the time you wake up, mm! All healed.”

He handed her two pills. She poured herself some vodka to swallow them down. “You mind if I stay here?”

“Does it matter if I mind?”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” He handed her a joint. As she sucked in the smoke, Lafayette’s guest appeared. An older little white man seemed very nervous and introduced himself as Duke.

“Oh, boyfriend you’re so not a Duke,” Lafayette laughed. “Duke” alluded to money left in the bedroom and made his way out.

“The hell was that?” Ruby asked after he shut the door.

“That was a state senator,” Lafayette said, leaning into his couch, grinning.

“You’re a prostitute now?”

“I’m an entrepreneur,” Lafayette corrected. Ruby gave him a look. “What? I’m supposed to be satisfied being a short order cook and workin on the road crew, which is basically one step from the chain gang? But I ain’t complaining, it gave me this body and this body is my ticket out of this podunk town. I already got an onlyfans.”

“What’s wrong with us? You’re a state senator fucking prostitute and I’m a bartender in a redneck bar that fucks her boss…who’s completely in love with her best friend,” Ruby said.

“Just take another hit off this,” he handed her the joint they’d been passing around. He went to walk away, then it hit him what she said. “Wait a minute, you slept with Josh?”

“You know what? He barks in his sleep,” Ruby said.

Lafayette took a sharp breath in, “oh damn white folks are all fucked up.”

****

Clara spent her morning feverishly finding new ways to distract herself. She mowed the lawn, she raked, she weedeated, all before 9am. She now sat at the kitchen table with her grandmother, who insisted that she come inside for some food.

“Do you think I should continue dating Jake?” She asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” Adele said. “I can tell you that I think he’s a smart, handsome, charming young man but then again he’s gonna put his best foot forward for me so I don’t stand in the way of his courting you.”

“He scares me,” Clara admitted.

“Well it is scary,” Adele said. “Opening your heart up to somebody.”

“I think it’s a little scarier when it’s a vampire,” Clara said nervously.

“I suppose. Jake is the first vampire I’ve ever met.”

“Not scared that he’d ever hurt me…scared because I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Clara said quietly. Adele took her hand in hers.

“I can’t imagine that would be such a bad thing for you with your ability,” Adele said.

As Clara took her plate to the sink, Adele said, “you know, your grandfather used to know things.”

Clara perked up, “what things?”

“Oh you know, if someone was having money troubles, running around behind their wife’s back, sick, that sort of thing. Personal things that no one would tell anyone about.”

Clara turned around, “see, I hear everybody’s deepest, darkest secrets! That’s just too much information!”

“But then Earl’s brother, your great uncle Francis, came back from Korea in real bad shape, all torn up from the things he’d seen. Earl knew he was thinking about killing himself. He went over there in the middle of the night just as he was about to kick the chair out from under himself,” Adele said. “Earl talked him out of it. I just think there’s a purpose for everything that God creates, whether it’s a unique ability or a vampire. God will reveal that purpose when the time is right.”

Clara was so grateful for her grandmother's wisdom. She walked over and gave her kiss on the cheek before going upstairs.

****

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“I’m coming, shit!” Lafayette was getting real tired of people banging on his door. He opened it to someone he didn’t expect. Sam Stackhouse standing there in all his glory.

“Hey, Lafayette,” Sam said, grinning. “I, uh, need your help.”

“Hello hotness,” Lafayette said, cocking his head to the side. “It’s about time you figured out that truth.”

Sam laughed nervously and looked down. “You’re- uh, wearing gold pants.”

Lafayette looked down. Shirtless, gold pants, sexy as hell.

“So I am.” Lafayette invited him in, gesturing towards the couch. They sat together, Sam hugging on a pillow, the air kind of tense and awkward.

“What do you need?” Lafayette asked

“Do you have viagra?” Sam asked quietly.

Lafayette was taken aback, “you need what?!”

“Viagra,” Sam said. “Do you have any viagra?”

Lafayette laughed, “no I don’t have viagra!”

“But you have everything!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sam, puppy dog, viagra is legal. You can buy it in the drug store,” Lafayette said.

“But I need it now,” Sam whined. “Look if there’s anything that can make it-“

“-so hard a saw couldn’t cut through it?” Lafayette chimed in.

“Yeah that sounds good…I guess,” Sam said nervously.

“Yeah, I do,” Lafayette said. “But it’s very expensive.”

“Well how much?” Sam was expecting a couple hundred.

“$600 a quarter of an ounce.”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Sam scoffed. “What the hell’s worth that kinda money?”

Lafayette walked over to a mini fridge and pulled it out. A small vial of a red substance.

“When did you start dealing V?” Sam asked softly.

“When I realized there was a market for it,” Lafayette said. “Now I don’t want this getting out, motherfucker, do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“The vamps don’t take kindly to the juice dispensers,” Lafayette said.

“How’d you get it?”

“Let’s just say I have a little arrangement with a life challenged individual who appreciates my multifaceted talents,” Lafayette said slyly.

“God. Is there anybody these days that aren’t fucking vampires?” Sam asked.

“Lemme ask you something,” Lafayette said. “Do you wanna get it up and keep it up and have the best sex you have ever had for both you and your miss?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Despite Sam’s misgivings, this was exactly what he wanted. And he didn’t care that it came from a vampire at this point.

“Take one, maybe two drops of this, no more!! Anymore and things might get intense and not in a good way,” Lafayette warned.

Sam smiled and grabbed the vial out of his hand. “Thanks man, ‘preciate it.”

Sam went to get up, but Lafayette grabbed his arm. “Ain’t nothin free in my world.”

“Can I pay you later? I gotta go to the bank,” Sam said, going to get up.

“Motherfucker, who do you think I am? I don’t run a layaway program and I’m not interested in instituting one,” Lafayette walked over to the door and locked it.

“Come on, Lafayette, ain’t there some way you’ll let me pay you this afternoon?”

The solution Lafayette came up with was…creative.

“I hate cameras.” Sam was in his underwear, standing in front of a phone on a tripod and Lafayette smoking a joint and smiling.

“You know how much money you’d make if you had your own onlyfans? Queens would pay good money to watch you jack off,” Lafayette said.

“Hey you said I just had to dance!” Sam cried.

“Okay,” Lafayette said shortly. He turned on the music. A dance track. “Dance.”

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment, snapping his fingers and moving a little then asked, “is anyone I know gonna see this?”

“Probably,” Lafayette said. “There’s a lot of pervs in this town.”

“No way,” Sam said, grabbing his clothes.

“Do you want the V or not?” Lafayette said. He grabbed a Hillary Clinton mask and threw it to Sam. “There.”

Sam put the mask on and started letting loose. He danced around, wiggling his hips, smacking his ass, showing off his muscles.

Ruby peaked out from behind the doorway and muttered “what the fuck?”

“Oh, lover, you’re gonna make me clutch my pearls,” Lafayette said, grinning.

****

It was still daylight but Clara approached Jake’s door anyway. She looked through the window beside it, taking in all his furniture, his faintings of old family, his love of red velvet upholstery and gothic furniture. She had been grappling all day with her situation with him, torn between common sense and desire.

She walked back down and sat on the steps. She could still feel his blood running through her, making everything more magical, brighter, more sensual. She was running her hands along the inside of her thigh when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Clar, it’s Josh, can you do me a favor?”

“Um, sure, maybe.”

“Well we’re supposed to open up for lunch in 20 minutes and Dawn hasn’t shown up for her shift-“

“Oh, Josh, I really need my day off!”

“No, no, I’m not asking you to come in. Can you just run over to Dawn’s and wake her up? She probably just overslept.” Josh said.

“Alright,” Clara sighed.

Clara pulled up to the row of mill houses and parked outside of Dawn’s. Her car was still out front.

Clara knocked on the door to not answer. “Dawn? It’s me, Clara! Honey, you overslept!”

Clara opened the screen door and knocked on the door, hoping it would be louder. There was no answer. Clara tried to open the door and it was unlocked.

She could hear Dawn’s alarm going off from her bedroom. “Dawn?”

She walked through the living room. Dawn’s purse was by the door, her things scattered around her lived in home. There was something very, very wrong.

“Are you home?” She knew there would be no answer.

Clara walked slowly into her bedroom. Furniture was knocked over, lamp shades askew, things thrown around.

Dawn was there, lying on the bed, eyes open and unseeing, her neck bruised from strangulation….

Clara screamed.

9 notes · View notes

gretavanmoon · 18 days ago

Text

Those days when your brain is buzzing with ideas and topics and new storylines and sweet one-liners but you’re literally driving and adulting for the entire day and by the time you get to sit down to put pen to paper you fall asleep and dream about all the stuff you thought up that day.

#why is it like this #i finally want to write but but but #help #inspirational mornings

2 notes · View notes

gretavanmoon · 26 days ago

Text

Two Minutes

Jake x female reader

14.2k words

You've never told anyone your secret, until one night it's basically forced out of you. Your hot, and otherwise fairly cheeky co-worker Jake takes it as a challenge, giving himself, and you, a finish line that you hope you can reach.

Warnings: 18+! Angst: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking, Unclean Thoughts

Smut: Kissing, Heavy Flirting, Dirty Talk, Touching, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F! Receiving), Edging

+++

“OK Y/N, your turn.”

The wine glass in your hand is almost empty, the rosé your friend had chosen for the Friend’s Night In finally working its way through your body at a delicious pace. You feel loose, giggly and warm as you pick up a card from the top of the deck, reading it once to yourself before you even begin to read it out loud for everyone to hear.

Your eyes quickly scan the small font on the card, and you feel your stomach fall all the way through you. Fuck, you can’t answer this…

“Ugh, that one’s dumb. I’m picking another car–”

“No!” your friend Kel stops your hand from throwing it onto the discard pile. “You have to read it. Out loud, and answer it,” she slurs, giving you eyes of playful accusation. “S’in the rulebook. Come on…”

You’re surrounded by what you’d now consider close friends, but mostly you’d consider yourself a newbie that was adopted into their already fairly close-knit group. Not really by way of pity, but more by way of necessity. You’d moved to this new city barely a month ago, and you were thankful that your new job had afforded you a brand new group of people with similar interests and similar schedules. But most of all, you had been awarded the ability to spend nearly every day with one of the most beautiful specimens you had ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on, Jake.

He’s gorgeous, funny and a little bit off-putting sometimes, but never enough to bother you. He’s charming and a little over-flirtacious at times, but that’s to be expected from someone of his level of attractiveness.

Jake is seated on the arm of a recliner, leaned back and relaxed as he sips on his own wine straight from the bottle. He’s in slouched black jeans and an oversized light gray hoodie, one that you’d imagine he’s had since high school given the way it fits. His hair is tied back into a messy knot under his ballcap, and you smirk at the way his nonchalant appearance matches perfectly with his overall personality. Always comfortable, no matter the circumstance.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been catching yourself eyeballing him all night, drooling over his every move as if you had a little schoolgirl crush. You’d scoffed at yourself more times than you could count, scorning the thoughts that had started to flow more freely, and more unwelcome through your mind.

You roll your eyes and take a deep breath as the voices of the friends surrounding you quiet down and hone in, ready for you to read the words on the card.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” another one of your friends says through a sip of his beer.

“Okay! Okay, shit,” you clear your throat, building up the courage to read the words on the card. “Share the number of the most times a partner has gotten you off in one hookup.”

You swallow, hearing the rest of the group share expressions of “oooo”s and “answer it honest, Y/N!”

You catch Kel’s eyes from beside you, glossy and red as you watch her snicker through her teeth. Fuck, now you’ve gotten yourself in deep. You can’t lie, they’ll know you’re making your answer up. So what’s left to do but tell… the truth?

You can feel Jake’s eyes on you as he sits up from his earlier position, now fully interested in what you have to say. You can’t lie, you like the way it feels with his eyes trained on you, his jaw grit tightly as he hones in.

“Um,” you purr, taking another long sip of your wine. “One?”

The group erupts in another deafening round of words of disbelief. The sound blurs around you as your embarrassment grows, and all you can hear is the expletive nature of their laughter.

“One?! Seriously, Y/N?”

“Look at her, she’s blushing!”

“Are you kidding? Or are you telling the truth?”

You slam the card back onto the discard pile as you sit up on your knees, reaching for the almost-empty bottle of rosé to refill your glass. And quick. “Ugh, I told you guys it was a dumb question! Kel, it’s your turn anyway.”

“No no no, Y/N, we need a storytime,” Kel says, taking the bottle from your hand and refilling your glass for you. Kel is your closest new friend, and you already feel like you can tell her just about anything. Her outgoing nature is almost overwhelming at times, and you sometimes find yourself questioning how the two of you ever clicked so well.

There are only six other people in the room with you, but you suddenly feel like you’re being suffocated. Suffocated from the crowdedness, and from the pressure of talking about a topic that, honestly, is quite embarrassing.

Truth be told, you’d never had someone make you orgasm. Ever. Not even once.

Sure, you’d been able to achieve it many times by yourself, so you know it can happen. And you’d had plenty of people get close, but never once had you been with someone who could get you there. They’d build you up, have you teetering on the edge and about to tumble over, but they could never help you over the hump. Never cared enough to satisfy your needs before their own. You weren’t sure if it was your poor choices in lovers, or just their inabilities to care enough about you, though you were always pretty positive it was the latter.

The chatter in the room ceases, and you feel Jake’s piercing eyes on you again, sharp and focused as he listens.

You contort your face up, “Nah, no storytime,” you say.

“Is it one, or is it never?” Kel presses, causing the group to die down again, now completely interested in your answer. You know they can see the writing on the wall; you never were one to hide your emotions well.

Your lips purse together, and thankfully the alcohol has removed just a sliver off the top of your inhibitions. “Fuck, okay, it’s never.”

It feels so embarrassing finally admitting that to a group of near-strangers, let alone to yourself. The point of the card game was to be brutally honest, and since everyone else had partaken in giving up their naughtiest and most kinky admissions tonight, it only felt right to go right along with it.

“Never…” you hear Jake’s hollow voice from the corner, still perched on the recliner arm. Your eyes shyly float to him, feeling like you’d rather crawl in a hole and die than look him in the eye, right now. How fucking humiliating…

Instead, you decide to own it, straightening your posture and turning on the confidence to cover up the fact that you’d never fallen apart at the hand of another human being. “Nope,” you say with a pop of your lips. “Never. Not even once. I don’t think anyone out there can make me feel as good as I do, so. Maybe I’ll just keep it that way. It’s like people don’t even want to try, these days.”

You force your body language to do a 180, flipping the script from pure humiliation to one of extreme self-assurement. If anything, maybe everyone will view you as a little bit more confident in yourself, and laugh at the fact along with you.

“That’s fuckin’ right, sis!” Kel says loudly as she holds her hand in the air for a high-five. “Fuck them, you get what you give, right?”

“That’s right,” you agree with her, letting your palm slap onto hers. Finally, the group falls back into the flow of the game, and away from centering their attention on your admission. The more you think about it, the more it feels like it’s not that unheard of. Maybe others in the group are right there with you, they just don’t feel the need to admit it.

Then you feel it. Jake’s gaze again… this time his eyes aren’t waiting for you to talk, they’re pondering you. Glaring, harsh and striking as they bore straight through. You begin to feel a little uneasy from it, actually. The few glances you take his way seal the fact that he’s blatantly displaying not hiding that he’s staring directly at you. The fuck?

After a few more rounds and a few more confessions, you can’t help but notice that since your admission, Jake has been completely silent. He has barely uttered a word since you laid out one of your deepest secrets. Everyone slowly moves into the kitchen area of the house to grab snacks and refills, and you’re left standing with Kel as she drones on and on about how her situationship didn’t make it tonight.

“It’s like he doesn’t even want to try, ya know? I plan all these fun get togethers, ask him to go on dates… and he never reciprocates. He never plans. M’ I being annoying, Y/N? Should I jus’ leave him alone and let him be an asshole to someone else?” she slurs.

You’d never admit it to her, but you aren’t even really listening. Things had been this way between them since you met Kel. You’d tried to tell her a million times that he’s probably never going to change, but she never listens. You learned quickly that telling her to leave him in the dust and move on was the best plan of action, instead of coddling her into thinking he’ll change.

“Yes, you know I’ve told you that before. Move on, find someone else. He sucks, anyway,” you say as you tip back your glass again, unenthusiastic about the same damn conversation. You love Kel, you really do. But you can only give her the same advice so many times before it starts to feel pointless.

The energy in the room has begun to pick up as everyone’s intoxication settles in, and the mood finally feels good. You’re positive that everyone has long since forgotten about your little admission earlier, and you pray that no one will even remember it when they’re sober.

“Two minutes.”

Shock rushes through your system as you hear it, Jake’s hushed and gravely voice echoing in your ear. You jerk away as he startles you, turning quickly to scold him for making you jump out of your skin.

“What?!” you ask, slightly thrown off.

He’s standing behind you now, his hands balled up in the pockets of his hoodie as he confidently takes up space in the most alluring way. Always so comfortable in his stature, always so confident in his actions. He leans in a bit, glancing to the others before speaking again.

“Two minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”

You swallow down the sip of wine that you’d nearly choked on, and try your best to understand what he’s talking about.

“I… I don’t know what you mean, Jake,” you stutter, furrowing your brows. “Need for what?”

He snickers, running his thumb and pointer finger along his mustache, then down his neck. His slit eyes peer at you from under the shadow of his hat. “I think you know what I mean, Y/N,” he laughs, almost as if he’s mocking you. “You’re a smart girl.”

You stand there awkwardly, Kel now having long abandoned your side as she drunkenly deals with her own situation. You feel your eyes bouncing around the room as you search your mind, trying to think of what on earth this man is going on about.

“I… guess, but I–”

“Two. Minutes.” Suddenly his mouth is on your ear again, and you’re almost knocked down by the smell of his cologne mixed with the bitter wine on his breath, and the feeling of his hand gripped on your side, sturdy but soft. “That’s all the time I’d need to have my name rolling off your lips, over and over and over…”

You can’t help it, your eyes close for a split second before they nearly bulge from your skull, a debilitating chill wracking through your body as he pulls away. The look on his normally soft face is overtaken by an expression of pure intensity. You swallow, unable to speak, unable to think as his words take you completely by surprise. You stand still as the shock deems you unable to move at all, but you can’t lie, the way he cocks his eyebrow at you before sliding his hand back in his pocket has your body suddenly feeling magnetized to him.

“Just let me know if you wanna prove me wrong,” he says before pulling away and disappearing back into the mess of the bodies in the kitchen.

You have to physically pull your jaw up from the floor, your body in complete confusion trying to process what just happened. Did he really just ask you to let him get you off? In two minutes?

No, it’s absurd. Jake is barely even your friend. He’s almost a stranger, even. Aside from getting to know him for the past month during your shifts together, you only just last week learned his last name. You don’t even know anything about him besides surface-level formalities. No. You can’t even fathom sleeping with someone you barely know. It doesn’t make sense…

But then you notice the hairs on your arms still standing up, the nerves in your body still on high-alert, and as much as you hate to admit it, that familiar draw in your stomach that is a tell-tale sign that your body wants him, too.

Fuck.

Are you considering this? Are you really thinking about letting him prove his little game to you? You’ve done nothing but pine for this man for weeks, imagining what his hands would feel like on your skin, and how his mouth would taste on yours…

But it’s ridiculous, right? For a split second you consider pulling Kel into the bathroom to tell her what just happened and ask her opinion, but for some reason if you decide to go with this, you almost want it to be in complete secrecy. Almost. Actually, why not? It’d been a minute, and you know there’s no way in hell he’d be able to hold up his end of the deal, anyway, but why not let him try? Why not let him attempt?

Like a switch is flipped in your brain, you pick right back up with the over-confidence you’d found earlier, and your legs begin pulling you straight back over to Jake. Shit, what are you doing? You’re being summoned by some otherworldly force, some powerful magnet that you wouldn’t be able to stop even if you tried. But against all your reservations, you find your hand gripping his forearm, pulling him away from his conversation.

“Where?” you ask, your voice chopped.

The most devious grin dances across his lips as he pulls his tongue to the side of his cheek. His hooded eyes give you an up-down, but instead of it making you feel uncomfortable, it motivates you.

“Your place,” he says. “Unless you have another idea.”

“No. That’s fine,” you reply. “Just let me get my keys.”

He grips your hand in his as he pulls you back, bringing your body within inches of his. “No, you shouldn’t drive. I’ll take us. Just tell me where to go…” his eyes travel down your body again as your breath is completely stolen from your lungs, his hand still gripped tightly around yours. As if you have a dog in the fight, anyway.

“You’re right, yeah. Um, just let me tell Kel bye,” you shake out. You rush back through the group that has now grown from six people to twelve, the small get-together now turning into a larger gathering. Good. Maybe no one will notice the two of you are gone.

You find Kel slumped over a table, her posture sad and defeated as she cleans up the card game from earlier.

“Kel, babe, you need my help? Are you okay?” you begin shuffling the cards back into a stack. “Is he coming?”

She sniffles. “No, he’s not coming. But, I’m kinda happy, y’know? Fuck that guy. I donneed ‘em,” she slurs.

You place all the cards back into the box and close it up, taking Kel’s hands in your own. “I’m so sorry, love. But I’m proud of you, you’re so much better than that. You deserve someone who is gonna bow to your every whim, you know?” you console her.

A bright smile crosses her face. “God I love you, thank you,” she beams. “You’re right. I’m deleting his number. I’m done.”

You know that tomorrow she will probably be right back where she was before this, just like always. Sadly, all you can do is hold her hand through it and hope that one day your advice will stick.

“Wait, are you leaving?” she asks.

"Yeah, um… yes,” you say, biting your lips into your mouth. “I’m going home.”

“Let me order you an Uber, you shouldn’t drive–”

“Jake’s taking me. Taking…us,” you blurt, your hands suddenly wringing against each other at your waist.

Kel’s face is stoic. “Huh? Jake? Our friend Jake?”

You smile sheepishly.

“Whattd’ya mean us? Is… Wait. Oh my god, biiiiitch…” Watching her realization fly through her mind is almost entertaining. “Shut up, are you serious?”

You nod quickly, tightening your neck muscles to show your semi-uncertainty in the decision. “Yeah, I dunno, is it a bad idea? I’m dumb, right?” you whisper.

“NO!” Kel yells loudly. “Matter of fact, why are you still here?! Get the fuck out of my house!” she begins physically shoving you back through to the kitchen. “Let’s go, excuse us! This woman’s got places to be! Coming through!”

As Kel pushes you through the now sea of people, your heart rate begins to skyrocket the second you see Jake waiting for you at the back door, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. He looks almost ethereal as he watches you, keeping track of your every move.

“I want a full debrief and details t’murrow morning, littttirlly as soon as you wake up,” Kel whispers in your ear. “Jake doesn’t just do this, I hope you know…” she says quietly. “He must think you’re special.”

Finally Kel deposits you in front of him, his hand patiently resting on the doorknob as you finally make it through the crowd.

“Be nice to her, Jacob. Or else I’m tellin’ ev’rybuddy how you fell asleep hugging the toilet at the Christmas party last year,” Kel says to Jake, earning a gasp and laugh from you.

He slits his eyes at her. “I’m always nice Kelena, don’t you know that by now?” he retorts, taking your hand again and pulling you through the door. “Thanks for the party, love!”

You hear Kel’s voice echoing through the air as Jake walks you to his car, “You kids have fun now!”

You both are laughing and shaking your heads as he opens the door for you, and you slowly slip inside. The alcohol is still swirling in your bloodstream, and the second alone in his car allows you to take a deep breath to make sure this is really what you want to do. Watching the wind brush through his hair that has fallen in his face, and his hands nimbly finger through his keys as he walks to the driver’s side seals the deal- he’s too delicious to pass up, and the offer is too damn good to refuse.

He closes his door behind him and starts the car, quickly finding a song he is happy with and a warmer temperature on his dash. “You cold?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, m’fine, thanks.”

“Then why are you shivering?” he asks, checking his mirror as he pulls out onto the street. You envy his confidence so harshly it almost pisses you off.

“I–I dunno, just…”

“Don’t be anxious, Y/N, there’s no need to be nervous around me.” He laughs through his words, his tone warm and inviting. Just the sound of his voice makes you feel like he thinks it ridiculous anyone would be nervous around him, when in all reality, you know he makes every female around him falter with anticipation.

“What makes you think I’m nervous?” you ask. “You’re the one that has a challenge.”

He tilts his head back and laughs, a true guttural laugh, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease, especially watching how his hand grips onto the steering wheel.

“A challenge…” he repeats. “So it’s really true, you’ve never…”

“No,” you reply, now comfortable with it. “I swear. Just… hasn’t ever happened with someone else.”

“You’ve never even…been close?” he asks, his eyes edging sideways.

You take in a quick gasp of air as you recenter, your mind quickly flipping through your Rolodex of past-hookups. “Maybe… a time or two, but. Nothing sticks out in my mind.”

Jake stares through the windshield, clicking his tongue. “What a goddamn waste…” he growls under his breath.

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“Ah, you know what I mean. Not a waste,” he readjusts himself in his seat. “Well, actually, yeah. A waste of your time, I’m sure. I mean, sex is all good and fun, but if you’re doing it casually, then why not try and make it the most fun for everyone involved, you know?”

You nod in agreement.

“I mean,” he goes on, “everyone’s there to reach the finish line. Or prefer to, at least, right?”

“Yeah, you would think,” you giggle, tossing your hair behind your ear. “Guess not everyone has the same idea.”

He’s quiet for a second as he slowly makes his way down the empty street. “I mean, I–I guess I don’t understand why no one bothered to take their time with you. Help you get there… You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, if I’m being honest,” he laughs, working his fingers over his lips again.

If you weren’t blushing before, you sure as fuck are now.

“Thank you, Jake, that’s really nice,” you laugh shyly.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking at you, finally. “It’s been hard to keep my eyes off of you all night.”

“I uh, I noticed. While we were playing the game,” you reply sheepishly. “Had a bit of a staring problem tonight, didn’t we?”

He laughs again, “I mean, I just can’t imagine having the pleasure of sleeping with you, and not making you c—well… the most of it.”

You can tell that he is trying his best to be respectful while still open about the subject, and to be honest, it was turning you on. God, you halfway wished he would have slipped up and said the word, only to satisfy the dirty thoughts already flowing through your mind. The compliments are making your head spin, and his nonchalant way of speaking is making you weak for him, already. Your body is burning for more of the feeling.

His left hand grips the steering wheel again as you near the end of the street, stopping at a stop sign. His free hand slowly comes to balance on your thigh, gently at first, then with just a little more force. Your eyes meet his, dark and hooded and flushed out with growing desire. “I just need you to tell me where to go…”

It feels like his hand is burning a hole through your skin, the feeling of his fingertips gently gripping into your muscle makes you feel like you could explode into a million pieces. You can audibly hear yourself exhale as his pinky is close to the bottom hem of your skirt, digging into the place that could become dangerous territory, if he were to keep going.

You’re leaning into each other now, and you can’t help but let your hand fly to cover his, interlacing with his fingers that are already halfway between your thighs. He squeezes harder, your hands gripping together as he gently massages you. You can feel your body starting to move, starting to let itself be pulled into his atmosphere as if he himself is the source of gravity.

Your elbow is leaned on the console, your breath already beginning to falter as he lets his nose brush yours, his breath hot as it lands on your lips. You’re fighting with everything in you to not make the connection, to not give in to the horrific temptation that he is already presenting you with. “Tell me, Y/N…” he demands, your name sounding like he pulled it straight from heaven. Or in tonight’s case, the pits of hell.

“Left here, then a right four streets down…” you murmur, gripping your hand even harder over his. His fingertips are harshly grabbing at you now, kneading at the muscle. “Or we could just… Pull over here…” you say as your other hand goes to hold his cheek in place, turning the tables just a little bit. You watch as his jaw tightens, likely considering your proposition as you hear his breath hitch. He feels so good already, and you’ve barely made it out of the neighborhood.

He rips himself away, but leaves his hand positioned perfectly on your leg. “No, not here. We’re going to your place. Gonna go where I can take care of you the right way.”

The disconnect nearly kills you, but you summon up enough courage to continue on with the banter. “Take care of me, hm? I’m not one to need looked after, Jake.”

He smiles, avoiding your eyes as you watch the stoplights reflect off his face. “S’not what I meant, baby. You’ve never had someone do that for you before? Take care of you?”

Fuck, you can feel yourself starting to burn for him just from his use of the pet name. How can he so easily make you feel this way? It’s barely been ten minutes since he approached you in the house, and already you’re kicking yourself for letting your guard down so quickly. You’re five kinds of flustered.

But… he’s so enticing…

“I’m not sure,” you reply candidly. “You’ll have to tell me what you mean.”

He offers you another glance, his lips barely puckered as he fights off another laugh. “Well, I could explain to you what I mean, or I could show you. You can pick.”

Alright, that shuts you up.

“This street?” he asks, pointing to the green road sign.

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. “Third place down… on the left.”

He pulls into the parking space and parks the car, and you feel yourself get dizzy from the fact that this is actually happening, you’re actually going to let him come in with you. You unzip your purse and begin fishing for your apartment key, feeling the nerves beginning to bubble up already.

“Y/N,” he mutters.

“Hm?” your eyes flick to him, still astounding your senses with every glance.

“Now is your last chance to tell me to go home. I’ll walk you to your door, and we can call it a night,” he says with sincerity. Damn, how sweet of him to offer. But can’t he tell that you’re nearing the edge of becoming weak for him? The tension is thick, he must really be a true gentleman to not play into it.

Gotta drive it home.

You lean over the arm rest, bringing yourself into his orbit again. Your faces are close, almost close enough to touch, but you stop short for just long enough to speak. “I don’t want you to go home, Jake.”

You can feel his lips smiling against yours as he finally presses them to you, so soft at first you’re sure you might be imagining it all. It’s subtle and sweet, and almost too soft in comparison to what his hand was doing to your thigh just minutes ago, but you don’t dare stop him from deepening the kiss just a little.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you feel the tingle of anticipation radiate through your body like sparks. His tongue isn’t begging to explore you just yet, instead he softly runs it along your bottom lip every few seconds as he tests the waters. Your hands feel like they need to move, need to touch, so you mimic his actions, grabbing onto the back of his neck as you part your lips just a little.

Everything feels so dreamy… the soft but bluesy music coming through his car speakers, the brushing of his thumb across your cheek as he tastes you, the fog beginning to coat the insides of the windows…

It’s silent in the car, but your heartbeat in your ears is deafening. “Alright then,” he says as he pulls away for just a second long enough to balance his forehead to yours. “Invite me in.”

You smile as he sits waiting for you to speak, and you take a second to really look into his eyes, still just as dire as they were earlier. You bite your lips together, tasting him on you. “Come upstairs with me,” you demand.

He shuts off the engine and pulls the key, shoving his door open. “Wait,” he says, stopping you from doing the same. “Let me.”

You roll your eyes as you watch him hop around the front of the car, still charmed by his gentlemanly theme for the evening. “How kind of you, good sir,” you jest as he holds his hand out for you to take.

He chuckles. “What, is this weird or something?” he asks, motioning towards the car door.

You shake your head. “I’ve never had someone do that for me, is all.” He holds his hand out and you take it, stepping softly onto the concrete below you.

When you stand he doesn’t let your hand go, but instead he pulls it up to him, kissing the back of it. “Seems like that isn’t gonna be the last time you say that, tonight.” He smirks to himself as you feel another rush of nerves roll through you, eager to see what he has in store for you.

He follows you to the stairs and you lead him up to the third floor, the both of you stopping for a second when you reach the end of the balcony. “This is me… all the way on the end,” you say, fiddling with the key in your hand. You turn back to Jake who has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark jeans, his hair rustling softly over his face as the breeze hits it.

You stick the key into the doorknob and begin to twist it, but you stop short when you feel a sensation on the back of your neck. It’s gentle and almost ticklish, until you feel it turn into something else. Jake’s fingers drift away from your neck and down your arms, and you feel his breath suddenly hot against the column of your neck. You nearly drop the keys in your hand, but you get ahold of yourself, feeling his arms wrapping around your torso.

He squeezes you, the combination of his breath on your neck and the warmth of his body making you dizzy for a second. His lips start off soft but then they begin getting rougher as he lays open-mouthed kisses all the way from your neck to under your ear.

“Mmm,” you laugh a little at the contact, letting your bodyweight fall back onto him. You feel his tongue roll across the sensitive spot on your neck, hot and ravenous as his hands start to drift up underneath your shirt. His fingertips are cold, and the chill of the night sends goosebumps all over your body, but you couldn’t care less. You know that very soon, you’ll be warmer than you can stand. His hands grip at your hips, your stomach, your sides…

“Jake,” you giggle as your eyes roll back. “We’re not even inside yet…”

“Who says we have to start there?” he mumbles in your ear. “If I remember right, you were trying to fuck me in the car, were you not?”

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks blush at his words, but he’s not wrong. The memory of his hand between your thighs just minutes ago sends another shockwave through you as you picture it again… his fingertips disappearing underneath the hem of your skirt as you tried to fight away your arousal.

“I–I mean…” you scramble for an answer as his hands dig into your sides again, slowly drifting up to the underwire of your bra. “Yeah…” you breathe.

His mouth hasn’t stopped. He’s begun nipping with his teeth, pulling on the skin then kissing the pain away. He already feels unbelievably good, and you can feel the warmth of his body still pressed tightly to yours, warming you up exponentially.

But… you need to feel him closer.

You leave the key hanging in the doorknob and you turn around to face him, watching as his eyes go from fed to famished. In less than a second, your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling him in so closely that he almost stumbles. Your lips attach to his in a heated rush, and you feel yourself become entranced with the idea of him all over again. How he looks, how he feels… all of it overwhelming you as his hands grip at your hips again, pulling you into him.

Your back hits the unopened door with a thud and you feel his arms enclose around you, his palms pressed tightly to the doorframe. “You still want to wait until we get inside?” he growls before delving his tongue against yours. Your entire body is raging with desire for him, and you know that if he doesn’t touch you soon, you may just be forced to do it yourself.

“No,” you answer honestly when you break for air. “No, I don’t care, just–”

Suddenly his hand is right back where you wanted it. He’s pulling up at your skirt as his hand searches again, and you step your legs apart just a little to give him better access. You feel yourself already dripping for him, and the flash of embarrassment of being outdoors pulls you away but only for a second, as his fingers are toying with the edge of your pantyline.

“Just what?” he asks, his mouth diving back to the side of your neck. But you can’t form a thought. Hell, you can’t even remind yourself to breathe as his fingers tease you, tickling over your thong-covered clit. You know he can tell you’re already wet, but you take him to be the kind of guy who will love the way you’re reacting to him, instead of the opposite.

“Just touch me,” you blurt out, suddenly sick of his teasing. You can hear him grunt a low laugh through his teeth, his face still buried in your hair. “Please…”

“Goddamn,” he bellows, “already using those insistent commands… Remember, I’m here to prove a point. Here to prove something to you, right?” his lips smack at the skin covering your jugular, and you know for a fact he’s getting off on teasing you.

“Right,” you reply, getting a little bit of your sanity back.

“Right.” He steps back and looks at you straight on, but his hand stays buried between your legs. “So the first thing you need to know, is that most of the time people want to go straight to the last place, right to the finish line. Skipping over the good parts entirely…” his eyes are boring into yours as he begins fiddling his fingers around again, pulling your thong over to the side. His middle finger slips quickly directly through you, stopping finally right on your sweet spot. You gasp at the surprise, and you feel your jaw fall slack as he starts to make little circles.

“People don’t want to take their time, enjoy the build-up… Has that been your past experience?” he asks.

You take a second to think about it, about all your past lovers and how the nights usually went, and you realize that while most of them really were good lays, none of them actually seemed to even care about if you were having a good time, or not. Was it a reflection on your choices of lovers? Yeah, definitely. But you’re young and uncaring of anything serious, so what could you expect?

“For the most part,” you admit to him, stiffening a smile. His finger is working at your clit so expertly your entire body begins to feel loose. Your hands are still resting on his shoulders, but his eyes are still staring harshly at you, looking at you like he’s trying to figure you out.

He clicks his tongue. “Shame,” he mutters, mirroring his earlier statement that other experiences have been a waste of your time. “S’really the best part.”

With that, his middle finger slips inside you, burying itself all the way up to his knuckle. You gasp even more loudly this time, letting go of his shoulders to grab onto the railing behind you. He begins pumping in and out, and you have half a mind to lift your leg over his waist, until you remember you’re outside, and you have neighbors.

“Fuck,” you whisper, giving him a slightly accusing smile. You glance down between you to catch sight of his hand disappearing under your skirt over and over, and you let yourself feel his speed begin to quicken. His pace is deliciously perfect, not too slow and not too fast. He hooks his finger, toying with the spot that you know is there, but he doesn’t spend too much time on it. He pulls his finger out, spending a few seconds collecting your wetness again before slipping back in, searching for the spots that make you react the most.

You grit your jaw tightly together to conceal your sounds, feeling your stomach caving in on itself as you try and welcome the waves of pleasure. New pleasure.

After about thirty seconds, you feel your breath begin to pick up on its own as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, a place inside you that only you have ever dared to hone in on. Your eyes close as you blow a few quick puffs of air, right in time with the hooks of his finger.

“Right there?” he asks, and you can just hear the smirk on his lips.

You nod. “Yeah, right there… don’t stop…” you beg, feeling your chest getting heavy already as you tightly close your eyes. There’s no way he’s already…

Your left hand flies up to cup behind his neck, holding on to him for dear life as you feel a tightness rising up from your belly. Your eyes fly open to look at him, his features shadowed and still as he watches you intently. Your head drops again as another wave rolls through you, begging you to give in to it. Let it have what it wants… until you feel his finger on the bottom of your chin, tilting your head back up to look at him.

“Concentrate,” he says, his voice graveled. “Do you want to cum right now?”

Your stomach caves in on itself again as he stops his finger movement, letting his thumb drift across your already almost-over sensitive clit. Your hands fall back and grip the railing as you lean back a little further, desperate for him to start moving his finger again.

“I want to yeah, but…”

“It’s not the time, is it?” he finishes your sentence, slowly gliding his finger again. You shake your head in agreement. You know that he wants to make this last as long as he possibly can.

You make eye contact again, and you notice that the curves on the edges of his lips permanently curl up a little, all the more adorable in this lighting. You hadn’t even noticed it before.

He slowly removes his hand from you, bringing his finger up. He sticks his tongue out just a little bit, pulling his finger into his mouth. He leaves it for just a second before he pops it off, letting his tongue roll over his lips. “Just as good as I thought you’d be,” he says.

Oh for the love of god… a guy you know from work should not be this attractive…

“You thought?” you press, catching your breath as the light comes back into your eyesight. “You’ve thought of this before?” You can’t help but replay the visual of what you’d just seen him do over and over and over… almost blinding yourself as the replay makes you soak with a whole new rush of desire to watch him do it again.

He’s thought of this before… how you’d taste. So you weren’t crazy. All this time of dreaming about what he would look like with his head between your legs, and now… you get to experience it?

“‘Course I have,” he answers, grabbing the key still stuck in the door and giving it a final twist to let it open. “I see your flirty little glances, Y/N, don’t think I don’t.” Ugh, gross. He’s still just a guy.

Even if he’s just a guy with apparent magic hands…

He holds his hand out for you to walk inside first, and he follows you into your apartment, completely dark save for the light coming into through the cracks in the blinds. You hear him kick his shoes off and you follow suit, and the alcohol that was swimming through you now feels like it's tapering off a bit.

“Flirty glances don’t mean shit when they’re not given back in return,” you retort, letting your hand instinctually run over the countertop as you walk by it.

“Hey,” he laughs with a surrendering tone, “just because you might not catch me doesn’t mean I don’t do it.”

You raise your eyebrows, even though he can’t really see you.

“Plus, nine times out of ten when I give those flirty glances, I’m watching you walk away,” he adds.

“My god, Jake,” you laugh, finding the handle of the kitchen cabinet housing your wine glasses.

“What is it they say? Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave?”

“Shut up,” you giggle again, loving his ability to keep things so lighthearted. “You wanna drink?”

“Nah, I’m okay. But you go ahead,” he says in an almost whisper. You think about it for a second, knowing that more alcohol could make the experience better, but also not trusting enough in it to not completely dull the entire thing.

“I’m good too,” you decide, walking over to flip on the switch of a lamp. It pulls a soft, orange glow over the room, and you glance at Jake as he leans his elbows down onto the countertop. He bites his thumb between his teeth as he lets his eyes drift to you, low and hooded as he takes you in again. God, what good deed did you do to get this man into your house? Let alone to get him to look at you like that?

“Are you undressing me with your eyes, Jacob?” you ask, resting a hand on your hip.

“Maybe,” he stifles a laugh. “Actually, yeah. Yeah, I am,” he says, standing back up to come over to your side of the island. His hand drifts down your arm again, sending another set of chills through you as you take in a deep breath, really smelling his sweet cologne now with the absence of the cold breeze. Your hand grips his neck again as you reconnect your kiss, this time a little more desperately now that you have privacy. You hum into his mouth a little as he bucks his hips into you, and you can feel his length hard already against your stomach.

“And do you like what you imagined?” you ask, pulling away for a second as your hands become a little more rough in their movements.

“Fuckin’ loved it,” he grits, pulling your coat from your shoulders as you let it fall behind you. “Think I’d rather see it in person, though.” You feel his hands grip at the backs of your thighs, pulling you up to hold you for just as second as he twists on his feet, sitting you right on the island. The granite is cold on your skin and it startles you, but you barely have time to complain about it as Jake is attaching his lips to yours, again, hot and just as heavy as before.

He moves forward and stands between your legs, letting his hands rest on your barren thighs again, right below where your skirt has hiked itself up. You take a second to really enjoy the way he is kissing you- with intention, slow and desperate as you feel him fight for his own breath. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not with this much feeling and intensity. This much pure instinct. You wonder if this is how it’s supposed to feel, or if the chemistry that is blooming between the two of you is finally just finding its footing. Either way, it’s leaving you feeling drunker than you were when you left the party.

Your hand comes up to hold his cheek as he concentrates on nothing but the kiss, and you feel a tinge of something else flutter in your chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d dare to say that he really does actually care about this, about you. And you wonder why he is even wasting his time with it all.

Suddenly you feel a little bit exposed, a little bit like you shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no way that the hottest guy at work is here, in your home, paying so much special attention to you that you feel dizzy. Is this a joke?

“Get out of your head, Y/N,” he speaks up, breaking you from your train of thought.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your hand still balanced on his cheek as your mind finds you again. Your heart rate soars at the thought of him catching on to you so quickly.

“You’re thinking too much, I can tell. Everything okay?”

You nod. “Yeah, everything– everything is fine. I’m fine. Just–” You try to breathe it all away and tell yourself to forget all the worried thoughts running through your head, flashing like distracting traffic lights on a rainy night. If he didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here, right?

He’s warm when he moves in closer, smiling against your lips, gently biting your bottom lip between his teeth. “I need you to relax, just enjoy… there’s no reason for you to get worked up. This… this feels good, right?” His voice is different now, in these close quarters. You’re used to the semi-professional one he uses at work, but hearing him use this gritty, wanting tone makes him feel more alluring, like a side of him you’d like to get to know better.

“Yeah, it feels good,” you reassure him with a harsh nod. “Are you…?”

“You’re damn right I am,” he laughs as though your question was ridiculous. “How could I not be? Been wanting a taste of you for weeks…” Suddenly he grips your legs again and pulls you toward him, your ass almost hanging off the edge of the counter. He presses himself inward again, making your entire body shudder with an almost obvious flood of want. You hum at the touch, making him crack a self-satisfied smile that causes your insides to lurch with anticipation.

His hands are on your hips, his fingertips pressing hard into the skin as they dip below the waist of your skirt. Quickly, they find your panties, snapping the stretchy fabric of them against you. “Those are cute,” he grits.

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know? You can’t even see them,” you retort.

Suddenly he pulls back a bit, gently pressing his hands to your shoulders. “You’re right, I can’t. Y’wanna help me with that?”

He uses light force to press you backward onto the cold countertop, knocking a few random items sideways as your lower back connects with it. Your knees shoot up as you try and balance yourself, squealing a little at the sudden change in movement. “Jake, what the-” His hands are now on the insides of your knees, his fingernails lightly scratching at the skin of the insides of your legs.

“Mmm, see? I was right. They are cute,” he growls, his deep brown irises flashing back between you and between your legs. You feel the slightest tinge of embarrassment, but it dissipates when you realize how confident he is still being. He wants all of this.

“If you want to call a bright pink thong cute, I guess…” you say.

“It’s silk…” he hums, the barely-there touch of his fingertips now dipping lower, brushing over the soft fabric, right above your already-soaked center.

“Satin,” you correct him. “There’s a big difference.”

You hear him huff a laugh through his nose as his fingers still gently explore, the touch of his hand between your thighs making your head swim again.

“You know, you don’t always have to be so right all the time… It’s okay to just be a little bit wrong on some things,” he says, the pressure increasing just slightly as you relax up onto your elbows. His free hand still stays balanced on your bent knee, and this visual of him sprawling you out in the darkness makes you want to keep the image of his silhouette tucked in the back rooms of your mind for the rest of eternity.

Your mind was so caught up in the scene that you had to mentally repeat what he’d said. “What’s that supposed to mean? You calling me a prude, or something?”

“Nonono, no. Not a prude. You just… always seem so caught up on the little things. The details. Sometimes it seems like you lose sight of the big picture… what’s right in front of you. You act on facts instead of instinct,” he says matter of factly, using his free hand to pull your knees apart just a little more.

“Who-who says facts are a… bad thing?” you stammer, the pleasure of the indirect contact of his fingers sending sweet surges of pleasure through your body.

He giggles a little. “No one does. I can sometimes just tell you.. You know. Take the phrase ‘mind over matter’ a little too literally. Mind is what can handicap you…” He slips his fingers along the inner hemline of your satin thong, pulling it to the side just barely as he slips his fingers between your folds again, effortlessly sending you into a fit of satisfaction. “Matter is…well. Natural.”

“Natural,” you repeat, letting your head fall back to rest on the granite.

“S’right…” he hisses, letting his fingers go to work again as the room falls silent. You let his words sink in a little, realizing that you guess he could be right, though you weren’t very sure if he was pointing out one of your biggest character flaws, or if he was helping you to realize that maybe your busied mind is what has been your biggest roadblock in the reason he is here, to begin with.

“So, m’gonna do what feels natural to me, right now… if that’s alright with you,” he says as he bites his lower lip between his teeth. His eyes flit to your center again before meeting back with yours, intense and dreamy as you realize what he’s intending.

“Ah, yeah… it’s alright with me,” you reply, gathering your shirt up into one of your fists as you watch him grip the bill of his hat, pulling it off to toss it onto the countertop beside him. The barely-there light hits his face now and illuminates it, his features now free of the shadows. He bends down low and places more kisses along the insides of your thighs, making your back arch into his touch. You hear him huff through his nose, taking note of your reactions.

“Y’sure?”

You feel his tongue reach out, warm and soft as his hands stay gripped under your thighs, brushing over the fabric of your underwear. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s been a while since someone paid this kind of attention to you.

“Positive,” you bark, feeling yourself beginning to drip down onto the cold counter.

He wastes no time. His mouth is clamped over your heat, his teeth barely biting at the thin fabric as he lets the indirect contact of it tease you, pulling it from side to side with his incisors as the sharp sensations overtake your mind. You feel yourself inhale from the contact before he hooks a finger into your thong, pulling it to the side to finally make the contact you’d both been waiting for.

“Oh my god,” you gasp as his tongue slides all the way through you, hurried but patient all at the same time. It’s as if he’s been waiting for this, waiting to taste you just as much as you’d let those thoughts plague you those nights you lay alone in bed.

His fingers grip into your muscles as you hear him groan a little, obviously already enjoying it. “Fuck, you’re so good…” he whispers, almost to himself. “Like honey, baby...”

Your head shoots back as you feel him shake his own side to side, giving himself more space and the room to delve more deeply into you. Your back alternates between arching and falling, your body reacting on its own as your mind becomes flooded with thoughts of the situation at hand. It’s pure elation, pure perfection. You’d be willing to bargain that this was his forte, the one skill he’s owned since he started into adulthood.

Your chest shudders with noises that you’ve never made for anyone else ever before, and your hand instinctively reaches up to grip his hair still in its knot, pulling at the strands as you feel his tongue enter you, warm and soaking wet.

“Jake, fuck,” you cry, your body caving in as your muscles shake with undeniable pleasure. His tongue darts in and out as it makes circles, and you feel his finger come up to toy with your clit as he does so. The notion of being too exposed has flown out the window as the dark, shrouded instinct of carnal satisfaction begins to overtake you, a feeling that you’ve only ever felt maybe twice in your life. That pull and draw to the one sharing pleasure with you, the humanistic need to let the rest of the world fall away.

You grip the back of his neck to pull him closer, eliciting a small growled laugh from him. You can’t help it, you need to continue this feeling.

Suddenly he switches his actions as he removes his tongue and replaces it with his finger, already reaching itself as far into you as it can go. His lips pucker over your clit as he sucks it in harshly, making your entire world go black. Wait, no, that’s two fingers. He’s pumping them in and out at a disgustingly perfect pace as his lips work at your most sensitive spot.

��Oh my god oh my god,” you breathe, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck as you bend up to watch him. His eyes meet yours for a split second as you realize the complete inappropriateness of the sounds bouncing off your kitchen walls. But he’s determined, so he keeps going.

The mixture of all the action is driving you insane, but still yet, the finish line seems so far away, and so out of reach. It’s an aggravation you’ve become accustomed to, at this point. But you have to admit, the way he feels is already more than enough to satisfy your cravings.

Just as you begin to get in your head again, he stops, standing tall over you as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “There you go again, hm?” he accuses you, pushing the insides of your knees down to the counter. “You gotta stop that shit, Y/N.”

His aggravated tone flicks a spark somewhere deep inside you, but it goes out the second you see the disappointment on his face.

“Not doing yourself any favors by letting your wheels turn while you’ve got someone’s face between your legs,” he says, offering you a hand to help you sit up.

Your eyes bulge from your head as you take it, feeling a little slighted by his remark.

“I can’t–I don’t know how to turn it off. It just… happens,” you complain as he lovingly brushes the hair from your face.

“Were you close?” he asks.

“Yeah, I… I think I really was,” you admit honestly.

“Good. Progress.”

The next thing you know, he’s lifting you again, but this time he’s walking you through the hallways of your home in search of the next place.

“Jake!” you giggle as you hold onto him tightly.

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asks, stopping short in the center of your living area.

“Just keep going straight,” you say with a tilt of your head.

He follows your instruction as he paces you backward, awkwardly knocking into the doorframes in the darkness. You can’t help but smile at his true dedication to this, to all of this, and how determined he is to make sure he holds up his end of the deal.

He plops you down onto your bed, the rush of the scent of your laundry detergent instantly bringing you back to a comforting headspace, making your quickened heartbeat slow just a little. You perk up a little as you crane your neck up to him, still feeling a pull to be near him. He stands with his knees against the mattress, his fingertips gently cupping under your chin to lift your lips to meet his again.

You can taste yourself on him, and you can feel the prickles of his mustache working against your lips. It’s uncomfortable, but you welcome it; it’s as if the feeling is already turned into something nurturing for you. Simply because it's from a man who, seemingly, truly cares.

It’s quiet in the room, and normally you’d feel self-conscious about it. But as of now, you couldn’t feel more comfortable. He’s peppering you with sweet kisses, letting some linger and some feather across your skin as if he’s trying to appreciate you in ways that, honestly, feel a bit intimate given your relatively short relationship with him.

But you don’t stop him; doing so would take away from the way his lips feel on your neck, and the way his hair tickles at your chest. You let light giggles fall from your lips as you realize he’s not only extremely well-versed in bed, so it seems.. But also, he’s playful.

Finally he stands and a deep, aggravated growl emanates from his chest as he pulls his hoodie over his head and drops it to the floor. His t-shirt goes with it, leaving him standing in only his jeans.

Fuck, you think, realizing this is the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. Even in the darkness, digging your teeth into his sides feels like the only logical move to make at the moment.

But you’re stopped short when he reaches for his belt buckle and quickly undoes it, leaving it hanging open with his hand on the button and zipper.

“Still okay, gorgeous?” he asks, again running his fingers under your chin as if the whole thing is just part of a routine.

“Mhm,” you reply as his knee comes to sit between your legs on the edge of the bed. “You still good?”

“Better than good,” he says, running his hands along your arms. His fingers catch at the bottom hem of your shirt, slowly pulling at it to lift it graciously over your head. “Mmm,” he hums, his eyes scanning over you like you’re made of pure gold. “Gonna be hard to take my time with you…”

You feel exposed as the chilly air sends bumps all over your chest and arms, immediately making your nipples swell to attention behind your bralette. That, and the way his eyes are devouring you like a meal has your head spinning again. It’s never been this easy, before…

“Who says you have to?” you ask before you can even think the words through. You lean back onto your elbows again, fully expecting his knees to hit the floor. “Take them off…” you demand, looking to his hands still rested on his jeans button. Your want for him has completely overtaken your ability to make clear judgments. The thrill of it all is not only making you just want to fuck, it’s making you not even care if you get off anymore, at all. Clouded judgment is an understatement.

He pauses for only a second before doing as you ask and pulling his button and zipper free. He steps from them and lets them hit the floor, and the vision of him standing in front of you, and the vision of him behind his gray boxers makes your breath hitch. You want to reach out and touch it, touch him. But he stops you, instead placing one hand on the side of your hip.

“Turn over for me, lay on your stomach,” he demands, reaching first for a pillow to tuck underneath you. You don’t question it, but instead you do as he asks, suddenly feeling a little exposed again as your bare ass is in his line of view.

Immediately, his hands are kneading over the muscles of the backs of your thighs, massaging at your hips and down into your shins. He doesn’t work quickly- instead he takes his time, soothing the tight muscles and sending your oxytocin release into overdrive. The relaxation sneaks up on you like sleep to a baby… slow at first before the sensations overtake you completely, letting your muscles relax all the way into a state of pure decompression.

“Your hands really are magic,” you mumble with your face against the mattress, groggy and peaceful.

You hear his hearty laugh, and you can tell the compliment takes him by surprise. “Nah, just trying to get you through all the motions… like I said, the build up is the best part.”

You don’t answer, fully understanding what he means, and how he means it. He wants you to get the full effect, and if sending your body into a melted puddle on the bed is part of it, then so be it.

“You relaxed?” he asks quietly after another minute or two.

“Very… verrrryy…” you sleepily moan as his hands keep kneading at the swell of your ass.

“Good,” he bites, letting his hands drift up underneath you, pulling your hips up higher on the pillow. Your back is almost fully arched, and you let him position you right where he wants you, even though your mind has woken up a bit at the change of position. Oh fuck… it might be time for…

Your muscles are so relaxed that you feel like putty, soft and loose as his strong hands remind you that he is in charge, tonight. The pillow is the only thing holding you up, at this point.

He pulls at your thong and you let him, feeling the slick material float down your thighs. You’re so relaxed that you’d probably let him do anything he wanted, at this point.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, and you can hear the softness in his voice. You feel his mouth on you again as he licks you from behind, sending a surprised jolt of pleasure back through your bones. His hands remain gripped on your hips as he pulls you back, letting his tongue begin to devour you all over again.

“God damnit,” you moan, twisting to bury your face into the blankets. You feel yourself backing up onto his face as he pulls you in closer, his tongue completely buried deep inside you, again. Your fists tighten up as you grip the sheets, your mind leaving it’s relaxed state as pleasure rips though you again.

He continues this way for a while, moaning onto your clit as the vibrations nearly kill you. You feel your whole body shaking, willing itself to stay in this position as he licks, slowly and with intent. He reaches up and pulls your hands to your sides, holding onto them tightly as he pulls your whole body, bent in half, closer to him.

“Fuckkkk…” you cry again as your legs begin to jerk, your eyes nearly watering with how badly your body wants to come undone. You feel like a tightly wound cord, waiting to snap and explode at any given second, had only you let it. Your fingers and toes feel tingly, and your mind goes dark, and it’s then that you know… this is the closest you’ve been, yet.

But he lets go of your hands and pulls away, standing back up to reposition himself for whatever the hell he has planned next. The disconnection is deathly, and you’re sure you could cuss him to world’s end, right about now. You let out a loud, dissatisfied growl in protest.

“Ha, left you hanging, did I?” he asks breathlessly, his hands returning to knead at your hips again.

“Yeah, fuck… why…?” you ask in succession, fully annoyed.

Suddenly his mouth is on your ear, biting at the shell of it as he growls through his words. “Any motherfucker can get you off with their hands… their mouth… But I can’t reach your sweet spot the way you want me to with those now, can I?”

You choke a moan as he breathes hot air into your ear, his bare, already sweaty chest pressed against your back. You’re hissing at the light pain from his lovebites to your neck, your shoulder… Pleasure already returning full force. “No… I–I don’t guess so…”

“Right,” he blurts, pulling back to stand again, taking your hips with him.

“Doggy style, Jake? Is that really what we’re gonna do right now?” you giggle, lighthearted as you tease his choice of position.

“No, love. Not quite…” Then his hands are on your hips again, pressing you gently down onto the bed. “A modified version, maybe…”

Instinctually, you want to return back to the position he had you in first, spreading your knees as far apart as you can while arching your back into a perfect angle, but you hesitate. Your body wants to instinctually move, to arch, but still yet, he presses you back down.

You feel his hands pulling your legs apart, positioning them so that they almost shape into a diamond. You’re confused, no one has ever wanted you like this before. But still yet, you let him.

All at once, a thought pops into your mind. “Jake… I haven’t even touched you tonight,” you mutter, suddenly feeling as though you should have helped him along with his end of the process. “Let me–”

“This isn’t about me, sweetheart,” he says, and you feel the head of his dick slide through your folds, nearly taking all the breath directly from your lungs. “Just watching you tonight has been enough to get me there… wanted you for so long now…” he keeps the sweet little praises coming as you feel yourself dripping again, so fully and entirely turned on by the feeling of him pressing against you that you can hardly hear yourself think.

He brushes across your entrance, and you feel your walls twitch, your body literally begging him to enter.

“Mhm, that’s what we’re looking for,” he says, letting himself tease you with the head of his cock an inch at a time, for a second at a time, before slowly pulling back out again. “Do that again, baby…”

Your walls twitch on their own again, the muscles tightening as he passes by your entrance, his movements slow but so, so deviously intentional. “Mmmm,” he growls with tight lips, almost as if he is holding himself back.

“Jake please…” you beg, your voice cracked and whiny now as your hips begin swirling on their own, looking for anything that can give you some relief. You feel like you could go mad with anticipation, your vision already blurred with intense want. Your heart is pounding at an ungodly rate, your face feels flushed and fiery hot, and every muscle in your body is writhing and twisting with need for him. For him to stretch you at his own delicious pace. For him to fill you.

“You ready, baby,” he says more than asks, and you nod your head hard.

“Yes, yes Jake, please…” you cry, your fists still gripped tightly into the sheets below you. Your entire world is buzzing, loud and dizzy as want has taken over, your body now at the complete and total mercy of him.

“Start the clock,” he says, and you’re reminded… two minutes.

You instinctively glance at the clock on the wall, the second hand floating around the face as you take note of the time, and remember the silly bargain that got you here in the first place. It’s then that you realize that maybe, just maybe, he might make this happen for you.

You gasp, your breath stopped in its tracks as you feel him enter you completely, pressing in until he physically can’t anymore. He stops there, letting you adjust, but if it weren’t for there being no air in your lungs, you��d have screamed out loud for him to move.

He pulls back out, his cock gliding slowly across your walls as you feel every single inch of him, every single delicious fucking inch, before he slowly presses back inside again.

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxes, pulling the hair away from the back of your neck. “You okay?”

“Mmmh-” is all you can manage as the pleasure is already blinding you, taking away every sense you have and overtaking you completely.

“You feel fucking perfect…”

1:30

You let oxygen re-enter your lungs as he slowly picks up a pace, pounding into you from behind, one hand on the bed, and one hand still gripped tightly on your ass. You can hear the sounds bouncing off the walls, wet and wanting as each entrance he makes feels more delicious than the last. This can’t be real…

Your breaths pick up as you get used to the feeling of him, his size more perfect than anything you’ve ever felt.

“You alright?” he asks, still slowly thrusting. “Tell me about it…”

“Perfect, fuck, you’re–”

The noises you start to make come on their own as sweet shockwaves ripple their way through your body like wind whipping across a lake, gentle but yet so entirely powerful. You wish that you could see him, look into his eyes as he reaches deeper and deeper inside, but you know that he has a mission to complete. And honestly, so do you.

He begins to whip his hips, pausing for just a second each time he reaches the hilt, letting you feel that place deep inside you be contacted again and again.

“You feel it, baby? Am I there?” he asks, his voice becoming more and more strained as time passes. “Talk to me.”

“Yes, god, you’re there,” you answer honestly, your face still buried in the thick comforter. “I feel you… I–”

You’d never experienced this type of pleasure before. Never had someone pay this much attention to the way that you felt… cared so much about if you were enjoying yourself, too. You knew that Jake had taken the time to feel you out, learn how you tick, all in the span of one night. You knew deep down that this wasn’t just a challenge for him. And you knew deep down that you were going to finally get off by the hand of someone else tonight.

1:00

Suddenly he picks up the pace, turning himself just slightly to the side to free up his right hand. You feel him pull you back a little and slot his hand underneath you, searching for the places he’s had his hands all night.

His hand finds your heat as he continues his thrusts, hard and heavy now as his body weight presses against your back. His fingers pull your folds apart, and all at once, his middle finger is quickly swirling your clit.

Holy. Fucking shit.

“Ohh, fuck–” you groan, the mixture of pleasures now sending your entire body into overdrive. All thoughts leave. All breath is gone. All visions of the room around you turn into a blur of shadows and colors. All you can hear is his sweet whispers in your ear, and all you can feel is his body resting on yours. Fully and completely, you’re not sure if you’re going to ever come back down to earth.

“That’s right baby… so sweet for me…” he whispers, gently kissing your ear as you pitifully pout into the mattress. His finger is still working you, making your muscles shake and shiver as you feel your eyes beginning to roll back into your head.

Nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing has ever felt this good.

“Close your legs,” Jake spits, and you do, thus making yourself that much tighter for him.

“Motherfuck, Y/N…” he breathes loudly, and you take the opportunity to squeeze him even more. “God you’re fucking tight…”

You can feel him entering you even more so now, after tightening in around him. The slaps of your own wetness almost make you cringe, but somehow it spurs you on, knowing that he is loving it all just as much as you are.

His mouth is on your ear again, biting at your jawline. His hand leaves your heat for just a second as he slaps it across your ass, eliciting a small choke from you. “Soaked, baby… all for me…”

:30

You feel your brows furrow as you feel a jolt of electricity rush through you when he replaces his hand, this time honing in on your clit even more. “Oh fuck Jake yes… yes right there…” you cry out, your mouth dry and your muscles tense as you feel it… a new sense of pleasure that you have never been blessed with…

He keeps his pace exactly where it is, no faster and no slower as you feel your body begin to crush in on itself. It’s as if the cosmos stop burning, and the oceans freeze, waiting with bated breath for you to get there. You feel yourself climbing the hill, searching for the peak of the mountain you’ve never visited. It’s so close you can taste it…

His thrusts are becoming more pointed as he works, the cries leaving your chest now nearly embarrassing, but you couldn’t stop them if you tried. Harder, faster, deeper you fall into oblivion, not even caring that the world around has seemed to stop.

“Come on, baby… let me have it…” Jake begs, biting onto your shoulder and sucking the skin between his lips. “You’re so close I can feel you… let it go…”

:10

Finally, like a heatwave and snowstorm, your body finally lets go, pleasure and bliss wracking through you in harsh, inundating waves. You cry out, but only for a second as your eyes clench shut, your body completely shutting down as you experience the first real, double orgasm of your entire life.

“Breathe through it, baby… don’t hold on to your breath… I got you…” you hear Jake’s advice through clouded sound. So you do… tiny, short bits of oxygen pulled in as your body shakes and trembles through it, entirely surreal and fixated on everything that is happening to it.

Lights flash behind your eyelids, your chest beams with carnal satisfaction… stars sparkle as you begin to catch your breath, not wanting to ever let go of the feeling.

You finally feel yourself slowly coming back down to earth, your body floating through time and space like ashes from a fire. Your eyes adjust back to the low light, and you still feel Jake buried deep inside you, his hand now gently cupping over your heat as if to comfort it. He rolls his hand in waves of indirect touch, letting you come back down through the resonant shockwaves.

You can feel him breathing hard still against your back, and you wonder for a second if he is going to finish right behind you.

“Why–why’d you stop? Are you not gonna?” you mumble, your lips and tongue moving as if you don’t know how to use them.

Jake laughs.

“Baby, we just made that happen in two minutes and you’re asking me if I am going to get off, too?” His hand lovingly rubs over your lower back, but he stays buried deep inside you. “I told you, tonight wasn’t about me. ‘S about you…” He leans down and kisses the back of your neck again.

Though your body feels lifeless and floating, and you’re sure you are completely drunk on pleasure, something deep within you ignites. Your chest blooms with something else, and you’re positive if you don’t listen to it, everything will have been for nothing.

You back up, forcing Jake to pull out of you and roll to his side. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You toss the pillow to the side and lie back down on your back, gripping your arms around Jake’s back to pull him on top of you. Your knees fall apart as he falls perfectly between them, a little caught off guard by your actions. His elbows land on either side of your head, placing you face-to-face.

“Fuck me again, Jake… This is about you, too. I want you to remember this night just as well as I will…” You don’t even sound like yourself as the commanding words escape you, demanding and sultry as you reach down between you, taking his still-hard cock in your hand.

His eyes falter at your touch as you begin stroking him, hard and fast as you position his head right against your still-soaked entrance, again. His body tenses at the contact.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you sure? We–we don’t have to–”

“I said do it again, Jake,” you demand. “Please…I wanna see you, feel you…”

He growls through a clenched jaw, shaking his head in disbelief as he props himself up on his hands, towering over you. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, you know that?”

“Hope not,” you say, taking your hand around him and pulling him straight into you again, letting his hips falter a little as he re-enters you.

He blows out a puff of air as he shakes his head side to side again, his brows furrowing hard as he starts a pace.

“What’s wrong?” you laugh a little, confused by his expression.

“Nothin’,” he grits. “Nothing at fucking all, that’s the problem.”

“Problem?” you ask as he thrusts hard, sending your head up higher onto the bed. Your arms wrap around his neck.

He growls. “Yeah, I… I normally just… ya know. Hook up. But this…” he trails off, lowering his head to kiss along your jawline. You slot the bend of your left leg through the crook of your arm, pulling it up to your chest to give him better access.

“This what?” you ask, digging your nails into his back when you feel another particularly sharp jolt of pleasure.

His head pops back up to look at you, nearly all of his hair now fallen from the knot at his neck. His face is flushed and his eyes are heavy, full of something other than what you expected. And in the moment, he is without a doubt, the most beautiful creature you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

Your chest blossoms when his eyes meet yours, deeper than anything you’d seen in a long time.

He hesitates for just a second before gently pressing his lips to yours, bringing you in for the most intense kiss you’ve shared, yet. It’s as if he’s trying to talk, trying to explain everything that he can’t say with words, showing you, rather than telling you. Your tongues wrestle with one another as he moans through them, obviously still getting closer to his own release as the minutes tick past.

Finally he pulls away to speak, his forehead balanced sweetly on yours. “This is something I could stay here and do… over and over again… night after night after night…” he licks his lips, huffing through his nose as he continues his deep, slow thrusts. “Only if I can hear you let go like that again… for me…”

You nod as your hands come up to clutch his jawline, nodding in response as he backs up a little bit, kneeling now as he pulls his hands under your hips. He runs them along your legs as he uses them for leverage, still fucking slowly into you as if his life depends on it.

Finally, you work up the courage to speak. “I think I want you to come over again tomorrow,” you offer with a teasing smile. He grins, letting his head fall back as you place your hands on his shoulders, pulling yourself up and pushing him back to sit on his lap.

Still buried deep inside you, he can no longer thrust, so you take over, gently swirling your hips in figure-8’s with the help of his hands guiding your movements. “Fuck, you don’t know how good you feel…” he says, exhaling hard as he maneuvers himself back down to sitting.

He sits with his legs outstretched, your hips still grinding on him with a sickening pace that is taking his every ability to think straight. “Swear to god I had to try so hard… had to hold it in…”

You let your hand brush sweetly along his cheek and down his shoulder, digging your nails into his traps as you work not only him up to where he wants to be, but you yourself, too. You feel the knot tightening again in your stomach, catching you off guard as the pleasure comes back full force, almost knocking you off of him as you feel yourself begin to clench.

“Don’t hold it in now, Jake,” you breathe, still swirling your hips. You can feel the friction against your clit, pulsing and begging for another reason to let go, again. “I’m close again, too…”

“God, yeah, baby..” he grits as your nails dig into him again, your eyes already blinding as the second orgasm rushes up to the forefront with hardly any warning. “Give it to me again… You’re so fuckin–”

He leans back on one hand while the other comes up to wrap around your neck, gently squeezing as you lean in to kiss him again, clawing and gripping at any and all parts of his body that you can get your hands on.

Your moans are high-pitched, your cries are loud, and the second world-shattering release hits you like a freight train, hot and wild and tremoring as you hear him tell you he’s right there too, his voice a mix of guttural gasps and praises for all the ways that you feel on him.

After you’ve both landed again, you stare at one another in disbelief, jaws slack and eyes wide as neither of you can fathom how good the other one feels, and how well, surprisingly, you fit together.

Jake laughs through the side of his mouth as he pulls strands of hair stuck to the sweat on your face, his mouth moving a hundred different ways as if he’s looking for the right words to say.

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together as you bring the back of his palm up to kiss. Everything about it feels right.

“I think I definitely want you to come over again tomorrow.”

He laughs. “I think I can arrange that. You gonna tell everybody at work how I was the first one to ever make you come?”

You slap a light hand across his chest. “Maybe. Maybe not. Fuckin’ cocky ass.”

He shrugs. “Hey, maybe you’re right. Then I’d have every single woman there calling me on my days off.”

“Ah! Jake!” you squeal. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close.

“I’m just kidding, just kidding. I like this. This feels… right. Nice,” he admits, burying his face in your hair as if he is embarrassed to say it. You feel him take a deep breath, and you follow suit, memorizing the smell of him as you relax into his embrace.

“Nice,” you agree, giving him an extra tight squeeze. “I could get used to that.”

+++

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gretavanmoon · 26 days ago

Text

Man this story…from the get go I was hooked BAD. Do yourself a favor and binge this 3-part😍

Petrichor - III

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Angst, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music

A/N: Thank you. More soon.

It starts with a headline.

You’re in line at a coffee shop in the East Village, airpods in, scarf knotted high against the February wind, when you glance at the TV mounted in the corner above the espresso machine. The sound is off, but the words stop you cold.

Greta Van Fleet to Perform on Fallon — Live from NYC This Week

The camera cuts to a clip from an old performance, Josh wailing into the mic, Danny and Sam holding down the rhythm, and Jake. Jake in black, hair wild, eyes narrowed, fingers flying across the fretboard like he’s trying to conjure lightning.

Your chest goes tight.

He’s here.

In the city.

For a second, your first instinct is to text him. You even pull your phone out of your coat pocket. But what would you say? ‘Hey, saw you on TV. Want to meet up between soundcheck and fame?’

Still, something in you stirs. Something louder than pride. You send the message.

Saw the announcement. You’re in New York?

He doesn’t reply right away. But he does reply.

Yeah. Flew in last night. Filming tonight.

Your heart thuds hard. You bite your lip. Then type.

Want to get coffee? Or something.

The typing dots appear. Then disappear. Then come back.

Yeah. I want to.

You stare at the screen, hopeful as he types.

But it’s chaos. Label stuff, press junkets, rehearsal. They’ve got us back-to-back until the taping. I’m sorry.

You stare at the message for a long time. Then reply.

It’s okay. I get it.

But the ache in your chest says otherwise.

Later that night, curled up on your couch in your small Brooklyn apartment, you flip the channel and watch the performance. He’s dazzling.

Confident. Electric. Everything you knew him to be when no one else was watching. But now everyone is watching. And none of them know what his voice sounds like first thing in the morning. How he sleeps with one arm flung over his eyes. How he holds you tighter when it rains. You tell yourself this is what it was always going to be, two lives orbiting too close to avoid the pull, but too far to ever settle.

Still, when he steps forward during the solo, head thrown back, hair falling in his eyes, you swear, just for a second, he looks right into the camera.

And it feels like looking at you.

—

You’re still half-awake when the phone rings.

2:07 AM.

Your first thought is, Emergency.

Your second is, Jake.

You fumble for your phone on the nightstand, heart already pounding. And when you see his name on the screen, it doesn’t stop.

You hesitate, then swipe to answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause on the other end. You hear street noise, distant laughter. A car door slamming. Wind through the receiver.

“Hey.”

His voice is quiet. Hoarse. Like he’s been yelling over loud music or smoking too much. Or both.

“Jake,” you breathe, sitting up. “Is everything okay?”

Another pause.

“Yeah. I mean… no. I don’t know.”

You close your eyes. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere in Midtown. Just left the after party.”

You picture him walking the streets in his stage clothes, hair tousled from the lights and sweat, eyeliner still smudged beneath his eyes. Alone.

“I should’ve called you earlier,” he says, words rushing now. “I wanted to. I meant to. I kept thinking I’d have time. But it was all cameras and handlers and meetings and they kept pulling me in different directions. And I just…” He trails off.

You sit in the dark, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I should’ve asked to see you the second the plane landed.”

The ache behind your ribs pulses. “I wanted to see you too,” you admit softly.

He exhales. “I figured you did. But I didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“Holding back made it harder.”

There’s silence for a long moment. The kind that hums with everything neither of you is saying.

“I’m only in town for today,” he says eventually. “We fly to Toronto tomorrow morning. I—I don’t even know what I’m asking. I just didn’t want to leave without hearing your voice.”

You close your eyes. His voice wraps around you like a thread being pulled tight.

“I’m glad you called,” you say, and it’s the truth.

He swallows. “Can I see you?”

Your breath hitches. “Now?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless you’re asleep or it’s too late or—fuck. It’s too late, isn’t it?”

You should say yes. It is too late. But your hand is already reaching for your sweater.

“I’m awake,” you murmur. “Text me the address.”

Another heartbeat.

“Okay.”

And just like that, the call ends. A second later, your screen lights up with a location pin. You stare at it, pulse thrumming in your throat. Then you stand. You brush your hair back and pull on jeans and a jacket. You tell yourself this doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

You’re already halfway to the door when you realize you didn’t even put on shoes.

—

The car drops you off in front of the kind of hotel you wouldn’t normally walk into unless you were meeting someone famous, or running straight into your past.

You stand there for a second under the awning, watching the city reflect off the gold trimmed glass doors. Your stomach twists. You haven’t seen him in almost a year. You told yourself you were over it, over him, but suddenly it all feels too close again. Too unfinished.

The lobby is quiet, just a pair of night staff at the front desk and a security guard by the elevators. It smells like clean linen and wood polish, and the marble floors echo with every cautious step you take.

You text him when you reach the elevator.

I’m here.

The elevator dings open a second later, and you step in alone. Floor 23.

You keep your eyes on the glowing numbers as they climb, heart rattling behind your ribs. When the doors finally slide open, the hallway is silent.

His door is cracked.

Not enough to invite you in, but just enough to say he’s watching. Waiting. You lift your hand and push it open and there he is.

Jake.

Barefoot, in black jeans and a white t-shirt, hair longer than it was the last time you saw him, but cleaner somehow, neater, like he gave up trying to look like he didn’t care. There’s a small hoop in each ear you don’t remember. A few new rings. A line of muscle down his forearm that wasn’t there before. He looks grown in a way that hurts.

And the moment his eyes land on you, something in his expression flickers. Like relief or maybe disbelief. Like he’s seeing a ghost that he used to touch.

“You…” he starts, but it trails off.

You shift under his gaze, suddenly aware of everything you changed about yourself since you saw him last. Your hair, your posture, the way you carry yourself now like a person who wrote something real and put it out into the world. He takes it all in, and his throat moves like he’s trying to swallow a sentence. Neither of you moves.

Then, he takes a step forward. You do too.

He pulls you in, arms wrapping around your back like he never plans to let go. Your fingers fist into the soft cotton of his shirt. He smells like clean skin and expensive hotel soap, and something beneath it that hasn’t changed. Something familiar. Something Jake.

You stay like that for a long time, both of you silent, breathing each other in. Then he murmurs into your hair, “You cut it.”

You lean back just slightly, enough to see him. “You grew yours out.”

His lips quirk at one corner, but there’s something hesitant in his eyes. “You look incredible.”

“You too,” you say, a little hoarse. “You look… tired.”

He chuckles, low and embarrassed. “That obvious?”

You shrug. “I know what late nights and afterparties do to you.”

That makes him laugh softly. “You’re still you, aren’t you…”

You arch a brow. “You still playing the martyr?”

He groans and pulls you back into him. “God, I missed your mouth.”

There’s tension still, humming under the reunion. Not just sexual, though that’s there too, but emotional. He feels different under your hands, but he’s still him. The way his chest moves when he breathes. The warmth of his hands on your back. You know this and it terrifies you.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually come,” he admits.

“I didn’t know if I’d want to,” you reply.

His hand slides down your arm, fingers brushing yours. “Do you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“Fair.”

You look up at him. His eyes are softer than you remember. Or maybe just more vulnerable.

“I didn’t call you for a second chance, Y/N,” he says. “I just didn’t want to leave this city without… seeing you again. With my own eyes.”

Your throat tightens. You nod, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Can I offer you a drink you won’t finish and a hotel room you won’t stay in?” he asks, lips twitching in that familiar half grin.

You laugh, wiping your cheek. “You got any bad wine?”

“Only the worst,” he deadpans, backing toward the minibar.

You follow, but slower. The distance between you has changed, but the gravity hasn’t. It’s still pulling you in. It’s only a matter of time before one of you lets it happen.

—

The wine sits unopened on the table between you.

You’re perched at the edge of the hotel’s oversized couch, legs tucked under you, jacket still on. Jake is beside you, one arm draped across the back cushion, fingers idly curling and uncurling like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

The silence between you is familiar. Not comfortable exactly, but intimate. The kind that’s heavy with everything that hasn’t been said yet.

“You’ve been quiet,” you say softly.

“So have you.”

“I think I’m scared to talk too much,” you admit, eyes fixed on the rim of your glass. “Like I might ruin the fact that we’re actually sitting in the same room again.”

Jake leans forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going to ruin it.”

You glance at him, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is. What it’s supposed to be.”

“Neither do I.”

“But it still feels like something.”

He nods, slowly. “Yeah. It does.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Then he turns his head, eyes locked to yours, and asks quietly, “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question is so direct it makes your breath catch.

You shake your head. “No. I’ve been… focused. Busy. And maybe a little ruined, if I’m being honest.”

He swallows. “Same.”

You study him. The quiet behind his eyes. The weight of his voice.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your tone delicate. “Because if there’s someone—”

“There isn’t,” he says, sharper than intended. Then softens. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

Your heart twists. “Jake…”

He reaches for your hand, brushes his thumb across your knuckles. “I didn’t come here to confuse you. I just—”

“You just couldn’t not.”

His mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah.”

The room stills around you. And then, with a slow, careful shift, he closes the distance. He doesn’t lunge, doesn’t pull you in, he just moves closer, breath grazing your cheek.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low, almost hoarse.

You nod. “Yes. Just… slow.”

“Of course.” His hand rises, tentative, brushing your jaw with the backs of his fingers. You lean into the touch before you even realize it, eyes fluttering shut. His thumb skims the corner of your mouth.

Then finally, he kisses you.

You shift, rising up on your knees so your body presses more fully to his. His hands slide under your jacket, fingertips grazing your waist through the thin fabric of your shirt. When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are dark and unreadable, searching yours.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice rough. “If this is just…”

But you shake your head, silencing him with a kiss, firmer this time.

“I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t stopped wanting to.”

Then Jake rises, hands curling around your thighs, and pulls you gently into his lap. You straddle him on the couch, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, your hands braced on his shoulders. Your foreheads touch again, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“This okay?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

His hands slide up your back, slow and steady. He peels off your jacket, your shirt, baring inch by inch.

“You’re even more beautiful now,” he says.

“You’re biased.”

“I may be,” he corrects, smiling faintly. “But not blind.”

You laugh softly, leaning forward to kiss him again. The tension melts, gives way to something deeper. The kind of warmth that spreads low and slow, winding through your veins like heat in the winter.

You feel him growing hard beneath you as your hips begin to move, slow and deliberate. The friction makes both of you gasp quietly. But neither of you rushes it. This is a reintroduction. This is a promise not to forget how it felt to be close.

“Still want to go slow?” Jake breathes against your throat, kissing the soft skin there.

You smile. “I want to feel everything.”

“Then let me give you everything.”

You nod, and as your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, you realize something important. This isn’t the beginning. It’s not the end, either.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs into your neck, voice husky. “Missed you.”

You grind your hips down, slow, letting him feel just how warm and ready you are, even through the layers of denim. He groans low in his throat, head dropping to your collarbone.

“I think about this more than I should,” you whisper, fingertips slipping under the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his torso. “More than’s probably healthy.”

“Tell me,” he says, leaning back so you can lift his shirt over his head. “What do you think about?”

You bite your lip, pretending to consider as you rake your eyes down his chest. “How your hands felt on me. That first morning in the cabin. How you looked when you were buried inside me, like nothing else in the world existed.”

Jake exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck.”

“You said you haven’t been with anyone since,” you say, brushing your lips along his jaw.

He turns into your mouth, kisses you harder. “I haven’t. Couldn’t. No one’s you.”

Your hand slides down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “So you’ve just been waiting?”

“For this,” he says, meeting your gaze. “For you.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, teasing. “You gonna make it worth the wait?”

He smiles, all heat and hunger. “Take your pants off and find out.”

You stand slowly, unbuttoning your jeans, not breaking eye contact. His gaze tracks every movement, languid and hungry. You slide them down your hips, underwear with them, and toss them to the side. Jake’s tongue slips over his bottom lip, and he groans.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You step between his knees and tug at his jeans. “Lie back.”

He does, reclined against the plush hotel couch, arms behind his head like he’s surrendering. You pull his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his black briefs, and even through the fabric, he’s hard, impossibly so.

You straddle him again, letting the heat of your bare center press against him. His eyes flutter shut.

“Please,” he whispers, breath catching.

You grind again, slow, lazy, slick against the cotton of his briefs. He curses under his breath and grips your hips like he’s holding back from flipping you over right there.

You lean down, lips grazing his ear. “Still want slow?”

His eyes open. “Want you. Any way I can have you.”

You reach between your bodies, slide your hand under the waistband, and wrap your fingers around him. He’s hot, thick, and pulsing in your grip. His jaw clenches hard.

“Take ‘em off,” you murmur, already moving to kiss his neck.

He shoves the briefs down and kicks them off. You settle back into his lap, lining him up, teasing the head of him against your entrance.

Jake looks up at you, completely undone. “Don’t tease me.”

“You deserve it.”

“I deserve you.” His voice is rough now. “So let me have you.”

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. You both go still, breathing hard, eyes locked.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, thighs trembling.

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your nipples. “You feel so good. Better than I remembered.”

You start to move, rolling your hips, and his head falls back against the cushion. “Fuck, just like that,” he growls. “Keep going. Let me watch you.”

You ride him slow, then faster, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his hands guiding your rhythm. Every movement sends sparks up your spine, your body already burning.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs. “Look at you, fuck. You’re mine like this.”

You moan and lean down to kiss him, hot and wet, tongues sliding together. He thrusts up into you now, deeper, harder, hitting exactly where you need it. You break the kiss with a cry.

“Jake, don’t stop–”

“I won’t,” he growls, gripping your ass and driving up into you again. “You’re so close. I can feel you clenching around me. Let go, baby.”

Your body arches, the orgasm ripping through you hard enough to shake. You cry out, grinding against him, clutching his chest like you’re afraid you might shatter.

Jake watches, awe in his eyes. “That’s it. Fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

He flips you then, gently, but quickly, laying you back against the couch, still inside you. He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. “Can I come inside you?” he whispers. “Please.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Jake.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before he groans, spilling into you, hips grinding deep, mouth pressed to your shoulder. His entire body trembles with the force of it, and for a moment, everything stills.

Just breath. Just skin. Just you and him. He collapses beside you, one hand finding yours between the couch cushions. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

He turns his head to face you. “I never stopped.”

You thread your fingers through his. “What now?”

Jake’s eyes search yours. “I don’t know. But this… this isn’t over. Not if I have any say in it.”

And in that quiet space, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you believe him.

Even if morning still looms.

—

You’re wrapped in a cocoon of hotel sheets when you feel a hand stroke gently down your back.

Then the softest whisper against your shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”

You make a low sound of protest, burying your face into the pillow.

He chuckles softly and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make me leave without a proper goodbye.”

That gets your attention. You blink your eyes open, still heavy with sleep, the room barely lit by the gray of early morning. Jake is leaning over you, shirtless, hair still a little damp from a quick shower, already dressed in jeans and his favorite boots.

Your stomach twists. “What time is it?” you murmur, sitting up slowly, the sheet slipping from your bare chest.

He lets his eyes drag over you one last time and exhales through his nose, like it physically hurts to pull away.

“Too early. My flight to Toronto leaves in a couple hours. Van’s downstairs.”

You nod, trying to swallow the ache in your throat. “Right.”

Jake reaches out, and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers at your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I didn’t want to leave without seeing you awake,” he says softly.

You lean into his touch, eyes searching his. “This feels unfair.”

“I know.” His voice cracks a little. “It’s not what I want either.”

There’s a soft knock at the door. Three sharp raps.

Jake sighs and stands. “That’s my brother.”

You blink. “Josh?”

“Yeah.” He glances back at you, smiling faintly. “He’s been waiting in the hallway for ten minutes. Refused to come in.”

“You told him?”

Jake hesitates at the foot of the bed. “Not everything. Just that I had someone I needed to see while we were here. He figured it out.”

You nod, pulling the sheet tighter around you as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

You catch his wrist before he can turn. “Will you call me?”

He hesitates. Just for a second. Then nods. “Yes.”

“Will you mean it?”

His lips part, but the words don’t come right away. You see the uncertainty in his eyes. The ache. The reality. The world he has to get back to.

“I’ll try.”

You nod. That’s all you can ask for.

One last kiss. Deep, and slow, with the promise of something neither of you can name.

Then he slips out the door. And just like that, he’s gone.

—

You hear from him, at first. Not often. But just enough to make it worse.

The messages come at odd hours, late, fleeting things that land with a thud in your chest.

Toronto’s a blur. Miss the quiet.

I saw something today that reminded me of you. Thought I should tell you.

I’ve been writing again.

You reply, sometimes. You try not to say too much. You fail.

It’s raining here. I miss the cabin.

The story’s stuck. I think maybe I am too.

I can’t stop thinking, either.

But slowly, the space grows. The pauses between texts stretch further. Days. Then weeks.

You follow his tour without meaning to, secondhand glimpses on fan accounts and tagged videos, stage lights flaring off his guitar, his face caught in grainy filters and screaming crowds.

He’s dazzling. Distant. Untouchable again.

Your lives start to feel like radio signals out of sync. You tell yourself not to wait. You stop checking your phone so often. You almost believe yourself.

Then, months later, a headline catches your eye.

Greta Van Fleet to perform on the Tonight Show

Your breath hitches. You type his name into the search bar. You shouldn’t. But you do.

There he is, hair a little shorter, face sharper, confidence humming beneath his movements. A ghost and a stranger, all at once.

You don’t text him.

But he does, the clock reading 2:14AM.

Are you awake?

Three words. That’s all. But they fracture something. You stare at them too long.

You almost reply. You almost don’t.

I am now.

You wait as he types.

Then, he stops.

Nothing.

The silence feels familiar now. Like an old bruise. Or a closed door. And somewhere in that soft, aching pause, between the messages, the airports, the missed calls, and maybe next times, you start to wonder if timing was the only thing that ever went wrong.

—

You don’t hear from him after that.

Not for a while.

And still, he’s everywhere.

You catch pieces of him in places you wish you didn’t. In the secondhand buzz of a stage clip you weren’t looking for. In the way your chest tightens when you pass someone in the airport wearing a Greta Van Fleet hoodie. In the opening notes of a song you don’t let yourself skip anymore.

You don’t know what you’re expecting. An apology? An explanation? An invitation?

You never get one.

And still, you write. Not about him. Not directly.

But he’s there, always, between the lines. In the cadence of your sentences. In the way your main character hesitates before speaking. In the quiet spaces between chapters, where longing lurks.

You finish the book. Somehow.

It’s better than the first one. Everyone says so. Your agent cries. Your editor calls it your best work yet. They talk film rights. National tour. Glossy press. Late-night appearances.

Everyone asks what inspired it.

You never tell them.

—

You move through the next few months in a blur of airports and microphones, bookstores and tiny hotel soaps. Your calendar fills and your inbox floods. You’re grateful. Exhausted. Lonely in a way you can’t quite name.

Every so often, you open your phone and stare at the messages you never deleted and you wonder if he’s doing the same. You wonder if he regrets it, letting go without ever really saying goodbye.

Maybe he does.

Or maybe he meant to text you back, and the moment passed. Maybe the timing really was just off. Or maybe he said everything he had to say in a cabin in the woods with rain on the windows and your name still fresh on his lips.

—

It’s nearly a year later when you find yourself in Nashville. A stop on your book tour. A signing. You’ve got a sharpie in your hand and a line out the door. Your photo’s on a poster out front, a stack of hardcovers stacked beside you. You’re answering questions, thanking strangers, smiling through the ache of long days.

You’ve done a dozen of these signings by now.

Different cities, different bookstores, different faces. But they all blur together in the same rhythm. Fluorescent lighting, stacks of books, the soft murmur of pages being opened and closed. Sharpies uncapped. Your name written again and again until it barely looks like yours anymore.

Still, Nashville feels different.

Maybe it’s the heat outside, heavy and humid, curling your hair at the edges and sticking your dress to the backs of your knees. Maybe it’s something else.

You smile through it.

You thank people for coming, for reading, for caring. You laugh when they ask where you got your inspiration. You sidestep it gracefully. You’ve gotten good at that.

They ask if it was based on a true story.

You tell them the characters are fictional, but the emotions are real.

That’s enough truth for now.

The crowd moves steadily. Readers approach with sticky notes on their pages and kind eyes. Some are nervous. A few gush. One woman cries and you try not to cry with her.

Your handler refills your water. Someone adjusts the stack of hardcovers to your right. The smell of fresh coffee wafts in from the café around the corner, and for a second, you’re back in Dunhaven, barefoot on a kitchen floor, watching rain collect on a windowpane while someone moves quietly behind you.

You blink it away.

“Who should I make this one out to?” you ask the next person in line, voice steady.

“Brooke,” she says. “And could you write something about holding on, even when it’s hard?”

You nod. “Of course.”

You write, ‘Hold on, even when it hurts. Especially then’ above your name.

There’s a lull after that. The line stretches toward the back of the store, but something shifts. You take a breath. Stretch your fingers. Glance toward the door. And that’s when you feel it.

Not recognition, not yet.

Just… a static pull. The sense of something arriving. A presence before it becomes a shape. You glance down again, try to ground yourself. But your chest tightens, suddenly too full. Your ears ring faintly, your heartbeat rushing in. Then you look up, and there he is.

Your heart stutters. Time folds in on itself.

At first, your brain doesn’t register it. Just another face in the crowd, another person waiting patiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. But something in you stills. The air changes.

It’s not until your eyes settle on his, those familiar, gold-threaded eyes, that your stomach drops.

Jake.

He’s standing in line. At your book signing. Your heart lurches like it’s trying to catch up to the moment. Like it’s forgotten how to beat for anyone else. You blink, unsure if you’re imagining him, some ghost your brain conjured from exhaustion and longing. But no, he’s real. Solid. Just a few feet away now.

He looks… different. Not completely, but noticeably. His hair is a little shorter, tucked behind his ears. He’s wearing a dark jacket over a soft gray t-shirt, something effortless but intentional. A few days’ worth of scruff covers his chin and upper lip. He looks older. Sharper. Softer, too.

He’s holding your book. He’s in your line.

You’re pretty sure your name is being called, someone trying to hand you the next copy to sign, but you can’t look away. Because he’s still beautiful.

And now he’s here, in front of you, in a space where you never thought you’d see him.

Where you are the one behind the table. And he is the one waiting.

You tear your gaze away before he notices you staring too long. Or maybe he already has.

You look down, fast. Your hands are shaking slightly, so you press your palms to your thighs beneath the table. Breathe in. Out. Again.

You can feel your face flushing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The book in front of you blurs. Someone says your name, twice, but it takes a second for the words to register. You manage a smile, scribble your signature and say thank you. Your voice doesn’t crack, but it feels like a miracle.

Don’t look back up.

Don’t scan the line again.

Don’t—

You do.

He hasn’t moved much. Just a few steps forward now. Still holding your book. Still watching you.

Your breath catches. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him like this. Not through a screen, not filtered through foggy memories or stage lights or imagination,but here. Tangible. You wonder if he can hear how loud your pulse is from across the room.

You wonder what he’s thinking. And somewhere in the rush of it, beneath the nerves, the confusion, the low hum of fear, you feel something else spark to life.

Hope. Stubborn and unreasonable, fragile as glass.

But still, hope.

The line moves forward.

And then he’s there. Right in front of you.

Up close, he looks even more like himself than you remembered. Not the version you saw onstage or in grainy videos. Not the one that lived in your drafts or under your skin. But him. The man who brought you coffee in the rain. Who kissed you like it was a promise. Who held you like he didn’t want to let go.

He clears his throat, just barely. “Would you sign it?”

His voice is lower than you remembered. Rougher. Like he hasn’t used it much lately.

You look down at the book. Your book. The one he’s holding. You nod slowly, trying to will your hand to work, to lift the pen, to stop shaking. “Sure,” you manage, fingers curling around the Sharpie like it’s a lifeline.

“Who should I make it out to?” you ask before you can stop yourself. It’s a reflex. A joke, maybe.

Jake huffs a quiet laugh, one you feel more than hear. “Surprise me.”

You don’t write at first, you just look at him. His eyes are softer now, like whatever he’s carried this past year has worn him down in some places and made others glow.

“You look good,” you say before you can stop it. It slips out. Honest.

“So do you,” he replies. He looks at you like he means it. Like it guts him a little to say it out loud. The silence stretches on again, thick with everything you’re not saying.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you whisper.

“I didn’t either,” he says. “Not until this morning.”

You press your lips together to keep them from trembling. Your pen finally touches the page.

To Jake,We never really said goodbye, did we?-Y/N

You slide the book toward him, and your fingers graze. He doesn’t pull away. He takes the book from your hands gently, his thumb brushing the edge of the page where you wrote his name. Where you told the truth in the smallest, safest way you could. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, neither of you says a word.

Then he clears his throat. “No. We didn’t,” he pauses, “You’ve got a line.”

You glance over his shoulder, more readers waiting, polite but curious. You nod slowly.

“I do.”

Jake steps back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be around. If you want.”

Your heart stutters.

“Yeah,” you manage, the word sticking to your tongue like honey. “I do.”

He moves away quietly, slipping between shelves and toward the back of the shop, giving you space to finish. The rest of the signing passes in a blur.

You smile and thank people and scrawl your name across copies of Petrichor, but your mind drifts constantly to the man in the back of the store, tucked just out of sight. You feel him there like a magnetic field, pulling at the corner of your attention, at the thrum in your chest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the last person finally steps away and your handler announces you're done for the evening. You cap your Sharpie, flex your aching fingers, and glance toward the quiet corner of the shop.

He’s still there.

Leaning casually against the end of a shelf, book tucked under his arm, watching you with a softness that turns you to dust. You walk toward him slowly, heart in your throat. The room feels quieter now.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, like he’s trying to remember everything all at once.

“You stayed,” you murmur, a little breathless.

Jake shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t want to interrupt the show.”

You smile, tired and warm. “It wasn’t the same kind of stage.”

“No,” he says, voice low. “But you still stole it.”

You laugh then, more from nerves than anything else. “You want to get out of here?”

Jake’s smile returns, slow and sure. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

The air outside is soft with the kind of warmth that settles in your skin. Not quite summer, not quite fall, just that in-between sweetness Nashville holds close in the evenings. The streetlights flicker on one by one as you step onto the sidewalk beside Jake, the hum of traffic and distant music bleeding into the background. For a few moments, you just walk.

Neither of you rushes. There’s a quiet comfort in the silence, the shared awareness that something is happening, even if neither of you has named it yet.

Jake slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “So,” he says finally, glancing sideways at you. “Famous author now?”

You smile, soft and a little shy. “Something like that.”

“I read it,” he adds after a beat.

Your breath catches. “You did?”

He nods. “Twice.”

You look over at him, surprised. “Why?”

Jake’s mouth tilts in that way it does when he’s being honest and doesn’t quite know what to do with it. “Because the first time hurt too much. And the second time felt like coming home.”

The words hit you squarely in the chest. You don’t say anything for a minute, afraid of unraveling too soon.

Instead, you ask, “Was it weird? Reading it?”

Jake huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. A little. I didn’t expect to be in a bookstore in Cleveland and see your name on the damn front table.”

You glance over at him. “Cleveland?”

He nods. “Tour stop. Middle of the night. Couldn’t sleep. Found a 24-hour book store near the hotel and there it was. Just sitting there. You, just… sitting there.”

You exhale a shaky breath, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “And you bought it?”

“Of course I bought it. It’s a signed copy now,” he says, patting the book under his arm. “Collector’s item.”

You shake your head, laughing.

He nudges your shoulder gently with his. “You really did it, you know.”

Your voice is quieter now. “So did you.”

He looks at you and something in your chest flares bright and hot. The way he looks at you has always undone you. Even now, with a city between the past and present, he still sees the softest parts of you.

“I missed this,” he says.

“What?”

“You. The walking. The talking. The…” He trails off, mouth twitching. “The pretending we’re not both completely broken.”

You smile, even though it aches.

“Me too.”

A few more steps in silence. Then:

“You hungry?” he asks.

You glance over. “Are you offering to feed me again?”

Jake smirks. “I’m offering to catch up properly. Not a bar. Somewhere quiet. Or—” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, “—we could just go back to my place. If that’s not too weird.”

Your heart kicks and you nod. “It’s not weird.”

“You’ve never been there.”

“No,” you say, “but I want to be.”

His eyes flicker over you for a beat, full of something that feels a lot like relief.

“Alright then,” he says, unlocking the same old Jeep you remember from Dunhaven. “Let’s go home.”

The doors shut with that familiar clunk, sturdy, and little too loud in the still of the evening. He starts the engine, and the Jeep hums to life, headlights casting long beams down the quiet street.

It smells the same. Like old leather, rain-damp flannel, and something faintly woodsy that’s probably been baked into the seats from years of campouts and late-night drives. You settle into the passenger seat, watching his hands as they grip the wheel, loose and capable, a silver ring catching the light every time he turns.

Jake glances over. “You cold?”

You shake your head. “Just… thinking.”

“Risky,” he says, smirking.

You let out a soft laugh. “You have no idea.”

The windows are cracked just enough to let the air move. Nashville glows outside, neon reflections off puddles, the faint sound of a guitar spilling out of a bar as you pass. You wonder if anyone in that bar knows who’s driving the Jeep. You wonder if Jake likes being recognized.

“You live far?” you ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“Not really. Just over the river,” he says. “It’s quiet. Got a little backyard, lotta trees.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“It is.” A beat passes. “I wrote a lot there. After everything. When you left I couldn't bring myself to stay.”

You glance over, watching the side of his face in the soft glow from the dash. “Lyrics?”

Jake shrugs. “Eh, I tried. Josh still does most of that. I have notebooks full of half-thoughts and melodies I can’t let go of.”

You smile faintly. “Sounds like a familiar problem.”

He chuckles, then goes quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like he’s working up to something.

“I almost texted you a hundred times.”

You look at him. “You did. A few.”

“Yeah, but I mean really texted you. Called you. Shown up.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t know what I’d say.”

“I didn’t either,” you admit. “Still don’t.”

He turns onto a quieter street. The houses here are close, dark windows throughout. His voice drops a little lower, more thoughtful. “Sometimes I’d start a message and delete it before I finished the first sentence.”

You nod. “I started writing you letters. I never sent them.”

“You still have them?”

You glance out the window, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

He smiles, the air between you hums with old warmth and fresh nerves. Then he exhales, low and soft, like he’s letting go of something heavy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, just above a whisper.

He pulls into a gravel driveway. The headlights sweep across a modest house tucked beneath tall trees, the front porch lit by a single bulb. Cozy and quiet. He parks and cuts the engine.

Neither of you moves for a second, then he looks at you, one hand still on the gear shift.

“You ready?”

You nod, heart already racing. “Yeah. I am.”

The door creaks as he opens it, just wide enough to gesture you through.

“Watch the step,” Jake murmurs, hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you step over the threshold.

His house is dim, lit mostly by the porch light spilling through the windows and a small lamp in the corner. It smells like cedar and clean laundry and something vaguely herbal, like he lit incense hours ago and forgot about it. You catch a faint undertone of coffee and the smell of sage. Definitely him.

It’s not what you expected. And somehow it’s exactly what you expected.

Vinyl records are stacked neatly on a shelf. Guitars are resting in stands along the far wall. A heavy bookshelf is lined with fiction, old notebooks, and something that looks suspiciously like your book, dog-eared and well-loved. A worn leather couch, a throw blanket draped carelessly over one arm. Mugs left out. A flannel tossed over the back of a chair. It feels lived-in. Soft around the edges. Like him.

You turn slowly, taking it all in. “This is… really nice.”

Jake shrugs out of his jacket. “It’s quiet.”

“You said that already.”

“I meant it both times.” He smiles a little, padding into the space like it’s nothing, barefoot now, sleeves pushed to his elbows. “I like quiet. You know that.”

You nod, stepping further in. “It suits you.”

He disappears into the kitchen for a moment and returns with two glasses of water, handing you one without a word. The silence is different now. No longer unfamiliar. More like a conversation.

You sip and let your eyes roam again. “You have my book on the shelf, too.”

Jake follows your gaze, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’ve got a few copies.”

You lift a brow.

“There’s also one in the bedroom,” he adds, which makes your stomach twist in a way that feels both dangerous and electric. You look at him, standing in the soft glow of his own living room, and suddenly the past year collapses in on itself.

Jake watches you for a beat. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just… adjusting.”

He sets his glass down on the edge of the bookshelf and steps closer. You feel his warmth before you feel his hand, fingers ghosting along your wrist, your forearm.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s a lot. I just—” He exhales. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You look up at him.

“Me too.”

His thumb brushes your knuckles, featherlight.

Then: “You want to sit with me for a bit?”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

And when you both sink into the worn leather couch, closer than strangers, not quite lovers again, you know it’s only a matter of time. Something is still burning here. But for now, it’s a slow, quiet fire.

You both settle in, and it’s quieter than it should be for two people who haven’t spoken face-to-face in nearly a year. The silence isn’t heavy, but it is full. Of everything you left unsaid. Everything you wrote around. Everything you thought time might erase but didn’t.

Jake stretches his arm along the back of the couch, close but not touching you, like he’s giving you space to lean in if you want to. He stares ahead for a moment, at nothing in particular, then glances over.

“You still write in the mornings?”

You smile. “When I can. I still forget to eat, too.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Some things never change.”

You turn to him slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. “And you? Still staying up too late and drinking too much coffee?”

He shrugs. “Some nights. Depends what I’m trying to avoid.”

You tilt your head. “What are you avoiding now?”

His gaze meets yours for a beat too long. “Letting go of things I probably should’ve let go of by now.”

The words hang there. They don’t sting. But they land. “Did you ever… think about reaching out? Like really reaching out?”

He looks down at his hands. “Every damn week.”

You swallow. “Then why didn’t you?”

Jake leans back, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t know if I’d be pulling you back into something you were finally free of. I told myself I was being respectful. Giving you space. But I think—” he pauses, then meets your eyes again—“I think I was just scared you’d moved on.”

You shake your head. “I never really did.”

He’s quiet. “I read Petrichor and thought, God, she wrote me into every page and still doesn’t want to call.”

You laugh once, a breathy, broken thing. “I thought if I heard your voice again, I’d come undone.”

Jake nods like he knows exactly what you mean. Because maybe he does. The old lamp buzzes softly in the corner. Outside, the street is still. You can feel the moment starting to shift.

You watch him for a second. His jaw. The slope of his shoulder. The way his thumb taps absentmindedly on his knee. It’s all familiar. But it’s not the past.

It’s now.

You lean your head on the back of the couch, closer to his shoulder. “I missed this.”

His eyes flicker to you. “I missed you.”

He pauses, “Are you seeing anyone?”

You look up at him. “No. You?”

He shakes his head. “Not even close.”

The air crackles again. Like something’s about to give.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whisper, “but I think I want to find out.”

Jake’s thumb brushes the side of your hand, slow and sure, the way someone might coax a shy animal out of hiding.

“Then stay,” he says softly. “At least tonight.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The words settle between you like dust in sunlight. Your throat tightens.

“I want to,” you whisper. “I do. But…”

Jake’s eyes flicker to yours. He hears it. The fear beneath it. The scar tissue. The part of you still at the cabin, watching him fade in the rearview mirror.

“But what?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head, not sure how to say it without falling apart. “I don’t know if I can survive leaving again.”

He exhales slowly, his jaw ticking once before he answers. “Then don’t.”

Your eyes snap to his.

“Don’t leave like that again,” he says, a little more sure now. “Not unless you have to. And even if you do, I’m not gonna disappear on you this time. I’m not gonna be another person who drifts out just because the timing sucks.”

You blink, and he leans in, closer, voice softer now. “I’ve done a lot of waiting, but I’m done pretending I’m okay with letting you go. I want you here. I want this. Not the memory of it. Not the what-if version.”

He pauses, and takes a breath. “You’re the one thing that never stopped feeling real.”

Your chest cracks open like a thundercloud.

“I’m scared,” you say, small.

“So am I,” Jake says, brushing your hair back, eyes steady on yours. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

You’re already moving before you realize it, reaching for him, the decision spilling out of you like a dam finally breaking.

“Okay,” you murmur against his mouth. “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it’s not tentative. It’s everything you both meant to say months ago. Every word that died on a screen. Every flight not taken. Every door left closed. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like a beginning wrapped in the warmth of a memory. The kind you don’t walk away from.

His lips move against yours with more purpose now, less hesitancy, more heat. The tension that’s lived between you for nearly a year finally finds a shape, pressed into the way he grips your hips, the way your fingers sink into his shoulders.

You shift in his lap, and he groans into your mouth. It’s instinct to chase the friction, but something about the way he stills your hips tells you he’s not in a rush.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. His chest rises and falls under your palms. “Not here.”

Your breath hitches. “No?”

Jake’s hands glide slowly up your back. “I want you in my bed.”

The room stills around those words. You nod, lips parted, pulse roaring in your ears. “Okay.”

He kisses you once more, then shifts you gently off his lap and stands, offering his hand.

The hallway is dim, lit only by the warm spill of light from the kitchen. You follow him barefoot, your fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt, the soft cotton of his sleeve. The air between you buzzes with a quiet that feels sacred.

Jake opens the door to his bedroom and steps aside for you to enter first. The space is simple, dark walls, low light, unmade sheets in charcoal gray. A few books stacked on the nightstand, one of them yours. A guitar in the corner. A window cracked open just enough to let in the hum of crickets and distant traffic. It smells like him.

He closes the door behind you and leans against it for a beat, watching you in the low light. Then he speaks, voice rough, “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this.”

You walk to the edge of the bed and turn to face him. “Then show me.”

He crosses the room in a few slow steps, and suddenly his hands are on your face again, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, mouth capturing yours in a kiss that sears straight through the center of you.

This one is messier. Hungrier. Full of everything unsaid. You reach for the hem of your shirt, but Jake gently stills your hands.

"Can I take this off?" he murmurs.

You nod, and he peels your shirt over your head, eyes dragging over every inch of newly revealed skin like its treasure. His hands follow, thumbs grazing the curve of your breasts, then sliding down to the soft swell of your hips.

You let out a breath. “You always look at me like that.”

Jake hums. “Like what?”

“Like I’m made of something rare.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw. “That’s because you are.”

He undresses you with the kind of patience that makes you ache. Every zipper, every button, every inch of skin unveiled is met with his hands, his mouth, his whisper. He drops soft kisses along your ribs, the curve of your stomach, the inside of your wrist. His fingertips trail down the curve of your waist, slipping between your thighs as if to test the heat there, groaning softly when he feels how wet you are for him.

When you reach for his shirt, he lets you pull it over his head. His body is warm under your palms, broad shoulders, a strong chest, the soft dip beneath his sternum, the trail of hair that disappears below his waistband. You run your hands over the lines of muscle, the firm curve of his hips, and he shudders beneath your touch.

“Lie back for me,” he says, voice low.

He crawls over you with the kind of focus that feels holy. He kisses the inside of your knee, your hip, your belly, working his way up with deliberate slowness until you’re trembling. His hand presses your thigh open gently as his mouth dips lower, lips brushing against your center. He moans as he tastes you, one hand splayed across your stomach to steady you while his tongue moves in slow, intentional strokes.

You arch, breath catching, hands tangling in his hair. His name falls from your lips, breathy and desperate.

He murmurs things between kisses, your name, sweet nonsense, fragments of feelings too big to name. And when you come apart beneath him, thighs quivering, body slick with sweat and pleasure, he holds you through it, kissing your thighs like they’re holy ground.

You pull him up, lips crashing into his. “I need you. Now.”

He groans. “You have me. You always have.”

When he finally pushes into you, your breath shudders out of you. He’s thick, hot, and the stretch is everything. You feel every inch of him, the slow, deliberate way he slides inside, bottoming out with a deep moan that curls through your spine.

"God, you feel so good," he rasps, burying his face against your neck. "So fucking tight. You always take me so well."

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re so deep. I forgot—”

He kisses your throat. “I know, baby. I know. I missed this. Missed you.”

He sets a rhythm that’s unhurried and powerful, grinding deep with each thrust, making sure you feel every long drag of his cock inside you. The way he moves is reverent, precise—his hips rocking into yours with a delicious grind that keeps your nerves lit and needy.

“Look at me,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “I need to see you come for me.”

Your eyes flutter open and his gaze locks with yours. It undoes you.

“You’re so beautiful like this," he breathes. “So perfect.”

You’re moaning his name with every breath now, your body wound so tight you’re seconds from breaking again. He shifts, angling his hips just right, and you cry out.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Right there, isn’t it? You love that. I can feel it.”

You nod, trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, kissing you hard.

You fall over the edge together, mouths open, breath stuttering, bodies slick with sweat and heat. He groans as he comes inside you, hips grinding deeper, slower, as if trying to make it last. You pulse around him, gripping him tight, your own orgasm rippling through you in waves. Neither of you moves. Not yet. His forehead rests against yours, your breath mingling.

You whisper, “I don’t want this to end.”

He brushes a kiss against your lips. “Then don’t let it.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in the quiet aftermath, your head resting on his chest, his fingers running slow patterns along your spine. His heart beats steady beneath your cheek, grounding you in the kind of calm you haven’t known in ages.

He speaks first, his voice a whisper in the dark. “I kept your book in my suitcase.”

You lift your head slightly, brows drawing together. “You did?”

He nods, eyes on the ceiling. “Every hotel, every flight. I couldn’t leave it behind. I read it on planes. On tour buses. When I couldn’t sleep. When I missed you.”

You swallow. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

His mouth pulls into a tired, rueful smile. “Because I didn’t know how to talk to you without saying too much. Without falling apart. I thought if I said the wrong thing, you’d pull away again.”

Your hand finds his, threads your fingers through his. “You should’ve said it anyway.”

“I know.” He looks at you now, really looks. “You said the new story was stuck. You were right. Because it wasn’t finished. Not until now.”

You blink, tears blurring your vision.

He reaches up to brush them away. “I never stopped thinking about you. About us. I tried to write you out of my system. I really did.”

“And?”

Jake’s thumb drifts over your cheekbone. “Didn’t work. You were in everything I came up with.”

You lie there in silence, your body still warm from him, your heart full to the point of ache. It’s quiet for a long time, the kind of silence that says more than either of you can manage out loud.

Finally, he speaks again. “I think I’ve been waiting for this night since the last time I saw you. Since New York.”

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Then let’s not waste it.”

He takes a deep breath, voice lower now, hesitant. “There’s something else I should probably tell you.”

You lift your head. “What?”

Jake hesitates, rubbing a hand over his mouth “The cabin. In Dunhaven...”

“Yeah,” You blink. “What about it?”

“I um, I own it,” he says, eyes searching yours. “Actually, I own all three of them. Privately. I use a property manager in town to handle the bookings. Kept my name out of it. The idea was that it would be a private retreat for me and the guys. Josh’s is the one you stayed in. Sam’s was supposed to be the other. But…” He pauses, mouth twisting into something bittersweet. “They never really used them. I was the only one who kept going back.”

You stare at him, stunned. “You—you own them? Wait, you–you’re the landlord?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t want you to know. Not right away anyway. I was going to tell you, but…everything happened and then I felt– I thought… if you knew, it would change something. Or worse, you’d leave.”

You sit up slightly. “So you had a key the whole time?”

Jake’s expression softens. “I did. Still do.”

“So when you went out in the rain to try and unlock my door…You said you couldn’t get it. That it was stuck.”

“I lied.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, “Why?”

His expression shifts, softens. “Because I was drawn to you the second I saw you. I didn’t want to just be the guy who opened the door and walked away. After we talked I wanted… more. And some part of me, some selfish, stupid part, hoped that if I let it play out, if I just let the moment breathe...”

You’re quiet, lips parted slightly in surprise.

He looks away. “I know it’s messed up. I should’ve just opened the damn door.”

You touch his arm gently. “But instead, you invited me in.”

Jake nods, meeting your eyes. “I did. And by the time you walked through that door… I knew I wasn’t going to be able to let you go.”

The silence that follows is thick and full, suspended between guilt and grace.

You reach for him, your hand sliding over his chest. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I was afraid it would change how you saw me.”

You tilt your head, eyes soft. “It does. But not in the way you think.”

Jake swallows hard. “So… you’re not mad?”

You lean in and kiss his shoulder. “No. A little surprised. A little overwhelmed. But… not mad.”

A breath of relief leaves him, and he wraps his arms around you again, drawing you in close.

You shift slightly in his arms, forehead pressed to his collarbone, and murmur, “So this means we can go back?”

Jake tilts his head, looking down at you with a slow, unreadable smile. "Do you want to?"

You hesitate, your fingers brushing softly over his chest. "I don’t know. Part of me is scared it won’t feel the same. That going back will undo all of this."

He pulls you in closer, presses a kiss to the top of your head. "It will. It’ll feel better. Because we’re not who we were then. And I don’t want Dunhaven without you."

You shift again to look at him, eyes searching his face. "Really?"

Jake nods. "I’m not going back without you. I can’t."

Your breath catches. "So we’d go back… together?"

"Together," he echoes, voice a soft vow. "Whenever you’re ready. When your book tour is done, when my tour is done, when life slows down a little. I’ll be waiting. I want that place to be ours."

You press your hand to his cheek, overwhelmed by how easy it is to believe him now. How deeply you want it, too.

And then you whisper, "Then let's make it ours."

He kisses you again, slow, and lingering, and neither of you says anything more, because there’s nothing left to prove. Just promises made in whispers and warmth, with the quiet faith that this time, you'll get it right.

You fall asleep not long after, curled into each other beneath the hush of the sheets and the hum of the city outside. The sound of his breathing lulls you into something peaceful, something that feels like safety.

When you wake, the light is soft and gold across the bed. Jake’s still there, one arm slung over your waist, his hair a messy halo across the pillow.

He stirs when you shift. Eyes opening slowly, smile lazy and warm. "Morning."

You trace the curve of his shoulder. "We’re really doing this, huh?"

Jake nods, sleep still in his voice. "We are. Finally."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no ache, no hesitation. Just two people, choosing each other again.

This time, for good.

I turn the last page and stare down at it for a long time. The words blur a little, not from tears exactly, but from something heavier. Something harder to name. The room around me is quiet. The New York hums outside the windows, distant and unbothered, but I’m frozen in place, still half inside the world I wrote. Or maybe the one I remembered.

Petrichor.

There it is. My name stamped beneath the title. Black ink, neat and final. A thing that’s finished.

But it doesn’t feel finished.

Because it was never just fiction.

It was ours.

Every line, every pause. Every breath between scenes. I lived it. I bled it. I folded us into the pages in ways no one else could see, at least, not fully. But I think he’ll recognize it. If he ever reads it.

I think he’ll feel the moment I walked into the cabin that night. I think he’ll know the way his voice sounds in chapter two is exactly the way he spoke to me when he was half-asleep and honest. I think he’ll see what I couldn’t say out loud.

I wrote him into permanence.

And now, someone else, maybe you, has read it too.

You think it’s just a story.

But it’s not.

It’s a map.

A love letter.

A key.

To the place where it rained, and I got locked out, and he didn’t open the door. To the night I found him anyway.

To the version of us that dared to try again.

And again.

I close the cover gently, hands trembling just a little.

Outside, thunder rolls across the city, soft and slow. The scent of petrichor rises from the pavement like memory.

And I wonder, wherever he is, if he feels it too.

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gretavanmoon · 28 days ago

Text

😍😍😍😍

Saigneur- Chapter Two

Jake x OC, Sam x OC

Chapter One

18+

Word count- 9.4k

Playlist- Apple Music

A/N- thank you so much for the interest in this story! You guys made me feel so welcomed in this community. Just a reminder, this is a retelling of True Blood. While most of the plot is more or less the same I have changed a few details.

A special thanks to @gretavanmoon @gretavangroupie and @bathinginstardust for their editing and encouragement! I truly couldn’t do this without them.

TW: death, violence, vampires, unprotected sex, light bondage, cops, interrogation, sexual harassment, blood

“Now tell us exactly what happened.”

“Andy—” Sam began, his voice already tinged with exhaustion, but Andy cut him off for about the thousandth time that day.

“Detective Bellfleur!”

“Whatever! I’ve gone through it about a dozen times! Why do y’all need me to tell it again?”

Sam’s eyes were raw from staring at the same outdated wood paneled walls of the cluttered conference room for what felt like eternity, telling them what happened the night before as best as he could remember it.

The acrid smell of Andy’s stale coffee and Sheriff Dearborn’s Marlboro reds had been insulting his nostrils, giving Sam a nasty headache. He nursed the room-temperature water they slid his way when he got in, wishing he had a Coke or a beer.

With each retelling, Andy’s patience grew thinner. More than once, the man got into Sam’s face. Yelling, spitting, and threatening him, only to stop when Dearborn stepped in.

“I don’t believe it was accidental, Stackhouse. Who the hell accidentally strangles someone?” Andy spat, hands splayed out on the conference table as he leaned towards Sam.

“Me, I fucking guess, detective,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes. He’d already admitted it. He didn’t understand all the anger and he was rather tired of it. “Y’all said you had video. You can see my reaction! Pull it up, damnit!”

Dearborn sighed deeply then left the room, leaving Andy and Sam alone. Andy straightened himself out, puffing his chest to make himself look bigger. Sam thought it made him look pathetic.

“You’re not getting away with this,” Andy said darkly. “I won’t let you.”

Sam let out a humorless laugh, “Clearly,” he said, eyes deadpan, each syllable weighed down by hours of accusations.

Dearborn returned with a laptop and Andy was itching to get a hold of it. Dearborn shooed him away and sat down across from Sam. Dearborn was a man in his 60s and not really good with technology, so it took him a good five minutes to figure out how to turn the laptop on. Eventually he relented and asked Andy to help, who happily obliged. After a few more minutes of puttering around with it, Andy and Dearborn turned it so they could all watch the evidence of Sam killing Maudette together.

It was by far the most awkward thing Sam had ever endured. The distorted video played out in painful detail. Every second watching himself fuck and strangle Maudette was excruciating and the magnitude of what happened was really starting to hit him. He took her life away and there was no way to bring her back.

In the video Sam grabbed his things, threw on his clothes and ran out, looking panicked and scared. The door slammed, and then- silence.

Then, Maudette laughed.

She let go of the chain and grabbed her chest as she kept laughing at the prank she just pulled. Maudette walked over to the laptop and it shut off. Dearborn and Andy looked as surprised as Sam was.

“I didn’t do it,” Sam said, laughing. “I didn’t kill her! Oh my god! I didn’t do it!”

Andy’s expression twisted into something sour. “Well someone did.”

The words hit like a backhand. Sam grew quiet at the reminder that she was still very much dead. He thought for a moment, racking his brain, then he remembered.

“What about the vampire? She had bite marks on her leg! Maybe he came back to kill her,” Sam suggested. He twisted the cap off of his now warm bottle of water and took a long pull, trying to steady the tremor in his hand.

“Would this be the same vampire your sister’s messin’ around with?” Dearborn asked pointedly.

Sam bristled, sitting up taller in his seat. “Well first off, she’s not messing around with no vampire. She doesn’t mess around! And second, I don’t know. I’ve never met him. I hope to god I never do.”

“What did this other vampire look like?” Andy asked gruffly. He was far less reactionary now and looked almost disappointed that it wasn’t Sam.

“Bald headed, weird skeleton tattoo, and crazy as fuck,” Sam said, thinking back to the video. It gave him chills just thinking about the vampire. “Actually wait…there’s a video. Didn’t you see it?”

“There was only one video on that laptop,” Andy said suspiciously. “Like the killer only wanted us to find this one.”

Sam nodded in agreement, “Yeah, like they wanted to set me up!”

“Or,” Andy said, a slight smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. “The killer only wanted us to find this one because it supposedly clears him of a crime that he came back later to commit?”

Sam took a moment to think on it, then came to the realization that Andy still thought he did it. “Come on, Andy! I’m not that smart!”

****

Clara lay crumpled on the gravel of the Kiszkas’ parking lot, coughing up blood. No one was around but her attackers, who took turns hitting her and insulting her. She could taste the metallic blood in her mouth and felt the sharpness of a chipped tooth. Her vision was blurry and her eyes burned but her head, especially, was in excruciating pain. Her breath hitched in her chest as she struggled to overcome the broken ribs and collapsed lung. Tina White lifted her boot to land another blow, but Jake had other plans for her and her husband.

Randy flew past her so quickly he was only a blur. He was thrown so hard against an old large tree that it shook as he landed. Disoriented, he let out a guttural moan. It would be the last sound he ever made. Jake cleared the space between them, and broke his neck so severely that he died instantly.

Tina twirled around wildly, switchblade in hand, looking for the culprit. She knew exactly who and what it was, but Tina wasn’t about to show the vampire that she feared him. But she was absolutely terrified and knew deep down there was no getting away from him.

She didn’t see the attack coming; before she knew what was happening she was flying through the air. The velocity of her ascent sent her above the trees and for a moment, she could see the entire Parish. It was her final moment of peace before she came crashing down to the ground, hitting several branches on her descent. Her body landed mangled, broken, and bloody mere feet from her dead husband.

Clara was limp, barely alive and barely conscious, when Jake scooped her up and took her out of the parking lot. He found a small pond behind the trees, out of the way of any prying eyes. Jake then lunged down, allowing her body weight to be held up by his leg, then let his fangs down. He bit into his wrist, the blood erupting from the wound, and brought it up to her face

“Will I be a vampire?” she said weakly. He was frustrated with the question. She didn't have a lot of time.

“No! Damn it, you gotta drink before the wound closes!” he said in a panic.

He brought his wrist to her mouth and she recoiled. He used his other hand to push her head closer. Reluctantly, she began to drink. At first slowly, then with a drunken fervor. She relished every drop, holding his arm to her mouth and caressing it tenderly, until her body couldn’t physically hold anymore. She fell into unconsciousness as her body began to heal.

Her eyes fluttered open, no longer burning. Jake was leaning above her and his head moving slowly. She could feel fresh wetness on her forehead and his tongue tenderly dragging across it. As odd as it felt, she wasn’t scared or upset. She found it oddly sweet.

“Do I taste different from other people?” she asked curiously. He stopped licking her and brought his eyes down to hers.

“Yes,” he said, as if looking at her for the first time. “What are you?”

“Not dead apparently,” Clara said, propping herself up on her elbows. He moved back and sat on the ground next to her as she positioned herself against a tree. She could feel the wound on her head repair itself on its own. No stitches, no hospital.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Jake asked. Clara’s mouth stretched into a smile at the ridiculousness of that question.

“You were just licking blood off my head,” she said. “Doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“How do you have a social life with men your own age? Their only thought must be-“

“I don’t,” Clara said shortly. She had tried. Oh, how she tried. Typically her dates only lasted a few minutes. In that time they would think about what her body must look like, or the disgusting things they’d like to do to her, or how they had another girl lined up for later that night…

“They were all pigs,” she added, absentmindedly picking at the grass, trying not to think about it too hard. “Always ends up the same.”

“Do the people close to you know about your...abilities?” Jake asked.

“Yeah. We don’t talk about it but they all know. I try to shut them out. Everyone else thinks I’m a psychic or crazy,” Clara said. She didn’t want to impose on the people closest to her. Their private thoughts deserved to be just that— private.

Jake had never met anyone like Clara. There was a pregnant pause between them, both wishing they knew what the other was thinking, both wanting desperately to know more about the other, neither knowing how to go about it.

Clara shifted uncomfortably. While it was a great relief that she couldn’t hear Jake’s thoughts, it was also something she wasn’t used to. Considering that he just killed two people without so much as breaking a sweat, it made her somewhat uneasy.

“I should probably get going,” she said awkwardly. She began to get up when she realized that she wasn't just a little healed, or mostly healed…she was completely healed. She felt for the chipped tooth and it had grown back. She took a deep breath with no pain at all. Her vision was, if anything, better than it was before.

“I’m completely healed!” She said in complete awe. “Do doctors know that v blood can do this?!”

“No and we’d like to keep it that way,” Jake replied firmly. He stood up and held out his hand. Clara took it and he pulled her up to her feet with incredible ease. They walked leisurely to her car, neither wanting their time to end just yet, but knowing that it needed to.

“How old were you when you were turned, if you don’t mind me asking?” Clara asked.

Jake felt a wave of nostalgia and sadness, thinking about his human life all those years ago. About his wife and his daughter that he didn’t get to meet, about sailing the Gulf of Mexico with Jean Lafaye, about his final journey through the bayous in an effort to get back home…

“I was 29,” he said, opting not to open up to her just yet. “I was turned in 1820, trying to come home from sailing with Jean Lafaye.”

“Wow, you look younger than that!” Clara said. “You were a pirate? Do you think you could come talk to my grandmother’s historical society? It’s just a bunch of old people meeting and talking about how life was like back then.”

It wasn’t exactly how Jake expected or wanted to spend an evening, but one look at Clara’s expressive, hopeful face was enough. “Would it make you happy?”

“Yes, it'd make my Gran so happy,” Clara said, beaming.

“No,” Jake said, looking into her eyes. “Would it make you happy?”

Clara’s cheeks turned red and she smiled at his directness. “Yes it would.”

“Then I’d be happy to meet your grandmother,” he said. They made it to her car and stopped. “When can I call on you?”

“Well I’m off tomorrow night,” she said.

“Right after dark, then,” Jake said. Clara turned to unlock her car then turned back around to say her goodbyes. He was gone, with no sound, with no announcement.

“That’s so creepy,” she muttered as she got into her car. It roared to life, the radio blasted Neil Young as she drove away.

****

Ruby pulled into the driveway of the run down duplex and she was full of dread. She had a good night at Kiszkas: her tips were decent and Josh was a good boss. But home was not a warm, inviting, loving place. It was quite the opposite.

She didn’t know what awaited her when she walked through that door. If her mother was awake, she would be berated, she’d be told that she was the devil’s child, she would be called every name in the book. If her mother was passed out on the couch, she’d be tasked with cleaning her up and getting her to bed.

Ruby made her way up the old wooden porch, past the dead plants that were bought with good intentions, the crosses that had no business at home like this, and opened the screen door. The front door was not only unlocked but opened, inviting anyone who wanted to inside.

She stepped into the modest living room. The TV was blaring on some home shopping network and her mom was on the couch, mouth agape, fully passed out. Ruby walked around the coffee table towards her and picked up the empty vodka bottle she had dropped in her drunken stupor.

She pulled out her phone and dialed as she made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and the milk from the fridge as the line trilled. As she sat down to pour herself a bowl of cereal, the person picked up.

“What’s up, bitch?” Lafayette answered. Ruby could hear the road noise in the background, so she knew he was out. She decided to shoot her shot.

“What’re you doing?” She asked, pouring the milk into the bowl. She mixed the lucky charms around in the bowl and took a bite.

“Going to a party and hell no I’m not picking your needy ass up,” he said, pulling on the cigarette he had in his mouth. “Why don’t you get Sam Stackhouse to pick you up”

“Fuck you, you old raggedy bitch! Just pick me up, please,” Ruby said. “She’s passed out on the couch. I can’t deal with cleaning her up and putting her to bed. It's too goddamn depressing.”

He sighed, acting like he wasn’t already on his way. “Fine. But you’ll have to find your own ride home in case I get lucky.”

“If?! Your standards are so low you always get lucky!” Ruby said, laughing.

“You know that’s right,” he laughed. “Hallelujah!”

The party was in someone’s backyard, full of people Ruby didn’t know. Kevin Gates blared from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner, while everyone piled up their plates full of seafood boil. Lafayette worked the crowd, introducing himself to the people he didn’t know, joking and laughing with the people who he did know, and flirting with every man with a pulse.

Ruby sat on an old torn up couch in the corner, completely alone. She sipped on a beer she picked up on the way in. She wasn’t much for parties, but people watching was entertaining at the very least. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the most obnoxious man with an unearned ego saunter over to her. He was decked out in a matching green outfit and a pick in his hair. She smiled at him as he approached, but he didn’t know what he was in for.

“Now,” he said, taking a seat on a chair next to the sofa. “What’s a fine little thing like you sitting over here all alone for?”

She pointed to Lafayette, who was trying to talk up a man who was visibly uninterested. “Watching my fool cousin trying to talk up the straightest man here.”

“Alright, alright. Except I’m the straightest man here,” the man said with a haughty laugh. “Just ask any one of these honeys. I’m Tyrell.”

“Mm. Ruby,” Ruby replied. “Just so you know, I’m married.”

“Oh that isn’t a problem for me,” Tyrell said, bringing his hand up to his chest. That wasn’t a shock. She expected it.

“My husband’s mercenary,” Ruby lied easily. “Yeah, backwater. Now he ain’t worth me but if he caught me with another man, he’d kill us both.”

Tyrell scoffed as she made her lip quiver. She continued. “I hope he kills me first. He shot one guy in the nuts just for buying me a drink!”

“Bitch you crazy,” Tyrell said, as he got up and walked off. Ruby laughed to herself. She was back where she started and where she was most comfortable— alone.

****

Knock, knock, knock. Dawn woke with a jolt. She picked up her phone. 3 am. She groaned as she pulled on her robe and padded through the bedroom and living room of her small mill house as the person continued to knock, louder and louder til she finally swung open the door. Sam pushed his way through, not caring what she was doing or what time it was.

“Sam.” She was exasperated and tired and he walked right by her. She stood there in her robe and underwear, annoyed.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through today,” he moaned as he fell onto the couch. She sat beside him, willing to hear him. “Bud and Andy waited 12 hours to show me a video that proved I didn’t do it! I spent all day thinking I really killed Maudette!”

He hugged her and she stroked his hair. A few minutes passed and he slowly slid down till his face was between her breasts. She moaned a little then giggled, knowing good and well she wasn’t getting sleep that night.

The sex with Sam was exactly what she needed. Dawn loved getting picked up and thrown around, making a mess of her room, exhausting her body with pleasure, and Sam? Well he was the perfect man for that.

They started on the bed, then he picked her up, still inside of her, and threw her on the dresser and fucked her into the wall. She moaned loudly as he crashed his body into her with an insatiable need to fuck his frustration away.

He turned them around back onto the bed. Sam ran his hands along her thigh as he buried all his thoughts and worries into her pussy, hiking her leg up and furiously fucking her and she giggled and moaned. Their orgasms came together and they crashed into a deep sleep, their bodies finally giving out.

Sam opened his eyes and for a split second, he forgot where he was. The last 36 hours of his life was a whirlwind, more exciting and terrifying than anything else he’d ever experience. He remembered coming over to Dawn’s house and smiled as he recalled fucking her silly. He turned over to her, who was still fast asleep. He couldn’t help but notice how naturally gorgeous she was. As she breathed deeply, he soaked in the sight…

Until his eyes landed on her neck. Two little puncture marks, her skin raised just a little around the wound. Insecurity, jealously, and curiosity swirled in his mind until he finally peeled himself out of bed and put his clothes on, quickly sending her a text as she slept that he was going to work.

****

Across town, the kitchen television blared with the news. Usually it wasn’t something Clara paid any mind to, but the topic of discussion centered around the Vampire Rights Amendment. A beautiful, professional looking vampire by the name of Nan Flanagan for it, and a Preacher Newman, who led a very specific anti vampire church, against it. Newman went on and on about how vampires were of the darkness, demons, sins against God while Flanegan calmly tried to speak to him. As intolerant as he was, so many people agreed with him.

“You know, I don’t think Jesus would hate vampires,” Clara said as her Gran, Adele, walked into the kitchen. She went to the stove, grabbed a pan full of eggs and doled some out on Clara’s plate.

“I don’t think he would either, dear,” Adele said with a smile. Clara bit into her sausage and it was the best thing she had ever put into her mouth.

“Did you do something different with the sausage?” Clara asked. Adele’s eyes widened in concern.

“No, do you think it’s gone bad?” She asked, picking up a piece of her own plate and sniffing it.

“No! It just tastes so much more complex. I can taste every spice, I can even taste the grass the cows ate!” Clara said as she took another bite. Adele gave her a puzzled look as Ruby walked into the kitchen just as she had done a thousand times before.

“Hey, Ruby!” Adele pulled out a chair for Ruby to sit. She always loved Ruby as if she was her own. When her mom would have particularly bad days Adele was there to help, with a meal and a bed to sleep in. Ruby sat down after hugging Adele, who went off into another room.

“You look awful,” Clara said, worried. Ruby was wearing the same clothes she was in the night before. Her braids were pulled into a quick ponytail and she was visibly tired.

“I feel worse,” Ruby sighed as she grabbed a piece of toast.

“Yes, you can take a shower here and borrow some of my clothes,” Clara said with a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks,” Ruby said, spreading homemade strawberry jam onto her toast. “Have you heard anything about Sam?”

“Yeah we heard from Everline Jameson, they let him go last night,” Clara said matter of factly.

“Good. I knew they would,” Ruby said.

“I didn’t,” Clara said.

“Well,” Ruby said. “I’m glad you’re still alive. You obviously didn’t hook up with that vampire last night.”

Clara’s face said it all. Ruby sighed in frustration. “Clara, I swear!”

“Shut up!” Clara hissed. “I’m lucky Gran was asleep when I got home last night!”

“Did he bite you?!” Ruby asked, glancing at her neck.

“No!” She decided to keep what really happened from Ruby, knowing the truth was worse.

“Are you sure? You know they can hypnotize you!”

“I know he didn’t,” Clara said firmly. Ruby scoffed and was about to respond when Adele came in to make a new pot of coffee.

“You must be glad they let Sam go, huh, Ms. Stackhouse?” Ruby said over her shoulder.

Adele pursed her lips. “I can’t even believe they arrested him to begin with! I have half a mind to call Bud Dearborn and chew him out! Sam’s a good boy, everyone knows that!”

Clara and Ruby exchanged knowing looks as the phone rang. It was Everline again with the last town gossip. Just as Adele walked out of the room to take the call, Sam walked in the house, ready to eat.

“Am I too late for breakfast?” He asked as he beelined to the fridge. “Hey Ruby!”

“Hey Sam,” Ruby said, smiling ear to ear. “I’m so glad they let you go!”

“Uh, yeah. Me too!” He came out of the fridge with a bowl of leftover sausages and started eating. “I don’t even know why they suspected me. I think somebody heard I’d been with Maudette.”

“Had you?” Clara asked.

“No,” Sam said a little too quickly. Clara raised her eyebrows as she turned to him

“Are you sure? She was a woman,” she said slyly. He scoffed.

“That’s funny,” Sam said with no amusement in his tone. “At least she was human”

Clara gave him a dirty look as Adele practically ran into the kitchen to deliver the latest news and it was a big one.

“Y’all won’t believe what happened! Hey Sam, sit down I’ll get you some breakfast,” she practically shoved Sam into his seat as she headed towards the stove. “Apparently there was a tornado over at four tracks corners. It turned over that red trailer in the clearing, you know the one? Killed the couple that’s been staying there.”

“Randy and Tina white?” Sam asked. Clara’s heart started beating quickly.

“Yes, them. Trapped under there. Mike Spencer said they’d been crushed to a pulp,” Adele said, shaking her head as she made Sam’s plate.

Clara headed over to the trailer after breakfast. The sun was already high in the sky and not a cloud in sight. As Clara got out of her car she could feel it hot on her skin. She walked under the crime scene tape. She knew Jake was strong but she could’ve never predicted this.

There was farm equipment still there from where they pulled the trailer back upright trying to get the bodies out. It was completely wrecked; the roof collapsed into the trailer itself, windows shattered, the back was completely flat. Trees were uprooted and smashed apart, power lines and poles were broken…it was a lot to take in. He was so strong and it scared her. Deeply.

She heard someone pull up and turned around to find the coroner van pulling up the long driveway. The sheriff and Mike Spencer hopped out. They looked surprised to see her. The annoyance was etched in Dearborn’s face as they approached her. Mike Spencer smiled at her and waved.

“Clara Stackhouse! You remember me?” He said.

“Of course I do. You buried my parents,” Clara said shortly.

“I got a new job! Parish coroner. Of course I still got the funeral home,” Mike said, turning around to show her the huge CORNER across his back. Truthfully he always gave Clara the creeps.

“How convenient," Clara said bluntly.

“Clara, this is still a restricted area,” Dearborn said in a measured tone. He looked tired and worn out, like this was absolutely the last thing he needed.

“Oh yeah, well when I heard what happened I had to come see for myself!” Clara said, gesturing towards the trailer. Dearborn didn’t seem convinced.

“I heard you didn’t get along too well with the Whites,” Dearborn said. Clara didn’t break eye contact. She knew exactly what he was getting at and she wasn’t about to give him any reason to look closer at her.

“Where’d you hear that?” Clara asked.

“My niece is an emergency room nurse in Monroe. Said someone busted up Randy pretty bad a couple nights ago. Said that somebody was you,” Dearborn said suspiciously.

“Yeah, they were hurting a friend of mine,” Clara said casually.

“Would that be that vampire you’ve been hanging around with?” Dearborn asked. Vampires, vampires, vampires…sure he actually did it, but it annoyed Clara that that was the first place he went.

“Your grandmother lets you associate with vampires?” Mike cut in. Clara snapped.

“I suggest you take that up with her, Mike! I’m sure she’d love to hear that someone thinks she’s not taking proper care of me!” She retorted. She turned back around to Dearborn. “They were draining him of his blood. That’s against the law, ain’t it? I was doing my civic duty by helping him.”

“And now they’re dead,” he said.

“Yeah! Killed by a tornado,” Clara scoffed.

“Tornadoes hop,” he said, making a hopping motion with his hands. “This didn’t land anywhere else and no one around here saw or heard anything like a tornado last night,”

“Are you seriously telling me that you think one man did all this?!” Clara asked.

“He’s not a man,” Mike said. There was a beat of silence before Clara replied.

“You know they’re not much different than you and me if you bothered to get to know one,” she said defensively.

“Clara,” Dearborn said, taking a softer tone. “You’re a good girl. I’d hate to see you go down this path.”

“Well lucky for you, Sheriff Dearborn, no one’s forcing you to watch,” she said, walking towards her car. “Now if y’all will excuse me, I gotta go.”

She got into her car, turned the ignition, and backed up and out of the driveway, very aware that they were staring at her as she drove off. She knew she probably did more harm than good by arguing with them.

Clara walked through the front door of her Gran’s farmhouse. It had been clear that Adele had been working all day. Not a single book, trinket, or blanket out of place. The house was cluttered, but neat. There were things that had been gifted and collected over the years. Sheet music at the piano that Adele sometimes liked to play; a handmade quilt folded over the back of an overstuffed armchair; a Bible that had been passed down through the family. Adele was vacuuming the area rug, running over it several times to make sure there wasn’t a spec of dirt.

“You know he sleeps on the ground. I don't think he’s gonna care all that much,” Clara said as she leaned against the wall.

Adele turned off the vacuum and turned around to see her. “Oh I’m not doing this for him, I’m doing it for me! So I can be proud of my home,” she said. “And how do you know where he sleeps?”

“I don’t, actually,” Clara said with a giggle. The house smelled of cleaner and apple candles but there was something else. Something small. Something rotting. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?” Adele said, looking around trying to find the one thing it could be

“Like…something rotting? Like rotting food,” Clara said.

“Well, find it,” Adele said. Clara walked over to the piano. Under the bench was the source of the smell…a small crumb of cracker. She picked it up.

“You don’t…smell that?” Clara said slowly. Adele shook her head, looking alarmed. “I’ll just throw this out.”

On the way out of the living room Adele said, “Oh, Sam and Ruby are gonna be there tonight as well.”

“Gran…” Clara whined. Sam and Ruby would just ruin the whole mood. Especially Sam, who would most definitely play the big brother card.

“Well! Sam said he wanted to meet the vampire for himself and Ruby said she might as well come too,” Adele said.

“Why is everyone making such a big deal over a stupid vampire?” Clara pouted, crossing her arms. She didn’t like being treated like a small child. At 25 years old she didn’t feel like she needed anyone’s approval on who she dated. Except, maybe, her Gran.

“Did you want to be alone with him?” Adele asked quietly. Although she wanted to protect Clara, she didn’t want to push her away.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Clara said sheepishly. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to be careful?”

Adele smiled in complete and total confidence in her granddaughter. “You’re always careful about what counts, Clara.”

****

Twilight brought anticipation and tension as everyone gathered to wait for Jake to arrive. Clara had picked out a simple white summer dress and clipped her curled hair back. She sat on a stool with Sam and Ruby in the kitchen. The air was thick with tension and Jake hadn’t even arrived yet.

“I’m just saying,” Sam said, twisting the cap off a beer and taking a swig. “You want a vampire sucking blood outta you?”

“I don’t know? I’m just trying to get to know the man, that’s all,” Clara said defensively. It seemed all she was doing these days was defending herself and her choices and she was about at her wits end.

“That’s where it’s gonna end up, always does,” Sam said definitely.

Clara scoffed. “And what do you know about vampires?”

“More than I’d like to!” Sam snapped.

“Oh please, Sam, shut the hell up,” Clara said, getting off the stool and walking out of the kitchen. Her anxiety was buzzing around in her body like a swarm of bees. She opened the front door and stepped out. She grabbed the porch boom that was leaning against the house and began sweeping in an effort to calm her nerves. She was looking down, not paying attention to her surroundings, not paying attention to how dark it had gotten.

She turned around to sweep the dirt off the porch and almost ran into Jake, who had quietly stepped onto the porch.

“Jesus, I hate when you do that,” Clara said as she clutched her chest.

“I’m sorry I’ll try not to again,” Jake said, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

“Well, since you’re already here,” she said, turning around. He reached past her and opened the screen door to allow her in. She turned around to usher him inside but he didn’t move. “What is it?”

“You have to invite me in,” he said. “Otherwise it’s physically impossible for me to enter a mortal’s home.”

“That’s so weird!” Clara giggled. “Come on, try!”

“I can’t,” Jake said. “I can’t even try, it's impossible.”

She gestured with her hand and said “Oh, Jake , would you please come in?”

Jake began to walk in, but Clara stepped in front of him quickly. “So if I took back your invitation would you have to leave?”

Jake paused for a moment and said, “Yes.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” she said quietly as she stepped aside.

He gingerly walked through the threshold into the farmhouse. It was full of life and warmth and people he felt the need to impress. Clara led him into the living room, where her grandmother, brother, and best friend were waiting to greet him. Or to interrogate him, judging by the glare her brother was shooting Jake’s way.

Clara and Jake sat across from Ruby and Sam while Adele passed around sandwiches she had made for her guests.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Jake said when she got to him. There was a brief pause before she realized her mistake.

“Oh, right! How silly of me!” She laughed as she sat the tray down on the table. She made herself comfortable in the chair next to him, eager to learn more about his life.

“So your family was from around here?” She asked.

“Yes, the Comptons,” Jake said politely, trying to ignore the irritated stares from the other couch.

“Well I’m afraid old Jesse Compton died last year,” Adele said.

“That’s why I’m here,” Jake explained. “If the VRA passes and I suspect it will-“

“Yeah I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Sam interjected. The tension in the room was thick. “Some people don’t think that you deserve special rights.”

“They’re the same rights that you have,” Jake said firmly.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sam said, sitting up in his seat. “There’s a reason things are the way they are.”

“It’s called injustice,” Jake said darkly.

“It’s called this is how we do it!” Sam said, his voice raising. He leaned forward, ready to pounce.

“Sam! This is my house and you will treat others with respect!” Adele said. Her eyes were sharp and her lips thinned, a stern warning in of itself. Sam sat back in his chair, pouting like a little boy.

Adele turned to Jake, ready to move on with the conversation. She smiled sweetly. “Did you know the Stackhouses?”

Jake thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes! I was 16 when Jonas and his family moved here. Bon Temps was just a dirt road. Is this the house he built? At least in part?”

“Yes, it is!” Adele said, completely enamored and charmed by Jake.

Ruby had been silent up until that point, sitting low on the couch, observing Jake with critical eyes. So it was a surprise when she said loudly, “Did you own slaves?”

“No, I did not,” Jake said firmly. “That wasn’t something I believed in.”

“Hmm,” Ruby crossed her arms and said nothing further.

“What did you do for work?” Adele asked, ready to change the subject.

“Well, I was a farmer,” Jake said, thinking back to his human life. “But then, that got boring, so I left for New Orleans and sailed as a pirate under Jean Lafaye.”

“Oh that is fascinating!” Adele said. “I can’t wait for you to speak at our historical society!”

“I would be honored to,” Jake said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I was hoping to take Clara on a stroll?”

“It’s alright with me if it’s alright with Clara,” Adele said, looking to Clara for her approval. Clara nodded.

Sam stood up, chest puffed out, “Now I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Clara spoke up her patience with Sam running out, “I don’t think it’s any of your business!”

Before Sam could respond, Adele interjected, “She’s right, Sam!”

“I’m the man in this family!”

“You are a man in this family! I’m the oldest and this is my house! You better respect me, boy!” Adele said. Jake stood up and came up behind her.

“Actually, I think I’m the oldest,” he said with a smile. He was trying to defuse the situation the best he could. Adele laughed while Sam mocked him behind his back. Clara stood up as well, fitting her hand so neatly in his and let him lead her out.

Clara felt almost clumsy walking along with him as he seemed to glide with ease. The mood away from the others was much lighter, much easier.

“I visited the Whites’ trailer today,” Clara said. Jake met her gaze with a strange look, like he wasn’t used to someone directly speaking to him about his power.

“I told you I was strong,” Jake said in a measured tone. He wasn’t quite sure how she felt. She seemed calm, at the very least.

“I didn’t quite gauge the extent of your strength,” she said.

“The older we get the stronger we are,” Jake explained. “And the more skilled we get at hiding what we’ve done.”

“Well you should remember for next time, tornadoes hop. They don’t just land in one spot,” Clara said smiling. “Have you…killed a lot of people?”

Jake thought for a moment about whether or not he should lie. He lied. “A few by accident when I was first turned. I tried not to. But now, we have Tru Blood, the blood bank in Monroe, and I can glamor people into letting me feed for love.”

As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the familiar dog from the Kiszkas bar. A dog that was more than he seemed, who was way too invested in the conversation they were having. He turned his attention back to Clara as she spoke.

“Did you feed on the Whites?” She asked.

“Yes, after you drank my blood. You drank a lot of it,” Jake said. “I had to get my strength back.

“What will it do to me?” Clara asked. She felt like she already knew the answers.

“Well, you’ll have keener senses,” Jake said. Clara thought about the sausage from that morning and how incredible it tasted, how she could smell the piece of cracker in the living room that was smaller than her fingernail. But there was more.

“What else?” She pressed. She could feel her core pulsating. She could feel the systems in her body working. Truly, she had never felt more alive.

“Your uh…libido will be stronger,” Jake said awkwardly. “And I’ll be able to feel you from now on. So anytime you need me or you’re in trouble I can get there more quickly.”

Clara could sense from his eyes that he hoped maybe that last part would bring her a small point of comfort. But it didn’t. In fact, knowing that he could sense her did the exact opposite. She walked ahead of him, needing a moment to process the information she was given.

They walked through the rusted gates of the cemetery between their houses. It was the most comforting area of Bon Temps for Clara. In the overgrown grass of the old graves she spent her days looking at the headstones, wondering what their lives were like, what their hopes and dreams were. She’d walk to the newer, better kept areas and sit down at her parents’ headstones, telling them about her life. It was truly the most peaceful place to get, where the world wasn’t constantly buzzing. Or thinking.

“You mentioned glammoring, what’s that? Like hypnosis?” Clara asked finally after several minutes of silence. Jake was grateful for the question, he was starting to feel as if he blew it.

“Similar. All humans are susceptible to it,” Jake said. Clara thought through all their time together, trying to piece together if she felt like she was in control the whole time.

Clara stopped suddenly and turned to him. “Have you done it to me?”

“What? No!” Jake said as if the question was offensive. Deep down he knew it wasn’t. “And I never will.”

“Really? Try it!” She squared up to him, ready for him to hit her with it.

“No. I don’t feel comfortable with that,” Jake began to walk away.

“Scared?” Clara said. She was smirking. He stopped and turned to her. He stared at her intently and started walking towards her.

“Clara,” he said, focusing all his attention and energy on getting into her mind. On controlling her.

“Yes?” She said breathlessly.

“Do you feel my influence?” He asked. She stared at him blankly for a moment, as if she wasn’t thinking at all.

Then she laughed hard. “No! No, not a bit.”

Jake was confused as she continued to laugh. He hadn’t failed at glammoring someone since he was a baby vampire. “This is very strange!”

“What’s the matter?” She said playfully, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. “Upset you can’t control me. That’s not a very attractive trait, Jake!”

Jake let her pull him and commented quietly, “you’re not like other humans. You’re not very squeamish about vampires.”

Clara stopped and turned to him, completely serious and sincere. “Who am I to be squeamish towards anyone for being different?”

Clara thought back to when she was 7 years old. Her and Sam were playing in the sprinkler outside and she went to sit in front of her mom on a towel. Her mom looked worried and she began thinking about how they were gonna pay their mortgage, how they were gonna make it through the week. Sweet Clara offered to bust open her piggy bank to help them.

This led to tests in which she was asked to tell the psychiatrist what the psychiatrist was thinking. When she said it correctly, her parents were told that she had ADD. But they knew. Her parents knew.

Her parents passed in a flash flood when she was 8, leaving her to be raised by her Gran.

They reached the end of the cemetery and walked through a small field towards a large house in the distance. It was a faded and dirty white and window shutters were broken on the ground. The wrap around porch was missing some boards. But still, one of the prettiest houses Clara had ever seen.

“Wow, you live here?” Clara asked. Jake nodded, a proud smile etched into his face.

“I’ve been doing renovations myself but I can’t get an electrician to call me back,” Jake said.

“I’ll call around for you!” Clara saud.

Jake paused for a moment looking at the woman before him. She was beautiful, practically glowing in the light of the moon. He stepped forward and said, “Take the clip out of your hair.”

Clara reached back and pulled out the clip that was keeping her hair out of her face. She pulled it down and separated the curls so it framed her face perfectly. Jake reached up and touched her cheek with his cold hand, caressing it ever so slightly. Clara moved closer, closing the space between them.

The kiss started slowly, then deepened with passion that took over their bodies. Jake tangled a hand in Clara’s hair while she grabbed onto his hip, pushing him closer towards her. There was a hunger, a deep longing that they communicated through their bodies.

Then as quickly as it had started, Jake pulled away. Clara opened her eyes and almost jumped. His fangs were jutting out of his mouth. He turned away out of embarrassment but also out of a need to control the impulses that were urging him to do his worst.

“I-I think I should take you back to your grandmother’s,” he said in a low voice.

Clara nodded her head, not sure of what to do or what was happening. In these moments she wished her telepathy worked on vampires. “Alright.”

They didn’t speak much on the way back, the only sounds were the cicadas and the rustling of leaves. As they approached the old farmhouse, Jake turned to Clara, his demeanor much more relaxed now that his fangs had retracted.

“I hope you know that I would never hurt you,” Jake assured her.

“I believe you,” Clara said.

Clara grabbed both of his hands and gave Jake a sweet kiss. Not enough to set him off, but just enough for him to know that she wasn’t scared. She let go and walked up to the farmhouse, where her grandmother was waiting to make sure she got home alright.

****

Dawn primped her hair in the mirror above her dresser and made sure her jewelry was just the way she liked her. Her work uniform, a form fitting white Kiszkas tshirt and a pair of black shorts, hugged her body just right. She was almost done, but he kept begging her to stay.

“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t ya like me?”

Dawn looked at Sam through the mirror as she was applying her lip gloss and smirked. They had spent the morning in bed, finding new ways to make each other cum. She had him tied up to the headboard with her scarves, waiting for her to come back and continue the fun.

“Oh of course I like you, Sam. I wouldn’t tie just any man to my bed,” she said, stepping back and smoothing out her shirt.

“So? Call in sick, Josh won’t mind,” Sam said while checking out her ass in her black shorts.

“Ok one, Josh would mind,” she said. She turned around and sauntered towards the bed. “Second, we’ve already had sex like three times today. At this rate we’ll burn out by the end of the week.”

She got down to his level, face to face and said in a soft voice, “you’re gonna get all weird and closed off and I’ve already been down that road with you, baby.”

“But I’m horny,” he whined.

“Well I’ll be back by midnight,” she said with a smile.

“Hey wait,” he said, realizing what she meant. “You’re not gonna leave me like this?!”

She giggled and gave him soft kisses, “You should count yourself lucky that’s all I’m doing to you.”

She got up and grabbed her purse and walked out. “Consider it foreplay.”

“Foreplay? No this isn’t-“ he heard the door shut- “this isn’t funny!” He heard the car turn on as he pulled on the scarves trying to get out “DAWN?! Goddamnit! Bitch!”

****

“Sugar, get me another side car,” the middle aged woman’s speech was slurred as she swayed ever so slightly in her bar stool. Ruby turned around, narrowly avoiding one of the cooks delivering beers to the small fridge behind the bar.

“Jane, you’re drunk,” Ruby said in a low voice as she leaned over the bar. She had no patience for drunks, especially ones who relied on their kids to clean them up. “Ain’t none of these men you’ve been flirting with gonna take you home and we’ll have to call your son to pick you up, even though it humiliates him to death.”

Jane’s smile faded, “What did you say to me?”

“I said any particular brand of cognac?” Ruby said loudly, turning towards the rows of bottles.

“Anything that’s good and cheap,” Jane said softly. As Ruby started making her drink, Josh came from the back.

“Ruby, I told you where you can buy a uniform,” Josh said, sliding past her.

“How come you don’t wear a uniform?” Ruby asked pointedly.

“Because I own the place and I can wear what I want to,” Josh said, annoyed.

“Then how come Terry Bellfleur don’t wear a uniform?” Ruby asked loudly as she poured orange juice in the mixer.

“I’ve worn enough uniforms,” the cook said. Terry was a quiet, nice guy, a marine veteran with PTSD.

“Nah,” Ruby said as she finished making the drink. “It’s because Josh don’t feel the need to sexualize the men in his employment like he does the women.”

Josh rolled his eyes and sighed, deciding this was a battle he wasn’t gonna fight. “Fine, you don’t have to wear a uniform.”

“Thank you,” Ruby said, smiling.

“Remind me why I hired you again?” Josh asked.

“DEI,” Ruby said, sitting the drink down in front of Jane, who sheepishly picked it up. Terry laughed behind her.

Clara was at the other end of the bar, taking an order from a group of young guys. One in particular was eyeing her and making it very difficult to concentrate on her job.

“So, loaded skins and a pitcher of bud, anything else?” She asked with a smile.

You can serve those skins off those perfect titties, there’s nothing I love more than licking food off a girl’s tits

Clara turned around trying to get away from him.

That’s a fine lookin ass too- he grabbed her ass but as she turned to respond, Rene came up from behind the guy, twisted his arm and pushed his shoulder on the table.

“Gonna let go of the lady, you?” Rene said calmly. “Or do you want me to knock you into next week?”

“Damn it, you’re about to break my arm!” The guy said breathlessly.

“Apologize to the lady,” Rene said. The guy looked up to Clara and muttered an apology. Rene let him go.

“Maybe go find someone else to eat, yeah?” He said. It was a command, not a question. The young man and his friends slid out of their booth, none of them making eye contact with Clara or Rene.

“You should’ve let me handle that myself!” Clara exclaimed.

“Nah, Kiszkas is a nice place. We’d like to keep it that way, yeah?” Rene said. He walked up to her and brushed her hair out of her eye. “Besides, you remind me of my baby sister, you. I hope to god someone would stick up for her if some asshole ever did her that way.”

Clara didn’t know what to say. With everything that just happened her mind was going a mile a minute. She turned around and quickly walked to the back. Tammy was back there as well, her back turned to the dining room.

“Tammy tell Rene I said thank you for dealing with those guys. I was so flustered I think I seemed ungrateful,” Clara said. Tammy didn’t hear her, she was too deep in her own thoughts.

Oh lord please let me get my period soon! Rene wants one of his own but I don’t think I’m ready yet.

Against all of Clara’s good sense she went up to Tammy and engulfed her in a hug. Tammy immediately pulled out of it.

“Were you listening to my thoughts?” She asked angrily.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not real focused tonight,” Clara said. Tammy didn’t want to hear it.

“My private thoughts are none of your business!” Tammy stormed off. Before Clara could process everything, Josh called her into his office.

“I swear I try not to listen but I can’t always keep my guard up,” she said, sitting on an ottoman.

Josh wasn’t angry, he was empathetic. He leaned against his desk and asked, “Is it true you can’t hear the vampire’s thoughts at all?”

Clara paused, wondering how in the hell he knew that, but answered nonetheless, “That’s right.”

“God, that must be very relaxing for you,” Josh said, sitting down in the desk chair. “Not having work so hard not to hear.”

“Yes,” Clara said softly. Truthfully she was a little confused by the entire conversation.

“Can you hear me?” Josh asked curiously.

“I don’t want to hear you,” Clara said.

“Come on, why?”

“I’d have to quit if I read your mind and I like it here!” Clara said.

“You wouldn’t have to quit-“

“Josh, I’ve had to quit every job I’ve had because I could hear my bosses thoughts,” she said.

“You might be surprised at what you find,” he said, smiling.

“Not all surprises are good!”

“You should try it sometime!” Josh said as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you have a job here as long as you want it.”

Clara could feel the tension between them. He was so sweet, so open, but he was first and foremost her boss. She nervously excused herself and headed back into the dining room, with him wondering if he completely blew it or not.

As Clara walked by the kitchen, Lafayette yelled out for her, “Baby girl, don’t let nothing get you down.”

She walked back, “Don’t let what get me down?”

He gave her a smile as if he knew her troubles, her worries, her anxiety, “Don’t let nothin’ get you down. It’s the only way to live.”

Ruby filled a pitcher of beer as Dawn waited for it. She brought it over and set it on the bar, “How’s Sam?”

Dawn laughed, “Probably pissed off at me right now. Hell he probably deserves it.”

“You know I have to say,” Ruby said, leaning against the bar. “I’m surprised yall got back together.”

“No more than I am, baby, believe me,” Dawn said with a smile, picking up the pitcher.

“Think it’s gonna last?” Ruby asked.

Dawn cocked her head to the side, suspicious as to why Ruby cared, “Is there a reason you wanna know?”

“No, ever since I’ve been friends with Clara I’ve just gotten a kick outta watching his escapades with women, you know,” Ruby said, brushing it off.

“Mmhm, sorta,” Dawn said with a sly smile as she turned away.

“God only knows what happened to my tables,” Clara muttered to herself as she walked behind the bar. The television was turned onto the news and it caught her eye.

It was about a traffic accident on the interstate. But that wasn’t the interesting part. The interesting part is that among the casualties were the pastor she watched on the news that morning, his wife, and their child. Her blood ran cold, and she was determined to ask Jake about it when she saw him after work.

****

Clara pulled up to the Compton house, numbers in hand for electricians that would work for Jake. As she got out she saw an older car with the license plate “FANGS1” on it. It was almost laughable how corny it was. Still, she paused, wondering if she could go inside. But if Jake knew them, they must not be bad…right?

Old music was so loud inside that she could hear it. As she approached the door, her anxiety grew. She lifted her fist, but the door opened before she could knock.

It wasn’t Jake. A beautiful woman in a short, revealing dress answered. Hair big, like she had stepped out of 1975. She leaned against the door, popping her hip out so she took up the entire frame.

“Well hey there, little human chick,” she said seductively.

“Hi, I’m here to drop off some information for an electrician for Jake Compton? Is he here?” Clara said with all the strength she could muster.

“Maybe,” the vampire said. Another vampire, not Jake, came up from behind her. An older male with a ponytail and a silk red shirt on and a thick southern accent.

“She smells fresh,” he said as the lady vampire laughed. They both let down their fangs.

Clara took a shaky step back, too late.

There was third behind her, bald headed with a strange spinal tattoo and blood dripping from his mouth. His fangs were drawn as well. They all hissed and slowly approached her, ready to devour.

They closed in slow and deliberate, like cats circling a mouse.

Clara froze. This wasn’t a drop off. It was a trap and she’d just walked into their den.

Clara Stackhouse was in deep, deep shit.

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gretavanmoon · 30 days ago