dharma-divine - Tumblr blog

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

DIOSKOUROI

Chapter II

Pairing: Twins x (Female) Reader, endgame TBD

Summary: Given your first taste of freedom in order to attend a prestigious arts academy, you befriend a sweet, charming boy who ultimately proves to be delinquent warlock, desperate to free his equally deceitful twin brother from hell after a necessary betrayal to their coven. You are essential to the brothers’ liberation and reunion, and in the process of learning of their mystic abilities and lineage, you reveal the truth of your own.

(For a more information regarding mythological references and character abilities, please click here)

WARNINGS: Mild suggestive content

Taglist: @gardenvanfleet @alwayzthere @sammygvfslut @gretavanhoney @maverick-rose @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw @obetrolncocktails @capturethechaos @tlexx @charlesashton @garagebandvanfleet @myownparadise96 @jakeslovehandles @sparrowofthedawn @alt-jb @idk-maddie @theweightofstardust @danny-wagners-peacesign-necklace

(special thanks to Alana for being such a huge help with editing xx)

☽ ✩ ☾

The woods come creeping into your line of sight once more, along with the twists of flames lapping at the sky and the boy sitting before them.

“Help him. Please.”

The same scene plays out as before, with you wandering unscathed into the fire, following the dark figure until some unbeknownst force pulls you back into the trees.

The only difference this time is when you reach for his hand, not only do you feel his soft palm but also the band of something hard pressed between your fingers. You squint down to notice that it’s a ring, looped around his pointer finger in a stark black. It feels like stone — obsidian, with its shockingly cool touch even while being surrounded by pure heat.

For some reason, while his features once again melted from your memory by the time you wake the next morning, the image of the ring around his finger sticks, glinting among the flames appearing every time you close your eyes.

You’re pondering the image, and trying to recall the faces of the mysterious recurring characters in these strange dreams, the entire morning, your brows furrowed with thought as you sit in class with Josh.

It’s the third week of classes, and you can tell you’ve already fallen helplessly behind, though you can’t rid yourself of the distracting thoughts that drown out the sound of the professor’s droning voice.

You’re suddenly interrupted when Josh lightly nudges your arm with his elbow, before sliding his notebook over so you can see what’s scribbled on the top line.

What’s on your mind?

You blush at the thought that he was watching you ponder to yourself, jotting down a reply.

I’ve been having weird dreams lately. Too much to write down, will tell you about it after class.

How about over coffee?

Your heart leaps at the inquiry, and you glance over to see his cheeky smile and fan of lashes, his eyes remaining on the open notebook.

As classes have settled in you’ve found that you both have a perfect slot of time nestled between lectures for a quick lunch break, and the café down the hall from your lecture has been calling your name since its delicious smell first wafted past you.

Okay, you write back, to which he doodles you a smiley face.

☽ ✩ ☾

You find a cozy corner with a booth and big table, sliding your bag off your shoulder and onto the plush leather, its aroma mixing with the delicious smell of coffee.

“I’m gonna go order, what would you like?” Josh asks as he heads for the counter.

“Um…” you ponder, face flushing as you panic to think of something. “I’ve never gotten coffee from a shop before, we’re a strictly tea household. What do you usually get?”

Josh smiles, clearly endeared by your strangeness to the concept.

“I usually get a caffé ristretto or espresso, but they’re a bit strong if you’re not used to the taste,” he explains. “How about just a latte? Coffee and milk?”

You grin, nodding your head eagerly. “That sounds perfect.”

He nods, then walks over to the girl standing behind the counter to order. You can tell by his mannerisms and how a blushed smile instantly rosies her cheeks that he’s charming her, though their words are not in earshot. You hear her giggle as she hands him his receipt, and a tight, antsy feeling arises in your stomach that you recognize as jealousy.

He’s like that with everyone, you tell yourself. Why be jealous?

But the feeling ceases to fade, and it isn’t until his head turns back towards you, the girl following his gaze, that you snap out of it, giving them an anxious, awkward wave.

“She’s never had coffee from a shop before, isn’t that crazy?” you’re finally able to hear him say, followed by another bout of the barista’s swooning giggles.

You shake your head at him amusedly as he carefully carries the drinks back to your table, moving your books aside so he can set them down.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the two cups down before taking his seat.

You admire the frothy rose decorated on top of yours, the way you always see it illustrated.

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, the sweet, creamy smell hitting your nose. “It’s so pretty I almost don’t want to drink it. What do I owe you?”

He holds up a hand, waving it at you dismissively as he takes his first sip. “Don’t worry about it, please. I’m only interested in hearing about this dream of yours. What happened?”

Your chest leaps at the reminder of the purpose of this meeting, keeping you from the chance to argue further about the money. You take a sip of your latte, finding it as comforting and wonderful as it smells, even though it nearly burns your tongue.

“Right – it’s, um, it’s really intense,” you warn, adjusting yourself in your seat. “And so, so vivid – to the point where it feels real.”

Josh sits back as he sips his coffee, his eyes above the brim of the cup set on you.

“So I start off in a forest, and my chest feels tight, as if I've just been running. Some kind of grand force is luring me to this meadow past all the trees, and a deep voice is coming from somewhere around me, speaking in a language I don’t know — I think it might be Latin? And when I make it to the meadow, there’s a huge fire in the middle that’s completely stagnant, not growing or moving, the flames just stay in place. And in front of the fire –”

You pause, trying once again to comprehend the faces of the figures you have seen so many times at this point, but ultimately blanking.

“There’s a boy sitting, his legs folded, literally inches away from the flames. His mouth moves to the words I’m hearing above me, but the voice is way too loud to be coming from just him alone. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but it’s so loud and powerful I feel it shaking in my chest. He starts pleading for me to help with something, and a second later another boy comes from inside the flames.”

Your breathing has picked up, the recount of the imagery so intense it’s sending you into a near panic attack, your eyes trained to the table.

“Hey, It’s okay,” you hear Josh speak softly, lifting his hand to squeeze the top of yours comfortingly. “You don’t have to continue if it stresses you too much.”

You squeeze back, flinching when you feel something cold pressing into your hand. You let go to see a black ring looped around Josh’s middle finger, and suddenly the image from your dream flashes in your mind.

“That’s funny,” you smile, a bit of anxiety lifting away as you pull Josh’s hand to your face to inspect the ring further, to which he looks confused. “Your ring— the boy from the dream had one on, the second one that was in the fire. In fact I think it was on the same exact finger. What is it?”

“Obsidian,” he says, looking a bit melancholy. “It was my brother’s, he gave it to me right before he was taken.”

You remember registering the stone in your subconscious, and the whole exchange is feeling like a strange blast of deja vu.

“Is there any meaning behind it being on your middle finger?” you ask.

“No,” he grins, twisting the ring with his thumb. “It’s just the only finger it fits on. I only wear it when I’m especially missing him, I’m afraid it’ll twist off and I’ll lose it. It’s funny that it made it into your dream, though. Our minds have an interesting way of saving little details of our lives.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” you add, shaking your head. “I’ve never had such vivid dreams before, like could they mean anything?”

”Yeah, definitely,” he says, pondering to himself for a moment. “The fire and the figures could represent a multitude of things; your anxieties and any obstacles holding you back, your emotions, literally anything. It’s hard to pinpoint which is which, but regardless it sounds like you’re going through a lot. I’m sorry these dreams are causing you so much stress, I wish I could help.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, honing in on the sensation of his thumb against the top of your hand to keep you calm. “Thank you for listening, I appreciate it.”

You know it’s odd to feel so close to someone so quickly, but it feels like you’ve known Josh for years, like you’ve been best friends since you were little and taken on this life together. Maybe it’s because you’ve never really had a friend before, but you feel like you could trust him with anything. Every other man you’ve come in contact with since your freedom has had this deep violet aura around them, even when they’ve been perfectly nice, your intuition telling you that they reek with danger, and to tread lightly around them, to not let them know too much. But you haven’t had that voice with Josh, not for a single second. His aura is bright yellow, tinged with tendrils of red and orange. Friendly, adventurous, thoughtful, considerate, well-grounded, that’s him. He’s your safe space in this new world that you’re still trying to figure out.

“Do you like it?” Josh finally asks, pulling his hand from you to point at your coffee cup, breaking you out of the near trance you fell under.

“Oh,” you blush. “Yeah, I do. It’s delicious.”

You take a larger gulp now that it’s not as hot, its sweet bitterness coating your tongue.

Your notice Josh begin to sift through his book bag and decide to go back to your own studying, grabbing the moleskin you had taken out while you waited for the coffee. To your dismay, you open its pages to find only a few nonsense lines written, along with some mindless doodles sketched in the margins. You glance over at Josh’s notebook, seeing them filled from top to bottom. He has impressively neat handwriting, and even drew diagrams and pictures to illustrate each subject.

“Well, shit,” you curse quietly to yourself.

“Can I copy yours?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, sliding it over with a grin.

You briefly reflect on the fact that you have not noticed Josh pick up his pencil once in the three classes you’ve had with him thus far, but you decide to ignore it, doing your best at copying what he has written.

An hour later, you’ve given up on the copying and gone to simply taking photos of his pages, your eyes tired and stomach grumbling.

“I think this is good for now, I should get home,” you tell Josh, flipping your notebook closed and slapping your pen down on its cover.

“Sweet,” he replies, shutting the book he was reading. “Any exciting plans for the night?”

You realize it’s Friday, and that the unfortunate answer for you is no.

“I’ll probably just stay home with my aunt, maybe watch a movie,” you shrug, zipping up your bag and slumping it over your shoulder.

“Well, wanna go to a party instead?” he asks, and you freeze at the word party, an anxious knot immediately forming in your chest.

You look up to see him standing above you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Josh you know I-”

“Oh come on,” he urges as you stand up and push your chair in. “It’s a casual affair, at a friend of mine’s house right off campus. Starts at ten, you can be home by midnight…”

You roll your eyes even though the way he pitches his voice at the end of his sentence makes a smile pull at your lip, and you know his convincing is already winning you over.

“I’ll have to sneak out, and I’ve never done that before,” you say, your voice mousy and innocent.

“So?” he quips, giving you a light push on your shoulder. “You’ve had a lot of firsts lately, what’s one more?”

You sigh, worrying your lip.

“She’s a light sleeper,” you point out. “Though…”

You think of the bundle of valerian root you saw in the kitchen cupboard recently, enough to knock out an army.

“Though…” Josh repeats as he follows you closely as you both exit the cafe.

“Okay, I’ll see,” you blush, flattered that he’s so adamant about your attendance. “Just send me the address.”

“Already sent,” he smiles, just as your phone pings with his text.

“See you at eleven?” he calls as he begins to part ways to his last class upstairs, with you on your way to your lab building across campus.

“See you,” you grin, your head ringing with nervous anticipation with how this night will play out.

☽ ✩ ☾

“So her memory is catching up to us,” Jake says after his brother explained the events of the day, his face half illuminated in an orange glow. “She didn’t question you any more about the ring?”

“No,” Josh shakes his head, tapping his thumb against the hard band. “I don’t think she’s suspicious of any of that yet, it’s still just a dream to her.”

“Well, that’s good,” Jake sighs, laying back down in his cot. “Let her figure it out herself.”

It’s silent for a moment except for the crackling of the fire , the conversation coming to a lull.

“We’re going to a party tonight,” Josh mentions through a modest smirk, and he can see his brother perk up with interest. “Oh really?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ve been to a few already, just to familiarize myself with the culture of the academy. It’s not a lavish jamboree like we’re used to, but mortals like to have fun too— plenty of spirits, plenty of vices. Princess should have a ball.”

“Well, don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Jake quips, flashing a toothy grin that Josh hasn’t seen in a regrettably long time. “She’s never even drank before, has she?”

“Nothing to this extent,” Josh admits. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”

☽ ✩ ☾

It wasn’t easy — of course, tonight was the night your aunt wasn’t in the mood for a cup of her evening tea, a steep of soothing herbs that always has her in bed by 9 o’clock sharp.

“I think I’m going to stay up and knit,” she says to your dismay as you put the pot of water to boil. “It’s getting cold soon, and when I pulled the heavy quilts from the attic earlier today I found that the moths had eaten them to shreds — isn’t that a shame? Must have forgotten the mothballs when I stored them in the spring. Well, I can’t afford brand new ones from Mrs. Mabel this year, I have some yarn to make our own. Would you like to help?”

You purse your lips, tapping your nail anxiously at the edge of the metal stove. “No thanks, not tonight. I have a lot of homework.”

You turn to open the cupboard, slipping the bundle of valerian in your palm as you sift through the carefully labeled tea boxes.

“I’m still going to make some tea, though. How about black, if you’re wanting to stay up late?” You ask, your heart pounding anxiously for her response.

“Hmm, I suppose with some honey and milk,” she nods before heaving her knitting basket onto the dining table.

“Great,” you grin, relieved she was convinced, lifting the lid to dip the bag into the heavy pot.

You glance back to see your aunt already working vigorously at her needles, making sure she's distracted before slipping the valerian bundle in with the rest of the brew. Caffeinated tea and a heaping of sedative herbs — not your best plan, but you’re hoping for a decent outcome. If anything the reactions will cancel out, and she’ll only softly doze off instead of knock out for days.

A few minutes later and you pour the dark steaming liquid into two cups, one for yourself that you’re preparing to leave untouched on your bedside table, along with splashes of milk and stirs of honey. Your aunt takes her mug gladly, and you revel at the sight of her taking a few hearty gulps.

“Delicious,” she hums, blowing on the steam. “Remind me to get more of this blend at the market.”

“I’ll put it on the list,” you smile as you grab your mug and head towards the stairs.

“Well, I’ll probably be up here the rest of the night,” you call over your shoulder as you make your way over to the stairs, stepping carefully stepping over Lazlo who lounges in his usual spot on the first step. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight my love!” you hear her call back. “I hope you dream sweetly tonight — none of that nightmare nonsense.”

You smile at her wish, though you know you won't have to worry about that for a while as you make it down the hall and swiftly your door behind you, clanking the mug on the nightstand before rushing into your closet.

“Casual affair…” you repeat Josh’s words to yourself as you sift through your closet.

You decide on a pair of black jeans and a white cable knit sweater, an outfit that allows you to have full agility among the obstacles you’re about to face. After touching up your makeup and stuffing your phone and keys in your back pockets, you pace around your room nervously until the clock is closer to ten. At 9:45 you pull on your denim jacket and heavy black boots and trek quietly to the window that sits in the middle of the far wall of your room.

“Okay,” you sigh to yourself, unlatching its lock and pushing it open, the cold air quickly wafting in.

You take one last glance behind you for good measure, before stepping your foot through the windowsill and landing on the rough surface of roof shingles. You hold the top of the windowsill to steadily pull yourself through, crouching down to slide the window shut once you’ve made it through.

“Easy,” you praise yourself, before realizing the next part is the most treacherous; sliding down the incline to reach its edge.

You sit on your haunches with your legs outstretched in front of you, your hands bent behind you for leverage as you carefully scoot yourself to the edge. It takes maybe a minute at most to get down, even though it feels like an eternity with the gravelly shingles digging into your palms. You panic once you make it to the edge and feel hesitant to jump in such an awkward position. With no other choice, you flip your body around in one swift move, your knees sinking into the wet mass of leaves stuck in your gutter as you prepare to jump.

“Fuck me,” you curse at the icy wetness hitting your skin, pushing them past the edge one by one, your hands now gripping the edge of the gutter as your body dangles along the nearly 8 foot drop.

You don’t even let yourself think too much about letting go, you just do it, bending your knees to break the impact of your boots hitting the soft grass.

You spring up to standing, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath and dust the dirt and debris off yourself before quietly scurrying to your truck, avoiding walking in front of any of your front windows to the best of your ability.

In a blur you make it inside the truck, shutting its door with the lightest slam. It isn’t until you make it to the main road that you let out a sigh of relief, your first escape mission a success.

Before you know it, the tire of your truck skimming the edge of the curb designated the address Josh had sent. You nervously attempt to parallel park, settling on a good enough job in your book, with your right front tire perhaps sticking out a bit for others' likings.

You switch off the ignition and hop out, your breath clouding in the damp cold air that clings to your skin. Your boots scuff against the pavement as you walk up to the respective door, your heart clambering in your chest.

I’m here, you text Josh, too nervous to enter and be greeted by stranger’s faces. A second later, you hear it open, Josh appearing with his eyes heavy and glossed pink, his smile as white as ever.

“Welcome!” he greets, pulling you into a hug.

He smells like something earthy but unfamiliar, the scent sticking to his breath when he continues to speak as you pull away.

“Come in, would you like a drink?”

You feel a pleasant shiver go down your spine. You`ve never been offered a drink, save for the glass of birthday wine.

“I would love one,” you smile, following him down a dark, barren hallway.

The hall leads to a living room, lit only by a string of fairy lights and a lamp in the far corner that glows a deep, dark orange. In the center sits a well-worn leather couch where two couples lounge, a boy and girl chatting on one end, and two boys making out at the other. A few more people are splayed amongst the room, some standing in a little group while chatting and sipping from their red plastic cups, a few others sat around the round bohemian rug that lays in front of the couch, their legs tucked under the glass coffee table on top of it.

“Attention, everyone,” Josh announces, his voice seeming to carry over the others with ease and quiet them instantly.

He introduces you to the group, making sure to mention how this is your first year at Acaber, and does his best to rattle off the names of everyone else, though the nerves of having so many eyes on you prevents you from registering most of them. They all seem very nice, welcoming you with a cheers of their cups.

“Drinks are this way,” he informs, ushering you towards what you soon find in the kitchen.

An array of sodas and juices in colorful bottles are splayed out along one of the countertops, basically all of which you have never tried before as your aunt has an unofficial ban on any artificial products at home. Along the opposite counter is a similar sight, though you recognize their ornate glass bottles as being full of liquor.

“What’s your drink of choice?” Josh asks, grabbing a red cup from a stack by the sink.

“I have no idea,” you laugh, a bit overwhelmed by all of the options. “I guess whatever you’re having.”

“Right, right,” he says, clearly recalling your lack of experience in the matter. “Well this is just whiskey, and I am positive you will not like it.”

“Oh please,” you quip, taking the cup from him. “I liked the coffee, I can like this too.”

“Alright,” he laughs, an amused smile spread on your lips. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t hesitate to tilt the cup to your lips, the shallow pool of dark liquid pouring into your mouth. Immediately, it stings your nostrils, and it tastes as if you dipped one of the caramel bon bons you get from the shop on the square, except covered in gasoline.

“Agh!” you wince, shoving the cup back to Josh. “That’s awful.“

“I told you,” he giggles. “I don’t say that to be pretentious, it’s just not normally a baby’s first booze kind of drink.”

“I’m sorry,” you blush, feeling a warmth blossom in your throat and chest. “It feels good though.”

“Hell yeah it does,” he says, walking over to the soda counter with your cup.

“Here, something simple and sweet — rum and Coke.”

He pours a few glugs of Coca-Cola, the pale fizz nearly pouring over the rim, before carrying the cup to the other side, plucking a tall clear bottle with a white cap, the name Bacardi in big letters atop its label. He swirls the mixture in the cup as he walks it over to you, extending it to you with a proud smile.

“Cheers.”

You clink plastic cups, hesitating this time as the drink drips past your lips.

“Mmm,” you hum, your eyes lighting up as you take in the sparkly sweet gulp. “That’s good, like candy.”

Josh hums at your comment, clearly amused.

“You’ve never had a sugar high like this before, kid,” he quips, giving you a wink.

The pet name catches you off guard, along with how easily it slips off his lips, lacquered with an inflection you’ve never heard from him before.

“Are you high?” you ask, the question blurting out once you notice how his eyes are practically gleaming with a sheen of pink.

He acts offended, placing a defensive hand to his chest.

“Now, I know you’re new to all this,” he says, stepping closer to you. “But surely you know not to ask something so patronizing. How dare you think I’m under the influence.”

He speaks in a cadence as if he’s performing a dramatic acting role, raising his hands to dramatize every other word.

You simply stare at him a moment, unsure of what to say or if you’ve truly offended him, until he bursts into a bout of laughter, his giggles filling you with warm relief.

“I’m just kidding,” he says, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m fucking stoned.”

“Oh,” you chuckle back, trying to ignore the fact that he glanced at your lips the moment he learned into your shoulder. “Well I’ve never been stoned before either, but maybe that’ll change too.”

“It will,” he nods with blissfully shut eyes, tapping your shoulder once more before letting go. “Not tonight, but it will.”

“Why not tonight?” you ask as you follow him back into the living room, which has somehow doubled in capacity in just the short period of time you were in the kitchen.

“One vice at a time,” he calls over his shoulder, before slouching onto the couch that’s now half vacant, the two boys still perfectly comfortable lapping at each other's faces.

You try not to be rude but can’t help but look over at them for a second, glancing back at Josh with raised eyebrows.

He gestures to you to lean closer even though you’re still standing, so you simply hover over him, with him looking up at you through heavy lashes.

“Grey and Everett,” he says as he nods to them. “They’re in their own world, we’re used to it. Why condemn the act of love? It’s beautiful and natural.”

You nod back, trying to normalize it yourself. Sure, he has a point.

“So is this all we do?” you ask, stepping back to glance around the ever-filling room. “We just sit around and talk and drink, and…kiss?”

“Sure!” Josh exclaims, suddenly pushing himself back off the couch and raising his hands in the air. “Relishing life's luxuries while we’re young and still have some brain cells to lose. Speaking of — want a shot?”

You ponder the daring request for a moment, glancing down to see that your cup is already almost empty

“Alright,” you say, before finishing off the rest. “Let’s do it.”

☽ ✩ ☾

Much to your delight, you find that you love tequila shots. Dressed with salt and a lime, it’s a delicious mix of sweet, salty, and heat, the burn of the liquor hitting your throat making your cheeks flush and limbs feel loose. You’ve had three so far, and even though Josh is proud of your natural ability to shoot the liquor right down your throat, he warns you to pace yourself.

“It feels great right now,” he says into your ear, yelling over the noise of the room that’s now nearly filled to capacity. “But it hurts in the morning.”

You’re both standing in the corner of the room by a tall potted fiddle leaf, having a brief conversation earlier about how well it appears to be taken care of. It’s a quarter to one, and you have no plans to go home anytime soon. You’re relieved every time you check your phone and don’t have a thread of calls and messages from your aunt, hopefully proving your sleep tea concoction to be a success.

“I want to dance,” you blurt, your limbs tingling with the desire to move.

Josh raises his eyebrows, before promptly setting down his drink on the floor.

“Say less,” he says, before grabbing your wrist and pushing into the crowd.

You don’t know the song that’s playing, but the beat makes your body vibrate. You’ve never danced outside of the comfort of your bedroom, and you’d be self conscious if it weren’t for the liquid courage currently surging through your veins. You rock your hips side to side, your arms raised and wrists twisting to the rhythm. Your eyes are closed, soaking in the moment when you feel a gentle hand on the small of your back. You open your eyes to Josh, a grin spread in his face as he gently grabs at your waist to pull you closer to him. Your arms fall to land atop his shoulders and his forearm slinks across the small of your back, the pads of his fingers pressed into the plush side of your waist as you both rock to the rhythm. No words are shared, not that they could be even heard over the music, but you share a different kind of nonverbal communication between your bodies that feels deeply intimate. Touching him is electric, your body buzzing with every squeeze he gives to your hips.

You can’t help but press yourself even closer into him, practically grinding into him as your fingers slide up the nape of his neck before raking through his mess of curls. You feel Josh lean in as your eyes once again shut for a moment, but they shoot open with a gasp when you feel his wet lips against the side of your neck. You instantly melt, the sensation incredible, and you feel a pulse somewhere deep within your core. He pulls away for just a moment before finding a different spot, the next kiss coming with a suction that makes the spot sting deliciously. You tug gently at the roots of his curls signaling you like it, and you swear you feel him smile, the skin below his lips vibrating at the frequency of his muffled chuckle.

He pulls away, lifting his head to look you in the face, his lips pink and swollen. You marvel at them for a moment before glancing up to see his eyes admiring your own lips, and you know what is to come next. You both lean in, your lips barely grazing when a loud banging comes from the entryway and bright beams of light come shining in through the entrance windows.

“Shit, not again,” you hear Josh curse among other distressed voices in the room, many of the people around you retreating into deeper rooms within the house.

Though the bright light and authoritative voices coming from behind the door are threatening, you recognize that you aren’t as concerned as you maybe should be, giggling to nothing in particular as you cling onto Josh’s arm.

“C’mon,” he tells you right as the music turns off, and you stumble behind him as he leads the way past the kitchen and into another darker room, still having your arm gripped around tightly to his bicep.

After a few moments in the pitch black, simply trusting Josh keeps you from slamming into a table or other obstacle, you make it to another door, its curtained window glowing a moonlit violet. He twists the knob slowly, the wood creaking as the door leaves its frame, and you see his silhouette motion for you to walk through.

“Shhh,” he scolds as you begin to giggle once the two of you cross the yard into a small patch of woods behind the house. “They’ll be here for a bit, we have to wait it out.”

You both stop at the trunk of one of the larger trees, Josh leaning against it as he observes the direction you both just came from.

“I’m cold,” you complain with a slurred, pouty voice as you rub your hands together frantically, having ditched your jacket inside at some point.

“Here,” Josh says, before grabbing your hands and folding them together.

He then proceeds to place them to his lips, inhaling deep breath before blowing it between your palms to warm them. You can’t help but let out a loud cackle at the gesture, and Josh suddenly pulls you forward and into him.

“You can’t do that,” he says, trying to be serious even though a laugh grazes his voice. “They might come outside, or the neighbors will call in another noise complaint on top of the one they’ve already clearly made.”

“I’m sorry,” you blush, your whole body weight leaning against him and the tree.

“How are you so warm?” you ask, feeling his hands that still remain wrapped around yours. “It’s like you’re by a fire, not standing in 20 degree weather.”

He shrugs, letting his thumbs brush against the tops of your hands.

“I’m warm bodied, I guess.”

You both continue to stand there for a few minutes, ducking around the other side of the thick tree once you hear the back door open and flashlights shine across the yard. Eventually the sound of their cruiser doors slamming shut echos from the other side of the house, their headlights casting across the front line of trees as they drive away. Josh holds out a patient finger for a few more beats to make sure the coast is clear before he relaxes himself with a sigh.

“Alright,” he says, looping your arm around his. “Let’s get you home.”

☽ ✩ ☾

You don’t remember how you ended up perfectly tucked under the covers of your bed, or when you changed into your pajamas, but it’s the state you find yourself in once you awake the next morning. You groan at the first throb of a pounding headache, squinting as you reach for where you left your mug of tea the night before even though cold tea is the last thing you wanted to drink. Your eyes open when your hand wraps around a tall glass instead, realizing it’s fully filled with water. You look over to see a bottle of ibuprofen sitting beside it, two pills already sitting on its lid.

You struggle to sit up higher to grab the pills and swallow them down with several big gulps of water, looking around your room, trying your hardest to recall the majority of your night. It comes back in bits and pieces; the tequila shots, the dancing, Josh’s hands on your hips and his lips on your neck. You put your hand to the spot that’s still lingering with a soft ache, the skin raised and sensitive, and you feel your cheeks flush thinking about how good his touch felt. You never understood how a pain could feel pleasurable, but this was it, and you can’t help but push on the fragile skin to feel the sting just a bit more.

Your memory is completely black after a blurry image of you in the woods, shivering and pressed closely into Josh as he waited for the police to leave. Your heart lurches at the fact that you couldn’t have possibly driven yourself home, and you fly out of bed to get a look outside your window that faces the driveway, pulling the curtains open even though the stark brightness blinds you for a moment.

To your deep relief you find that your truck is parked in the exact spot it’s always in, sitting right behind your aunt’s old buggy that she rarely touches.

The mystery of how you ended up home, and if Aunt Edith caught you and you’re grounded for eternity still stands, and your anxiety crawls right back into your stomach as you reach for your phone to text Josh.

Luckily his name is already in the thread of notifications once you turn it on, and you anxiously click it.

Call me when you wake up, his text says.

Everything is okay.

You dial his number, your heart still pounding as the ringer beeps.

“Good morning, princess,” you hear him smile through the phone, and you blush at the pet name, though your anxiety doesn’t give you much time to acknowledge it any further.

“Everything’s alright?” you ask, still not convinced. “Aunt Edith didn’t wake up, you-?”

“Yes, everything is totally fine,” he assures with a chuckle. ”Never heard a thing from your aunt, the house was silent except for a few stumbles and giggles coming from you. You were very adamant to do your skincare and change into comfy clothes.”

You blush deeper, too embarrassed to ask if he helped you in any way.

“But my car?” you decide to ask instead, walking back over to the window to look at it once more. “How-?”

“I had some friends help,” he explains. “They were sober and drove us and the car home. Everything is alright, okay? You made it home without a hitch.”

“Okay,” you say, letting out the breath you realize you’ve been holding.

The line goes quiet for a second before he speaks again. “So did you have a good time? Did you need the pain meds this morning?”

“I did, and yes,” you reply, cracking a smile and fiddling nervously with the hem of your sleep shirt. “It was amazing — everything I could’ve hoped for, but perhaps minus the headache. Did you enjoy it?”

“Hell yeah,” he says. “Best night I’ve had in a while.”

He pauses again, and you can hear him inhale before he speaks.

“Is—uh, is your neck alright? I’m sorry if I got a little—“

“No, it’s fine,” you laugh, your whole body buzzing at the fact that he remembered what had happened. “I actually haven’t even looked at it…”

You walk over to your mirror and lift the phone from your ear momentarily to get a glimpse of it, your eyes widening at the deep red splotch stained onto your neck. You press your fingertip into it again, the red specks of broken blood vessels disappearing for a brief second with the pressure, before returning a deeper purple once it’s removed.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say back into the phone, a bit shocked by how dark and obvious it is.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and you can hear the concern in his voice.

“No it doesn’t, don’t worry. It’s a bit noticeable, but I have some arnica flower,” you assure him, having used it for a scrape you got in the garden a few months ago. “Please Josh, don’t worry about it.”

You admire the rest of yourself in the mirror, and how sexy it feels to have a reminder of the night before, even though you’re going to have to hide it before you even leave your room.

“It felt good,” you think to yourself, and you don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until you hear Josh huff a laugh into the receiver.

“Tequila makes everything feel good,” he quips, and you want to ask him to elaborate when you hear the steps of the staircase down to the hall creak with your aunt’s heavy footsteps.

“Shit, I have to go, I’ll talk to you later,” you tell him quickly before ending the call, shutting your curtains and running back to your bed.

You’re fully nestled under the covers with your head turned from the door as it begins to creak open.

“You’re sleeping in late,” you hear Aunt Edith say, and you act as though she’s awoken you, letting out a sleepy yawn and stretch.

“Stayed up really late studying,” you tell her, sitting up as she hands you a cup of tea. “Got it all done so I can enjoy the rest of my weekend.”

“Oh, you have plans?” she asks, walking over to fully open your curtains, the bright white light shining in.

“Well, not particularly,” you say before taking a sip of tea. “We’re due for a farmer’s market trip, aren’t we? The vintage booth I really like is there today, and I’d like a few more sweaters for school.”

“We can do that,” your aunt replies, smiling at you.

She looks cheerier than normal, her round face glowy.

“Did you have a nice night?” you ask her, pulling your legs out of the covers and slipping on your house shoes.

“I did, got sleepy by around ten so I abandoned my knit—“ she begins, but stops suddenly when you lean over to set your tea down on your nightstand.

“Oh no, honey,” she says, suddenly sounding deeply concerned. “What happened to your neck?”

Your blood runs cold, completely forgetting to hide your neck from her even though you were just discussing its state moments ago. You try your best to play dumb, giving her a questioning look.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your hand grabbing for the front of your throat rather than the side.

“No, over here,” she says, before going over to you to get a better look herself. “You have an awful bruise, go look in the mirror.”

You furrow your brow, walking over to the mirror and letting out a gasp.

“I have no idea,” you try your best to fib, staring at the wound wide-eyed through the mirror. “I had a dry patch there yesterday and I was itching it, I guess I scratched it raw.”

“Well, let me go get you something to soothe it, some aloe,” she says, rushing to the door. “Go to the bathroom and rinse it with some warm water.

“Okay,” you call back, getting up from your bed to meet your aunt in the kitchen. “I have arnica flowers in the cabinet, that may help too!”

You smile as you walk to your door, proud of yourself getting away with something so salacious.

Just as you’re about to walk through the doorway, you notice a tiny flicker of light coming from atop the dresser to your right. You focus on the source, and between a vase of dried bouquet of roses and a rabbit figurine you see a small tea light, its wick burning a deep auburn flame. Your face drops to a confused frown, and you walk over to it. The wax below the wick is fully melted and halfway evaporated, meaning it must have been lit hours ago. You glance around your room as if you’ll find any hints why or how it was lit, because surely your aunt did not do it — she always scolds you for leaving candles burning for more than a few hours. When you ultimately find nothing, you decide to simply extinguish the flame, dabbing the pad of your index finger on your tongue and snuffing it, the flame vanishing in an instant. You rub the smooth ash between your fingertip and thumb as you set the candle back down, staring at the tepid pool of amber liquid for a beat more before turning and continuing to descend down the hall.

☽ ✩ ☾

Her skin tasted so sweet, like cherry wine sucked between his teeth. She lingered on his lips for hours after he left her, after he switched a matchstick from his back pocket and ignited a cluster of brambles, her lapse in consciousness blinding her from asking any questions as to why he’s starting a fire in the middle of the woods. With a whisper of a spell, they were transported from the woods to the closest flame she had to her house, a barrel fire in a homeless commune a few blocks away. He was amused by the looks of bewilderment the vagrants gave him when they emerged from the flames, but he paid them no mind, hitching her over his shoulder and trekking the rest of the way on foot.

After managing to get up her roof and back through the window of her bedroom, he rested her limp body gently onto her bed, not a single creak coming from its wooden frame. He stood up and took a moment to the room, breathing in her scent, having waited so long to finally be in this house. He walked over to the opposite side of her room where a long cabinet sat against the wall, and it took him no time to find a candle among her assortment of trinkets and treasures atop it, a small tea light that gave him just enough time for his pyromancy.

Lighting it with another match from his book, Josh grabs the candle and carefully walks over to her bedside. He meditates in his intentions for a moment before taking a deep breath, shutting his eyes, and waving the flame once over the top of her body. When his eyes open, she’s in a cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, her feet bare. He shuffles back over to the cabinet and delicately sifts through its drawers, finding a pair of wool socks that he gently pulls up to her ankles. He then lifts her body from the bed to pull back the thick blankets, nestling her in the crevice of the sheets and tucking them under her chin.

He didn’t want to leave yet, and decided to take the time to remove the darkness around her eyes and her rosied cheeks himself, grabbing a tissue and pot of lavender balm from her nightstand. Dipping the fine paper into the thick substance, he gently rubbed her face clean, the smell of the flower sweetening the air. She looked beautiful when she slept, her chest gently rising and falling with steady breaths, her eyelids dancing with dreams she’d surely forget in the morning because he wasn’t there to let her remember.

He left her room an hour later, leaving the candle lit to continue admiring her from a distance, the flame remaining a gateway between his reality and hers.

Now he watches as she scurries out of bed, and how frantic she is to call him.

“Everything is fine,” he assures as she worries her lip, glancing out her window at the truck once more.

It wasn’t an easy feat — he’d never driven a vehicle before, taking the flaming route to wherever he needed in the mortal world, but he managed to get it there all in one piece and without any suspicions from others on the road.

He knows she liked it, but he asks concerned questions about her neck anyway. He melts at her parapraxis, a smile curving his lips as he watches her study herself in the mirror.

He had to do it — to tease her into the idea of deviance. He’s known of deities who force their power unto their quarries, who thrust their phallus and abuse their power in favor of a selfish gain, but he’s vowed to never be like them. She will be seduced, as no enchantress of vestal virginity has ever been successful in her sorcery, but it will be by her own volition. It’s already painful enough that he’s had to avoid the real reason for his presence in her life thus far, any more pain and he’ll simply have to admit himself to the gates of hell, joining his brother to burn for eternity.

To his delight, her warden falls for her endearing performance of pretending to be unaware of the mark. He chuckles at the faux look of shock and horror she puts on, catching the flash of pride in her smile when she’s at once left alone.

Though he wishes he could watch her forever, he revels in the moment she discovers the flame burning, her beautiful face engulfing his entire line of vision for a split second before everything goes black.

#dioskouroi #josh kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fanfic #kiszka twins fanfic #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #greta fan fleet #gret van fanfic #greta van fleet fanfic #thank you for your patience besties #mine #fics

60 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

josh kiszka pic of the day november 20th 2022

#that’s dio!josh #joshy #dio

155 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

Daily dose on 11/20/22

#oof #jakey

225 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

✨DIOSKOUROI - Chapter II, tomorrow @ 7:30pm CST✨

@gardenvanfleet @garbagevanfleet @alwayzthere @sammygvfslut @gretavanhoney @maverick-rose @godlygreta @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw @obetrolncocktails @capturethechaos @tlexx @charlesashton @garagebandvanfleet @myownparadise96 @jakeslovehandles s @sparrowofthedawn @danny-wagners-peacesign-necklace @alt-jb @idk-maddie e @theweightofstardust @peaceisouranthem

#eeeeeeeeeek

10 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

“I can’t pass up a shot”

#the way that i took this 😵‍💫#ugh #dig satx #danny wagner #greta van fleet

316 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

im not okay.

(video belongs to dayshatakesdig on IG!)

#THIS WAS MY BESTIE #HE TOOK A SHOT WITH MYYYY BESTIE #i have another angle of this i might post #GOD HE WAS SO REAL #danny #dig satx

468 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

No Trespassing

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Summary: it was a chilly, October night when Sam dragged you along for one of his impulsive plans for the two of you. With the idea of actually scaring you backfired, you found yourself in a position of questioning your friendship with himm… you just weren’t sure what was more terrifying.

Word count: 8.2k

A/N : Thank you everyone for being so patient, and we apologize for the third update of this series taking an extra week.

This is my first time writing a Sam fic, so bear with us! Again, this is a collab with @allieboop, so don’t forget to send feedback, love and support her way! Hopefully you guys enjoy this one ❤️

Warnings: cursing, mentions of the paranormal, sexually explicit content/ 18+ MINORS DNI!! (unprotected penetrative sex, car sex, bratty dom!Sam, fingering, orgasm denial, slight choking, dirty talk/praise and maybe a little degradation)

The crunching of dried leaves scattered along the ground beneath your feet was the only sound as you followed behind Sam, guided by the glow of moonlight that had filtered through the trees and the beam of light from his flashlight. The chill of the October night air whipped through your sweatshirt, and you hugged yourself for the extra warmth.

You watched yourself put one foot in front of the other, hoping that if you focused on the movement, you wouldn’t turn around and run for home. Hoping that you wouldn’t think too much about what you and your best friend were about to do.

He stopped abruptly, causing you to bump into his back. You were obstructed by a tall, chain-link fence, one that you probably would’ve noticed a while ago if you had been paying attention, towering in front of you. A white metal sign hung from the wire with bold red lettering, reading “NO TRESPASSING” as if it were your one and final warning. A sense of dread fell over you as your eyes fixated on the abrasive print. Uneasiness was an understatement to what you were feeling. You hated breaking the rules, and you were kicking yourself for agreeing to such a hare-brained idea in the first place.

“Sam…”

Of course he ignored you, like always. He held onto the fencing, testing its stability by slotting his foot into an opening of a link in the fence and gave a few experimental bounces. You tried again.

“I don’t think-“

“Would you stop worrying? Here.” Sam handed the flashlight to you, cutting you off. He looped his fingers around the fencing and lifted himself up. Before you knew it, he reached the top, swung his legs over the edge, and jumped, landing with a soft thud on his feet. He turned, giving you a shit-eating grin from the other side.

You rocked back on your heels, anxious about what you were going to do next. The whole thing felt like a mistake you would have been pressured into doing as a reckless, naive kid.

“This is so stupid. I can’t believe we are doing this,” you groaned in protest. Even though everything was telling you to turn back around and head towards the car, you felt compelled to take a step further.

“Oh come on, Don’t be a pussy now.” He waved his hand, gesturing for you to toss the flashlight over the top. You threw it over, but underestimated the distance when it fell a few feet in front of him. He picked it up out of the tall grass, but not without shooting you a death glare.

You wrapped your fingers around the chain links above your head, mimicking the same thing Sam had done a minute prior, and pulled yourself up. As you scaled the fence, the toes of your shoes threatened to slip from their position, and the thin metal wiring pressed into the bends of your fingers, sending a searing pain into the flesh.

“I swear, if I get arrested for trespassing, I’m going to…fucking… kill you,” you huffed between heavy breaths as you reached the top.

“You’d miss my pretty face too much to do that” Sam quipped back, looking up at you while illuminating the fence with his flashlight.

“I think you overestimate my affection for you.” You swung your legs over, facing back the way you came as you crawled down the other side. As if the universe wanted to throw a wrench in the feat you were attempting, you missed a proper hold for your foot, slipping down faster than you anticipated.

Thankfully, Sam had caught you, fumbling and dropping the flashlight on the ground, but managed to secure his hands under the swell of your ass to keep you from falling.

“You got it?”

You huffed an exasperated sigh at his question, mostly from the embarrassment of slipping and falling. “You can let go of my ass now, Sam.”

In an instant, his hands pulled away from you, and he cleared his throat to mask his own embarrassment, resorting to his normal insults to deflect. “Just making sure you don’t fall on it from being such a fucking clutz.”

“Whatever you want to tell yourself.” You hopped down once there were only a few feet from you and the ground, landing in the same manner as Sam, dusting yourself off as you attempted to prepare yourself for whatever came next. “Now let’s get this over with.”

Since you were a teenager, there had never been a year where you didn’t go to a haunted house. As scary as it was, you had always found it entertaining to see the theatrics that went behind each of the productions. Actors and actresses doing whatever they could to get a scare out of you, the realism behind the gory prosthetics and makeup, the talent it took to make it all fit seamlessly together. However, once you told Sam about your tradition, he insisted that you switch it up a bit.

Swap the acting with something real.

There were stories about this place. Once a beautiful house, home to a well-known, successful family, now the setting of various scary stories. A place that was sworn to be actually haunted by the inhabitants that once resided.

You tried to get out of it, but like most things, you were roped into the activity. Only there because Sam insisted you come with.

You approached the house, well, what was left of the abandoned house. Wooden boards lining the porch were warped and lifted. You started to worry that your foot would fall through from how dry-rotted it had become. It felt ominous, looking into the black holes of smashed-in windows.

It didn’t appear that Sam felt the same way with how he waltzed right up the stairs without a second thought, leaving you standing in your place, taking in the sight in front of you.

It really was beautiful in a way. You could imagine a family spending their summer days on this porch once upon a time, kids running around the yard, parents sitting and keeping an eye on them. You could imagine the paint that had once been vibrant on the outside drawing the attention of those that passed by. Maybe even see the children peering out the windows on snow days, watching the fluffy flakes fall, and hoping it all sticks to the frost-covered ground.

Each of those memories, fictional or not, was now covered by the dust and dirt of time. Worn and weathered into a much less inviting atmosphere. But you took the bait nonetheless.

You walked in, each cautious step of your foot making the floorboards groan as your weight shifted over them. Heavy dust motes hung suspended in the thick, stagnant air as the flashlight scanned the room.

Broken, overturned furniture and forgotten, random household items littered the floor around you. Layers of paint have peeled away in scraggly tendrils from the walls and ceilings. Spiderwebs clung to fixtures, and layers dust covered everything in a heavy blanket from the years of abandonment. The stairs leading up to the second floor had spots where holes had busted through the structure. There was nothing that could convince you to walk up to them, no matter how hard Sam might try.

You stayed right behind him, practically breathing down his neck as he moved through the decaying space. Mostly because you couldn’t see a damn thing without his light source, and you weren’t risking tripping in a place like this.

“Are you scared?” He teased, turning slightly to face you.

“Of what?”

”Scared of seeing a ghost?” He was taunting you in that ridiculous cartoonish spooky voice, and you would’ve pushed him if it didn’t mean you’d be distancing yourself from the light.

Instead, you scoffed at the thought. “You know what I’m actually scared of? The very real chance of getting tetanus, Samuel. This has to be your dumbest idea yet.”

As you entered another room, you immediately noted the crudely drawn design that you guessed was a pentagram adorning the floor in red spray paint. You spotted piles of empty beer cans, trash from food containers, torn condom wrappers, and crumpled cigarette packs in the debris scattered across the floor.

“I guess the local teenagers found their new hang-out spot.”

“I think they might have had the right idea.” Sam pointed the light down, studying and laughing at the painting, kicking over an empty beer bottle with his foot. “I can lay you down on this beautiful, dust-covered floor and set the mood just right. What’d ya say?”

“Ew!” You shoved his arm, making his laughing increase in volume. “You’re fucking gross. You know that?”

“Oh come on.” He flicked his wrist up, shining the flashlight directly at you. You tried your best to shield your eyes with your hand from the harsh light blinding you. “You can pull that stick out of your ass sometimes. I know it’s difficult for you, Y/N. Live a little!”

“And die from the black mold inhalation and asbestos that’s probably in here and god knows what. All that for some average, mediocre dick? I don’t think so, Sammy boy.”

“Ouch! I’m offended!” He clutched his chest in faux offense as he knocked into your shoulder to exit the room. But, the sudden creaking of floorboards coming from the second level made you both freeze in place.

You listened, holding your breath, as the sounds carried from one end of the house to the other. What the fuck was that?

You stayed deathly quiet, listening closely for the noise to repeat itself. The house stayed silent, eerily silent with the both of you staring at each other. When the sound didn’t occur again, you were already quick to be the skeptic, prepared to disprove any theory of something supernatural happening here.

Sam, however, seemed to change his demeanor completely, immediately convinced that whatever had made the noise was something to be afraid of.

“Alright,” he finally spoke up. “Let’s go.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, still frozen and rigid. “Go?”

“Yeah, Y/N. I’m getting tired. I think we should go.”

His eagerness to suddenly leave made you giggle to yourself, forgetting about your previous nerves. You grabbed his wrist before he could turn to leave the way you came. “Wait, wait. Things are finally getting interesting.”

“Interesting?” His eyes were wide as his whispering got louder with each word spoken. “You think that is interesting? You have no idea what that could be-”

He was cut off by another sound that sounded like scratching against the floorboards above you. Directly above you.

You watched as his eyes rose to the ceiling and then dropped back to you, wider than they were before. Even in the dark, you could tell that all color had drained from his face. You huffed another laugh at his shift in confidence. “Sam, I’m sure it’s just raccoons or something.”

“Is that supposed to be some joke? A prank or something?”

“This was your idea! I’m sure it’s fine,” you tried to reassure. “The house is old, it’s windy outside, it’s nothing!”

But just as you finished the sentence, you heard another deep groan come from another section of the house, just a room over from you both. The room you were about to enter just moments before. Your best friend’s face was straight, deadpan as he looked at you with clear annoyance. And as if you hadn’t been holding onto his wrist, he resumed his previous task of leaving the house in a hurry.

“Sam, wait!” You called after him.

It was a wonder how fast his legs allowed him to travel. You noticed his pace wasn’t much faster than normal, but you still had to take two steps for each of his strides.

He didn’t chance a look back at you, but with each small shift of leaves or calling of the night birds, he snapped his neck to investigate the noise before returning his gaze to the stream of light in front of him.

“You’re not scared, are you, Sammy?” You teased further, chuckling at the very obvious tunnel vision he was experiencing right now.

“No,” he said defensively. “I’m just tired, and I want to go home.”

“Yeah, right. If you were that tired, you would’ve asked me to drive. You’re scared.” By now, your laughter was causing difficulties in your trek back to his car. You were practically bent over, clutching your aching stomach as you gasped for air. You hadn’t realized you were at the fence from earlier until you came back up for air, seeing Sam’s frowning face staring right back at you. On the other side.

“How the fuck did you get over there so fast?” You asked incredulously, humor still evident in your tone.

“Maybe if you weren’t being so obnoxious, you’d be able to keep up,” he complained, flicking his hand that held the flashlight. “Now hurry, I’d really like to get to sleep at a decent time tonight.”

You couldn’t suppress your giggle as you made your way up the fence for the second time tonight. “Since when did you care so much about getting a full night’s rest?”

Your only response was an eye roll from him, but you counted that as a win.

You were almost disappointed that you could see the car in the distance. Watching Sam stomp the path to get to the vehicle, a slight pout and look of distaste on his features, had become quite amusing to you. All along, it had been his idea to come to this place, and you were a little anxious that you wouldn’t have as good of a time as he would. However, you kept thinking about how the roles had reversed as the night progressed, and the irony of that made your laughter worsen.

“Would you hurry up?” He hissed as quietly as his frustrations would allow him. “I know it’s dark, but can you please walk a little faster?”

“If you just admitted that you’re scared, maybe I’d consider it,” you giggled. “It’s really not that big of a- agh!”

In a moment, he had reached behind himself and grabbed onto your wrist, yanking you towards him so you could catch up. Essentially, he was dragging you along with him at the pace that he set. You were lucky that your stumbling feet could catch up.

“Sam!” You called to him, hoping that your chastising would go far enough to make him loosen his grip. Although, did you really mind the sweet, dull burn of his fingers around your wrist, bruising the skin?

“Quiet down, Y/N. Thanks to you, we actually will get arrested for being out here.”

But you both knew that was a lie. You had been talking loud, but you were far enough into the woods that no one would dare seek out you and whatever you were discussing. Besides, you were essentially at the car anyway.

“You’re just scared that whatever’s living in that house is gonna come for us. Are you really that scared, Sammy?”

“Christ, you are so annoying!”

In a blink, you felt your body being whirled around, your back colliding with what felt like cool metal, a loud thud resounding from the impact. Of course, the wind had been knocked from your lungs, and you groaned from the slight pain of it all, but upon opening your eyes, the shaky breath you tried to inhale was caught in your chest.

You were pressed against the side of the car, the cold surface sending shivers up your spine and reassuring you of the season’s welcome. Sammy’s hand was still wrapped around your wrist, holding you in place. Yet he was so, so much closer now.

His chest was flush with yours, sternum heaving with a rapid pace of breathing, visibly frustrated with your act. With the moonlight serving as the only light source, you couldn’t see much, but you were sure that his pupils were wider, dilated in some way you couldn’t quite piece.

But when he looked at you, he saw intrigue. He saw how your cheeks seemed to turn a shade pinker. He saw how you shook from the proximity. He saw you.

“Oh? You’re into this, aren’t you?” There was a heated tone in his words, however, a sense of hesitance still remained. He was goading, trying to see what reaction he could get out of you. If he could continue treading on the limits of your friendship. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a fucking brat all night.”

“Sammy…” You warned him, having to turn your head to hide the flustered expression that you were ridden with. It was dark, but with the intense burn of your skin, it seemed as if he’d be able to see your blushing cheeks from a mile away.

“Look at me, baby.” The pet name itself would’ve been enough to make you listen to him, but when you felt him grab your chin and gently tug on it to meet your eyes, you couldn’t believe the effect he had on you.

Sam tilted his head in observation, paying close attention to your pursed lips and wide eyes. “My sweet, innocent Y/N likes getting thrown around? Roughed up a bit?”

Usually, you would’ve ached to slap the cocky smirk right off of his face. But now, as you listened to his teasing, you relished in the attention he was giving you.

What was wrong with you?

Even while under the influence, things had always been strictly platonic. You’d never looked at your best friend this way, and you had never felt this way around him. There had been no ‘close calls’ with you two; the parameters of where you stood remained. He never dared to touch or talk to you like he was now. So close you swore you could hear his heartbeat over your own.

He was pressing into you, leaning in a touch closer than he had been at the beginning of all of this. His hand had released your chin, but his fingers had begun to comb through and fiddle with a lock of your hair. The featherlight brushes led to very obvious goosebumps along your neck, something that he chuckled in amusement from.

You could kiss him right now.

With how close he was, you could throw away all inhibition and close the space between you. You could explore the mouth that had driven you insane with annoying banter and quips all night. The mouth that belonged to your best friend. He was your best friend. You had to stop this.

“What are you doing? What are we doing?” You couldn’t stop the anxiety bubbling inside of you. Sure, you had been itching to get a reaction out of him with your teasing and joking, but you had no idea it would progress to this. This wasn’t a response you had ever seen before tonight, and you hated how much you loved it.

Of course, Sam shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Whatever you want to do.”

Choices. Decisions to make, boundaries to cross. An endless vat of possibility. He knew better than to leave it up to you, but watching you visibly flip through each of your thoughts was much too entertaining to him. However, just to twist the knife of your torturous wound, he continued.

“You want this, don’t you?” He sneered, his nose crinkling ever so slightly with the mischievous grin on his lips. “I mean, I can let it go, act like this didn’t happen if that’s what you want. But personally-” He paused, always one for a dramatic flair. Bringing you to the edge of your seat, making you wait for what comes next. Loving the way your breath hitched as you listened for the rest of his sentence. “-I’m thinking about bending you over the hood of this fucking car.”

God, you were losing. You were losing your composure. Your willpower. Your balance. His words and tone made your knees buckle, your body quivering at the lovely image he had placed in your mind. You let your head loll a bit, resting it against his chest to bury yourself from the embarrassment creeping in. It was very obvious that he was ahead in whatever game this was, and he was enjoying every minute of it.

“Yeah? Doesn’t it sound lovely?” He questioned, his hand grabbing your hip to keep you upright, pressing you that much more into the car behind you. Your agreement was muffled into his chest, prompting him to grab ahold of your chin. This time, he was much more gentle to lift your face, but his hungry expression of desire never changed.

“Do I make you nervous, Y/N?” His hand fell from your face, now trailing a finger down your chest and stomach. He didn’t dare break eye contact with you, instead choosing to pay attention to each and every shift in body language from you. How you froze, trying to hide your squirming under his touch. How you stopped blinking as you felt his hand travel lower and lower. How your mouth opened just a touch more when he hooked his finger in one of the belt loops of your jeans. “You act like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You wanted to laugh at his joke, knowing it was an allusion to your previous banter with him, but you couldn’t. It seemed impossible to make light of a situation that was so heavy. You could taste the lust dripping from his lips as if it were some sweet, addicting syrup. But there was so much more to consider.

What were his expectations? What if things fell apart to the point you were no longer able to be friends with him? What if he wanted more than just this? Something you couldn’t give him?

“Sam…” You put your hands over his that tugged your hips towards him, the only action you were capable of that would show him how flustered you were feeling. “What happens if we do this?”

It was a silly question, one that made it seem like you hadn’t already hopped, skipped, and strutted past the fine line of what friends were and weren’t supposed to do. But it was a question you had to ask before you had gotten past the point of no return.

He hummed, as if he were searching for the answer to your query before settling on, “Nothing. We get this out of our system tonight, and we forget about it tomorrow.”

You knew you couldn’t. There was no way in hell you’d forget about this. You’d be absolutely unable to forget about the words he spoke and the looks he gave. The way he had already touched you, how his hands would feel on your body if things progressed. The way his hair felt draped over you while his lips were pressed against your neck.

But if that’s what it took for your friendship to not be affected by this, you’d agree.

“Does that sound okay?” He asked before sucking on a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

A moan tumbled from your lips, and you whispered your consent as efficiently as possible. That, however, was all it took for him to resign to the urges that had built up through the night. That final confirmation to flutter from your open lips, allowing him to venture into this uncharted territory, exploring what you had danced around for years. What you were so sure of at this moment.

His lips disconnected from the delicately sweet, softness tucked away behind your ear. You would have had him stay there forever if he’d allowed it, but it was apparent that he had other plans for you. The heat coming from his body, all from the close proximity you found yourselves in, caused his addicting scent to flood your senses. The woodsy notes of his cologne swam freely in your head with the hints of his last cigarette lingering on his skin as you breathed him in.

You hadn’t thought about what kissing Sam would be like before this moment. Would he be gentle, explore each intricate detail of your lips with weightless touches of his own? Or would his tongue slip easily into your mouth, skip all the build-up, and dive right in?

The few seconds to consider the possibilities weren’t enough to prepare you before it happened.

His mouth melted effortlessly into yours, seamlessly, locking together like a perfect puzzle piece with the curves of his lips. It was hesitant at first, experimental as he sucked at your bottom lip, but not without leaving a playful nip between his teeth. His lips parted slightly and the hint of his warm, velvet-soft tongue graced your own. The gentle flicks, barely-there touches to tease you for what’s to come, was the very thing you had been craving all night as the harsh contrast of cold air stung your cheeks. Something you didn’t even realize that you wanted until it sent your senses into overdrive. You pulled at the collar of his jacket in desperate need for him to be closer to you somehow, even though his body was pressed entirely to yours.

That whimper into his mouth was what flipped that coin. This first side was testing the waters, seeing if there was even a shred of chemistry between the two of you before you would move to the next step. Now the other was facing you, any caution, any doubts he might have had about you were gone, vanished and replaced by a feral need to feel every part of you, to be inside you.

You began to experience that unbridled passion, that hunger for more as his tongue danced across yours in a fight for dominance, one he was clearly winning. With hips rutting into yours, you felt him pressing against your belly, almost painful from how hard he had become within the short time that felt like seconds. You didn’t even realize your hand traveling down his body until you felt his erection beneath your palm over his jeans. Each pass of your fingers brushing the rough denim, teasing him just enough to drive him crazy, was being paired with your panting breaths fanning across his mouth.

His forehead pressed into yours, eyes clamped shut as he felt every gentle squeeze of your hand around him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t relishing in this brief moment of control, watching his every reaction to your touch.

He throbbed against your hand, and he couldn’t help the urge to buck forward to chase the feeling, needing only that much more.

“You like that? You whispered, allowing the taunt to flutter across the shell of his ear, making him groan loudly while ripping your hand away from his hidden cock.

“Fuck this. Get in.” He snapped, the sound reminiscent of a growl rumbling from deep within his throat.

Suddenly, the door handle popped open and you found yourself thrown into the backseat, all with the same force he had used to slam you into the side of the car. You crawled until your back was against the interior of the door, quickly followed by Sam diving in after you. You were undoubtedly cramped in the small space, but the way he had slotted himself between your legs, like he had been there many times before, you couldn’t care less about the circumstances. The glow of the moon shining through the rear windshield, cast Sam in its gauzy light.

You were witnessing this new, near-primal look swirling in the darkness of his eyes, pupils lust-blown out as they raked down your body.

He wasted no time hooking your legs around his waist as he pressed himself into you, leaning down to catch your lips once again. They were starving in their desire for you while his hands slipped under your sweater, you shivered from the cool touch of his hands trailing up your stomach. He hummed to himself, appreciating the softness of your skin, and your muscles quivered uncontrollably from the tickling sensation as he made his way up your body.

His thumbs hooked under the band of your bralette, pushing it over the swell of your breasts along with the sweater, causing them to fall when released from the snug material.

You might have protested your bare chest being so exposed to the freezing air if it wasn’t for Sam licking one of your nipples into his mouth the second they were freed from your clothing. His wet tongue drew languid circles around the sensitive nub as he palmed over the other. The intoxicating warmth, the heat, of his mouth drove you wild as he worked over the supple skin of your breasts.

You whined at the feeling, and it didn’t take much for your hips to grind into him. He reluctantly released your nipple from his mouth with a light pop of his lips and leaned back on his knees to look down at you.

Your hands reached out to find the tattered hem of his sweatshirt, and your fingers dipped under to feel the silken skin against your fingertips. He instantly shuddered at the contact, hissing through his clenched teeth, “Your hands are fucking freezing, Y/N!”

A small giggle you were trying to hold in escaped your lips just as you released the button of his jeans, “Awww, is Sammy afraid of it shrinking?”

Instead of responding to your juvenile taunting, he fell forward and his all-too-perfect teeth sank into the flesh of your neck, making you cry out suddenly.

You didn’t even realize the nervousness coursing through your body at this moment until you noticed your fingers trembling along the elastic band of his boxer briefs.

“That’s cute.” He teased, licking at the now tender spot where he had just bitten, but you were able to pick up on the subtle change in his breathing when your fingers slid into his pants.

The toned, lean muscles of his stomach contracted when you finally slipped beneath the fitted boxers. A shaky sigh left his chest as soon as you touched the trimmed patch of hair, traveling down to feel his bare skin. He was so warm, and so smooth. It was beyond surreal, feeling your best friend in such an intimate way, yet somehow staying natural. You traced the details with a cautious touch until you realized… oh my god.

You gasped in shock, instantly breaking into nervous laughter “Holy shit, Sam! You never said you were hung like a-“

You couldn't even finish the thought before you were cut off from his lips crashing into yours, licking into your mouth in such a way that caused you to become completely distracted.

“Do you ever know when to shut the fuck up?” He mumbled against you, and acting out in a moment of impatience, he dug into his pants and pulled himself out so you could have the entirety of it in your hand, now with unrestricted access.

Oh fuck, You were holding Sam’s cock in your hand. It twitched slightly with each steady beat of his heart, rendering you speechless. Sure, you’ve done this before, but with Sam, it felt like you were doing this all for the first time.

Your heart was racing, stomach churning with excitement from the idea of fooling around like dumb teenagers in the back of his car, even running the risk of getting caught. You were here doing the same exact thing you had just made fun of inside the house only minutes before.

“Is it really a surprise to you?” He asked, voice husky and low, yet each word was interrupted with panting breaths as you wrapped your fingers around his length, He couldn’t hide the way he smiled into your cheek in response to your reaction, and you could only nod, and with a gentle rock of his hips, he continued, “Go on, baby. Touch me.”

That gentle push of encouragement was all you needed to stroke him, slowly at first, taking in just how soft, how delicate he seemed, all in perfect contrast to how thick and heavy he felt in your hand. A bead of precum leaked from the tip and you collected it with a swipe of your thumb while you continued to pump a loose fist over him.

Sam pulled his face from yours to watch you touch him this way, wanting to remember every second of this moment with you. He groaned loudly, letting his head roll back as he placed his hand on your knees to steady himself, squeezing his fingers harder into the flesh with each flick of your wrist.

“Mmmmm…fuck. That feels so…so good,” He breathed out, shaking through each word and his head tipped forward. You watched as his brows upturned, knitting together tightly in pleasure, showing the expressions of being lost in the feeling of your hands working him.

Just watching him made the dull ache of your arousal start to build rapidly, making you grind yourself against him in search of any friction. You clenched your thighs even though they were still wrapped around his. You wanted him so badly it was borderline embarrassing.

“Sam…” You couldn’t hold back the pathetic whine while lifting your hips, desperate in the need to feel something, anything more from him. You reached out with the other hand, taking in a handful of his sweater so you could yank him close to you.

“Oh baby, what is it? Are you feeling left out?” He mumbled into your jaw, his open lips brushing against the vulnerable skin. “Did you want something from me?”

His smirk told you that he knew the answer, of course, you wanted something from him, but you nodded anyway. You hoped that stroking him more fervently than before would help his decision to give you what you wanted. With a groan, his lips met yours, matching the neediness that you were feeling. His fingers found the button of your pants, frantically working to unclasp the garment as your fingers worked against him. Out of frustration from not wanting to waste another second, his hand dipped under your waistband without waiting to tear the clothing away from you. Your hips bucked into his hand as his fingertips traced along the inside of your thigh.

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the thin fabric of your underwear. The teasing, whisper of a touch only caused you to squirm restlessly and let out a soft whimper in need.

He decided to give in to your non-verbal pleas even if he wanted to hear the sounds of your eagerness throughout the night. Despite the lack of space in the backseat, he was still able to make quick work of ridding you of your pants, tossing them into the front seat completely out of your view.

He leaned in, hovering his lips above yours just enough so you could feel the warmth of his breath fan over them again. His hand slipped between your legs once more, now without the restrictions of the denim. The only barrier between him and where you needed him most left was your dampening underwear clinging to your body. With the graze of his fingertips, he could feel the heat building within your core.

He circled his fingers lazily over your covered clit, realizing just how turned on you truly were. He was experiencing your need, understanding that it wasn’t just words or phrases you thought you should say at the moment.

He practically purred into your parted mouth, “Oh baby, you’re soaked.”

You writhed beneath him, squeezing him in your hand with each swipe of his fingers over where you needed him most.

“You want me to take these off?” He asked, looking into your eyes, followed by a light snap of the garment against your skin. His lips were so close, and when you leaned up to meet them, he pulled back just out of your reach.

He tsked behind his teeth in disapproval at your impatience, “Gotta answer me first.”

“Yes…Sam, please!”

With his fingers looped around the waistband of your underwear, he slipped them off your lifted legs that rested on his shoulders. If you were somehow half-paying attention, you would have seen him tuck them into the back pocket of his pants before continuing.

He took his time to admire the softness of your skin, rubbing from your ankles down to the thickness of your thighs as you wrapped them around him. You allowed them to fall to the sides, spreading open for him to see you like this for the very first time. As if you brought him under his trance, his eyes fell, now that there wasn’t anything left to his imagination. You wrapped your hand around him again, stroking him in an effort to bring his attention back to you.

He dropped forward and planted a kiss on your lips as he traced the sensitive spot with a brush of his fingertips. The cold chill lingering on his skin made your body instantly shudder the second he slipped a finger inside your heat. You tightened around him in your want to hold him there, causing a groan to rumble from his throat.

“Look at you,” he cooed in your ear, the rasp in his voice revealing a certain cockiness that had started to surface. The curling of his finger inside you pulled a moan residing deep within your chest, “Is that really how you feel about me?”

You could only nod in desperation. The hand that wasn’t preoccupied with pleasuring him was gripping tightly onto the fabric of his sweatshirt that bunched up against his chest, pulling him as close as you possibly could.

Sam pushed another finger deep into your pussy, brushing against your sweetest spot with increasing pressure. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought the movements were reminiscent of how he might pluck the strings of his bass.

Even with that image, your ability to concentrate fell apart within seconds, your lips failed to move against his, and even lost the focus you had on him in your hand. The only thing occupying your thoughts was the need to chase that feeling building between your legs. The sounds of your growing wetness echoed throughout the backseat.

You were panting into his mouth as your hand released around him to find a new hold, now wrapped around his wrist with nails digging into the skin. The clear decision to pull him away or to keep his fingers buried inside you became muddled the closer he coaxed you to the very edge.

You were so, so close when he suddenly pulled his fingers from you, making you whine out from the loss of contact, to wrap them around the base of his cock that you had been neglecting. His beanie had slid off his head at some point, allowing hair to fall across his face as he looked down between your legs.

“I can’t wait any fucking longer. I need to feel you, y/n,” he groaned, almost sounding drunk despite the both of you being completely sober all night.

Sam’s breathing was nearly as strained as yours had become, fogging up the windows within the few minutes spent intertwined together. He shifted his body against you and lined himself at your entrance, dragging himself through your folds, coating himself in your slick with the teasing passes with his cock over your clit. When his eyes flicked up to meet yours, you caught the devilish grin spreading across his features, but you were more than ready to take his hand for the sinful act. The sight should have acted as a warning, and you placed a hand against his shoulder and gave him a final nod.

“W-wait a ahh-“ you were cut off by him pushing himself into you, stretching you out in one quick motion. “Oh…oh my god, Sammy!” The ragged moan evolved into breathy giggles as he bottomed out inside you.

“Oh…fuck.” He breathed into the crook of your neck, joining in your laughter as your fingers knitted into the tresses of his long hair. He stilled his movements with the head of his cock nestled safely against your cervix, adjusting to how incredible you feel, wrapping tighter around him more than he could have imagined, even if he tried.

He reached out with an open hand to brace himself against the door, lifting off of your body slightly to watch his cock plunge inside you. His hips began to roll into you, slow and experimental at first.

The familiar fire within you had been building, a climax left suspended without release, was now bubbling within your belly once again. He pushed himself up to sit between your legs, and you took the opportunity to touch yourself.

He watched in pure awe with mouth hanging slightly open as you collected your wetness between your fingers and circled them over your clit while he thrusted into you. You wanted to bask in the feeling forever, how he glided effortlessly into your pussy with each snap of his hips.

“Holy shit,” he sighed out through a shaky breath, brows knit tightly together as his fingers pressed even harder into the padding on your knees.

“Like what you see?” You relished in the ability to see that look on his face, how it revealed his loss of power, the control that had been shifting between you all night.

He laughed in response, the fucked-out sound making your head spin just as his gaze returned to you behind half-lidded eyes, ”You’re so fucking hot, Y/N. I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

Sam’s unfiltered praise made your heart race, and you clenched around him causing his eyes to roll back behind heavy lids in ecstasy.

His name tumbled from your lips over and over in broken whispers. You were overwhelmed by him. He was everywhere, every sensation, consuming every one of your senses. The feeling of the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against your thighs, the way his breath fanned across your cheek, to how his hand gripped onto your hip. All of it threatened to make you unravel at the seams with each passing second.

“I know,” he murmured softly. You didn’t have to say another word. He was right there, experiencing all of this with you.

Your hands slipped under his sweatshirt and in the cloudy haze of your pleasure, your fingernails dragged across the smooth expanse of his back. The sharp sting of your nails flipped a switch inside him instantly. He fucked into you harder than before, abandoning the mercy he had held for you up until now.

His hand left your waist and snaked around your neck with fingers pressing just hard enough to make you aware of their presence. He felt you swallow against his palm and your hand wrapped around his wrist to keep him there.

“What did you say earlier? Oh yeah…average, mediocre dick? Those were your words weren’t they, baby?” He taunted into your ear, emphasizing the words with a harsh thrust into you, only to be paired with a mocking smile against your cheek.

“Sam…please!” You cried out in a broken sob along with a pathetic hold on the fabric of his sweater. You were right there.

“You are quite the actress with how you’re falling apart all over my cock like this, sweetheart.”

You didn’t have a response, the dirty words coming from his mouth were rendering you speechless. Even though you should have predicted it coming, you had no chance to say something witty back, and he knew it. Another rush of heat pulled to your face when you blushed at the thought. He was right, you were a mess and he was never going to let you forget it.

“Shut up.” It was all you could muster with how close to the edge you had become.

He slowed to an agonizingly deliberate pace, unhurried in his actions, eliciting a loud groan from you in protest. “What? Don’t get all shy on me now. Tell me how it feels?”

You searched endlessly for a coherent answer as he continued to fuck you patiently, yet the words had abandoned your brain altogether with each brush of his cock against that hidden spot.

It was a pitiful whine that left your mouth, “Ah, fuck…you feel so good, Sammy.”

And god, he did. You would curse at the thought that you had waited this long to find out for yourself. You wanted to resist the urge to tell him. It was Sam afterall, and the last thing he needed was the stroke to his ego.

“It’s gonna be hard to forget you saying my name like that.” The words swam in your consciousness in a hushed lullaby, airy through each exhale across your ear. “If you could only hear yourself. Say it again for me.”

The simple request dissolved any restraint you had left and his name spilled from your kiss-swollen lips.

His hand left its place around your neck and hooked around the back of your knee and muttered into the vulnerable skin of your throat, “I’m so close.”

You tightened your legs when you heard his admission, hooking your feet around his back to pull him completely flush against you.

“Seriously…” he let out in breathy, desperate pants, “I can’t…l, I-“ His hips began to falter through his stuttering and he gripped onto your leg tighter than before.

“Cum inside me, Sam,” you whispered into his ear, voice dripping with desire. He pulled away just far enough to look into your eyes, searching, making sure that’s exactly what you said.

“Y/N…”

You squeezed your legs around his waist again with your palm cupping his cheek. “You heard me, Sammy.”

“Are you sure?” His voice was weak for the first time tonight, revealing that despite the facade leading up to all this, he was under your absolute control.

Your head fell back against the hard plastic surface of the door, and you tightened around him with a final plea, “Yes! Please… I need you.”

The lewd sounds coming from him were divine and you wished you could listen to them forever as they bounced around your mind. It was the tipping point for you, causing you to sink into the depths of your orgasm.

The way you clenched around his cock with each blissful wave rolling throughout your body, halted his movements inside you. There was such an intensity to that sensation for him that it was only mere seconds until his own release followed yours.

The sudden warmth of his cum spilled into you while he was buried deep in your pussy. You stayed clutched onto him, his chest was heaving wildly as he laid against you, soaking in the high of what had just happened.

You stay locked together, reeling from every feeling and emotion transpired between you. You allowed yourself to embrace the comfortable silence, combing absentmindedly through his hair with gentle fingers, even tucking pieces behind his ear. Minutes had probably passed until he eventually pulled himself from you.

You just couldn’t resist the temptation of throwing one last jab at his expense. “So, are you gonna finally admit how terrified you were back there?”

“Really? You’re already back to being annoying as shit?” He scoffed with an overly dramatic roll of his eyes as sat against the seat. It could have been just because that’s how you and Sam were, but maybe it was an attempt to prevent awkward tension from developing.

Sam tucked himself back into his jeans and reached down to grab yours off the floor of the backseat, and threw them at you rather aggressively. You burst into another fit of laughter while rushing to pull the pants over your legs. You weren’t going to worry about finding your underwear with the mess threatening to drip down your legs.

He stepped out of the backseat, almost slamming the door behind, and slid back into his place on the driver’s side. You crawled over the center console into the front seat and flipped the visor down to see your reflection in the tiny mirror.

“Sam!” You gasped when you saw it. Under the harsh yellow lighting, your eyes locked on the very large, and painfully obvious blotchy bruise forming across the skin of your neck just below your ear. “Did you seriously give me a fucking hickey?!”

You pressed your fingers against it, desperate for it to fade away with each pull of your thumb across the surface of broken blood vessels.

He glanced over to you, grinning like the idiot he was, “Maybe everyone should see that I finally fucked you the way you deserve.”

Just as your mouth flew open in disbelief, he turned the key in the ignition, firing the dormant engine back to life.

TAGLIST:

@josiee-gvf @weightofdreamz @sammyslappers @sammiejane22 @doodle417 @prophetofthedune @maverick-rose @weightofdreams-gvf @loofypoofy @gretasmokerising @brokenbellz @gvfrry @gretavanfleas @baguettejuliette @jakeyboiiiiiii @kdarling1 @welightthefire @dannyandthekiszkas @shesawomaninadream @ashabeannn @gretavanbitches @alexxavicry @luverleaver @kissthekiszka @milkgemini @freckledwonder @richjaaasss @dolceacquario @lvnterninthenight @daniellefersblog @strangersimp @mywaykiszka @gardensgatedaisy @jakekiszmyass @writingcold @ageofbrokenbells @kerryxgvf @pennylanefics @idk-anymore50 @jordierama @seventieswhore @greta-van-chaos

If you are interested in joining the TAGLIST, fill our one of the forms below!:

@streamingcolors-gvf Taglist form

@allieboop Taglist form

#late to the party but oh my GOD this was fucking good #holy shit #fic reccs

404 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Note

Hi im sorry for bothering I wanted to ask about Dioskouroi and see how’s it coming along?

Not a bother at all bestie! It’s almost there :-) I don’t have an exact posting date yet but very very soon

#working on it as we speak 🫶🏼#ask

2 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

Sammy from the San Antonio show 💜

#i love him so bad #and i missed them so MUCH #DIG SATX #sammy #sam kiszka #greta van fleet

26 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

so honored to have been your intro to this lovely lil community 🫶🏼 happy one year!

You know what… I just realized that as of 2 days ago, it’s been a year since my first Greta related post.

1 year since meeting some of the greatest people I’ve ever had the honor of knowing, and being in a head space that finally feels safe, that feels like me.

Within a month of discovering the band, I was on the verge of turning 21, and dealing with the disappearance, and death of my uncle, and I could not have asked for a better group of people to have around me than those that I met on Tumblr, and for that I don’t think I could ever thank them enough.

In the past year I have done more self exploration than I ever thought I would, I’ve also travelled to meet incredible people, and continue to plan more and more trips, and it all started cause of the four dumb ass Michigan boys that we all love.

To anyone that has been here since I started writing and shitposting for this fandom, I really can’t thank you enough for sticking with me. To those who followed me more recently, sorry for the inconsistency of my posting, life has once again chosen to kick my ass, and my mental health took a decline once again, but I’m pushing though it. I’m fighting every day to be better, and stay passionate about writing, cause I truly do love doing it.

To my loves, @gretavanhoney @screechesincoherently @amouratomique @eatmejoshkiszka @obetrolncocktails @tlexx @godlygreta and anyone that I may have forgotten in my frenzy to write this, thank you for being you, and for being a rock for me when I needed it most.

Ps. A ty to @dharma-divine as well, cause reading Off Limits was the first introduction I had to the GVF fandom on Tumblr

12 notes · View notes

dharma-divine · 3 years ago

Text

halloween is once again approaching so i have to promote my spooky sammy fic 🫶🏼

Fright Night (smut)

In the spirit of Halloween, here’s a sexy, funny, scary one shot to get you in a spooky mood ;-)

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Word Count: ~8,000

WARNINGS: 18+!!! Disturbing imagery, descriptions of death, sexual content

Summary: Dragged to a college Halloween party by your gregarious roommate, you catch the attention of a mysterious boy looming in the halls of the old fraternity house.

((apologies for any errors, this was all edited myself))

“Hurry up, it’s fucking freezing,” you yell over your shoulder to your roommate Claire, the sound of fallen autumn leaves crunching under your hasten feet filling the empty street around you.

“I’m coming,” she calls, wincing as she shuffles to fall into step next to you. You can tell she already regrets her decision to wear heels, though she’s too stubborn to ever admit it. She’s gone as a “sexy sea wench” for Halloween this year, keeping her tradition of pulling together a costume made out of entirely thrifted, or otherwise scavenged, pieces. This year might be her best one yet, her ensemble consisting of a thrifted linen dress that hangs loosely off her shoulders, a jacquard corset she found at an estate sale uptown, cinched tight enough to give her a perfect hourglass silhouette, and some stunning vintage sailor boots with the skinniest, most painful looking heels you’ve ever seen. She has a fringe shawl tied around her waist, which she proudly snatched from a display table in the library of your college campus, and layered her ample collection of lavish jewelry to bring the whole look together. She looks incredible, worthy of being cast in a Pirates of the Caribbean reboot, and not as an addition to the lame fraternity party that you’re unfortunately in route to.

You’re usually not one for the frat scene, but Claire had finally convinced you to go out with her after several failed attempts since the beginning of the semester, somehow winning you over this time under the claim that this party is the best party of the year. You still remain skeptical, though it is the weekend before Halloween after all, as well as the celebratory end to a strenuous week of midterms, so you’re admittedly yearning for something fun to do.

Claire’s boyfriend, Tanner, is president of the fraternity, and expected to be dressed in favor of Jack Sparrow, though matching Claire's impressive ensemble will be a difficult feat that you are positive he won't achieve. You're not one to talk, though—you tried to put together something comparable to her, but you definitely fell short. Despite your love for Halloween, and all of the exciting festivities it brings, time got away from you before you were able to come up with a solid costume this year. In a crunch, you raided your local Spirit earlier this afternoon and grabbed a costume pack for Emily from Corpse Bride, seeing as it was the last one available in your size with just days before the anticipated holiday.

“Honestly, this works out perfectly. I already look dead,” you commented to Claire earlier as she zipped up the cheap, pale dress along your back, examining your face in the mirror of your shared bathroom.

You‘re exhausted from the semester despite it only being halfway over, and your skin certainly shows it, your sunken eyes barely needing any sort of makeup enhancements after the many sleepless nights you’ve endured to cram for exams. You don’t know how Claire always remains so glowing and radiant, even after her usual weekend benders and weeknights spent studying along with you, but you’re envious.

“Hey, you said it, not me,” she jested, before powdering your skin to give it just a bit more of a dead, ghostly look.

She then lifted your long, dusty veil from where it rested on the counter, pinning it perfectly to hide the edges of your blue wig she had already fastened to your head.

That veil is now threatening to fly off in the chilling October wind, and you cling to it with every gust as you continue to trudge down the sidewalk.

Finally, after the painfully long walk from your apartment building, you’ve arrived at the address Tanner had texted Claire. To your surprise, the house looks charming, and completely inconspicuous of a raging party, with not a single person seen in the yard or upstairs veranda. If it weren’t for the blaring bass of a speaker booming from the depths of its tattered wooden frame, you would assume the home belonged to a peaceful family, and not a horde of dirty frat brothers.

“He said to go through the back gate,” Claire informs, leading the way along a stony path down the right side of the house.

Your stomach is suddenly knotting with anxiety, which it always seems to do with the impedance of most social gatherings. You’d certainly consider yourself an introvert compared to Claire, who seems to know everyone at these parties, even with the absence of her favored boyfriend.

“Hey, Austin,” she calls to a guy seemingly dressed as a mummy, though his attempt is pitiful, with only a roll of toilet paper barely hanging onto his bare body, his boxer shorts peeking through the blank space.

“Good evening ladies,” he enchants in an overly dramatic, ominous voice, which is humorous in comparison to his appearance.

You always feel ridiculous at the start of these parties, the whole idea of fraternities — hyper-masculine men in dirty houses, losing a brain cell with every sip of cheap beer and attempt at speaking to a girl way out of their league — not appealing to you in the slightest, though you know you’ll have a better time once you’ve had a few drinks yourself.

The mummy man opens the gate for you both, and you politely nod a thanks to him as you enter.

The back entrance is also barren and inconspicuous, except for a few younger looking boys standing just beyond the porch, dressed in khaki pants and tailored, navy blazers. You assume they’re pledges, waiting to be assigned as designated drivers as the night carries on.

“Dude, I swear,” you hear one of them mutter as they’re huddled together. “It disappeared before I could take a picture.”

“Ooh, spooky,” Claire whispers to you as you pass them, waving her fingers dramatically.

You giggle, hopping up the stairs in unison with her.

She pushes the door open, and the space revealed before you feels like an entirely different planet from the outside; the entire area is lit in the purple hue of black lights, the noise of the speaker you heard from outside now filling your eardrums. Black butcher paper has been hung along every surface of the walls, painted with fraternity symbols and halloween themed designs that glow under the lights. A huge skeleton with laser red eyes is placed aside from the foot of the stairs, greeting every guest that enters with fog emitting from its unhinged mouth.

The layout of the house is actually quite gorgeous, with an ornate staircase sweeping around the top floor and tapering off into a balcony that overlooks the ground, with ionic columns aligned underneath it to keep its integrity. You look up to see a chord dangling from the high ceiling of the entryway, likely where a chandelier once hung, and you grimace at what must have happened for it to meet its demise. From what you can see, the walls are made of beautifully embellished wooden panels and frieze lining the ceiling, the floor the same deep mahogany that would be pristine if it wasn’t already sticky with spilled drink. The house was obviously built decades ago, if not longer, and it’s a shame that outside of these decorated parties, it’s now occupied by boys whose idea of interior design is empty liquor bottles and dumpster couches.

Your eyes scan over the crowd that is already filling the space - lots of fishnets, glitter, and bra tops themed to a sexy spin-offs of classic costumes dancing by you. Most of the guys seem to be gathered upstairs, watching the girls mingle from above as if they’re scouting out their prey for the night. You look up at them with a disgusted scowl, promising yourself to not fall victim to any of them, until a specific set of eyes catch your attention.

He’s leaned against the wall at the very far end of the mezzanine, right before it tapers into a dark hallway to his right. He’s disconnected from the rest of the rowdy boys, his body language formal and restrained, with his arms crossed neatly at his chest as he leers down at you. Even from this far away, you’re enamored by his sultry stare, his long hair falling softly at his slim shoulders and framing his finely sculpted features. The other boys look vapidly amateur as they watch the girls roam around in their frilly costumes, while he seems resolved, his only focus on you.

To your surprise, he smiles, a mischievous grin that makes your breath catch in your throat as you continue to gaze up at him, and your heart is suddenly racing in your chest. It isn’t until Claire is pulling on your arm that you’re snapped back into focus.

“Come on, let’s get some drinks,” she yells over the music, grabbing your hand and nodding over to the makeshift bar, that’s really just a stack of solo cups and a cooler of what you assume is some concoction of liquor and fruit juice.

You nod, your mind still hazy from your trance, before sneaking one more glance at the mysterious boy on the balcony.

Except now when you look above, the space he occupied just moments ago is empty.

You frown, scanning the rest of the aisle to hopefully catch sight of him again, but to no avail. He must’ve disappeared into the hallway, and you ponder to yourself as Claire begins to drag you behind her, hoping that maybe he’s making his way downstairs to come find you.

Claire lets out an excited squeal in front of you as you arrive at the bar, letting go of your hand to jump into the arms of her Jack Sparrow.

“Baby, you look phenomenal,” Tanner swoons, sweeping her off her feet.

Upon inspection, his costume is actually a lot better than you anticipated, though his “breeches” are definitely just a pair of sweatpants he cropped, and he appears to have ditched the pirate boots for some dirty white sneakers instead. At least he has the hat and eyeliner down.

“Y/N, your costume’s sick too,” he adds once he notices you behind her.

“Thanks,” you reply meekly, assuming he’s just complimenting you to be polite.

Tanner’s a nice guy, but he never leaves Claire’s side when they’re out together, and you’re not excited to go about your usual, pitiful routine of following them around the whole night, standing awkwardly to the side while he whispers sweet nothings into her ear and they relentlessly make out.

“I wanted her to be Davy Jones,” Claire jokes, smiling at you as Tanner pours some of the mystery juice into cups. “But she wouldn’t wear tentacles.”

“God, being the third wheel to the two of you is already brutal enough,” you laugh, taking the cup Tanner hands you. “Being the nasty squid villain would be miserable.”

You take a sip of your drink, puckering at tooth-aching sweetness.

“I guess you’re right,” Claire admits, before taking a long chug of her own drink. “If only you could’ve found someone to be your Victor this year.”

“Yeah, but I did spot a cute guy upstairs when we walked in,” you inform her, blushing.

Claire’s eyes light up, and she grabs at your arm excitedly.

“Who? Oh my god, what did he look like? Maybe I know him,” she presses.

“I couldn’t tell what his costume he’s wearing, but he has long, brown hair to his shoulders, and a really intense stare— but not in like, a creepy way,” you explain, feeling your skin prickle in goosebumps. “He smiled at me, and I think he came down here, but I don’t see him yet.”

“Oh shit,” Claire breathes. “Locking eyes from afar? That’s hot. Although, I don’t know anyone with long hair…do you?” she turns to ask Tanner, who you didn’t think was really listening as he worked to polish off his beer.

“Nah,” he says, followed by a loud belch. “Maybe it was a wig. There’s a guy dressed as Bon Jovi, he’s wearing one.”

“No, I swear it wasn’t a wig,” you insist, shaking your head. “It looked real.”

“Well, hopefully you see him again,” Claire says, clinking her cup to yours. “In the meantime, I wanna get fucked up.”

“Cheers to that,” Tanner chimes, popping another beer open and throwing it back.

“Cheers,” you laugh, before taking down several more sickly sweet gulps.

After a few more refills and a couple jell-o shots, you’re stumbling up the grand staircase, following Claire, and Tanner, closely.

“What did you say it was?” you ask again, nearly tripping on the hem of your costume. “Just an attic?”

“Not just an attic,” Tanner yells over his shoulder. “It’s fucking freaky, shit keeps popping up like someone lives in it,”

Once he reaches the top, he takes a sharp left and disappears down the hallway, with Claire right at his heels.

You pause for a moment as they continue ahead, struggling to gather the skirt of your dress so as to not face plant. You release it once you’ve finally made it to the new floor, smoothing out the cheap chiffon, when you notice you’re standing in the same place you saw the boy from earlier. You walk over to the wooden railing, peering out over the expanse of the ground floor in hopes you spot him among the crowd of people below, but he’s nowhere in sight. You secretly hope he’s still waiting for you, hidden somewhere in the hallways of the house, and that he hasn’t left, or worse, gotten distracted with another girl.

“Y/N, come on!” you hear Claire’s distant voice call out as her and Tanner continue down the hall, breaking you from your string of thoughts. You turn from the railing, dodging around the few people crammed in the narrow corridor to catch up.

“We thought it was a squatter,” you hear Tanner saying once you reach them at the very end of the hall. “But we’ve had cops to surveil the area a million times, and no one’s been caught.”

There’s a large recliner placed in the center of the walkway in front of him, a makeshift cardboard sign reading DO NOT ENTER in thick, black marker taped to its back cushion.

He pushes the recliner aside, before reaching to pull down on a string hanging from the ceiling right behind it. The door falls open, and he begins to unfold the dusty wooden ladder inside of it.

“Are you crazy?” Claire gripes when Tanner gestures for her to lead the way up.

“What? Ladies first…” he shrugs, stepping onto the first step of the creaky ladder.

“Not when we’re going into a fucking haunted attic,” she argues, hoisting herself up once he’s climbed a few steps.

“You coming?” she calls over her shoulder once she’s halfway up and realizes you haven’t joined them.

You feel a chill rush through your body, as if a cold gust of wind has just blown against your skin, but the air is completely still.

You get an uneasy feeling, but you don’t let that stop you from venturing further. You place your foot firmly on the first step, before climbing up to the next, your hands wrapped around the splintery wooden railing on either side. One by one, you travel up the steps, until your head peers over the floor of the dark room.

You hear Claire and Tanner shuffling around, the flashlights of their phone flicked on to partially fill the space.

“See,” Tanner says as he points his light to a stack of old cans, and a neatly folded blanket. “I swear to god, that was not there last time I came up here.”

“Are you sure it’s not one of the guys fucking with you?” Claire asks as you’re getting your footing on the attic floor, a laugh skimming her voice. “Because what the fuck is someone doing with a single blanket and bunch of old, empty cans?”

She picks up one of the cans, studying it closely. It appears to have held some sort of vegetable medley from what you can tell as she hovers her light over the illustrations printed on its label.

“Dude, these are old, this thing says it was packaged in the 50s” she says, her wide eyes reflected in the light as she dusts off the can.

“No way,” you laugh, the floorboards creaking as you walk over and get a look for yourself.

Sure enough, the brand name and year are embossed on the thin aluminum of its remaining lid, as if the vintage looking illustration of a smiley blonde man scooping a spoon into his mouth wasn’t telling enough of how outdated it is.

“I mean, our frat was founded in the early 1900s, and this place is even older than that,” Tanner informs. “I guess it’s not too crazy for this stuff to be up here, but I still don’t know how it just randomly keeps showing up.”

“I really do think it’s someone fucking with you,” Claire affirms, shining her light around the rest of the dingy space. “But if not, that’s pretty creepy.”

“Super creepy,” you agree, but amusement skims your voice.

This is the first time you’ve actually wandered into a potentially haunted, or otherwise spooky situation, and the adrenaline has you buzzing with excitement.

You hear Tanner start to speak when suddenly one of the floorboards creaks loudly from deep inside the room, causing the three of you to jump.

“What was that?” Claire asks, shining the flashlight towards the source of the noise.

You hadn’t noticed how low the ceiling is until her light moves to illuminate the wooden beams, revealing that the room is basically just one long rectangular prism, extending from the back of the house to the front, the attic door right in the center. The three of you are standing towards the front of the house, the door right behind you.

“Maybe the house shifted,” Tanner tries to rationalize, but you watch the two of them walk further away from the noise, their lights turning in the opposite direction.

“No, fuck that, let’s get out of here,” Claire insists, sitting back down at the edge of the doorway and sliding herself onto the latter.

Tanner shrugs, the both of you exchanging amused looks before he follows her lead.

“Are you coming?” you hear Claire call out once she’s standing at the bottom and notices you’re not behind Tanner.

“No, I’m gonna snoop around some more,” you reply, leaning over to peer at her from above.

“It’s not my fault if you end up fucking dead,” she warns, her inflection hinting her knowledge that you live for this kind of stuff.

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, before stepping away and back into the depths of the attic.

You could pull out your own phone for a flashlight, but your eyes are finally starting to adjust to the darkness, and as they scan your surroundings you notice the wall closest to you has a sheet of fabric nailed to the center of it, so thin that you can see the orange glow of the glass panels behind it reflect the light of the lamppost outside. You walk over and gently pull the fabric away to reveal the window, dingy and covered in cobwebs, but still clear enough to see the quiet street beyond it, a bird's eye view of where you and Claire were walking earlier.

You take a moment to gaze out at the view, a peaceful scene compared to what is going on amongst the floors below you, until a tall, swift shadow catches your attention from the right of your peripherals. You know no one is supposed to be out front to avoid suspicion to the house, so you’re curious as to who might be, and what they could possibly be doing. You quickly flick your eyes over to catch a better look, but when they focus, all you see is the picket fence and crisply trimmed hedges of the neighboring house. You crane your neck to peer further, your forehead pressed against the cold glass as you desperately scan the shadowy lawn for the figure, until a bolt of white light flashes in the sky. You’re blinded for a second by the sudden brightness, clamping your eyes closed and lifting your head from the window with a startled yelp as a sharp crack of thunder succeeds it, shaking the frail frame of the wooden house around you. You blink your eyes open after a moment, catching your lost breath as your heart clammers in your chest.

Your pulse is pounding in your eardrums for a few beats before a second flash casts through the sky, and you catch sight of something ghastly;

Just inches beyond the glass in front of you, a horrid face has appeared, perfectly leveled to yours, with purple veins webbing paper skin, stretched across the ridged curves of a skull and casted white by the stark light surrounding it. You know it’s looking at you —you feel its stare strike somewhere deep within your being—but the sockets where a pair of eyes should be are hollow, black tunnels, void of life and seeming to plummet to the depths of hell. Its mouth is strewn up in a sickly grin, with rotting teeth and cracked lips, and broken strands of hair that wisp from the sides of its leathery scalp.

The face appears in front of you for only a millisecond before everything goes black with another split of thunder, but you feel the image burn into your mind, traced under your eyelids even when you clamp your eyes back shut. You lunge backwards, out from under the curtain as your lungs fill with the intent to scream bloody murder. That is, until you’re suddenly crashing into something, or rather, someone. A pair of arms wrap around your shaking body to catch your fall, and you grip at the warm body instinctively.

“I didn’t know it was supposed to storm tonight,” you hear a melodic voice say from the dark.

You let go once you realize you don’t recognize who it belongs to, scrambling to grab your phone, your hazy vision dancing with shapes and colors as it tries to readjust.

Your flashlight flicks on to reveal the tall, slender boy you’ve been looking for. His eyes glow honey in the harsh light, his mane of hair golden, and his pearly teeth glinting with an amused smile. He’s a sweet sight compared to the horror you just faced, and you let out a relieved huff.

“You scared me,” you breathe, placing your hand to your heart that's about to escape from your chest. “I didn’t hear you come up the ladder.”

“I’m pretty light on my feet,” he chirps. “Are you okay? You scared of storms?”

“No, no,” you insist, quickly deciding not to attempt to relay what you just saw to him. “Just, wasn't expecting that.”

You both just stare at each other for a moment, the only sounds being your shaky breath and the rain that’s begun to patter against the roof above you.

He gently reaches out to reposition your hand that’s holding the light, his eyes traveling to study the entirety of your frame. “Nice costume, are you a bride?”

“Well, yeah,” you laugh, adjusting your veil as you curse at yourself for being so awkward. “I’m Sally from Corpse Bride, haven’t you seen it?”

The boy frowns, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have, it must have come out past my time,”

You squint your eyes at the peculiar comment, considering he doesn’t appear to be any older than you. “It came out in ‘05. You know, Tim Burton? Nightmare Before Christmas? Beetlejuice?”

He shakes his head again, smiling amusedly. “I guess I don’t get up to watch too many films nowadays, but you look lovely regardless. What’s your actual name, Sally?”

“Y/N,” you smile, a blush heating your cheeks.

“Well hello, Y/N,” he charms, extending a gracious hand. “I’m Sam.”

You reach out and shake it, giggling at the formality, his palm calloused and firm against yours. “Hello Sam, and may I ask what your costume is?”

His attire is rather formal, a navy v-neck sweater pulled over a white button-up, with grey slacks, and a pair of leather loafers. Something about the arrangement looks vintage, like he’s straight out of Dead Poet’s Society or something.

“I’m a ghost,” he smiles, holding up his arms as if it’s obvious.

You give him a questioning look, huffing a laugh at the unexpected answer. “You’re missing your white sheet.”

He places his hands on his chest, looking down as if he’s just realized its absence.

“Whoops,” he quips, rocking back on his heels. “Guess I forgot it at home.”

You laugh, a bit louder this time. “You’re strange, Sam. You don’t seem like the frat type at all. Why’d you join?”

“Oh you know, for the philanthropy,” he explains, stepping away from you and back towards the window, lifting the fabric to peer outside. “The professional development, the services to others,”

“Said no one ever,” you scoff, to which he laughs.

“Of course the parties, and the beautiful girls, are an added bonus,” he comments, his head turning back to you at the middle comment. “But I guess I’ve moved on past my desire for them. Or, I thought I did...”

He steps back towards you, and you hold your breath as he gets even closer than he was before, your hands falling to your side as you gaze up at him.

“But here I am, at a party, talking to a beautiful girl.”

You blush at his compliment.

“I’m not much for parties either,” you say, trying to keep your cool. “I probably would’ve left by now, but you caught my eye when I walked in, and I’ve admittedly been looking for you since.”

You’re surprised by how bold you’re being, but the confession spills out of you, almost uncontrollably.

“Well, I’m glad you found me,” he hums, and your heartbeat quickens when he reaches to twirl a lock of blue hair around his finger.

“Is this real?”

“No,” you laugh, reaching up and pulling the wig off, along with the veil and the scratchy hairnet underneath.

The feeling of the cool air on your scalp is relieving, and you fluff out your natural hair to something semi-presentable.

“Oh, thank god,” he breathes, making you laugh. “Sorry, the blue was lovely, it really was-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you beam, dropping the discarded costume onto the floor beside you, along with your phone, the flashlight still clicked on and illuminating the space around it.

You continue to stare up at Sam, only half of his face lit by the weak light, but you still can’t help but admire how gorgeous he is. He’s even more stunning this close up, his pointed nose and sharp cheekbone casting shadows across the rest of his face, his lips plump and glistening.

You feel almost entranced by him, his honey eyes hypnotic as you draw in closer, until he fully closes the gap between you and your lips lock together. The kiss is soft and delicate, his fingertips just gracing your hips as you get acclimated to his touch. But you feel yourself melt into him immediately, yearning for more as you try to deepen the kiss, gripping at the sleeves of his sweater. It’s cashmere— you thought you felt it briefly when you collided with him earlier, but now your hands get a chance to glide along the silky soft fabric. You feel his tongue flick across your bottom lip, and you graciously invite him into your mouth, lapping at him as one of his hands reaches up to comb your hair behind your ears.

“You wanna move to someplace more…” you say once you pull away for a moment, your eyes traveling around the cramped space. “Comfortable?”

“Follow me,” he whispers through a smile, pecking your lips once more before grabbing your hand.

You smile giddily to yourself as he leads you back to the door of the attic, climbing down graciously before extending a hand for you to follow.

He then takes you back around the positioned recliner and through the hall you came from. The corridor is fortunately empty at the moment, and he makes a sharp turn to the left just before you reach the balcony, sending the two of you deeper into the house.

You come to a halt at a single door, the first of many others along the vacant hallway, and you assume they must be bedrooms. Your stomach fills with butterflies as he twists open the door, gesturing you into the dark room.

It’s pitch black, and you wait for Sam to lock the door behind him before trying to venture further into it. You feel his hands on your waist after a moment, guiding you backwards until the back of your legs hit the edge of a bed. You sit down, scooting up until your head finds a pillow, before blindly reaching for Sam, until you feel his warm lips against the side of your face.

He begins to trail down your neck, his teeth nipping gently at your skin with each peck, and you begin running your fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

“Where’s the buttons to this thing,” he jests, and you can see his pearly smile glint as your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness.

“It’s a zipper,” you inform, turning over onto your stomach and motioning to the nape of your neck. “Right here.”

You feel him fiddle with it for a moment before it zips down your back, and you shiver at the exposure of skin to the cool air. You turn back around once it reaches the small of your back, just before the hem of your panties, and you pull the sleeves off to fully reveal yourself. You quickly remember that you didn’t wear a bra, seeing as it appeared too bulky under the thin dress. You pull the skirt the rest of the way down your legs, slipping your boots off with it and tossing the items off the side of the bed. You cradle your knees to your chest for a moment, gazing at the silhouette of Sam who watches you, seemingly enamored.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, complimenting you for the second time tonight, though you know he’s only able to catch glimpses of you each time a flash of lightning shines through the window.

You blush again, gaining enough confidence to unwrap your arms and place them behind you, exposing your chest fully as your palms press into the mattress.

“Your turn,” you tell him.

You see his silhouette begin to peel off his sweater, before he meticulously plucks open each button of his shirt.

Your patience is beginning to dwindle, and you want nothing more than to reach over and yank the shirt open, imagining the patter of the rain as the sound of the buttons scattering across the floor below you.

Your desperation is so forthcoming, something unnaturally deviant begins to stir within you. You start to push yourself even further backwards, until your ass is against the pillow and you’re pressed to the wall behind you, allowing you to remain sitting up and continue looking at him. You snake your arms from behind you and spread your legs, one of your hands sliding between your thighs and toying with the lace of your panties before daring to venture further. With another flash of lighting, you see Sam’s eys flick to your wandering fingers as he finally reaches the end of his shirt, having pulled it from his waistband and off his shoulders.

“Are you playing with yourself?” he asks, and you can hear a smirk scathe his voice.

“I am,” you breathe, just as your finger traces your slit through the fabric.

Your free hand goes to squeeze at the plush pillow below you, your breathing beginning to falter with excitement. You’ve never done anything like this before.

“Keep going,” he urges, moving now to unbelt his pants.

You continue tracing your finger up and down, feeling it dampen with each stroke as your wetness begins to soak through. You circle your fingertip against the swell of your clit, your muscles tensing at the sensation.

You think you hear the rest of Sam’s discarded clothing hit the floor, but you’re too enthralled by your own pleasure to confirm, your eyes clamped shut as you work yourself up to your peak. It isn’t until you feel his hand lace around your wrist that you stop, sliding your fingers away so he can take over.

He hums, rubbing against your slit as he leans in to kiss you again. “You got yourself so wet, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” you moan, rather pathetically, and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel him pull your panties to the side, his fingers now making direct contact with your heat.

He leans in to give you one more kiss before you feel him shift his weight, the shadow of his head now looming right between your legs as his fingers grip at the soft flesh of your thighs, spreading you open even further.

With another flash of flight, you catch a glimpse of him, his eyes heavy with desire as they look up at you, his supple lips curved in a menacing smirk before making contact.

Your eyes roll back at the first lap of his tongue against your clit, your hands reaching down to dig your nails into his shoulders. You’ve never felt such euphoria, your mind spinning as he fervently sucks and licks at you. You eventually hike your legs up over your shoulders, letting them rest along the expanse of his back as his arms remain laced around your thighs, his face pressed flush against your core.

You have a hand cupped over your mouth, trying to desperately muffle your moans and whimpers. You’ve never been so vocal during sex, but you’ve also never received such amazing head. His mouth works expertly against you, your legs trembling as the tension inside you rapidly builds.

“Sam,” you cry, and he unlaces one of his arms, his fingers replacing his mouth to further stimulate you as he pushes himself back up your body.

You can taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you, his lips slick with your wetness.

“Fuck me, please,” you beg, and you don’t even sound like yourself anymore — it’s as though an entirely new being has overcome you, something that desperately yearns for his touch, to feel him deep inside of you.

“I’d love to, princess,” he hums, bending down to suck and nip at your neck again as he positions himself to your entrance.

You snake a hand between you to reach down and stroke his length, not having noticed how long and hard he is until now. You grind against his head a few times before he slowly pushes into you, and you gasp at the new sensation.

He fills you nearly to the point of pain, but it’s heavenly. He slowly rocks in and out few times to get you used to him, before steadily quickening his pace. You can’t control your moans now, curses spewing from your lips when his fingers find your clit again, rubbing tight, quick circles against it. You hoist your legs up and hook your ankles around his waist, allowing him to sink even deeper into you, and your mind dazes with stars as he hits a sweet spot with each continued thrust.

“Come for me,” Sam demands, though he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

The electricity inside of you has been building since you first started touching yourself, currents of pleasure transmitted from your body to his, and back to yours in a perfect circuit. This continual buildup is why when you do reach your peak, your soul practically leaves your body. Visceral shudders overcome you, your eyes rolling back into your head as you transcend dimensions. All you see is a bright light, and you swear that you’ve died until the brightness fades and you begin to come down from your high. A warmth suddenly blankets your whole body, your limbs going limp as your breathing tries to steady. You feel Sam release from you, placing a kiss gingerly on your forehead before climbing off the bed.

Then an actual blanket is being placed over you, folded neatly at your chin. You reach out to grab for Sam as you hear him shuffle amongst the room, but the sounds begin to grow more and more distant, your longing hand falling back to your side as you’re engulfed in a deep sleep.

“What are you doing in my bed?” you hear a voice ask, striking your eardrums as it startles you awake.

“Huh?” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands as you struggle to regain consciousness.

You blink them open, the bright morning light shining through the window in front of you. You glance over to the stalky, brunette boy in the doorway, his face scrunched in confusion.

“God, did a pledge fuck in my bed again?” he curses to himself when he notices your costume crumpled on the floor. “I’m sick of having the first room in this damn hallway. How did you even get in here? I had it locked.”

He’s asking entirely too much of you right now, your eyes still blinking around the room as you try to register where you are.

“I thought this was Sam’s room,” you mumble, sitting up and gripping the edge of the blanket up to your bare chest.

“Who’s Sam?” he asks, rolling his eyes before you can answer. “Whatever, I don’t care. I’m sorry, but can you please get dressed and leave? I’m fucking hungover and I want to sleep, and now I have to clean those sheets because you fucked in them.”

“Yeah,” you grumble, sweeping your legs over the edge of the bed. “Give me a sec.”

He shuts the door behind you, and hop off the bed, your legs feeling like putty when they try to hold your weight. Your lagging mind takes a moment to register the situation.

Wait, so this isn’t Sam’s room?

You gaze around at the small space as you hop back into your dress. An American flag and collection of Sports Illustrated posters are pinned to the furthest wall, right above a dresser that’s overflowing with jerseys and t-shirts embellished with fraternity logos. The floor is littered with dirty socks and sneakers, the desk to your right housing a collection of empty beer bottles and a smoke-stained bong.

Nope, definitely not. Then why did he take you here? And more importantly, where the hell is he now?

You pull on your boots and trudge out the door, your mind still trying to piece things together as you make your way out of the depths of the house and back to where you started the night.

The house is trashed, the floor making a terrible sticky sound as you stumble down each step of the staircase.

Halfway down, you trip as your long skirt finally manages to catch under your foot, and you desperately reach for the handrail as you go down. The smooth wood hits your hand just before you land, but not before you manage to yank a piece of the black butcher paper from the wall down with you. You finally regain your footing, pausing for a second to sigh a relief. You shrug at the tear of paper gripped in your hand, as you assume it would be ripped down eventually. You toss it onto the floor, before looking over at the blank wall it revealed from underneath, except you realize it’s not blank at all; a collage of framed pictures hang in its place, most of which look decades old, all tinted black and white. A composite photo of what can only assume is a past chapter of the fraternity is partially in view, and you continue to rip at the paper until you can see it entirely.

The year 1959 is scrawled on a placard in the center of the frame, and you step forward to gaze more closely at it. Your finger glides against the glass as you study the faces of each individual boy, all dashingly handsome, dressed in crisp white shirts and dark sweaters. Your mind is only barely registering how familiar the attire looks when you freeze on one of the faces, a chill coursing through your body.

His pearly smile, his chiseled features, all framed by a crown of long hair that’s perfectly slicked back and photo-ready.

“No fucking way,” you say to yourself, your hand beginning to tremble as it moves to read the name underneath it.

Samuel Francis Kiszka

You feel your blood rush from your face, trying your best to make sense of everything. You’re so overcome with rampant thoughts and emotions, you don’t notice the boy leaning next to you, gazing at the same frame.

“Ah, that poor Kiszka kid,” he gripes, causing you to jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he laughs, the trash bag he has in tow clinking with glass once he sets it down.

You recognize him as the mummy from last night, Austin, though without his pitiful garb.

“What do you mean, poor Kiszka kid?” you question.

“He pledged the same year my grandfather did,” Austin explains, pointing to a face a few spots left of Sam. “See, that’s him. Apparently one night, Sam was caught in bed with one of the senior’s girlfriends. I think it was that one there.”

He points to another face, right above Sam’s.

“The guy was livid, so livid, he ended up pushing Kiszka off the second floor later that night.”

He motions over to the mezzanine along the side of the staircase.

Right where you first spotted Sam for the first time last night.

“He died instantly, his neck snapping as soon as he hit the floor.”

You feel physically ill hearing the story, but you can’t stop listening as he continues.

“What’s even worse is they hid the body for, like, weeks after,”

“Where?” you ask abruptly, though you have a feeling you already know.

“In the attic,” he answers casually.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

“It was pretty brutal, the rest of the guys were threatened with a similar fate if they snitched. So, they covered the body with a blanket and stacked a bunch of stuff on top of it, like, cans of food and shit. When the police came to investigate the house, they claimed it was the food rotting when asked about the smell. Obviously, they weren’t the smartest. The cops found the body, and I’m pretty sure the guy who did it is still in jail today.”

You finally manage to zone out at the mention of cans, your body growing numb.

“Please tell me you’re fucking joking,” you beg.

“I’m not. Why, did you see the shit we put in the attic?” he asks, smiling obliviously.

You nod your head stiffly.

“Okay, that was a joke. We put that up there to fuck with all of you, to think that Kiszka’s haunting the place or something. Did Tanner show you?”

He laughs, and you attempt to laugh back.

“Oh, yeah, haha,” you reply dryly, your heart still pounding. “Good one, kind of in poor taste, though.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he shrugs. “But it happened forever ago. Look,”

He rips off more of the butcher paper to reveal a framed article, with a chilling subheading written in bold letters.

BODY OF MISSING UNIVERSITY STUDENT FOUND IN FRATERNITY ATTIC

“Why the hell would they keep that up?” You ask, refusing to read into its contents, but you catch a glimpse of the crime scene photo, the same portrait of Sam from the composite printed right next to it.

“I think for legal reasons,” Austin says. “So the fraternity could stay running. It acted as a reminder, so shit like that wouldn’t ever happen again. I don’t know, just some weird logistics from back then, but we keep it up for historical purposes now. It’s kinda badass, isn’t it? Like the kid died right there.” He points over the stairwell, but you don’t care to follow.

“Well,” croak, your eyes glazed with the inability to fully process the information you just received.

“Very cool. Thanks for this, Austin.”

“For sure. Happy Halloween,” he smiles, before bending down to continue his job as trash man.

You continue down the steps, much more carefully this time.

“Holy shit, there you are!” you hear Claire’s voice call out when you finally reach the end of the staircase.

“I was so worried, you left your phone in the attic with your veil, and your wig,” she says as you approach her, holding up your belongings. “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her comment sends your mind back to when Sam explained his “costume” last night.

He never needed a sheet.

And of course he’d never heard of Tim Burton, he died before Burton could even speak.

“I fucked one,” you reply bluntly, to which she laughs.

“You’re funny. Sorry to ruin it for you, but Tanner told me the attic thing was a prank.”

You sigh, shaking your head in an attempt to rid your mind of all that you just endured, though you hope it comes off to Claire as being disappointed by her news.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assure, forcing a smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Please, I told Tanner we’d meet him for breakfast,” she says as the two of you exit the house, the same way you came in.

“Sounds great,” you reply in a forced chipper, walking through the gate and down the path by the front lawn.

“So, did you ever find that boy you saw?” Claire asks eventually, just as you’re rounding the corner and you’re able to get one last view of the house.

You look up at the attic window.

You expect to see him there, but it still startles you when you lock eyes. He smirks at you, your skin prickling with goosebumps. You saw his rotting corpse in that window last night, casted by the light of the storm. He died miserably in that house, and his soul is probably trapped there until its wooden frame crumbles to the ground.

He vanishes from the window with the blink of your eyes, an icy chill running through your body in that same moment.

“Yeah,” you finally say to Claire, staring at the window for a few more racing heartbeats before turning to look at her with a placid smile.

“I found him.”

#happy horny hauntings u hooligans #also new dio chapter soon!

224 notes · View notes