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alwaysmicado · 1 year ago

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Sink or swim

12.3k | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 8

WARNINGS: 18+, no outbreak AU, implied age gap, emotional hurt/comfort, flashbacks (toxic relationship, bad mental health), mention of miscarriage & surgery, smut (nothing too graphic), Tommy Miller x f!reader SUMMARY: You reminisce about the late-night conversation that changed your life forever. Joel shares a secret. A/N: Guys, it’s finally here!! This part was hard for me to write, but I’m beyond happy with how it turned out. We learn so much about reader’s past and her relationship with Tommy, and I can’t tell you how excited I am to share it with you. Have fun reading (even though it’s a bit sad) and please let me know what you think! I wanna know all your thoughts!! 🤍 Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics.

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The ocean stretches before you like a vast expanse of liquid silk, its rhythmic waves kissing the shore with a gentle insistence. The sun, now in its descent towards the horizon, casts a warm glow, painting the water and sand in hues of amber and gold.

You’re perched on a weathered bench, sneakers softly tapping against the sand, lost in thought as you watch the waves roll in.

Dressed in yoga shorts and an oversized t-shirt, with an ice cream cone in hand and sunglasses shielding your eyes from the brilliant rays of the setting sun, you blend seamlessly into the serene scene before you.

You appear inconspicuous, just another person soaking up the sun and breathing in the fresh air. No one can see the anguish gnawing at your heart, the tumult in your head, or the pain in your hand that makes you want to scream.

No, no, you look far too calm for that, too composed, too happy.

Besides, what would someone like you possibly have to feel bad about? Seriously. You just love to wallow in your own sadness, don’t you? You haven’t changed at all. You’re still your insecure, annoying, unlovable self. God, even your inner voice is irritating. Do you hear how pathetic you sound? Of course he wouldn’t lov–

Shut up.

You focus on the waves as they dance and sway, their melodic rhythm a soothing balm to the cruel thoughts echoing relentlessly in your mind.

The ocean’s song, a symphony of calming whispers and gentle sighs you’ve loved ever since you were a little girl, envelops you in its embrace, drawing you deeper into a state of quiet reflection. The cool breeze dancing through the air brushes against your sun-kissed skin, carrying with it the salty scent of the ocean and the promise of new beginnings.

With a gentle tilt of your head, you take another lick of the strawberry soft serve you bought at the ice cream stand near the boardwalk, feeling the familiar comfort of the cool creaminess dance across your taste buds. It’s been a few months since you last indulged in this particular treat, sharing it with Joel after a rough day at work.

As the cold sweetness melts on your tongue, bittersweet memories of that afternoon flood back with vivid clarity. You can almost hear Joel’s infectious laughter as you scarfed down the icy treat a little too eagerly, his eyes crinkling with amusement at your inevitable brain freeze. But it wasn’t just the shared laughter and playful banter that made this memory so special.

It was Joel’s genuine interest in hearing about your day, about you, his calming presence grounding you and making you momentarily forget all your troubles. He provided you with a warmth that seeped into your bones, a connection that felt effortless yet profound. Like it could be more.

Reflecting on it now, perhaps that should have been a hint that things were more serious than you wanted to admit right from the beginning. Oh well, dwelling on it is futile now. Because you did finally admit it, didn’t you? And not only that, you basically shouted your feelings from the rooftops last night, laying your soul bare.

Fucking embarrassing.

How are you supposed to come back from that? How are you supposed to ever look into Joel’s eyes again?

There’s a reason why you stopped psychotherapy after a few months, there’s a reason why you don’t have any close friends beside Tommy, there’s a reason why your dating life has consisted of a series of superficial hookups over the past couple of years.

“Fear of intimacy,” your therapist called it. “A response to sustained trauma.”

You walked out of that session and, fueled by defiance, decided to fuck the first guy who caught your eye, just to prove to yourself, and to your therapist, that you were very well capable of intimacy.

Lying in bed that night, lonely and empty, you couldn’t shake the truth of her words. You hated her guts for forcing you to confront your inner demons, but she did have a point in everything she said.

It’s an uncomfortable truth.

There’s nothing in the world you fear more than people knowing what’s going on inside your head, knowing what you feel, knowing your vulnerabilities and weaknesses—knowing the real you.

And last night, that fear came true.

Your innermost thoughts and feelings were on display for Joel to see, leaving you exposed and raw. The memory of your outburst, of his shocked face, weighs heavily on your mind and heart, filling you with a deep sense of shame and regret.

For a moment in that bathroom, you felt yourself transported back to all the times you’d scream at Simon for whatever he did to fuck with your feelings that day, just for him to laugh in your face or call you manipulative when you’d inevitably start crying tears of hurt and frustration.

Does Joel see you differently now, knowing the depths of your insecurities? Will he even want to look you in the eye after witnessing what the real you is like? Have you lost your chance with him, and, did you ever even have one?

You sigh deeply and lick around the top of the ice cream cone to catch the drops threatening to run down, humming at the deliciousness.

You haven’t eaten anything else today, too nauseous from your meds and the knot in the pit of your stomach to find food appetizing. You haven’t slept for more than two consecutive hours, too agitated to find any real peace. You also couldn’t stay home this morning, as your apartment suddenly felt like a cage threatening to suffocate you.

Instead, you’ve spent your day off window shopping, aimlessly wandering from one coffee shop to another, your hands now jittery from too much caffeine on an empty stomach. You’ve ambled down the boardwalk, taking in the sights and sounds surrounding you, before finding yourself drawn to the familiar comfort of the ocean.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the display on your phone lighting up with Joel’s name, the device resting on the bench beside you alongside your bag.

You know you’ll have to take his calls and talk to him like an adult at some point. And you will. But this moment, this moment right here, belongs to you and your thoughts alone.

And to the hermit crab making its way through the sand just a few feet away from you. Your lips curl into a smile as you watch the determined little creature, impressed by its resilience in such an unforgiving world. Maybe you would’ve been happier if you’d been born as a hermit crab. Who knows.

As you swallow the last bit of your cone and lean back, feeling the sun’s gentle warmth on your skin, you can’t help but think of the first time you found yourself on this bench, watching the sunset. It feels like that was an entire lifetime ago, and yet, you vividly remember the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed you down, the sense of loneliness that engulfed you—how utterly lost you felt.

You allow your thoughts to drift, captivated by the soothing cadence of the waves lapping against the shore.

Three years earlier

The sun is down.

Staring into the void, you’re consumed by solitude, the cool breeze coming from the water a thin barrier against the weight pressing on your shoulders. The world seems distant, the murmur of the ocean a mere backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your troubled mind and the beat of your empty heart.

This is it. This is where you were always supposed to be.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, quietly drifting through the corners of your memory. With each passing moment, you meticulously comb through the fragments of the past few months. They offer no solace, only a stark reminder of how you reached this point.

In the stillness of the evening, you find a strange sense of calm, a numbness that dulls the edges of your emotions. Tears refuse to come, leaving only the echo of relief at the resolution of it all.

You open your eyes again, fixating on the endless mirror of the sky before you. The ocean has always held a special place in your heart. The salty tang in the air, the rhythmic melody of the waves, the laughter of birds mingling with the gentle lull of the breeze—everything.

You dig your naked toes into the sand, relishing the connection to the earth beneath you. The sensation is grounding, peaceful, almost–

“Hey there, sweetheart. Is everything okay?”

A man’s voice, rugged yet gentle, breaks through the silence, interrupting your thoughts. His words dance in the air, pulling you reluctantly back to the present.

Are you kidding me?

With a slow and deliberate movement, you lift your gaze from the horizon, meeting the eyes of the stranger who has disrupted the sanctuary of your thoughts. You rest your elbows on your knees and sigh deeply.

“Oh my fucking god,” you murmur, rubbing your temples in annoyance and disbelief. “The sun’s been down for two minutes, and the first creep’s already here.”

“Wha–”

You look up at him. “Do you have like a radar or something where you get a notification every time a woman sits alone on a bench somewhere?”

The dark-haired man blinks in surprise, his expression caught between confusion and amusement. His brow furrows, his mouth slightly agape as he processes your words. After a moment of absorbing your outlandish accusation, his lips curve into a wry smile.

“Darlin’, I’m just–”

“Look, dude. If you’re here to murder me, could you at least spare me the whole blah blah you’ve got planned and just do it? Thank you.”

You look at him with a raised eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s not entirely sure if you’re joking, but your sarcastic tone tells him you’re at least not scared of him.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “I assure you I got no such plans. Just thought I’d check in on a fellow soul contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. “Yeah, well, I prefer to contemplate in peace.”

When he doesn’t budge and just…stares at you with those big, dark eyes of his, you take a moment to size him up.

Your gaze drifts down from his eyes, tracing the contours of his muscular chest visible beneath a fitted white t-shirt. It lingers briefly on the obnoxiously large belt buckle adorning his waist, then travels down the length of his denim-clad legs to his cowboy boots. Despite the surreal encounter, you can’t help but notice how incredibly attractive he is.

God, what’s wrong with you?

“Look, sweetheart,” he says calmly, his voice a blend of warmth and reassurance. “I’m not trying to get into your business or anything, but it’s gonna get pretty chilly out here soon.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he asks. “We could go grab a bite to eat if you want, and my place is right arou–”

“How subtle,” you scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I’m not going home with you, dude.”

“Fair enough, but at least let me call you a cab and wait with you until it arrives, hm?”

His soft voice and patronizing tone are starting to grate on your already frayed nerves. You’ve been sitting here, not taking up any space, minding your own fucking business, and even that wasn’t good enough, apparently.

Okay, world. Hint taken.

“What the hell is your problem?” you blurt out.

“What do you mean? I’m just–I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” The question bursts from your lips like a dam breaking under pressure, laced with frustration. “Do you see me holding up a sign where I’m asking for your help? Huh? Or is this more about you and some, I dunno, bullshit white knight fantasy you’re acting out?”

Your eyes narrow, fixing on him with a challenging glare, daring him to justify his intrusion into your solitude.

“No,” he responds calmly, his furrowed brow adding gravity to his words. “It’s because I’ve seen enough shit in my life to recognize when someone’s in need.”

The sincerity in his gaze catches you off guard, rendering you momentarily speechless. It’s as if this…stranger is peering into the depths of your soul, seeing past the walls you’ve erected to protect yourself.

His face softens, the lines around his eyes relaxing as he meets yours. “Mind if I take a seat?”

You shrug indifferently, though a flicker of curiosity dances behind your eyes. “Suit yourself.”

He smiles warmly as he settles beside you. “I’m Tommy, by the way,” he offers, extending a hand. You hesitate for a moment, but eventually, you decide to reciprocate by telling him your name and shaking his hand with a soft sigh.

As his hand envelops yours, there’s a brief surge of something unspoken deep inside you, a connection allowing two disparate souls to briefly intertwine before returning to their separate paths again as soon as he lets go.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, darlin’,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, his mustache curling slightly as he smiles at you.

The faint scent of his cologne drifts towards you, mixing with the salty aroma of the sea air. As you gaze at him, your eyes trace the lines etched around his eyes and mouth, evidence of a life fully lived. Strangely, there’s something comforting about his presence, something that makes you feel a little less alone.

You give him a subtle smile before turning your head back towards the ocean, mesmerized by the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy watches you silently, noticing the vacant look in your eyes and the way your gaze seems to be fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. He furrows his brow slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he contemplates how lost you appear in that moment.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Tommy’s voice breaks the silence, his tone casual yet curious, as if striking up conversations with strange women on the beach is a regular occurrence for him.

Well, it probably is, you think to yourself.

“I, uh, wanted to watch the sunset,” you answer softly.

“Hm. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Should’ve been here and seen it too instead of wasting my time at that damn bar.”

“Oh? How did you waste your time? Can’t have been that bad, judging by the lipstick stains on your face,” you murmur.

“What? Where?” Tommy blurts out, his eyes widening in surprise as he hastily rubs at his lips and cheeks, searching for any traces of lipstick on his fingers.

You stifle a laugh. “I’m just fucking with you,” you deadpan, shooting him a quick glance.

He stares at you in mock offense for a moment before his lips curl into a wide grin. “Touché,” he says, thoroughly entertained by your dry humor. “But yeah, things didn’t go the way I would’ve liked them to.”

“What, she didn’t wanna go home with you either?”

“Very funny. But no, things were going well.” He sighs dramatically and rubs his forehead. “But then her husband showed up and kinda threw a giant monkey wrench into our plans.”

“Wow, tough break,” you scoff, shaking your head in mock sympathy, “not getting to fuck a married woman. I hate it when that happens.”

Tommy chuckles. “Alright, alright, I didn’t know she was married, for the record. She wasn’t wearing a ring or anything.”

“Sure,” you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you cast a skeptical glance in his direction.

“What are you up to, then, darlin’? Hm?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Besides not making out with married women?” You hear Tommy’s laugh beside you and wiggle your toes in the sand. “Just enjoying the ocean, I guess. I’ve missed it.”

“You’re not from here?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Hm. You’re gonna love it. There’s lots of cool things to see and do, especially for young people like you.”

You furrow your brow. “Why are you talking like you’re ninety years old and I’m your estranged grandkid?”

“I dunno,” he sighs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess…turning forty did something to me.”

“Married women apparently still throw themselves at you. You’re gonna be fine.”

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that seems to echo across the beach. “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.”

You’re both quiet for a moment, punctuated by the gentle sound of the ocean and the occasional cry of seagulls wheeling overhead.

“What brings you here, then?” Tommy asks, observing your profile. You look tired.

“I told you, watching the sunset.”

“No, I mean what brings you into town? Vacation or family or something?”

You turn to look at him, tilting your head slightly as you study his expression. “Why do you care?”

“Just making conversation,” he says with a smile, a glint of genuine curiosity shining in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else if you want.”

“Like what?”

“Like did you know it’s illegal to own just one guinea pig in Switzerland?”

Your bewildered look amuses him.

“It’s true. You’re required, by law, to get your guinea pig a little guinea pig friend. They won’t sell you just one. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever heard?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly. “What kind of women do you pull if this is how you flirt?”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’m flirting?”

“Uh-huh,” you say with a smirk, then turn your head back towards the water. “But what if they want to be alone?”

“Hm?”

“What if you get a guinea pig in Switzerland and you have to buy a second one to keep it company but the first guinea pig actually just wants to be alone on a bench and then some other guinea pig with a mustache shows up and asks weird questions? What then?”

“Well,” Tommy starts, happy that you’re seemingly warming up a bit. “I think the first guinea pig would quickly realize that the other, dashingly handsome guinea pig isn’t that bad and just wants to be friends. And then they’d be friends and run around together and eat hay or whatever.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and you know, I think us humans aren’t that different from them. I don’t think we’re meant to be alone either.”

You look at him. “Is that why you came to talk to me? Because you don’t want me to be alone?”

“Would that be so bad?”

“I guess not,” you murmur softly, your gaze drifting to the patch of dry skin on the back of your right hand. “And I’m, uh, not here for any special reason. I just…needed a break from home, I suppose.”

“And you have a place to stay, darlin’?” Tommy’s voice carries a gentle concern as he leans slightly closer, trying to see your eyes.

“Yeah, I booked a hotel room a few minutes from here,” you lie smoothly. “With sea-view and everything. Just haven’t checked in yet.”

“Where did you put all your stuff?”

“My stuff?”

“Yeah, your clothes and teddy bears and whatnot.”

You nudge the backpack sitting on the ground next to you with your naked foot. “This is my stuff.”

“Oh.” You must have really wanted to get away if you traveled this lightly, Tommy contemplates silently.

He used to do the same, packing a bag and escaping, seeking solace in the open road. But he learned the hard way that you can’t outrun your problems. They always find a way to catch up with you, no matter how far you go.

He gives you a sympathetic smile. “Have you had dinner already?”

“I had a bagel at the airport this morning,” you say nonchalantly.

Tommy’s brows furrow slightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” If you had even the slightest bit of energy left inside of you, you’d find his shocked face amusing.

“Okay, that’s just unacceptable. Wait.” He retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens a food delivery app. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want pi–”

“Yes, you do. I’m not gonna have you starving on my watch.”

You raise an eyebrow. “On your watch?”

“Yeah, on my watch. Now, what kind of topping–”

“Pineapple.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pine. Apple.”

“Oh, but I’m the weirdo,” he mutters, shaking his head and giving you the side-eye as he reluctantly adds pineapple as a topping to your pizza. “Anything else? Anchovies? Corn? My tears?”

“Jesus, don’t have a heart attack. Are you Italian or something?”

“No, just not a complete monster.”

You can’t help but chuckle, your smile lighting up your face for the first time in what feels like ages. Tommy’s eyes linger on you a moment too long, captivated by your sudden radiance, before he tears his gaze away as your smile fades once more.

Clearing his throat, he shifts his attention back to his task, fingers tapping away as he types the description of your location for the delivery.

“Should arrive in twenty minutes, the app says.”

You nod and lean back, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you watch the waves again.

“When did you decide to fly out here?”

“Last night.”

“How? Why?”

“Simple. I took out a map, closed my eyes, and this is where my finger landed. And as for the why…well, home just didn’t feel like home anymore, you know?”

“Hm. I know that feeling.”

You turn your head and look into his warm eyes. “You do?”

“Oh yeah. It took me almost a decade after retiring from active duty to feel home again, or like I was safe, or like I belonged. It’s, uh, not easy to get that feeling back once you’ve lost it. I’m sorry you’re going through that,” Tommy says with a somber tone. He really is sorry.

You look at him for a moment and give him a tired smile. “It’s okay,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. “It wasn’t home to begin with. Not really.”

“Whatever your reasons are, you’re brave for leaving.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure, I’m brave for running away.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Look, it’s okay. You don’t need to try and make me feel better ‘cause I’m not sad. But I’m also not gonna act like I’m not a coward who accepted far too much shit for far too long ‘cause I’m very much not brave.”

You sigh deeply. “I should’ve gotten the fuck out of that miserable town and relationship years ago. But now it’s too late.”

Tommy furrows his brow and opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

“Are you married?”

“No, darlin’, I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“No girlfriend.”

“So there’s no one special in your life right now?”

“Nothing serious, no. No attachments for me.”

“Hm. No attachments,” you murmur. “That sounds nice.”

Tommy nods. “It is, most of the time at least. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being in love.”

“You’ve been in love before?” You tilt your head and look at him with genuine curiosity.

“A few times, yeah.”

“And the women you were with…they loved you?”

“Yeah, they did.” The soft smile lighting up his face tells you he has pleasant memories of his former partners. How nice that must be.

“Do you ever wonder why it didn’t work out?”

Tommy’s expression turns introspective, his gaze drifting towards the horizon as if searching for answers in the distant waves.

“I have,” he admits after a pause, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. “But I guess that’s just how life goes sometimes. People drift apart, circumstances change, life changes...”

“Do you think it’s possible to hate someone you love?”

Your question catches him off guard, and the look in your eyes concerns him. “Well,” he says calmly, carefully choosing his words, “I can’t say I’ve ever had that experience, but I could imagine that’s how my brother felt about me back when I was spiraling and he had to watch me make bad decision after bad decision. He loved me, I know he always has, but he also hated me for what I was doing.”

“Sounds like a good brother,” you say, mustering a smile.

“He really is. Do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah, but I don’t talk to them,” you say, your tone betraying a hint of sadness before you quickly mask it with indifference. “My, uh…best friend was like my sister though.”

“Was?”

“Yeah, you know,” you murmur, the smile on your lips not matching the bitterness in your tone, “that friendship kinda ended after I saw her sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, shoving her tongue down his throat.”

“What the hell? When was that?”

“Hmm, about a month ago. And you wanna know the real kicker? They’ve been fucking for like half a year. My best friend and my boyfriend. Laughing their asses off behind my back. Hilarious, isn’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. They’re shitty people for doing that to you. You didn’t deserve any–”

“How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“How do you know that I didn’t deserve it? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me.”

“I may not know you,” Tommy says gently, “but I know that no one deserves to be treated like that, especially by the people they trust. It’s hard sometimes to see things objectively because we’re our own worst enemies, but I’m telling you, you didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“What makes you say that?”

You look into his eyes, and the pain he can see in yours breaks his heart.

“Because, I fucking loved it. Everything he did to me, all these years. I loved it. I could’ve left him after he cheated on me for the first time, the second time, the hundredth time, but no. I loved how he came crawling back to me time and time again, promising me the world, telling me he only loved me.”

You pull away, hands resting on his chest as you try to find your words. Simon’s intense gaze has your mind swirling with conflicting emotions, and your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, your body trembling as he presses you against the wall with his body. “You–you say you’ll change, you say you’ll never do it again, you say you regret hurting me. And I forgive you. Every time. But nothing ever changes. You do it again and again, not caring how much you hurt me.” He places a hand on the wall next to your head, pushing your shirt up around your waist with the other, his touch on your naked skin sending a shiver down your spine. He looks down at you with a hint of amusement, a devious smirk appearing on his face as he searches your pleading eyes. “I’m serious, Simon,” you insist, unsuccessfully trying to convince yourself of what you’re saying. “I’m done.” Leaning in, he traces your neck with his nose, your heavy breathing and the way your tits press against his chest making his cock twitch in his jeans. “Is that so?” he murmurs against your skin before softly sucking and kissing on your flesh. “Why are you doing this?” you breathe, instinctively wrapping your arms around him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you draw him closer. His leg between yours presses against your core, and you can’t help but whimper desperately at the feeling. “I love you,” he whispers, his warm breath gently caressing the curve of your ear, his words piercing your heart like a poisonous dart. “No, you don’t,” you murmur, your voice heavy with sadness, your eyes betraying the turmoil raging within you. Despite the ache in your heart, a part of you still yearns for the comfort of his touch, the familiarity of his presence, the illusion of affection he gives you. You need him, need to feel him, need him to love you—even if it kills you. In this moment of vulnerability, you surrender to the torrent of emotions flooding your senses, pressing your lips against his in a desperate attempt to drown out the pain, to silence the screams that plague your mind—eagerly drinking his poison straight from the source. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer, offering yourself up to him with each rough tug, fervent kiss, and harsh bite to his lips. He matches your energy, gripping the back of your neck with a bruising hold as he hastily opens his jeans to free his cock. “I hate you,” you choke out, the words laced with bitterness and the raw intensity of your need for him as your heart races and your vision blurs. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, baby,” Simon murmurs with a smirk, his words a cruel reminder of the tangled web of emotions that binds you to him, even as you struggle to break free. With a deft movement, he pulls aside your panties, sliding his hard cock through your wet folds as he holds your leg up around his waist. “Oh fuck,” you moan as he pushes inside you in one harsh thrust, your fingernails reflexively digging into his scalp. Overwhelming pleasure mingles with the anguish of your body betraying you, even as your mind screams in protest. Your walls clench around Simon with fierce intensity, his repeated thrusts against your G-spot having you close to orgasm within a minute. “Tell me, baby,” he pants, his eyes gleaming with triumph and satisfaction as he watches in real time how his poison travels through your entire body, your mind, intoxicating your very being with his essence. “Tell me how much you hate me while you come on my cock.”

You tilt your head and give Tommy a tired smile. “Isn’t that the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard?”

“No, sweetheart, you’re not pathetic for wanting to be loved. You’re human and our feelings can be…complicated, irrational, dangerous. But you got yourself away from a toxic situation despite your feelings and that takes a lot of strength.”

“Hm.” You draw shapes into the sand with your toes, your heart heavy in your chest.

“Is he…why you left? You had to get away from him?”

“Surprisingly, no,” you say pensively, lost in thought as you fold one leg beneath you on the bench. “Things weren’t that bad after I decided not to care anymore. You know you can just wake up one day and realize it hurts a lot less to just not care about anything? Amazing. So yeah, that’s what I did.” You shrug and rub your left thumb with your right one.

“Of course, he didn’t like that at all, not being able to emotionally drain me anymore. He even told me I was depressed or some shit, acting like he cared, when all he actually missed was me giving him the reactions he wanted,” you scoff, bitterness dripping from your lips. “Coincidentally, that’s when he and my best friend started fucking.”

“I’m so sorry, darlin’, that’s beyond fucked up. Do you, uh, have someone to talk to about all this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean apart from handsome cowboys in too-tight jeans late at night?”

“Did you just call me handsome?”

“Don’t think so,” you give him a playful smile, then turn your head to watch the waves doing their mesmerizing dance. Despite the light-hearted banter, a hint of sadness flickers across your face. “But no, I don’t have anyone left.”

Tommy’s expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and concern as he listens to your words. He reaches out, but catches himself before his hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Why did you leave?” he asks gently.

“I saw her.”

“Who?”

“Laura. My best friend,” you say, shuddering at her name. “I came out of the hospital yesterday, stood at a red light, and then I saw her. Looking right at me from the other side of the street. We hadn’t talked since before I almost died a month ago, ‘cause she never bothered to answer any of my calls or texts…and there she was. Daring to look at me with those fake-ass tears in her eyes like she isn’t a fucking sociopath.”

“What did you do?”

“I just…looked at her, knowing I could never see her again. I walked away, went to mine and Simon’s apartment, grabbed a few things, and went to the airport.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

The weight of your experience hangs heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the conversation. Tommy nods thoughtfully as he absorbs your words, until he suddenly shakes his head, chastising himself for his own stupidity.

“Okay wait, I’m sorry, but did you just say you almost died? What the hell happened?”

“Oh,” you scoff, a wide smile spreading across your face, its brightness contrasting sharply with the dullness in your eyes, “it’s nothing. One of my fallopian tubes burst ‘cause my dumbass gynecologist failed to diagnose an ectopic pregnancy, so I was hemorrhaging and had to have emergency surgery to get it removed.”

Tommy’s reaction is visceral: his eyes widen in shock, and his mouth falls open slightly, a silent gasp escaping him as the gravity of your words, spoken with horrifying casualness, hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’...”

“But hey, the doctor said I’m completely fine at the check-up yesterday, so I guess that’s what I am.” You shrug and smile at him, but your attempt to lighten the mood falls flat.

“Darlin’, I’m so sor–”

“Don’t, please. It’s okay,” you interrupt softly, shaking your head. “My ex told me to have an abortion when I told him I was pregnant, and I wouldn’t have been a good mom anyway, so it’s best for the baby that it wasn’t born into the shitshow that is my life.”

“Dar–”

“I swear to God, Tommy, if you say ‘darlin’’ in that stupid, sexy accent of yours one more time,” you cut him off with a playful glare.

He smiles at you, though worry lingers in his eyes and tugs at his heart.

“I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean,” you muse, welcoming the breeze cooling your hot face down. “It’s kind of poetic that my journey ends here.”

“It really is beautiful here, I’m sure you’d love livi–” Tommy starts, but you’re not hearing him.

“You know, I have this recurring dream where I drown, but instead of feeling panicked or scared I just feel peaceful, light. Like the weight of the world is lifted off my shoulders. I don’t thrash or struggle, I just…let the water take me under and I can finally breathe.”

Concern flashes in Tommy’s eyes, but he quickly masks it with a calm expression, not wanting to alarm you.

“That sounds intense,” he responds gently, choosing his words carefully. “Dreams can be strange sometimes, but that one sounds like it’s trying to tell you something. Maybe it’s your mind’s way of processing all the heavy things that’ve been weighing on you."

He shifts slightly closer to you, his tone soft and reassuring. “But you know, maybe it’s worth exploring with a therapist or someone who can help you unpack it. Sometimes talking about these things can bring some clarity and relief.”

“Yeah, maybe,” you say absentmindedly.

“Darlin’, please look at me,” Tommy’s voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, his gaze penetrating through the fog of your mind. If you had any tears left to cry, the sincerity in his eyes would surely coax them out right about now.

“About what you said earlier…you–you don’t deserve people treating you badly, or any of the bad things that happen to you. You never did, you hear me? You were supposed to be loved, protected and cared for, but you weren’t, and that’s not fair, and most certainly not your fault.”

You tilt your head, studying his face intently. Why does he care? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? But hey, he’s trying to be nice, and it’s not like you’re ever going to see him again. So, you’re trying to be nice back.

“Thanks,” you say softly, mustering a smile. “But enough about me and my dumpster fire of a life.” You shift in your seat, untucking your leg and stretching it out in front of you.

“I’d rather hear about you and how you get your hair to be this healthy. I can never get mine to look that good. Do you think it’s because I just eat garbage, don’t drink enough water and don’t get enough sunlight?”

Tommy chuckles and nods understandingly, recognizing your attempt to shift gears, and decides to play along until you both hear the pizza guy calling for you.

Your insistence to pay for your own pizza and drink falls on deaf ears, so you begrudgingly accept Tommy’s invitation and thank him for ordering food. Surprisingly, you find yourself ravenously hungry after taking the first few bites of your pineapple pizza—that you originally only wanted to mess with Tommy. But even he has to admit it isn’t half bad after you make him eat a slice.

As you’re eating together and the night deepens around you, the street lamps along the boardwalk spending enough light, you ask Tommy about his life.

He shares his journey of enlisting in the army as a teenager, grappling with PTSD upon his return, and navigating through troubled times. He tells you about the unwavering support of his brother and how therapy helped him cope with his demons. You delve deeper, asking him about his wishes for the future, about his hopes and dreams.

You enjoy hearing about his life, about his experiences that are so different from yours. It’s comforting to get lost in someone else’s story for a bit. It’s a refuge, a welcome escape from your own tiring existence.

Pizzas devoured, you sit side by side, enveloped in the soothing melody of the ocean’s whispers. Time seems to lose its grip as you share both laughter and quiet, the minutes and hours slipping away unnoticed like grains of sand carried by the tide.

As tranquility settles between you, the world around you seemingly forgotten, a question gnaws at your insides, its weight palpable in the silence. It’s a question you’re reluctant to voice aloud, knowing it will rupture the delicate bubble you and Tommy have found yourselves in. Yet, it persists, demanding acknowledgment, refusing to be ignored.

You take a deep breath.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He gives you a reassuring smile. “Of course, darlin’.”

“Why won’t you go home?”

Oh. Tommy looks deeply into your eyes, his own filled with turmoil, and finds that he can’t lie to you.

“I can’t,” he admits softly, turning his gaze towards the distant horizon.

You nod slowly, turning your head towards the water as well. “You know why I’m here.”

“Yes,” he says simply, his acknowledgment laden with a quiet understanding.

You steal a glance at him, your eyes searching for comfort in the weary lines on his face. With a tentative gesture, you place your hand on the bench between you, a subtle invitation for connection.

Tommy, sensing your unspoken plea, catches the movement from the corner of his eye. His gaze meets yours as you turn your head, and in that shared moment of vulnerability, he understands. Without a word, he responds, reaching out to cover your hand with his own.

His touch is protective, a silent promise that you’re not alone.

“Do you…do you think that makes me a bad person?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you lay bare the depths of your fears.

“No,” he responds softly, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “You’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

For the first time since your miscarriage, tears glisten in your eyes, shimmering like fragments of shattered dreams under the moonlight. Tommy’s words offer a glimmer of solace, touching your broken heart.

Silence settles between you two, heavy with shared pain. You sit like that for a while, two strangers finding kinship in the gentle embrace of this summer night.

Gently squeezing your hand, Tommy turns to look at you after a few minutes. “I need you to do something for me,” he says, his voice tinged with urgency. You look into his eyes, finding comfort in the warmth of his presence.

“Please stay with me tonight,” he pleads, his fingers tightening around yours, anchoring you to the present moment as if afraid you might slip away into the night.

“We can stay here, we can go for drinks, we can go dancing, we can break into the zoo—whatever you want, sweetheart. We don’t have to talk about anything, and I promise I won’t bother you anymore if tomorrow you decide that’s what you want, but please give me a chance to show you that I ca–”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

As the gentle breeze around you whispers secrets of hope and renewal, you find yourself nodding in agreement, a silent promise to give him the chance he so earnestly seeks—to let him show you the light that flickers within the darkness.

Tommy is momentarily stunned as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation. But there’s none to be found—only a quiet resolve that speaks volumes. A wave of relief washes over him, and he can’t hold back the wide grin spreading across his face.

“So, there’s a place a few minutes from here where we could dance, or there’s the bar I went to earlier, or we could–”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’m tired. Could we maybe…could we go home?”

Tommy’s face lights up even more. “Yes, yes, of course, darlin’. My place is right around the corner.”

“Great,” you say with a small smile.

You put your socks and sneakers back on, your movements slow and unsteady after hours of sitting. As you stand up for the first time, your legs wobble beneath you, but Tommy is quick to react, reaching out to steady you with his hands on your waist.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cheeks heating up as you realize your hands are gripping his shoulders for support.

“That’s alright, darlin’. I got you.”

“You’re so cheesy, you know that?” you say with a playful roll of your eyes before removing your hands and taking a step back.

“Look me in the eye and tell me it’s not working,” he teases back with a smirk.

“Whatever. Can we go?” You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“After you, my lady,” Tommy says with a gallant flourish, gesturing for you to go first. You shake your head with a theatrical sigh, but play along and start walking.

He falls into step beside you, eager to lift your spirits with an array of random animal facts he’s accumulated over the years, and, much to your amusement, with some particularly funny stories about failed hookups, like the one from tonight.

As you draw closer to his apartment, he suddenly sucks in a sharp breath and comes to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask if you need anything.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, tampons, make-up wipes, solution for your contacts, hair conditioner, lotion—I don’t think I have any of that at home, but there’s a convenience sto–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, touched by his consideration. “I got all my essentials in my backpack and really don’t need anything fancy. Thank you, though.”

“Are you–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you interrupt softly. “Thank you.”

Arriving at Tommy’s apartment, you’re struck by its elegant yet welcoming nature. It’s spacious and tastefully furnished, with a modern aesthetic that speaks to Tommy’s discerning taste. You can’t help but wonder if his job as a contractor affords him such a nice living space or if he’s secretly a trust fund kid—or a very successful drug dealer.

“Must be nice,” you think to yourself.

As Tommy ushers you inside, you’re enveloped in a sense of warmth and comfort as the space feels distinctly homey, with its wooden furnishings and cozy accents that evoke a rustic charm. The polished hardwood floors gleam under soft lamplight, casting a warm glow throughout the living room.

Tommy assures you that you’re welcome to make yourself at home as he heads into the kitchen to get you a glass of water.

Despite its hominess, the apartment remains impeccably clean and organized—a testament, perhaps, to Tommy’s meticulous nature. Every surface is spotless, every item in its proper place, reflecting a discipline that may well stem from his army training.

As you explore further, you do notice small touches that hint at Tommy’s personality—framed photos of him and his friends, a worn but well-loved armchair and couch positioned opposite the TV, horse figurines on the sideboard, and a few potted plants scattered throughout, adding a touch of life to the space.

Your eyes are eventually drawn to the record player nestled in one corner, surrounded by a collection of vinyl records. The sight brings a smile to your face, appreciating the nostalgic feeling it gives you. You’re pretty sure you used to have the same model in your childhood home.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you hear Tommy’s voice behind you as he hands you the glass of water with a knowing smile. “You like Jazz?”

“Thanks. And yeah, I guess?”

“Okay, wait a sec.” He moves with practiced ease, flipping through his collection of vinyl records until he finds the one he’s looking for. With a gentle touch, he carefully removes the chosen record from its sleeve, handling it delicately as if it were a precious artifact.

You sip on your water and watch in fascination as he places the record onto the turntable, the soft click of the needle finding its groove. As the first notes of a smooth jazz melody fill the air, you can’t help but smile, the music enveloping you in its warm embrace.

Tommy catches your eye and grins, nodding in approval as if to say, “See, I knew you’d like it.”

You roll your eyes and nudge his arm with your elbow.

“Want me to show you around?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so this is the bedroom,” he says, leading you down the hallway and into the room where you’ll be sleeping. The bed sits neatly made, its dark sheets promising a restful night ahead. “I’ll change the sheets for you in a bit, okay? And I’ll be sleeping in the living room on the couch.”

“I, uh,” you murmur, but stop yourself, shaking your head. “No, forget it.”

“What is it? It’s okay, you can tell me.” He searches your eyes as you meet his gaze, waiting patiently for you to answer him.

“Could you maybe…not change the sheets?”

Tommy’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he doesn’t make it awkward. Instead, he nods understandingly and immediately assures you, “Sure, I’ll leave the bed as it is then.”

You offer him a grateful smile and as if sensing your need for comfort, he asks, “Do you need a shirt to sleep?” Without waiting for your response, he retrieves one of his shirts and hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, taking the shirt from him and holding it close. It’s soft and smells nice.

“And here’s the bathroom,” Tommy continues, leading you through the space. “Feel free to take a shower if you want. Spare towels are here, and there’s a new toothbrush in the cabinet here. Toothpaste is over there. I even got fancy face masks if you wanna try, they’re in here. You think you got everything you need?”

“I think so,” you smile at him before leaving the bathroom to grab your backpack.

As you’re about to head back, Tommy slips in ahead of you. You watch as he discreetly removes all the razor blades, a silent but clear gesture of concern for your well-being. You understand what he’s doing, and although it stirs a pang of humiliation and shame inside you, you don’t say anything and act like you didn’t see it.

After he leaves the bathroom, you take a moment to compose yourself before closing the door, peeing, taking off your clothes, and catching a glimpse of the small surgery scars on your belly. They appear to be healing well, already looking much better than even a week ago.

With a deep breath, you turn on the shower, allowing the warm water to cascade over your body, soothing away some of your tension. As you lather up, enveloped in the steam and the rich scent of Tommy’s body wash, there’s a knock on the door, interrupting your thoughts.

“Darlin’?” Tommy’s voice sounds through the door.

“Yeah?”

“Just wanted to check if you were okay.”

“I’m okay. But you seriously need to start buying body wash for adults, dude. I’m gonna be smelling like a fourteen-year-old boy now, and I don’t know how to feel about it,” you tease.

“Ha ha, you brat. Enjoy your shower.”

You smile to yourself and appreciate how clean Tommy’s shower is as, in your experience, that is not something you can count on with men who live alone.

As you lather shampoo into your hair, you close your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of peace amidst the chaos of recent events. It’s all so surreal.

Once rinsed, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in one of Tommy’s plush towels, the soft fabric hugging your body in a tight embrace. With the steam still lingering in the air, you take your time cleaning your face, brushing your teeth and detangling your wet hair, these simple acts of self-care something you’ve neglected in the weeks prior.

Luckily, your past self decided to pack a fresh pair of panties and a pair of soft yoga pants you can change into now, Tommy’s shirt completing your pajamas for tonight.

Slowly, you step out of the bathroom, the soft light of the living room floor lamp casting a warm glow on the scene before you. Tommy’s sitting on the couch, bathed in the gentle ambiance of the record player’s music.

With a glass of whiskey in hand, he seems lost in thought, fingers rhythmically tapping against the glass, his eyes focused on the spinning vinyl. As you approach, he looks up, a small smile gracing his lips as he welcomes you to join him.

“Okay yeah, I get it,” he quips, his tone playful as he notices how perfectly his shirt accentuates your eye color. “You look better in my shirt than I ever could. There’s really no need to rub it in.”

Chuckling, you settle into the cushion beside him, feeling the warmth of his presence. It feels oddly comforting to be close to him again, his cologne a familiar scent.

But as you sit beside him now, something shifts in the air, a subtle change that you can’t quite pinpoint. It’s as if a newfound awareness has settled between you, casting a different light on the space you share. And as you steal glances at Tommy, you start to feel restless, your heart rate quickening.

Oh.

The realization dawns on you slowly, creeping in like the first light of dawn, illuminating the depths of your emotions. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from him, mesmerized by the way he sits on the couch, his posture relaxed yet undeniably confident.

Your eyes trail over the breadth of his shoulders, down his strong arms, his sculpted torso, and settle on his spread thighs, the subtle flex of muscles visible beneath the fabric of his jeans. Each movement, each shift of his body, only serves to deepen the intensity of your attraction to him.

You’re in trouble.

His handsome face holds a certain allure, drawing you in with its rugged charm—especially with those warm eyes and the beautiful facial hair. As you look at him, really take him in, you can’t deny the flutter of arousal stirring deep within you.

A flutter that’s enough to urge your scrambled brain to make a move.

Tommy catches your prolonged stare, and his brows furrow slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. You gather the courage to ask for a sip of his whiskey, unwittingly biting your lip as you wait for his answer.

“Of course, darlin’,” he agrees, leaning in with a broad smile, bringing the glass closer to you.

As your fingers brush against his on the glass, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you. His pupils dilate ever so slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. You take the glass from him, your fingers lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary.

Raising the glass to your lips, you take a slow sip, relishing the smooth warmth of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. Your eyes never leave his as you lick your lips, the gesture not lost on Tommy as he watches you intently.

The flicker of desire in his eyes tells you that he’s captivated by your silent invitation, but as Tommy accepts the glass back, a faint frown tugs at his brow, his expression suddenly tense.

“Darlin’, don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice husky with restraint.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence as you ask, “Why not?”

“Because,” he breathes out, “it’s making me want to do things I shouldn’t.”

“Hmm, but what if I told you that I want to do those things, too?”

Tommy swallows hard as you scoot closer to him, his eyes never leaving yours. His pulse quickens, evident in the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, unsure of what to do or say next.

When your hand lands gently above his knee, his body tenses at your touch. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but all he manages is a heavy breath.

“Tell me to stop,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean in slowly, searching his eyes. You can see the conflict raging within him, desire warring with restraint, and you wait for his response.

With a shaky exhale, his gaze drops down to your lips, his entire being filled with longing and uncertainty. But as your palm wanders up his thigh, drawing closer and closer to his growing erection, his resolve begins to crumble like sand underfoot.

Unable to resist any longer, he leans in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender yet fervent kiss. His hand instinctively finds the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your wet hair as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet urgency.

Feeling you so close, feeling your soft lips against his, he surrenders to the moment, to the sweet sensation of your embrace, letting himself be consumed by the taste of you.

And yet, in the back of his mind, he’s painfully aware of the circumstances of your meeting.

“I don’t think…this…is a good idea,” Tommy mumbles breathlessly against your lips as you whine needily for more.

“I don’t care,” you breathe, pulling back for a moment to hold onto his shoulders and straddle his lap. His cock twitches in his jeans as you scoot forward, your warm core putting delicious pressure on it. Smiling, you put your hands on his chest and lean in to kiss him again. He cups your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply before nudging your nose with his.

You open your eyes and meet his gaze, his pupils so dilated his brown eyes are almost completely black.

“Let me look at you, baby” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. With a smile, you straighten up and place your hands behind you on his thighs, giving him a great view of your spread thighs and torso.

“Is this okay?” Tommy asks softly as he traces your thighs with his palms, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body.

You nod your head yes, and his lips curve into a smile as his eyes roam your body and face with adoration. His hands wander over your hips, under the shirt you’re wearing, along your waist and further up, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, his eyes piercing yours as his hands come to rest on your waist.

“I’m sure you say that to every girl willing to sit on your lap,” you tease with a smirk, putting your hands on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm.

“Yeah, but with you I mean it.” His words carry a weight of sincerity as one hand reaches out to tenderly caress your cheek, while the other glides over the soft skin of your back. “C’mere baby.”

As you lean in, his lips capture yours with an almost desperate hunger, his kiss rough and deep, as if he fears you might vanish if he doesn’t hold onto you tightly enough. His hands glide to your lower back, hovering just above your ass, hesitant to go further yet craving to pull you closer, to feel every inch of you pressed against him, to consume you whole.

“You don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break,” you say softly, leading his hands down to your ass. You hum in satisfaction as he grabs it, feeling the strain of his arousal against your aching pussy.

“Tommy,” you whine quietly against his lips, begging him to understand how desperately you need him.

Lost in the moment, you both sink deeper into the kiss, the world around you fading away until there’s only the heat of each other’s bodies and the rhythm of your shared desire. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his hands roam your back, igniting sparks of pleasure with every touch.

But as the intensity of your kiss grows, so does the weight of uncertainty. Tommy pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he searches your eyes for reassurance.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispers. “We don’t have to…”

“I want you, Tommy,” you purr, your eyes glazed.

Your hips rock against him, trying to relieve the tension that has grown between your thighs, eliciting a deep groan from him. His hands move to your waist, helping you grind against him.

“Oh shit,” he pants, reveling in the needy moans leaving your lips. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he admits with a soft shake of his head, looking at you with wide eyes, still moving you against the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you breathe, leaning in to kiss and suck at his sensitive neck, leaving purple marks behind. You feel his grip tighten, his restraint slipping as he responds to your touch with a low groan.

Lost in the overload of sensations—feeling your warm body, your soft lips and wet tongue, your urgent movements on him, hearing your moans and whispered pleas—Tommy is ready to give you what you both want.

But right as he’s opening his belt with deft fingers, he inadvertently turns his head and catches his reflection in the window. Watching you writhe on top of him, clutching his shirt, his own face twisted in ecstasy, a sharp pang of guilt shoots through him.

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this.

You move to kiss his lips again, but as you do so, you catch the concern in his eyes, and your heart sinks. “Hey,” you whisper, your brow furrowed, an anxious smile on your lips.

Your fingers trail gently through his hair, seeking reassurance, but when his movements cease and his touch withdraws, panic floods your senses.

“No, no please don’t stop,” you beg, your desperation evident in every word. You press against him, your hips moving with urgency, aching for the connection you crave so deeply. “I need you.”

Your hands gently cup his cheeks, your pleading eyes flitting between his.

“Please? Tommy?”

Feeling something bump against your leg, you’re called back to the present.

“Oh, hi there, buddy,” you coo, looking down at the toddler who just faceplanted in front of you. You lean down and offer your hand to help him up. “What are you up to, hm? Just running around?”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, his face breaking into a toothy grin. “You wanna sit up here and wait for your mommy?” You lift him up, putting more pressure on your bandaged hand than you should, and set him down beside you. “Great view, huh?”

He babbles something unintelligible, his little arms flailing as his excited laughter fills the air. “You’re so right, buddy,” you agree, following his gaze to the sparkling blue, “the ocean is beautiful.”

“Benji? Oh, there you are,” a lady in a swimsuit calls out, walking towards you with a relieved smile. “I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she says to you, her tone apologetic. “Benji, how many times have I told you not to run away, hm?”

The toddler giggles in response to his mom’s reproach, his little arms reaching out for her. You can’t help but laugh along with him.

“Think twice before you decide to have kids,” the lady says with a deep sigh, lifting her son onto her hip. “They’re not always as cute as they look.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you chuckle.

“Say bye to the nice lady,” she prompts, her voice warm and gentle.

Benji turns to you, his eyes bright with innocence, and waves enthusiastically with his chubby little hand.

“Bye Benji,” you coo, returning his wave with a big smile, your heart warmed by his adorable gesture.

You sigh and look at your phone. You have two new messages from Tommy.

Maria says she can’t wait to see you tomorrow. And that she’ll personally drag you here if you decide not to show up.

You’re family and there’s nothing you can do to escape us ;)

You swallow hard and can feel your puffy, irritated eyes starting to water behind your black glasses. What the fuck did you ever do in your insignificant life to deserve this kind of love?

Your phone lights up with another text from Tommy.

just accept it <3

You snort and shake your head. You’re so grateful for his friendship. It has changed a lot over the last couple of years, of course it has, especially after he started dating Maria, and more recently since you started…seeing his brother without telling him.

But the fact that you’re still honoring your yearly tradition to have your late-night talk on this very bench, is a testament to the depth of your bond. It’s a cherished ritual, marking the anniversary of your first meeting. You meet here, under the evening sky, exchanging stories and laughter, and indulging in pizza after sunset.

Two years ago, Tommy told you he met someone before you left his apartment the next morning.

“Sweetheart?” “Yeah?” “I, uh, I got something to tell you.” “Shoot.” “I met someone.” Your fingers halt as you’re tying your shoes, the world around you suddenly still as his words sink in. You stare at the floor, tension building in your heart. “We’ve only been on two dates, but I–” “Really like her,” you finish his sentence as you tie the laces into a knot, straighten up and meet his gaze. “Yes.” That’s it, then. You’ve been replaced. “Does that,” you clear your throat that feels incredibly tight now, your voice shaking, “does that mean we can’t hang out anymore?” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel a rush of panic flood through you. You look down and try to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. “Of course not,” Tommy says, his tone gentle yet firm. “Nothing and no one in the world could ever keep me from spending time with you.” “Okay,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper as you hastily wipe away a tear with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry for crying, I–I don’t mean to.” “Hey, you don’t need to apologize for that,” Tommy says softly, closing the distance between you two. His hands find their place on your shoulders, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. “Darlin’, look at me.” You lift your gaze to meet his, your eyes brimming with fresh tears. “I mean it,” he says with a comforting smile, looking intently into your eyes and cupping your face with his hands. “I promise I’m not going to leave you. I will always be here for you.” You study his face and tell the nagging voice in your mind to shut the fuck up. This is Tommy. He deserves love, he deserves happiness, he deserves someone who can give him everything he wants. And that’s not you. You give him a kiss on the cheek and a sincere smile. “I’m really happy for you, Tommy.”

You did continue spending time together—Tommy kept his word and didn’t abandon you—but as more and more time passed, you would see him less and less as his relationship with Maria deepened.

You expected that to happen, it didn’t hurt any less though.

One year ago, he told you he was going to propose to her, and you spent all night brainstorming ideas on how he could do it. After she’d said yes, they both let you know one day over dinner that they were going to elope, just the two of them, and you were the only person they’d tell beforehand.

A few weeks ago, Tommy beamed with pride as he shared that they were trying for a baby, the twinkle in his eyes warming your heart. Despite the joyous news, you couldn’t resist teasing him for planting that image in your mind.

After you’d shared your stories, and your pineapple and pepperoni pizzas, he very casually asked you if you were seeing anyone, and you said, “No.”

“You’re a horrible liar, darlin’.” “I’m not lying. I don’t like anyone except you.” “Stroking my ego’s not gonna get you off the hook, baby.” “Hmm, I’m pretty sure it’s working though.” “The longer you deny it, the more obvious it gets, you know.” “I’m not seeing anybody, Tommy.” “You really wanna play semantics with me?” “Alright, alright. I guess I’m…kinda seeing someone.” “Why just ‘kinda’? Does the guy not realize what a lucky bastard he is?” “It’s not him. It’s, uh…you know me.” “Yeah, and that’s why I know you’ve caught feelings.” “Ew, don’t say that.” “Well, it’s true. It’s written all over your pretty face.” “You suck, you know that?” “Yeah, it’s part of what makes me so charming. Does he know?” “I dunno, probably not.” “Are you gonna tell him?” “Uhh, I don’t think so.” “Why not? All this time I’ve known you and I’ve never seen you in love before. You can’t just…ignore it.” “Tommy…” “Don’t even try it with the puppy eyes, I’m immune to them.” “Liar.” “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t tell him.” “Easy. If I never tell him, it’ll never hurt.” “That’s not how it works.” “You just couldn’t let me live happily in my delusions, hm?” “Sweetheart. I know you’re scared, and you have all the reason to, but…sometimes you gotta take a leap of faith, you know?” “I’m not sure I can.” “What does your gut say?” “My gut says he’s too good for me and that he wouldn’t like me if he knew who I really am.” “As someone who does know who you really are, I can assure you that it’s a privilege I wouldn’t miss for the world.” “I just…don’t wanna mess things up, Tommy.” “Look. Nothing lasts, but nothing is lost if you try. Everything changes and everything is alright.” “Wow, that was beautiful…you’re really starting to feel that rum and coke, huh?” “You know I’m right, baby.”

It’s funny, really.

You actually entertained the idea that Tommy might be onto something, that perhaps opening up to Joel could bring some semblance of peace, that perhaps you could be happy together. Yet here you are, back where you started, the familiar ache of loss settling in your heart, whispering that everything is far from alright.

As the sun dips below the horizon, the sky transforming into a canvas of vibrant colors, reflecting off the rippling surface of the water, you take your shoes and socks off. You sink your toes into the soft, grainy sand, relishing its comforting texture.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, allowing the rhythmic sound of the waves to soothe your racing thoughts. With each exhale, you remind yourself that you’re safe, embracing the tranquility of the moment as the colors of the sunset dance across your eyelids.

You feel grounded, peaceful, almost—

“Hi, darlin’.”

“Jesus, you scared me,” you startle with a gasp, snapping back to reality as Joel’s voice unexpectedly breaks the silence.

“I’m so sorry, I thought you saw me,” he says with an apologetic smile on his lips, his big puppy eyes looking puppier than ever.

You sigh exasperatedly and take off your sunglasses. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his words stumbling over each other, “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just...I thought I–I mean, I wanted to...”

“Joel,” you interrupt him, too exhausted—physically and emotionally—to beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His brow furrows slightly and his heart plummets as he sees your bleary eyes, a pang of concern settling heavily in his stomach. “I wanted to see you, darlin’,” he confesses softly.

Your gaze sharpens with curiosity and suspicion as you ask, “But how did you know I was gonna be here? And can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

Joel hesitates for a moment, then sits down beside you, his movements cautious as if afraid to spook you. With a nervous glance in your direction, he clears his throat, his voice low and hesitant.

“I, uh,” he begins, his words faltering slightly, “I went to your place after work to see if you’d maybe talk to me in person. But you weren’t there. And then I went to your office to see if you were working late, but I saw Kristen and she said it was your day off. You could have been anywhere at that point, so I went to Tommy’s and…told him.”

His eyes flit between yours, anxiously searching for your reaction.

You blink slowly, processing Joel’s words with a sense of resignation rather than shock. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you realize that, at this point, nothing surprises you anymore. With a tired nod, you acknowledge Joel’s actions, feeling too drained to muster any significant reaction.

“How’d he take it?” you ask quietly.

Joel exhales deeply, a wry smile on his lips. “He isn’t too happy with me right now, but I think he’ll get over it.”

“Hm.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice wavering with emotion. “I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but after last night, I just…I couldn’t bare the thought of you not knowing how much you mean to me.”

As Joel speaks, you keep your gaze averted, unable to meet his eyes, your focus fixed on the sand beneath your feet. You hear every word he says, each one echoing in the silence between you, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your reluctance to face him, Joel’s unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes silently pleading for understanding.

In the midst of the tense silence, a sudden clarity washes over you, and your heart speaks before your mind can catch up. Just as Joel opens his mouth to apologize again and explain further, you interject with your own question, the words tumbling out softly into the stillness.

“Do you ever feel like there’s something missing...like a piece of your heart is somewhere else? And no matter what you do, you’re always gonna be incomplete?”

You meet Joel’s gaze, your eyes searching his, peering into his soul with a vulnerability that lays bare your deepest feelings.

“I don’t feel like that when I’m with you,” you whisper.

Joel’s brows furrow in a mixture of surprise and tenderness as your words sink in. His lips part slightly, his expression softening with understanding as he processes the weight of your confession.

“Would you, um,” you clear your throat, “would you hold my hand and just sit with me for a bit?”

Joel’s eyes beam with adoration as he gently envelops your hand that’s clutching your shirt, delicately prying it away and intertwining his fingers with yours. With a soft, reassuring smile, he places your entwined hands on his thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin.

As you both gaze out at the vast expanse of the water, the waves lapping against the shore in a mesmerizing dance, you feel a sense of peace settle over you like a warm blanket.

You still carry the weight of unresolved issues and uncertainties in your heart, acknowledging that they loom on the horizon, demanding attention. But for now, they can wait.

Your hand in Joel’s feels right, and in this shared moment right here, that’s enough.

Thank you for reading! 🤍

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joshym · 2 months ago

Text

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 7

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (don't hate me)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for...

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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Word Count: 32.6k +

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

Warnings: please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY. struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, talks of end-of-life plans, anxiety/stress/depression, parents fighting, child neglect, eating disorder behaviors as a result, recollection of past struggles with anorexia/restricting, talks of an ED facility, passing out, blood, (from an accidental cut) SMUT: oral, (f!rec) fingering, (f!rec) cock warming, unprotected (please let me know if i missed anything that is triggering!)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience. this certainly isn't an easy story to write, but it comes from & with a lot of love. 🤍 (i ask that you kindly ignore any mistakes/grammar errors. these chapters are awful to edit, as i'm sure you could've guessed. i'm doing my best. LOL)

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for. big thank you to @gracev0609 for some very sweet ideas to include in this chapter.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 9th:

Graduation day

“[Arthur] felt the light of Guinevere’s eyes [in] his life…” (Tennyson, IOTK)

You’d convinced yourself this was gone for good. Certain that this feeling would fade into a distant memory, dulled by the slow drag of time. Nothing more than a blip in your past, a chapter in your book. Nothing more – and, to your quiet heartbreak, nothing less.

Waking up in his arms is…it’s magic. It’s safe. There’s nothing in your life that could come remotely close to the solace you find in the embrace of his arms.

He’s still asleep, tiny snores falling from his kiss-swollen, lipstick stained lips – evidence of last night. His chest is warm against your cheek, rising and falling in near perfect rhythm with your own breathing. And your body, still feeling everything from the night before. Aching muscles, sore limbs…the best pain this world can offer.

Neither one of you bothered putting clothes back on before you fell asleep. And truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s something so beautiful about the intimacy of it all. Your bodies, in their most natural state, resting together after a night of absolute bliss. Only half covered by the satin sheets, too hot last night to bother with them. Yet, the chill of the morning has given way to goosebumps littering exposed flesh, making you seek his warmth all the more.

The soft, morning sun, peaking her quiet light through dark blinds. Specks of dust and fluff living in her rays, normally hidden in plain sight when she’s not there to give them light. And, she’s displaying even more evidence of the events of last night.

A shattered photo frame rests on the floor near the dresser, left for the next days’ clean up. A subtle tinge shivers your bones when you remember that you were the cause of the destruction.

I’ll buy him a new frame, you silently ponder. Though, the reason for the frame’s untimely death is making you tremble for a purpose entirely different.

Pleasure, of the degree in which your body has never before experienced, sent the glass cascading to its doom. He didn’t seem to mind one bit. And while you tried to offer your apologies, in truth, you didn’t care much about it, either. Not in the moment, when your world was held in the hands of Jake Kiszka. And in his lips.

The memory, though only hours ago, feels distant enough. Your body is suddenly in a state of craving once again. A familiar pulsing between your legs at the thought. It just so happens that, maybe, you can have it again, instead of lamenting on a piece of the past.

You needed this. And the fact that you were sure you’d never have it again, after barely having it in the first place – your body suddenly feels whole again. And the irony of it all is that the person who took those pieces of you, he’s also the only one truly capable of giving them back.

Perhaps you haven’t truly lost him. At least, not now.

And, perhaps…

It’s a shot in the dark, a foolish thought that, if wrong, could lead to more heartbreak. But, maybe, after last night, he won’t leave. Maybe last night proved to him that you’re worth sticking around for.

His slow breathing becomes a bit more shallow as he begins to stir, wrapping his arms around you even before his eyes have even opened. A sleepy pair of lips kisses the crown of your head just before you kiss the blushed skin of his chest. The contact makes it rise a bit higher as he takes a deeper breath, a gentle sigh escaping his half-parted lips.

You kiss him again, then again, sucking the flesh a little more with each contact of your lips. And, every gesture elicits more of a reaction from him. More sweet sighs, beautiful groans. Each noise only makes you want to give him more.

And, that’s just what you’ll do. You angle yourself just right, so you’re able to reach a bit higher. Kissing the expanse of his chest, his pecks, finding your way to his neck, the skin still littered with pretty marks in the shape of your lips.

He stirs just a bit more, a lazy grin worn on his lips. His eyes, still partially covered by sleepy lids, though exhaustion doesn’t stop him from pulling your body up a few inches, your face now close enough to his that your lips can at last meet.

The kiss, so sleepy yet full of passion. He moans beautifully against your lips, stealing your breath when his hand reaches down to your thigh, drawing your bent knee to rest against his hip. His lips grow in vigor, warm hand gliding up the skin of your thigh and reaching for your ass.

His fingers rake over your skin, heated and purposeful as they dip between your legs.

You feel yourself tense the moment his finger slips inside, only from the tenderness left from only hours ago. You’re dripping for him, yet there’s a dull ache that exists from the night prior.

“Hey,” he says, hushed and worried. His movements stop altogether as you silently curse your body for reacting the way it did. “Everything okay, doll?”

His fretting, though you truly just want to keep going, is the most sweet gesture. The way he knew that something was off, before you even had the chance to say anything. (Odds are, you probably wouldn’t have.)

“Y-yeah, just a little sore from last night, I guess,” you breathe, your ache for his touch far more potent than the physical pain. Nevertheless, you do hurt a little. Not much, yet enough that it elicited a bit of a reaction when he touched you.

“Oh, baby…,” he hums, his voice full of remorse and heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry, doll. We don’t have to keep –,”

“No, please don’t stop,” you whisper, pleading with him. Any ache you could ever experience is worth it with him, and a pain such as this only serves to turn you on all the more. It’s a testament of the gravity of last night – the exhaustion of your physical form is a mark of the most intense bliss that he offered you.

And, it’s certainly not his fault that he’s so goddamn big.

Fuck. The thought alone has you willing to do it all over again and again, despite any pain.

He looks up at you with lazy, sleepy eyes. Dark circles beneath them, an image of unfiltered beauty. And his lips – enviable to anyone. So plush and soft. The perfect natural shade of muted rose – never pale like yours are without any lipstick.

And beneath the fragile gleam of the morning sun, you can see the beginnings of his facial hair better than you ever have. And god, you just hope he continues to let it grow. So handsome with or without, but you’d love to see it on him.

He catches the growing smile on your lips, offering you one in return with a gentle wink of his eye. “Then let me help you, doll.”

Before you can even question his intentions, he’s swooping you up with one arm wrapped around the small of your back, an unparalleled strength in his arms that you’ll never get enough of.

Laying you down on the bed, the two of you having switched positions, he looks even more beautiful on top of you than he did below you. In truth, you quite like him like this. Him overtop of you, domineering in the gentlest of ways. And when he holds himself up with his arms, the muscles bulge and contour in a way that makes you want to give him everything you have.

“Just relax for me, doll,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss your lips with the most delicate force. “I want you comfortable first. Don’t ever want to hurt you.”

He lays his body down between your legs, hands holding your ribs. His lips kiss a path down the center of your chest, spending a little extra time on each bud of your breasts. Sucking them gently, circling his warm tongue around them, paying each one the same amount of care. His tangled, messy hair, draped across your bare skin like a blanket of the finest material. It tickles your flesh as it falls over you, moving with him with the same lingering touch of his lips.

His lips mark a path down to your center, sucking a warm kiss on your lower belly. You sigh from the deepest point of your lungs at the feeling, his lips inching closer still until they meet your dripping core. A gentle kiss to your aching bud, with lips so full and warm.

He moans at the taste of you, his eyes fluttering closed as he licks his lips, your juices dancing on his tongue. “Jesus,” he whispers, his breath hot against your chilled flesh. He places a palm on the back of each of your thighs, spreading you open even more before his lips press into you again, tender and primal. “Fucking intoxicating.”

His tongue trails your pulsing clit, falling down to your clenching opening and sinking inside. Pressing in and out, soft and gentle like the softest velvet inside of you. His face lifts away, just for a moment, giving room for his middle finger to slip inside. And again, he sinks in so carefully, his eyes studying your face. “This feel okay, doll?”

“Yes, yes…,” you breathe, your eyelids falling shut when his finger presses all the way to the knuckle. He holds still for a breath, then begins massaging your walls with the pad of his finger, somehow soothing any pain that exists.

Fuck – you feel yourself clenching around him, muscles pusling with every movement. Your pussy, spilling around his finger from the most gentle touch he’s offering. When you feel his lips kiss the flesh of your inner thigh, you feel the warmth in your lower belly begin to spread, your heart beating faster and faster as your walls tighten. They give way to the most entrancing bliss, your wetness now dripping in the palm of his hand.

Jesus. The way he can do this to you, to make you fall apart with even the lightest touch…

Your hands reach for his hair – an instinct – gently pulling at the locks as you come down from your soothing euphoria.

“Does it feel better, doll?” He seals his question with another kiss to your thigh, his finger carefully pulling away as your breathing becomes normal again. In one spellbinding move, he places his finger in his mouth and sucks it clean, eyes growing darker as he tastes you on his skin.

“Mhm,” you hum, reaching for his shoulders, coaxing him up your body. You weave your fingers in his hair once more, using it to draw his face toward yours. He kisses your lips, so soft and warm. The taste of you, still lingering on his tongue.

“My pretty doll…,” he whispers, the gruffness of his voice vibrating against the skin of your neck, his lips kissing a slow and lazy path to the shell of your ear. Goosebumps present themselves on each inch of your skin, your belly tightening as you feel the thick head of his cock begin to carefully slip inside of you. “Let me know if it’s too much,” he mutters, filling you at a slow and gentle pace.

The soreness from the night before is no more than a tender twinge, eased by the gentleness of his movements. An elating kind of ache, the kind that you welcome.

You feel yourself growing more aroused, the dull ache only heightening your pleasure. Slow as he can, he fills you completely, resting inside of you. The careful twitching of his cock against your pulsing walls, the slow nibbles and kisses left by his lips against tight skin…the feeling in your belly only begins tightening even more. You’re certain you could reach your release again, just like this, with nothing more than him nestled inside of you, warm and full.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, hands tangled in his messy locks as he kisses along your jaw, the column of your neck. His hips, so tender in their wary movement. “I want you to come with me,” he mumbles, a warm, silken whisper into your skin.

So lost in your state of bliss, you nearly missed his words, your mind focused only on the languid movements of his body and lips. There’s a beat of silence as you take a moment to register, and once you do, a memory of the very same words from last night comes forth in your mind. It leaves you with only one question.

“W-where, baby?”

You can hardly speak, his body almost rendering you void of speech, lacking the proper weight of air in your lungs to form more than a few words.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he balances himself on one arm above you, the hand of the other cradling your face when his heavy-lidded eyes beg yours to look into them. “London, doll. Come with me to London. Go to Oxford, live in the literature with me.”

What?

Your brain short-circuits. Your eyelids flutter, like your body’s trying to make sense of what it’s just heard. He wants you to go with him? Instead of just staying here?

“You…you’re still going?”

He nods slowly, his brows knitting together — like he can’t believe you’d even ask. The confusion in his eyes hits harder than words ever could. And suddenly, you’re humiliated for saying anything at all.

In the breath of a sigh, your body suddenly tenses beneath him, your hands letting go of his hair. He doesn’t waste another moment, reading the language of your body well enough to know that this should probably stop.

He pulls himself away from you, slow and gentle, letting your body set the pace before he’s no longer resting warmly inside of you.

He then helps you sit up, your back resting against the headboard. “Y/n…,” he begins, the muttering of your name sending a chill up your exposed spin.

He’s sitting just across from you, black silk sheets draped over his hips, just below his stomach. You can see the outline of his cock – still hard – through the thin material, the indentions of his hips. The vision of him, making your core pulse between your legs…your body is betraying your emotions.

But as much as you crave him, that moment has undeniably passed.

Everything felt so soft, just a moment ago – his hands, his mouth. Now, it feels more distant than ever. Was it all just a prelude to this?

“What – what made you think I wasn’t going, baby?”

“I – I guess I –,” you try, yet your mind is suddenly a scrambled mess of your own foolishness. “I don’t know…I was just hoping you changed your mind.”

He breathes a heavy sigh, tousling his hair with his fingers. He’s looking toward the corner of his room, staring off into a distance that you can’t see. You can only wonder what he’s thinking, his glaring eyes holding more depth within them than you’ve ever seen.

He lets out a breath once more, looking at you once again. His hand reaches for your calf, holding you within his warm grip while he glares at you with heavy intent. “Y/n, I’m so sorry that I’ve made you think that. But, doll…” He shifts closer to you, your legs now on either side of his hips, his hand gliding up to your thigh. “I’m still going. I have to, y/n. And I want you on this journey with me.”

With him? To say you’re blindsided…

You’re in shock. Frozen in pure disbelief. Does he really think this could work?

“Jake that’s…” Your heart is spiraling. You want to cling to the version of this moment that was yours just minutes ago. The one where nothing else mattered. But now, every word feels like a cruel reminder that he’s already made his choice.

But, fuck. Every goddamn cell in your body is longing to kiss him, to reach for him and hold him. You can’t. And fuck it all – you just don’t know what to do right now. “That’s not possible.”

“Look, I – I know I’m proposing something massive. But, I feel this from the depths of my soul, doll.” His hand reaches for yours, and you place it within his palm without question. His thumb, rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles, his body leaning closer. “This could be your path – you’re brilliant. Why don’t you give yourself the chance to embrace the sky? Soar beyond any limit you’ve placed on yourself?”

There’s something holding you back, a muffled voice in the back of your mind telling you that this can't happen. It’s impossible. Though, you can’t think of any good reason. The way he’s looking at you right now, waiting on his own bated breath for you to speak, like his very life depends on your answer…this is a pressure you’ve never known.

You just want him to stay. To choose a future here – with you – instead of chasing on across the world.

How can he expect you to do something so drastic, something that’ll change every single aspect of your life? You’ve been through enough change. You’re sick of abrupt, unnerving change.

For once, just for once, you wish things would remain just as they are.

No. You can’t do this. And he can’t expect you to do this. It isn’t as easy for you as it is for him. And apparently, it’s very easy for him.

“I can’t, Jake. It isn’t that simple – nothing is that simple for me.” Your skin begins to heat with an anger you don’t recognize. This isn’t fair – it’s not right. He can’t string you along the way he has, lie to you, and then expect you to follow him wherever he goes.

Suddenly, you can’t handle being in this bed any longer. You can’t handle him looking at you as though you are the problem here. Why is he putting all of this on you?

Your canvas bag is laying on the floor next to the bed, just within arms reach. You lean over and dig through it until you find your pale blue Nike pullover. Once you toss it over your head, knowing it’s long enough to cover you, you pull yourself away from the bed, from him.

“What are you doing, y/n?” Jake follows in suit, and from the corner of your eye, you catch him padding across the room to his dresser and pulling out a pair black sweatpants. You’re rummaging through your bag once more in a frantic search for the pair of leggings you know you packed with your sweatshirt.

“Can we please just talk about this?” He asks, standing directly behind you as you're crouched on the floor, finally locating the leggings.

“My life isn’t something I can just pack up and carry to the other side of the world,” you snap as you step into your leggings, one foot at a time, the waistband snapping against your skin when you pull them up.

Your next words churn in your stomach, bitter as bile rising in your throat. You don’t want to speak them – but they’re the truth. And he knows it just as well as you do. “You’re leaving, Jake. That’s not going to change. So why don’t you make it easier for both of us and just end this now?”

He flinches, as though you’ve just physically struck him. His jaw tensing, eyes glassy and dark. “So this, it’s just…” His hands float between the tiny space between you, a subtle gesture towards the both of you. “It’s just over, then? Just like that?”

“You’re not exactly giving this much of a chance. I don’t know what you expected me to do, but going to London isn’t possible, Jake.”

That tiny space, closed in all the more as his body leans in towards yours. His breath, blowing gently against your tousled bangs. “You’ve still not given me a reason why you won’t come.”

A reason…

Moving across the world for a man you’ve known no longer than a few months sounds rather absurd.

But, you know better than to limit the person standing before you to just some man. Jake is different. He’s always been different. That pull toward him – it’s never made sense. Never needed to. It just is. Even when he acted as though you were the last person in the universe he’d want to be around.

You thought you were over that. Over his aversion to you without any good rationale.

But.

What if that was the truth? What if he was never pretending? What if you were just something convenient for him? Something temporary?

Did he make you fall for him – give him the deepest parts of your heart – only to crush them when he decided you weren’t enough to stay for? And now he has the audacity to ask you to go to him?

Well, he’s asking you to do the impossible. And at this point, it’s offensive that he’d do so. He knows you can’t do that. Why torment you further? And why does he think you’d move across the globe for him, when there are plenty of opportunities right here in the states for you? It’s not all about him. You are just as much a part of this equation as he is. And, in your mind, even more so.

You’ve not made the decision yet. Haven't given yourself enough time to give it the proper amount of consideration. But if it’s a reason that he wants…

“I’m going to L.A.”

He says nothing. His eyes widen, lips part, but no words come.

So, you will fill the silence.

“After – after I graduate, I’m going to L.A. to pursue this, this modeling thing. It’s…it’s what I want, Jake. I want to do this.”

Still, no words dare to leave his plush lips. Instead, a silent echo of despair plays across his features. Looking down at you, his lips now closed in a tight line. Questions in abundance are written in his eyes, yet he still doesn’t ask them. The air, tense and heavy, is now suffocating.

But, why? Why would he be so full of disillusionment when he won’t even be here to see you leave, like you will be forced to do when he leaves?

It’s not entirely the truth. You don’t know if you’ll actually go through with this. But that isn’t the point. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping you from giving in.

This isn’t just about him.

The silence grows unbearable.You can practically hear his heartbeat in your own ears. You feel this urge to explain yourself, though you know you don’t owe him a thing. Still, your heart is working overtime to keep your walls up. And, looking into his whiskey toned eyes, your heart is begging to be placed on your sleeve.

“I just…” Your voice, weighted and hardly louder than a whisper. “I’m graduating earlier than I thought. This May, actually. And I wanted to –,”

He lets out a sharp exhale, making you stop.

Your words barely make sense in your own mind. Saying them outloud only makes them sound more absurd.

What the fuck are you even saying?

This reason is beginning to feel more like an excuse. And, what Jake doesn’t know is that you’ve already applied to Oxford. And yeah, you did it mostly because of the persuasion from Dr. Movack. But, your professor isn’t the only reason you did so.

You should be excited to tell Jake about it. But instead, you’re lying to his face to prove a point. A point that has become lost within his eyes.

If he found out – if he knew you’d already considered choosing London – what would he think about this?

You’ve dug yourself a goddamn hole. And at this point, you can no longer see any glimmer of sunlight at the top.

He takes a step back from you, to which you feel the coldness in the air at his absence. Only a step, but a pronounced step. Enough that you’ve lost his warmth. He scoffs as he prepares his response, the callous smirk on his lips agitating you to no end. “And what exactly are you going to L.A. for?”

Excuse me? Have you seriously forgotten, or are you just trying to piss me off?

You tilt your chin up, defensive.“Stardust, Jake. The agency that wants me to model for them. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

He laughs, dryly, looking at you as if your words were some other language he didn’t fully comprehend. “A good opportunity for what, exactly?”

The uncontrolled huff of sharp breath that passes your lips is nearly matching his own mockery, the muscles in your jaw tightening as you begin to speak. “For my future. I want to do this. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

If you don’t believe what you’re saying, you know he doesn’t, either. But you’re not giving this up. If he can have his thing, so can you.

“That is bullshit, y/n. And you know it just as well as I do.” He steps forward again, closer this time, forcing you to meet his gaze. His stern, serious glare that’s making any air from your lungs catch in your throat before it can reach your lips. His voice drops, intense. “Since when do you care about modeling? Since when is that something you’ve ever wanted?”

Arms still crossed tightly over your chest, you steel yourself, firm. “People change.”

“No.” He exhales, sharply, shaking his head. “People lie to themselves when they’re trying to prove a point, when they’re trying to be ingenuine and deny who they are.”

How dare he…

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” His voice is razor-sharp, but his eyes soften. “Trying to prove a point to me? Because I don’t know what you’re doing, y/n, but I know you’re not doing this because you want to.”

The muscles in your jaw clench once again, to a near painful degree. Your heart beats angrily in your chest, slamming against your ribs. “Why do you care so much about what I do? You don’t know everything, Jake. You don’t know everything about me.”

His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

Then, softer – quieter – he says, “I do know you.”

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath, gaze locked onto yours. “And I know that your passions have never had anything to do with ending up on the cover of a magazine.”

He leans in just enough to make you catch your breath. His voice is raw, almost pleading.

“It’s late nights buried in stories, dissecting them until you’ve found every possible hidden meaning. Studying until your eyes are too heavy to stay open. It’s m –,”

He swallows hard. Shuts his eyes for a second. When they open again, they’re softer.

“It’s literature, y/n. The lore you’ve fallen in love with won’t be there when you’re posing behind a camera.”

Your stomach twists. A lump rises in your throat.

You want to be angry. You want to tell him he’s wrong.

But he’s not.

He’s dead fucking on.

And he knows it.

But you’re not backing down.

“I can do this, Jake. I am doing this.” Your voice shakes, yet you keep your chin held high. “This is for me to decide, not you.”

“I’m not trying to decide anything. I just — it’s dangerous, y/n. Dangerous for someone like you –,”

“Someone like me?”

Realization begins its dawn, and every silent second that passes winds you up like a tightening wire, tension creeping up your spine the longer he doesn’t speak. Though the fear that exists in relation to his next words is incredibly pronounced, you do wish he’d just say something.

You can decipher one thing within his silence – he didn’t mean to go this route. And it’s evident that he isn’t prepared for such a conversion.

And neither are you.

“I just mean –,” he tries, though your own mouth seems to be moving much faster than his.

“You really think I’m not strong enough, is that it? Think I can’t handle it?”

“Y/n –,”

“You think I’ll fall apart.”

His lips are pressed in a thin, firm line. Not quite a frown, not soft. The corners of his mouth are twitching just slightly, betraying the tension on his jaw. A heavy gaze cast upon you, loaded with concern, unwavering. Like he’s holding back something.

He doesn’t confirm your question, though he’s not denying it.

It’s true. It’s exactly what he thinks.

You shake your head as you look away, as it’s becoming increasingly difficult to look at him any longer. To see those eyes, looking at you is if you’ll break at any second. “I’m not some fragile thing, Jake. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you were.” He hesitates, as though he’s pondering his next words with careful precision. You then feel a finger hook under your jaw, pressing you to look back to him. And when you give in to his touch, as you irritatingly seem unable to deny, you realize the worry in his eyes has only grown deeper, heavier. His face, far softer than before. “But you’re not invincible, either.”

Those words…they sit in the air for a moment, weighted. They echo through your mind, hearing his voice repeat them over and over on a loop. They only go silent when his hand cups your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek bone as he takes a deep breath. “I’m leaving, y/n. I’m leaving soon. And I’m begging you…” He leans in just a spell, yet enough that his lips are daring to touch yours. “Please consider chasing after what you love.”

What I love.

He means literature. He means books, stories. Lore that you’ve become lost within more times than you have your own, real life. The very thing that has been the only constant in your life, the world that remained stable for you when yours fell apart.

Yes, that is what he means.

But, one thing you’ve realized you love even more than literature…

If you were to choose London, if you decide to go to school at Oxford University, to chase after what you love…

You’d be chasing after him.

And you can’t. You can’t do that. Not this time.

As his lips press into yours, you let yourself feel them. Kissing him it’s…it’s the most painful kind of bliss you’ve ever known.

And before the kiss can linger any longer, you pull away. And it hurts. The pain, physical, pressing into your ribs. This choice isn’t easy.

But it’s right.

“And what if I don’t, Jake?”

His eyes, beautiful, laced with honey and whiskey, flicker with a pain you’ve never seen in him before. And when you take a step back, keeping your arms safely over your chest, they become even darker as he rips them away from you. Staring at the floor, a hand running through his silken locks, he says the words you thought you were prepared to hear. But, as it is, you’re not.

“Then, I guess this is over.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The morning sun was blinding through the layer of frozen glass the night's bitter cold had left behind on your windshield. Though it was hard to see, the wipers did help to clear your view, and the sun was shielded a little by your sunglasses. You didn’t want to spend another second there, so you took the risk and left.

The ice melted eventually.

The drive home presented a new kind of numbness to your system. A hollow, stagnant void where emotion should be. Your mind, meanwhile, spins like a relentless tornado. A storm of thought that you just can’t calm down.

Thoughts about London. About L.A – a modeling job that you may have just decided to accept. (Out of spite.)

Modeling…when the fuck have you ever wanted to model?

His words have played like a cracked record in your mind since you left his room. Skipping, stuttering, never stopping. Over and over again – his voice presses against your thoughts as if he’s still standing by your side, breathing them into your ear.

Every last word his lips spoke this morning. All of them, sitting directly against your chest, weighing down your heart, refusing to let you take a full breath.

You’re adamantly against going to London. It’s out of the question. It just can’t happen.

Only, you seem to have forgotten why.

You’re reasoning, your excuse – it’s slipped your mind somewhere beyond your reach. All you can think about now is the way his emotions flooded his eyes when you walked away.

Neither of you said much before you left. It’s true – he got the last word. The last one that mattered, at least. There wasn’t anything more you could’ve said. Though, there was plenty more you wanted to say. But your pride wouldn’t allow for it. Instead, you offered an absent “goodbye,” and walked away, leaving everything from last night and this morning behind with him.

At least that’s what you told yourself.

The truth is, last night and this morning are stitched into you now. And they’ll stay there, clinging to you for a long, long time.

Forever, maybe.

But right now, you don’t have the luxury of letting yourself outwardly feel it. You probably couldn’t even if you tried.

Your mom needs you. And you’ll give her as much of yourself as possible until Nat comes to pick you up for graduation later this morning.

Yes – you’re still going. You have to. Not just for Jake, for Josh, too. (And for you, in a way that you can’t fully comprehend just yet. But, you know you need it. In some way.)

She’s doing pretty well this morning. Her breathing is mostly clear, her skin looks more plump and hydrated than usual. She’s even got enough energy for a cup of coffee, something she hasn’t wanted the last few mornings.

You’ll take that as a good sign. Anything she can put in her system is a step in the proper direction. Even if it’s just a warm cup of coffee.

You have your own coffee in hand, having made a quick stop at Hyperion on the way here. The place Sam took you to not long ago – you found yourself a strange craving for it this morning.

It’s so cold out today, and a warm vanilla latte sounded like the perfect remedy to contrast the chilly air. The sweet, warm drink – comforting in more ways than one right now.

You’re ready for the ceremony a bit earlier than you needed to be. There’s still at least thirty minutes until Nat and Danny are expected to pick you up. You’re glad you gave yourself a little extra time, because the jewelry in your green velvet box has somehow become a tangled mess. Every necklace, knotted into one giant ball of metal chain.

You only begin to panic when you see gold, a realization that your necklace from your dad is mixed up in there.

You can’t begin to fathom how this happened. It just doesn’t make sense. Everything in this box is always handled with the utmost care – you never leave it in a state that could cause this to happen.

Panic ensues even more when you see the sword charm poking through the center of the mix.

Every other necklace, you couldn’t care less what happens to them. But those two, specifically, you need to untangle, safely.

A few bobby pins lie loose at the bottom of the vox, scattered across the black velour lining,m spared from the tangled chaos.

This trick has worked before – surely it’ll work now.

You grab one, pry it flat and wedge one end of it right in the center of the knot. You dig, twist, nudge, searching for any slack you can find. You tease at coils and pull at edges until something begins to give. But as a few chains start to loosen, your mom calls from the living room, asking for another cup of coffee.

“Y-yeah, one sec,” you call back, voice tight as you frantically attempt to free at least one of the two necklaces. You’ve managed to untangle most of the others, but not those – not the ones you need. They refuse to budge.

And now that a few links are freed, you can see it clearly – the two necklaces, your gold charm with your initial, and the sword, are wrapped into each other in a single, impossible knot. It almost looks deliberate, like someone rolled the chains between their palms, again and again, until they became fused together in a tight mess.

If you had the time, you know you could get them loose. You know that. But right now, you don’t.

You’ve hardly gone a day without wearing the necklace from your dad. It’s been your anchor as of late. Without it, you feel a sense of loneliness. Emptiness.

And today, of all days, you could really use it’s comfort. But there’s just no time to free it.

It’s the same story with the sword.

You probably shouldn’t wear it today, but you want to.

Again, there’s no time.

Both will have to stay here, twisted and snarled together in a bind that you can’t release them from. The thought has your throat constricting, your chest heating with a frustrated sadness.

Is this what will finally get me to cry this morning?

“Y/n!” The power behind her voice startles youm cutting through the quiet storm. She’s mustered enough strength to yell, probably more than she should spend, all for the sake of another cup of coffee.

“Coming,” you say, a whisper, using the sleeve of your sweater to dry your dampening eyes before carefully closing the lid of your jewelry box.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Graduation.

The twins didn’t leave a single person out today.

Sam, Nat, Malachi, Danny – even Danny’s parents were extended an invite. And you, of course. Weeks have passed since Jake had personally handed you your own invite. Though, when he did, things were a bit different between you two than they are now. Of course, you had no problem making the promise to be here today at that time.

It stings your chest when it dawns on you – their parents would have been here. Their grandparents, too. They’re supposed to be here. Thanks to the cruel nature of the world, they aren’t.

Jake’s emotions were certainly heavy this morning. Heavier than usual. And fuck you for not even thinking of the fact that he’s graduating college without any of the people who raised him being here. Not a single one.

The grief he must be experiencing at this very moment…you can’t fathom. Truly.

And here you are – doing whatever the fuck you’re doing – perhaps making it worse for him. Maybe he will be better off in London, without you to drag him down any further.

And yet, here you are, at the packed full Crisler Arena to witness Jake and Josh be granted their well deserved degrees. And that’s just the thing – this day is just as much about Josh, too, whom you also made the very same promise to. You couldn’t break the promise you’d made, to both of them. No matter the circumstances.

The last graduation you attended was your own from high school, some four years ago now. You graduated alongside a measly thirty six students, nothing in comparison to the eight thousand and some change that will be handed their futures today. It’s the moments like these that you realize just how different the world you grew up in was. Vastly different. Cherry Tree may as well be another world – another universe – at this point.

A simple, all-black outfit felt like the best choice for today. Not that you typically wear much different – black just happens to be the most flattering shade on you. The favorite look as of late has been an oversized sweater and tights, with your thrifted Chelsea boots and your pleather coat. A little variation in the sweaters, of course. Today’s is a full-fledged turtle neck with bell sleeves.

The red lip has become a staple of yours since filming came to an end. And having taken a bit more time with your eye makeup as of late, you’ve perfected a quick black wing with nothing more than an angle brush and a good black eyeshadow. The film brought out a new sense of confidence in you that you’re trying your damnedest to include in your day to day. The modeling offer certainly helped with that cause, too.

The clothes are still big – they still hide your body when you can’t allow yourself the poise to show off that part of yourself. But, you’ve discovered that a few extra minutes on your makeup in the mornings does add an air of confidence about you that you wouldn’t have normally.

Simple. But effective. And yet one more instance in which this film changed the entire pathway of your existence.

Nat is a picture of perfection in her midnight blue bodycon. Full sleeves, the dress reaching her nude heel clad feet in a sweater material to keep her warm. Every color compliments her honeyed skin tone, but this particular tinge of blue, a rich sapphire – her skin is glowing more than ever.

And Danny, her model compliment in a mustard yellow sweater and dark wash jeans.

The first thing you noticed about the pair today when they came to pick you up was their curls. Both of them, with the shiniest, tightly defined ringlets framing their features. Nat’s hair, always the most incredible set of ebony curls, so there wasn’t a single cell in your body that was shocked to see her hair in such pristine shape.

But Danny’s. His curls are gorgeous, but they’re always a bit more frizzy than his counterparts. Noting how shiny and defined his shoulder-length curls are today, pulled back in a handsome half-up ponytail, you made sure to extend him a compliment. To which, unsurprisingly, Nat boasted her own hand in the matter, twirling one of his curls around her finger from the passenger's seat while he drove. “He finally let me dip into my products and give this hair a proper curl routine,” she’d said, admiring her work while he was stuck at a red light.

He said she’d argued with him for weeks about it, but he finally gave in and let her have her way. And, knowing Nat, there is truly no other way to be had. He was bound to give in someday, so she was going to have it her way, one way or another.

She even got him to admit that she was right about the effect a couple of curl creams could have on already beautiful curls. And that, you’re certain, boosted her ego tenfold. But she deserves it. Because, when it comes to hair – specifically curly hair – everyone should trust Natalia Delores with their life.

It felt like a bit of an inside joke when Danny’s parents even noticed the stark difference in his locks, his mom practically squealing when she saw him, doting over how ‘handsome her sweet boy’ is. His dad, big Dan, made a couple jokes regarding his own hair that had begun to thin over the years, but that he was a true lady killer back in the eighties with his hair that didn’t require the ever-popular perm. Lori, Danny’s mom, one of the sweetest souls you’ve ever encountered, had to disagree with her husband. It certainly garnered a chuckle out of you, and it was very much needed.

Being here now, after the events of this morning – from only a few hours ago – your nerves are teetering the edge. And aside from the obvious, being here to watch Jake in his final moments as an undergraduate, his final moments in the role that introduced you to him…

Perhaps it’ll offer some closure. Finality to the months long rendezvous with him, that came to an end hours before this very moment.

This will give that ending its final bow. A piece you’ll no longer need to cling onto, one that you can allow to end the second he receives his degree.

A chapter, coming to its final end.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d tried so hard not to place him amongst the rest of the graduates, but your eyes find him naturally – drawn to him the way moths are drawn to moonlight. For a moth, the lunar veil serves as its guiding glow. Its sense of direction. Its instinctual compass.

Without the quiet, pale glow, it will lose its way – frantic, searching for something to replace it, something else to be its guide. But nothing will offer the sanctuary it once found in the ashen gleam. Instead, what it clings to seals its fated demise.

You are the moth – irresistibly pulled towards him, a desire that at times overrides all reason and sense.

But, Jake.

Is he the moon that represents the right path, or is he the false light you cling to that knocks you off course?

If nothing else, you’re certain of this – after last night, and especially after this morning, the sight of him derives the kind of pain that feels wrong to be felt. Too heavy, cutting much too deep for him to be the thing that lights the right path for you.

Still, though.

You know it hurts because you want him to represent the right path.

But if he doesn’t, you can’t force him to. Fate is fate. You can’t choose who will guide you in the right direction.

And yet, there he is. Glowing amongst thousands of other graduates – a gleam in the ocean of students wearing their all-black regalia. Your vantage point, a bit distorted from how far up you are; a disadvantaged side view at best. But, that’s enough to know he looks incredible. Unfairly beautiful. And if anyone could make a cap and gown look like a sin, it’s Jake.

The only thing that disappoints you is how little you can see of him.

You should be surprised that he’s sporting his round, black frames on the day of his commencement – you can spot them easily, even from this high up.

You’re not surprised he’s wearing them. Not even a little bit. They’re a classic Jake statement at this point. And frankly, it makes you smile that he’s wearing them. Those John Lennon shades that are his staple, that go perfectly with any outfit he wears – indoors and out, huge event or casual outing.

If it weren’t for Josh and Natalia’s protests to your aversion to coming today, you wouldn’t be here. Truly, it’s the last place you want to be at the moment.

Your heart begins fluttering a mile a second as his row rises next, each student filing toward the stairs at the side of the stage to begin their walk. Only a few more names stand in the way the moment he will cross beneath the stage lights, Josh close behind him for his own journey. You’re just as nervous as if you were right alongside the rest of the graduates, feeling the daunting pressure of having your name read aloud for the thousands of people watching you.

But you’re also proud. So, so proud. Of both of them. If you were to be asked, you’d say that those two are the most deserving of this outstanding eminence.

Your heart pounds – fast and hard – when the student ahead of Jake steps onto the stage. You don’t catch their name. Wouldn’t be able to name this person if you tried. Even as their name has just been announced through the microphone, bouncing off every wall in this massive place.

No, when your sights are set on Jake, everything else around you turns to black.

Then, you watch Jake slip off his shades, gripping them tightly in his right hand. Behind him, Josh reaches out and pats his twin’s shoulder. But Jake turns, pulling him into a hug instead. A sweet rebellion against the formality.

Though you’re a few hundred feet away from them, the distance shrinking them to tiny blips of themselves, you can see and feel their shared emotions.

Your whole row stands in preparation for Jake’s walk. And, while the name read just a moment ago was a muffled echo, Jake’s name rings perfectly loud and fucking clear.

“Jacob Thomas Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.”

Thunderous.

The cheers are like constant claps of powerful thunder accompanying his well deserved trek along the stage. But, as loud as the nearly twelve thousand spectators are, Josh’s cheers are certainly giving everyone here a run for their money. You swear you can hear him shouting for his twin. Whistling through his fingers, screaming what you can only assume is an abundant ‘hell yeah, Jake!’ at the very top of his lungs. Josh is loud. That is just a fact.

Chi’s face is beat red at his fiance’s display, though he can’t disguise the smile stretching across his pearly whites. Nat can’t stop giggling at him, cheering Jake on through beats of laughter. And Sam, chanting hard for his brother is such a sweet display. Huge grin, palm-clapping louder than everyone else.

You don’t know how he’s so alert today. You’d thought for sure he’d be out for the count with the world's worst hangover, given his state last night. But his demeanor is quite the opposite. If you didn’t know he was blackout drunk only twelve or so hours ago, you wouldn’t know. He doesn’t even look sleepy.

How?

Meanwhile, the buzz you had last night is still present in your queasy tummy and aching head. Though, that could be the effects from this morning, the loud, constant echoes of cheers in the arena. Could be a lot of things, truly.

You’ve noticed it a few times since you’ve been here, but Sam’s eyes keep finding you from the other end of the row. He’ll smile each time your eyes meet, a smile that says there’s more to it than just a friendly grin. You don’t know what, of course. But he’s looked at you most of this time. And all you can do, aside from blush, is smile right back.

Summa Cum Laude. The highest academic honor bestowed upon Jake, and a golden medal placed around his neck to signify his massive achievements as a scholar. His brain is a work of pure art, a place of wonderment.

And, unfortunate for you, it’s sexy as hell that he’s been given this honor, that he’s earned it. A perfect grade point average to seal his bachelor’s degree.

Far away as you are, up high in the stands, you can still see the tight, closed-lip smile on his mouth as Dr. Movack personally hands him his diploma holder. A strong handshake from the two, turning into a warm squeeze. A tear begs to fall from your eye at the vision, though you sniff it away before it can make its quick escape.

Crying is ridiculous right now. Save it, y/n.

He then pauses for his photograph, hand in hand with Dr. Ono, U of M’s President, a slightly bigger grin on his lips. After a second, he continues down the stage with a saunter in true, Jake fashion; no urgency whatsoever in his boot-clad steps. His golden stole embroidered with the letter ‘M’ swinging from his neck, amongst a plethora of colorful chords to accompany his medal. And his cap, lazily sat on top of his chestnut hair, on the verge of slipping off his head entirely.

Time is moving in slow motion as you watch him make his final steps across the stage, stopping to place his tassel to the left for his official graduate photo at the end of the small staircase leading back to the floor seats. The same path every student who’s walked the stage has taken thus far. Only, Jake is the first student you’ve seen thus far to place sunglasses on his face for his photograph.

That little gesture certainly makes you smile, annoying as it may be. Because, seriously – who does that?

Jacob Thomas Kiszka. That’s who.

Those give peace a chance shades, straight out of the strawberry fields. The ones you tried to hate, but for very obvious reasons, you just couldn't. Ever.

The lump in your throat as you’ve just witnessed his final moments as an undergraduate is so profound, nearly choking you with the urge to shed a lot of tears. But, you swallow them back yet again when his twins name is announced, the very same academic merit bequeathed to him.

“Joshua Michael Kiszka, Summa Cum Laude.”

In the same, identical fashion to Jake, the arena erupts with celebratory applause. Josh, not nearly as cool and collected as Jake, practically skips down the stage, pumping his fists high in the air before he reaches Dr. Turner, who’s handing him his own diploma holder.

Josh doesn’t hold back – he goes straight for the hug. No handshake, no formalities necessary; just a full hug. A Josh hug – the most loving type of hug there is.

Malachi can’t stop shouting for his fiance. Jumping up and down, flailing his long, lanky arms about, his tall frame making the entire row shake with his celebration. Nat certainly is not much different, having now celebrated both twins in a similar fashion to Chi. They are siblings, afterall.

As Josh takes his final steps across the stage, he looks directly to your row, locking eyes the best he can with Malachi despite their hundred-foot distance. And with that, both of them blow each other kisses and catch them, holding their closed fists to their heart at the exact same time.

Their love is so beautiful – it truly makes your heart hurt with adoration.

Of course, no sunglasses grace Josh’s face for his photograph at the end of the stage. Only a massive, full-toothed smile. The most precious human being. Always.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Good afternoon, graduates, families, faculty, and honored guests.”

The graduates have all passed along the stage, and in what you would consider to be record timing. Thousands of them, in just under two hours. Given the sheer volume of people in their graduation regalia, you expected at least double the amount of time that it actually took.

Dr. Ono is now center stage, reciting his final, farewell speech to the crowd before the ceremony comes to its official end.

“Today, we gather not only to celebrate achievement, but to honor the grit, the growth, and the passion that brought each of you to this moment. You’ve written papers through the night, questioned the world around you, and dared to dream a little bigger every year. And now here you are, crossing this stage into your next chapter.”

“I’d like to take a moment to recognize a few extraordinary groups among you. To those who graduated Summa, Magna, and Cum Laude, please stand so that we may recognize you once more.”

Jake, Josh, along with several other students stand to be honored. The twins, each nudging into each other with their shoulders and smiling, reaching around to shake the hands of their fellow peers and friends who are also standing.

And of course, the audience celebrates them with echoed intensity, a sky-splitting roar in the arena.

Dr. Ono claps a few times away from the mic before giving permission for the graduates to take their seats once more.

“Before we conclude this morning’s ceremony,” he continues once the crowd has quieted, his gaze sweeping the sea of caps and gowns seated in their designated chairs across the floor. “There is one final honor I wish to recognize – an extraordinary one.”

He pauses a moment, folding his hands lightly over the edge of the glass podium. The crowd quiets a smidge further, distant sounds of careful coughs and gentle whispers are the only murmurings among everyone.“In my more than twenty years of service in higher education, I’ve personally had the privilege of bestowing this award to only three students. Today, I am both honored and proud to say that a fourth joins their ranks.”

He takes a breath, steadying his voice. “Today,” he continues, more umph on the word this time. “This University, founded over two hundred years ago, will see its thirty-second recipient of one of the most distinguished academic awards in education.”

You can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling – quiet, a little uncertain. Yer, undeniable.

This is for Jake.

"The Rhodes Scholarship, established over one hundred and twenty years ago, remains one of the most prestigious academic honors in the world. It was created to fully fund the postgraduate studies of exceptional students at the University of Oxford in England. This student was nominated by the English department chair, Dr. Chadwick Movack.”

Yep. Here it is.

“Admission to Oxford alone is a remarkable achievement. To be selected for the Rhodes Scholarship – among thousands of applicants worldwide – is a rare and extraordinary distinction.”

Your eyes, ever trained to spot him as they are, immediately find him in the mix of black caps.

And there he is, sitting beside his twin, looking up at Dr. Ono as he finishes his speech. Seemingly unaware that he is the honoree. But, how could he suspect any differently? Who else would be so deserving? Who else from this class is going to Oxford?

In your mind, no one, not a single soul, is more deserving than him.

“At this time, would you please join me in congratulating Jacob Thomas Kiszka for his outstanding achievements.”

Like a storm breaking, the arena fills with roaring applause. Most are standing in ovation, including your row. Each of you, shooting up the moment his name is announced. Hell, you were ready when he said Movack’s name. When Dr. Ono mentioned Oxford.

Those tears – you were able to hold them back before. But, right now? They’re entirely uncontrolled. Wetting your cheeks, landing on top of your smiling lips, a salty taste finding your tongue.

These are proud tears, happy tears.

But, selfishly, these tears do not just celebrate.

They mourn. Each drop on your cheek is a word your lips cannot say. Not right now. And, perhaps, not ever again.

Yes, these tears are born of pride and joy. But even moreso, they are born of the ache in your heart.

Nat, standing beside you, cheering for her friend to the fullest extent that she can, quickly looks to you. She must’ve heard a sniffle, a quiet sob that needed release.

She knows.

And she offers no words, for she understands that words aren’t needed. Only the kind touch of a friend who gets it, a sweet embrace of your shoulder as she smiles at you. A quiet reassurance that, although it doesn’t feel like it right now, everything will be okay.

Eventually.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Hey, y/n!” Sam taps your shoulder to gather your attention, walking close enough behind you that his foot catches the heel of your boot.

“S-sorry about that,” he giggles as you turn your head over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of his warm smile and sleepy, alcohol-binged eyes. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to run a quick errand with me before we head back to the apartment. Won’t take long, just need to pick something up real fast.”

Upon first instinct, your eyes make a quick scan to locate Jake. He’s walking with Josh and Malachi, reading from the graduation program and seemingly paying no attention to you. So be it, then.

“Y-yeah, sure!” The excitement in your voice is feigned, and you’re not even sure why you said yes. It’s not what you wanted to say, not what you want to do. But Sam’s excitement is very much real, and the gesture to lock his arm with yours as you make your exit from the arena a bit quicker is indicative that you’re now fully committed.

Arm in arm, you walk past a somewhat confused couple that you rode with initially. “I’ll uh, I’ll meet you guys there,” you say to them as Sam drags you along. Nat nods her head as she continues down the stairs with Danny.

Sam, acting as though he’s been here dozens of times, takes you through an alternate route, away from the mass of the crowd. A bit of a back way, of sorts, walking you through the areas behind the stands in lieu of through them. And he’s smiling the whole time, too. Like the most giddy, excitable child about to embark on a wondrous vacation. Before you know it, you’ve surpassed the crowd of people and made it to one of the parking lots, Sam’s vintage Bug now in clear sight. Certainly hard to miss such a vibrant orange amongst a sea of neutral colored vehicles. You’ve hardly gotten the chance to throw your pleather coat on before he’s prancing around to the drivers side and not wasting a single second to hop in.

“I presume you’ll tell me where we’re going soon,” You say, situating yourself in the passenger seat while he takes a moment to let the engine warm.

He chuckles with a mysterious undertone, stretching his seatbelt over his lap. “You’ll see when we get there!” Seatbelts secured, the engine thrums a deep grumble as he backs out of the parking spot.

Old as his Bug is, his radio is still in working condition, quite unlike your Firebird that’s about thirty years newer than his cruiser. He scans the stations for a second until you hear a few recognizable chords, and a very distinct voice belonging to none other than Ann Wilson. “Ah, a classic,” Sam says, turning the volume up a few notches, Alone echoing off of every window and leather seat. “These women are badass.”

Sam starts bobbing his head in beat with the drum, as though it’s a full on rock anthem instead of the heartbreak ballad you know it to be. His voice, hit in pitch and a little more than rough, slips into the chorus: “I never really cared until I met you!”

He certainly doesn’t hold back, even tossing in a dramatic air-drum hit on the dashboard for good measure. You try to keep a straight face, really – you try. But the sight of him getting incredibly theatrical with the song that has no business being funny is just too much. A giggle slips out before you can stop it, and even you find yourself falling victim to the catchy lick of the song.

“And now it chills me to the bone – how do I get you alone?” The two of you, singing in perfectly off-key unison. He glances at you and smirks as the final chorus finishes out, both of you still singing your hearts out like you mean each and every word. And maybe you do. Maybe he does.

Underneath the laughter and tone-deaf singing, the lyrics somehow begin hitting a little too close. That ache Ann is singing of – wanting someone who just feels out of reach. Yeah. That gets shoved down real fast.

The song fades to its ending, and Sam’s fingers twist the volume knob to the left, turning it down to a near mute. The static noises being the only thing left that can still be heard, along with the rumbling tires against the paved city roads.

“I heard about the modeling offer,” Sam admits with quite the grin stretching his mustache. Still looking at the road, his head is just slightly cocked towards you, awaiting your response as he’s ready to give you his attention on the matter. Already, a drastic difference in the way Jake has treated the situation. Not a smile one on his lips when you’d discussed it. He acted repulsed by the idea, implied that you lack the strength to be able to handle such a thing. But Sam…

“Not too sure about it yet,” you say, staring down into your lap as your mind flashes images of Jake from this morning, when you’d had a very similar conversation that went to absolute shit.

Those images begin to fade, though, the second that Sam chimes in with his opinion. And, again – a drastic difference from his older brother. “Well, I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” he boasts, his heartfelt smile widening all the more, his eyes lit up as they move back and forth from you and the road. “Look at you, y/n. You’re just as pretty as any model I’ve ever seen. Prettier, even.”

When he reaches the four way stop, waiting for the two cars that were there first to take their turns, his warm hand reaches for your thigh, holding you just above the knee. Fingers wrapped tight around you, thumb rubbing small circles over your tights.

Sam hasn’t touched you like this in….well, it’s been a very long time. And as innocent of a gesture as it is, you can’t deny the rush of heat burning your chest, filling your lungs at the contact. And right now, though you’ll never admit it outloud, you can’t deny it to yourself that you want more.

It feels nice. Really nice. And his compliment certainly helped. Something Jake can’t seem to do. It’s like he refuses to acknowledge that it just might be a really good thing for you, that it could help you. Instead, he thinks you’re too weak to handle such a thing. Well, you may just have to prove him wrong. And you may need Sam to help you do that.

Though Sam was not garnering much attention from you last night at the party, you do remember overhearing a few conversations between him and a couple of guests he was taking photos of for Josh’s guest book. Apparently, from what you could gather, Sam offered to take the photos with his new Polaroid for the purpose of testing it out. He’d been finding himself deep within the photography realm as of late, and wanted the opportunity to hone in his skills a bit.

And, though you’ve blocked a lot of this night out of your mind, the night you found yourself tangled up with him in his sheets, your memory is clear enough to recall a collection of cameras sitting neatly on top of his dresser. Some new, some old. Dozens of them.

“Sammy, would you want to help me with something?” You ask, your own hand instinctively finding the top of his, still draped over your leg. The movement didn’t even require a thought – you just did it. It was a natural compulsion – you’re not even sure why it happened.

But it did. And Sam, given his cherry red cheeks and a grin that reaches his bright eyes, he certainly likes it.

“Anything for you,” he answers through his smile, voice sweet and soft as silk.

“I need to build a portfolio for the agency. Just a collection of photos to show my skill, or whatever.” It feels odd to even speak about these things, as if the contract has already been accepted. Of course, it very much has not been. You’ve not called Sylvia back to confirm or deny, and you haven’t even made up your mind whether you will or won’t. She did, however, advise that you go ahead and gather some photos to submit. Just so they have something, should you decide to go ahead with it. Doing so doesn’t exactly promise anything. So, what’s the harm in it? And, what’s the harm in enlisting Sam for a little help? Afterall, it’d be helping him, too. His drive is awfully attractive to you.

He pats your thigh before he answers your question, breathing a sweet giggle as he pulls his Bug into a parking lot. You’d been so caught up in the conversation, in his hand warming your leg, that you hadn’t been paying any mind to where you were going, to where you are right now. You’ve driven past it a couple of times, always felt a sense of pride in the city for housing such a place. All About Animals, a rescue, shelter, and adoption agency for homeless animals.

You did notice something in the back seat earlier, though you’ve not really looked until now; a pink collar with a silver charm dangling from the clasp, a matching pink leash curled around it, and a white harness with pink polka-dots. That’s right. Sam told you last week that he was on the hunt for a puppy.

Oh my goodness.

“I would be honored to take photos of you, y/n,” Sam says as he tosses the gear in park, jiggling the key a bit until it comes out of the ignition. But you’re a bit too distracted to talk about that any longer.

“Sam! Are we picking up your puppy?” Your voice blurts out in a beam of pure excitement, ignoring his offer to help entirely as you’re pulling your seatbelt off and opening the door, all in one eager go.

He does the same, an ecstatic leap from the driver's side, far too distracted to bother with locking up the Bug before taking impatient strides toward the glass doors. “Yep!”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Well hi there, Samuel!” Her eyes crinkle with the smile she offers him. She gives her auburn-dyed curls a quick fluff with one hand, the strands springing up against her forehead like they’ve done this a hundred times before. With the same hand, she reaches into the front pocket of her cotton denims – the kind with the elastic waistband – and pulls out a baby pink hanky. She blows her nose into it with a loud honk, folds it neatly, and tucks it right back where it came from like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The smile on your lips is derived from a memory, to a time when you’d visit Texas, playing by yourself in the humid afternoon air, your grandma doing practically the exact same thing as she enjoyed her porch swing. The Summer air would often make her sneeze, and boy would she let one fly. Rather dramatically so.

The old hanky, the loud nose blowing and sneezing. A few silly things that you’ll always remember, and with a strange fondness that feels altogether nostalgic and melancholic.

“S’it that day already?” Shesteps around the corner, arms open wide for Sam who walks right into her embrace without hesitation. It’s a sweet sight – she doesn’t even clear his shoulder, her short frame swallowed by the hug.

“Sure is! Can you believe it?” Sam replies, his voice high and bright. Their hug lingers a beat or two longer than you’d expect, held together by something deeper than a simple greeting of an acquaintance. When she pulls back, one arm still looped around Sam’s waist, her gaze shifts to you. Her warm face, softening even more when Sam gestures toward you with a gentle sweep of his hand.

“Helen, I’d like you to meet y/n,” he introduces. His smile is soft, his eyes finding yours with an aura of tenderness that makes you smile. “She’s here for a little moral support.”

“Hello, sweetheart!” Helen beams, already closing the distance between you. Before you can even react, she’s in your space, arms wrapping around you in a hug so tender and warm. Her head just grazes your chin, and her embrace carries a kind of sincerity that makes your throat tighten just a little bit. You haven’t known her for more than a minute, but something about her makes you feel chosen. Seen. Like she’s picked you to care about, and that’s that.

“Pretty as a picture,” she murmurs, tapping your cheekbone with a cold, wrinkled finger, so gentle that you hardly feel it. She smells like sweetened black coffee and a particular kind of mint – Mentos, you’d bet money on it – the scent so distinct it wraps around you. You imagine she’s the type to keep sleeves of them tucked in her purse, always ready to press one into someone’s palm with a wink and a pat on the hand.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you say, polite on instinct.

But her dark blue eyes widen behind those oversized square frames, her hand waving in front of her face like she’s shooing away a pesky fly. “No, no, baby girl,” she says, her voice like sugared honey. “Just call me Helen.”

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Helen amiably leads you and Sam toward the back of the building, down a long, echoey corridor lined with kennels full of dogs of all sorts. The two of them, engaging in small talk as though they go way back as old pals, while you tow behind them, only hearing every few words or so. These precious dogs are yanking at the strings of your heart. Their sweet faces watching you, tails wagging as you walk by. Each one, with their names written in dry erase on the glass they’re imprisoned behind. You’d thought about adopting one when you first moved here, but the right time just hasn’t presented itself yet. And with your moms health, the right time may never come. At least, not until she…

Helen lets out a cheer that would rival a younger crowd, throwing her hands in the air in a display of triumph when she and Sam near a little room at the very end of the hallway. She opens the door just a hair, and before she can open it all the way, out comes the most excited little creature. A beautiful pitbull with a brindle coat. Not quite a puppy, though not entirely full grown. And, this sweet baby runs straight to Sam.

“Rosie!” He exclaims, dropping to his knees with a thud to the ceramic flooring. In an instant, his arms are wrapped around his new baby, pulling her close. Unable to stop yourself, you crouch down beside him, drawn in like gravity to the soft, wriggling mass of love in his arms. She’s beautiful – eyes warm and liquid with trust, tail thumping against the floor like it’s a drum. Her mouth splits into the closest thing a dog has to a grin, and then her tongue is everywhere, a flurry of ecstatic licks painting Sam’s cheeks.

“This is – ,” Sam starts, but he doesn’t stand a chance. His words dissolve into helpless laughter as she climbs further into his lap, tail wagging so hard her whole body wobbles with it. He tips backward with a huff of breath, arms flailing slightly before steadying her again, caught entirely in the whirlwind of affection.

“Rosie?” you echo, trying to help him find his words. The second her name leaves your lips, her attention snaps to you – ears perked, tail wagging even faster. Then she launches herself into your arms like a missile of pure love, tongue darting for your nose, your chin, your forehead. Her paws scramble up your shoulders as she presses into you, her own clumsy version of a hug. You laugh – loud, unfiltered, and real. The kind of laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep and good, the kind only a dog can summon.

“Rose Bud Kiszka,” Sam announces through a grin so wide it’s nearly a laugh itself, his chest still heaving from joy. “Rosie for short.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Dribbles of drool through heavy, happy pants drip against your tights, but you couldn’t be bothered to care even if you tried. Rosie has kept close to you, perched on your lap during the drive back to the apartment. Her hot breath has completely fogged up the icey glass of the passengers window while she watches the city pass by.

She’s about the happiest dog you’ve ever encountered – she’s more than ready to go to her new home. And it’ll be the most loving home she’s ever known.

When Sam was filling out her adoption forms at the shelter, Helen told you all about Rosie’s story. Rescued from the streets, about two months ago. She somehow managed to find her own way to the shelter, stood outside in the pouring rain one day and barked like her life depended on it, until she caught Helen’s attention.

She didn’t go into too much detail, but from the sounds of it, Rosie had some signs that she’d come from an abusive home. Perhaps escaped one. You didn’t ask any questions – you knew your heart couldn’t handle knowing much more. All you needed to know was that Helen had spent the last few months taking care of Rosie, getting her back to health, loving her when she’d never known love before. Helen also told you that, when Sam came by last week, he and Rosie had a bond so strong and instantaneous. She and Sam both knew right away that Rosie was the dog for him. She only needed a few more shots before she was ready. And today, she was ready. Ready to come home.

Rosie has come such a long way, all thanks to the big heart that Helen possesses. It just makes you wonder how many babies just like Rosie that Helen has saved. People like her deserve all the goodness and love this world has to offer.

“Helen is absolutely precious,” you tell Sam as you reminisce on meeting such a wonderful woman, reaching a hand up to scratch behind Rosie’s ears. She leans into the touch, resting her head against your hand, her tail thumping in her own beat against your lap.

Sam glances at you from the driver's seat, one hand steady on the wheel while the other reaches for Rosie’s back, offering her even more scratches.“Isn’t she?” He agrees, a lingering smile as he watches the road. “She was my grandma's best friend for years. She’s known us our whole lives.”

He takes one final turn down the road toward the apartments, his hand sliding over the leather in a single woosh as it spins back around. “Helen would give us these weird, chewy mints every time we’d see her,” he giggles, eyebrows scrunched as he remembers. “The twins loved ‘em, but I was more of the chocolate kind of kid. Didn’t care much for minty candy.”

I knew it.

He’s now pulling into the parking lot, taking his designated space right in front of the building. And, right behind Jake’s Rover. The vision of The Black Pearl alone has your chest tightening, your face burning red hot despite the cool air coming in from Sam’s now open door.

“You girls ready to go inside?” He asks, giddy as can be while he rushes over to your side. And sweet Rosie – her ears fell the second he left the car, but as he’s opening the passengers door for the both of you, her ears have perked right back up, her tail thumping away as her brand new dad is back in her line of sight once more. She loves him so much already. It’s enough to make you almost forget about Jake for the moment. Almost.

The lapse doesn’t last long. Rosie leaps from your lap, your fingers wrapped tightly around her pink leash in case she tries to bolt. She doesn’t, of course. She pounces Sam instantly, hugging his hips, gentle barks and happy whines coated with excitement to see him once again.

It takes you a moment to realize that a claw on her back foot dug into your skin when she bolted from the car, snagging your tights and effectively ripping a large hole right down the middle of your thigh. The cold breeze on your exposed skin takes your attention away from the leash for a split second, your grip on it letting up just a bit. But, that’s all it takes. The leash slips from your hand quick, the nylon slipping through your palm, nearly burning the skin. And before you can even try to catch it to stop her, you realize she’s now seeking the affections of Jake, whom you had no idea was already out here, eager to meet his new dog-niece.

Rosie, treating Jake the very same as Sam – he bends down to her level, letting her kiss and hug him all she wants. He greets her, using her full name, both hands offering rubs and scratches all down her back and up to her ears. “She’s quite a hoot, Samuel,” he snickers, kissing her right back through her displays of love. “She’ll be a wonderful addition to the family. Won’t ‘cha, girl?”

Until now, you’d thought it’d be a cold day in hell before you’d hear Jake use a baby voice. It should not be affecting you in the ways that it is – tormentingly domestic, agonizingly gentle.

Though, why should you be surprised? You’ve seen this man’s heart more times than you can keep track of – of course he’s warmhearted with animals. How could you expect any less from the man that played you a beautiful, enchanting rendition of a heartfelt love song in the privacy of his own room?

All at once, you’re wishing this whole scenario could’ve played out just a little different. As in, you wish it were you and the other Kiszka out here that had gone to pick up this sweet angel. Terrible as it sounds. But, an even worse thing to feel. It’s a feeling you’ll just have to get used to, because it won’t be waning anytime soon.

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

Jake’s coos and kisses have you battling the glowing neon L-word flickering in your mind – louder, brighter, more blinding than the bulbs on Josh’s marquee from last night. More powerful than the sign displayed against The Fox Theatre.

You don’t think Jake has looked at you yet. And if he has, it was for a fleeting second. The dog seems to have his undivided interest, and that’s fine. That’s how it should be, in truth. But, of course, that isn’t quite the case for you. And it doesn’t help at all that he looks damn good.

Baggy khakis, a white, torn up t-shirt under the black corduroy jacket you’ve seen him wear a lot recently. It’s not nearly heavy enough for the brutal cold, and the ‘scarf’ he has tied around his neck is closer to the likes of a thin bandana, with a single coin on a silver chain hanging below it. He must be cold – the temperature is several degrees below freezing. But, in typical Jake fashion, his winter ‘coats’ are usually reduced to some cool button down-shacket type of outerwear. Not that you’ll complain, of course. It certainly makes you giggle to think about, though.

The bitter air is far more unforgiving outside of the car, and the wind has only picked up since you left the animal shelter. The rip in your tights – though they weren’t that warm to begin with – is making every inch of your skin ice cold, even beneath your layers up top.

Your first instinct is to run inside, not expose yourself to the burning chill much longer. Let these two brave the cold if they so choose – doesn’t mean you have to. But as you turn to shut the car door, preparing your trek inside the warm apartment, you notice a set of eyes behind a familiar pair of shades looking up. At you. The sunlight is catching just right against their black tint. And because of that, you can see his orbs perfectly as they fall upon you. But not just you, on the rip in your tights.

A flame – practically enough to warm you, despite the cruel nip in the air – ignites beneath your chest, warming your cheeks on an instant. And that very flame, fanned by the memory of the night prior, when Jake’s hands saw the demise of another pair of tights.

His brows, muddled and flustered, are drawn in the middle. And his lips are held in a tight, fine line as he’s staring directly at the damage done to the garment. The damage caused by the dog.

But Jake may be thinking the worst of the worst right now. Something along the same vein as the happenings of last night. And considering you’ve been with Sam for the better part of two hours now…

But why should he care? It was his choice to call it quits this morning, right? So, the anger seeping through his features right now is not warranted. Yeah, you could explain that Rosie is the reason your tights are ripped. (And if Jake had any sense right now, he’d realize that she was just in your lap, and that she is the most probable cause for this.)

But, what’s the point in trying to explain? You know you’d fall victim to over explaining, all for the purpose of ensuring that he feels better about it.

Well, you don’t owe him that. Let him think what he wants. If that’s what he’s thinking.

And if it is, the mere thought of it is giving you a strange feeling of power over him, an upper hand of sorts. A bit of confidence, even. Confidence to do something you may not have done otherwise. Something that’ll bathe his fury in even more fire when you do.

Fuck it.

“I think she’ll fit in beautifully,” you say, kneeling down right beside Jake. It’s unmistakable, the extra threads that tear in your tights when you lean down. Too much tension in the fabric, and you know Jake heard them rip further.

Your face, close to his, though you’re not looking at him. Only paying attention to Rosie, who’s turned her attention toward you a little. Her fur under your touch is so soft – you can only assume she’d just gotten a fresh groom and bath before her departure from the shelter. Given the sweet scent of coconut emanating from her, you’d say that’s a plausible assumption.

You’re doing your very best to focus on Rosie, and not Jake. But as it stands, his scent is overpowering the coconut – sandalwood, musk. Jake.

He's looking at you – that much you can decipher from the image your peripheral is offering. You’re trying to play it off as though you’re only down here for Rosie. But, the choice to do this has suddenly become one of regret. After this morning, doing this is not only cruel to him; it’s cruel to you.

And now, you’re feeling like an utter fool. Going with Sam in the first place was perhaps not the best move – it’s one that you’re certain Jake isn’t exactly crazy about. And why’d you go with Sam in the first place?

Fuck.

Jake is silent now, and his lack of response – of any words to you at all – makes you want to sprint toward the apartment. Get out of this situation altogether. Where you should’ve been this whole time. Had you just gone up there like you’d meant to the second you stepped out of the Bug, this situation would’ve been avoided altogether. You can only imagine what he’s thinking now.

And imagining is all you can handle at the moment; you don’t want to know what’s running through his mind right now. What ran through his mind when he discovered that you’d gone with Sam to pick up his dog. Doesn’t get more couple than that. And the goddamn rip in your tights, to make it all so much worse. Completely out of context, but you know how it looks.

And, to make it all so, so much worse, you’ve asked Sam to take photos of you. Photos for the job that Jake is adamantly against you partaking in.

Fucking hell, y/n. What are you doing?

You wish to god that you knew.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The party today is far more mild than last nights. A small lunch of chicken salad croissants prepared by Lori, and the drinks are reduced to a much calmer mimosa bar. The entire kitchen counter, dedicated to creating any guests’ brunch cocktail of choice. You’d gone your whole life believing there was only one way to create a mimos – a simple concaction of champagne and orange juice and viola. However, the Kiszka’s have yet again challenged what you’ve known of the world.

There’s orange juice. But there’s also grapefruit juice, (a classic Josh choice) pineapple, guava, pomegranate, tangerine. All set up in chilled, tall glasses, with their names written on the front. And, tons of bowls of endless frozen fruit options. Just about any variation your own mind could possibly come up with is feasible, thanks to this insane mimosa display. Just one more thing that reminds you of where you came from, and that you’re most certainly not from here. Oklahoma just wasn’t like this. Not your area of Oklahoma, at least.

Your mixture of choice was champagne, pomegranate juice and frozen blueberries, and it’s perhaps the most delicious drink you’ve ever sipped on. Tart, sweet, and the Faire La Fête is a beautiful choice for the base. Not that you’re a connoisseur by any stretch of the definition, but you’ve certainly learned a lot about this sort of thing in the past few months.

Some of the decor is still up from the night before, most notably the marquee and the banner you and Josh had created for Jake. The guest books are now in each of the twin’s rooms, and the space isn’t nearly as packed as it was last night. A more intimate gathering, the room filled only with a few of the most important people in the lives of the two you’re celebrating. And you just happen to be one of them. And no matter what has happened – or is happening – with you and the long-haired twin, you’re flattered to be considered a part of this group.

Speaking of the twins — they’ve been each other's main company since you’ve been here. Keeping to themselves in the kitchen, talking and laughing the loudest you’ve ever heard from these two. More cackling than anything – wheezing and snorting with every other word. The smile on your lips at their repartee is straight from your heart.

“Where’d you two run off to?” Nat asks, plopping herself down on the couch beside you, the bounce of the cushion threatening the mimosa in your hand to become part of your ensemble. “And how did that get there?” She questions, looking directly at the blatant rip across your thigh as she takes a bite of her sandwich. You’ve tried to cover it as best you can — crossing the other leg over it when you’re sitting down, stretching the polyester fabric of your sweater as far as it’ll go before it rips. Of course, you can’t escape it.

The knowing look in Nat’s golden eyes is indicative that she’s thinking something similar to what Jake probably assumes as well. “It was the dog, Natalia. She snagged them when she got out of the car.” You take a sip of the tangy, fizzy liquid held in your hand, feeling it come back up your nose when Nat nudges you so hard you nearly drop the glass.

“Nat! I’m serious!” You say, a whispered yell so as to avoid anyone hearing the conversation. She gives out an amused little laugh, full of disbelief and perhaps a little judgement. She shovels in the last bite of her chicken salad sandwich, scooching over just a bit closer to you to make room for Danny’s mom.

“I hope the sandwiches were up to par,” Lori says, Nat wholeheartedly agreeing with a mouth full of the food in question. Nodding her head, croissant crumbs falling from her smiling, chewing mouth. Lori chuckles and shakes her head amusingly, patting Nat on the shoulder like she’s seen her this way a hundred times or more. “What about you, y/n? Did you like ‘em too?”

A cold, tense chill stiffens your spine, your posture straightening the instant she asks you.

If you’re honest, you didn’t intentionally avoid the food. You’re just…not hungry. So, eating a sandwich didn’t even cross your mind. The drink felt like plenty. Hunger hasn’t called yet, so you haven’t felt the need.

Nat’s thoughts may as well be amplified through an intercom, with speakers in every corner of the living room – you know what she’s thinking, her carefree eyes hardening as she now realizes that you haven’t eaten yet. You just hope to god that she doesn’t verbalize her thoughts, embarrass you in front of everyone. In front of Danny’s mom, who's as unsuspecting as she could possibly be.

The truth of it is, you didn’t mean to not eat. Not for the reasons running amuck in Natalia’s mind, you’re sure. It was as simple as a lack of hunger. That’s all. But of course, a lovely response of someone being privy of your complex relationship with food, is they assume the worst. Always.

And this very moment is why you don’t enjoy people knowing. Why you’ve opted to hide it, even from those you deem closest to you. Because, no matter what, they’ll look at the illness before they look at you.

You look to Lori, whose eyes are wide and eager to hear your thoughts on the food she’d prepared. A pleasant mom smile, warm and inviting on her thin, lightly glossed lips. “I haven’t had the chance to dig into them yet,” you explain, avoiding Nat’s glare as much as you can. Though, it’s hard, given she’s right in the middle of you and Lori. “But I’ll get one before I leave! They look delicious.”

“Yep, she sure will,” Nat butts in, just as Lori was taking a breath to speak to you. A snarky smile on Nat’s face, and a tension very much present in her jaw as she looks at you. Her eyes, speaking all the words she wants to say, but (hopefully) knows she shouldn’t. Not here, at least.

“I’ll make sure she gets a couple,” she says, now looking at Lori who, still, is completely oblivious. “Actually, I’ll just go put a few in a ziplock for her.”

“Wonderful idea, Natalia!” Lori commends, placing her hand on Nat’s leg just as she’s about to stand from the couch. Instead, Lori stands. “No, no, sweetheart. Let me do it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wagner,” you say as she heads to the kitchen, assuring you with a smile that it’s no problem.

“They’re good, y/n.” You hear Nat’s voice from over your shoulder, her cool hand now resting on your knee. When you look back at her, that tension she’d held before has softened, a familiar hint of concern in her irises. “You really should try them. Please.”

“I will, Nat.”

You’re not angry with her. You can’t be. You know she cares. But, dammit. Why do things always come back to this? Conversations with her anymore almost always end up going somewhere deeper, somewhere that you wish you could go one day without discussing.

Jesus – you have to feel it all the fucking time. It’d just be nice to live like normal for once, pretend it’s not there. Even if it’s just for a little while. Not every single thing in your life needs to revolve around it. But when it’s a near constant topic of conversation, it certainly feels like it’s the only thing about you that matters.

At least she cares. And at this point in your life, that’s all you can ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You’ve always talked about it,” you hear Josh say before he takes the last, generous swig of his grapefruit mimosa. “And I’ll be honest — I’m puzzled that you’ve not done it yet.”

You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they aren’t exactly keeping their voices down. And, you’re only a few short feet away from them, rinsing out your champagne flute in the sink while they talk.

“I guess I knew that living here was always temporary, and I wanted to wait until I moved somewhere more…” Though you’re not looking directly at him, your eyes solely on the task of rinsing the dish soap from the glass, you can see his hands grabbing at the air, as though he’s searching for the right word to take hold of. “...more permanent, I suppose”

Permanent. That word. It stings. Like fucking hell.

“I get that,” Josh says, understanding. Though you can sense a melancholic lilt in his tone. It hits you – something you hadn’t truly considered until now. Jake and Josh aren’t just brothers. They’re twins. They’ve never lived a single day without the other by their side. They’ve always been each other’s anchor, each other’s constant – understanding one another in a way no one else ever could. They don’t just share a bond. They share DNA.

This whole thing…London – it’s probably a thousand times harder on Josh than anyone else. You’ve been so lost in your own sadness over it that you hadn’t even considered how his twin brother may be feeling.

“Will your driver's license work over there to operate one?”

What?

“Yeah, for the first twelve months. But I’ll have to register it under my London address before I can purchase a motorcycle anyways, so I’d just as soon renew it once I get there.”

Motorcycle?

Your grip on the glass loosens the second you hear that word, and it comes crashing into the black, steel sink. Naturally, of course, it shatters upon impact. The noise echoes throughout the whole damn apartment, drawing everyone's attention straight to you.

Even Rosie, who’s been calm and sweet as can be since the moment she walked into her new home, is startled and begins barking, loudly. Sam kneels to the floor, rubbing her chest and talking to her to calm her frazzled nerves. Your cheeks are suddenly burning with the blood that’s rushed to them.

“You alright over there, girl?” Nat asks from her place on the couch, sinked into the cushion between Danny and his mom, his dad on the other side of Danny. All of them, each set of concerned eyes, looking at you as though you’d just, well, broken glass.

“I’m, uh – I’m good,” you say, unable to keep from glancing to your right, noting a set of twins who are looking right at you. Their faces, the very same expression – concern laced in each set of brown eyes.

You begin to feel warm water trickle down your left hand, reaching your wrist. There’s a paper towel on the counter to your right, so you grab it real fast to dry your skin. Only, when you do, you realize rather quickly that it isn’t water.

“Shit,” Jake rasps, wooden chair legs screeching against the linoleum floor. He’s beside you within a matter of seconds, taking the paper towel from your hand and pressing it against the opened gash on the outside of your palm, right below your pinky. How did you not notice the blood in the sink, on the counter, the droplets on the floor? And how did you not feel the glass slicing into you?

Of course, you feel the sting now. Now that you’ve realized what’s happened. It happened so quickly – your brain couldn’t register it until your eyes saw it.

But what’s more tangible than the sharp pain on the surface of your skin, is the feeling of him pressed against you, treating your wound as though it’s the most crucial thing he needs to be doing at the given moment.

He’s holding your wounded hand so tight, with both of his. Holding the dampened cloth against you, soaking up the blood. And his body, nestled right against yours. His scent, intoxicating.

“Are you alright, doll?”

No. Not now.

You blink a few times, attempting to ground yourself in this reality and not in another one. One where Jake is more to you than a fleeting experience, more than a goddamn chapter.

Something as simple as taking care of your cut is rendering you almost speechless, nearly in a trance. His touch does that, though. You know that, and surely he knows that. “Y-yeah, didn’t even feel it,” you say, trying your damnedest to avoid his piercing eyes right now. Though try as you might, his gaze is impossible to ignore. Always. And this time, it's weighted with worry. Worry for you.

Still looking at you, carrying your gaze as he holds your bleeding hand within his, he speaks to the room. “Can someone go grab the first-aid kit?”

“On it,” Josh responds, immediately following Jake’s request and jogging toward the bathroom down the hall.

Jake’s eyes then follow a path down to your hand, now trembling as the pain has begun to increase just a bit. You look as he carefully lifts away the towel, and for a cut to bleed so much, it’s certainly rather small. “I suppose stitches won’t be necessary,” he says, low and under his breath. More husky than before, as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. A careful, mysterious smile on his lips. “Maybe just a little scar to tell the tale.”

You’ve not even noticed that Josh is now standing beside you, digging through the first-aid kit for the proper items. Jake’s thumb brushing over the blade of your hand, the careful knit in his brow as he examines you — the rest of the world is suddenly not nearly as important.

Jake holds his other hand out, to which Josh then places a tiny tube of Neosporin ointment in his opened palm. He squeezes a small amount on the cut, the initial sting jolting your body a bit. “Sorry, y/n,” he whispers, surely noting your involuntary reaction.

The tip of his finger rubs it in just a bit, then he reaches for the open band-aid next to the sink that Josh prepared for him. He places it over the cut, his touch gentle and light as a feather as he smooths it over your skin. “That feel okay, doll?”

Fuck. The ache between your thighs, a reminder of last night and this morning, is growing all the more as your legs threaten to squeeze together.

“Y-yes, it’s fine,” you stutter, snapping yourself out of this when you notice Nat walking up to you from your peripheral.

“Damn, y/n,” she says, leaning over the kitchen peninsula to take a gander at the situation. “That could’ve been bad, dude.” There’s still a decent amount of blood in the sink, and a few drops along the counter. Luckily, the finish is a dark, almost black granite, and the sink is black. So, staining won’t be an issue. Still, the mess makes it look much worse than it actually was.

“Undoubtedly,” Jake agrees, quiet and deep. “It’s a wonder she didn’t slice clear to the bone.”

He wets another paper towel and uses it to clean the rest of the blood that had trickled down your wrist, his other hand holding your arm close to his chest as he ensures he’s gotten it all. The towel, cold and wet against your skin, sends a flood of goosebumps up the expanse of your arm.

“It’s okay, Jake. I got it from here,” you say, your voice breaking as you speak each word, feeling yourself crumbling away even further as he doesn’t follow your command.

You don’t dare stop him physically, however. Your body simply won’t let you. You’re drawn to him, captivated. He’s magnetic, pulling you in, keeping you where he wants you. Where you want you.

Like a moth drawn to moonlight.

“It’s all gone, I believe,” he says, entirely disregarding what you’d said. Ignoring you, holding true to this calling he feels to take care of you.

Suddenly, the air flickering with a sense of deja vu, this moment begins to feel familiar. A forgotten memory — you know this. But how?

“We’ve been here before, haven't we?” His words, whispered, meant only for your ears. It’s as though he can hear what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. Perhaps he is feeling it, too.

That’s right.

The night your mom was taken by ambulance to the emergency room, when you became so overwhelmed that you slammed your left hand on the counter in a rage-filled moment.

He held ice on your hand that night as you spoke with the nurse about your moms condition. He stayed there with you, refused to leave you there alone, stranded when you didn’t have your car. He tended to your left hand that night, the very same hand that he’s caring for now.

And now that you’re remembering, the cut is practically in the same spot that met the counter at the hospital. The same hand, the same place on your hand. And Jake. There to help you heal when you didn’t expect him to. He remembers.

“Yeah,” you chuckle, quietly and carrying through a sigh of your breath. And fight it as you might, your lips tug into a smile that, as your eyes meet his, he mimics.

Though, as the moment lingers, your smile begins to falter when you remember the conversation from this morning. The things that were said, the emotions that weighed down the room, heavy.

“I guess this is over.”

Those words, coming straight from his lips. He’s chosen to end this…thing between you. His choice, right?

Oddly enough, it feels as though you were the one who truly made the choice. He just verbalized it – made it real by speaking it into the universe. So, it’s over.

And this moment – Jake taking care of you, holding you, not leaving your side until he’s sure you’re okay – shouldn’t be happening. Because all it’s doing is adding yet another reason for it to hurt when he’s gone.

And you can’t allow the pain to fester even more. It’s already an open, bleeding wound. One that can’t be fixed with a paper towel and a band-aid. The blood runs a little deeper – it’s thicker. No physical wound could ever compare.

You feel your smile fade, the muscles in your face beginning to droop. Your eyes flick down to where your bodies connect – his hand still gripped around your wrist.

And the second you look back up to him, you notice that his smile has fallen, too. Without so much as a word – in pure silence – he lets go, as though he’s realized, too, that this shouldn’t be happening.

His eyes, a silent apology before he looks away and begins carefully removing the shattered remains of the glass from the sink. Each piece clinks softly against the stainless steel, delicate and deliberate, as though he knows one wrong movement might break something else – something already hanging by a thread.

You watch him work, the muscles tightening in his jaw, his expression entirely unreadable as he picks up the mess. The silence between you is loud. Uncomfortably so. You want to say something, anything. But, what’s left to say when goodbye has already been spoken?

So instead, you take a step back. Then another. Distance growing in small steps, and he doesn’t try to stop you. Just as you step out of the kitchen completely, now in the living room beside Sam and Nat, you glance back once more.

He’s still there. Still carefully collecting the broken pieces. And maybe, in some way, you both are.

Trying to clean up what’s already been shattered.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I know there are still a few weeks until Christmas,” Josh declares from the top of the stairs, beginning his descent down to the living room with a couple of gift bags dangling from each hand. “But I felt that right now was as good a time as any to bestow upon you all, my precious loved ones, your Christmas gifts from me.”

He makes a slow, melodramatic trek down the stairs with the gifts. And as you glance around the room, everyone appears to be just as perplexed as you.

What does this man have up his sleeve?

One thing about Josh – he’s unpredictable. In all the best ways.

“I’ve recently found myself a new hobby. Once our lovely film came to an exuberant end, I decided I needed something to keep my hands busy until film school begins in August.”

Gift bags in hand as he takes the final step into the living room, he makes it to you first. “To y/n,” he says, grinning.

You blink in surprise, caught off guard in the best way, and take the gift. Inside the gift bag is something wrapped in crinkly black tissue. You glance up at him as you peel it open, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

Inside is a black frame holding a perfectly stitched replica of The Shining’s iconic carpet — the bold hexagon pattern in orange, red, and brown. And right in the center, redrum is spelled out in bold, crimson thread, delicate drops of blood stitched just beneath. Your mouth opens in a startled laugh — part affection, part amazement. It’s creepy. It’s clever. It’s so you.

But what really gets you is the thought of Josh sitting somewhere, hands steady, taking the time it requires to create something as detailed and intricate as this. The hours this must have taken, just for you. And not just you — it’s clear he’s done something like this for everyone. You feel warmth blooming deep within your chest at the thought.

“It’s perfect,” you murmur, brushing your thumb gently across the top of the frame. “And I love that you made it.” You glance up at him, his smile soft and full. “It’s just incredible. It seriously looks —,”

“Expertly done?” Josh interrupts, resting a hand dramatically on his popped hip.

A bubble of laughter erupts from your throat. “You just took the words straight from my mouth,” you say through a Josh-induced giggle, to which he flicks his wrist mid air. A physical display of this ‘I know’ moment.

Still holding the frame in your lap, you look back down at it. The details. You’re still in awe over them.

And the care. The willingness to do something like this, for you. You don’t say anything right away, but the emotions are there. Sitting heavy against your ribs.

You’ll treasure this forever. That much is certain.

“Nat,” Josh says, offering hers with a sly wink. “You’re next, my dear.” From the bag, she pulls out a frame wrapped in baby pink tissue.

Ripping it away, she reveals a pale-orange frame surrounding a stitched stack of books. Each spine, stitched in gold lettering against the dark blue, yellow, pink, and purple books, are just a few of her favorite authors; Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Cherríe Moraga, and Alice Walker.

Never one to cry at the drop of a hat. And yet, you see her struggling to fight back a few tears. A losing battle, of course. One slips away from her eye before she can stop it. Her hand quickly brushes it away, though it’s too late – she’s been caught.

“You mean to tell me,” Josh says, crouching down to her level as she’s sitting on the couch. “That I made the Natalia Delores León – my fiery Aries – cry?” He knows damn well that his mocking could very well lead to some trouble for him in the near future.

But, alas – she lets him have this moment. For now.

“It was one tear, Joshua.” She pats the curls on top of his head, very much aware of the fact that he doesn’t typically love when people touch his hair. He quickly stands, a giant and satisfied smile on his lips, fluffing his hair back in place. “Don’t expect it to happen ever again,” she tosses back with a wicked, sass-filled grin.

Josh wheezes a chuckle as he moves on to Sam, who’s now sitting right beside you on the couch. The second he took his seat, Jake – situated on his typical choice of the Nova lounge – shifted his eyes away from you, and hasn’t bothered to look at you since. Immediately after he took care of your hand, things went right back to the way they’ve been all day.

Avoidance, tension. Silence.

Sam didn’t even bat an eye at your injury, only picking on you for being so clumsy. And that’s fine.

But Jake…his tender care made you feel safe. And you just didn’t feel that with Sam. In fact, you’ve yet to feel it with him. But that doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

“Samuel,” Josh announces as he hands his little brother his own gift. Rosie, sitting between Sam’s legs, becomes quite excited. Her tail thumps the floor, mouth open in a panting smile, sweetly as Josh for some attention.

He kneels down and gives her some love without question, kissing her nose and rubbing her chest while Sam opens his own gift.

His is a shot of his orange Bug, recreated in thread like a photo. Beside it, a tiny Polaroid camera that almost exactly replicates the one he used at the party last night. Sam beams with a big smile, a gentle giggle. “Ah, thank you, brother!”

Josh then jogs to the kitchen, catching Danny just as he’s finishing off the last bit of the champagne. He’s never cared to drink in front of his parents, so he opted to wait until they left to indulge a little. But, waiting that long meant he didn’t get more than a few swigs before it was all gone.

Josh sets his gift on the counter, making a horrible (what you can only assume) lightsaber noise as he steps away. “Daniel, I hope the force is strong with this one.”

“Cheesy, Josh,” Danny laughs as he digs into his bag, unveiling his gift high in the air so that you all can see from the living room.

As suspected: the Star Wars logo stitched just like the opening crawl of each movie, complete with tiny X-wings and a stitched lightsaber hilt in the corner.

“This is sick!” Danny boasts, staring at his gift like it’s the most incredible piece of artwork he’s ever seen. “Damn, dude. You didn’t a good fucking job.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Josh responds in a knowing tone, prancing on back to the living room to Malachi, standing with this shoulder leaned against the entertainment center.

“My love, my finance,” Josh says, leaning up on his tiptoes to plant a sweet kiss to Chi’s cheek. “Due to recent events,” he continues, his left hand flying up in the air, displaying the stunning ring he was given the night before. “Yours will be given to you at a later date. I'd like to tweak a few things before I give you the final product.”

And then, Josh turns to Jake, the only one remaining. There’s a beat of silence as he hands the bag to his twin.

The last gift, wrapped in navy tissue paper, speckled with silver stars. Jake unfolds it carefully, and finds a dark frame, one that mirrors yours. He rests it on his lap, but from where you’re sitting, the angle keeps you from seeing exactly what it is.

Whatever it is, though, Jake doesn’t speak at first. He just takes a breath. Lets it settle for a moment.

“Taurus,” he mutters eventually, his voice quiet as he runs a finger over the stitching. “It’s the Taurus constellation, right?” He looks up at Josh, standing beside the chair. The words sound more like a confirmation than a question. Josh nods once, smiling without a word.

Jake blinks down at the gift for a moment, lips parting with a smile. He laughs, quiet and breathy. More like a huff – soft and knowing. Not the kind of laugh that comes from humor, but from something warmer. Something that lives closer to the heart.

He holds it up to share with the rest of you.

The Taurus constellation, stitched in silver thread across a dark indigo canvas. Just below it: JMK and JTK, stitched in the very same thread. And, beneath that, a gentle phrase that ties it all together.

So you always know where to look when you want to find your way home.

Jake blinks fast and rubs his eyes before rising to his feet. He sets the frame gently on the chair and pulls Josh into a hug. Tight, unhurried, deeply felt.

No one says a word. And no one needs to.

This moment is reserved for Jake and Josh – twins who have never gone a day apart since the minute they were born.

The room holds its breath with them, a quiet reverence, save for the sniffles echoing in the air.

No one is ready for Jake to leave. No one.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake disappeared shortly after Josh handed out his gifts. Your best guess was he just went to work — perhaps he got a phone call from a tenant that he needed to take care of, didn’t bother to let anyone know before he left.

You’d spent the rest of your time trying not to think about his absence. Because, whether anyone likes it or not, an absent Jake will be the new reality. Soon, at that.

But his separation was still noticed. Especially by you, as you found yourself glancing all around the visual spots of the apartment more than once during the movie, hoping he’d come back, from wherever it was that he disappeared to.

He didn’t. Everyone that was left — you, Sam, Nat, Danny, Josh, Chi — watched the entirety of It’s a Wonderful Life without a single trace of Jake. All two hours and ten minutes of it. (A Josh pick, naturally.)

Nat, true to form, was asleep within the first few minutes of the movie. Snoring before the first scene came to an end, snuggled up with her head in Danny’s lap while he played with her hair.

Sam sat next to you the whole time. And every so often, he’d scoot just a little closer. Enough that the two of you were wrapped up in a full-blown cuddle by the end of the movie. You wanted it to feel wrong – it didn’t. But while it didn’t feel wrong, it didn’t exactly feel right, either.

You certainly indulged in it, though. Because it did feel nice. He kept you warm, and his scent of herbal greens and spicy citrus was rather calming. It wasn’t wrong, it wasn't right. But it was nice. And you’d be dishonest if you said you didn’t enjoy it. But it wasn’t what you truly wanted.

Cuddled with Sam, while your eyes wandered the room for Jake — seeking him. Wishing he were close to you. But he never showed up. And at some point, you finally just gave up on him. You decided that if he were planning to join everyone again, he’d have already done it. No one else seemed phased by it, so you chose to let it go.

The winter sun sets earlier, so it’s almost completely dark outside during the early evening hour, just a little past six. Way past time for you to be home, though.

You’ve just gotten off the phone with your mom to let her know you’ll be on your way in just a few minutes. She sounded okay on the other end, just tired. A little winded, yet no more than usual. But you knew it was time to get back to her.

Danny was charged with the task of waking up Natalia — she’d insisted she be the one to take you home, so you turned down Sam when he offered. But you know just as well as anyone else that waking Natalia is no easy feat. And tonight has proven to be the impossible dream. She’s still sound asleep, stirring only enough to huff and gruff when Danny tries to get her up. “It’s practically useless at this point,” he says, relinquishing all hope when she begins snoring again.

“The offer still stands, y/n,” you hear Sam say from the kitchen, where he’s just fed Rosie her first dinner in her new home. She’s behind the kitchen peninsula, so you can’t see her. But you can certainly hear her chomping away at her kibble. A good sign that she’s eating so well, though you never had any doubt. She’s perfectly comfortable already.

You take a final glance around the room, peeking down the hallway towards Jake’s room in one last, aching pursuit of him. Hoping against all hope that he’ll somehow appear from the woodwork and he will offer to take you. And if he did, you know it’d be the final time. But in your final search, you come to terms with the fact that he’s nowhere to be found. And he probably wants it that way.

So, you agree to let Sam take you. A bit hesitant, of course. And it’s not his fault that you are. If it weren’t for Jake, you know you'd be more than thrilled to be with Sam. You just can’t get Jake out of your goddamn mind.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve said your goodbyes to all those awake and accounted for. You and Sam have just made it outside, and if you thought it was cold before, it’s at least thirty degrees colder now. Has to be. And, the further you make it in the parking lot, you see a few flakes of snow spitting from the sky. As you look up, you realize the sky is glittering with icy precipitation.

It’s beautiful. It’s not quite enough to cover the ground – it’s just enough to leave a thin layer of powdered ice against the black pavement.

You blink away a couple of flakes when they land in your eyelashes, the cold air bitter, yet still refreshing against your skin. Like it’s reawakening your senses, sprinkling your face with chilly whispered kisses.

The moon, though covered by heavy clouds that carry snow, is still as bright as if it were shining in the sky all on its own. You follow the trail of its gleam, all the way down to the parking lot you’re standing in, stopping just above a billow of smoke coming from behind Jake’s Rover. You take a few more steps, Sam oblivious as he follows behind, until the sight of him stops you.

Jake.

He’s leaned against his The Black Pearl, one hand buried in the pocket of his black jeans, the other lifted to his mouth, a red ember flickering between his fingers. Smoke coils from his lips, catching the moon’s silver light and drifting into the cold, still air.

He’s doing the same as you just were – staring off into the vast sky, blinking away soft snowflakes when they drift across his eyes.

You didn’t even know he smoked. Not once have you tasted it on his lips, or smelled it on his skin. This is either something new, or something he’s able to hide quite well. Sam seems entirely unphased by it, which would indicate that this certainly isn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Whatever the case, there’s something so peaceful about it, so alluring. The smell of cigarette smoke has never been your favorite. Yet as you watch him quietly blow the smoke from his lips, the wind gently wafting it your way, it’s not nearly as bothersome as it would normally be. You quite enjoy it, in truth.

It’s only when he looks at you that you realize you’re just standing here, staring at him. And all at once, you’re humiliated, your feet shuffling clumsily toward Sam’s Bug that, of course, is right behind the back of Jake’s Rover, facing him head on.

His piercing eyes, glowing against the pale light of the moon, watch you with pure intent as you reach Sam’s car, tracking your every awkward step.

Sam follows close behind you, silent, not bothering to open the car door for you. Not like Jake would have. Something he’s always done. But right now, he’s just watching.

The moment you slip into the passenger seat and yank the door closed, Jake flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot without looking away from you.

Sam says something – a question? – but your head may as well be underwater. You can’t make out his words, his voice a mere vibration in the air. Absently, you mutter a distracted “yes,” eyes still locked with Jake, heart beating against your ribs. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands.

And then you feel it – Sam’s finger, warm and gentle, carefully pulling your chin toward him.

Before a single coherent thought can form, before you can even catch your breath, Sam’s lips press against yours. Soft, uncertain, but real. Real enough to shatter the last bit of remaining sense within you. For a quiet moment, the kiss deepens. Against all odds, against all reason, you find yourself leaning into it. Your eyes flutter closed, lips dancing with his in the silence.

But just before you’ve reached a point when coming back will no longer be an open, your eyes fly open, the kiss breaking, heart stuttering in your chest.

As Sam’s hand still holds your cheek, you look forward again, not even offering Sam as much as an acknowledgement.

And he’s gone. Jake is gone.

The spot where he stood, leaning against the back of his Rover, is empty. Fuck.

And all at once, you begin to remember the question that Sam had asked, when you were so entranced by Jake. Much too lost in his eyes to accept that he wasn’t the one to your left, asking if he could kiss you.

You said yes. Sam asked if he could kiss you, and you said yes. And it happened right in front of Jake, right before his own eyes.

And now he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Goddammit.

“That was wonderful, y/n,” Sam says, drawing your eyes back to him. The sweetest smile on his lips, dark brown eyes drinking you in. It hurts your heart because you just can’t reciprocate, no matter how much you wish you could.

It’s just not the time.

“Y-yeah, um –,” you stutter, voice cracked and wet with tears that you refuse to let fall. “S-sorry I just…” You glance forward one more time, the spot he once stood still empty. Only an extinguished cigarette butt remains where his boots were. “I really need to get home.”

“No problem,” he winks, completely inattentive to your current state of mind it would seem.

The engine starts with a lazy flick of his wrist, sputtering and rattling almost as much as your Firebird does upon starting it. You sit here, body stiff, your insides hollow. Your hands are clutching the seatbelt across your chest like it’s your life support.

You can’t look at Sam. Not to any fault of his own, you just can’t. He doesn’t seem to catch on, anyways.

Your throat tightens around the apology you silently toss into the air, hoping the universe will deliver it to Jake.

Sam hums to the radio as he pulls onto the road, blissful and unaware of the earthquake happening within you. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the tears you feel you could cry at any second.

You said yes to Sam. And Jake saw. How do you come back from that? Can you?

Does it even matter? He’s leaving. Even if you could fix it, he won’t even be here long enough to see it fixed.

Maybe this was the closure you both needed. The kind that cuts deeper than any knife ever could.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 10th:

Three days until he leaves.

He’s called three times since this morning.

You just can’t bring yourself to answer him, to face him after yesterday morning. And, after what happened last night. You’re embarrassed. You’re ashamed. You don’t even know where to begin, how to explain and articulate something so convoluted in your own mind.

Yeah, this hurts like fucking hell. But talking to him will surely hurt much worse. What is there to say, anyway? It’s done. And that’s what he wanted.

But god, you miss him. You miss his voice. Everything in you wants to answer right now as he’s calling for the sixth time. But you don’t let yourself. Answering him won’t do anything but cause you (and him) more pain.

The call, just the same as all the others, goes to your voicemail. Unanswered.

But now, in lieu of calling, he’s now restored to texting you again.

Jake: Can we please just talk?

You can’t imagine what else there is to talk about – it’s already done. He made that choice. You kissed his brother. There’s nothing left to say. It’s over, just like he wanted.

You: There’s nothing to talk about.

Yes there is. There’s plenty to talk about.

You just don’t fucking know how to talk about it.

Avoiding it, ignoring it, seems like the best thing. For both of you.

Your heart thumps, racing in your chest as your phone vibrates in your palm again. You stare at the incoming call, his name in big letters on your screen. And you let it ring. Unanswered, again.

Jake: Please, y/n. I just want to talk to you.

You: I can’t talk right now. I’m sorry.

Sorry I won’t speak to you, sorry that I kissed your fucking brother in front of you.

Jake: Ok.

Ok.

There’s no response you feel you need to make to that, and before you could even try to come up with one, he’s put his Do Not Disturb on.

So, there’s no point. Perhaps he’ll leave you be. Because that’s the best thing. For both of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’d never experienced a Trader Joe’s until you came to Michigan. Walmart was pretty much it where you’re from. Even then, Walmart trips were reserved only for your dads paycheck weeks. The Dollar Tree down the road from your house was the grocery spot you most frequented.

But, as you quickly discovered when you moved here, Trader Joe’s is truly what grocery shopping dreams are made of. It feels as though you’re walking into the friendliest neighborhood market each time you walk inside. And, your personal favorite touch, the chalkboards at the front with cute little illustrations to promote the best products and deals of the week.

So, needless to say, you stop by the one on East Stadium Boulevard just about any chance you can get.

Today, the purpose of the trip is to get some chicken broth for your mom.

It’s about all she can manage to eat at the moment. Solid foods choke her more often than not. With as bad as her breathing has gotten – and it’s bad – she can’t find the energy to properly chew or swallow any food. Even something as soft as mashed potatoes is too much for her. She isn’t getting nearly enough nutrition right now, being only able to handle drinks. She refused smoothies when you’d mentioned those to her, knowing that you could blend up plenty of protein in one for her. But, she was adamantly against it. You questioned her opposition, of course. To which she only told you that she ‘didn’t like ‘em’ in the sharpest, most abrasive tone she could muster.

Okay. Got it.

So, chicken broth was the next idea you’d had. And, instead of asking her if she'd be okay with it, you’d decided it’d be best to just give it to her, and not ask her beforehand.

An ironic truth you’ve learned lately is that, even though it’s called the Dollar Tree, items at Trader Joe’s are actually much cheaper. For instance, the chicken broth you’ve chosen to purchase is $1.99 per box. That’s four cups of chicken broth for two bucks. The Dollar Tree back home would’ve charged you at least double, if not triple that.

You’ve loaded your basket with four boxes of the stuff, feeling quite assured in the fact that this new diet won’t cost you an arm and a leg. Hell, you could easily switch to this diet, too. Not too much, but it’s enough. The thought then crosses your mind that’d only be fair to eat what she is able to eat, too. It certainly wouldn’t be right to eat the food that she wants to eat, but can’t. So, before you make it out of the aisle, you quickly turn on your heel back toward the shelf you’d picked these boxes up from. And, grabbing two more so there’s plenty for the both of you.

I Wanna Be Your Lover fades out over the speakers, allowing for the next tune to lead in as you approach the check out. Only two cashiers are working right now, both with lines at least three people deep. No matter, though. You’re not exactly in any hurry to leave. The Trader Joe’s atmosphere offers you a bit of peace, and you’ll take as much of that as you can. Even if it means waiting in line to buy your six boxes of chicken broth.

But, that peace is quickly dismissed as you begin to note the song becoming increasingly louder through the store’s sound system. A couple of chords in, and you feel a stark sinking feeling in your tummy.

A delicate, melancholic piano melody. Spacious, unhurried. A quiet contemplation within each note. A subtle, gentle tap of a drum, accompanying Billy Joel’s smooth, tender voice. Knowing, heartfelt advice in the lyric.

And, hearing it at a volume that suddenly feels much too loud, you’re remembering the last time you heard this song. Where you were, who you were with, where you were going…

You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need

Though you can see when you're wrong

You know you can't always see when you're right

As a warm, lone tear begins its trial down your cheek, you find a new sense of urgency to get out of here. To your relief, you’re the next customer in line. With a ridiculous haste, you place your six boxes of chicken broth on the counter for the clerk to scan.

An older lady, perhaps close to your moms age. Years and years of a rough life written across her face in deeply set wrinkles. Hooded eyelids, colored with a chalky blue shadow reaching to her thin, greying brows. She smells like cigarette smoke and White Diamonds.

She greets you with a kind grin, displaying her yellowed teeth under her red painted, cracked lips. You offer her a smile back, though it isn’t a genuine one. And, based on the fall of her features, she can tell something is wrong. “Doing alright, sweetheart?”

Something about her. Her appearance, her voice. She reminds you of your mom. Well, who she used to be. Who you thought she was. How do you explain that to a complete stranger?

Yeah, I’m great. This song is just triggering as fuck, and you happen to remind me of my dying mother who’s refusing to take care of herself.

“Doing just fine,” you fib, forcing a smile to stretch your Burt’s Bees coated lips. She taps the touch screen on the register a few times before reading you your grand total of $12.66.

She places the boxes of broth in a brown paper bag while you slide your debit card through the machine, trying not to pay attention to the fact that she’s now singing along to the blessed song.

And you know that when the truth is told

That you can get what you want or you can just get old

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through

Her cracking voice, almost grating in contrast to the soft tone of Billy Joel. Grating, yet soothing in some odd way. Still, you’re just ready to leave. Get your boxed chicken broth home, hope that your mom will be willing to try it.

The cashier – Gertrude, according to her red name badge clipped to her black Trader Joe’s t-shirt – rips off the receipt from the printer, silently confirming that you’re okay with her placing it in the paper bag. When you nod your head, she does just that.

With a sweet smile and her wish for you to have a great rest of your day, you bid her the same and head towards the automatic glass doors. Brown paper bag in one hand, full with the boxes of chicken broth, the other hand fishing for your keys from your crossbody sitting against your upper torso.

Reaching your Firebird feels like sweet relief. Chipped red paint and all – at least you know this thing is a piece of shit. No surprises, no unexpected breakdowns.

Everything with this car is expected. So, because of that, you can rely on it to be a pretty consistent part of your life. Consistently breaking down, consistently failing you – at least you know it’s coming.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

‘It’s time to start making plans, y/n.’

That single sentence has played like a cracked record in your head since the moment you heard Doctor Roth utter the words. And, knowing there’s nothing more you can do for her, that you should only worry about keeping her comfortable…

You’re grieving her. And she’s not even gone yet. Though, grieving this woman already feels strange. A grievance that you feel shouldn’t weigh so heavily atop your shoulders. But, aside from her reluctance to help you help her, you don’t understand why you feel that way.

No matter the reason, you’re still doing everything you can think of. Right now, that means serving her warm chicken broth in a coffee mug. Because that is the only way she’ll ingest it. You’ll certainly not argue it. As long as she’s eating it, you couldn’t care less how she wants to do it.

You’d prepared yourself for much more of an argument when you came home with the Trader Joe’s purchase today. Fully expected her to go off on you about the proposal of trying chicken broth, in a similar manner that she had with the smoothie idea.

But, you’ve grown accustomed to her unpredictability as of late. So, while her willingness to try it didn’t entirely surprise you, you’d still prepared yourself for a fight about it.

She’s sipping on the warm liquid gingerly, cupping the red mug with Stillwell Memorial Hospital printed in white lettering. The hospital she used to frequent when you lived in Cherry Tree.

You’d spent a lot of time there before the move – that was the place she received her initial diagnosis.

She’s owned that mug for years. Longer than you’ve been alive. Just one of those things – a bookshelf, a wall clock, a blanket – that’s always been around. Something you never put much thought into, something that’s just a part of your life.

That mug is certainly one of those things. But for some reason, as you’re watching her dry, cracked lips sip the warm broth from the brim, a mundane mug that your eyes have landed on thousands of times before, you’re thinking much more about it than you ever have. It could be the hospital logo, it could be that this particular mug has never been used for anything aside from a morning cup of coffee, that it’s now being used as the sole reason your mom is getting any nutrition at the moment.

Who would’ve known that such a simple item would curate such a convoluted, complex array of emotions.

Perhaps it isn’t the mug that’s doing it – perhaps circumstances of your life, especially in this stage, have forced you to think more and more about things that have not yet required such deep amounts of thought.

A careful thank you crosses her lips as she motions for you to come gather the now empty mug. Your feet, tucked under your thighs, are now planted on the carpet, grounding you enough to stand. It takes your body a little longer than a second to get it – the couch cushions are becoming more like quick sand everyday. So worn down, so saggy from over a decade of use. Your body always sinks into them as though they could swallow you whole.

Bracing the palms of your hands on either side of your body, you're at last able to lift yourself from the crater you’ve left in the soft cushion.

But the moment you begin to stand, the room starts a slow, lazy spin. Tilting, though your head remains steady. A sudden rush of dizziness hits you like a thousand pound weight. Lightheaded, queasy. Your fingers and toes, tingly and almost numb. The walls around you caving in, turning black.

Your body then shifts right back down to the couch, your knees too weak to support your weight all of a sudden. Consciousness on the brink of fading, your moms voice like a distant echo as she asks you if you’re okay. An inkling tells you to raise your knees to your chest and place your head between them, quick as your body is able to.

And the moment you do, the feeling in your fingers begins to come back, your toes no longer tingling, blood rushing back to your head.

It all happened so fast, yet it felt like you were in a slow motion film.

“...y/n, are you okay?”

Her voice is suddenly much more clear, though you can’t answer her just yet. Not with words, at least.

A lazy thumbs up with your right hand will have to suffice for the moment. You’re not ready to lift your head just yet, afraid the sudden rush of nausea will overcome you.

This has happened before. Though, it hasn’t happened in a long time.

As your senses are finally coming back to normal, enough that you feel you can safely lift your head, you’re very clearly recalling a few moments all too familiar to this one. To this feeling that you haven’t experienced since you lived in Oklahoma.

Low blood sugar.

Very low blood sugar. Low enough that your body, your brain is entirely deprived of energy.

Textbook hypoglycemic spell.

The first time this happened to you, you were only a few days into your sixteenth year. It happened at school. You didn’t know what to do when the room began spinning, so you ran down the hallway towards the bathroom. Only, you didn’t make it. You only made it as far as the glass case holding all the sports trophies and medals. A few steps from the bathroom.

The principal woke you up while the nurse was taking your vitals, right there in the middle of the hallway. At least a dozen or so of your classmates had gathered around to catch a glimpse of the goth girl that had fainted.

Your dad was there within minutes of you coming to, and while you were still foggy and too unstable to walk, he carried you out of the school and drove you to the hospital. To Stillwell, the very same one your moms mug came from.

“Lack of fuel,” the emergency nurse had said, as you lay flat on the hospital bed, being pricked and prodded by her needle in a mad hunt for a vein. ‘Has she been eating enough?’

She was talking to your dad, even though you were right there. It was like you were in no condition to answer questions about your own body. But, at the time, you probably weren’t.

You needed fluids, bad. And she just couldn’t find your fucking vein.

Your dad didn’t know how to answer that question. In truth, he didn’t know that you hadn’t been eating. Not yet.

He knew you began to skip breakfast when you were eleven because you wanted to get to school ‘early to do some reading.’ He knew you’d take a lunchbox to school everyday when you started middle school, but he didn’t know that you’d just toss its contents in the trash the moment you’d get there. He knew you’d take your dinner to your bedroom to work on homework in highschool, but he didn’t know that you’d dump your plate outside the window by your bed. The skunks and opossums had quite the dinner every night thanks to you. And thanks to them, no evidence that you’d done such a thing.

He did know that you’d been losing weight, but he had no reason to think you were lying about it being due to the increased activity during P.E. The weight loss didn’t truly become noticeable until your sophomore year of highschool. And it was enough that even you were beginning to see the difference.

Your mom had noticed the weight loss, too. But she never said much. Nothing at all if your memory serves your right. It was like she was jealous of the attention you were getting from your dad at that time, like she held some vendetta over you because of it.

Well, that only became worse when the nurse told your dad that there were signs you hadn’t been eating, that you’d have to undergo quite the recovery plan if you didn’t start eating. And given how weak your vitals truly were, that recovery plan could have included a stay at a treatment facility in Tulsa over an hour away. By yourself. For at least a month. Perhaps longer.

That was something you were not too keen on doing.

The emergency room nurse strongly recommended therapy, but that was something your family wasn’t able to afford at the time. So, your dad opted to spend hours upon hours with you to help you recover, and to avoid the program in Tulsa. He wanted you to heal, but he didn’t want you going away anymore than you wanted to.

But, your mom.

Your parents had always argued, but this time in your life would serve as the worst of their fights. All because of you.

She didn’t take your condition seriously at first. She’d tell your dad, after he’d just spent an entire day at the library doing research, that these conditions weren’t real.

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” you heard her yell one day, both of them behind their bedroom door, trying to keep you from hearing. But, they were so loud, and the walls of your home in Cherry Tree were thinner than notebook paper. “Teen girls are just vain, Jeff. I went through it, we all go through it. She’ll be fine. You’re making a big fuss over nothing.”

At the time, though it pains you to admit this now, you agreed with her.

And you only did so because you didn’t want to be treated like there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want to believe that there was, and your dad’s daily harping on the matter frustrated you to no end. You wanted the situation to just disappear, for everyone to agree that it was only a phase and you were just being a vain teenager.

You knew the truth, though.

Vanity wasn’t even on your mind when you’d stopped eating. Not initially, at least.

Your parents hated each other. Each day saw a massive fight. Some of them would result in whatever items were close by being chucked across the living room. Some of them would end with one of them – sometimes both of them – leaving the house in a fit of pure rage.

It went on for years. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You had spent the last ten years longing for your family to come together like they had when you spent Christmas in the hospital, with a collapsed lung from the bitter outside conditions.

You didn’t do that on purpose, of course. But you realized that, if your parents would come together and stop fighting for anything, it’d be because of your health.

It wasn’t even that you wanted their attention – which you did. You just wanted them to stop fighting. And if your health got bad enough, they’d have no choice but to become a unit once more, for the sake of their ill daughter who needed them. (Who needed them when she was well, too.)

They just didn’t seem to care unless something was very wrong.

Your body was changing. Your mature hormones began developing at a rate you couldn't prepare for. You didn’t like it – you didn’t like the new things about your body that made you feel and look different. And you didn’t like the way food made you feel. You discovered that at the tender age of eleven.

All of those things could very well contribute to a rough relationship with food for anyone. And for you, they were the perfect storm to create a terrible habit.

But what really did it, what set your mind to skip a meal a day, two meals a day, three meals a day – it was your parents.

You couldn’t control them. You couldn’t control their ceaseless fighting, their refusal to be a team for you, their only child. Their child who was dealing with the worst of the worst from her peers, who was being bullied on a near day-to-day basis over the way she looked, over her differences that kids her age didn’t understand. Your dad tried to be there for you, but your mom took him away everytime.

You knew the way to get them to notice you — make yourself sick. Just like the time your lung collapsed.

Only, you couldn’t replicate that. Not safely, at least. You didn’t want anything that drastic, only something that would get them to look at you again. You needed them, and there wasn’t a single effort you’d made to get them back that had worked.

Until you fainted at school. When you fainted due to a lack of fuel.

You’d let things progress a little further than you had intended, and there was no turning back once you’d reached that point. It’d been years of restricting, and it had finally gotten to that point.

The illness became a sense of consistency for you – it gave you a means of control when every part of your life outside of it was out of your control.

And from then on, everytime chaos had taken the lead in your life, when things began to unravel even the slightest, your old friend would return just in time, when you needed to feel in charge. In charge of something.

In reality, you’ve just been relapsing over and over again throughout the course of the last decade or so. And in truth, you’re not certain you’ve ever fully healed enough to consider these moments true relapses – these are just the moments when it’s worse.

Right now, this stage in your life just happens to be one of those moments. And at this point, giving this long-time friend attention when it shows up at your doorstep is as innate as breathing. You know you’re welcoming danger with open arms, but it doesn’t feel like you’re doing anything more than inviting an old friend back to your home.

Your dad did everything he could to help, though his knowledge was rather limited. And you fought the hell out of him over it.

You were getting the affection from him that you wanted, so you knew that healing would take it away again. He and your mom were still fighting, of course. But you were at least in your dads line of sight again.

And your mom…

She hated it. And you never knew why she hated it.

Could a mother truly be jealous over her daughter's father giving her attention? Surely not, right?

That question wasn’t on your mind back then, but it’s certainly crossed it a time or two since he left. That, and so many more questions. Ones that you fear will never be answered.

There finally came a point when your mom did start to take your illness seriously, though her way of doing so was an attempt to convince your dad to send you to Tulsa. ‘There’s nothing else we can do with’er,’ she’d said. ‘She’s better off somewhere else.’

Did she want to get rid of you?

That was when you decided to straighten up. You did not want to leave, and you knew how your mom worked – she had plenty of sway over your dad, and you knew that he’d eventually give in if she’d tried hard enough.

You started eating again, but you didn’t let yourself indulge. You carefully watched everything you ate. So, you were eating, but you weren’t eating the things that would make you gain weight.

It wasn’t enough. Not enough protein to sustain you for an entire day. But, it was enough to get your mom to change her mind about Tulsa.

And, just as you’d suspected, the moment they thought you were “healed,” you stopped existing in their world again.

This all happened again when you were nineteen.

Another trip to the hospital, just like the one when you were sixteen. You’d fainted during your shift at the diner, and your manager immediately took you to the hospital in Stillwell.

And that time was much, much worse.

That was when you were told that you’d done irreversible damage to your body, that carrying children in the future would most likely be impossible. At the time, you didn’t care too much about it. Hell, you were nineteen. Kids were the last thing on your mind at that time. What you cared about was getting through school, and getting the hell out of Cherry Tree.

Tulsa was brought up again during that emergency room visit, and you vowed to turn things around quick to avoid it again.

And it wasn’t long after that that your dad left.

Is that why he…?

“Y/n,” your mom says, nudging your arm with her clammy hand. “What are you doing? Are you oka –,”

“I’m fine,” you snap through a cracked voice, feeling okay enough to lift your head from between your knees. “S-sorry, just got a little dizzy.”

She’s looking at you with an eyebrow cocked, eyes held wide open, lips parted before she speaks again. “That hasn’t happened in a while, has it?”

You’re an adult now. A full fledged, grown woman capable of making her own choices. Capable of taking care of her dying mother. Yet, you’re still afraid she’ll try and send you off to Tulsa again. You know better – she wouldn’t want her sole caregiver gone right now.

Still yet, you’ll give into the instinct to pretend like nothing is wrong. “Nope, it hasn’t.” Though you don’t truly possess enough strength to comfortably stand right now, you’re pushing yourself to do it, anyways. The dizziness is still present, though it’s much better than it was moments ago.

Steading yourself on your feet, mentally pleading with your knees to not buckle beneath you, you take the empty mug from your moms hand. Just like you tried to do before all of this happened. “I’m fine, though. I think I just need to get some rest.”

An elongated, disbelieving ‘oooookay,’ is your mothers response as you head to the kitchen with the dirty mug. Running some water in it, you set it in the sink to let it soak for a bit before you wash it, bracing yourself with both hands against the counter to offset your Jell-o legs.

You know you need to eat. You know you do. Because as much as you hate the feeling of being full, you hate this feeling just as much. Maybe even a little more.

Chicken broth in a mug. Just like your mom.

That’ll do.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 11th:

Two days until he leaves.

I shouldn’t have come here, you ponder as the cashier rings up your purchase, holding your breath when he tells you the price.

“That’ll be $272.62 with tax,” he says, deadpanned in expression as he carefully folds it into the box with the list of tips on caring for leather.

Jesus Christ.

Letting out all the breath you’d been holding, your arms and your brain have a major disconnect as you absently reach for your debit card. No reservations about the price are strong enough to stop you from swiping the plastic through the taunting machine. The only reason you’re able to afford this right now is because your moms disability check hit the account a day early.

Bills aren’t due for another week, and you’ll have already received your paycheck from the library by them…So, it feels a bit more justified given the circumstances. It certainly doesn’t make it okay that you’re using disability money for this — it’s pretty shitty of you, actually. You find you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel nearly every month to make ends meet as it is. You’ve been able to get by thus far, but that’s only because extra spending has been at a very low minimum. But, fuck. You have to buy this. It’s too perfect not to. It just screamed his name the second your eyes caught it hanging with the replica collection.

And if you’re to be completely honest, it’s kind of the reason you wanted to come in here anyway. It was advertised on their Instagram page, a limited edition piece that won’t be coming back in stock after the new year. You just wanted to see it in person, get a look at it beyond the lens of a screen.

The intent wasn’t to buy it.

Wasn’t.

But as soon as you saw it, you knew you had to get it for him. How and when you’ll give it to him…that’s another issue entirely.

In truth, none of those things really matter. There’s nothing to say you have to give it to him. Maybe you can keep it for yourself. True, you have no real use for it. There’s no guitar in your life that requires it. But, it is sentimental to you for a multitude of reasons. And not all of them surround Jake. (Only most of them.)

The dinging approval from the machine brings you back to earth, and to the realization that you did, in fact, spend almost three hundred dollars on someone you may never see again after the next few weeks. Or you spent it on you, for a nostalgic buy that will only serve to break your heart every time you see it.

Still, either story isn’t exactly justifiable. And no justification will help alleviate this overbearing, sinking feeling that you’ve basically ensured the account will be drained for the next week.

Since you knew he just had to have it, a better option would’ve been to just send him the fucking link to it and let him buy it if he wants it. He has the kind of money for these things, not you.

But you didn’t want to do that. The nagging voice in your head convinced you that it’d be nice to surprise him with it. (And another voice in your head, the more unrealistic one, said that such a gift might convince him to stay here with you. Stupid. Hoping against hope when it’s way too far fetched to even obtain that hope.)

“I’ve put the receipt into the box should you need to return it,” the greasy haired, unenthused hippie-wannabe says, sliding the white paper box across the glass counter top to you. “This is a limited item, so the return window is only two weeks after purchase. Warranty is good for two years.” His eyes are focused on something behind the counter that you can’t see, and if you had to guess, you’d say it's probably a script of some sort. The same spiel he gives to every customer. No one is more special than the other. You get it. Been there before. Cherry Tree Grocery made you memorize a mandatory monologue, along with a bullshit sales pitch for a credit card with scam-worthy interest rates.

“Thanks and have a guitartastic day,” he finishes, failing at concealing the announce in his voice. Can’t blame him, though. Guitartastic? Yeah, you’d be a little more than peeved if you had to deliver that line with every customer.

“Yeah, you too,” you respond in a subdued voice, lifting the box from the counter, fishing your keys out of your crossbody with one hand as you’re making steady strides to the exit doors of Detroit Guitar.

Return it. He said you have two weeks to return it. Maybe you can just do that after a day or so. Just keep it for a little while, let it serve as a symbol of what could’ve been a wonderfully thoughtful gift to someone you care (cared?) enough for to spend money on that you don’t possess.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You spent how much?”

“About two hundred seventy…and some change,” you admit to a very baffled Nat. You had to talk to someone about this impulse purchase during your drive home, and who better than her than confess such a thing to? The silent drive, thanks to the busted radio, would only make you question your choice even further. Of course, her reaction is just as you’d expected. Shocked, inquisitive. A tad on the judgemental side. Her lack of restraint when it comes to voicing her thoughts should be studied, dear lord.

“I admittedly know nothing about the world of guitar straps,” she wittingly comments. “But isn't that a bit much for a piece of faux leather that holds a guitar to you?”

“Nat, it’s an exact replica of one of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s favorites. When I say exact, I mean I would fully believe that this was actually his if I didn’t know any better,” you explain to her, and to yourself. You’re still trying to justify the purchase to yourself, too. But, you are right – it’s a true match in style to one he used often, one that has gone down in rock and roll history as iconic, and nothing less. Stark black, patterned with a flow of white music notes, hand stitched. It’s a classic piece in its own right, certainly one that any fan of his would instantly recognize.

It’ll look so beautiful attached to Jake’s SG. A stunning complement to the dark red hue of the body. That, in truth, was all you could think of when you made the trip to shop – the image of Jake’s guitar donned with such an important piece in the vast chronicle of the blues. The point is, you know he’ll love it. You know he will. And that alone is plenty of justification.

At least, that’s what you’ll tell yourself.

“And it is not faux leather, Natalia. It’s one hundred percent real. Just –,” you sigh, fighting the internal battle of whether this was a completely outlandish choice or not. And her judgey tone is certainly not helping with that. “I need you to trust that I wouldn’t just buy this for no reason. It has meaning, Natalia. There’s a lot of significance wrapped up in this –,”

You stop talking when you hear her scoff on the other end, feeling just a bit offended with the display. “What was that about, Natalia?”

“Why on earth are you getting so defensive about this?” She irately asks, with every right, too.

You’re feeling far more confrontational than normal, probably due to the fact that you’re plagued with guilt over the whole ordeal. The money you spent on this should be spent elsewhere. It’s just not financially responsible. But, goddamnit – you want him to have this.

“Listen,” she persists, her tone shifting to a calmer one. “All I’m worried about is the fact that you two are basically no contact at this point. It’s a great gift, y/n. But are you okay with giving him something that special when you’re not going to date him? I assume that’s the plan, anyway.”

Well. She’s right about that. A pretty solid point, actually. Sure, you were certainly thinking everything she’s saying, but hearing it out loud makes it all the more palpable in your mind. You’re undoubtedly not going to ‘date’ him. He’s not going to be your boyfriend. Wasn’t to begin with, not ever.

“I know,” you concede, a heavy, defeated sigh accompanying your words. The Firebird screeches to a quick stop at the red light that you almost ran through, your frustrations making it difficult to keep your mind on the fact that you’re driving. Everything in your backseat – canvas bag full of books, laptop, the guitar strap – all plummeted to the floorboard. Yet another grievance rattle your nerves to the nth degree.

“I’ll return it,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve got two weeks to take it back. I’ll just do that.”

You knew you’d come to regret this. It wasn’t wise; What if your mom finds out that you used her disability money – the money you need for rent – on something like this? You have always been the responsible one, and that doesn’t stop when it comes to money. The shit you learned after you dad left about saving each and every penny you had…feels like it’s all gone out the window. And for what? The guy who’ll just become part of your past in the very near future?

If there were ever a moment you felt utterly stupid, right now would be that moment.

“Just do what you think is best, y/n,” she advises, her voice more gentle than it was before. “I won’t judge you either way – I just want you to be okay with whatever decision you make and not regret it.”

And therein lies the problem.

What you want to do and what you know is best are on opposing sides. You want to give it to him, show him that you thought of him when you saw it. Give him a little something to make him think of you when he’s gone. (And, maybe, give him something that’d make him want to stay.)

But you know the best idea would be to take it back to the shop, receive a full refund, forget about it altogether.

Your heart and your head – the two just never seem to see eye to eye. Do you follow the emotional urge or the logical move?

Either way, you can’t be sure that you’ll be much better off if you’d choose to go one way or the other. Who would’ve thought that a simple (though, not really simple at all) gift could stir such a massive whirlwind of emotions?

You barely hear Nat mutter something on her end of the call, but her voice is now drowned out by the deep, uneven thrumming of your Firebird’s ancient engine that’s now sputtering and threatening to stall after slamming on your brakes the way you did. You ask her to repeat what she’d said, but you’re still unable to make out any intelligible words.

“I can’t hear you, Nat,” you say, raising your own voice now to compete with the intrusive noise as you’re finally turning on the street of your apartment. “My stupid car is screaming at me so I need you to talk a little louder.”

Through shuffling and static on the other end, you can faintly make out Danny’s name. She’s probably insisting you let him take a look at your car again, but as the engine grows even louder, you decide it’s no use.

“I’ll just have to call you back,” you finally say, defeated, ending the call with a sharp press of your thumb. You toss your phone in the passenger seat, landing with a hard thud against the cracked and stained vinyl seat.

Pulling into the lot outside of your building, you shift the damn thing in park and kill the engine with a rough twist of your key. The Firebird sputters one last time before it falls silent. But the silence only makes the chaos in your mind scream even louder.

You sit there a moment, hands still gripping the wheel, forehead pressed into the worn leather. The harsh scent of overheated metal and old dust infiltrates your nose, threatening a sneeze at any moment.

The guitar strap lies on the floorboard behind you, almost hidden beneath your spilled books and laptop,

Maybe you��ll return it tomorrow.

Maybe you won’t.

Right now, you’re too tired to decide what the fuck you’re going to do.

Right now, all you can do is sit here, broken in more ways than one, wishing the world (and your heart) would just, for once, make things simple.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re not surprised it didn’t wake her. She sleeps about as soundly as any person could these days. And, with the humming noise that accompanies her oxygen machine, she hardly hears a thing outside of her room.

Still, you checked on her first thing. Sometimes, if she’s startled awake, her coughing fits become so bad that it takes hours for her body to calm down. So, when you hear the intrusion again, it pisses you off for her sake. (And yours – if she can’t sleep, you don’t sleep.)

Whomever it is isn’t frantically knocking, though you’re inclined to believe that whatever the reasoning for such a visit is of some importance, given it’s well past midnight.

Your first thought is Nat, but that thought quickly dissipates when you realize she hasn’t sent you a text warning her impending arrival. She would never just show up unannounced. And if she did, the knocks on the door would be far less spaced out, because something would be very wrong.

That leaves only two options – a burglar, or the man whom you’ve been avoiding for two days now.

At this point, you think you’d prefer the burglar to the latter.

A third knock against the door sets your heating anger to a near boil.

With quiet defiance, you march across the living room and unlock the door, swinging it open to reveal what you already knew.

It’s no burglar. Not one after anything materialistic, at least. This one is after your heart. And, he may as well head to the next door, because there’s not much left of yours to steal.

“It’s late, Jake.”

“I know that.”

If he told you that he’s just ran a marathon, you’d have no problem believing it. Wouldn’t question such a thing based on the looks of him.

His hair, a low, messy bun against the nape of his neck. Tendrils of hair have fallen out of the bun, framing his blushed and sweaty face, sticking to the skin. His breaths are nearly heaving, nostrils flaring with each quick bit of air he sucks in.

You’re reluctant to invite him in, but the cold burst of air blowing through the open door calls for it. Which, again, forces you to wonder why he’s so sweaty, why the sleeves of his black Jimi Hendrix hoodie are pulled up to his elbows.

You remember this hoodie rather well. You’ve seen it before, and though it’s been a long time since then, the image of it will forever remain seared in your memory.

All black, with a black-and-white photo of Hendrix performing at Woodstock across his chest. The photo is a bit weathered, its corners soft and faded. You can only imagine he’s had it for years.

You love it. Truly.

With no words, only the motion of your hands, you offer to let him come inside. He does so in a sluggish manner, turning to close the door behind him.

Letting him inside is as far as you’ll go, though. You don’t offer your couch to him, don’t ask if he’d like to go to your room to talk. Standing, awkwardly, taking up the space in the middle of the living room will just have to fucking do. Whatever he has to say to you, whatever compelled him to show up unannounced after midnight, he can take care of right here.

“What do you want, Jake?”

The question, more like an assertion – you can’t think of any valid reason he’d show up here like this.

“You’re really okay with letting me leave like this, huh?”

“Yes.”

Your arms become crossed over your chest, a bold stance of resistance. You’re mad. And you don’t even know why you’re mad. You are the one who kissed his brother. You have been ignoring him since.

In some way, you feel that leaving things like this will make it easier when he’s gone. Mending things will only make his absence hurt much worse. At least this way, you’ll be too angry to miss him.

He watches your every move, studying you, reading you. He knows what you’re feeling, and he knows you’re full of shit when you say you’re fine with things ending this way. But what choice has he left you with?

Your arms across your body – they’re more of a comforting embrace. You feel your walls breaking above an already faulty foundation. You’re just trying to keep yourself stable at this point.

“No you’re not, y/n. And this avoidance game won’t make this any better.”

“Avoidance, Jake? Shall I remind you of your own avoidance tactics? How you just led me on and didn’t think to clue me in on this little detail of your life? Knowing that I’ve already been down this path before?”

“This wasn’t some cruel design, y/n. I never wanted to end up here, with you looking at me like this.”

“You’re the one who’s okay with leaving in the first place, Jake. So, I’m okay if we leave things just like this.”

Again, a fucking lie. A lie to protect the remaining tattered shreds left of your heart. You can’t even discern whether or not it’s working.

“I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to coming with me. Think about it, y/n. All of the things you love, the birthplace of the works you’ve spent your whole life with. The history, y/n. These are the things you care about, not some egotistic modeling gig. That’s not you, y/n.”

He takes one step closer to you, the muscles in his jaw clenching and tightening, nostrils flaring with every deep breath from his chest.

“Oxford is you; literature is you. Why are you rejecting who you are?”

He’s not wrong. In truth, just about everything he’s saying is right.

It makes sense. All of it.

But your reluctance hasn’t waned. And you’ll be goddamned if you could understand why. Spite is truly the only thing you can think of. Because if you’re honest with him and yourself, going to London feels like the moment your whole life has been leading up to.

And it makes you think…is Jake the light you’re meant to follow? Like a moth uses the moon wayfind –

Your mom. She’s awake.

And she’s coughing.

Suddenly, a reason bigger than you – you can’t leave her. She’ll die without you. She has no one else in this world to take care of her. You’re it.

Your mom. She is the reason.

“That, Jake.” For a moment, you uncross your arms, ridding yourself of the tiny bit of security you found in them, pointing your finger towards her closed bedroom door. “That is why I can’t go. And it’s selfish of you to think I could just leave her for you.”

“Selfish, y/n? I’m standing here, pleading with you to live the life that you want to live, to not forget who you are, and that makes me selfish?”

“I can’t leave her, Jake. You know that.”

You stand firm, crossing your arms once more and willing your voice not to crack or falter in anyway.

“But you’re willing to leave her for L.A.? If she really is the only reason you won’t consider London, what makes L.A. so different, hm?”

Your breath catches, body stiffening as you soak in his words, his incredibly valid point. There’s no answer. No reasonable one. He’s right, again.

L.A. truly isn’t any different. It may be across the country instead of the world, but does distance actually matter? You weren’t even thinking of your mom when you said you were going to pursue L.A. She didn’t cross your fucking mind once.

Why are you okay with that, and not London?

The only difference – Jake. And your goddamn pride that you refuse to let go of. And as it stands, you’re not sure there’s any turning back from it.

There’s silence for a moment. You don’t know what to say, how to argue something utterly inarguable.

His eyes watch you, reading the thoughts behind your own until he finally speaks again. “Why are you so sure about going after something you’ve never given a fuck about, but adamantly refuse to go with me in pursuit of something you love?”

“It’s just –,” you try, scrambling through the thoughts in your brain to come up with something to say that’ll make any sort of sense. “It’s different, Jake. It’s just different.”

Different?

Is it, though? Jesus – if you don’t believe it, how is he supposed to?

“She’s doing this on purpose, y/n.”

Excuse me?

“And you know that. She’s letting herself stay this way so you won’t live your own life. And it’s working.”

Your pulse begins surging, your insides twisting in knots as a storm of pure anger begins to brew beneath your ribs. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. How dare he accuse your mom of something so…so fucking vile.

And so completely wrong.

“That is not true, Jake!” You want to yell, to scream at the top of your lungs. But you can’t. You don’t want her to have to hear any of this.“She would never do something like that. You can’t say that – you don’t know what she’s been through.”

The way he’s looking at you, as if he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t know. He isn’t the one that’s responsible for keeping her alive. He doesn’t live with her, he doesn’t have to witness her death playing out before his own two eyes.

The coughs don’t last long, thank goodness. You were terrified that she’d cough herself into a spell that she wouldn’t be able to get out of without you.

“You’re taking care of her and not yourself, y/n. And she won’t let you take care of yourself. She doesn’t want me to do it, either. It’s dangerous for you to keep taking care of her. She wants you to be unhappy, she doesn’t want you to heal. Everyone else can see that, y/n. Why are you so blind to it?”

“Jake – ,”

No. He doesn’t get to say shit like that to you. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s not his fucking place.

“You’re asking me to uproot my life and move to a different country, Jake.” Your arm snaps towards your left, as if pointing in the direction of London. The joints in your elbow pop as you do, your finger staying in the London direction as you continue pressing your point.

“That is the difference. And it’s obvious that I wasn’t on your mind when you made this decision. You were fine with leaving me. So just leave.” That finger, pointing towards your make believe London, is now pointing ahead of you. At the door.

“This decision, y/n, I didn’t –,” he begins, voice suddenly much softer than before. A frustrated palm begins rubbing at his forehead, his eyes hidden behind their lids for a brief moment as he finds his wording. “I didn’t just choose to move across the world overnight. I was accepted to Oxford long before this semester even began. Before I ever knew you, y/n. I’m not fine with leaving you, that is why I’m begging you to consider following your true path.”

He pauses with a heavy breath, hands tucking the loose strands of hair behind his ears.

You feel the lump in your throat begin to tighten, your eyes blurring behind a new wetness. You can’t help but wonder how things have gone so wrong. So fucking wrong.

What are you doing?

“I know you applied to Oxford,” he says, and your heart begins to thump hard beneath your chest. Pounding in your ears, rattling your bones. “And I know you wouldn’t have done that if this wasn’t laying on your heart.”

You feel like a child that’s been caught in a lie – embarrassed, cheeks burning, heart exposed. He knows.

He’s already seen that wall crumble before you even realized it had fallen.

“H-how do you –,” you stutter out through a cracked, timid voice. But he’s ready to answer you before you can even finish your question.

You already know the answer.

“Movack.”

Yep.

“He was elated that you applied. And that tells me that you’ve already considered this option.”

Words fail you.

You stand here, lips parted, yet nothing dares to rise past your tongue.

“Listen…,” he whispers, his eyes not breaking from yours. “Whether you chose to come to London or not, I can’t leave with this weight between us. If this is where it ends, then we need to let it end with grace, with us seeing each other clearly. Please, y/n. I’m begging you. I can’t bear to leave you like this. I can’t bear this.”

He steps forward slowly, fingers twitching at his sides as though he’s aching to reach for you. But he doesn’t. He just watches you, as though he’s memorizing every curve and contour of your face.

Your lip begins to tremble, quivering as you hold his heavy gaze. There’s a long beat of silence, lingering.

He then exhales, sharp and exhausted, running a hand down his face before letting it fall limp to his side.

“And if this is the last time I see you, then I need you to know – you’ve broken me, y/n. You shattered something in me, you’ve changed me.” A bitter laugh escapes him, hardly more than a breath. “God, I needed it. I wish I – I just wish I could put it into words, but my heart is speaking a language my lips don’t know how to translate. I just –,”

He stops, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as though he’s breathing away any tears that may threaten to fall. And then, he says it. The words you can’t bear to hear.

The ones that will make this hurt all the more.

“I love you, y/n.”

No. Please, no.

Warm, full tears spill down your cheeks, tracing the curve of your jaw. So many tears. Too many to count.

You swallow the sob building in your throat, composing yourself before you can truly let this sink in.

You softly shake your head in blindsided silence, as if that could somehow undo what’s just been spoken.

But it won’t. You know that.

And now, there’s only one thing left to say. Because you can’t let him see that you feel it, too.

You already feel too much. And you have for a long fucking time.

It has to end here.

“You need to go Jake.”

“What? Y/n listen to me –,”

“You need to go.”

It’s unmistakable, the tears in his eyes as he silently turns away, giving you what you want. What you’ve wanted this whole time – for him to just leave.

There’s no reason to watch him walk away. No reason to let yourself experience the pain of seeing him leave your apartment. For the last time.

No. You can’t do it. You won’t.

You let your eyes wander to your feet as you shut the door, fighting the burning desire to slam it. If you didn’t live in a complex, you most certainly would have.

Shut, deadbolt locked – it’s done.

The building is so quiet, so still – you can hear The Black Pearl’s engine start up all the way from the second floor. You know the sound, tangible even from a distance. You’ve heard it more times than you can count. It’s familiar. Heartbreakingly so.

The only thing left to do — now that he’s gone — is go to bed. Sleep. Forget about all of this, of Jake.

A faint tapping stops you before you can take more than one step. A stuttering flutter, just above you. And when you look in the direction of the strange noise, your eyes land upon a creature, wings of silken pale green floating against the overhead light. Hovering just beneath the plastic dome of the fixture, entirely lost within the soft glow it emanates like an invisible tether.

If it stays in here, it’ll surely die. And you can’t let that happen to such an eye-catching moth. You’ve never seen one this beautiful, this noble.

Quiet as you can, you turn to unlock and crack open the door, ensuring you're prepared to set this lovely thing free, once and for all.

“Wrong light, little guy. Let’s get you back outside where you’re safe,” you whisper, gently reaching your hands above your head, cupping it safely between your palms.

“You don’t belong here.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 12th:

One day until he leaves.

You haven’t heard from him today.

Not once.

And it’s a relief.

At least, it’s supposed to be.

It’s not, though.

You thought you wanted him to leave you alone. And perhaps you did when you told him as much. But now, your body is feeling ten times heavier with a burdening guilt. Guilt over letting him leave like this. He’d asked you over and over if you were truly okay with letting it end this way, letting him go to London without a proper goodbye, without anything but the nudge of a cold shoulder.

And you said yes.

But that’s not the truth.

You’ve become so accustomed to lying in order to protect your heart, that you’re starting question what the fuck is even real anymore.

You’re tired of not knowing – you’re tired of lying.

You’ve let yourself rot in bed for the better part of the day, save for your early shift at the library. Stocking books, updating records, listening to the echoing tick of the giant wall clock…it took your mind off of things at the time.

But now, you’re on hour four of lying in bed, staring at your phone, ‘watching TikToks,’ but only truly looking at the top of the screen. Watching, waiting to see his name appear.

And it doesn’t. You fear his time of trying to reach you has worn out – that clocked has reached its final tick. And you should be happy about it.

So, why aren’t you? Why are you stuck here, sprawled out on your mattress – the same position you’ve been in for over four hours now – waiting for a single name to pop up on the screen of your phone?

It’s ridiculous, truly. And it’s a waste of your goddamn time. There are plenty of things you could be doing right now, in lieu of awaiting a message that won’t be coming, one that shouldn’t be coming.

Dinner’s easy these days – chicken broth, water, tea if your mom is feeling up to it. She’s resting in her own bed now, Western film playing on her TV, probably dozing in and out of sleep.

So, given the earlier ending to each night as of late, there actually isn’t anything else for you to do. Apartment is clean as a whistle, dishes washed and put away. Maybe it’d be best if you let yourself drift to sleep, too. What else is there to do? Keep your eyes glued to a screen for something that won’t happen?

Sleep. You just want to sleep.

You click the message icon, just in case you happen to miss something. Of course, there’s nothing. Nothing new, nothing from him. So, with a deep breath in your nose and out of your parted lips, you lock your phone and sit on the dark wood table beside your bed.

And that’s where it’ll stay for the rest of the night. No more waiting, no more wishing.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

December 13th:

The last day.

This morning, you woke up with a heaviness in your chest that you’ve never felt before. Weighing on you, crushing your ribs, your heart pounding beneath the pressure. Your body, covered in a layer of cold sweat the second you opened your eyes.

You knew why.

It felt as though you’d finally come to terms with it all – your guiding light, your navigational compass, he’s leaving. And suddenly, you realized just how lost you’ll be without him.

Everything came to a crushing realization, all at once.

You drove at least fifteen miles over the limit the whole way. Speeding up when lights turned yellow, passing and weaving through traffic when they slowed you down. You’ve wasted so much goddamn time. You couldn’t let yourself waste one more fucking second.

He came to you when your foolish self dismissed him each time he tried to reach out, when he begged for you to not let him leave without mending things. You wouldn’t fucking listen. Even when he drove over twenty minutes in the middle of the night, showing up for you.

So, it’s only right that you offer him the same. Give both of you the chance to see him off properly. You let your hurt feelings get in the way of so much. And right now, all you can think is how fucking stupid you’ve been. He tried, and you shut him out. And the result? You didn’t end up hurting any less, like you thought you would.

No, you’re hurting so much worse. And it’s your fault this time. Not his. He tried, and you didn’t

You barely hit the brakes when you shove the gear in park, viciously jolting yourself forward when the car screeches to a quick halt. Not the best move for your aged Firebird, but you’ll worry about that later.

You don’t even bother turning the thing off. There’s no time for that.

The door to their apartment feels daunting as you run towards it, pounding the wood with your closed fist when you’re close enough to make contact. After a few seconds of nothing, you knock again.

Finally, the knob begins to turn from the other side. You’re ready to leap into his arms the moment he opens the door, to hold him, kiss him. Give yourself one last chance to experience what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms, to taste him one more time, seal it in your memory where it can always stay with you.

But when the door opens, it’s not Jake behind the frame. It’s Josh. And if you were paying close enough attention — which you’re not— you’d notice the redness around Josh’s eyes and cheeks, his freshly wet eyelashes.

Paying no mind, you push your way inside, ready to run to his room, where you’re sure he is. But you don’t make it far. You’re stopped by Josh’s gentle touch, his grounding hand placed on your shoulder. He doesn’t use force, yet it stops you just as abruptly as if he were.

“Please, Josh. I know he doesn’t want to see me but I need to tell him that –,”

“Y/n. Stop.” You don’t heed him.

It’s obvious that Jake is upset with you — he has every reason to be. But you have to do this. You can’t let him go this way, without him hearing the truth written on your laden heart. This is the ending. That is a lucid fact. But, you can’t let it end before you say what you need to say. Your heart won’t beat the same ever again if you don’t.

“No, Josh. I need to tell him that I lo –,”

“Y/n!”

His voice is jarring, enough to silence you and keep you from taking another step towards the hallway. And his eyes, just as staggering as his voice – they’re telling you something you’ve a feeling you really don’t want to hear from his lips.

“Listen to me,” he pleads, closing the space between you. “He’s –” He sniffles, his eyes now heavy with new tears. “He’s not here, love.”

“W-what?” Your heart is racing, cold sweat collecting on your skin. Your throat tightens, it’s so hard to swallow.

No. No.

“That’s impossible, Josh! His flight isn’t until –,”

He stops you with another squeeze of your shoulder, tears now running down his cheeks, pooling around his dark moustache. “He was able to get an earlier flight, y/n. I just got back from the airport.”

No.

“His plane just left, darling. He’s gone.”

You’re too late.

There’s nothing to say, so the tears will say it all for you. Quiet tears, no sobbing. Just quiet, regretful tears. There for you when you’re hurting. Always there. A warm, gentle comfort to accompany your pain.

Always there.

He didn’t say goodbye. And it’s your fault that he didn’t.

Fuck, he tried. You wouldn’t hear it. Didn’t give him the chance to. And you let him leave without telling him how you truly feel. When you decided to get your head out of your ass, it was too goddamn late.

You know the pain of someone leaving without saying goodbye, without you getting the chance to say the things that’d gone unspoken for so long. Leaving a hole in your heart, open and void. And when he wanted to give you that much, you closed yourself off. It’s your fault.

And now, he’s gone. It’s the end of the chapter. The page, officially turned. He’ll never speak to you again. You may never see him again.

Josh sniffles again as he wraps both arms around your shoulders, pulling as close to his body as he can. His embrace, so warm against your trembling form. A comfort, though one all too familiar to the one you’re longing for right now. And because of that, it’s only making this pain hurt worse.

Much, much worse.

“I know, y/n. I’m gonna miss him, too.”

You were too late.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i know. i'm sad, too. we've still got a long ways to go, loves. don't be afraid to let me know what you think! anon or not, i love hearing from you.🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍 you all are truly the best.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?) sending all my love!

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mostly-marvel-musings · 5 months ago

Text

First fight - Christmas With You

A/N: Alright here we go, another one from this universe. Let me know if y’all are tired of this series, okay? @ccbsrmsf1 thank you for discussing ideas with me, darling 🤍

Pairing: Tony Stark x Single Mom! Reader

Warning: Bit of angst. This is long-ish.

Christmas With You Masterlist

The bed felt cold.

Colder because you were lying alone in it. Tony had slipped out some time after you’d fallen asleep, clearly not wanting to disturb you. You missed waking up next to his warm body all wrapped around you, his soft snores against the back of your neck which he claimed were untrue, you simply missed the man. That was mostly because the man spent a lot of time down in his lab.

Which was an understatement.

You were practically living together now, though it wasn’t official yet; you and Noah spent almost every weekend over at the Tower, dinner and movie nights, picnics in the park, it had been a breezy few months.

But then you realised the more time you spent with Tony, just how much he’d dedicate himself to his work with the Avengers, moreover working on his suits. You tried to not let it get to you, knowing very well the different worlds you came from, but it did.

It was after eleven and you were in no mood to listen to Tony’s excuses, so you decided to go down to the lab and drag him out of there if it came to that. Your eyes fell on the partially open door where Noah should’ve ideally been sleeping after you tucked him in. Concerned, you pushed it open to reveal an empty bed.

Panic set in as you began frantically searching for your son. JARVIS - Tony’s virtual assistant informed you that he was down in the lab with Tony, however that did nothing to quell your anxieties. They weren’t supposed to be up this late, both your boys.

It was only a moment later that you heard a crash immediately followed by loud wail let out by Noah which made you sprint towards the lab. The lab door slid open and your heart dropped to your stomach at the sight.

Shattered glass and what looked like one of Tony’s repulsor’s in Noah’s hand as he lay on the ground, his right hand limp against his side while he bawled.

“Oh God! Noah! What happened?”

Sinking next to him, you didn’t know what to think as upon seeing you, Noah immediately moved to hug you. Tony was by your side, looking equally alarmed with a flash of guilt on his face as he asked JARVIS for an analysis.

It appears Master Noah Y/L/N’s wrist is fractured.

JARVIS’s voice sounded through the room, breaking your heart further. Noah shivered as sobs wracked through his little body, making Tony promptly retrieve a blanket and carefully wrap it around him.

“Tony!” Your voice trembled as you picked Noah up, trying to calm him down.

“We’ll take him to the emergency room, come on.” Tony gave your shoulder a squeeze before leading you out to the elevators.

Lucky that the Tower housed an infirmary and was only a few floors down, you whispered words of comfort to your son who was now whimpering, his little face tucked in your neck.

"How'd this even happen? Why was he in the lab?" you asked Tony, as the elevator doors opened, he'd kept a hand on your back, reassuring you the whole way but he hadn't said much.

"I um—I don't-"

Right as he was about to tell you the truth, a nurse beckoned you over to take a look at Noah. Hurrying in, you gently placed him on the bed before a friendly looking doctor entered. Tony stood beside you, mind in a turmoil about how to tell you the truth, knowing you'd probably hate him forever once you knew.

"Noah, the doctor's going to take a look at your arm now, okay?"

"No pointy needle!" Noah cried before tears gathered in his eyes once again at the possibility of an injection. Rubbing his back gently, you reassured there wouldn't be a needle anywhere near him. He insisted on sitting in your lap while the doctor examined his wrist, letting you know he'd need an x-ray.

"Noah, can you tell me how this happened please?" the doctor asked, smiling at your son who's eyes remained downcast, like he'd been caught.

"I went to Mr. Stark's lab and—and I found the Iron Man hand but it fly, Mama and I fell. I'm sorry." he murmured, looking up at you to gauge how upset you looked, but you were only worried for him.

"And where were you?" You turned to Tony, who similar to Noah had his head hung, staring at his feet that were tapping against the tiled floor.

"I didn't know he was in there. I'm sorry, Y/N." he said quietly, making your stomach twist as his words sunk in.

"You're sorry?" you repeated, right before the doctor awkwardly cleared his throat, suggesting an x-ray for Noah in the other room.

Without another glance at the man, you carried your son away to have his x-ray taken. Your mind swum with a mix of emotions, anger, disappointment and fear being at the forefront. Noah’s tears subsided as the doctor made conversation with him, clearly good with kids as he managed to distract him enough. He even brought out a few options for his cast that he’d have to wear until his wrist healed.

Noah being Noah obviously chose a superhero one, sitting still like a good boy while the doctor did his thing. The doctor reassured you he’d be fine in about six to eight week’s time, that kids heal faster because of their growth hormones. You even saw Noah crack a smile when he brought out a lollipop for him for being the best patient.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was silent, Tony remained by your side, waiting for the inevitable but stayed quiet for Noah’s sake. You kissed Noah’s forehead after tucking him in your bed that you shared with Tony, letting a stray tear escape. For three years it had just been you and him, you couldn’t imagine what life was like before him. The thought of something terrible happening to him filled you with such dread.

“Noah, promise me you won’t sneak away like that again.”

“Promise, Mama.” He whispered, nodding his head earnestly.

“You know you really scared me. Mr. Stark’s lab is not safe for a kid, we’ve told you that, haven’t we?”

He nodded before turning into your body and making himself smaller, whispering a sorry which sounded heavy with a lisp, something that happened when he was upset or had been crying.

He was often well beyond his age some days but then days like these made you realise he was just three, a curious kid would eventually end up hurting himself if left unattended.

Tony watched you put Noah to bed, his guilty conscience eating away at him as you finally stood and closed the door behind you, leaving a crack open.

“Look, Y/N, I’m so—” he began, only for you to put your hand up to silence him.

“You didn’t hear him come in? Or you let him in and left him around your equipment all alone? Tell me, Tony. I need to know.”

Tony refused to meet your eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets as he took in a breath, ready to come clean.

“I—I didn’t know how he managed to sneak in, Y/N. I didn’t. By the time I found him he’d gotten hold of the repulsor already.”

You took in sharp breath, pacing around before him, trying to calm yourself.

“How do you not hear a three year old walk into your lab? You had that stupid music blasting, didn’t you? Tony, you weren’t supposed to be down there so late, neither was Noah, and yet somehow—”

“I couldn’t sleep, Y/N! I didn’t know he’d be awake. He’s not my son, he—I. I didn’t mean it like that. Shit.” Tony instantly regretted his words, rubbing a hand down his face watching those hurtful words take effect as your face fell.

“You’re right. He’s not your son, he’s mine. It’s just been me and him all this time. We’re just living here while you continue to live your life just the way you used to. Not caring about anybody else.”

There it was again. Silence.

Someone who’d usually keep his lab locked with a code, Tony had left it open thinking nobody at that hour would disturb him; even if they did, it would be you calling him back to bed. It was just a series of mishaps after that and he really was to be blamed here. He would never intentionally hurt you or your son. You two were a part of him now, a part he wanted to protect so fiercely. And yet somehow the exact opposite had happened.

“I think I should go home.” You spoke after a while, taking Tony by surprise at how defeated you sounded.

“What? Please Y/N, it’s late.” He tried but you shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.

“We wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience to you and your work.”

“You could never. Both of you. Sweetheart, please—”

“It could’ve been so much worse, Tony! What if he’d—” you couldn’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence. Tears streamed down your face at the thought of losing your son. Tony wanted to do nothing but gather you in his arms and say how sorry he was for fucking up, yet he couldn’t.

“Don’t fight.”

A little whisper came from behind you as Noah stood by the door of your bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes with his one good hand. Turning around, you knelt before your son, taking his hand and kissing the back of it.

“I’m so sorry I woke you, baby. Mama was just worried. Do you want to go home?” Lifting him up in your arms, you saw concern in his eyes as he looked between you and Tony.

“I okay, Mama. See? I don’t cry. Please don’t fight.” He repeated himself, holding his sling-clad arm up for you as if to show it didn’t hurt him anymore.

“I can drive you back tomorrow, if you want. But it's late, Y/N. please stay.” Tony murmured, keeping his distance. Merely nodding in agreement, you went back in the bedroom and lay back down with your son, hugging him close to your body for comfort. Comfort that you both needed.

“Good night.”

You heard Tony, he’d disappeared before you could ask where he was going. Shutting your eyes, you let out a sigh, wondering how this day had turned so sour.

Back home, Noah knew something was wrong with how silent you had been. And how Tony who would usually spend time with him, playing and chatting, had left without a word. He also noticed you had not kissed Tony before he left.

Days turned to weeks and you heard little to nothing from Tony. His actions had angered you and you were starting to question everything. It was your own mind against you and you thought of just calling Tony up and clearing things. You couldn't take the silence anymore.

That was the plan, apparently the same thing went through your boyfriend's mind too because one Sunday afternoon, your doorbell rang and there he was, holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers and a look of apprehension.

"Hi."

"May I come in?" Tony shuffled on his feet, his heart jumping with hope as you nodded and opened the door for him. Noah sat on the couch watching the two of you warily, unsure if he should be happy to see his favourite superhero after a quiet few days.

"How are you, kid?" he smiled at Noah, a flash of regret in his eyes as Noah held up his cast-covered arm to show he was fine. He had healed fast, much to your relief.

"I am strong, Mr. Stark. Look! No hurt!” he shared enthusiastically before going back to his cartoons.

“You’re certainly stronger than I am, champ.”

You took Tony's hand and led him to the kitchen, feeling reassured with his presence already. You had missed him terribly. Not knowing what came over you, you wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tight, throwing him off for a second before he reciprocated and buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply.

“I’m sorry. I just, I missed you, Tony.” You murmured, flushed at your own impulse.

“Please don’t be. I’ve missed you too, so much.”

Tony’s words made you smile, not giving you a chance of reply, he grabbed both your hands in his and stepped closer.

“Honey, I am so sorry for what happened, I won’t ever be able to forgive myself for it. I swear to you I’d do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Noah is precious to me, both of you are. Please forgive me?” His big brown eyes bore into yours as he held your hands against his chest.

“I’m sorry too, Tony. Can’t blame you entirely for what happened. Sometimes I forget I can’t control everything that boy does, he’s been such good kid to bring up, I wonder how he’s only three, but then incidents like these remind me, you know?”

“And to say I’m protective of him would be an understatement of the century. I would die before I let anything happen to him.” You chuckled, glancing back at your son who was now curiously listening to your conversation, cartoon abandoned.

Tony didn’t say it out loud but in his head he’d reciprocated those feelings for the two of you. He would do everything in his power to protect you both, and had reached a point in the relationship where he couldn’t picture his life without you in it.

“We okay?” Noah piped up, making you both laugh and assure your too-wise-for-his-age son that everything was fine.

Tony smiled with fondness and love in his eyes, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest thanks to how full it felt. He’d never realised how much he needed this until now, the beautiful world of yours, a family, his family.

“So I guess what I’m trying to say is, we’re okay. And please put a child lock on that goddamn door of your lab.” You laughed, closing your eyes when Tony reached out to press a soft kiss against your temple.

“I’ll give you the codes. You’re welcome to drag me out of there any time. I know I haven’t been around much. And I’m sorry about that. I promise I’ll be better.” Tony said earnestly. You eased his frown-lines by standing up on your toes to kiss his forehead.

“Guess you have a lot of make up for then, Mr. Stark.”

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x female reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark angst #tony stark fluff #tony stark imagine #tony stark #the stark squad #mostly marvel musings #marvel fanfiction #iron man x reader #iron man fanfiction #iron man fanart

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andvys · 2 years ago

Text

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 16

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, mentions of drugs and alcohol, a painful flashback, mean!Steve

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: As you get closer and closer to your birthday, you are taken back to a painful day.

Word count: 6k+

A/N: @mysticmunson & @hellfire--cult thank you for listening to my rambles and helping me with ideas and inspiring me more and more to write this fic 🤍

series masterlist

In the months after Steve had left you, you had never felt as miserable as you do now, which is surprising, considering how happy you were in the past few weeks before you had gone on that stupid date with Ray. Not only did that night trigger every bad memory, every negative feeling that you have pushed away for months, you had also made it worse by calling him.

You shouldn’t have called him, you wouldn’t be dealing with all these messed up feelings now if you had just stayed at Rick’s place and waited for Eddie to come back out of the house instead of running off and calling your ex boyfriend.

You shouldn’t have gone to see him on Sunday when you finished your shift at the record store, you should have just gone home but your stupid heart led you there to make it hurt even more when you saw him with her, how gentle he was with her, how happy he looked with her.

You feel as though you are back to square one.

Seeing them together shouldn’t be this hurtful, you should be used to it by now but your feelings are just so hard to ignore. Seeing the way he treated her reminded you of the way he never treated you – only in the first few weeks of your relationship was he this gentle and sweet with you.

When his gentle touches turned into rough ones and the softness in his eyes disappeared, you knew that something had changed, but you were so in love with him, you didn’t care how badly he treated you when he stopped being the Steve you once knew.

You stare at the pages in your book with a blank expression on your face. You are not reading, you are not taking notes, you are not focusing the way you should be. No, your mind is too busy recalling every painful moment that you have had with him.

Heather puts her notebook down, throwing her pencil on the bed, she lets out a groan as she stretches her arms out. Chrissy glances at her as she tears her eyes away from her book. While you and Heather study for finals, she is catching up on her favorite novel, her finals aren’t until next year as she had to repeat second grade after she had gotten sick and missed too many school days.

Heather looks at you, a frown appears on her face when she notices the expression on your face.

“Y/n?”

You blink, furrowing your brows as you look up at your friend, “yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

No.

You shrug and close your book, “yeah, why?”

Heather isn’t convinced and neither is Chrissy who watches you with worried eyes. She had noticed that something is off with you, after spring break, something had changed and you are now more distant than before and it’s not just that, you are also very quiet. Just like you were after your breakup with Steve.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Heather says.

You feel bad for lying to them, for not telling them things that you would have told them a few months back, but you still aren’t the only one who keeps secrets.

Without thinking, you push your sleeves up, accidentally revealing the fading bruises around your wrists. Heather notices them right away, her eyes widen and a gasp falls from her lips. Chrissy furrows her brows at her friend before she notices what she is looking at, she places the book down and straightens up to see what had shocked her friend so much.

When you see the confused and shocked look on Chrissy’s face, you realize your mistake and quickly push your sleeves back down, as though it will reverse your mistake.

“What the fuck?”

“W-What is that, what happened?” Chrissy asks, worriedly.

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing, you shake your head.

“Nothing happened,” you mumble and get up from your bed after pushing the books off of your lap. You leave your room, desperately wanting to escape this situation but of course they follow you, calling out your name bewildered.

“That’s not nothing, y/n!” Heather says angrily as she follows you downstairs.

“I fell,” you mumble, coming up with the weakest lie ever.

Heather snorts in disbelief, “and I’m supposed to believe that?” She asks, almost yelling. You don’t take her anger to heart, you know that she is worried.

Chrissy rolls her eyes, “Heather,” she mumbles, trying to calm her down.

You turn on the lights in the kitchen, blinking rapidly as you feel tears of frustration building up. You try to distract yourself by reaching for the newspaper on the counter, a flyer from some pizza place at the new mall is laying on top of it.

“A-Are you guys hungry?” You ask, without looking up, “I haven’t eaten all day, I’m starving. We could order a pizza, there’s a new place, Surfer Boy–”

“Y/n,” Chrissy says, quietly as she walks towards you with a look of concern in her eyes.

“We could order different kinds,” you say, still hoping to be able to change the subject of the conversation despite knowing that it’s a lost cause.

Heather crosses her arms over her chest, her brows are knitted as she looks you up and down.

“What happened?” She asks again.

Chrissy turns around to send her a warning look, shaking her head.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” Chrissy says as she places her hand on top of yours, trying to give you reassurance.

You narrow your eyes, trying to hide your tears as you give her a small smile.

“You always tell us everything, y/n,” Heather says and for the first time you hear sadness in her voice, sadness and concern. “Since when do you keep secrets?”

Her question irritates you and it sparks the anger inside of you. You snap your head up and look at her with raised brows, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

She looks a little taken aback at your words, surprised even. Though, her eyes flash with guilt. She doesn’t say anything this time, neither does Chrissy and when you look back at her to see her avoiding your eyes, you can’t even help but scoff.

“What are you guys not telling me?” You finally ask the question that’s been on your mind for months now, “what are you hiding?”

Chrissy mumbles your name with a pleading voice, her cheeks glow red, she looks embarrassed.

“You do know that you’re doing the same shit that Steve did to me, right?”

Heather can’t even look into your eyes anymore, she looks down.

“He did that too, he kept secrets, he didn’t talk to me, he didn’t tell me anything, he kept lying to me a-and then it all got too much and he spilled everything to me the moment he had one too many drinks – is that what it takes for you to be honest with me? D-Drinks? Do you need to get drunk too to tell me that you don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

Both of them raise their heads to look at you, shocked and confused as though they can’t believe that you would think that of them.

“What!?” Heather asks, raising her voice, “you think we don’t want to be your friends anymore? What the hell, y/n? You are the one who pushed us away!”

“Because you are both keeping secrets! You whisper behind my back! You don’t tell me shit anymore! What do you expect me to do? To sit there and wait for you to leave the way everyone else does?” Your voice breaks and once again, your tears spill. You can only huff in annoyance when you feel your wet cheeks, “for fucks sake,” you whisper as you wipe away the tears in anger.

Chrissy looks down, she had never felt this guilty before. She knows it’s because of her. The secrets and the whispers. It’s her fault that you feel like they don’t want you but she is scared, so scared to lose you if you find out the truth but right here is where she realizes that she will lose you either way.

Heather’s eyes soften and she looks at you with a frown.

You step away from Chrissy and turn away from them, you place your hands on the counter and look out the window.

“We are not leaving you, y/n,” Heather says, walking towards you, “we would never leave you, you’re our best friend.”

You try not to show how bitter you are, how angry and hurt you still are.

“Doesn’t feel like it, Heather.”

“But she’s right,” Chrissy says with a shaky voice, “we would never leave you.”

You are so sick of the tears, of the pain, of all of this.

Heather and Chrissy share a look and you watch them with narrowed eyes.

You wipe the fresh tears with your sleeves and turn around, leaning against the counter as you look at the blonde, who stares at you with nothing but fear in her eyes and suddenly, you feel guilty for the outburst you just had.

“I’m sorry,” Heather whispers as she reaches for your hand, “I’m sorry we made you feel that way but you are still our best friend, even when we’re not yours anymore.”

“Yeah, Eddie stole that title,” Chrissy mumbles, rolling her eyes when she says his name. She leans against the counter beside you and looks at you with an apologetic look in her eyes and the guilt. The guilt is not very hard to miss.

You know that she is hiding something, something that Heather knows about, something that she doesn’t want you to know. It hurts, she used to tell you everything, now Heather is the only one she confides in and as hurtful as it is, you have to respect that.

“You are still my best friends too,” you murmur and lower your head to hide the pain, “I’m sorry for getting so mad.”

Heather sighs, she rolls her eyes at her own outburst, “I’m sorry too, you don’t have to tell us what happened but just know that we are here for you.”

“Yeah,” Chrissy whispers as she once again reaches for your hand, this time, you squeeze her hand back.

You know that they want to know what happened or better yet, who happened. You don’t want to talk about Ray or the date and the awful things that happened, least of all what happened afterwards when you decided to call him.

“I went on a date with Ray.” You say after a beat of silence.

Their eyes widen with both shock and confusion.

Chrissy opens and closes her mouth, no words come out.

“Ray Parker?” Heather asks, still confused. She saw you with him, at the bonfire party but she didn’t think anything of it.

You nod, clenching your jaw.

“Yeah.”

You feel a shiver running down your spine when you think about that night.

“Turned out that he never wanted to go on a date with me, he just wanted to fuck. I-I didn’t want to, I didn’t even want to go on a date with him, I don’t know what I was thinking,” you ramble as you quickly want to close the subject again, “H-He was very persistent and he kept trying but I pushed him away, nothing happened, luckily.”

Chrissy holds her hand in front of her mouth and Heather looks at you in disbelief.

They see the fear in your eyes and how shaken up you still are.

“What the fuck,” she mumbles, angrily. “He did that to you?” She asks, pointing to your wrists.

“Yeah but it’s okay, it’s–”

“It’s not okay! I’m gonna cut his dick off!” She says, throwing her hands up, “and his balls too!”

“Count me in,” Chrissy says with an angry frown in her soft features. “I hate men!”

You can’t help but snort as you bury your face in your hands.

“This is not funny, y/n!” Heather says, nudging your shoulder, “why do you always go for the worst guys?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble.

Heather is seething and so is Chrissy, that’s why you didn’t want them to know. It’s bad enough that the others know that Eddie and Steve went after him, that they risked getting in trouble with the cops.

Heather keeps mumbling curse words under her breath, while Chrissy tries to make sure that you are feeling okay.

“Do you know where he lives?” Heather asks, “did you go to the cops?”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know where he lives, you don’t want to go to the cops. His wealthy parents won’t let anything happen to their precious son besides, you hope that he learned his lesson after what Eddie and Steve did to him.

Heather and Chrissy might think that it’s Ray who causes you to feel this way, it’s not. It’s Steve, it’s always Steve who is on your mind. It's him who is making you feel like you are not okay because he is once again, haunting you in your memories, in your dreams, in everything.

He is haunting you.

Heather keeps asking questions and it’s starting to make you feel sick.

You close your eyes when you suddenly feel lightheaded, you pinch the bridge of your nose and take deep breaths.

“Can we please just not talk about this?” You ask, interrupting Heather’s ramble, “I-I don’t want to think about it anymore. Besides, it’s been taken care of,” you mumble the last part.

“Wait what?”

“What do you mean?” Chrissy asks, “what’s been taken care of?”

“Eddie and Steve, t-they went after him.”

Chrissy stares with wide eyes and Heather looks at you, confused.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Eddie and Steve?”

You nod.

“I’ll tell you everything but can we first order some food?”

Chrissy notices the pale look on your face, the shakiness in your hands, the tired look in your eyes. She knows. Her eyes meet Heather’s, she nudges her head, raising her brows.

“Yes, of course,” Heather says, reaching for the flyer you looked at earlier, “let me guess, you want pineapple pizza.”

“No way,” you snort, “I only eat it when I’m high.”

“Which happens like three times a week nowadays,” Chrissy jokes.

“What can I say, my weed man is really good.”

Heather laughs, “a very bad influence,” she points out with a smile on her face, “I’ll go order the pizza,” she says before she walks out of the kitchen.

You clear your throat and turn to Chrissy, who is already watching you. There is still concern in her eyes and you desperately want her to stop worrying.

“Chris,” you mumble as you grip her hand tighter, “don’t worry about me.”

She frowns at your words, how can she not worry about you?

“You thought that we don’t want to be your friends anymore.”

“It’s okay, it was a misunderstanding–”

“I will– we will always want you to be our friend,” she says, “it’s always been the three of us, y/n.”

You smile, sadly.

“A-And, I just want you to know that it’s not about our friendship with you or anything.”

“What do you mean?”

She swallows nervously and she runs her fingers through her blonde hair, looking at anything but you, she blushes and it makes you wonder.

“I-I just, Heather isn’t hiding anything from you. T-There’s something that I can’t tell you yet but I will,” she says, looking at the floor, “when I’m ready, okay?”

She is scared of losing you, scared of pushing you away with whatever she is dealing with.

You nod, “of course.”

You are worried about her, about what she’s keeping from you, about what she is so nervous about. You take both of her hands in yours and step closer to her.

“Hey,” you whisper, “can you look at me?”

She raises her head a little, looking at you through her bangs.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me, you don’t have to be scared,” you say, rubbing your circles on her skin, “I’m here and I’ll always be here, no matter what, okay?”

She nods, a smile tugs at her lips.

“I didn’t mean to get so angry, I’m sorry.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I understand it.”

“But we’re okay, right?” You ask.

She nods, eyeing your face with a sad look in her eyes, “of course, we’re okay.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she repeats your words with a smile.

“Hey guys, some guy named Argyle was on the phone! Never heard that name before,” Heather says, laughing from the living room, “he sounded cute.”

You and Chrissy look at each other with furrowed brows before you burst into giggles.

The bruises have faded away, your skin looks healed again, you can finally wear skirts and t-shirts after weeks of hiding in sweaters and jeans. The weather is warm, the sun is shining and the flowers adorn the pretty fields of Hawkins, finally. It’s nearing the end of April and you’re getting closer and closer to exams and the final day of school. You can’t wait to get out of here.

You are staring out the window, watching the white clouds move in the blue sky, you drown out the voices in the classroom, the laughter of Tommy and Carol as they gossip, as always.

The past few weeks haven’t been easy on you, you have been trying to avoid him but everywhere you go, you see him, it reminds you of the way things were after he dumped you. Only this time, he tries, he really tries to sneak his way back into your life, you don’t let him – you want to but you don’t let him. Yet, you can’t help but love every little moment you have with him – passing by him in the hallway, seeing the way his eyes light up when you flash him a small smile, you don’t let it confuse you but, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach either.

You will forever regret the date and the call. That night changed everything. You were okay, you were okay without him. You were sure that you had moved on. You were sure that you did not want him anymore. You were so damn sure. Yet, here you are, unable to stop thinking about Steve Harrington.

Someone places their books on the table, picking the seat next to you. You don’t turn around to face whoever it is, not caring. But, when you smell his cologne, you tense up and your heart skips, you don’t need to look at him to have all these feelings rushing through you.

You look away from the window, you lean back and finally turn to look at him. He looks good, the way he always does. He is wearing a black sweater, his sleeves are pulled up, you notice a silver bracelet around his wrist, you haven’t seen before. His knuckles are healed, no bruises litter his skin any longer but there’s a scar that hasn’t been there before. You wonder what he told her when he sported the bruises on his knuckles and on his temple.

He doesn’t say anything, he just flashes you a small smile and looks away when the teacher walks in.

Why does he sit here? Why next to you?

You force yourself to look away too. You hate the beating of your heart. You hate the way you feel when you smell his cologne, the stupid smell of Farrah Fawcett spray, you hate the way it feels to be so close to him.

You try to focus on class, you try to write down notes, you try to think about anything but him beside you.

Steve has other plans though when he slides his notebook over to you after scribbling something on the blank page.

You turn to look at him with a questioning gaze but he is not looking at you, he is looking at the blackboard, pretending to listen to Mrs Jones.

You look down at the notebook.

‘Hi’. He wrote with a smile next to it.

You can’t help but snort quietly.

He smiles to himself, narrowing his eyes to look at you.

You take your pen, shaking your head as you write a ‘hey’ before you slide it back to him.

He glances at the teacher before he begins writing. Mrs Jones isn’t paying attention to you, the elderly woman is too busy writing on the blackboard as she taps her heel against the ground.

You bounce your knee, pressing your lips together as you look at anything but him. You dig your nails into your palms as you wait in anticipation. When he slides the notebook back to you, you glance at him for a moment before you look down.

‘How are you?’

You wonder if it is a conversation starter or a genuine question but, when you find him looking at you with a soft eyes, you have your answer.

‘I’m good, you?’

Steve knows it is a lie.

‘I’m okay. Can you believe that we’re graduating soon?’

You smile at him and shake your head.

‘No. Are you still becoming a basketball star?’ You write down.

You watch the way he shakes his head with a blush on his cheeks. He leans down, putting his hand on the table as he writes.

'Not good enough to be a basketball star.’

You raise your brows in question, pressing your lips together.

What happened to his confidence? You wonder.

‘You were always good enough, Steve.’

Steve stares at your words for a long moment, his brows knit together and for a second, he lets the sadness take over. He never felt good enough.

‘Not for this. Are you still becoming a stripper?’

When you read the question, a giggle bursts from your lips before you can stop it. You always used to joke about it, telling him that you would become the best stripper in town.

There is not a single strip club in Hawkins.

You clasp your hand over your mouth and your eyes widen when you realize how loud your giggle was. Everyone is now looking at you.

Steve presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.

“Is there anything you want to share with the class?” Mrs Jones asks, raising her brows at you as she stands there with her hand on her hip.

You shake your head.

Steve snorts a little when he glances at you, you are staring wide eyed at the teacher with a blush on your cheeks. Cute.

You kick his foot under the table and he has to hide his face behind his head when he laughs quietly.

“Pay attention!” Mrs Jones says, pointing at you with her finger.

You nod, “yes ma’am.”

She glares at you before she turns away.

“Asshole,” you whisper to Steve before you reach for your pen again, ignoring the prying eyes of some of the cheerleaders and of course, Tommy and Carol, you don’t have to turn around to know that they are staring.

‘No, I want to be a groupie now.’

Steve shakes his head, of course, you would say that.

He changes the topic, though it’s a mistake, a very big mistake.

Steve doesn’t know that you are haunted by memories of him.

Your birthday is soon, any plans?’

You are already struggling. Why did he have to bring this up? Why did he have to remind you of your last birthday? Why?

You stare at the words on the paper for what feels like forever. You hate your birthday, especially the last birthday.

You remember the way you felt that day, you remember the way you waited for him, thinking that he would surprise you. You didn’t want a party, you didn’t even want a cake but Heather and Chrissy had still made one for you, they spent the afternoon with you, they gave you presents, ate cake with you and offered to take you out to dinner but you said no, because you knew that he would take you out for dinner and surprise you with the locket you have told him so many times about. The locket you had seen when you passed by the little jewelry store, he was with you, he saw the way your eyes lit up when you laid eyes on it for the first time, he knew you wanted it and you thought, you really thought that he would get you the necklace. You could have bought it yourself with the credit card your dad gave you before he left but you wanted it to be something special.

Steve did not take you out for dinner that night, in fact, he didn’t spend the night with you, at all.

You want to cry just thinking about it.

You waited and waited, you sat by your window and looked out, waiting for him to finally arrive. You put on the pretty sundress that you had bought when you went shopping with Chrissy. You did your makeup and your hair the way he always liked it.

With your hands in your lap and excitement still lingering on your face, you waited.

Your eyes lit up when you saw his car pulling up to your driveway, you jumped up and rushed over to the mirror, taking one last look at yourself before you rushed down the stairs with a smile on your face.

You opened the door just as he was about to unlock it with the keys you gave him.

“Hi!” You said, unable to fight the smile off your face.

Steve was holding a small box in his hands, you thought you knew what was in there.

“Hey babe,” he said but his voice did not match your excitement.

He walked in and closed the door, handing you the box. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, “happy birthday,” he said with a smile that could only be described as forced.

Your own smile began to fade a little when you noticed the disinterested look on his face, you looked down at the little box. Did he give you what you wished for? You had wondered.

“What took you so long?” You asked as you looked at the clock, it was 7pm. “I’ve been waiting for you, Stevie.”

“I was getting ready for the party.”

You furrowed your brows and looked at him in confusion as you could already feel your heart dropping.

“What party?” You mumbled, “I-I told you that I don’t want–”

“No, I know.” He said, “I know you didn’t want to throw a party, I mean Tina’s party.”

You couldn’t believe him. He knew, he knew you did not want that. He knew you wanted to spend the night alone, with him.

“I-I thought we could do something else, it’s my birthday, Steve.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, happy birthday,” he said with fake enthusiasm in his voice, “now let’s go celebrate it.”

Your shoulders slumped, you opened your mouth to speak but quickly closed it again. You stared at him in disbelief as your eyes began to well up with tears.

“But, I thought we could go out for dinner.”

He scrunched his face up, snorting, “what are we forty?” He said, “come on, get your stuff, we’re leaving.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you looked at him with sad eyes and a pout that always pulled at your lips, naturally.

He huffed.

“Man, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” You said with a small voice, frowning.

“Like that,” he mumbled, pointing at your frown, “that’s fucked up.”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to run upstairs and crawl under the sheets, you wanted to escape this.

“W-Well, you can go to that stupid party. I’m not going.” You pushed the box back in his hands and brushed past him, walking up the stairs as you began to remove the clips in your hair.

“Babe!” He groaned.

“You can go, Steve. I’m not feeling well anyways,” you lied and continued your way up the stairs, still hoping that he would follow you, that he would change his mind and apologize, that he would take you in his arms and kiss you, that he would take you out to dinner, that he would kiss you under the stars and put the necklace around your neck but he never did.

Just as you walked into your room, you heard the front door shutting and his car starting just moments later.

Despite how he had acted before, you didn’t expect him to leave, but he did. He left and you spent the evening alone with a bottle of Whiskey your dad left behind, you drank and you cried, missing the boy who used to protect you, who used to love you. You stayed in your dress and listened to David Bowie and then, four hours later, he came back but you wish he never did.

The memory of that night still hurts, it all hurts.

‘No, you know I don’t celebrate my birthday.’ You write down in bitterness.

Steve looks guilty, he feels awful for what he did on your last birthday. If he could turn back time and change it, he would.

You can’t help but look at him, and you see it, you see the guilt and the sadness and the anger he feels for himself but it does nothing to ease your pain. It still hurts so much.

‘Can I come over, the night before?’

It’s a tradition you have had since you were children. He would always sneak into your room and give you his presents at midnight. He didn’t do it last year. Why now? You are no longer friends, you are no longer a couple, you are not even acquaintances at this point.

Are you a fool for saying ‘yes’? Maybe. Do you care? No. Apparently, he still has you wrapped around his finger.

He smiles at you and closes the notebook when the bell rings. You wonder if he will throw the page away or if he will keep it. You would. You hate how giddy he still makes you feel, you hate the butterflies that still flutter in your stomach, why won’t they die?

You leave the classroom together but neither of you say anything, you just glance at each other before you go separate ways, he flashes you one last smile – his is certainly much brighter than yours, yours is still etched with pain.

You make your way towards your locker to retrieve your backpack and your jacket. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone moving towards you and when you turn your head, you see that it’s Chrissy.

A smile tugs at your lips.

She looks determined, her eyes are set on you, she isn’t smiling and as she gets closer, you notice how nervous she looks.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” you smile, “what’s up?” You ask, curiously when she still refuses to smile.

Her hands are pressed together and she looks at you with uncertainty in her eyes. She fidgets with her shaky hands.

“I-I’m ready to talk.”

You did not expect to hear that from her. It’s been weeks since she admitted to keeping something from you and not once did you pressure her to talk, you did try to reassure her that nothing could drive you away from her but she still needed time.

“You are?” You ask, looking around the crowded hallways.

She nods, licking her lips as she stares at you.

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” You reach for your backpack and pull the strap over your shoulder before you reach for her hand, “come on.”

You can feel how nervous she is, how clammy her hand is, how shaky it is as she grips yours tightly. It makes you a little anxious. What could possibly make her this nervous?

You leave the school and walk towards your car.

“Do you wanna go to my place?” You ask.

She shakes her head, looking down as she lets go of your hand to walk to the passenger side.

“Okay, uh, the lookout?” You ask.

“Y-Yeah.”

You nod and unlock your car, you throw your backpack in the backseat and reach for the sunglasses in your glove compartment. You glance at her, noticing how nervous she still is as she bounces her knee.

“Chris, don’t be so nervous,” you say, trying to reassure her, “if you wanna talk about your position on the cheer squad, you can absolutely have my spot as the captain,” you joke but she doesn’t laugh, she only cracks a small smile.

You figure that nothing you will say will make her any less nervous, the only thing that will help is talk about whatever is laying heavy on her heart. So, you start the car and you turn on some music, hoping that it will calm her down. You drive to the lookout, you always used to go together. Back when you had only gotten your driver license, you, Chrissy and Heather would always come up here and have a little picnic, you would take pictures of each other with your dad’s polaroid camera.

You miss those days. The simpler days.

You both get out and sit on the hood of your car, looking down at the small town you live in. From up here, it looks so much smaller than it actually is.

“I– I don’t know how to tell you,” she starts after a long few minutes of silence.

“What are you afraid of?” You ask as your take your hand in yours.

She blinks. The wind blows through her hair and she looks down to avoid your eyes.

“That you won’t be my friend anymore.”

“Chrissy,” you whisper, holding her hand tighter, “we’ve been friends since we were little kids, what makes you think that I’d stop being your friend?”

She shrugs.

“You and I, we're best friends for the rest of our lives.”

She rolls her eyes, “except you got Eddie now.”

“Eddie isn’t a girl though, I still need my girl best friends – hey, are you jealous of Eddie, is that it?” You chuckle.

Her eyes widen and she tenses up, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Her cheeks take the color of your red skirt and your smile falls as you stare at her reaction in surprise.

“I-I, no! I’m not–” She stutters and her voice gets high pitched.

“Wait, y-you don’t like Eddie do you?” You frown.

She almost looks taken aback by your question and she draws back, scrunching her face up as she shakes her head, “what!? No!”

Your shoulders slump in relief.

Her reaction is almost comical, if the circumstances were different, you would probably laugh at the twisted mouth and the disapproving look in her eyes.

“I don’t like him,” she says, shaking her head, “I don’t like people like him.”

“Oh,” you frown. Is that it? Is that what she is keeping from you? She doesn’t like Eddie? She doesn’t like your best friend? She doesn’t like his reputation and your reputation?

“N-No!” She huffs, rolling her eyes at her choice of words, “I don’t mean it like that, I don’t mean him in general, I-I mean – fuck.” Her shoulders slump and she closes her eyes when she feels the tears welling up. “I don’t like men – I don’t, I’m not into them! I like girls,” she says, quietly.

Oh.

Your lips part in surprise and your eyes widen but you finally relax and the tension in your body leaves. You were so worried about all the possibilities of what she could be hiding from you, out of all of them, you did not expect this.

She is shaking even more now and you hold her hand tighter in response.

“Chrissy,” you whisper and scoot closer to her.

When she hears your soft voice and feels your even softer touch, she manages to open her eyes again and looks at you through her tears.

“You scared me to death!” You mumble before you pull her into a hug, squeezing her tightly. “I thought you were hiding something bad!”

You hear her sniffle first and then her sigh of relief as she melts into your touch and hugs you back.

“I-I, you’re not, you don’t think it’s weird?”

You scrunch your face up and frown, “why would I think that it’s weird?” You mumble, still hugging her.

“‘Cause some people think it’s weird.”

“Fuck them,” you whisper, rubbing her back and squeezing her tightly before you pull away from her. You look at her soft features and smile, “I’m sorry you were so scared to tell me but I hope you know that I would never judge you, you’re my best friend and I’m proud of you.”

Her eyes light up and she smiles, “you are?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling.

She presses her hand to her chest as she sighs in relief again, closing her eyes.

“So, who’s the lucky girl?”

And just like that, her smile fades away again and she looks at you with the same sad eyes you saw one too many times already. This time, it doesn’t take you long to put two and two together, the signs were always there but as always, you were too blind to see them, just like you had been blind to so many other things in your life.

She was always protective of you, more so than Heather was. She was always a little giddy around you, nervous and shy. She was always more affectionate with you than anyone else.

And then you remember Carol’s words, what she said – or tried to say about Chrissy before Heather intervened.

God, you feel like a fool.

Life passes by you and you don’t even notice. Where is your mind at all the time?

Chrissy’s eyes are filled with sadness and the same fear as before, she doesn’t need to say it out loud for you to know. The look on her face confirms it all.

“Oh Chrissy.”

“I-It’s okay, y/n,” she whispers, “please don’t pity me, it’s just, it will pass.”

You tilt your head, you can’t help but look at her with the same look that lingers in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and look down at her hand.

“No, I’ll be fine, really,” she says, “just promise me that nothing will change?”

Your chest aches and it hurts to know that she is hurting because of you.

“Because that’s all that matters to me, that you are still my friend.”

“I am,” you reassure her again, “I promise.”

She nods at you, not letting her tears spill. She smiles at you again before she scoots closer to you.

“Thank you.”

You shake your head and wrap your arm around her shoulder as she leans her head on your shoulder.

“No, thank you for trusting me,” you whisper, “and for everything.”

She smiles up at you when you fix the green bow in her hair and run your fingers through her ponytail.

As the silence takes over and you both listen to birds chirping and the wind that rustles the leaves on the trees, you hold onto each other a little more tightly when she finally relaxes, knowing that she will always have you, no matter what.

And you feel the tension leaving when you realize that you had nothing to fear when it came to her and Heather.

“Hey, you know what?”

“Hmm?”

“I saw Heather making out with Billy in his car.”

“No way!” You gasp, laughing.

“Yeah! And then she acted like nothing happened!”

You giggle, cupping your hand over your mouth.

“Apparently they were high. She bought weed from that pizza guy.”

“What was his name again?” You ask, laughing.

“Uh, something weird–” she mumbles with a concentrated look on her face.

“Ar– Argyle!” You exclaim.

“Yes, Argyle!”

next chapter

tagging friends & mutuals

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @taintedcigs @hellfire--cult @screammunson @take-everything-you-can @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @trashmouth-richie @xxhellfiregirlxx @somethingvicked @chrissymjstan

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #eddie munson x reader

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jeonginsleftcheek · 9 months ago

Text

The sun to me

Chapter V. Carved.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 2.8k

chapter summary: what's carved into the mind becomes carved into the wood, etched forever in the heart even if it bleeds.

warnings: angsty, mentions of drugs, vague descriptions of self-harm and suicide, overall sad chapter

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🤍 Magnolia - perseverance and determination

Isaac stands turned towards the window, his warm brown eyes roam everywhere they can, catching the fleeting sparkle of golden sun rays reflecting off of different surfaces, casting the glow into his irises.

The quiet afternoon is welcoming and warm as he sips on his herbal tea and enjoys the almost completely still world around him.

If he was asked 30 years ago where does he see himself in the future, this is not what he would ever imagine.

Always leading a busy life, living in a hurry, running with the crazy world around him, not ever once stopping to smell the roses.

What was he in a hurry to do? Hurry to see more, hurry to get it done, hurry to die?

He has no idea what kind of force drove him back then, maybe it was just the youthful energy he was filled with back then.

He'd like to think he's calmer and wiser now, flowing like a gentle stream rather than a fast and rambunctious river.

The door closes behind him and he turns slowly to be greeted by the said fast and rambunctious river taking the shape of a young man known by the name Hyunjin.

His backpack is slinged on one shoulder, his jeans are dirtied, his hair is slightly messy and his face wears a blissful and giddy smile, one that Isaac recognizes as he himself wore the same smile many years before.

"Afternoon, Hyunjin."- he greets the young man.

"Afternoon."- Hyunjin answers with a nod, the big smile never ceasing from his lips.

"You look rather joyful."- Isaac says, finishing his tea.

"Oh well, I had a really good day. I planted petunias."- he says, not revealing too much. "And I really need to take a shower now."- he laughs.

"Alright, don't let me stop you from your plans."- Isaac lifts his hand up in surrender. "Do join me in my studio later, please."

"Oh that! Right, I will I promise."- Hyunjin says before hurrying up to his room.

Isaac lets out a quiet chuckle before making his way to his beloved studio.

In the early evening hours, Hyunjin finally gathers the courage to knock on the big wooden door leading to Isaac's studio.

"Come in, come in."- he hears him say, his voice muffled.

Hyunjin opens the door and is immediately hit by the intense smell of wood and varnish, even stronger in the studio than in the rest of the house. If he takes a deep breath in, he thinks he might be sick but at the surface it's not too unpleasant to his senses.

"You'll get used to it quickly."- Isaac chuckles, noticing the young man's face is scrunched up.

"Come, sit here."- Isaac beckons, patting the chair next to him and Hyunjin sits down in the creaky seat.

The studio is big, even bigger than the living room and the dining room together, huge glass windows letting the afternoon sun in as it casts a glow on all of the wooden furniture and sculptures scattered everywhere.

For a moment, it looks as if though the wood is expanding and breathing, like it's still alive, but it's just a trick of the mind, swirling the patterns on the different works of art in Hyunjin's eyes.

He then looks at the table, his eyes roaming all over the different tools and wood chunks spread before the two of them.

"You ready to learn some whittling?"- Isaac smiles, excited to be someone's teacher again, like he was to his son. He wishes he'd been a better teacher then, not just giving him lectures about how his hands should move but also how to help his heart come out of the depths of despair.

"Ready as I'll ever be."- Hyunjin is in a good mood, transferring the giddiness to Isaac.

"We are using basswood today. It has fine texture and it's good for beginners like you."- Isaac says.

"What are we gonna make?"- Hyunjin asks.

"You can make whatever you want and I will guide you how to do it. But you'll need some protection first."- Isaac gives Hyunjin a slice resisting glove for the hand which will hold the wood, and a thumb guard for pushing onto the back of the blade safely.

"I don't know what I can do."- Hyunjin chuckles awkwardly and Isaac shakes his head.

"Maybe let's start with some type of animal or a face, that's easy."

"Doesn't sound easy."- Hyunjin chuckles and Isaac gives him a piece of the wood and a pencil.

"Draw out an owl, for example. You have to sketch before actually dealing with the knife."- Isaac has another bigger and already half-done sculpture of a woman with a dress flying around her as she dances.

Hyunjin does as he said, the familiarity of sketching before doing something he's never done before brings him a peace of mind.

"How did you decide to do this?"- Hyunjin suddenly asks and Isaac looks up from his sculpture, with a small smile.

"Short or long version?"- he asks.

"I like long stories."- Hyunjin gives Isaac a big smile and Isaac leans back, putting his knife down onto the table.

Isaac was 6 years old when he sat in the very same studio for the first time with his father. Every single day, his father would spend hours in the room and little Isaac always wondered what was so interesting in there that it takes up so much of his father's attention.

He thought that there must be something very important and magical about that room, when his father spent more time in there than in any other room of their house.

His mother always told him not to bother him but Isaac was too curious for his own good and one day he stumbled inside. His father turned around with a startle as he was concentrating on measuring wood planks.

"Isaac!"- he exclaimed before putting his tools down.

"What are you doing daddy?"- he'd asked and his father sighed, coming closer to him and gently putting his hands on his son's shoulders.

"I'm making furniture. You know the table in the dining room where we sit and eat every day? I carved that with my own hands."

"Really?! Is it magic?"- Isaac's eyes are wide as he stares up at his father who chuckles endearingly at him.

"No son, it's hard work. I'll teach you some day, right now you're too small and it's dangerous for you. But you can watch while I make measurements and decorate."- he said and Isaac nodded excitedly, joining his dad.

Isaac was 16 when he decided to become a woodworker like his father, following right in his footsteps. He holed himself up in his father's studio when he'd succumbed to his sickness, leaving Isaac only with his mother.

The smell of varnish was something he didn't even feel anymore, after spending so much time inside the studio, working with the precious wood, taking splinters out of his flesh, Isaac soon became desensitized.

His mother, the house, the studio and the furniture he made and broke suffocated him and he decided to move away to the city, to be able to breathe and open his wings.

Isaac was 21 when he met the love of his life, Celia, the most beautiful woman that ever graced this planet in his eyes, a goddess made to be worshipped and loved.

That's what he vowed to do as soon as they got married only 4 months after they've met.

She was a dancer and he started selling his sculptures and furniture, both of them working odd jobs to make ends meet before an important man noticed Isaac's work and asked him to make a sculpture for his big mansion, promising to pay him a big amount of money.

It seemed too good to be true, but Celia begged him to try and give the man a chance. She had just found our she was pregnant and they needed all the money they could get.

As it turned out, the man wasn't a fraud, he was someone who genuinely enjoyed discovering young and talented people, helping them become recognized for their work, as he owned a gallery.

Isaac was quickly invited to make enough sculptures for an exhibition, a dream come true for him, and Celia was proud of her husband for reaching such great heights.

But as it often happens, what flies high has to come down eventually, and while the exhibition was a success, and so was the next one, and the next one, and the next one, Isaac was becoming more and more greedy, blinded by the promise of the distant shining lights.

His wife and his now 5 year old son Leo came second place after the fame he was bathed in and the riches he slept amongst. The people around him were the ones with the white noses, crooked smiles and tainted hearts, and he became one of them. Just another snotty rich man, snorting up the good stuff, his arm wrapped around some random pretty young woman.

Celia endured all of this for the sake of her son who was different since he was small, a sad little boy, always on the side, never playing with his peers, always silent, his voice quiet like an autumn breeze whirling dry leaves up in the air.

Isaac neglected his family in exchange for material things and women, and as his son kept growing up, he holed himself up in his room, finding comfort in whittling.

The knife was sharp, cutting out wood, cutting out skin. There was so much blood as his mother found him, quickly calling the ambulance.

They managed to save Leo for now, and Isaac was late as always, making Celia scream at him and hit him as she kept yelling that it was his fault and he did this to his family.

Isaac would've cried but his heart felt stuck, so he promised to be better from now on, as he took the both of them to the house on the island.

They took a little break here, hoping that the calmness and simple beauty of the island would inspire Leo, and make Isaac remember why he started it all, remind him of his dear parents, now food for the earth, remind him how he loved Celia, carving her beautiful figure into the wood again and again.

But when the wood is rotten inside, there is no way to save it and make it right again. The constant screaming of Leo's parents added to his clinically depressed state resulting in the carving of the skin again.

This time it was too late when Isaac had found him in the very room where Hyunjin sleeps now.

Celia left him after that and Isaac went back to the city, drowning himself in insignificant shit, drugs, fake smiles and sympathethic pats of people who didn't care for anything except their wallets.

He was dancing on thin ice, almost killing himself in the process, not caring about his well being or anything else except numbing the pain of knowing that he effectively killed his son and drove his wife away, driving himself to a fast breakdown.

"And now, I've been here for a long time."- Isaac wipes a single tear as Hyunjin sits stunned, the wood and the pencil still in his hands, as he tries to process the life the man sitting next to him went through.

"I- I don't know what to say. I'm really sorry for everything you went through."- Hyunjin speaks quietly, afraid that if he raises his voice, the room will be disturbed.

"Ah, it's not your fault. I told you all of this because I think you're going down a similar path, isn't that why you're here?"

"Honestly, it is. My manager - he's only hungry for money. And while he pretends to be my friend, I know he doesn't give a shit about me as a person, he only sees me as a source of income. The people around me are disgusting, the type I would never imagine myself hanging out with before. I feel like I fell into a hole and can't seem to unearth myself. It's like something's wrapped and weighing down on my ankles, perpetually pulling me down into the underground. I had to run away and find a peaceful place to find myself again."- Hyunjin confesses, saying everything out loud lifts a stone from his heart.

"I had a feeling it was like that because you remind me so much of myself when I was young. And I told you all of my story so you can learn a lesson by listening, not by doing. It would be a shame to throw your life away on insignificant things and end up alone like I am. Especially when you've found love."- Isaac smiles knowingly and Hyunjin jolts, hand squeezing the chunk of wood in his palm.

"L-love?"- he laughs awkwardly.

"The smile on your face today, it's something I wore many times on my own face. It's the completely dumb-in-love smile I had when I met Celia. I know you've spent the day with y/n, since you said you planted petunias. So what I'm saying is, nurture this. Don't let it slip away through your fingers. Don't make the same mistakes I did, you can still get back on the right path."- Isaac says and he can see the cogs turning in Hyunjin's head but he doesn't say anything.

It's enough for Isaac to see that he's letting the words sink in, so he decides to move onto the tutorial for whittling to actually teach Hyunjin how to sculpt the wood.

There is some classical music playing lightly in the background as Hyunjin learns something new for the second time today, a few push cuts, sweeping cuts and stab cuts later there is a little owl in Hyunjin's hands, with it's wings and eyes closed, looking like it's sitting peacefully somewhere high up in a tree.

"That is some good work for a beginner."- Isaac praises him, of course it's not perfect and it doesn't have to be but being an artist himself, Hyunjin's hands are already used to creating something out of nothing.

"Thank you."- he smiles as he observes the little owl, the symbol of wisdom and intuition, telling Hyunjin to just listen to his gut and try to hear what his heart wants, his heart that has withered in the dry and dark city between loveless people.

"You should add some finish to it to brighten it up and make it resilient to moisture."- Isaac says, giving Hyunjin some wood oil and a paintbrush.

Holding the brush in his fingers and moving it across the wood, makes him miss the feeling when he'd let his heart lead his hand on the canvas, his eyes could even be closed as he takes a moment to feel the art pouring out of his soul.

The time when everything was simple and beautiful, the time when he took back what his mother stole for him, the love he always had for creating.

"Thanks for joining me today."- Isaac says as they eat dinner.

"Thanks for telling me your story and teaching me your craft."- Hyunjin smiles genuinely.

That night in bed, Hyunjin stares at the owl he carved that's now sitting on the night stand and his eyes travel up to the ceiling.

One of his hands is propped under his head and the other draws patterns in the blanket that he threw over himself.

His mind is buzzing with thoughts, every time he ends up thinking about the city and what Isaac told him, there's a knot in his stomach. He wishes he never has to leave, wishes that he never has to go back to the cold and cruel city, that he could continue living here, planting flowers with you every day, helping you take care of your garden, painting with you, holding you close.

He wishes life was that simple but it never is.

Hyunjin knows it's dangerous but he lets his mind settle onto daydreaming about you, creating different scenarios, all soft, loving, erotic, indulging himself with a fantasy he can only hope to live.

He falls asleep around 2am, mind and body tortured with thoughts of art, you, the city, Isaac and ultimately leading him to think about his mother and how she was the one who damaged him even before he damaged himself.

It's a vicious cycle that Hyunjin hopes he can break.

His eyes close and he falls into a dreamless sleep as the little wooden owl guards him, the moonlight casting a glow that makes it look like its eyes are opened and trained on Hyunjin.

And as silence covers the small island like a warm blanket, dark clouds travel from the distance reminding the quiet stars flickering in the sky that the calm always happens before a storm.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever

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qrrieterisunnq · 1 year ago

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Omgggg can you plraseee write about zegras with a fantilli sister????

thank you so much for requesting anon!! I have this in my drafts for a month, so it's finally here I hope you’ll like it! It's not the best thing I have written but...yeah... I have never written something with the Fantilli brothers so before... 🤍

California Secret - Trevor Zegras

trevor!zegras x fantilli!sister Summary: Trevor and y/n have been dating for a few months now, but what if her brothers, Luca, and Adam, have a game in California the same week, and decide to visit her, but find her in Trevor's apartment. requested: yes/no Warnings: insulting, mad Adam, crying, protective Trevor likes are good, reblogs are better <3 gif not mine Word count: 1,4K

masterlist | wip's

Lying in bed, warm body against your back, hot breath fanning over the back of your neck. You yawn quietly, stretching out your limbs as you turn in his hold.

His soft features are dazzled by the sun's rays, making you fall in love with him even more. Your fingers trace over his cheeks, down to his nose, which he scrunches under your touch. You smile at the action quiet giggle escaping your lips. Your fingers trace lover on his lips. Another giggle leaves your lips when he kisses the tips of your fingers and his hands tighten around you, flipping you on top of himself.

“Morning.” He whispers opening his blue eyes. Leaning down, you kiss the tip of his nose and then his lips.

“Good morning,” you whisper back, pushing yourself up, your forearms resting on his bare chest. “How’d you sleep?”

“With you in my arms,” he looks away from you, a wide grin forming on his lips. “Amazing.” He looks back at you, his eyes shining with love.

"I love you, T," you murmur on his lips as you lean down to kiss him. His hand slides up your back, resting on the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue finding its way into your mouth.

"I love you more, my love!" he sighs in the kiss, the feeling of his breath on your lips makes you smile widely. ”Okay get up! We have a lot to do today.” He pats your butt signaling you to get up from him and get something on your naked body.

“And that’s what?” you asked confused not remembering what you had in plan for today.

“I don’t know that yet, but I think just a lazy day on the couch with a movie and hot chocolate would be great.” He shrugs slipping his boxers on.

”Oh, okay!” you giggle slipping a shirt and panties on you, before you make your way down the hall to the kitchen to make breakfast. “Babe!! Wanna coffee or tea?”

“Green tea please!!” he shouts from the bedroom. A smile forms on your lips as you put the water in the teapot. Walking over to the radio that’s sitting on the window you turn it on, you’re hips immediately sway in the rhythm of the sound.

When Trevor comes into the kitchen, he’s dressed in a black hoodie and grey shorts, his hair is messy from the multiple times he’s been running his hand through them.

“Go put something on, I’ll make the breakfast.” He taps your butt a few times, kissing your neck.

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek making your way into the bedroom.

While you’re dressing yourself up, Trevor is getting the toast with avocado, and egg done. Just when he’s about to call after you, the bell rings. With furrowed eyebrows, he makes his way to the door swinging the open. His eyes grow wider when he realizes the two silhouettes standing there are your brothers. Adam and Luca.

“Oh, uhm, hi guys?” he let out a nervous chuckle stepping outside and closing slightly the door after him. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“Had some free time before our flights so we decided to honor you with a visit.” Adam smiles showing Trevor's shoulder causing him to stumble backwards slightly. The two boys make their way inside the apartment sitting down on the couch.

“What’s the smell?” Luca asks his eyes roaming around the living room, straightening himself up when he catches a glimpse of something that looks like his sister's painting, but he shakes his head. There’s no way Trevor would have something that belongs to their sister. She and Trevor aren’t even friends.

“Breakfast, I just got up and-“ Trevor is interrupted by your voice.

“Who was that, ba-“ You stop in your track, your jaw dropping down and eyes widening when you see your brothers sitting on Trevor’s couch. Their backs are straightened, and surprised and confused looks make their way to their faces. –“What are you doing here?” your voice is pitched high as you nervously walk over to Trevor.

“What are we-” Adam mocks you laughing in the middle of his sentence. “What are you doing here?” this time his voice is rough, making you flinch.

Your hand grips Trevor’s, who’s pulling you closer to him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in your dorm?” Luca asks this time, anger in his voice. “And why the fuck do you have Trevor’s shirt on?”

“I-I-“Before you get any chance to say something, Adam is speaking again.

“You’re screwing him?” a scoff leaves his mouth when he catches a glimpse of Trevor’s hand on your hips. “Oh my god, you do.” He laughs sarcastically shaking his head.

“N-no,” you shake your head. “We-we are dating.” You try to explain the situation. “Dating?” Luca laughs standing from his position. “Wake up, y/n! You’re acting like you don’t know him!” he starts pacing over the living room, his hands in his hair. “You’re acting like a slut!” before he knew this sentence left his mouth. Luca’s eyes widened as soon as his words left his mouth. You choke on your sob when the words get to your ears.

Trevor’s hands clench in fists at the words, pulling you behind him. “What the fuck did you just call her?” his voice is deep and full of anger. Your hand is gripping the back of his shirt, while the other one is over your moth as you cry silently.

You expect some kind of bad reaction from them, but never in a million years you expected for Luca to tell you something like this.

You’re acting like a slut!

Acting like a slut!

Like a slut!

A slut!

Slut!

“Y/n…” he starts his eyes wide, his voice full of regret. “I-I didn’t mean to say this!”

“D-don’t!” you whisper, stepping from behind Trevor’s body, your eyes locked with Lucas. Sadness in his eyes and the tears are clear to see.

“Y/n…” Adam says this time, taking a step towards you. Trevor wants to step in front of you, but you stop him and Adam in their way.

“Can we just sit and talk about this?” you let out a sigh, pointing towards the couch. The three of them just nod their heads sitting down. You and Trevor sit on the opposite couch to them, your hand finding his.

“Y/n! I-I really didn’t mean to call you like that!” Luca says his voice full of regret and sadness.

“I know, Lu,” You let out a sigh massaging the bridge of your nose. “But it still hurt, you know,” Luca nods his head tears welling up in his eyes, as soon as you see them spill over the edges you walk over to him, pulling him in a hug. “Don’t cry, Luca, it’s okay! You said it in the heat of the moment!”

“I’m awful brother.” He tightness his grip over you.

“No, you’re not! Now get your shit together so we can talk about it!” you scold him sitting back next to Trevor.

“How long?” Adam says for the first time since his yelling.

“A few months.” you look over to Trevor squeezing his hand in yours.

“Eight to be clear.” Trevor looks up at you, a loving smile resting on his full lips.

“That’s a long time,” Adam says, his eyes glutted on the ground, his hand on his jaw. “Why haven’t you told us?” he then looks up at you his eyes flicker between the two of you. He hates that you weren’t able to tell them about your relationship with Trevor.

“Adam, that’s really stupid question,” you shake your head chuckling slightly. “You just saw how you two reacted, how do you think you would react if I just told you?”

“Yeah, probably worst.” He chuckles, the atmosphere in the room lightening.

“Yeah.” You nod looking at your brothers who are looking at you with so much love in their eyes.

“I uhm…You ugh mad?” Trevor asks them, voice low and full of uncertainty.

“The hell I am! You are fucking my sister!” Luca exclaims. You can see his lips quirking up how hard he’s trying to not laugh at Trevor's expression.

“Relax, my love, he’s making a fun of you!” you laugh with both of your brothers nudging Trevor’s arm.

“Piece of shits, you are.” He shakes his head laughing with you.

#nhl #trevor zegras #tz11 #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras fic #luca fantilli #nhl hockey #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras imagine #adam fantilli #anaheim ducks #nhl fanfiction #trevor zegras fanfic

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Text

It shouldn't work but it does (George Russell)

George shouldn't feel so pulled to you

Note: english is not my first language. I have never written Norris!reader, so this is a first! Also tweaked the request a little, hopefully it's okay! I feel like this was a good request and me tweaking it made it lose the potential it had, I'm not sure how I feel about it...

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: mentions a secret relationship for a while

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

You were walking to the McLaren hospitality, greeting a few people on the way that greeted you back, a smile always on your lips while you did it. The day was miserable, grey and a little rain already threatening the race that would happen a few hours later, and yet you were a ray of sunshine. And George had trouble dealing with that.

His eyes would travel to you anytime you were on the paddock for race weekend, and now that you had finished university, it seemed to happen a lot more.

"George, we need to do a last seat fit", one of the Williams mechanics called him, his attention lingering on the way you almost skipped before entering the McLaren garage for a second longer before he walked back to this car, mumbling something no one could pick up quite right.

She's Lando's sister, who really is just a female copycat of him. Smiley, giggly, always cheering people up and spreading kindness wherever you went. George shouldn't feel the way he feels about you, no matter how much his heart raced whenever he spotted you or how he smiled when Lando spoke about you.

When he found himself on the podium after a three lap race, George allowed himself to enjoy it, spraying champagne on who he hoped he would be directly racing against and with the following season, as the call on his phone suggested.

Driving for Mercedes had been a goal George set himself very early on, and he was one step closer to that. Strutting out of the garage after taking a shower and getting dressed in his usual clothes, George was distracted on his phone as he waled to the Mercedes hospitality. On your end, you looked to retrieve the car key from your bag, Flo and Savannah walking in front of you and not preventing your collision.

"I'm so sorry", George let out, holding your shoulders to make sure you were okay, "Oh, hi, Y/N!", he greeted.

"It's fine, I wasn't looking either, sorry!", you giggled as you found the car key, flashing it to him, "by the way, Congratulations on your first podium, George!", you smiled at him before walking up to girls after waving at him.

Y/N Norris will be the death of him, and they wouldn't work. He shouldn't be attracted to her and yet...he is.

Getting in the car, leaving your sister to point out the interaction, "Since when do you talk to George Russell of all people?", Flo snickered, fastening her seatbelt.

"Why wouldn't I?", you defended yourself, "because him and Lando are not that close friends, like, Carlos is closer to him, for instance", she reasoned, "so I should only speak to people who my brother speaks to? George was on the podium, albeit from a questionable race, but it was questionable for everyone anyway, so why not be kind?", you attempted, knowing your sister wouldn't dwell much after that.

"You know", you broke the silence while you and George laid in his bed, the sun starting to rise in Monaco and softly illuminating his soft features, "I thought you were mean for the longest time-".

"And what got you to change your opinion?", he said, adjusting his head to look at you, eye to eye while you traced random shapes on his tummy. You were having a slow day before the season picked up again, opting to spend it in bed in the morning, followed by a hike in the afternoon.

"I found out you are the sweetest person I ever met", you cooed, kissing his cheek, "behind this posh, uptight english man thing you have on the surface, you will always get up with me to watch the sunrise.

"Where are you going?", George groaned, trying to grab your arm to pull you back into bed. It was the first night you spent together and he was unsure of how to react. Should he pull you back for a snuggle? Should he let you go because you figured out that you two shouldn't be in a relationship?

"The sunrise is so colourful today, look!", you whispered, mesmerised by the colours in the sky, knees tucked to your chest as you looked out the balcony. Your eyes were shiny, both from sleep and excitement at the scene in front of you, and as much as George thought that it was way too early to even consider opening his eyes, he got up, got the blanket at the end of the bed and sat next to you, watching the sky go from dark to a palette of orange and pink while drawing the blanket on your back.

"You can go back to bed", you reasoned, "I now you prefer the warmth of the sheets and covers", you whispered, "I want to be here with you".

"If Alex so much as dreams you are out of the bed at this hour to look at the sunrise with me but refuse to get up at eight am for your padel game with him, you are going to be teased about it until the end of time", you snickered, shaking your head when he nuzzled his nose on your neck.

"I'll do anything for you, darling", he smiled, kissing your lips. "Even when I wouldn't believe you had feelings for me and started yelling at you at the FIA dinner?", you chuckled, "even more then".

"You can't keep pulling me away, George, someone is going to notice-", you said as the British driver pulled you to the bathroom area, making sure no one was there to hear it.

It would be foolish to think that no one else would notice how beautiful you looked tonight. The dress you were to be the plus one for your brother at the FIA end of season dinner fit you like a glove, and George wasn't the only one to notice. Particularly, he focused on one of the sponsors representatives that had offered to escort you to the balcony a few times already. Luckily for George, you kept politely denying.

"I don't want him to think he has a shot with you, because he doesn't, right?", he questioned.

You thought about playing dumb about the situation, but after assessing the whole thing, you thought you better not, "I don't know, does he? I can't deal with this whole stealing kisses in the paddock and you and my brother gaming together like you're just two buddies who drive cars on the weekend? It was all fun and games when I was being a chatter box and defending Lando, but what now? Now that I care about you way more than I would've liked?", you let out.

Anger was an emotion everyone had, George knew that, but he thought yours was small, maybe non existent. Right now, you proved him otherwise as the tears pooled on your waterline.

"Didn't it even occur to you that I don't like that either? I don't want to have to look at you from afar in the paddock and wait until we're both stuck in a corner to steal a kiss or to know that you're secretly rooting for me! I like you, Y/N, and I want you to know that", he put it out. Done. For better or for worse, he came clear about his feelings to the person he thought he would never feel this way about.

"Oh my word, why are you crying? Does me liking you disgust you that much?", George added, afraid of touching you and getting a rightfully earner hit back, but the sight of your crying and upset was consuming him by the second. Happy, bubbly and giggly you was gone and he was the reason for it.

"No, you dumbass! It's because you like me back but I spent all of this time thinking you'd never like me that way", you hiccuped, grabbing a tissue from the skin to wipe under your eyes.

"Why? Why would you think that?", he questioned, "never mind, I'm missing the point - we're missing the point", he gulped, lacing your hand in his and rubbing the soft skin with his thumb, "we can work this out, can't we?", he pleaded.

"George Russell is begging?", you teased, going back to your usual self, "begging is a strong word, but it's an effort I'm willing to make", he smiled.

"Because you're so dedicated to the people around you", George mumbled against your forehead.

"I didn't know you were coming here, today!", your boyfriend spoke as he saw you enter the Mercedes hospitality, joining him, Lewis and Mick near the sofas.

"What? Did you want me to walk in here singing 'what a man?', love?", you joked, kissing George's forehead before pouring yourself some coffee and sitting down next to them.

"Your whole family is in the paddock this weekend, I thought you'd be with them", he reasoned.

"There's a lot of people in the McLaren already. Besides, I told Lando I would be here anyway, and he was fine with it", you smiled. Even though your brother had his first podium of the season in the last race in Singapore, an achievement you celebrated with your family in due course, but now you were back to supporting George closely. You noticed a small nudge on his confidence, so you stayed close, not only because you always wanted to be there for him, but also because you knew how this sport work. How easily drivers went from being the best to being the worst, how the critical persistent voices wouldn't shut up and how much of a toll it took.

"Are you not going to comment on the fact that I'm always joking about your brother not having a race win and what happened last week?", he wondered once you were alone in his driver's room. The question had been lingering on his mind whenever it got the best of him.

"I don't have much to say apart from what I've said to you already", you stated, resting your hands on either side of your body on the small sofa, "will I call you out anytime you went and go after Lando over something he fought to achieve? Yes, because I'm fair. But I won't let you be alone with your self doubts, nor will I allow that you think that I will ever think something and say the opposite to you", you sterned, stirring the conversation to what really mattered.

"I know you'll never do that, I'm just saying that if you want to pop over to McLaren, you can", George clarified, "I know I can", you didn't let him have one up, smirking as he shook his head, smile on his lips from your insistence and the attitude he loved so much.

"I love you, you know that?", he smiled as he walked up to you to kiss your lips, "I should hope so, I'm even wearing a Mercedes jacket today!".

"Even though I don't need protection, you're always there for me, even when Lando annoys me", you sighed.

The day Lando found out, you thought the world was ending. You were in Monaco for the last week of winter break before testing, and since you wanted this to be the season where you would finally were able to support your boyfriend from the paddock in the usual black and white Mercedes merch.

So, naturally, when your brother said he was going to play padel with some of the grid, you asked if you could join, knowing your boyfriend was planning to attend as well.

"You're more of a golf guy", you wondered when you arrived at the court, "why are we here?", questioning the change of heart and thinking how easily he was willing to go.

"Charles said it would only be him, Max and George and they needed an even number", he shrugged, "I told you to stay home if you didn't want to come, I-", he was interrupted by George parking next to him, "hey, man!".

"Hey!", George greeted as he got out of the car, "Charles just texted, he is inside already with Max", he urged, Lando walking in front of you as your boyfriend stole a squeeze of your waist quickly before you walked up to the stands, choosing a good spot to watch them.

Games were being well disputed and Max called for you to join them and substitute him for a while when he had to take a work call, "off to discuss technicals of this year's rocket ship?", you yelled from the little door to the court as he excused himself, shaking his head at your antics.

One of the balls Charles shot in your direction ended up under your feet, making you slip and fall on the floor.

"Darling!" and "Y/N!" were heard once your butt hit the ground, Charles seemingly the only one to notice what George called you until Lando checked you over and se you were fine.

"What did you call my sister?", he threatened, "is she by any chance the mysterious girlfriend you've been talking about?".

"Lando, please listen to me", you called him, holding his arm as he looked at George.

"Is he the guy you're dating?", he questioned again.

"Lando, c'mon! Y/N is a grown up, and it's not like I have some criminal record or anything like that!", George began as Charles stood there just watching the scene unfold, "and believe me, she's told me off everything I said about you, she didn't let any on that go!", your boyfriend tried.

"I guess there's worse", Lando mumbled, "still, he is the person you're being super secretive about?", Lando quirked a brow, "George? With three names instead of a surname?".

"How did you even know I was seeing someone?", you questioned, hissing as you grabbed the racket, "Flo had an inkling. At first I thought she was going insane, but I still supported her, you know?".

"Well, another reason why you should support me and George then!".

#george russell imagine #george russell x reader #george russell fanfic #george russell fluff #george russell x norris!reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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queen-of-diamonds-xo · 8 hours ago

Note

Aww. Bless your heart my darling.

I had a bad day yesterday and I just really want Charles to call me mon coeur. And George to call me darling.

For my request. I'm not sure if you write for other drivers otherwise Oscar is totally fine.

But, reader and driver (George, Charles, or Oscar) have been in a relationship for a while. Reader is looking at driver once in awe and driver is like "what?" And reader replies "i just realised, i get to kiss and love you whenever i want"

I love you darling 🇦🇺💜

George Russell x Reader (GR63)

Summary: just a fluff ball for my love @lauz-xo , I hope you enjoy!

A/N: P.s sorry this is short, my first fic of a different driver than my man’s Oscar! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍

The door clicked shut behind you with a tired whine, a deep sign escaping yours chest. Allowing your bag to fall heavily to the ground, crumpled in defeat. You shuffle down the hall, feet dragging slightly behind you. Shoulders tensed as the days struggle weighs heavily on your mind, pressing down into a relentless ache in your joints.

Round the corner, the hand which had been raised to rub over your tired eyes stilled. Your footsteps faltering as your gaze falls on the scene unfolding in your cramped kitchen.

The low whirl of the stove fan mixed with the soft hum of music emanating from the speaker. The counters astray with empty food packaging and discarded vegetables, flour dusting the surfaces.

George stand by the stove, his back turned as he stirs the pasta into the sauce. You allow yourself a moment to stare, eyes tracing each muscle twitch and contract under his shirt. The tight material not doing much to hide the toned physique of the British driver.

A satisfied smile crossing his features as he relaxes into the evening sun. The setting rays warming the space, cascading golden beams bouncing from his damp hair. He turns to meet your gaze, a wide grin forming as he eyes light up. Placing the spoon next to the pot he opens his arms, stepping towards you before wrapping you in a warm embrace.

One arm coming to curl around your waist, the other coming to rest on the back of your head. Tucking you into his neck as he breathes deep into your hair, allowing your body to relax against his. A delicate kiss placed on the crown on your head and his hand stroked your hair. Long fingers coming through the strands with slow movements. The intoxicating smell of his soap and calogne, mixed with the bubbling pot on the stove, invaded your sense. Causing you to breathe deep into his neck as George chuckled lowly.

“Welcome home darling.” He whispered, pulling away slightly as he repositions his hand.

Coming to rest his large palm on your cheek, revealing as you place the weight of your head into his hand. His thumb tracing light over your cheekbone as his eyes meet yours. His gaze crunching in concern as he traces over your flushed skin, your stomach flipping as concern floods his features.

“Rough day?”

Your small nod has him pulling you in again, squeezing your body against his as his towering frame encases you. Holding you still as he whispered sweet nothing in your ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps to blossom down your neck.

Pulling away once more he smiled small, a tinge of pink scattering his cheeks as his eyes darted between you and the stove.

“I- uh.” He coughed, turning his head to avoid your eyes.

“I made dinner. It’s a family recipe. Well- no, not my family. Bu-but it is a family recipe, I asked Charles. And uh- well.. I tried my best.” He had gone red, skin flushed as he stumbled through his expiation. A hand coming to rub the back of his neck in a bashful movement.

Your heart stuttered as your chest swarmed with love, stomach twisting as butterflies swarmed. You stare at him in awe, watching as he plated the dinner with nervous hands. His tall frame hunched over your counter as he muttered to himself, topping the dish with fresh parsley.

Still bent over his creation George’s eyes meet your, soft and swirling with emotion. You stare back, head tiled to the side and a lopsided smile is planted on your face.

“What.” He queries, his voice soft but unsure as he searched your features.

You release a soft sigh, reaching across the counter as your yeast urge for his hand. His takes it, coming to brush the ghost of a kiss in your knuckles, a shy grin on his lips and his eyes cash down. Eyelashes fluttering across his heated skin.

“It’s just, come to me that your mine.” You start, voice soft in the warm kitchen. He didn’t speak, just gesture for you to continue, fucking his lips between his teeth.

“And I get to love you, and kiss you. Whenever I want.”

George chuckled, coming to cup your face in his hands. Stretching over the counter to place a chased kiss on your lips.

“I am truly the luckiest man on earth to call you mine darling. And I’ll love you everyday you let me.”

🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋🤍🦋

Tag list:

@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4 @dakotapaigelove

#geroge russell fluff #gr63 #gr63 x reader #gr63 x you #gr63 fic #george russell #george russel imagine #george russell x reader #George Russell x reader fluff #mercedes #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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from-izzy · 1 year ago

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[03:10] | the boyz kim sunwoo

Sunwoo hums to acknowledge your thoughts. "Let's try again, okay? Together this time."

PAIRING » tbz kim sunwoo x gn!reader (fast proofread once! lmk if i missed anything!) TROPE/AU » established relationship au!, non-idol au! GENRE » hurt/comfort at night (morning), fluffy fluff fluff, a sprinkle of angst, sunwoo being your understanding and patient boyfriend, sunwoo tucks your hair behind your ears (i find this so so so cute), big spoon sunwoo who protects you from the world, sunwoo tries to steal your (his) clothes because he's staying the night over and can't fit in yours WORD COUNT » 1836 ESTIMATED READING TIME » ~7 mins WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!) » reader has trouble sleeping, reader has a history of taking prescribed melatonin, mentions of unsupportive family, reader has medium to long hair, sunwoo is physically bigger and taller

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

thank you for reading and helping with genres/warnings @sohnric !!

something that i wrote up back late december 2023 but only releasing today because it marks day 100 since i had my last melatonin pill. taking melatonin pills everyday since 2021 has had a toll on my body and i see the effects that it has on my body even more after stopping. with it, my body clock somewhat matches the time frame that society 'accepts'. without it, the birds chirp first and even though sleeping at 5-6am is exhausting, i tell myself to keep pushing on.

for another note, this story is not written to influence the audience into thinking that taking medication is bad! please take your medication properly and on time! do not be influenced and swayed by society for your health!

please always stay healthy and i'm rooting for you! hang in there! you can do this!!

You didn't need to look at the clock to know what time it was at night—or should you say at this point, day.

You were thankful that Sunwoo wasn't asleep yet or on a call with his friends when you sent him a message, asking if he was able to come over. You debated even texting him at first, seeing that it was past midnight but you remember the time he bent down to look at you at eye level, hugging your lips with his before pulling away and telling you to always send him a message if you ever needed him at any time and anywhere.

At that point, all your worries washed away as it was the exact words that you needed to hear from your loving boyfriend.

As soon as Sunwoo read and replied to your message, it took him less than ten minutes to appear on the other side of your window—but it took you a second quicker than him to open the said window before he could knock on its frame as all you did after you turned off your phone was put your arms around your legs, resting your chin on your raised knees and watch the mocking moon in the sky.

It was so high on a cloudless night that your stomach churned with anxiety and the truth that time waits for none kicks you in the gut devastatingly. The physical time tells society to sleep and wake up because that's the universal time to keep the world going. The long hand ticks in your head while the short one follows bit by bit—like a bomb that explodes when everyone greets you a ‘goodnight’. Your body has always run at a different time and even though the moon gives so much light and comfort to the night for some, it only serves as a grim reminder for you that your seven o'clock alarm will ring in less than four hours.

It's heartbreaking to realise your perception of the ray of light in the black night that you used to be excited for has changed as you grew older.

"Hey..." Sunwoo keeps you close to his body as soon as he jumps inside your room. One hand holds the back of your head gently, the other wrapping around your waist. He dips his head down to press a kiss to your forehead, a little smile against your skin on his soft lips, "You're okay. It'll be okay."

"I can't fall asleep, Woo..." Your hand harshly grips the leather material of his jacket at the sides of his body and the shape of your nails is most probably imprinted on his daily outwear by the number of times you've done this.

Sunwoo hums to acknowledge your thoughts. "Let's try again, okay? Together this time." His fingers that run through your hair leave you slightly breathless and you try to focus on his careful and slow action towards you, successfully easing your racing thoughts. "I'm here now, bubs."

The smile on his face grew when you nodded against his chest, still burying your face into his chest and to breath in his comforting scent that always seemed to calm your whole body. Delighted and relieved at your response, Sunwoo begins to sway his body from side to side, singing a gentle tune with his mellow singing voice that you love. He alternates between singing the romantic words straight to your ears and humming the words out as he presses multiple kisses on the parts of your face that he can reach.

"Were you sleeping when I messaged you?" You whisper guiltily to his chest.

"Don't worry about those little things." Sunwoo continued humming after. When he finishes singing the last note, your hands no longer hold onto his jacket for dear life, instead just leisurely around his waist. He pulls away just enough to finally face you in the limited light that your nightlamp gave. "Hi there, bubs."

The way Sunwoo says the pet name that you adore so much makes your heart break a little bit. You could tell at a glance that his eyelids were heavy, that he was probably trying to fight the yawn from his song and that his legs were probably trying their best not to fall asleep. Sunwoo quietly observes your trembling lips and he picks up the high possibility that you were most probably conflicted in your thoughts.

It still haunts you more than the moon outside; more than any horror movies or the amusement horror houses you’ve been in. Maybe it’s because, during all those situations, you had someone beside you. But it’s inevitable once again when your eyes won’t close that you think of the scene in the dining room. When that one artificial light hangs on the ceiling in the middle of the dining table, the square sides taken up by the other members of your family, you will never forget the disbelief and scoffs of disgust when you told them about the small white circle in the palm of your hand that your doctor prescribed.

"I'm so sorry. Maybe I should've just taken the medic—"

"Don't be like this to yourself." The moonlight behind your boyfriend highlights the tears that roll down your pale cheeks. Your heavy, shaky inhales are what prompts Sunwoo to bring yourself back to the present time. "I want to be here, okay? I want to take care of you." Your cold cheeks met the warmth of his palms, his thumbs brushing across the underside of your eyes to wipe your tears away while the rest tucked the lone strands of your hair behind your ears. "If you don't want to take the pills then you don't have to. Please don't be sorry for anything."

"But you're so tired..." It's a miracle that the sentence was comprehendable though it did break multiple times along the way.

He keeps his reassuring eye contact with you when he shakes his head, "You must be more tired than I am."

You whimper at his thoughts, biting your bottom lip to keep your cries from growing any louder. Sunwoo shakes his head once more, resting his forehead on yours and whispering sweet nothings to you delicately. His thumb lands on the outline of your bottom lip before lightly pulling it down to free it from the pain you were inflicting on yourself. When your cries did break out from your lips, restrains fully gone, your boyfriend's kind heart completely breaks.

Sunwoo takes your breath away by giving you his own when he tilts your head slightly to meet his plump lips. He drinks all your sorrows, cupping your jawline to bring you closer, the sides of your nose brushing against each other. Your lips stop trembling, focusing on the love and patience that he gives you. Your hands unclasp from his back, moving to curl and envelop his wrists, resting the pads of your thumbs on his to feel his calming heartbeat. The muscles that made your eyebrows furrow relaxed with the way that Sunwoo held you so carefully in the now-broken, silent night.

Sunwoo learns from the number of times that you have called him in this situation that showing you gestures like these are the fastest and most effective way to ease your mind and ground yourself. His heart does little loops and jumps every time before he kisses you but he is more focused on making you feel better than anything. As much as it makes him happy to know that he's the only one who could give you the loving gesture, nothing beats the feeling of knowing that you will always feel better and be in a better state of mind afterwards.

The boy pulls away eventually, scanning your face to look for any discomfort. When he found none, his thumbs continued to brush over your skin for a little while more, trailing a series of kisses from your forehead, the shape of your nose, your eyelids that protect his favourite pair of eyes to your precious lips that his own would never get enough of.

"May need to borrow some clothes, bubs." An eyebrow raises from him and a teasing grin makes its way to his face, "Even though ‘borrow’ is a weird word as it’s mine in the first place." A chuckle fills your room melodically. "Will you lend me my clothes?"

"And if I say no?" You did a little nose scrunch, pouting after.

Sunwoo is not the strongest soldier, especially not to your cute actions that sent his heart beating erratically against his chest when your sparkling eyes met his. "Bubs, I'm not going to fit in your clothes. Even if I could, I don't think you would like it when you get it back all stretched."

"I have oversized too, you know."

"You mean my clothes that are oversized on you."

Your eyes smile at the short conversation and Sunwoo's heart feels full and content, relieved to see the beautiful sight that he has always wished you would have in long nights like these.

After Sunwoo changes, you both cover your bodies with your weighted duvet. Just like before, he holds you close to his body, resting an arm for you to lay on before bending it up to soothingly run his fingers across your scalp. You smile contently, hiding your face to his chest, pressing a kiss on his jawline.

"I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

Just like every time as an act of 'goodbye' or 'goodnight', you relish the forehead kiss that goes on for slightly longer than all the other forehead kisses. After a date and a long day, you would always pout and beg for another one, not wanting to leave his side yet. But on nights like these, when his arms would spoon your figure and you would hug his other free arm, you wouldn't need to pucker your lips to him, knowing well that it's a 'goodnight' and not a 'goodbye'.

"I love you so much, bubs."

"I love you so much too." You push your body up a little bit, careful not to crush the arm beneath you and press a final kiss to his lips before trying to reset your body clock for another day. "Thank you for coming, Woo."

"Anytime and anywhere. Never forget that."

Sunwoo did fall asleep first but his presence with his little snores and the warm exhale from his lips comforted you greatly. Your head seems to agree with your heart because when your eyelids become heavy and sleep finally overtakes your body, you're glad that the last thing two things you see before drifting off to one of the best sleeps in your life, are the sight of your intertwined hands between your bodies and the thought that you're blessed to have Sunwoo who loves you so much and so dearly.

Wrapped in patient love, the seven o’clock alarm didn’t seem scary to you anymore.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 'especially to you...' tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

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s0ulsice · 1 year ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

(‘Fun facts abt me’ has been edited due to stuff changing irl!)

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Angel

𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙏𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨

𝙂𝙤𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 🏹🤍

About The Writer

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✯ Solana/18/capricorn

(sola, sol, ana, sunny, etc.)

┊ ┊ ┊ ✯ I surf 🏄‍♀️

┊ ┊ ✯ art and film student

┊ ✯ Zuni, Apache, Black, and Trinidadian/Caribbean

✯ Benedict Bridgerton is everything to me .

𝓕𝓤𝓝 𝓕𝓐𝓒𝓣𝓢

☆I’m currently living in the US but I’ve kinda lived all over.

☆The last place I lived was New Zealand, and I travel a lot with my partner who studies cultural architecture.

☆ I use my real name lol. feel free to call me Sol, or Lana, or whatever!

☆ I live with my roommate, and my two dogs (one of which is a psychiatric service dog)

☆ I speak French, Spanish, English, and Shiwi (Zuni Language.)

☆ I study art and film, specifically story structure and cinematography.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

✮I write for any gender x any gender reader inserts.

☽ y/n will most likely be poc coded (non-euro centric features described, etc.)

R U L E S A N D D E T A I L S

Nsfw is aloud but nothing crazy. (By that I’m not calling any of anyone’s kinks “crazy” what I mean like super, super intense bdsm, knife play, gun play, blood kinks, incest, stepcest, (let’s just say anything ending in ‘cest’ is a no.) and everything MUST be consensual.)

I’m a bit hesitant about writing human x na’vi nsfw and I probably won’t write human reader x na’vi fluff. It’s just I have a hard time visually imagining a human and a na’vi having sex without an avatar body. I am not against the idea in any way, but the general concept does throw me off a bit (I always imagine some type of detrimental injury occurring bc we are so smol compared to na’vi)

In all, I’m not the biggest fan of writing for a human reader, and will probably turn down requests for a human x Na’vi fic.

I will however, absolutely write for avatar reader x na’vi character of any sort! Or even a half-human half na’vi reader or some kind of biracial na’vi? (I’ve seen that concept a few times in the fandom an it’s honestly so much fun)

I do allow things like comfort for self harm, abuse, traumatic experiences, racism, etc. but these things will never be romanticized.

Y/n won’t have a name. Sorry, I just don’t see the point in x reader if the reader has a name. I will always refer to them as Y/n.

I write for a female reader for the most part but please, if you want any other pronouns please let me know in your request.

Y/n will always be of any size! That includes plus size or on the skinnier size. If you would like me to specify that in your request let me know.

I do age up my characters. If you don’t like it you can head out.

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡ ⋆˖⁺‧

T H E H E A V E N S

Details: Each character has their own sky object or natural phenomenon. Works and fics are found underneath the collages.

(important! This masterlist is not yet finished! More characters will be added later!!)

ＡｖａｔａｒＣｈａｒａｃｔｅｒＷｏｒｋｓ⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙⋆｡°✩ ⋆

"Everything is backwards now, like out there is the true world, and in here is the dream."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ๋࣭݁ ⭑🪩๋࣭ ⭑. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ๋࣭݁ ⭑🪩๋࣭ ⭑. ݁₊ ⊹

Kiri Sully-

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼

Sky object: crepuscular rays, Neptune 🌀

Works:

None, currently.

Lo’ak Sully

“Lo’ak was an anarchist of his own recklessness. His gaze grazed with fire unapologetically unable to sit still.

Sometimes the smoke and ash become a haze of intangible adrenaline. preservations for one’s safety wither away under the charred sky.”

Sky object:

Mars

Rainstorms

Works:

None currently.

Neteyam sully

𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼��𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼

Sky object:

Golden hour

Sun rays

Works:

Diphanous part 1

Diphanous part 2

Virago Series 🏹:

Spotify playlist

Chapter 1: Day the sky turned red

Chapter 2: The son sun made out of stone.

Chapter 3 part 1: Cupid wears a blindfold

Chapter 3 part 2: Aim your arrow at his heart as he holds it out for you to ruin.

Chapter 3 part 3.: Surrender to his saubade, he has set his soul and sin ablaze (to be yours)

Chapter 4: Nice going, Romeo.

Chapter 5: Honey, you’re familiar

Chapter 6: She was a bird, I was an arrow

More characters coming soon!

This blog supports Palestine!

see here for some stylish pro-Palestine jewelry!

#avatar the way of water #neteyam x reader #jake avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam #neytiri #kiri sully #avatar fanfiction #lo’ak x reader #neteyam x you

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builtbybrokenbells · 1 year ago

Text

Melodic Memories | Track 4: The Air That I Breathe - The Hollies

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, (sweet and lazy) morning sex, praise, biting, simultaneous orgasm, cockwarming if you squint, sadness, heartbreak, breakups, fighting, arguing, crying, frustration/anger, miscommunication, high school breakups, unrequited love, estranged parent/strained parental relationships, angst, depression, anxiety, self doubt/self consciousness, swearing, flirting, fluff, angst, mentions of hookups/casual sex, sorry if I miss any!

hi everyone. remember i love you!!! as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! 🤍😌

Also a special shout-out to @gretavangroupie and @gretavanmoon for always keeping me on track, putting up with my craziness, and for the unwavering support and encouragement 🤍 melodic memories wouldn’t be what it is without you 😌

Jake’s POV

“If I could make a wish

I think I’d pass

Can’t think of anything I need

No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound

Nothing to eat, no books to read.”

Rays of sunlight scattered across the room, the flowing curtains sheer and allowing the golden hue to fill the space around you. You were half covered with the sheet, the cool air in the room unable to bother you as you turned on your side. You knew exactly where the comforter had disappeared to, and despite the nagging chill, you felt warmer than ever before. The sweet smell of a million memories danced around your head, laced with orange blossoms and vanilla. As you leaned in closer, jasmine and pear joined the crowd. It was a perfect match, things you’d come in contact with plenty of times in her absence, but not even true plush petals of blossoms on trees nor vanilla beans wore it as well as she did.

Your eyes landed on her, cocooned in the expensive duvet as she slept away the early morning. Her hair was a mess, covering the white cotton pillowcase below her. Her eyes were closed, peacefulness encasing her features as deep breaths moved her shoulders. Her dark eyelashes dusted over the barely-there freckles on her cheeks, casting a small shadow over the bridge of her nose. Her lips, pink and parted ever so slightly, allowing for soft snores to escape made it difficult to sit by and watch the scene, rather than lean forward and kiss her, but you abided by the rules, deciding it was best to admire her than wake her and let the moment pass.

Goosebumps raised on your skin, not because of the coolness of the air conditioning seeping through the woven threads of the sheet, but because waking next to her was an otherworldly experience that you were lucky enough to be a part of yet again. Your mouth was dry, your lungs devoid of air, your veins depleted of the blood that once ran through them, and your heart barely beating in a fruitless endeavor. In the moment, you did not survive off the flesh and bone that carried you to twenty-five, but off of the woman beside you, granting you every desire and wish you’d ever dreamed of.

Waking next to her had been something you longed for since the last morning shared with her, vaguely remembering her sweetness as sleep begged to draw her back in and the tired smile that fought its way onto her perfectly crafted features. She slept so soundly, like trouble had never touched her and pain feared to disturb her. She embodied every single trait of the sun shining in the sky, the light emitting from her even when she was not awake to encourage it.

She was the most precious thing the world had ever created, and she was here with you, trusting you enough to let her guard down and show herself to you in the most vulnerable of ways. Sex was good—great, even. It was intimate, invigorating and fulfilling, and you had dreamed of it a million times, but this was something entirely different. This was the best moment of your day, the highlight of your life as you took the opportunity to admire her when innocence and effortless beauty radiated from her. Sex was great, but waking up to the sight of her beside you was something even greater than that, something you had dreamed of a million and one times in the six years you spent apart.

No matter how much you enjoyed the activities of the night prior, loving her so wholeheartedly for no other reason aside from love itself was always better.

You placed your elbow on the pillow, propping your chin in your hand as you studied her, the constellations of dots decorating her smooth skin, the youthfulness of the girl you loved when you were eighteen and the elegance of the woman you were lucky enough to love now combined all in one. It was a picture you never wanted to lose, one you would spend a lifetime dedicated to remembering in pristine detail, and one that you could survive off alone. You would stave off hunger until it was nonexistent, ignore the thirst until you forgot what it was like to drink water, wither away to nothingness so long as she was there for you to admire. You didn’t need any other entertainment, never wanting to sleep again, never needing to play a guitar or hear the sweet melody of a song again, because she filled you with so much love there was no room left for anything else.

Even if there was, it would pale in comparison to her.

The air flowing in the room, perfectly controlled as it tousled the strands of hair falling over her forehead, could not even disturb her from the slumber she found herself in. It made you wonder if she slept as good as you did, if going to bed while the two of you were apart was as torturous to her as it was for you. Six years of nearly sleepless nights had taken its toll, leaving you exhausted and dreading to fall into bed when the day passed by. Last night, you finally found relief that no aid could match. You tried whiskey, above recommended doses of cold medicine and melatonin, company from another, lesser woman than her, and even Josh’s ridiculous guided meditations, but nothing could cure the nightmare plagued sleep or the relentless tossing and turning.

Nothing until she laid her head on the pillow next to you, her fingers twisting locks of your hair around her finger as her warm breath tickled her neck.

Nothing until you closed your eyes, surrounded by orange blossoms, pears, jasmine, and the faint whisper of vanilla.

Nothing until the warmth of sunshine itself wrapped around you, glowing bright despite the looming moonlight and twinkling stars.

This morning, you awoke with a new lease on life, well rested and with a full heart. The heaviness that constantly weighed down on your shoulders disappeared without a trace, and the storm clouds that forever followed you cleared, allowing for a long awaited taste of blue skies.

You were home again, and Michigan had little to do with the warmth you were experiencing. The woman beside you was many things, but more than anything else, she was the biggest comfort you had ever encountered. She made the world turn with ease, the flowers blossomed as she walked by, and the birds sang a song curated just for her ears. She made all the previous pain worth it, and any bad thing to come obsolete, because when she was loving you, nothing could hurt.

Your breath caught in your throat as her eyes fluttered, her eyelashes tickling her skin as she broke from the blanket tightly wrapped around her. Slowly, her arms stretched above her head, a long breath of air filling her lungs as she prepared to face the world for another day. You wondered how she made it look so easy, how perfection was second nature even when she couldn’t notice it herself. You wondered how everything she did, no matter if it was mundane or grandois, stole the air straight from your lungs and left your head spinning.

Her eyes fully opened, slowly blinking as she tried to pull herself out of her sleepy state. Once she registered where she was, her gaze slowly turned to you, watching silently with a smile on your face. It didn’t take long for her lips to turn upwards, too.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You whispered, giving her ample time to come back to earth before you spoke.

“Good morning, bug.” She said, pushing the blankets away from her face as she turned her head towards you. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Only for a little while.” You confessed, slightly sheepish about it. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” She agreed, reaching forward and letting her fingers graze over your blushing cheeks. “I would have done the same thing. Kinda sad I can’t, honestly.”

“I can pretend to be asleep, if you want?” You grinned. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at your ridiculous need to please her all of the time.

“Think it’s okay, honey. Would take the charm out of it.” She giggled, her eyes turning down to the flimsy sheet covering your legs and stopping just below your navel. “Sorry I stole the blankets.”

“Are you kidding? Been waiting six years for you to steal the blankets from me again.” You stressed your point, ensuring she understood that this was all you ever thought about.

“You’re cold.” She stated, her fingers trailing down your frigid arm. “Come here.” She said, lifting the blanket for you to join her. You slid over, noticing her turn on her side away from you once the comforter was covering you. You slipped an arm around her waist, turning on your side just the same as her while you pulled her into you.

In an instant, you were surrounded in the familiar perfume still clinging to her skin, the soft strands of her hair tickling your face as you buried your head in her neck. Your hand talked upwards, a natural reaction to holding her in such a way. Your palm landed on her still bare breast, cupping it as her arm settled on top of yours. She pushed herself backwards a little further, her back completely pressed against you and the curve of her ass fitting perfectly against your hips. You placed a kiss to her shoulder blade, your stomach twisted with nerves and your entire body tingling with pleasure just from the simple position.

Holding her was your favorite thing to do, even if you knew it had to end eventually. Although the loss of her was debilitating, the few moments you had her all to yourself made up for the pain it caused when she pulled away. If it were up to you, you would hold her just like this for the rest of your life. If she allowed it, you would never let her go.

“You sleep okay?” You asked, your words muffled from your mouth lingering against her skin.

“Better than ever.” She whispered, without a doubt in her mind about it. “You?”

“Me too.” You hummed, letting your eyes flutter closed as you breathed her in. There was nowhere in the world you’d rather be, the surplus of emotion coursing through you so unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You fell back into silence, neither of you needing to explain any further because you understood exactly how you both felt. The cloud of sleepiness was still hovering around the two of you, begging to pull you back in. It was tempting, but you fought it with everything in you, knowing you didn’t want to miss a single second of loving her.

Absentmindedly, you let your thumb drift over her nipple, hardened from the cold hair combined with your touch. She shuddered at the feeling, her hips pushing backwards into you as a natural response. The movement sent a flood of adrenaline through you and a sudden rush of blood straight to your dick.

“Careful, sweetheart.” You warned, letting her know the consequences of her actions were imminent. She could feel you resting against her ass, catching on to your intent immediately. Instead of heeding your advice, she arched her back slightly, pressing herself against your length even further. Your fingers tightened on her and your hips moved forward to meet hers, in search of relief already even though she barely did anything at all. “You want more already?” You smiled, relieved to know you weren’t the only one tormented by need.

“Been so long, baby.” She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Been so long since someone could do it right.” She corrected herself, just as eager to make up for all the lost time. You let your fingers trail over her bare stomach, the touch light and tickling her as you advanced toward her hip. You could only imagine she was sore, bruised and still tired from the night prior, so you promised to be gentle with her from your touch alone.

“You know I’ll always give you what you want, angel.” You assured her, knowing that your statement did not even scratch the surface. You would do anything for her, even if it was a hindrance to yourself. You would move heaven and earth to see her smile, you would spend every dollar and every minute of every day in an effort to make her happy. You would do anything, be anything, and give anything for her. You hoped that she knew, that she understood just how important she was and how much you cared about her. You hoped that in a single day, you were able to show her the love you’d sworn to give her when you were fifteen asking her to be your girlfriend in the park, all over again at twenty five.

Slowly, your hand drifted down to her thigh, snaking around to the front of her. Before you could go any further, she reached down and stopped you, turning her head back over her shoulder as she shook her head ‘no’. You raised an eyebrow, wondering what caused her sudden change of heart all whilst you admired the softness and beauty in her still tired eyes.

“I don’t want that. I want you.” She whispered, hoping you understood her meaning. At that, you swallowed hard, feeling your dick throb at the intent of her actions. She was not in search of pleasure from an orgasm, but rather the pleasure of being close to you. She missed it, just as intensely and deeply as you did, the feeling of belonging to each other.

“You have me, sweetness.” You promised her, but abided by her wishes and instead used your hand on her leg to prop it up. You slid down on the mattress a little further, holding her thigh as she steadied it in the new position. “Used to dream of waking up like this every night.” You couldn’t help but feel a smile pull at your lips, almost unable to believe that she was there, beside you and wanting everything you hated yourself for needing all of the time.

“Don’t have to dream anymore, bug.” She breathed, arching her back a little further as you reached between your bodies and lined yourself up with her. You wondered if she thought about it as much as you did, if she craved the feeling of your hands on her skin with such a ferocity that it nearly brought her to her knees. You wanted to ask, to know if she daydreamed about tangled limbs and lazy Sundays in bed together, but a small part of you knew she did, or she wouldn’t have come back.

Your tip was settled over her entrance, already slick with arousal just from the thought of fucking you. Your eyes fluttered closed, your head falling forward as your forehead rested against her shoulder blade. You pulled her down just a little further, letting your hand hold the underside of her thigh so she did not have to exert her energy keeping the limb locked in place. As she moved down, you pushed your hips forward, letting out a hiss of pleasure through your clenched teeth. You pushed forward the rest of the way, hearing her let out a sigh of relief at the feeling as you brushed against the sensitive spot you knew so well.

“You always feel so fucking good, sunshine.” You muttered, taking a moment to rest inside of her. Your heart drummed against your chest, pressed against her back so she could feel the rhythmic beat that depended on her love alone. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.” You followed up your statement, still in disbelief that you had the opportunity to hold her so close again. Still, as you said it, you felt an unfamiliar tug of uncertainty twist your stomach.

Was she yours?

You hadn’t discussed that—in fact, you hadn’t discussed anything. You woke up, still stuck in a cloud of euphoria from life’s turn of events, still living in the fairytale world you had worked together to create. She wasn’t yours in any truthful manner, but rather just the fallacy you had created in your head. The plague of heartbreak continued consuming you, eating away at any bit of sanity that still remained, begging you to air out the unspoken fears that you still had. You couldn’t move forward without addressing what had already happened, which led you to a lazy morning hookup after a successful second first date. You hadn’t addressed the reason for the second first date at all, and if you continued to neglect the fact, it would leave you both at the very beginning again.

Not yet. Not now.

You shoved the feelings down, swallowing them as they got stuck in your throat. They were desperate to be spoken, but you couldn’t allow them to be. You had no idea where they would lead you, and you weren’t risking the end already, not when you just got her back, and not when you were sharing the intimacy with her you’d been craving so badly.

Soon, but certainly not now.

“Fuck, Jake.” She whispered, moving her hips further down in search of what you were holding back. Your name falling from her lips was like summer rain, washing over you with warmth as it relieved you from the irritating burn of the blazing sun. You wanted to hear it again, for her to say it over and over again until she could speak no more and your ears were ringing in the static silence. You never wanted her to stop saying it, never again giving her the chance to speak the name of another.

“This is what you wanted, sweetheart?” You asked, beginning a slow pace with your hips. Your fingers tightened against the flesh of her thigh, a whole new spot to leave a mark on her, ensuring she would remember the moment as the days passed her by.

“Yes, baby.” She breathed, leaning backwards so she was flush against your chest.

Your head fell to the crook of her neck, the sweet scent of her perfume invading your senses as your lips attached to the delicate skin. She was already littered with love bites, her skin sensitive as your tongue traced over her. You didn’t care, and she didn’t either; the state you had left each other in was childish, similar to the way you used to act when you were younger. Even if you would face ridicule at the hands of your careless actions, you were just happy to feel like you were hers again, for others to believe she was yours again.

To feel and to believe, but never in certainty. Even if it was true, you wondered for how long this time.

Although you would promise forever, and you longed to hear it from her too, you did not know. You weren’t even sure if she wanted forever, or if this was a passing moment that would leave you both alone again, with even less closure than before. The idea hurt, and it hurt achingly bad, taking over your entire body with such a devastating effect that it even seemed to overshadow the pleasure that came from being inside of her.

Why did it hurt so bad when everything seemed so good? When perfection was all around you? When the world seemed right for the first time in six years? Why now?

Perhaps it never stopped. The hurt did not go away when she broke the silence, not even when you showed up at her door. It subsided, covered up by the excitement and joy from the reunion, but it was never resolved. You never expected it to come back so soon, when she was still with you, but maybe that was the problem itself.

Being with you and being yours were two entirely different things, and although having her by your side was what you craved, it was not what you wanted. The uncertainty made it hurt worse, just like it did when she was packing up her childhood bedroom with tear stained cheeks and promises of everlasting love. The uncertainty made it worse when you spent those first few days texting, hoping she would change her mind or you would find the courage to speak your truth. Uncertainty was your entire life, never changing her contact name and always hoping that every notification was a ‘hello’ or an ‘I miss you’.

Uncertainty was right now, wrapped up in her and closer than you’d been in a long time, but not knowing what it meant.

But the sounds falling from her lips, strikingly beautiful and oddly haunting made it easy to forget about it, to draw you out of the cloud of doubt and back into the moment with her.

“God, you feel so good, baby.” She said, her head turned back to catch a glimpse of your face. Her eyes were heavy, tiredness still lingering on her features, but it made her all the more beautiful. The intimacy of having her in the state, no guard up and all of the walls broken down, was almost too much for you to bear. Words were failing you, the only thoughts in your head revolving around the same, undying love for her that forever existed in your heart.

You wanted it to last forever, to hold her in your arms until you turned to dust and the wind swept you away. Even then, you would find her again, whether it be in real life or something greater. Every part of you would be tied to her forever, no matter if death tried to get in the way.

“Show me how fucking good it feels.” You growled, your voice low as you held her gaze. Neither of you dared to look away, your arm still holding her quivering leg as you felt her walls flutter around you. She craned her head backwards a little further, just enough to connect her lips with your own.

You met her action, your eyes closing as you focused on all of the sensations at once. The slow, steady pace was almost too much for you. Feeling her all at once, enjoying and appreciating every second of it, all while holding her so close to you was overwhelming in the best possible way. She felt so good, so intoxicating, just like she always had. It was a relief to know that the distance nor the time had any effect on the chemistry existing between you, even if you had both changed so much.

The kiss was sloppy, messy and needy as you tried to hold onto it. The moment was pure bliss, more euphoric than anything else you’d ever experienced. The taste of her on your tongue and the feeling of her wrapped around you was sending you spiraling, still riding the high from the previous night all while getting to experience it all over again. She was more addicting than the sting of a cigarette at the back of your throat, burning stronger in your chest than a shot of whiskey as you swallowed her down, and more thrilling than playing on a stage before thousands.

Perhaps you were so caught up on the unknown because you knew living without her had never been worth it.

She let out a moan into your mouth, letting you drink down the sound as if you were dependent upon it for survival. You slammed your hips forward, a little sharper than before, causing her to repeat the action. You were dependent upon her, not the noises or the pleasure she could grant you. You needed every little bit she could give, and you feared that not even that would suffice. She was everything you’d ever wanted, more than you ever needed, and you were desperate to hear her say that she was yours, not because of a momentary high or a surplus of emotion.

The early morning hours left your willpower greatly depleted, the sleep still weighing heavy on your shoulders and the euphoria you had endured the night before still lingering under your skin. The feeling of her, so close and so intimate, was enough to push you over the edge the minute you felt it. The taste of her on your tongue, the desperation in her movements as she strained to ensure you would not break from the kiss. The scent of her fucking perfume, suffocating you and leaving you happy to die at her hands.

It was all too much. She was too much, and you didn’t deserve a single thing she was offering.

The pleasure was coursing through your veins, depleting your previous life source and creating a new one. Your heart ached from the strength with which it was beating against your chest, your stomach twisted with desire as you held yourself back. She was quickly becoming the only thing you could think about, the only face you could see and the only voice you could hear. As much as you wanted to believe it was a good thing, you felt that same nagging, grating self-doubt as you feared the fallout.

Could you survive her walking away a second time?

The fear was pushed from your mind once again, a rush of pleasure flowing through you more intense than the last. You broke from the kiss, letting out a shaky sigh as you did your best to pull her closer to you.

“Wish I could fuck you like this all day.” You muttered, your fingers digging into the skin on her thigh even further. “Keep you like this for the rest of my life, if I could.” You watched as her hand snaked between her legs, the blankets strewn across the bed and barely covering the two of you now. Her middle finger settled over her clit, tracing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as she held your gaze.

“Nothing stopping us, baby.” She replied, her eyes speaking louder than her words ever could. She wanted it, and she was asking you if that’s what you truly wanted, too.

You don’t know why, but your eyes fluttered away from hers, unable to withstand the emotion existing between you.

Of course you wanted it, but it was never that easy. She might want it too, but it didn’t make up for the million things that had been left unsaid. It didn’t make up for the sleepless nights and the tears shed, not the pain you endured or the sadness that still plagued you, even with her beside you.

She was asking if you wanted to love her just like that forever, but you were too much of a coward to say yes. You couldn’t handle the thought of agreeing, to telling her the truth only to have it ripped from your grasp again.

“I love you, sunshine.” You whispered, your lips finding her neck again as you held back everything you wanted to say instead. Your statement was true, you loved her deeply and more dearly than you loved anything else in your entire life, and you always would, but you couldn’t promise her forever if you did not know the tellings of her heart, too.

Enjoy the moment, worry later.

“I love you, Jake.” She whined, desperate for you to kiss her again. In an instant, at the sound of the sweet words, the turmoil disappeared, replaced with a growing sense of pride in your chest to be loved by someone so fantastic.

That was the danger of letting her in; she took the pain away with little effort, and caused a million times more when she inevitably turned and walked away.

“Cum for me, sunshine.” You pleaded, your voice hushed and your words muffled from your lips still pressed against her skin. You were eager for her to reach her climax, and worried that if she did not do so soon, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back.

You could feel how close she was, the flutter of her walls around you, pulling you in further. You could hear the desperation in her tone, her moans shaky and breathy, always a clear sign that she was close to the edge. She wanted to, she just needed a little extra encouragement.

“Come on, sweetheart. Being so good for me.” You whispered, your tongue tracing the love bites still littering her skin. She tasted sweet, lingering on your tongue like poison as you succumbed to the sickness of loving her. She continued tracing circles into her clit, pushing herself closer to the edge as she leaned her head back against you for support. You loosened your grip on her thigh, hooking your arm underneath her leg and pulling her back on you as you slammed forward into her.

The laziness in both of your actions was apparent, but it made the moment all the more addicting as you relied on each other to keep up the pace. You let your lips trail down to her shoulder, your teeth gently sinking into the flesh as you applied slight pressure, just enough for her to notice. The sensation sent her spiraling, your name falling from her lips like a hymn, praising you when she was the one who deserved the commendation.

“Fuck, baby.” She whimpered, her body trembling as the pleasure became too much to withstand. With a long slur of curses, you felt her descend into the cloud of euphoria, continuing to sing your name and only ever causing you to fall further for her.

Before the night prior, you did not think it was possible to love her any more than you already did, but she seemed determined to prove you wrong with every passing chance.

“That’s my girl.” You groaned, a pathetic little cry falling from your lips as you felt the same feeling wash over you.

You did not care if the title was fleeting, because there in that moment, she was yours, and you had to appreciate what you had rather than mourn a potential loss in the future.

You pulled her down on you, letting her completely surround you as you spilled your release into her. Her perfume hung like a haze around your head, the ends of her still curled hair tickling your skin and the warmth of her body giving you more comfort than ever before. Together, the two of you rode out the high breathless and happy just to coexist together again.

You wondered, even if this moment must come to pass, why could life not be so beautiful all of the time?

As you relaxed into the mattress, you noticed she did too, searching for the comfort she could only find in your arms. You eased your hold on her leg entirely, gently letting it fall without withdrawing from her. You snaked your arm around her torso, pulling her closer to you as you soaked up the last few minutes of intimacy the scene would allow.

“That’s a great way to start the morning, I think.” She hummed, her eyes closed as she rested her head on the pillow. She wasn’t protesting your prolonged stay in the position, because she was enjoying it just as much as you were.

“The best, actually.” You corrected, dusting a few kisses over her warm skin. It was torture loving her so completely, because no matter if she was yours forever, life would not allow you to hold her like this every minute of every day.

‘Making love with you

Has left me peaceful, warm, and tired

What more could I ask

There’s nothing left to be desired

Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak

So sleep, silent angel

Go to sleep.’

“This feels the same as it did before.” She whispered, her tone low and slow like she was fighting a slumber with all of her energy. She didn’t want to succumb to sleep, terrified of missing out on a single second of your company. “I thought… I thought it would be different, I guess. That because we’re different, it wouldn’t be the same anymore. I was worried that we would wake up and realize it wasn’t real, that we only felt this way because we never had enough closure to move on.” She was strung out from the pleasure, still riding an emotional high as she confessed to her own fears.

“It’s always been real, sunshine.” You assured her, tracing shapes into her skin as you held her. “Always wanted to be with you.” You muttered, slightly ashamed of the undying love you always carried for her. You were tired too, your eyes heavy as the world continued to wake. Sleeping away the day with her by your side was tempting, and you would have fallen victim to the peacefulness of her presence if you were less stubborn.

“I guess there’s just so much… shit we never talked about.” She trailed off, losing her confidence the longer she thought about it. “From back then and now.” She wanted to talk too, wallowing in confusion and self doubt just as heavily as you were and nearly drowning in the sorrow that still surrounded her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, hoping that she did so you could air out your own relentless thoughts.

“Yeah, I do.” Her tone was near solemn, the sound making your stomach sink and regret begin to form. If she didn’t want the same thing, would you spend the rest of your life regretting asking the damned question?

“Okay.” Your voice was soft as you bargained with the anxiety beginning to take over. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad—maybe she was afraid of all the same things and desperate to hear you assure her otherwise.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up, okay?” She asked, looking back over her shoulder. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sight of her sleepy eyes and blushed cheeks, making you wonder if you would see it again in the morning, or waste your day trying to forget about it.

“Okay.” You repeated your earlier words, finding that the easiest thing to say when dread was crushing you. Then, she leaned back a little further, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. Your fingers tightened on her, the action alone prompting a sudden wave of relief that seemed to cure all of your earlier ailments. When she pulled away, the smile turning the corners of your lips helped you to relax, forcing you to believe that the conversation wouldn’t be nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Carefully, she climbed from the bed and quickly disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts for a moment. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as your heart continued to speed against your chest. The ghost of her kiss still lingered on your lips, the feeling electrifying as you desperately tried to find some common sense and calm yourself. You reached for your phone on the nightstand beside the bed, tapping the screen to catch a glimpse of the time. It was nearing the afternoon, the entire morning spent in a bubble of love and joy that nothing could penetrate. You didn’t care about the time wasted laying in bed, because when you were beside her, no time felt wasted.

You ignored the plethora of notifications sitting below the time, tossing it back down on the mattress just as the bathroom door creaked open. You shot a smile in her direction as she approached the bed, taking an extra second to admire the entire picture before you. Her cheeks darkened as she realized what you were doing, and instead of taunting her for her embarrassment, you climbed out of bed and landed a gentle smack on her ass as you passed her by. Light, playful, confident. The more normal you made this seem, the more likely she would be to go into the conversation with a clear head and an open mind.

“My turn. Be right back.” You looked back over your shoulder, watching her pull your shirt over her arms from the night prior, buttoning a few buttons to keep it closed.

That was a good sign, right? Wearing your clothes, climbing back into your hotel bed, a smile on her face and joy still shining in her eyes. She wanted to make it work, just like you did. She loved you, still after all this time. It had to be a good sign.

Right?

Her POV

You watched as he walked around the corner, holding your breath as the bathroom door fell shut behind him. You felt like your head was going to explode, your entire body vibrating with nerves as you climbed under the still warm blankets. You had no idea what you were doing, no idea where the conversation would lead you, but for the first time in six years, you felt happy. Pure, uninhibited joy that could not even be overshadowed by your own dramatics. You wanted him—you never stopped wanting him, and you were going to tell him. You were going to tell him how sorry you were, how terrible it was to be without him, and hope so desperately and deeply that he would be willing to give you a second chance.

He wanted it too, right?

Right?

He was so loving, so attentive and kind as he planned such a thoughtful date, down to every last detail. He had to want it too, and for once you didn’t think you made it up in your own head, that the hope was correct rather than misplaced this time. He had to want it too, because you couldn’t bear the thought of him rejecting your apologies and sending you away.

He was withdrawn during sex, and it didn’t take long to notice. You knew him better than you knew yourself, even if you’d spent so much time apart. What was he thinking about? Was he not enjoying himself? Was he regretting it?

You were working yourself up, your heart aching and your stomach sick as you thought of all the possibilities of what could happen next. You were trembling, vibrating with anxieties. The feeling was grating, irritating as it—no, it wasn’t you.

It was his damned phone beside you in the bed, vibrating nonstop with incoming messages, so constant and steady that you had convinced yourself it was something else.

What the fuck—who the fuck was blowing up his phone?

It wasn’t your business. You knew that, and you tried to distract yourself so you could ignore the temptation. If he had something to hide, he never would have shared his screen on the FaceTime calls, nor would he have left his phone sitting so openly and invitingly on the bed for you to see.

But who the hell was messaging him? Who needed to get through to him so imminently on his days off?

Just a peek, you bargained. Just to assure yourself it was Josh being his normally overbearing and invasive self.

Just a peek.

What could it hurt, right?

Right?

You reached over, slowly grabbing his phone and bringing it closer to your face. You tapped the screen, immediately noticing the surplus of notifications. It wasn’t just from one person, but rather a flood of emails and texts combined. A momentary sense of relief washed over you, but you couldn’t pry yourself away even with the reassurance it wasn’t a secret girlfriend. Instead, your eyes scanned the words that you could read, seeing a lot of rescheduled meetings and chains from what looked to be labels and managers.

Wait, rescheduled?

You looked a little further, your stomach dropping when you gathered the main idea from the surplus of messages.

He had moved his entire life around, canceling meetings and rescheduling interviews that were supposed to be done today, yesterday, and the day before that.

He put his entire life on pause for you.

What should have been a sweet realization was instead evil, ugly, and cruel.

Six years later, you were doing the exact thing you were trying to avoid when you left in the first place. You were standing in the way of his career, and he was doing what he always had; putting you before everything else, no matter the consequences. Putting you before himself, before his dreams.

You left to ensure he wouldn’t do that, but you couldn’t stay away and ended up forcing his hand anyway. It was only a few meetings, an interview, but you knew him well and you knew it wouldn’t stop there. With you permanently in Michigan and him halfway across the world, he would only try harder to see you, and it would only get worse from here.

You couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t be the very thing that stood in the way of him and his entire life. You wished you found texts from another girl, from a girlfriend or a wife so you could be angry and upset with him for doing such a thing, but that wasn’t who he was, and it never would be. Jake would never let you down, and would do anything he could to make you happy. In doing so, he would sacrifice his own wants and needs, and you couldn’t be responsible for him disregarding everything he’d worked for his entire life.

God, he made it so unbelievably hard to stay out of love with him, even if you knew it was for the best.

Just as you were about to put the phone down, to bargain with your foggy mind and hurting heart, another chain of texts pulled your attention back in.

Amelie - 11:48am

Here’s that sneak peek you asked for. Saving the best for when you get back, so don’t even bother. 😉

*Attachment: 4 images*

“God, what the fuck does that mean?” You whispered to yourself, tossing the phone back on the mattress without even looking at the preview of the pictures as you tried to swallow back the panic you were feeling. It seemed like the world was mocking you for believing the two of you could be together, mocking you for believing that you could have someone as perfect as him.

Who was she, and what did she mean she was saving the best for when he got back? Why had he never mentioned her? Was she a girl he was trying to keep secret? She was close enough to him to have his phone number, comfortable enough to text him on his days off, and cheeky enough to send a winking emoji of follow. You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you didn’t like it.

Your mind was a mess, your chest aching and your head spinning. The message in itself wasn’t exactly incriminating, but you were so caught up in your own emotions from earlier that you wanted to believe it was, so your justification for running wasn’t because he loved you too much. You were jumping to conclusions, desperately grasping at strings to pull together an excuse to leave, but it had nothing to do with him rescheduling his meetings and the oddly worded message from the mysterious ‘Amelie’ (who sounded like a woman you could not even begin to compete with). It had everything to do with your own fear and your inability to see the brighter side of things.

You were doing everything you could to avoid getting hurt, and right now, you were already hurting. Instead of owning up to it and getting to the bottom of it with him by your side, you began to shut out the possibility of loving him in hopes of stopping the hurt before it grew any larger.

Caught up in a whirlwind of grief and a surplus of love, you did not even have time to straighten our separate the two before Jake stepped out of the bathroom, naked and beautiful as ever as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase. He slipped them on, his eyes trailing to you, expecting to see the smile he’d left on your lips when he walked away. Instead, he was met with an expression that told him nothing good, his palms breaking into a sweat and his stomach tied in knots as he tried to decipher the look in your eyes.

He had seen the look once before, and he spent the equivalent to a hundred lifetimes trying to rid the memory from his brain. He was praying it was different this time, that he had it completely misunderstood.

“Sunshine,” he warned, cautiously approaching the bed as he tried to defuse the bomb he knew was waiting to explode.

Afraid.

That was the only thing you were, feeling it so violently and aggressively as you shied away from his outstretched arms, silently pleading with you to reconsider. You were afraid of being hurt, afraid of hurting him, afraid of holding him back and standing in his way. You were terrified of everything, and most of all, unable to comprehend how dearly you loved him. You longed to be a teacher, spent years with your nose buried in a book and working so hard to get a degree so you could help someone else understand better. Not knowing was hard, and not understanding something was your biggest downfall, because you had made a life out of facts and working constantly to make sense of challenging things.

This didn’t make sense, and you couldn’t make it appear clearer. The longer you thought about it, the more confused you became, and it was killing you.

You pulled your legs to your chest, feeling tears shine in your eyes as you looked over his face. He was so beautiful, so perfect and so kind, which is why you had to walk away. He was too good, and you weren’t ever going to be enough. Back then, when you went your separate ways the first time, he took the sacrifice of losing you so you could follow your dreams. You were moving too fast, chasing after a life you couldn’t find in Michigan, and he stepped away to allow you to take the leap without worrying about him.

His actions were valiant, completely selfless and done in an attempt to ensure your happiness, and done without a single care about himself or his own breaking heart.

You had to do the same for him. You couldn’t hold him back or drag him down—he deserved someone in control of their life, certain and calculated with every move they made, stable and fun loving with a carefree spirit, and that would never be you.

Maybe someday, but certainly not now.

“Don’t do this. Not yet.” He sat on the edge of the bed, knowing what you were thinking before you said a word. “Let’s talk about it, please. We have to talk about it.” He was right, but you didn’t want to. The longer you talked about it, the worse it felt. You didn’t talk to him last time because it hurt too bad, and right now as you stared at him, facing the same situation as you did when you were eighteen, you understood that leaving Jake would always be the hardest thing you could ever do.

“This was a mistake, Jake.” You blurted out, immediately realizing the extent of your words when a pained expression crossed his beautiful face. You never wanted to be the reason behind his pain, and in that moment, you knew you were causing all of it.

“A mistake, huh?” He raised his hand to his face, his thumb and forefinger closing around his cheeks as his palm pressed against his chin. Deep in thought and clearly bothered by your choice of words, he could no longer look you in the eyes. “You said you loved me.” There was a slight snide drawl in his words, like he was fighting every part of himself so he would not respond with the hurt he was feeling.

“No, Jake, that’s not—“ you cut yourself off, feeling your chest tighten with panic as you raised your hand to his arm. The gentle touch pulled him out of his internal brooding for long enough to look back in your direction, to see how much hurt you were suffering from too. “You are not a mistake. Loving you is not a mistake, and I do. I love you so much that it hurts, and I could never feel this way about anyone else. I don’t want to love anyone else, Jake.”

“Then what is it?” He asked, reaching out and cupping your cheek in his palm. His stare was overwhelming, so much emotion in his gaze that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “If you love me, and you don’t want to love anyone else, why are you trying to leave?”

“I just…” you started, losing your composure as the million reasons flooded your mind. Your voice cracked, your eyes falling to the pristine threads on the comforter as they welled with tears. “Six years, and nothing changed. We’re still in the same situation, trying to love each other and knowing it won’t work.”

“Who’s saying it won’t work, sunshine? I would do anything to make it work—“

“That’s the problem, Jake!” You cut him off, closing your eyes tightly to stop the tears from falling. “Anything. You would do anything, even if it meant throwing the rest of your life away!”

“What? What does that even mean?” He argued, his temper growing as you continued to raise your voice at him.

“Did you really have all this time off, with nothing to do? No meetings, no interviews, nothing to attend to?” You asked, watching his face as his expression faltered ever so slightly. It was barely noticeable, but it answered your question without him having to say a word. “You moved your entire life around just to come and take me to dinner, Jake. Without a promise of anything, without even knowing if I would say yes. If we keep this up, I can’t help but feel like I’m going to get in the way of everything you worked so hard for.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything, sunshine. I chose to do that. I wanted to do it.” He tried to get you to see his point, to get you to understand that it wasn’t you forcing his hand on the matter.

“That’s the problem, bug.” Your cheeks were damp as you drowned in your own sorrow. “You would give up everything, just like you would have back then. That’s why I had to go. I had to leave so you wouldn’t waste your life chasing after me. Look at what you’ve accomplished since I left. Look at the life you built, all on your own.” You pleaded with him, begging him to see reason. “I’m going to take away from that, distract you from the only thing you’ve ever wanted. I can’t be responsible for that.”

“It’s not the only thing I’ve ever wanted!” He snapped, stronger than he intended to. Still, he continued on, desperate to be heard after six years of silence. “You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted. You are the only thing that’s ever mattered. You sat and listened to me talk about this life, encouraging me to chase after it, made me believe I could do it. It means fuckin’ nothing without you there beside me.”

“Jake, listen to yourself.” You cried, your head pounding and your chest tight as you tried to draw in a shaky breath. “You stepped back, you took that burden when I left and tried to make a name for myself. You didn’t want to stand in my way, and now you have to let me do it for you. I’m the one stuck in Michigan, not knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going. It won’t work, and you know it.”

“Don’t use that against me, Y/N.” The lack of a nickname was like a stab straight to the stomach, making you understand that this was more serious than it was when you were kids, because you were still hurting from it. It was all coming out at once, the fear and the anger and the regret. It was mixing together with your current situation, making for a deadly conversation that the two of you would carry with you for the rest of your lives. “Don’t use that as an excuse to leave now, because it’s the stupidest thing I have ever done. I’ve spent six years regretting it, Y/N. Do not make it seem like it was some courageous sacrifice—it was stupid and wrong, because I was afraid and I was hurt.”

“Jake—“

“No.” He cut you off, calm and collected with a grievous look in his eye. “I let you leave. I didn’t fight for you. I was eighteen and stupid, and I thought it was for the best at the time, and I know now that it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I am not letting you leave without fighting for you, Y/N. I’m not losing you again. I waited this long to get you back. This can’t be it. I won’t let this be it.”

“You think I don’t regret it?” You exploded, overwhelmed with the memory of the last time you saw him. “You think I enjoyed driving away, watching you sit at the end of my driveway waving goodbye with tears in your eyes? I didn’t want to, Jake. I hated it, and I hated myself for it. I cried that whole fucking drive, and then three days later I had to tell you to stop texting me because it only ever made it harder to move on. Guess it never would have mattered, because I never did, anyway! Six years later I sat in that bedroom, sorting through that box that held memories from the best three years of my entire life, and I had to swallow the fact that it will always be you, even if I don’t want it to be!” A grimace crossed his face, his heart aching at the harshness of your words.

“I hated looking for you in every man I’ve ever met, wondering if they could even come close to the boy I left at home. I hated staying up at night, listening to the same eight songs and wondering why we couldn’t be the ones who ended up together. I hated coming home and back to that house, just to realize that you were the only thing that made it feel like home in the first place! You weren’t here Jake, you moved to Nashville and you were traveling Europe, touring the world and playing music for thousands of people. You made it without me, and I drowned without you. I ended up here, back in the house I swore I’d never live in again in a town that’s missing the only good thing it ever had. You made it, Jake. You did it, and I will not drag you down again. I love you too much to hold you back. You have to let me do this for you, because you’ve done everything for me!” You finished your rant, barely able to see straight from the tears blurring your vision. Your throat was raw, your voice shaking as you tried your hardest to keep it together for long enough to make him understand.

“Sunshine,” he took your face between his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. “This isn’t doing anything for me. You leaving isn’t helping me, and staying won’t hurt me. Loving you is the only thing that I know how to do, and the only thing that I need. You give me everything just by being here.”

“Baby, please.” You closed your eyes, the pain in your chest only worsening as you stared at him.

“No, Sunshine.” He shook his head, holding your face tightly so you couldn’t look away. “Please, don’t do this. I just got you back.”

“Jake, I can’t.”

“That’s it?” He asked, his voice cracking as tears filled his own eyes. “It’s over? We’re done, just like that?” He tried to blink away the pain, but it only worsened his feelings on the matter. “After everything we talked about over the last few weeks? After everything we said last night? That’s it?”

“No!” You cried, shaking your head against his hold. “I guess so? I don’t know, Jake! I don’t know what to do or how to make it better. I'm trying to do the right thing. This happened so fast, and I didn’t have any time to think about it, but now that I have, we both know it won’t work! You’re going back to Nashville and I’m stuck here. You’re going to travel the world and meet so many people, ones that are way better than me and have so much more to offer. I'm going to tie you down and hold you back, and you’re going to realize it too, and I can’t get hurt like that. Not again.” You bit down on your lip to stifle the sobs begging to escape.

“You don’t get it, sunshine. There is nobody else; only you, and it’s always been that way.” There was a quiver in his voice, his cheeks wet with his own tears and he pleaded with you to see reason.

“I have to, Jake. I don’t even know if this is where I’ll stay. I could be halfway across the country again by this time next year. I don’t know, and I can’t force you to change everything because I’m still a mess.”

“I want to, sunshine. I love you.” He whispered, breaking under the weight of his grief. You shook your head again, too overcome with emotion to speak but still as stubborn as you’d always been. “I can’t lose you again.”

“Just not right now Jake. I’m not saying never, but not now.”

The words were worse than a slap in the face, making him choke on the fact that you would never be his, but he would always be stuck on your hook with nowhere else to go.

“So what, friends?” He scoffed at the word as if it were ridiculous, scowling as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Yes.” You whispered, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. “I want you in my life Jake. I always have. It’s horrible without you here, but the time still isn’t right. I need to get my life figured out. Give me some time to be what you deserve.” He watched you, his eyes casted down upon your saddened face as he digested the words he never wanted to hear again.

How, after so long and so much suffering, could the time still not be right? How could you still not see it?

But, he loved you, and in that moment it seemed like the worst curse of all. He was willing to do whatever would make you happy, even if it meant agreeing to something that would be equal to torture.

“Fine, sunshine.” He breathed, unable to resist you with you so close to him. He could never say no to you, anyway, no matter the distance. “If that’s what you think is right, I’ll be your friend, but I’ll never stop telling you how wrong I think it is.” A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pain begging to kill you.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You joked, tears still free falling as you breathed him in for what might be the very last time.

“I’m going to suck at being your friend.” He warned, still holding you close while he still could. “I’m never going to stop loving you.”

“I’m not going to stop, either.” You promised.

“Which is why this whole thing is stupid.” He tried again, desperate for you to understand.

“You’ll understand, bug. Maybe not right now, but you will. I promise.” You whispered, fighting every urge to kiss him.

“If you say so, sunshine.” He muttered, too far gone within his misery to worry about hiding it anymore. “Can I kiss you, one last time?”

“I might not be able to stop.” You confessed, feeling the gravitational pull forcing you towards him, the universe doing everything it could to force you into his arms forever.

“Could think of worse things.” He hummed, his hand sliding backwards as his fingers tangled in your hair.

“Me too, bug.” You whispered, closing your eyes and leaning forward.

You closed the gap between you, the kiss soft and sweet, the saltiness of your tears lingering on your lips as you did all you could to savor the moment with him. He dropped one hand to your waist, pulling you forward and into his lap without parting from you. You accepted the new position, melting into his arms and letting your guard down one last time. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and you wondered how you could ever give up the feeling of peace that came with his company. He felt like home, more comforting and inviting than anything else in the entire world, and you wished you could hold onto it forever.

Eventually, you broke free from the kiss, but made no move to leave. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder as another, more aggressive wave of sobs racked your body. The smell of his cologne surrounded you, his gentle hold comforting despite knowing it would be the last time you had him in such a way. He always made everything feel better, even if the hurt came from the love he gave in the first place. He held you tightly, his strong arms making it harder to convince yourself to leave. You calmed down enough to rest comfortably with him, only the occasional tear leaking from your eye as he rocked you gently to calm your mind. Then, so softly and so quietly, you heard the soft melody that tore your heart in two all over again.

He was humming, not singing, but carrying the tune enough that you would notice and understand why he was doing it.

There were no lyrics, but you could hear them clearly in your head as you clung to him and wondered why you would ever even think about letting him go.

‘Peace came upon me

And it leaves me weak

So sleep, silent angel

Go to sleep

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you.’

His shoulders shook as he tried his hardest to keep the tune, tears falling down his face as he did his best not to imagine you walking out the door. You felt ridiculous, completely idiotic as you cried and listened to him, wondering how the hell you were in the same position now as you were when you were eighteen. Back then, he put the song on the mixtape to tell you how dearly he loved you, so you could hear it from someone else’s tongue instead of his own. Now, he reinvented the song with a heart just as heavy, hoping it was enough to make you stay this time.

There was no need to retell the story, to recount all of the mistakes you made that led you to the fourth song so long ago, because you had done it just the same that day. You woke up that morning with love delicately intertwined in every aspect of your life, happiest with him by your side, and you would leave him behind with the same love in your heart, just the same as you did six years ago.

When you were eighteen, he loved you. He sat before you at twenty-five, still as desperate to show you how strongly he felt, but you still weren’t ready to receive it. You loved him the same, but you were too foolish to accept it and too fearful of enduring the same hurt. Instead, you convinced yourself that it was for the best to walk away, that the pain now would spare you from worse in the future, even if it wasn’t true.

No matter the time in between the two stupidest versions of yourself, one thing remained true even after all of the pain and all of the years; you loved him the same, just as unapologetically, completely and as wholly as he loved you.

All you needed was the air that you breathed and to love him. Sometimes, you didn’t even need the air and could survive solely off the latter. You spent all your life searching for him, wandering aimlessly while he was gone and wondering when he would come back, just to find the quickest way to throw the opportunity in the garbage as soon as it presented itself to you.

Why were you so eager to walk away when you had been awaiting the day he would return?

Why were you so keen to suffer when he was right in front of you, promising to make it all better?

Worst of all, why, if it was supposed to be the right thing to do, did it hurt so fucking bad?

TAGLIST: @anythingforjtk @highway-tuna @klarxtr @hollyco @thetroublegetssoloud71 @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @raceb14 @watchingover-hypegirl @starshine-gvf @do-it-jakey-baby @gretavansara @jakesbeloved @woyayaofdreams @jakeyt @kiszkas-canvas @gracev0609 @josh-iamyour-mama @musicspeaks @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon @gvfmarge @takenbythemadness

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joshym · 2 years ago

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (oops)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: poor body image, body dysmorphia, mentions of a past eating disorder, an ill parent, (this will include descriptions of struggling to breathe due to illness & mentions of an oxygen mask) drinking, cussing, Jake is jealous? 18+ ONLY: some pretty heavy making out, (but it's not with who you think it is hehe), mentions of an erection, slight nudity, mentions of being turned on. (please let me know if i missed anything. there are a few heavy topics mentioned, & the last thing i want is for anyone to begin reading without a proper warning.)

a/n: i am so sorry this chapter took so long. i truly hope you love it & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! i love hearing from you guys. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Your morning drives to school are your absolute favorite part of the day. They serve as your singular moment of complete peace to counteract the chaos that can be expected once the day truly gets started. The serenity of the morning air calms your spirit and prepares you for whatever the day may bring.

You’ve managed to find an alternate route to campus, one that keeps you far away from the heavy morning traffic. It adds nearly twenty minutes to your journey, but the cost of waking a little earlier each day is worth the promise of a few spare moments of quiet solitude.

The new path you’ve found leads you straight to school, and the best part– it’s an image right out of a fairy-tale.

Trees line the unpaved road, their leaves in early autumnal splendor. Hues of orange and red greet you in their forenoon charm, catching the rays of the waking sun as they glow in bright iridescence.

This morning, there’s a light rain shower leaving tiny droplets on your windshield. The sun still dares to peek through the gray clouds, illuminating the glittering raindrops as they gently fall to the ground.

You’ve yet to be met with another morning traveler since you discovered this road only days ago. It feels as though you’ve found some secret passageway— a hidden spot with no name, set aside just for you.

Pure tranquility washes over your body as your foot rests on the gas pedal.

It’s the moments like these that remind you of the beauty that still exists around you— that no matter what downfall you suffer, the earth will always be there to offer you her tiny bits of wonder to keep your feet planted firmly against her soil.

Your Firebird putters into the university parking lot, amongst the slew of shining, new vehicles with hardly an imperfection to be seen on any of them. You used to be embarrassed of your old clunker, but as time goes on you’ve learned to be grateful for it and all the places it has taken you.

Your new staff parking spot is awaiting you, of which you are entirely grateful. After your first day, you found that the parking lots fill up rather quickly with commuter students, so having a designated spot just for you everyday has saved you a lot of grief in the mornings. Yet another wonderful perk of being an employee of the university.

The smell of roasting espresso penetrates your senses as you waltz through the doors of the campus coffee shop. You and Natalia had agreed to meet this morning before your classes to study a bit for your course on influential women in literature.

Carmen, your favorite barista greets you as you walk up to the counter. Her sincere smile is always such a pleasant addition to your mornings.

She’s the most lovely vision; her loose curls always tied in a perfect ponytail, her bangs framing the contours of her face beautifully. Her black browline glasses sitting atop her freckled nose that push up past her eyebrows when she smiles, showcasing her sweet dimples.

You’ve made the coffee shop part of your morning routine everyday, so you’re not surprised when she knows your order without you having to say anything more than “Good morning, friend!”

“Large cold brew with oat milk and extra vanilla?” she asks, already writing it on the cup with a Sharpie.

You smile broadly. “You’re amazing, Carmen!” You hand her a ten and a five, insisting that she keep the change. She fights you a bit but realizes she’s already lost the battle.

She hands you your drink and you thank her, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow at the same time.

You choose a table close to a window so as to have a view of the gloomy, morning sky.

Watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the window seal, leaving their trail as the others merge to quickly join behind them— it gives you a sense of nostalgia that takes you back to a time when things were simply…easier.

One thing about growing up in Oklahoma— it was always raining. And much to your mom’s discontent, you were sure to be found outside right in the middle of it.

It probably explains why you were almost always sick as a child. Frequent head colds were the norm for you. It never stopped you, though. The rain brought forth a sense of clarity for you—feeling the cold drops hitting your face was the mental reset your mind needed, and it still is to this day.

You’d always been fascinated with weather— but specifically the rain. A poem you’d fawned over in your childhood spoke of rain carrying the ghosts of the past— a sentiment you’ve held onto dearly ever since.

That very poem is the reason you love literature. It’s the reason you’re here, to study the thing that brings you the most comfort.

Each time it rains, you’re flooded with lovely memories…memories of the ghosts that still linger from your youth.

This is the first rain shower you’ve experienced thus far in your new home; it feels as though the earth is trying to tell you it’ll all be just fine. She’s telling you that you do belong here, that you’re right where you need to be.

“Daydreaming much?” Natalia pulls out the chair opposite of you, sitting her usual hazelnut latte down as she takes her seat.

“Guess you could say that,” you say through a smile. “I just adore the rain.”

You each pull out your laptops and Charlotte Brontë books, catching up on your weekends with one another.

“You’ll never believe what I agreed to on Friday,” you say.

She looks at you with a smirk splayed across her glossed lips, her rose colored cheeks still wet from having just walked through the rain.

To your surprise, she asks, “Does it have anything to do with a little medieval film project?”

“How in the hell do you know about that?”

“My brother,” she responds. “He’s helping Josh with it. Doing set designs, costuming— it’s quite impressive, honestly. Those costumes are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I’ve done theatre my entire life.” She blows air on her coffee to cool it down a bit before taking a sip, wincing from the heat as she pulls the cup away from her lips. “I knew they were searching high and low for a Guiniverre— guess I should’ve known it’d be you.” Her long, butterfly lashes flutter with a wink as she giggles.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of her last statement. You just chose to ignore it.

“He said it’ll be killing two birds with one stone— that we’ll be helping out his brother for his film class, while also having something for our project in Movack’s class.” You pause to take a deep breath, “But I am no actress. And if it’s all truly that impressive, I may prove to be a bit of a disappointment.” Your hands fall into your lap as you stare down at yourself— your body comfortably covered with your usual oversized sweater and leggings, feeling a rush of insecurities as you imagine yourself being filmed. “I’m more of a behind-the-camera type of gal, anyways.”

You’ve fought this inner battle for as long as you can fathom— your appearance is a topic you tend to avoid. You hide behind people for photos, or offer to be the one taking them to get out of being in it altogether.

Disordered eating had been a side effect of the severe dysmorphic thoughts. But thankfully, after years of receiving help, you’re finally in a stable place in your recovery.

The thing that still lingers, though; the harsh way in which you view yourself. Specifically, your appearance.

“You said you’ve done theatre your whole life— why aren’t you playing Guiniverre?” you ask her. “I can’t imagine they haven’t thought of you.”

Natalia is far more fitting for this film. She carries the beauty required to take on such a role; the beauty of a lust worthy queen. Just as well, she clearly has the experience you so greatly lack.

She scoffs as she sets down her coffee and crosses her arms. “I was not about to kiss Sam. Nope. No way. That boy is a pain in my entire ass.”

Sam?… Kissing?

This is the first you’ve heard of any of this.

“Wait— what?” Your reaction seems to have caught her by surprise. Her eyes become wide and her lips part as she takes in your obvious confusion.

“Jake…didn’t tell you about that? Did he tell you anything?” She leans in closer to you, a slight look of irritation present in her honey eyes.

“He only gave me a vague synopsis— just about the infidelity in Arthur and Guinevere's marriage.”

You suddenly come to a harsh realization that you hadn’t even thought about until now.

Adultery and infidelity— forbidden romance. An entire film all about said romance, of which you are a main component. Of course there will be kissing in this film, perhaps even more.

Your stomach drops at the prospect, and you're silently cursing Jake for leaving this little tidbit out.

Of course, it isn’t entirely his fault. You should’ve guessed when he told you the focus of the film.

You’ve already agreed, and backing out now would mean you’re back to square one with a project for Movacks class.

All you can do now— beg to be anyone but Guiniverre.

“First off,” you question, “who on earth is Sam?”

“Sammy? He’s their baby brother. He also takes classes here— well, when he decides to show up, that is. He lives with the twins.”

You pick up your coffee, taking a large gulp to keep the caffeine running through your system. “And why do I have to kiss him again?”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she says, huffing a laugh under her breath. “Josh has…plans.”

You cock an eyebrow at her, having a pretty good inclination about what these plans entail. You nod your head to let her know to continue.

“There will be a few…intimate scenes, between you and Sam. He’ll be playing the knight of romance and chivalry himself, our beloved Sir Lancelot.” She follows suit in taking a few swigs of her coffee now that it's cooled down a bit. “You and Sam will really get to know each other. And from what I’ve gathered about this film, the emphasis will be on Guin and Lance’s love. Arthur will have a different love interest— I think they’ve already casted her? Anyways, I doubt you and Jake will have many, if any, scenes together. At least no saucy ones. Which I’m sure you’re glad to hear.”

You were not prepared in the slightest for intimacy. Intimacy in front of a camera— with someone you don’t know, all for the sake of someone you hardly know. Someone who’s been a massive dick to you, no less.

But her last statement— about not having any special scenes with Jake. She’s right, mostly. It would be incredibly uncomfortable to have any scenes like that with him…right?

But, if you're being fully honest, a small part of you is a bit…disappointed.

You shove that thought down fast. “Uh, yeah. I’m more than thrilled to hear that. That would be awkward as fuck.” You’re doing your best to be sure she doesn’t see right through you.

“But seriously, y/n. Those costumes…” She smiles widely, shaking her head back and forth. “ My brother did a great job finding those. They’re going to accentuate you in all the right ways.”

That is exactly what you’re afraid of.

With your elbows on the table, you throw your face into your open palms with such force that you nearly knock your cold brew to the floor.

“Nat, I– I don’t think I can do this.”

She lightly takes your wrist in her hand, jolting you a little so you’ll lift your face. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s just acting, love. It’s not that serious, I promise.” Her voice is so sweet and gentle, her eyes have softened and are full of quiet concern.

“I know it’s not that serious,” Out of instinct, you pull your sleeves over your hands and take your hair out from behind your ears, hiding yourself as best as you can. “I just don’t like…this,” Your hands motion to your body covered with the security of your baggy clothes. “I’ve never liked this. I mean, just how much will these costumes… accentuate me?” The thought of baring yourself even in the slightest has your stomach tumbling with somersaults.

“Listen— I know Josh, and he will never let you do something you’re not comfortable with,” she assures, her honest smile making an appearance. “His mind is wide open and his soul is in all the right places. If there’s something you don’t like, just tell him and he’ll fix it.”

You’re racking your brain with the thought of his twin being as wonderful as she described. How could someone who shares the same DNA profile with Jake truly be that amazing?

“And stop worrying about the costumes. I can promise you, y/n, you will look sexy as hell.”

She’s doing her best to reassure you— though it’s not totally working, you act as though it is to change the subject and get started on your studies.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You frustratedly close the lid to your laptop after having nearly failed your quiz. You had set aside plenty of time this weekend to study, but with how distracted you are right now from your conversation with Natalia this morning, all the time in the world for studying wouldn’t have mattered.

And of course, it’s Movack’s class— the one you most want to excel in, the one you share with Jake.

He closes his laptop only seconds after you.

It’s not a fucking race, Jake.

Movack stated at the beginning of class that once you finish your quiz, you’re free to leave. You quickly pack up your things, trying to make a hasty escape before Jake to avoid any possible conversation with him.

You’re halfway down the hall and as you’re about to turn the corner to safety, you hear, “Hey, y/n! I need to ask you something.”

Fucking hell.

You pause for a moment, dramatically rolling your eyes before you turn around to see Jake walking towards you.

He takes his sunglasses off and places them in the breast pocket of his shirt. He makes eye contact with you, a rarity for him, before he asks “Are you free on Saturday afternoon? Around 4:30?”

…what?

That is the very last thing you’d ever expect to come from his lips.

His gaze has yet to break as he awaits your response. His deep set amber eyes are piercing right into yours. He has an almost desperate look about him— as if he’s anxious for you to reply.

Is he…asking you out?

Your intuition tells you there’s no way, but…why else would he be asking you this?

Suddenly, your body begins to tingle. The butterflies in your tummy begin swarming.

You don’t know what changed— perhaps agreeing to the film? Maybe he’s finally seeing you as more than a scholarly competition, maybe he’s finally seeing you. Whatever it may be, you’re not questioning it any longer.

You’ve decided you’re completely infatuated with him, and getting to know him even better outside of this classroom sounds…wonderful.

“Y-yeah! I don’t have anything going on. I’m totally free!” With a full toothed grin on display and perhaps a bit too much eagerness, you follow with, “Why? What did you have in mind?”

His brows then become furrowed, his slight look of desperation transforming into one that says he’s now… confused.

“Um… okay,” His voice sounds unsure, his inflection coming off as more of a question than a statement. “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through of some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

Oh. My. God.

You’re mentally smacking yourself across the forehead. You want to crawl inside the deepest fucking hole on this planet and stay there with your shame.

What is wrong with you? It’s as though you’ve completely forgotten you have a project to do with him— that that would be the only logical reason he’d ask if you were free. Obviously.

That’s why he looked desperate. Not because he wanted you to agree to some date— because he needs your help with this stupid fucking project you regretfully agreed to.

Your face (noticeably, you're sure) drops. You’re so humiliated at your response. No wonder he looked so damned confused.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” You revert back to your initial irritated tone, refusing to look him in the eye now, hoping that he’ll somehow forget you were any other way.

“He also needs you to try on the costumes, too. Make sure they’re the right size.”

The costumes.

This couldn’t get any fucking worse. But you can’t turn him down now, given you were so quick to tell him you’re free on Saturday.

You simply say “okay,” as you nod your head in agreement.

He takes out his notebook, writing down his address before ripping the sheet of paper out and handing it to you.

You tuck it away in your bag, bidding him a quick adieu before turning to walk far away from him.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. Not out of sadness, but out of mortification. Out of irritation.

Irritation with yourself, with him. And it’s not even his fault. You’re the one that jumped to ridiculous conclusions— jumped the highest you possibly could.

You feel utterly stupid.

So fucking stupid.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Your mom looks at you in shock as you walk inside your apartment. Ridding yourself of your bags with a swift toss to the floor, you slump down next to her on the couch.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you had class until later this afternoon,” she probed.

“Just a little tired,” you say. “Thought I’d give myself some time to rest before work.”

“This isn’t like you, y/n. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She’s right— this isn’t like you. You normally wouldn’t even think of skipping class, your education being the most important thing to you. But, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it today.

“Kind of a long day, I guess. And I’m a little stressed out with my classes.”

She then turns the television off and glares at you with the eyes of a worried mother.

“Talk to me, y/n. I know there’s more.”

You should know by now that you can’t hide anything from her. She knows you too damn well.

You can’t hold it back any longer as you begin to spill it all.

“It’s… stupid Jake. I thought he was asking me out today, but he most definitely was not. And I made an idiot out of myself because I misunderstood and—”

She stops you mid sentence, “And who is Jake?” she questions.

You haven’t told her a single thing about him, about your project, anything. It’s not that you were trying to hide it from her, you just really didn’t want to talk about it.

With a heavy sigh, you say, “He’s my partner for this huge semester project in my King Arthur class. We’re doing an Arthurian film with his brother,” you put a palm to your face. Looking up at her with a sarcastic smile, you add. “Oh, and Jake is a major dick.”

“Do you like him?” she asks with a smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“Absolutely not!” you exclaim— rather loudly, at that.

Even you don’t believe the words that came out of your mouth, so why would she?

She just chuckles at your response, knowing better than that but deciding to not ask you about it any further, switching the topic to your project. “Tell me about this film you're doing,” she says.

“You won’t believe this but, I’m actually acting in it.”

“You? Acting? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” she jokes, forcing a smile out of you.

“Just wait. It gets better,” you say. “I’m actually playing Guiniverre and Jake will be Arthur. It’s all about their adulterous marriage, and the focus will be on them cheating on each other. Quite romantic, huh?”

She begins to laugh again, trying not to wear out her weak lungs, but it doesn’t work. She gets caught up in a huge coughing fit, struggling to catch her breath.

This always happens; she can’t even laugh without her lungs giving her trouble. It shatters your heart. She’s always had the most contagious, obnoxious laugh. You miss the pure, unpunctured sound of it so much.

You reach for her oxygen mask and gently place it over her mouth. “Just breathe, mom. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe for me, in and out…”

As much as it scares you whenever this happens, it scares her even more. The look in her eyes makes you want to cry. It’s a look that says “please make this stop.”

You wish more than anything that you could.

It’s the moments like these that you want to curse your dad for leaving, for leaving his wife of almost twenty years like this.

She begins to calm down, her breathing slowing as she’s able to take full breaths again.

“You okay?” you ask.

She moves your hand and lifts the mask from her face. “Just fine, sweetie. Sorry about that.” Her voice sounds so frail, like she’s just run a marathon.

“Don’t apologize, Mom,” you lay a hand on your skinny thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “Please.”

She nods, then requests. “Tell me more.”

She doesn’t like to dwell on these things when they happen, so you start talking about the film and Jake some more.

“He’s got a younger brother named Sam, who’ll be playing Lancelot. Apparently, there are a few scenes between him and I in the script that are a bit… sensual, you could say.”

“Well, is he as cute as Jake?” she snickers.

“Mom! I never said Jake was cute.”

“Didn’t have to,” she says. “You think he is, I can tell.” Her grin says she can see right through you, and she’s not wrong. She never is.

“I haven’t met his brother yet, so I have no idea.”

You continue telling her more about the film, telling her about Natalia, but the conversation ends up taking a turn to being mostly (completely, actually) about Jake.

“He’s just intimidated by you, y/n. That’s why he acts the way he does, so you don’t know his true feelings.”

You just shrug it off, knowing she’s obligated by blood to tell you that. She’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Just wait,” she says. “He’ll come around.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You look at your phone to check the time.

3:45 am. Ugh.

You’ve been in bed for hours desperately trying to sleep but your body just won’t relax.

You hated seeing your mom like that tonight. Watching her struggle to breathe… it's traumatizing every time it happens. And the episodes are becoming more and more frequent.

You just want her to be healthy again. You want to be able to have a normal conversation with her without worrying about making her laugh. It’s tearing you down, watching her wither away like this. It’s not fair.

You just wish there was more you could do.

Along with the stress of that, you also keep hearing Jake's voice on a loop in your head; “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

“I’m only asking…”

It’s the way he said ‘only,’ as if to say ‘don’t get your hopes up, that’s not what this is.”

Him posing that question (before you knew the true intent behind it) made you realize that— as much as you wish you weren’t— you’re somehow on the cusp of having feelings for him. And your conversation with your mom made that fact even more abundantly clear.

It’s most definitely not because of his winning personality.

No; it’s much different than that.

He brings about an air of mystery everywhere he goes. Every step he takes adds yet another layer to your curiosity about him.

And the way he acted when he asked you to be a part of his brother's film, how his face lit up in a whole new light. There’s a genuine man beneath his exterior— you can sense it. You just wish that were the Jake you’ve come face to face with nearly everyday since classes began a few weeks ago. That’s the side of him (if it is truly there and you’re not just making things up) that you want to discover.

He’s just… different. And you're annoyingly drawn to it. You're completely drawn to it.

You’ve never met anyone like him— let alone anyone that looks like him. As much as you hate to admit it, he is the personification of the female gaze. And his ridiculous attire, complete with his open shirts that display his necklaces on top of his bare chest— and yes, even his sunglasses that you try (but fail) to hate— all make it incredibly difficult to not find him attractive.

He’s beginning to consume your every thought, and you’re so mad at yourself for it.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Saturday.

You’ve spent the entire week dreading today, contemplating backing out more times than you can count. Jake has been increasingly rude to you since your encounter with him on Monday. He’s spoken one or two words to you throughout the course of the week, but that’s about it.

Again, you're wondering why the hell you agreed to do him any favors.

If it wasn’t for this fucking project in fucking Movack’s class…

Without the consistent convincing from Natalia, you would have backed out. No question about it.

“Just make it through Saturday, y/n,” she said. “And if you still feel this way, tell him you want to do something else for your project. He’ll have to understand.”

You told her you’d do it, but only if she agreed to go with you. Thankfully, it didn’t take much convincing on your part and she happily accepted your terms.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You bring your fist up to knock and wait a moment; nothing.

You feel as though you’ve given it ample time, so you knock yet again.

Finally, the handle on the door twists and is opened by, of course, Jake.

You embarrassingly stare a few seconds too long, not able to find words.

Unenthusiastically, he breaks the silence, “Welcome to our humble abode.”

He holds the door open as you and Natalia walk through the threshold together. Immediately upon seeing the place, you’re in a state of pure shock.

You’re not sure what you expected of Jake's home, but a two story, industrial loft apartment— massive loft apartment— right in the heart of downtown Detroit, was most surely not the first thing on your list. Natalia told you it was nice, but you weren’t prepared for this.

How do three college students manage to afford this?

The ever plaguing mystery continues.

It’s like walking into a photoshoot for a prestigious interior design magazine. This place doesn’t even look real.

Your eye is instantly caught by the decor. A tasteful mix of bohemian and modern rustic. The red brick walls lead to tall ceilings covered with exposed steel piping, adding so much unique character to the place. Trailing vines line the huge windows, casting the living room in an almost sage glow.

Jake ignores you, (shocker) as he heads into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Well that’s just great,” he says, taking out a can of Miller Lite and turning to face Natalia. “The least your brother could do is restock our beer when he takes the last one.”

She just snickers in response.

Suddenly a loud bang comes from a room up the long staircase, followed by a pair of animated giggles.

Jake turns his head slightly in the direction of the commotion, mumbling “fucking imbeciles” quietly to himself, but loud enough that you heard it.

“What the hell was that?” Natalia asks.

“Our moronic brothers,” Jake grumbles.

Then, a man with a set of wild, messy curls on top of his head jogs down the stairs, giggling while struggling to keep his footing.

“What were you doing up there?” Jake demands.

“Do you really want to know?” the curly haired one says, wiping his shiny lips with the sleeve of his shirt before smoothing down his disarrayed mustache.

“Nope. Not one fucking bit,” Jake scoffs.

Jake then nods his head in your direction, letting him know that you and Natalia have arrived.

“Well hello, my dear Natalia!” he says, pulling her into a hug.

Then, he catches your eye.

“Ah hah!” he shouts, giving you a long look. “You must be our queen! Lovely to meet you, m’lady,” He grabs your hand and kisses it before making a dramatic display of bowing before you. “If I may be so bold, the name is Josh. Sir Josh of the Frankenmuth, Michigan sector— at your service.”

This is Josh? The other half of Jake?

There’s no way. Sure, they have the same face. Well, besides the addition of a mustache and goatee to Joshs, but still. Clearly they’re identical, but so starkly different from one another.

You look over to Jake, noting a slight irritated look from him. Ignoring it, you meet Josh in a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You throw a little extra emphasis on ‘so’, looking at Jake once more and picking up on his eye roll— even from behind his sunglasses.

You’re remembering your first encounter with Jake—how it was so vastly different from right now as you’re meeting his twin for the first time.

You instantly felt welcomed with Josh, while with Jake, you felt like a major inconvenience. (And admittedly, you still do.)

How can they be so different, yet look the exact same?

He’s even dressed like the perfect contrast of Jake.

Jake is clad in his usual monochromatic look—sunglasses, black button down and all. (How many of these fucking shirts does the man own, for godsake?)

But Josh, on the other hand— he’s wearing a stark white sweatshirt and skin tight khaki pants, pulled together aesthetically with high top tennis shoes that mimic the brightness of his top.

They are the personification of yin and yang standing before your very eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Josh offers. “We have beer, wine—”

Jake interrupts him, yelling, “There’s no more beer!” as he takes a long sip out of his can.

“Okay then, no beer.” Josh chuckles. “Well we have water, of course. But that’s far too boring. I'd be happy to mix you one of my world-famous cocktails if you’d like.”

“Take it from me— if you don’t want to end up sloshed, do not let him make you a cocktail.” Another man makes his way down the stairs, stopping once he gets to Josh. He towers over him, being at least six inches taller. He’s awfully handsome, with the same kind, honey toned eyes that mimic those of your lovely friend standing beside you.

“My sweet, sweet Malachi. It’s okay to just admit that I make the most pristine drinks known to man.” Josh grabs his waist and tugs him close in an embrace.

“This would be my brother,” Natalia says.

“This is y/n?” He greets you with a hug, nearly lifting you off your feet. “It’s so great to meet you! You’re so kind to help with this.”

“I’m glad to help! I’m a huge Arthurian nerd, so this is right up my alley,” you say to him. “I just hope I can do Guinevere some justice. I’ve never really acted before.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be great!” Josh chimes, “If you’re ready, I’ve got one of your costumes set up in Jake's room. Last door, straight down at the very end of the hall.”

Jake’s room?

“Okay! Sounds great. I’m really excited to see these. Nat told me they’re amazing,” you say, heading in the direction Josh told you his room is in.

Josh watches you leave, holding his hands up in a makeshift camera. “Yep. You’re the perfect vision for our Guin. Very pretty,” He playfully nudges Jake with his elbow, “You were right, my brother.”

What does that mean?

Jake’s cheeks become encompassed in a pink hue as he chokes on the beer he’d just taken a sip of.

“Why thank you, Sir Joshua,” you say as you turn around towards him to curtesy.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You were nervous enough about being in his home, but his room? That is an entirely different story.

A person's room is the most personal, intimate space. The space that holds all their innermost secrets. Walking in feels like the ultimate intrusion.

Your stomach tightens as you turn the knob on his bedroom door.

Immediately, you're struck with the same scent he carries with him.

His whole room smells like it— like him.

You turn to shut the door behind you to have some privacy, catching a canvas portrait on the back depicting an iconic Edgar Allan Poe quote: “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

The room is dimly lit, with blackout curtains hanging over the windows—only a single lamp in the corner next to the bed illuminates the space.

The walls are lined with medieval artwork. Depictions of Ophelia and The Lady of Shalott, with a few famous pieces by the great Edmund Blair Leighton that you’d recognize anywhere. And, of course, no medieval artwork collection is complete without the classic portrait of Morgan Le Fey. She’s illustrated in her quintessential colorful attire, looking as enchanting as ever. A favorite or yours.

Your curiosity is certainly piqued as you notice a few books sitting upon his bedside table.

The Lord of the Rings series. A Tolkien fan— you’re not surprised in the least.

The Two Towers is splayed open to page 316 with the corners very gently dog eared.

Next to the book lies an opened notebook donned with scribbled detailings of what he’d read. Little footnotes and observations, brief analyses of chapters.

A smile dares to creep across the corner of your mouth— finding it incredibly nerdy, yet all at once completely endearing that he places so much care in what he reads.

You know next to nothing about this man, but one thing you do know— he loves literature. And you’d bet he loves it almost as much (if not slightly more) than you do. That truly says something.

On top of the table on the opposite side of the bed sits a small record player, the record sitting under the stilled needle— Electric Ladyland by Jimi Hendrix.

You skim a few other album titles placed on the shelf next to it, seeing the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin; he’s a blues kind of guy.

You grew up on that very same music, all thanks to your mom. She made sure you were well versed on music from a very young age.

A dark red Gibson SG is perched on its stand right next to the table holding the record player. The scratches engraved on its body indicate heavy use— you can tell this thing is quite loved.

He’s… a guitarist?

God. The mystery surrounding this man is never ending. There’s so much you don’t know, so much you wish you did know.

Feeling as though you’ve explored far too much of his room, you decide to focus your attention on the garment bag laid out across the black velvet duvet across Jake’s bed.

You unzip it, your nerves exuding through your shaky hands at whatever you’ll discover inside.

You lift the dress out of the bag high above your head as the length reaches clear to the floor.

Holy shit.

When Natalia told you these costumes were amazing, she was understating to the highest degree.

Golden hand sewn lace embroiders the deep burgundy corset bodice. The square neckline is garnished with gold and red gems in the most intricate pattern, with the same jeweled design present on the cuffs of the long sleeves. The skirt, the same shade as the bodice, is silken and heavy and adorned with a similar gold design cascading all the way down to the hem.

Truly fit for a queen.

You can’t help but wonder where they possibly found this. It’s the most gorgeous gown you’ve ever seen— and you get to wear it.

Undressing yourself in Jake's room feels…strange. You feel vulnerable and exposed, but the butterflies in your belly are swarming at the thought— the thought of being only in your bra and panties in Jake’s bedroom.

Taking another look at the corset, you quickly learn that a bra is simply not an option for this dress. You remove it, feeling particularly risqué now being half nude in his room.

You lay the dress on the floor and step into the skirt one foot at time, lifting it up and carefully putting your arms through the sleeves.

You try tightening the laces of the corset, but without being able to see, it’s proving to be rather difficult. You know there’s not a chance you can get this situated yourself.

You decide to text Natalia to come help you, but as you go to look for your phone, you remember you left it sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

You open the door and marginally peak your head out, calling for her to come lend you a hand with the dress.

“Sorry— should’ve warned you about that,” you hear Josh yell from across the apartment.

“You rang?” Natalia jokes as she makes her way down the hallway to you.

“This is fucking impossible to get on,” you huff, closing the door as she walks in the room.

She chuckles as she shoves your hands out of the way to take over tying the corset. “You’ve really got yourself in quite the mess here.”

She sinches it as tight as it will go, forcing the breath out of your lungs in one final tug of the laces.

“Jesus, Nat!”

“Oh you’re fine. God, you literature people are so dramatic.”

“You’re one of us too, you know,” you quip back.

She secures the ribbon tightly with a bow before she says, “I think you’re in. Turn around, let's see what we’re working with.”

You run your hands down your torso and up to your chest, feeling the constriction present against your breasts as you turn your body to face her.

“Holy fucking shit, y/n. That’s what you’ve been hiding under those giant ass sweaters?” she marvels with arched eyebrows and wide unblinking eyes.

You haven't seen yourself yet, and judging by how snug the top of this dress is hugging you, you’re not exactly sure you’re ready to.

Pointing to the mirror leaned against the wall, she tells you, “Get your ass over there, you have got to see this.”

Years of body dysmorphia have set you up to hate everything you put on if it isn’t something that hides you. Tight fitting garments are your worst nightmare. You feel safe in things that conceal your figure, and being in something that doesn’t do that is forcing you to come face to face with the thing that terrifies you the most.

With a reluctant sigh, you slowly walk over to the large wooden oval floor mirror standing next to the matching dresser.

The first thing you notice upon lifting your eyes to meet your reflection— your breasts. From feeling them moments ago, you knew they were on full display, but you didn’t realize they’d be this exposed. One slightly questionable movement, and it’s all over.

The sleeves sit off your shoulders, leaving them exposed with the rest of your chest.

Your eyes trail down to your waist that is being held tightly by the corset, your figure finally being exposed.

“O-oh god…” you quietly stammer. “I look…”

“Insanely hot.” Natalia interrupts.

“…I look fucking ridiculous.”

“What the hell are you talking about, y/n?” she demands.

“This isn’t flattering…not in the slightest.” You bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You can’t hide as easily as you would like to in this get up— and the thought of being filmed in this has your stomach in a nauseous hold.

She walks closer to you and gently brushes your arms, motioning for you to put them down— to stop hiding.“You’ve got to be kidding me, y/n. This dress was made for you.” She adjusts your right sleeve a bit, smoothing down a few wrinkles. With a tender voice, she asks, “What could you possibly not like about this?”

“I’m not you, Nat. I can’t pull this off like you could.”

“Do not start that shit with me, girl.” She sounds more stern this time. “Just because you don’t look like me, does not mean you aren’t fucking beautiful. If I have to spend all night convincing you that you’re gorgeous, I will.”

Natalia is the kind of person you’ve needed in your life, your whole life. She just gets you, and she always has the right thing to say at any given moment.

Not wanting to make this moment any more about yourself than you already have, you simply say, “Thank you, Nat.”

You reach for a hug and she pulls you in, saying “You’re welcome. Now, get yourself out there. I can’t wait to see the look on these boys’ faces.”

Just in time, a knock sounds against the bedroom door. “Uh ladies? Time is of the essence!” Josh jokingly yells from the hallway, snapping being heard through the wall.

You’re standing completely still, fear keeping you frozen on your feet. She notices and motions for you to move.

“You first,” you tell her.

She playfully rolls her eyes and agrees. Opening the door, she says, “Let’s go, your highness. Your kingdom awaits your arrival.”

You follow her down the hallway, hiking the skirt of your dress up as it’s far too long for you. You're so anxious to let Jake (and the other guys— but mostly Jake) see you like this. Petrified, really.

You’re afraid of his reaction, that it won’t be what you want it to be— that he’ll act disgusted.

But all the same, you want him to see. Maybe this will change his mind. Maybe he’ll think you look as good as Natalia says.

You can only hope, anyways.

Natalia pulls out all the dramatic stops to introduce you. “Gentlemen, I present to you, your queen.”

She stands to the side as you walk forward into the living room. Josh is sitting on the couch next to Malachi, both of them with large smiles across their faces at the sight of you. They each fawn over you, telling you how immaculate you look. Josh praises Malachi over and over for managing to get them the perfect gown, “The sizing is impeccable!” he tells him. Then he winks at Natalia. “Thanks for getting her sizes for us, Natty!”

You hear them, but you’re hardly paying them any attention as you’re stuck scanning the room for Jake, but to no avail. He’s nowhere to be seen. To say the very least, you’re full of disappointment.

“Well, fuck me,” you hear a voice say, one that you’re not quite so familiar with.

You snap your head in the direction of the voice to see a man— who looks a little like Jake?— leaning up against the floor to ceiling window in the dining room.

“Seriously, Sam?” Natalia snaps, “Where the hell are you manners?”

Sam— the Sam. The one you’ll be sharing the screen with the most.

It makes sense why he’d be chosen to play ever-romantic Lancelot. He’s a major flirt, quite fitting for the role. And— he’s fucking beautiful. Something you were not anticipating. (And something you hadn’t even thought about, with your mind being so overloaded with thoughts of Jake.)

While he doesn’t share the same similarities with Jake as Josh does, (they’re twins, so, obviously) you most definitely can’t deny the fact that they’re brothers.

Sam is a bit taller than the twins, his body shaped completely differently to accommodate his longer frame. His facial hair is quite similar to Joshs’, with his hair more the likes of Jakes'.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl,” Sam blurts. “You sure you’re at the right place? Seems you should be galavanting in Hollywood looking like that.”

A heat rises to your cheeks at his compliment. You’re sure your face is nearly the color of the gown you’re in. He’s awfully bold— and you kind of like it.

His eyes stay fixed on you as he begins walking in your direction.

“I take it you’re y/n?” he asks, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a quick peck. “I’d say Jake made a good choice for our queen.” He looks into your eyes as he gives the back of your hand yet another kiss— this one a bit more involved.

You smile at the feeling of his mustache ticking your hand as he grins against the skin. “Thank you, Sam. I’m quite flattered,” you say, still giggling like a fucking school girl with a brand new crush.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Nat quips with a stark roll of her eyes.

“This…THIS!” Josh shouts as he stands from the couch, trotting over to you and Sam. “The exact chemistry I was hoping for. You two just naturally have it— you exude it.” He grabs you both by the shoulders and pulls you both into a three-way embrace. “Sam, go put on your costume. We should run through a quick scene. I just have to see how this will play out.”

Josh is so giddy about it all that he plants a wet kiss to your cheek, saying with a sincere smile, “You really do look wonderful, you know.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Josh led you all down a little pathway behind their apartment building that leads to a shrine of towering beautiful, old trees. The sun just barely breaks through the colorful leaves on their full branches, illuminating the mossy ground in a soft and subtle golden glow.

His vision for this particular scene with Lancelot and Guinevere is to take place in a forest setting, a “secret hiding place tucked away in the depths of nature's wonder,” as he put it.

You look around in awe; it’s though you’ve walked through the pages of an old story book. An enchanted forest, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the busy city. You would have never guessed this was hiding here. The perfect spot for a film– more importantly, it’s the perfect spot for lovers to enjoy their inconspicuous love affair.

“The lighting right now is unmatched,” Josh exclaims, taking note of the time so he knows when to come out when you’re ready to actually start filming. It’s just after 5:30, and with autumn nearly in full swing, it’s right at the beginning of golden hour. With the way the trees are shading the sun, it makes for the most beautiful, soft scene— almost lucent.

It reminds you so much of the serene road you’ve found for your morning treks to school each day. You feel the same way here as you do on that secret road; this will surely be a new favorite place of yours.

You’ve got the script in your hands, skimming through the scene Josh has highlighted for you.

Guinevere is sending Lancelot off to a jousting match, giving him her red scarf in secret to tie around his arm as a token. He must wear it during the game for good luck, and he’s meant to return it to her once he wins. A common medieval practice amongst lovers.

It ends with her wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in a “deep, heated kiss to bid a farewell,” according to the script.

Oh god.

You read ahead a little. Apparently, this will be what gives their little love affair away. Arthur will recognize the scarf around Lancelot's arm as his wife’s, and the rest will be left to history. Angsty– wonderfully so.

“Right here,” Josh says. “This is perfect.”

He positions you and Sam in a spot that’s right in the middle of a circle of trees.

Sam's skin is glowing beautifully in this light, his dark eyes now several shades lighter as the sun catches them just right.

You can’t help but stare at him. He’s just so handsome, and he looks particularly regal in his costume. A white velvet, high collar top with white pants that are hugging him in all the right places, and a deep red cape draped over his broad shoulders— the same shade as your dress.

Is it historically accurate? Absolutely not. But it is most definitely serving its purpose of making him appealing to the eye, or making him lust worthy— which is exactly what Malachi was going for when he chose this get up.

His cape is meant to match your dress, symbolizing their affection for one another.

It’s brilliant, honestly.

Josh puts his hand on your shoulder, his perfectly round eyes meeting yours while he quietly says, “If you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t be afraid to tell me or Sam. Promise me you’ll say something.”

Sam looks at you with the same eyes as Josh, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable enough with everything before you start.

You smile at them both, patting Josh's hand that’s still resting gently on you. “I promise.”

“Okay, great. You guys ready?” Josh asks.

“I think so,” Sam says, looking down at you with heavy eyes and a sweet smile. “You ready, y/n?”

As you’d walked the path down here, Josh mentioned that Jake left to go get more beer while you were getting dressed. And… he’s still not back yet.

A part of you doesn’t want to do this without him here. Why? You wish you knew. It just doesn't feel right for some reason.

You look around at everyone once more to see if maybe he’s shown up and you just didn’t realize it.

You see Josh, Malachi and Natalia all standing around you— but no Jake.

Oh well…

Matching Sam's smile, you say, “Yep. I’m ready.”

Neither of you have your lines memorized just yet, so you both read directly from the script.

Sam begins the scene:

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

Then you:

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

You know Sam is acting, but the way he’s looking at you as you say your line— he looks like he’s madly in love. It’s catching you off guard, making your knees weak as your voice trembles with the next line.

“Seal your promise of returning to me with your lips, my love. Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

With that, Sam drops his script to his feet. He lifts his hands to cup your face, holding it gently as his thumbs lightly sweep across your cheekbones. Your breath hitches, and you too, drop your script.

This… this suddenly doesn't feel like acting anymore.

He leans in slowly, his lips just beginning to brush over yours. You grip his shoulders, leaning in the rest of the way until, finally, your lips collide with his.

A kiss so sweet and tender. Not too deep, yet a far cry from a friendly peck.

He pulls away from you delicately, the sound of his lips breaking from yours the only one you can hear as silence lingers in the air around you.

As you look into his eyes, you notice something different, something real. Like he’s wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on you just a short while ago.

“Wow, y/n’s got some serious acting chops after all,” you hear Natalia say, slowly clapping.

But it’s abruptly interrupted by someone speaking.

“What— what the fuck is going on?” That voice… you know that voice without even looking away from Sam.

Jake. He’s back.

“Bravo, bravo!” Josh shouts while clapping his hands. “God. Beautifully done, you guys. I’d like to run through it just once more. Give me a little more passion this time.”

You finally look away from Sam, seeing Jake standing next to his twin with a bewildered look upon his face.

In his all black outfit, he really stands out amongst everyone, amongst the golden sun rays that shine down upon him.

He’s not wearing his sunglasses, and you’re once again spellbound by his eyes. Their amber tone heightened in the light.

He just looks so fucking good.

Sam is beautiful, but he’s just not Jake.

“Hello? Is anyone going to fill me in on this?” Jake asks again, motioning his arms toward you and Sam.

“We’re rehearsing a scene, Jake.” Josh retorts.

“Yeah? And what scene might that be?” Jake sounds quite unhappy, much to your confusion.

Josh picks up the script at Sam's feet, holding it open to the page you’re currently working on. “This one,” he says. “The one where she gives Lancelot her token. I wrote this weeks ago, Jake. Why are you acting like you’ve never seen it?”

Jake hastily takes the script from him and reads over the scene in question. “I swear I’ve never read this before.” He continues flipping the pages, going back and finding more scenes that will be shared between you and Sam. “Why the hell do they have so many of these scenes together? When did you decide on all of this?”

“Seriously, Jake?” Josh scoffs. “These scenes have always been there—,” he growls, using his hands to help communicate the emotions in his next words. “You clearly haven't read a word of the fucking script. Guinevere and Lancelot’s affair is the main focus, with some on Arthur’s affair with the maiden. We literally talked about this. Multiple fucking times.”

Jake gives the script back to Josh, fiercely rubbing his chin as he does so.

“Why are you so upset, Jake?” Josh asks.

“I’m literally not, Josh.”

“Uh, yes you are. You only rub your chin like that when you’re pissed.”

With a flair of his nostrils, Jake says, “Just get on with your goddamn rehearsal.”

“Just ignore them. They do this shit all the time,” Sam quietly says to you. “Ready to do this again?” he asks.

With your attention back on Sam, you smile and nod your head.

You do the scene again, much the same as you had before. But this time, with the watchful eyes of Jake, you feel a bit more… inspired.

“Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

Sam once again takes your face in his hands, leaning in close to you.

This time, instead of grabbing his shoulders, you opt to run your fingers through his hair.

Locking eyes with Jake, who’s standing perfectly in your view, you lift your face to crash your lips with Sam— much harder this time.

Josh wanted more passion, and he’s getting exactly that.

You push your tongue past Sam's plush lips, eliciting a soft grumble from deep in his throat.

His hands suddenly move from your face to your neck, his fingertips tracing the skin while leaving goosebumps in their wake. He then reaches down to your waist, pulling you tightly against his body.

This is no Guiniverre and Lancelot sharing a secret kiss in the middle of a hidden forest; this is you and Sam enjoying the hell out of each other.

But even as your mouth is fully enveloped with Sams, even with your tongues fighting for dominance with one another— your only thought… is Jake. Fucking Jake.

You situate your face just so, where you’re again able to look Jake in the eyes. He intensely glares as he watches you in a moment of pure desire with his brother— and he doesn’t look happy.

Incidentally, it's only adding fuel to your fire as your lips continue furiously attacking Sams.

You wrap your hands even tighter around his soft locks as his tongue is dancing with yours.

More beautiful, hushed moans escape Sam’s mouth straight into yours as you echo them right back to him.

He tastes like heaven mixed with a delicious honey sweet bourbon, he’s fucking delectable.

With a little hesitancy, (especially on Sam's part) the kiss breaks as you are forced to come back up for air.

Sam is still holding you close, so close that you can feel his enthusiasm between your bodies that’s thankfully being covered by the skirt of your dress.

“You’ve uh, got me in a bit of a predicament here,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You look him in the eyes, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip. “I can tell. Pretty big predicament, huh.” Your new found bravery has taken even you by surprise.

Sam just smirks at you while everyone is left stunned at your performance.

“I… am so fucking pissed,” Josh says.

“Why, babe?” Malachi asks him.

“Because I didn’t bring my fucking camera. You two… you two were made to do this together. I really hope you can do that again. Holy shit. Bra-fucking-vo.”

“What do you think, y/n? Think we could do that again?” Sam asks you. Although it’s clear he isn’t referring to the film.

Looking at Jake, his jaw clenched and his fists tight, you say, “Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from Jake, looking at Josh to finish. “I think we could do that again.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A few weeks have gone by, and most things are going very well with the production.

Josh is a fantastic director (albeit, a little too bossy at times). Their sweet friend Daniel wound up being a great cameraman, getting shots of you that didn’t make you completely cringe at first glance. Then there was Malachi, who is consistently helpful, just like his sister. Sam, the perfect scene partner— so attentive and great at checking in with you between takes.

And Nat, ever the loyal friend, has still been coming to rehearsals with you. She hasn’t missed a single one, and her support has meant the world to you. Each time you feel a rush of insecurity washing over you, she’s there to talk you through it and be the encouragement you need.

The only part of these rehearsals that’s getting extremely old is how much Jake inserts his “constructive creative criticism.”

On more than one occasion, you’d shoot daggers in his direction and remind him that he’s not the director and to leave it to his brother. To which he’d respond with a scoff, palms planted, strong on his hips, and turn to leave the room in a huff.

Then there are the arguments between the twins… which have been growing in intensity. Some days production ends because the two of them just refuse to see eye to eye, making it impossible to get through a single scene.

You have to admit— these two are rather passionate about their work.

You just wish they’d stop arguing long enough to showcase their talents.

The most memorable day on set as of yet was the day Jake's costume had finally arrived.

He’d been taking far too long to get dressed in his attire, causing Josh to succumb to a near full meltdown. The sun was setting and Josh was adamant about getting at least one scene with Arthur shot outside.

Jake, however, was extremely unhappy with the costume that was chosen for him. He refused to walk out in it, claiming it was nothing like what he had pictured for the character. “This isn’t Arthur,” he said. “This is a goddamn see-through crop top.”

And that had instantly piqued your attention. You’d walked around the corner of the hallway, Natalia leading the way. Thankfully— because she did not need to be privy to the fact that you were so curious.

Then, you saw him. Clad in his film outfit that was a cut off chainmail top, with its short, tight sleeves putting his muscular biceps on full display.

His pecks, (which you’ve caught yourself admiring a time or two before) looked particularly perked and rounded.

You also loved how sheer the top was, giving you a fantastic view of his skin underneath.

Jake clearly wasn’t happy about it, but you most definitely were.

“Goddamn…” you whispered to yourself, watching the way his arms flexed each time he adjusted his shirt. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so fucking sexy.

“I’m not wearing this, Josh.” Jake asserted. “Nope. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes you are, Jake. It’s only for a few scenes, then you can wear the outfit you chose.” Josh blurted. “And I told you we’d get you a black cloak to wear. Will that make you feel better?” You noted a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Fuck no,” Jake said. “And why the hell does Sam get to have my sword for so many of his scenes?”

The argument continued on, and almost an hour later, Jake finally gave in. But, it was too late. The sun had gone down, and you were all ready to call it quits for the night.

“Well, a fucking wasted day. Thanks an awful lot, Jake.” Josh shouted as he stomped up the stairs.

They were able to shoot that scene the very next day, and as usual, they acted as if nothing had happened.

It’s pure whiplash with these two. One minute they’re cussing each other out, on the verge of throwing fists; the next, they’re making each other laugh so hard they’re nearly rolling on the floor.

Outside of filming, Jake has remained stoic– ignorant to your existence.

At school, he acts as though you don’t exist– only acknowledging you if he absolutely has to. For instance, before you can even try to get a word in before or after class, he’s already shooting up out of his seat before you have time to even think about standing up.

And similarly, at rehearsals, your conversations are limited to one or two words here and there, besides the incessant critiques he tosses around after your scenes.

Sam, however, has given you nothing but praise after praise. His flirting hasn’t let up— and you’ve been dishing it right back any chance you get.

You had ultimately decided if Jake wouldn't give you the time of day, you’d give it to someone who will. Who just so happens to be Sam.

Although, it lends more material for Jake’s reproval. The comments he’d make about it were aggravating at best.

“Can you show us all some fucking respect, please?”

“We’re trying to get work done.”

“Do you want us all to have failed projects because you two can’t stay fuckin’ focused?”

And, to every response, Josh shut him down, scolding him for being an asshole.

“You’re going to chase away my muse, Jake. Please, cut the shit,” he’d roll his eyes, messing with the sides of his hair, fluffing it, cutting a glance at his twin. “I’m tired of you acting like a child. You’re the one causing us to lag with the ridiculous comments.”

The comments did distract you a little from the scenes you knew were coming up rather quickly on the filming schedule… but his remarks also added unnecessary anxiety to the overall atmosphere for you. In which case, Sam would be the one to make you feel better, bringing you right back to him.

The particular scene that’s hurtling towards you is happening later this week. You’re filming a brand new scene with Sam that will be far more intimate than anything you’ve filmed thus far.

Josh wanted to give you time to adjust to everything and feel completely comfortable before he introduced this part of the film.

You’re still nervous about it, but your eagerness to see the film through has you ready to give it a go.

The day before the filming of the scene, you go about things like normal. You have so much fun rehearsing with Sam; Nat and Malachi watch in awe as the scene flows flawlessly between the two of you, like it normally does.

And today, it’s easier because Jake had been strangely absent. But, it hadn’t been better. Because no matter him being so irritating, you had sort of missed looking up at him, mid-scene with Sam. It had become oddly normal to find his eyes while meeting Sam’s lips.

After finishing a rather long rehearsal, Josh reminds you in passing that you’ll be wearing a brand new costume for tomorrow’s shoot.

And you figured today was as good a day as any to give it a peek.

Walking to Jake’s room to locate it, you sent Nat a quick text that you were heading there. She’d slipped away with Malachi to discuss costumes, but you knew if you ended up trying the costume on that you’d need her there to help (or at the very least, encourage).

Jake’s room has become designated for your costumes, of which he has expressed ample irritation about. Just one more thing for the twins to fight about.

You’re actually starting to believe that Josh made it that way just to spite Jake.

Once you make it there, the stark red garment bag is hanging on the closet door, awaiting you. It’s the other one that had been laid out on Jake's bed that first day you came over.

That day had slipped away from all of you with Josh’s insistence that you and Sam re-rehearse the kiss, over and over. So, you never got the chance to try it on.

You had hesitated looking at it since that day, though, because Nat forewarned you that this costume was much more revealing than the last, and knowing that, you haven’t really been in any hurry to try it on.

Lifting up on your tiptoes the slightest bit, you grab the garment bag that holds the brand new, different costume that Malachi has specially picked for you.

Nat had fortunately gotten the text and had made it in time to help you remove the corset dress, carefully placing it back in its garment bag.

Left in your black thong, lacking a bra from your prior costume, you look at the other bag, now laying on the bed. Your stomach sinks to your knees at the possibility of what’s hiding beneath the red canvas.

“Just how bad is it, Nat?”

The anxiety you faced trying on the first dress weeks ago is now creeping its way back in. You’re scared stiff for a moment, staring down at the costume still hidden beneath the red fabric.

“You’re overthinking it, y/n,” she says. “Just open it and find out. All I can tell you is you’re going to look unreal.”

Not wanting to draw this out any longer, you start unzipping the bag, slowly revealing the black lace that was tucked away inside.

You pull on the hanger to take it out of the bag fully.

A long black gown of intricate lace and chiffon— a lavish, luxurious piece of… lingerie. The gown exposes skin, hiding just beyond the cloth. Tight at the bust and waist, and flowing out at your hips.

The neckline is completely open and plunges down to the waist. The mesh material decorated with an elaborate floral design— is utterly see-through. The front of the gown is held together with only a black satin ribbon tied in a bow.

“Holy shit, y/n,” she gasps, admiring every piece of your body she can see. “You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

“God, Nat…” You hold it up to your body, running your fingers over the long, bell sleeve. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Josh told you if you don’t like it, they’ll find you something else. But you should at least try it on, see what you think,” she says.

You’re scared of putting it on and absolutely despising your body; you’ll be forced once again to face all of the things you don’t love about it— you won’t be able to hide in this. Not at all.

But, you promised Josh and Malachi you’d try it. And Nat is right— they have assured you over and over again that if you’re not happy with something, they’ll fix it. No questions asked. Josh asks you every single day if you’re comfortable with everything, and he’s made it abundantly clear over the course of the production that you must tell him if there’s anything you don’t like.

Clearing your mind of any more thought, (because you’ll overthink yourself to the death if you don’t) you untie the sash, placing the gown over your body.

As you suspected, there's nothing left to the imagination.

The lace just barely covers your breasts, laying completely open down to your belly button— and you’ve suddenly become hyper aware of the fact that your nipples are peeking through the sheer fabric.

“Please tell me they have pasties for me, because this,” you grumble, pointing to your chest, “is not going to work for me.”

Initially you’re talking about your nipples that you can see through the sheer fabric, but you figure there’s no use in hiding what’s on your chest from Nat. Something you would also like to be covered from eyes that you can’t fully trust yet. So, you lift your breast the slightest bit to also expose the red ink lying beneath the supple flesh.

Redrum, in dark red ink etched along the curve underneath your right breast.

Your best kept secret is no longer hidden with the likes of this dress.

“Is that…. a tattoo?”

You had decided on an impulse one night (after a few too many drinks) that you wanted a tattoo. It had been a hard week of treatments for your mom, while also simultaneously being the week that you found out about your acceptance to U of M. And you had figured you might as well do something for you— both to celebrate and distract yourself from the sad reality of your mother’s decline.

No one knows about it (save for Natalia now). Not even your mom. It was gotten with the intent to be something special for you and only you. A part of your body that you could find comfort in despite your dislike for your build— something about yourself to be comfortable with.

And being the massive Stephen King and Kubrick fan that you are, you decided on a tattoo that solidifies your love for The Shining. Both the book and the film have carried through some incredibly tough times in your life, so you can’t really say you regret the permanent decision. But, you like that it’s something sacred for just you.

“Yeah,” you say, tracing your finger along the flesh like you do nearly everyday. Just to ground yourself. “Important to me for several reasons. No one knows about it. You’re the first to know I have it actually.”

She nods in approval. “I’m honored,” she says, a sweet grin highlighting her features. “And I’m totally here for it.”

You really weren’t ready for everyone to see it yet, though.

“Do you think there’s something that we could cover it up with?”

She is already walking to the door as you ask, ready to help however she can.

“I’m going to check with Malachi,” she says, one foot out the door. Then she steps back inside the room, shutting the door to a crack before she whispers. “I won’t tell anyone about it. I’ll just say I wanna snoop through Josh’s Ben Nye.”

“You’re the best Nat,” you feel tears well in your eyes.

You’ve never had a friend as wonderful as Natalia, and with every small thing she did to help, it solidifies how grateful you are for her.

When the door closes behind her, you decide to bite the bullet and look at yourself once more.

Your thoughts begin to torment you, but you combat them with Natalia’s words.

“You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

You wish so badly you could eternally shut the thoughts off long enough to see yourself the way others see you, especially in these stunning costumes that you should feel beautiful in.

Someone as lovely as Nat— inside and out— complimenting you in the way she has, you should feel inclined to believe her; she’s not just telling you what she thinks you want to hear. She’s the most genuine person you’ve yet to meet and the last person to ever bullshit you.

A few heavier tears have begun to form, threatening to fall at any moment as you take in your image in the mirror.

You do look beautiful.

For the first time in god knows how long, you can see your beauty reflecting back to you, effectively telling your ever intrusive thoughts to ‘fuck off’ once and for all. And it’s not just in your body, it’s in you. The beauty within yourself that fully encompasses who you’ve grown to become as a woman.

You’ve been through some tough ass shit— had to go through things that you wish you hadn’t had to… and you’re still standing here to speak of it. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment that shows some sort of beauty and resilience flowing from inside of you.

It doesn’t feel right acknowledging these things. You’re not used to it. But at this moment, it feels okay. Feels good. You let yourself have it for now.

You normally wouldn’t dare be caught in something like this (let alone allow yourself to be on camera) but now, you’re actually excited. You never would have guessed you had a passion for acting, for playing a character so vastly different from who you are in real life. You’re glad to have somehow stumbled upon this whole thing; it’s helped you find the confidence in yourself that you’ve been desperately searching for your entire life.

Moving the material covering your thighs the slightest bit, you reveal your leg, flexing it and admiring the taut flesh there. The feminine way your body is built complimenting the lean muscle that’s been built from hard work over time— working your ass off to get to where you wanted to be. Then, you poke your ass out, turning the slightest bit, you see the plush skin of your ass through the thin, dark material. You take the briefest second to appreciate the way it looks, round and full at the top of your thighs. Usually you would hate acknowledging that—hate. it.—but right now? It’s something sort of… sexy, seeing it. It’s hidden away beneath the flowing material, but wholly visible as well.

It’s mysterious and you like it. The gown acknowledges parts of your body, without putting it on full display and it’s honestly everything you needed. It helps you to accept the curves you usually curl your lip at.

Just then, as you stand there with your leg completely out of the slit, you hear the handle on the door turn and the door slowly creak as it’s being opened from the other side.

Nat must’ve found the makeup for your little secret. You hold your breast in preparation to cover the ink, but don’t immediately turn around towards the door. Part of you, wanting her to see this new found confidence you’ve discovered within the confines of this gown.

“I am so fucking glad you talked me into trying this on. I would have never if it weren’t for you— “

The sound of a throat being cleared of tension is made, interrupting you before you’re able to get the rest of your words out.

With a slight cock of your head in the direction of the door, your hair waving around your shoulders in the process, you realize… it’s not Nat standing on the threshold.

Stunned, frozen solid in your position that exposes your leg all the way up to the round flesh of your ass peeking through, you realize that standing where Nat should be… is Jake.

He’s as still as you, with one hand still on the doorknob and the other tightly gripping the frame on the other side.

You half expected him to shut the door immediately upon seeing you, but he didn’t. He’s just standing there, eyes trailing your barely clothed figure.

You should say something. You should tell him to get the fuck out and give you some privacy. But as you attempt to open your mouth to do so, nothing comes out.

His eyes linger on your face for a time, but eventually, they start trailing from your feet, up your legs, over your hips and taut stomach. You’re hardly breathing, but your chest is still heaving short breaths…

It becomes obvious to you that you like how his eyes feel on you. How he’s observing every inch of your body that you’re feeling brave inside for once…

You want him to see, to see you exactly like this.

Suddenly, your nipples harden when his dark, whiskey colored eyes (sans sunglasses, thank fucking god) find your shapely breasts outlined by the fabric just barely hiding them. The hand covering the round flesh tightens in an attempt to conceal the tattoo, but you’re longing to release the hand and show him all of you.

But you know better. So your hand stays firm, but you let your erect nipple peek through the fingers splayed across your chest.

You hear footsteps quickly stomping down the hall, becoming louder as they get close to Jake’s room.

“Jake! What the fuck are you doing?” Nat’s hand reaches out from nowhere, takes his arm and shoves him clear of your sight. Successfully breaking your lust ridden trance. “Give her some fucking privacy, godammit!”

And as you stood there, Nat giving Jake a piece of her mind, you can’t ignore how hot and bothered you’d become. You rub your thighs together, searching for a hint of friction from whatever had just transpired between you and Jake, longing for more of it.

Your friend finally comes in, adamantly running her mouth about how irritated she is by Jake’s intrusion, but you don’t hear her words.

Because you feel the complete opposite of her. In fact, you want to push her out of the room and bring Jake back to finish what had just barely begun.

“God, he’s a fucking idiot. I’m sorry about that,” she says as she begins rubbing the stage makeup on the skin of your tattoo, you imagine briefly that her fingers are Jake’s…

Then, feeling your nipples begin to harden from the thought, you clear your throat. Fuck. Too far.

Cover, cover, cover…

She can’t know.

“Damn,” you shake your head, your cheeks hot. “Why do they always keep it so cold in here?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice a shift in dynamic as she laughs.

“I know, girl,” she snorts, a curl falling in front of her eye that she blows away. The breath makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Malachi is always giving Josh shit about it.”

She finishes blending out the makeup, adding a little powder on top to set it.

“I’d say we’ve got you pretty well covered. Take a look, tell me what you think.”

You turn back to face yourself in the mirror, and right before you’re able to look at your reflection, a picture sitting on the dresser catches your eye.

It’s of the three brothers— Josh, Sam, and Jake… their arms around each other as they smile wide.

But you can only look at Jake’s face, his smile so beautiful and bright in the image.

“Yeah, it looks great,” you say, eyes fixed on Jake’s handsome face, smiling back at you. “Looks really good.”

a/n: any thoughts as to why Jake is being so horrible during this film production? 🤔

buckle up, we've only just begun. ;)

if you'd like to be tagged, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. 🤍

love you all so much.

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @iffypanic @sinarainbows @klarxtr @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @livkiszka @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome@heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon

I’m fairly certain I’ve included everyone but if I’ve forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #greta van smut #le morte d’arthur

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