#it’s one of the most intricate ones I’ve ever done

[littleladybaker]

I’ve been planning my Mother Gothel cosplay for nearly a year now but, as the date of the con gets closer, I get more and more anxious about it.

[nippular]

***

[beenbaanbuun]

Haiii this might be a weird request but I wonder if you could write an angsty Addams!MATZ fic 😭 so sorry if this is weird I've just been feeling really angsty! You can choose whatever happens lol I just wanna cry 🫶🏽

sorry i didn’t write this sooner!!! i really wanted to but i’ve been super busy over the past few days :(( i never feel super confident writing angst but i did my best!!! i hope you enjoy :D

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hongjoong yelled at you… hongjoong never yells. he doesn’t yell when yeosang is being difficult to train or just acting downright feral. he doesn’t yell when clients are being cheeky and asking for far too much. he doesn’t even yell when you’re being a brat and he slips into ‘dom mode’ to punish you. yet he yelled at you just a few minutes ago…

why?

it’s your fault, you tell yourself. if you’d just listened when he told you he was busy, none of this would’ve happened. he was already stressed so why did you think being a brat and pushing his buttons would be a good idea? of course he wouldn’t want to deal with you when he already so much else on his plate with work. it was dumb of you to even think he’d give you the time of day.

you try and keep your tears to a minimum as you stalk through the house. noisy crying would only be another distraction to hongjoong and you don’t want to upset him any more than you already have done. still, despite your best attempts, you can help the shuddered breathing and quiet sniffles as you make your way down the stairs and towards your favourite spot in the house.

the fire is already crackling, drawing you in like the pied piper. you can hear the hushed conversation behind the soft crepitation, but you ignore it, entirely too focussed on how nice it will be to flop onto your favourite rug and fall into a slumber. perhaps when you wake, everything will be fine. maybe hongjoong won’t be mad at you anymore. he’ll smile at you as he tells you you’re forgiven, placing a kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips. he’ll take you up into his arms and apologise for yelling, speaking to you in the softest, most gentle voice he can muster. it’s a nice thought…

you reach the doorway to the living room, staring up at the large, oak arch that reaches high above your head. it’s carved with intricate details all hand finished by their artist friend, yunho. most of it represents their respective histories, each of their tales beginning from the bottom of the arch and climbing the wood like vines until they reach the apex at the top. prior to your arrival, their wedding had been the carving at apex of the arch, the image of two ravens, each holding a ring within their beaks, sat proudly above everything else.

now, though, the image at the top is entirely different. a lamb with dove wings and a dainty collar around its neck. the ravens still sit proudly on either side of the creature, watching over it as it sleeps. as you stare at it, you can’t help but wonder whether hongjoong will still be upset with you come bedtime. there’s a spare room down the hall that you used to sleep in when you were nothing more than their sugar baby and it was too late for them to send you home alone. perhaps you’ll have to reside in that room tonight, cold and alone and unable to sleep without the warmth of your lovers on either side of you. the thought has you biting your lip to silence a sob.

it doesn’t quite work. you still involuntarily whimper, catching the attention of both seonghwa and yeosang. their hushed conversation halts to a stop as they see you at the doorway, eyes wide and wet as you stare up at the very tippy-top of the arch. your fingers tangle themselves up as they helplessly fiddle with one another, tugging and twisting and picking until blood begins to pool along one of your nail beds. seonghwa can’t recall a time he’s ever seen you like this, and there werewolf had certainly never. they share a wary look.

“my darling lamb,” seonghwa calls to you in a hushed voice. he doesn’t want to startle you by being too loud, but he needs to pull you from this anxious haze you’d found yourself trapped in. he can’t lie that he’s a little relieved when your red ringed eyes flicker over to meet his. smiling is the last thing he wants to do upon seeing you in this state, but he knows his gentle disposition will calm you; it always does. his lips curl up softly. “what happened?”

the werewolf that has taken up residence on your favourite rug watches with concerned eyes. ever since his arrival, you’ve been an annoying little shit. an absolute thorn in his side when he wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful existence in his new home. you have no respect for personal space, you never know when to shut up, and you’re always way too cheerful all the time. they were facts that yeosang just had to accept when he realised you weren’t threatened by his harsh growling and gnashing teeth. all those times he had you pinned to the floor, spit spraying as he warned you to leave him the fuck alone only to have you giggle in his face and call him pretty; that person is nowhere to be seen right now.

“pup?” he hums, deep voice grumbling as his worries work themselves into his tone. even though he quite thoroughly despised you on his entry to the house, it seems you have this magical ability to work your way into the hearts of anyone you set your sights on. you set your sights on him before you even knew him; it took you no time at all to become one of his top priorities. “tell us what’s the matter. we can’t help unless we know?”

you take a few tentative steps into the room, bare feet tapping lightly against the parquet floor. they’re so used to your thundering footsteps as you traverse the house at your excitable pace. the silent footsteps you take towards them make their skin crawl.

you reach the rug, gently lowering yourself until your bare thighs hit the soft fur. your pastel blue skirt—the one that seonghwa had picked out to match the werewolf’s fuzzy blue jumper—bunches up around your waist, but neither of them have the time to admire how perfectly slutty it looked. it hardly seems right when you continue to wordlessly snivel and whimper, not even bothering to lay yourself down alongside your favourite werewolf-shaped pillow.

“hongjoong was mean to me,” you whimper, and seonghwa can’t lie, it confuses him.

hongjoong is mean to you a lot. it’s how he punishes you for being a brat, bullying you into submission until you decide to be a good girl. he calls you names, pushes you around a little—it’s nothing too severe but still enough for him to have earned the reputation as the crueler of the two of them. for a second, seonghwa thinks he’s landed on the answer, you must’ve been a little too bratty and couldn’t handle the consequences…

but that still doesn’t make sense.

if you couldn’t handle the consequences then that must’ve meant you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished. that in itself is nothing new, although normally, you tend to realise that before you decide to go and act out. it could’ve been the case that you didn’t realise you weren’t feeling up for a punishment but then you should’ve used your safeword. the fact that you’re sat downstairs with him and yeosang and not snuggled up in hongjoong’s arms is testament to the fact that you can’t have done that either. his husband would never do something so utterly stupid as to let you out of his sight when you’re clearly still upset over a scene you stopped.

so what happened?

did you just force yourself to take a punishment you didn’t want? no. seonghwa knows you’re too smart to do that just like he knows his husband is too observant not to notice. it’s something else entirely. something that seonghwa just can’t put his finger on.

“i need a little more information than that, darling,” seonghwa coos as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on his lap. his chin sits prettily in the palms of one hand, the other coming to rest atop your head. he pets you a few times, his touch like a cloud as tries to soothe you. your shoulders relax a touch, but your fingers still pick at one another in your lap. seeing you in such a state makes his heart sink. “lamb, what exactly did hongjoong do to make you so upset?”

you sniffle, separating your hands for just a second to wipe your tears away. they fall right back onto your lap, twisting and tugging and smearing the blood around. seonghwa can’t help but be thankful that nothing in the house is pale enough to be stained by your blood; otherwise he’d be marching you the bathroom to wash your hands, begging you to tell him what happened as the two of you walk.

“he yelled at me,” you say simply, as if that would answer all of seonghwa’s questions. it doesn’t. in fact it only fills his mind with more.

“he yelled? as in he raised his voice?” seonghwa asks softly. he hopes that the answer is no; that you just mean that hongjoong has scolded you for something. it’s a little bit of a strong reaction for just a small telling off, but you have been known to take these sorts of things to heart.

but you nod, and seonghwa’s heart sinks. hongjoong never yells at anyone, let alone you, his little dove. seonghwa and yeosang pass an odd look between them.

“master yelled at you?” the werewolf hums as he shuffles his body closer to yours. an arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly tugs you until you’re lay flat against the rug alongside the pretty creature. he lays the hand atop your own, stopping you from doing any more damage to your nail beds. the blood that spills onto his hands is nothing that bothers him. “why would master do that?”

the question is more aimed towards seonghwa than it is you. as close as you are with the couple, it’s only really seonghwa that knows the inner workings of his husbands brain. he always has an explanation to everything hongjoong does…

“i don’t know,” he says, a frown taking over his beautiful features. you hate it because you know it’s your fault. you upset hongjoong, you got yelled at, you told seonghwa, and now you have upset him. every sign points to you…

“it’s my fault,” you whisper. yeosang’s arm tightens around your waist in an instinctive display of protection. from what, he isn’t too sure. “i just wanted him to take a break but he’s too busy right now. i should’ve known.”

of course. seonghwa could’ve guessed it would be down to stress. it’s been a rough few weeks for hongjoong, the stress of yeosang arriving and finding his way into their weird, mismatched family, mixed with an increase in customers with the jewellery business, it’s safe to say hongjoong had barely had a moment free. of course, yeosang has calmed a little by now, but that doesn’t take the stress of the business away from his poor husband. he’s still being worked half to death by demanding clients who have more money than sense.

seonghwa imagines that any moment now, his husband will come to his senses and see that you were just trying to do something nice. that you weren’t just being difficult for the sake of it—which, granted, you often are—but were instead just trying to take care of him. you lacked the grace and finesse that the two of them did, but you still tried. demons, it fills his heart with love to know that you desire to care for them in the same way they care about you. you’re such a precious little lamb for them; they must’ve done something very special in their past life to deserve you.

“oh, my lamb,” seonghwa mumbles through a soft smile, “you have nothing to blame yourself for except being at the mercy of your own empathy. you prodded him because you were worried and that’s very thoughtful of you. your daddy should be worshipping you for such a kind act. i’ll go and see if i can’t talk some sense into him, hm?”

he stands up, long flowing trousers pooling gracefully over his feet. his red nails dance along them as he straightens the material out, trying to iron out the creases with only his bare hands.

“i’ll be back soon,” he hums, “let your puppy take care of you for now.”

[roseykat]

What would be skz(separately) fav type of underwear on their gf? like what underwear/lingerie do they like to see their gf wear...? Maybe a mix of sfw and nsfw?

TITLE: Their favourite types of underwear/lingerie you wear.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: mentions of lingerie and underwear, sex, oral sex - nothing too heavy.

A/N: I’ve actually never thought about this question until you raised it anon, so thank you. I hope I’ve done it some justice lmao x

BANG CHAN

Channie is the type to try and hide how much he’s affected by you walking around the house in such lacy lingerie. He’d actually get fully flustered and would stumble with his words if you tried to speak to him too.

In saying that, he does have a secret favourite set that he loves seeing you wear which is a black, dainty, slightly see through bra and panties with cute small coloured flowers scattered over the fabric. He loves it because it’s a sexy meets cute style that makes him wonder if he wants to dominate or be dominated.

-

MINHO

Now look, there’s almost no point in wearing lingerie around this man because it’s coming off either way. In my mind, Minho has a high sex drive, so easy access is important. Clothing on you is a barrier to him. That being said, Minho can appreciate a good set of lingerie preferably in either black, a deep maroon, or white. With or without, he thinks you look stunning regardless.

However, there’s a specific set of panties that are almost see through and have intricate patterns on which he likes to trace over with his tongue as he eases into fully going down on you which, can drive you insane. It’s a classic Minho movement to try and establish that he’s in charge and that you wearing such sexy pieces of lingerie aren’t going to affect him (when it really does).

-

CHANGBIN

Honestly, I feel like Changbin enjoys seeing you in just plain, simple, cotton underwear. It sounds so basic, but it’s so effective on him? Like when he comes home from work or the gym and just sees you in a t-shirt and underwear - even better, one of his jerseys and plain underwear. That would throw him off.

But there’s also a domestic feel to it for him. He knows that you’re comfortable enough to just stride around in the house wearing next to nothing. Even sleeping in underwear too which most people do, including Changbin himself majority of the time.

-

HYUNJIN

Hyunjin is the type of man who would see you in anything and fall in love all over again. At the same time, he has an eclectic and refined taste for seeing you in lingerie. A staple black set is gold to him. It’s so sleek, elegant, and sexy at the same time, and even though this sounds cliche, it makes Hyunjin want to take photos of you wearing it or draw you in real time.

On the NSFW side, Hyunjin will be the type of guy to push your panties to the side and fuck you. But he’s also the type to pull out last minute and decorate the material on your body with white strings of his own cum. He always follows up with the promise of buying you another new set, which he always stays true to his word.

-

JISUNG

He honestly thinks you look stunning in lingerie that it makes him want to wear it sometimes. In saying that, he has a similar taste to Changbin in the sense that he likes seeing you in plain underwear. In fact, he’ll wear his own around the house with you too. But again, there’s that domestic aspect to it.

At the same time, if you do happen to be wearing a nice set of lingerie, Jisung is a goner. For some reason he switches right back into a sub and just wants to be absolutely dominated. He’d want his hands tied behind his back and to use his teeth to pull garters from down your thigh. You don’t know how that affect could possibly occur, but you don’t ever complain about it.

-

FELIX

Felix is all for you wearing lingerie. He won’t only help you pick out what he thinks would look nice on you, but he also buys sets for you if he sees one when he’s out. Some of his favourite colours are more on the pastel side and likes the ones with delicate frills over the fabric on your hips. However, Felix will lean towards seeing you in darker sets and maybe a set of white because it makes you look angelic.

Similar to others, it is an aesthetic aspect with the way in which you suit it so well. Felix enjoys watching you walk around the house in nothing but a bra and cute panties that he bought for you. It shows your level of appreciation for his gestures.

-

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin is also another person who has a high appreciation for you in lingerie. He likes it when you wear them for scenes in the bedroom. You would be wearing a nice set that he might have picked out earlier on, something that compliments your body well because he’s also going to be accentuating it even more through the methods of shibari.

He thinks it looks clean cut, eye-pleasing, and photo worthy - something that should be presented in a kink museum. Sometimes he’ll opt for you to wear a black, silk yet sturdy bra and lacy black panties then will accommodate that with some red rope when he starts tying you up. Otherwise it's the opposite - red lingerie set and black rope. At times, he’ll also suggest you wear thigh high lace stockings that pairs well with your bra and panties.

-

JEONGIN

Jeongin would actually make the perfect boyfriend and we all know that, but he knows how to throw an outfit together - and for you in particular, Jeongin also takes the aesthetic of lingerie into his consideration. Whenever you’re both going out somewhere nice for food, Jeongin will help match your undergarments to your clothes.

If you’re wearing a top that exposes a bit of the bra underneath, he would help find the right colour for it. So in short, it really just depends and that’s the beauty of it because no set of lingerie he puts you in will be the same.

[sc0tters]

Behind Closed Doors | Trevor Zegras

summary: you and Trevor have been in a FWB relationship for over a year, but what happens when he gets jealous during your families yearly trip to the lake house?

song: I Can See You - Taylor Swift

request: yes/no

warnings: jealous (and lowkey toxic Trevor), fwb relationship, mentions of sexual themes but nothing explicit.

word count: 1.54k

authors note: this is the first Hughes sibling piece that I have ever done! Trevor does honestly give me that toxic boy vibe sometimes so I’m hoping I’ve given it justice. if you want to see more or be apart of the 150 celly you can check the playlist out here!

pt2

Everywhere you looked he was there.

Trevor had been apart of the steady stream of guests that the lake house had homed for the last week and a half. Usually you loved having your brothers friends there, most you had grown to call friends of yours to. But Trevor was different.

You had been a study at the university of California for the entire duration of your degree. Jack had asked the older boy to look out for you because he couldn’t stand the idea of his twin sister being all the way across the country.

Being the good best friend that Trevor was he fully took on the role making sure that he saw you at least once a week and if the Ducks were playing a weekend game at home then you were there. You two spent two years doing that, you’d watch the occasional girl walk in and out of his life and you couldn’t help but feel your heart full with sorrow. From the day you met Trevor you actually found him really irritating but on your fifteenth birthday when he simply said that you looked nice, it all changed. Suddenly he was no longer just Jacks friend and national teammate but he was now also cute.

Over the two years you were his usual plus one to team events to the point where you somehow cracked the nod to join the wags group chat. Despite both of your efforts to shut down those rumours it always fell on deaf ears as the team had actually made a bet on when you two would finally admit to it.

But of course that day never came, the day that did come though was the one where you two slept together. It was after a surprising Ducks win and when Trevor came over to celebrate you were in nothing more than your towel as you were about to hop in the shower. With a simple surge of confidence that you got when he was left speechless at the sight, you asked if he wanted to join.

That was over a year ago yet it was the start of a different stage in your relationship. Once you two toed the line of being something more than friends you two got addicted, thus throwing yourselves into the deep end of that pool headfirst.

It was nice, your needs were met in bed and Trevor never treated you like you were just his fuckbuddy. You were everything that girlfriend was, except you didn’t have the title and beyond the comfort of your dorm and his apartment you were clearly nothing more than a friend.

Your mind refused to see the red flags that your friends raised. Each time they did you would brush it off as you tried to explain that he kept you his little secret for the sakes of the relationship he had with Jack.

As much as you loved your brothers you knew that they would kill any boy they learnt was in your bed.

Somehow your friends convinced you to see where you really stood with Trevor though. The plan was intricate and detailed but your job was simple.

All you had to do was treat him how he treated you. It meant that you practically had to ignore him.

By day three you wanted to give up, you wanted to send him a text and tell to come to your room.

But with the thought of your friends killing you, it caused you to prevail. In a way it was actually not as hard as you thought it would be, not when Alex was practically attached to your hip “Al!” You let out a squeal as the boy tackled you into the pool.

Trevor watched the interaction with a scowl on his face. Was Alex the one that you were inviting to your room when everyone went to sleep? And since when were you two so close? It seemed like every time he wanted to talk to you Alex was with you, either on the end of your sun lounger, sharing your couch with you. Or Trevor’s least favourite how you would be sat on Alex’s lap as his hands laced around your waist as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear.

It irritated him how nonchalantly Jack reacted about the actions, how the Devils player even laughed when your head came up out of the water.

You shoved the boys arm as you sent him a playful glare “asshole,” you murmured as you shook your head.

Alex grinned as he pulled you into a hug “you love me.” He smiled as he rested his chin on your head.

If you had to describe the Kings player you would say he was nice. Alex’s personality deserved more of a description than what the bland word gave him but it was exactly how you felt around him. Quinn came out of the kitchen pulling everyone’s attention away from the pool “who is on the boat in ten?” He asked as he placed his hands on his hips. Through the stream of nods you shook your head “gonna take a shower,” you announced as you got out of the water smiling as your younger brother was quick to hand you a towel.

This was the moment Trevor needed “I gotta call my mom,” he lied as his eyes watched you make your way back into the house.

The chirps from the boys were met with silence as the Ducks player didn’t care, not when he was going to talk to you.

For Trevor the week had been hell, having to watch you walk around in your little bikinis and not being able to touch you was the worst. Yesterday he watched you eat a popsicle and swore that you were doing it all to screw with him. The way your lips wrapped around the flavoured ice was the same way your lips usually wrapped around his cock.

So naturally there was a slight pep in his step as he didn’t really care about the fact that all three of your brothers were still downstairs “mom?” You called out from your bathroom as you heard the door open.

It brought a laugh from Trevor’s lips “haven’t called me that before,” he teased as he leaned against the frame of your bathroom door.

Your eyes went wide as you looked at the boy “what are you doing here?” You asked as you crossed your arms.

It irritated you how calm he was being “missed you,” he confessed as he walked into the bathroom and sent you a smile “missed these,” he added as he let his finger run through the strap of your bikini.

The feeling sent shivers down your spine “took you a week to decide that?” You cocked your head as the boy moved his finger to the gap between the two cups of your bikini top as he pulled you closer to him.

Trevor gave you this look that made you weak in the knees “knew it from the first day,” it came to a surprise for the boy when you didn’t even get off of the couch to hug him when he arrived.

You were too engrossed in the game of Mario Kart that you had going with Cole to even bat an eyelash at the New York native.

His possessiveness put a smile on your face “you jealous?” You asked as you raked your fingers through the ends of his hair.

It was a move that made him melt, he loved it when you had your fingers in his hair “nope,” his lips popped as he shook his head “why should I be when I’m the one in here with you?” Trevor pointed out as he ran his thumb over your lip.

The comment caused you to frown “could have had Alex in here just as fast.” You mumbled as you tried to look at the ground.

Trevor didn’t let you though as he hooked his fingers under your jaw “you know he couldn’t give you what I can,” he warned as he softly squeezed your chin.

You almost wanted to laugh “and what is it that you can give me?” You batted your eyelashes at him.

The hockey player pecked your lips “the fucking world baby,” he explained as he smiled “now he a good girl and start the shower for me.” His voice was soft as he leaned over to turn your speaker on that immediately connected to his phone.

The request made you furrow your eyebrows “why?” You asked as you watch him pick the playlist that you had made one day when you were bored.

Trevor leaned down to your ear “would hate for your parents to hear what I have in mind for you,” it made your knees buckle as your back was pushed against the cold tile of your bathroom wall.

You were quick to nod “my good little girl,” he repeated those words as he kissed your neck before he watched you make your way to the shower to fulfil his request.

No matter how hard you tried, your relationship was always going to stay like this.

Only for your eyes,

Only behind closed doors.

[klttn]

An Ariel silk session with Lucifer? He watches us mess with the silks, and he's like "oooo so pretty". then we flash him a smile and he thinks we're done and gonna climb down. BUT we let go with our hands and he's "😱😱" and panics. He moves to catch us but the silks catch us before he can even summon his wings.

𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝓀

pairing : lucifer x reader

content!! : pure cute softness

summary : lucifer is a doting little situationship you have that loves to watch you wrapped up in silk, putting on a show for him.

this was your favourite feeling in the world, suspended so gracefully in the air, relying only on the plush pink satin adorning your body. the intricate twists, turns and loops softly digging into the delicate plush of your hips and thighs. so captivating.

especially to the very unsubtle viewer you were putting on a show for.

lucifer morningstar himself, trying so very hard to keep his prying gaze a secret and failing so miserably.

you didn’t mind though, the thought of him watching you was tantalising and made you feel all fuzzy inside, you couldn’t get enough.

lucifer was fully enthralled at the sight in front of him; he'd never seen anything like this before, the intricacy baffling him in a way he’d never experienced. so beautiful, he thought. how he wished to see you and those silks in other ways. namely in his bedroom, tied up. all his. and only his.

but that would never happen. you weren’t together.

you continued your routine, letting the soft fabric pull you and sway you as you floated through the air until you found yourself upside down, legs above you in such a way that your tiny shorts couldn’t help but ride up the curve of your ass.

lucifers breath hitched. he couldn’t stop himself from muttering a soft, ‘fuck,’ under his breath. that certainly made a little smirk grow on your face.

“luciiii, i can hear youuu…” you softly sang, pulling yourself up so that you were upright with your legs resting in the splits, making sure the mass of satin was wrapped around you just right, complimenting your supple skin perfectly, searching for the blonde man you so badly wanted to see, “i want to see you, please luce.”

you hear faint footsteps as he appears himself below you, eyes fixated on all of you, taking in every inch, “can you blame me for watching, i mean shit, y/n, you look so fucking pretty up there.” you couldn’t stop yourself from blushing, biting your lip in anticipation. “gosh i can see the red of your cheeks from here, just from me calling you pretty.” he was so cocky.

deciding to have a little bit of confidence, despite what the colour of your face said, you leaned forward slightly, just enough to expose the soft skin of the top of your boobs, looking down at lucifer with wide eyes and watching him as he clicked his tongue, knowing what you were up to. “did you like the show i put on for you?”

scoffing, as if the answer was so obvious, “you already know the answer to that, don’t you, little one?” he asks, teasing, noticing how you shift at the name. “you’re the most mesmerising thing i’ve ever seen. i would do anything you asked.”

your eyes lit up, idea already forming, “aaanything?” you say in that daring voice of yours.

“anything.” he states, not faltering in his confidence.

“catch me,” you smile at him before letting your grip go on the two pieces of pink keeping you bound as you go tumbling downwards.

immediate panic filled lucifers face as he rushes over to where you are, already summoning his wings to fly to you but failing and stopping before he could even lift his feet off the ground. in seconds, you were stilled, just a couple feet above the floor, and giggling so cutely, silk ribbons still pretty on your hips.

lucifers frown drops, huffing as he walks over to you, shooting you a sharp glare and taking advantage of the fabric you loved. without saying a word, he used it to wrap around his hands and under your thighs, keeping you still semi suspended. “you’re so mean to me.”

“you’re so cute when you’re worried about me, luci,” you coo, leaning into the suspension, full trust in lucifer to hold you as you go to wrap your arms around him.

“tease.” he huffs, shifting his weight to hold more of you, one of his hands finding its way to your hair, stroking gently.

you sigh contently, nuzzling into lucifers neck, silence falling for only a few seconds before you break it, “lucifer?”

“yes, pretty girl?” his hand never stilling as he tangles his fingers through your hair.

“what are we?” you whisper weakly, not daring to look in his eyes.

lucifer pulls back, lifting your chin up, forcing your now glassy eyes to meet his, “what do you want us to be?” he questions, his red orbs searching your face for something but you don’t know what.

“i want to be yours.” your voice was low, barely audible.

a smirk started forming at the corner of lucifers mouth, “yeah?” he asks.

you nod, n give him a small smile back. this is the best thing he’s heard all day.

“fuck, baby,” you instantly keen at the pet name. “you mean that?”

you nod again, smile growing wider.

“words, baby, use your words, i need to hear you say it, tell me you’re mine.”

“yours, luci, i’m all yours.”

it was like something in lucifer just snapped, like a weight was lifted. he starts kissing all over your face,“you’re mine, god, you’re fucking mine, only mine, all mine, my girl, my princess.”

you were giggling so much, trying to hide in him, face so pink, so flustered, “you’re so cute,” he says, grinning as he stops the assault on your face to rest his forehead on yours. “that adorable laugh is the reason i get up every morning, i hope you know that.”

you may have been in hell but from that moment on, every second spent with lucifer felt like heaven to you.

A/N : … can you tell i had fun with this? i enjoyed writing this so much i really hope i did this request justice <3

[lenacosse]

Hockey player!Sirius x Ice skater!Reader that are rivals smut.

pairing: sirius black x fem reader

cw: strong language, smut, choking degradation

word count: 3,041

‘i could tell that you were bad news

but i kept messing with you, messing with you

and now you’re messing with me, messing with me’

════════════════

You step onto the ice, the cool air wrapping your body in a familiar hug. You were particularly excited today for practice because you were doing it alone, you loved your coach she was great but there was something so therapeutic about being the only one. You do your usual warm up, a few laps and simple tricks. At the minute you were training up for a major competition that would dictate your future in skating, however knowing this it didn’t make you worried because you knew how good you were. You’d been doing this your entire life which has maxed out your skills, anyone would be stupid to not acknowledge your talent.

After your fifth lap your body was heating up and your blood was pumping faster- desperate to get started. You skate over to the speakers and start your routine, this routine was the most intricate you had ever been set but you were destined to perfect it, and so far it was going good. As you were landing your butterfly spin the music cut off, you turned around to hear a wolf whistle. Your face dropped as you saw who it was.

“Black. What are you doing?! Turn the music back on I’m rehearsing.”

“We’ve came to practice. Get off the ice.”

You skate over to him, he’s standing there with a smug look on his face. He’s decked head to toe in is hockey gear and holding his sticks, beside him is his friend James. You weren’t sure which one of them you hated more.

“I don’t care.” You cross your arms, he rolls his eyes at you. “Your team has practice in an hour. The rink is reserved for figure skating.”

“What do you need the rink for? Dancing. You skaters are fucking ridiculous.” Sirius scoffs.

“Oh yeah you’re right! I’ve no reason to be here, you said it yourself, skating isn’t a sport.”

“It isn’t.” James adds, you feel the anger rising in you.

“Shut the fuck up Potter! I’m not leaving the rink. You both have scheduled practice in an hour, just fucking wait til then.”

You ignore the protest that Sirius is putting up and skate back to the speaker, resuming your rehearsal. You try to ignore the taunts the two boys are sending your way, they tormented you to move as they set up their nets, you pushed the net half way across the rink which pissed Sirius off.

“If you move that one more time I swear to god.” He fumed.

“I told you already Black I need the space! I have a competition in a month.”

“And I have matches. I don’t care about your stupid hobby.”

“Hobby?! Fuck you.” You exclaim and angrily make your way back to your side of the rink. You felt all eyes on you as you performed, you could feel Sirius judging you. You truly hated him beyond explanation, he was horrible to you ever since you met him four years ago.

He constantly denied your talents, sabotaged your space and made you feel inferior to him. Most ice hockey players done that to the figure skaters, they didn’t see the art in it. But you didn’t care, Black’s words bounced off you and you redirected them back at him. You knew he was a rough fuck boy who cared way too much about sport, ice skating was a creative outlet for you, a deep passion that let you express yourself, a talent that you could master. But for Sirius hockey was an anger outlet, he could be rough and mean on the rink. He also saw it as an excuse to disregard school and education, one injury and you knew him and his precious future was fucked. Of course he was in denial about this, like most men are. But anyways, his beautiful face and toned body didn’t distract you from his venomous personality and sleazy mouth.

You were practicing your axel, that is until a a hockey puck files right at you. Hitting you in the chest, the aggression of the blow sends you flying, you land awkwardly on your back with your ankle tucked under your leg. You cry out in pain, you look up to see James with a conflicted expression on his face and Sirius plastered with a smug grin.

“Knew you were a shit skater.” Sirius taunts. You get up in an instant, the anger you felt overpowering the pain of your ankle.

“You fucking bastard! That wasn’t funny Sirius I could have got seriously injured.”

“I didn’t think you would fall fucking hell give me a break.”

“Give you a break?! Fuck you are ridiculous! You can take this fucking puck and shove it up your arsehole you wanker!” You pick up the puck and throw it at him, it only enrages you more as he catches it. You could have quite literally strangled him.

As you storm off he shouts back at you, “guess we lost our ‘best skater’.”

“You know plain fucking right that I’m better than you! You’re a sad excuse for a player.” You yell as you take your skates off.

You walk around the corner out of sight to put your shoes on, you knew this was the final straw with him. You were debating reporting him, but you weren’t petty and you knew he was just childish, so for now you would leave it. You were about to walk away but stopped as you heard James speaking.

“Don’t you think that was too far?” He asks as him and Sirius resume with their practice.

“No? How is it too far?”

“…she could have gotten hurt” James responds.

“She didn’t.” Sirius sighs, “look I don’t know why you care, she’s a bitch who’s always had it out for me so I correspond with that attitude.”

“Still. You shouldn’t have fired that puck at her, if she tells the captain you’re off the team.”

“She won’t.”

You rolled your eyes as you heard that, of course he assumes you’ll be nice and pity him. But he’s right, you won’t because just like him the captain didn’t care for the opinions of the figure skaters. That to you was most likely the reason Sirius was such a dick, you walk away- not caring for the rest of their stupid conversation and get changed in the locker room. Your ankle was swollen but nothing serious happened, that you only could be thankful for. It would be an absolute disaster if your ankle broke before your competition.

════════════════

The next day you arrive again at practice, again alone. You had a later scheduled one on one with your coach but your entire day was free so you decided it was a good idea to get there early. So again, you go onto the ice and start your routine. Out of the corner of your eye you see Sirius putting in his skates, you audibly groan and watch as he skates onto the ice. However he barely acknowledges you. You thought he was going to leave you alone, until after you landed your spin he approaches you.

“Looking wobbly (Y/L/N).”

“Fuck off Black.” You snarl and send him a glare.

“You’re cute when mad.” He smirks.

Your face screws up in disgust as you scoff. “Leave me alone. Go annoy someone else.”

“Ah but no one reacts like you do, theres no fun it in.”

“Oh you get off on bullying? How charming.”

“You’re just as bad,” he winks. You gag at him and move across the rink in an attempt to get away from him.

Surprisingly he takes the hint and leaves you be for awhile, but you could see him staring at you. Watching your every movement, his eyes following you like a predatory animal about to pounce. You felt uneasy under his gaze, you hated to admit but he held power in his eyes. There was something about him underneath all the hatred that fascinated you, but that was only a minor thing. And of course once he started to piss you off again you were reminded of this hatred. This time he chose to mess with your music, he kept turning it off and changing it to another artist.

“Stop. Leave it be.”

“I’ve had enough of watching you gallop around the rink.”

“I’ve got a solution for you genius, leave. Go on, piss off I don’t want you here.” You spoke in a child like tone to mock him.

“You go. You come every day I can’t get a fucking minute alone in here.”

“I come here to rehearse. And too fucking bad, you don’t own the rink I have every right to be here. I pay to use this.”

“Rehearse? Fuck me you are delirious, figure skating is ridiculous.”

“No you know what, I think you’re jealous. You’re threatened because I’m the only one who meets your match. Right? You think undermining me and making fun of me will make me quit so then you’ll be the best.”

“What we do is completely different, so no. I’m not jealous.”

“I know what we do is different. But you’re so shallow that you’re threatened by everyone, you want to be the best contributor to this company but you can’t because you think I’ll beat you every time.” You move closer to him, you eyes locking in on his. He looked mad, you were getting under his skin.

“Im not threatened by anyone. To think that you’re even on the same playing field as me is crazy. You’ll never be as good as anyone that contributes to this company. You’re an awful skater.”

You just smirk, he was trying so hard to hurt you but it wasn’t working. You knew you were good, that you earned. “Nice attempt.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“The feelings mutual.”

You both share intense eye contact. You head was running wild trying to find something to say, but the way he was looking at you was making your brain fog. All you could think of was the way his jaw flexed when he smirked, how his veins became prominent as he balled his fists or how his eyes were laced with pure lust as he looked into you doe ones. You couldn’t believe standing in front of him you felt sexual tension between you both, you broke the eye contact and cleared your throat.

“Fine dickhead. Have the entire rink.” You sneer and walk off the rink. Removing your skates and walking back to the females changing rooms. Before you open the door you feel a hand grip your wrist and pull you back.

You’re met with Sirius’ face, he looked different than usual, his pupils were expanded and his jaw was tight. He pushed you up against the wall and whispered into your ear.

“I want to fuck you until you forget your name like the slut that you are, maybe then you’ll think twice before running your mouth.”

You squeeze your thighs together as he speaks, his voice was rough yet sultry at the same time. You didn’t know what to say, so you just flashed him an innocent expression which made him grunt. He leaned back down to whisper into your ear.

“Strip down and stand in the shower. I’ll be there in a minute.” With that he walked away, you stand there for a second baffled by that encounter, but without thinking you walk in the changing rooms.

First you take off your leg warms and leave them right at the door, then your tights, then your jacket, then your shirt, then your skirt, then your panties and finally your bra. You left him a trail to find you. You step into the shower and pull the curtain, you stand with your front to the wall, your back to the entrance. You turn the water on and step until, working your way through your hair as the water soaks it. You heard the curtain open and your stomach flipped. Before you knew it you were pressed against the wall and Sirius was behind you, his hard cock between your thighs.

He grabbed your hair, pulling your neck back so you were looking up at him. You bit your lip at the sight, his hair was now wet and droplets of water fell from his hair down onto his face. You hated how beautiful he looked. The sight before you was making you drip with arousal, you’d never felt this way before about anyone and the hatred between you both only made this feel even better.

“Look at you, waiting for me. Fuck you’re so pathetic.” He snarled. You just looked at him with you doe eyes, your lashes fluttering.

“I couldn’t help myself.” You smirked. A whimper escaped your lips as he tugged hard on your hair, he let go of your hair and instead wrapped his hand around your throat, applying a little bit of pressure. You couldn’t deny the fact that you liked it.

He ran his other hand down your back, sending deep shivers up your spin. His hand stopped at your ass. You cried out as he smacked it, you didn’t except it but surprisingly you liked it. He ran his finger over your slit, his eyes grew darker as he felt how wet and eager you were.

“Is this turning you on? Am I making you excited?” He whispered a low growl on the end of his words. You nodded in response, suddenly he shoved two fingers inside you, a gasp escaped your lips, he searched for that sweet spot and immediately found it. You eyes rolled back as he pumped his fingers onto it, you gripped the metal shelf as your legs lightly shook from under you. Sirius kept going, getting faster and more aggressive as you got closer to that release. Your muscles tightened around you and he immediately pulled his fingers back.

You whine in response opening your eyes again and looking up at him. “Why’d you stop.”

“Felt like it,” he shrugged. He let go of your throat and grabbed your hips. You felt him rub his tip at your entrance and you moved back further, showing him how much you wanted this. “You’re such a slut. But I love it.”

He thrusted into you, gentler than you had expect. However that didn’t last long, once you had settled he pushed you even further against the wall and pinned your hands together at your back, his other hand gripped the metal shelf. He pounded into you at an insane speed, his thick cock stretching you out in the most divine way. He hit your good spot perfectly which had you rolling your eyes and moaning continuously. Every noise you made and urged him to go faster and harder, you swore your pelvic would inevitably be bruised from this but frankly you didn’t care. It felt too good.

“I- fucking hate you.” You moaned, your words were sloppy and broken.

Sirius chuckled from behind you and leaned to your ears. “I hate you too. But I bet no one has had you moaning like this.” He kissed down your neck, you could swear at one point he bit your neck but everything blurred into one so you couldn’t be sure, but that didn’t matter because everything he was doing was beyond attractive.

You felt the coil in your stomach snap and you released around him, your legs shook as he kept going. You heard his low groans in your ear, it quite literally was the hottest sound you’d ever heard. He kept going until you came again, this time it was intense. You were overridden with euphoria as you saw white, your legs nearly gave way but Sirius put a steady hand under your to hold you in place. He slowly pulled out and let your arms go. You looked back at him.

“What about you?”

“You’re going to get on your knees and finish the job.” He said, he helped you down and you were now in level with his cock.

This had you biting your lip in anticipation. The way the water fell down on him could have turned you on all over again, he put his hands into your hair, guiding your mouth to his cock. He wasn’t small that was for sure, you licked a long slow strip from his base to tip, slowly you wrapped your lips around his tip and started to suck. You moved your head up and down him as you hollowed your cheeks, he tasted heavenly on your tongue. You were enjoying the noises coming out of his mouth. You slowly pulled your head back releasing his cock from your mouth, you wrapped your hand around the bottom and stroked him as your tongue ran over his slit, the practically whined as you done this, you looked up at him. His eyes were closeted and his face contoured with pleasure. You smirked and resumed, taking your time to draw out those beautiful sounds from his mouth. That was until he grew impatient. He grabbed your head and took back the dominance, he fucked your mouth hard. Your eyes were watering and tears were falling out, but you were loving every moment of it. You kept up with his thrusts, sucking him eagerly. You could tell he was close when his movements got sloppy. And as you expected he came in your mouth, hot white liquid shooting down your throat. Slowly you pulled your head back, swallowing his cum. He looked down at you with a satisfied smirk.

“We’re doing that again.”

You nodded in agreement and he helped you up, you made him pass you in your shower products in your bag. He got dressed and turned to leave.

“See you later (Y/L/N). Better not hog the rink tomorrow with your galloping.”

“Cant make any promises dickhead.” You roll your eyes. He just smirked at you and left. You showered and got ready for your next rehearsal, you still couldn’t believe what happened but it was the best sexual experience you’ve had which you would not say no to if he wanted to do it again.

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 32.3k+ (dear lord)

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction & calorie counting), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, a parent in the hospital, mentions of sexually explicit scene being shot on film, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy

SMUT-18+ ONLY: fingering & oral (f receiving), nipple stimulation, heavy petting (m receiving), possessiveness, a lot of hickeys(lol), a little praise (please let me know if i’ve missed anything)

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me. this story is personal to me for so many reasons, & parts of it have been a little hard to write. but, they’ve begged to be written. i hope you all love it. 🤍

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

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

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Christmas Eve: Cherry Tree, OK

The ground was buried under mounds of snow. A fluffy, warm blanket of the softest white, yet it froze your little fingers when you buried your hands into its inviting, bright allure. 

You were bundled so tightly in your winter ensemble that you could hardly move. Your arms were stiff as boards, impossible to lay at your sides. You begged your mom to not make you wear it outside, but she and your dad wouldn’t budge. 

“You’ll get sick.” They warned you. But you didn’t heed them. 

As soon as you were outside and safely out of their sight, you shed your pink puffer and matching mittens, throwing them in a deep bank covering the once vibrant flower beds on the side of your house and freeing yourself of their restrictions.

You’d spent what felt like hours outside in the below freezing temperatures. Intricately rounding out perfect snowballs, building the tallest snowman your six year old body could manage, creating the most heavenly snow angels. 

You hadn’t even noticed the sudden pain and tightness that had developed in your small chest, or the dry cough that accompanied it. You were too busy warding off evil snow monsters from your fort made of icey wonder.

Until you heard your first, middle and last name erupting from the opened back door. 

Your mom and dad were there, their faces as white as the snow your body plummeted towards when your small lungs became too tired to allow for another breath of air. 

You spent Christmas in the hospital that year. The whole week, actually. A collapsed lung due to pneumonia, you were told. It was the most painful thing you had yet to experience in your young life. 

But to this very day, you consider it the best Christmas you’ve ever celebrated.

Nurses and doctors showered you with all the toys your heart could ever long for. You opened gifts from your bed and enjoyed the most wonderfully terrible Christmas dinner the hospital cafeteria could offer. 

You ate more ice cream than what was truly necessary. But no one denied your incessant requests for the frozen treat.

You watched Oliver and Company countless times that week, a favorite of yours and your dads. He hated Disney movies, but he loved this one, only because of Billy Joel’s character and the classic song he featured in the film.

He loved Billy Joel. Loved him enough to sit through hours upon hours of the animated film with you. 

Neither him or your mom left your side that whole week. They didn’t even go home to sleep. They just stayed with you. 

There were no fights between your mom and dad that week. Not even one. It was the closest your little family had ever been, and would ever be again. The love you felt from your parents that week has yet to find a comparison.

Crazy as it sounds, you miss that week. You began missing it as soon as you were cleared to go home. 

Their bickering resumed almost as soon as they put you in your special, tiny wheelchair to take you to the car. Whatever magic that hospital held that forced your family to love each other in a way that was brand new to you, was lost altogether once you were wheeled out of the automatic glass doors. 

You knew, once they situated you in the back of your dads double cab, that you’d never see them love each other that way ever again. 

As the Winter thawed to a bright Spring that year, when the snow melted and ran away to the Deer in Water creek that your home stood proudly beside, so did your hopes of ever seeing your parents love you and each other the same as they had that Christmas. 

That was a time in your life when you viewed your mom and dad in the same light. A time when you didn’t hate your dad, a time when he made you believe a man could love you.

When it wasn’t just your dad that caused problems, and it wasn’t just your mom that showed you love. They both did those things.

It’s strange to think back on it all now, to think about how he’s the one that left, and she’s the one dying. (Or already dead.)

You can’t bring yourself to understand why, but that Christmas you spent in the hospital all those years ago is all that's playing in your mind as Jake is speeding to the hospital. 

He’s asked you a few times how you’re holding up, but you can’t begin to try and answer him. 

You’re unable to communicate more than a quiet nod of your head as you're staring through the tinted passengers window. 

There aren’t any tears. No lump in your throat. 

You want to cry, but you can’t. 

Your mind pleads with you to acknowledge the emotions swirling about, desperate to manifest outwardly. But despite the inner turmoil, your body refuses to show it.

You just can’t.

Everything feels numb. 

You’re not even sure if you’re breathing properly.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You hadn’t even realized how tightly you’d been clutching the necklace your dad gifted you  all those years  ago. It’s somehow serving as a comfort for you as you’re being driven to the hospital, even after everything he’s put you through. You find yourself running your thumb over the engraved initial, just  as you always had before he left.

As much as you’ve grown to hate him over the last year, you can’t help but wish he were here. Not being able to rely on anyone right now is…it’s fucking terrible.

Well, aside from Jake. 

He’s the last person you’d expect to be leaning on.

But it was purely an accident. Him driving you to the hospital is just a happenstance. He wouldn’t have if your stupid car hadn’t broken down (thanks, dad) and if it weren’t for that, you wouldn’t have had to get a ride from Jake in the first place.

But, you’re grateful to him right now. Grateful that he stuck around at your apartment long enough to know he needed to take you to her. 

If it weren’t for him, you’d still be stuck there desperately searching for someone to take you.

Finally, the brakes come to a screeching halt at the emergency room entrance. You absently thank him as you practically jump out of the car. 

You don’t look back, but you hear the thrumming motor of his range rover become more distant as he drives away.

You can’t bring yourself to care at this point as you’re sprinting to the front desk in search of where they’ve taken your mom. 

The young, redheaded man behind the counter with bright green eyes shielded by thick eyeglass frames looks rather shocked at your frenzied state. He’s watching you with his mouth agape, hands frozen on the keyboard of his desktop as he prepares for your inevitable arrival.

“I–I need to f– find my mom. She was just broug–” You take a second to catch your breath, still clutching your necklace for some sort of grounding. “...she was brought here by ambulance and I—” He stops you with a hand held high, asking you to slow down because he can’t comprehend your rushed words.

You can hardly even understand yourself, your voice breathy and stuttering as you’re gasping for air. But there’s no time to wait to catch it in your heaving lungs. 

“I need my mom and you need to tell me where the hell they’ve taken her. Her name is–”

“Miss,” he interupts, standing up as if to intimidate you with his much taller stature in comparison to yours. “If you can’t calm down I’ll have to ask you to leave.” His voice (that he’s clearly manipulated to sound much more threatening) echoes throughout the entire lobby as he’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one.

This man has started copping an attitude with you that you’re in no place to put up with. You’ve backed down to people you’re entire fucking life, but right now isn’t the goddamn time.

You’ve decided to challenge him. If he wants to be loud, you can be loud right back.

Your fist pounds the counter with a force that causes everyone in the lobby of the emergency room to gasp and silence their voices. The metal container holding pens is jolted over the edge, the clipboard holding the blank paperwork for patients to fill out tumbles to the floor from the sheer amount of power behind your hand. 

There’s a stinging pain running rapidly up your arm, all the way to your shoulder, ringing through your teeth and  vibrating in your skull. 

You don’t even so much as wince from the pain.

A potential broken hand is the very least of your troubles right now.  

“She may be dying,” you scream, your first still held firm atop the white marble. “And if you don’t tell me where the fuck she is, you may have ruined the last time I’ll ever see her.”

The tears you’ve held in thus far begin flooding your face, falling like a heavy rain shower on the granite where your sore hand lies. 

Before the receptionist can start the process of having you escorted out, a tall woman dressed in a light blue set of scrubs stops him before he can make a single move. 

“Tell me her name, sweetie.” Her voice is quiet and her demeanor is calm, her wavy brown locks tied in a sleek ponytail at the bottom of her neck reminds you so much of the way your mom used to wear her hair before she got sick. 

You tell her your moms name through a shaky voice, attempting to make yourself sound more composed so you don’t get yourself kicked out of here. 

She gently moves the receptionist aside (Eric, according to the name badge clipped to the pocket of his shirt) and begins clicking the mouse around, scrunching her eyebrows in focus. 

“Here she is,” she confirms, the printer behind her humming with the physical version of what she can see on the screen. “She doesn’t have a room just yet, hun.” 

You feel defeated and useless. You’re her primary caregiver, and you can’t do your job from behind this stiff counter— not knowing where she is, how she is, what happened. So many unknowns, so much that’s completely out of your control.

You suddenly feel the intense pain radiating from your fist and you instinctively pull it close to you, clutching it tightly against your chest in hopes that pressure will alleviate just how bad it hurts.

“I’ll let you know when she gets a room. Until then, you’re welcome to wait in the lobby.” The tall nurse tells you. 

You nod your head in agreement, knowing there’s nothing you can say or do to make them move quicker. Still clutching your fist, you slowly walk away towards the stained lobby chairs and plant yourself in the one that’s closest to the counter.

You pull your phone out of your jacket pocket in search of something to distract you, but you're mortified to be met with the dead battery symbol upon trying to unlock it.

Great. Nothing to divert you from your thoughts (or the searing pain) for god knows how long. You feel the tears start to well in your sleepy eyes again, and you just decide to let them fucking fall. There’s no sense in trying to keep them in, you need to feel right now so you don’t explode again with your pent up aggression. 

Crying feels like the safest thing to do right now, and the best way to relieve some of the mental (and physical) pain. 

You let your chin fall down towards your chest, watching as the tears land on your sheer tights. You can’t help but giggle a little at how much thought you put into this outfit, only for the night to end like this. You had no way of knowing. No signs that she was doing so poorly on the night you decided to fucking leave her.

But before you have the chance to become too deep in your pity party, you hear the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet walking in your direction. You don’t bother looking up; you figure if you ignore whoever it is, they’ll also ignore you, which is exactly what you want right now. 

But ignoring them isn’t quite doing the trick. You see a pair of black sweats out of your peripheral standing near you, and as you lift your eyes a little more, you see a hand offering you a tissue. 

When you shift your watering eyes up a bit more, you realize it’s Jake.

“Wha-what are you still doing here?” You ask, the crying making your voice meak and raspy. You clear your throat as you thank him and accept his small (but rather meaningful) token. A sweet gesture that you can’t ignore. 

“I just wanted to make sure you found her okay,” he says while settling down in the seat on your left. “And I couldn’t leave knowing you don’t have a way home tonight. This hospital won’t let people stay overnight anymore since the pandemic. Didn’t want to leave you stranded.”

You hadn’t even thought of any of that. Aside from getting to your mom, you had no plan of action. Anything to come after that just hadn’t crossed your mind yet. You're glad someone thought of all those things, because your mind clearly isn’t capable of considering much at the moment. 

“Well, thank you. But I can just call Nat so you don’t have to stay with me.” Your voice sounds a little colder than you’d like it to. But with the way your emotions are surfacing, it can’t be helped right now. 

“Your phone’s dead,” he challenges, pointing to the quiet device sitting in your lap . “So, I’m staying.” 

You snap your head towards him, wide eyes and scrunched brows in question. “How do you know that?” 

“Been trying to call you for the last twenty minutes,” he explains, taking his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his call log to prove it to you. “It was going straight to voicemail. I knew there was a chance you could’ve been ignoring me, but I had a feeling your battery had just died.”

You can’t deny the grin that’s threatening to consume your tired features. You’re flattered, to say the least. While you didn’t fully expect him to stay to be sure you were okay, you’re not entirely surprised. (It crossed your mind briefly that he could just let you use his phone to call Nat, be he hasn’t offered. And you’re not going to ask. You kind of like that he’s here.)

“She doesn’t have a room yet. They told me they’d let me know when she does.” You adjust yourself in the stiff, plastic chair to face him while he nods his head.

His eyes are heavier than usual. His drooping lids tell you he’s just as tired. Though he’s probably had a much happier evening than you have had. 

Before you let your mind wander too deeply into the fact that he most likely slept with Stacy tonight, you search for anything to talk about with him.

“So, that spookhouse tonight was–” you begin, but he interrupts your thought before you can continue. 

“Shitty.” He states, putting his phone back in the pocket of his hoodie and letting both hands rest inside the fabric.  “Shitty and not scary in the least.” 

“Yeah.” You huff through a chuckle, grateful for the tiny smile it forced out of you. “Stacy was pretty scared, though.”

The look Jake gives you is one you can’t quite place. He looks…uncomfortable? 

You half expected him to giggle along with you, but he didn’t. Not even close. His eyes shift away from you, gazing across the waiting room. 

Fuck. Why did you have to bring her up?

You pull your eyes away from him as you awkwardly set your sights back on your lap. You’re not sure how, but it’s clear you’ve struck some kind of nerve with him.

It’s probably for the best that you keep your mouth shut. And that’s exactly what you do for the next several minutes. 

Without as much as a single word uttered between the two of you, you’re suddenly longing for the moments prior to his arrival in the lobby. The ones you spent pathetically crying in defeat and helplessness. Alone.

But just as it seems that all hope of having a normal conversation with him is lost, he breaks the silence. 

“Is that what they’re called, where you’re from?” 

As you lift your head, you’re met with his drowsy eyes once again set on you, his right eyebrow cocked slightly as he awaits your response. 

“Is what called…?” you absently ask. Your mind became so filled with the painful lull in conversation that you’d all but forgotten what you were talking about before you mentioned her name. 

“The haunted house,” he says. “You called it a spook house. I was just wondering if that’s because you’re not from here.”

It’s funny, because you hadn’t even noticed that you called it that. Didn’t even think twice about it. 

The memory of Sam pointing out the very same thing pops in your mind. You’re then reminded of how you left him tonight. The guilt is weighing horribly on you, but, sadly, it’s a welcome distraction against the worry (and far greater guilt) you’re feeling  for your mom. 

“Oh, yeah.” You fix your posture a bit, facing him once again as he clearly wants to keep some sort of conversation going. “That’s what we call them back home. It’s so funny how we have different names for things just based on what part of the country we’re from.” 

“It’s pretty interesting,” he mutters, a tiny grin peaking through his sleepy exterior.

You just hum in response, not really sure what to say next. The silence was awkward, but this sad attempt at a casual exchange is almost worse. 

You look over to the counter to see if the nurse who helped calm you down is standing there, but all you’re met with is Eric’s creeping eyes on you from behind the marble that may have broken your hand. 

Your hand suddenly begins to ache once more at the thought, and you instinctively bring it up to your chest again to dull the pain. 

“Is your hand okay?” Jake asks, taking note of your wincing expression after moving your sore extremity. 

You’re not sure you want to tell him about your little meltdown from earlier, so you come up with a quick excuse that sounds slightly better than the full truth.

“I knocked it against the counter when I got here, just by accident.” It’s not a complete lie. The accident addition is a bit of a stretch, but it kind of was an accident that your fist met the granite in a fit of rage. (However justified it may be, it’s still a tad embarrassing.) 

He leans closer to you, attempting to look at your hand that you’re still holding against your chest. With a tender touch, he attempts to pry it away from you. You’re so stunned by this that out of instinct, you hold it even tighter.

“Let me see,” he softly demands. 

After some hesitation on your part, (why does he care so much?) you pull it away from your chest, holding it out in front of you and Jake to get a clearer look.

The outer blade of your palm is swollen and already beginning to bruise. It hurts like hell. (And you’re wondering where on earth that physical strength came from.) 

Jake runs his index finger so gently over the inflammation. Amidst everything happening, your body can’t deny the fire that’s blooming under your skin from his feather light touch. 

Your tired eyes flit up to his face, his features wearing stark concern. When his eyes meet yours, you can’t look away. And he doesn’t, either, his finger still tracing a light pattern around the impact point on your fist. 

…and then he stops. He looks away and jumps up out of his seat without as much as a single word. 

He rounds the corner of the hallway and is out of your sight within seconds. Gone. Leaving you sitting here alone and feeling like you’ve suddenly done something wrong. 

Before you have the chance to worry about that for much longer, you notice the tall nurse out of your peripheral walking in your direction.

Your mom.

You stand up to meet the nurse halfway, ready to finally be taken back to see your mom. 

“Hold on,” she says, stopping you before you take a step. “You can’t go back right now, hun.”

Why won’t they let you go back? What don’t they want you to see?

Is it because she’s dead?

The nurse grabs your arm to keep you stable, your legs almost giving out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes down through your chest. The dizzying feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.  

Your legs threaten to give out as your body feels a thousand pounds heavier. The blood from your head rushes  down  through your chest. The dizzy feeling present throughout your weakened limbs.

Your body begins swaying back and forth, threatening to collapse from shock, exhaustion…

She grabs your arm to help stabilize you.

“Hey, hey.” She puts her other hand on your shoulder to hold you still. “Everything’s okay. Just sit down for me, sweetheart.” 

She leads you back down to the chair, helping you lower yourself to sit back down. 

“I need you to know that she’s fine, sweetie. She’s asleep, but she’s stable.” 

The tension leaves your body instantly, like a two ton weight has been lifted off your tight chest. 

She’s alive. 

“Can I go back? Can I see her?” You’re nearly begging. 

“Not right now, honey. I tried to bend the visiting hour rules for you, but the big wigs won’t budge. I just wanted you to know that she’s okay, but she’ll need to stay overnight for some extra testing.”

“Everything okay?” Jake sits back down next to you, taking your hand and gently placing ice wrapped in a paper towel on your swollen fist. The cold nearly shocks your system, but it feels so good against the pain.

That’s where he went. He cared enough to get you ice for your ridiculously obtained injury. 

You turn your head to face him, his sweet eyes locked with yours while he holds the ice steady on your hand. 

This isn’t the Jake you’ve grown accustomed to over the months of knowing him. But this is the Jake you’ve wanted.

“She’s okay,” you say, looking down the makeshift pack of ice he brought you. “She’ll just have to stay overnight.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he responds, dabbing the frozen compress delicately across the bruise.  

“We’re still not certain what happened to her. She fainted; that’s all we know for sure. We’ll run some tests to get to the root of it.” The nurse draws your attention from Jake back to your mom. You distractedly nod, your mind still consumed with Jake holding your hand the way he is. “You’re welcome to come back first thing in the morning, okay? We’ll take good care of her tonight.” 

A small breath of relief washes over you. At least she’s alive. And she’s stable. But fuck…you just wish you could be back there with her. The immense guilt of not being there when it happened is eating away at you. You want to apologize to her, tell her you’ll never fucking leave her again. But, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. You’ll just be stuck sitting in your guilt until then. 

The nurse begins wishing you a good night, but before she leaves, she glances at your hand that Jake is still holding in his grip. 

“Is your hand okay, sweetie? Do you need someone to take a look at it?” She asks you, concerned. 

“I think I’m okay,” you tell her, looking to Jake who probably has a better idea about your condition than you do. It’s the least of your worries at the moment, you just don’t really care about it in comparison to everything else. This feels insignificant, you feel insignificant. It just doesn’t matter. 

Jake nods, looking at you and then averting his gaze to the nurse. “A little swollen and beginning to bruise, but it’s not broken.” He lifts the ice to inspect it a little further, running his finger over the swelling. “It’s already gone down some. I suppose just keeping ice on it will do the trick.”

You give him a look that says a silent ‘thank you’ for taking care of this for you. If he wasn’t here, you wouldn’t think twice about it.

The nurse smiles in response, then looks to you again. “I’d say you’re in good hands, then. Better not let that one get away.” 

She once again bids you a good night, reminding you that you can come back first thing in the morning. 

Neither one of you seems to react to what she just said. Not aloud, at least. You both just ignore it as you walk through the automatic doors. 

“I’ll go get the car,” Jake tells you, fishing his keys out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Had to park kind of far away. Be right back.” 

As you watch him walk away, you can’t stop replaying what the nurse said over and over in your mind.

“Better not let that one get away.”

If only she knew.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The ice is melting all over you and Jake’s floorboard. You’re desperately trying to catch every drop in your lap, but it’s proving difficult. You were freezing when you first got into the car, so Jake cranked the heat all the way up for you, but it’s causing you to make a huge mess. 

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” you utter, fighting back a few tears brimming your eyes. It’s not the dripping water that’s threatening to make you cry, it’s the fact that you feel like such a burden. And here you are, being even more of one by dripping water all over his nice car. 

“What are you sorry for?” He asks, peering over to you. You sniff the tears away, not wanting him to see you crying over something so fucking ridiculous. 

“The ice,” you answer through a cracking voice. “It’s melting all over.”

His brows crinkle, looking over at you to assess the situation. His eyes lock on your soaking wet lap for a spell, taking a deep breath before his eyes are back on the road.

“It’s just water, y/n. I’m not worried about it.” He takes the final left turn onto your street that’s now much more quiet than it was the last time he turned here. He pulls into the parking lot, parking in what would normally be your spot if your car wasn’t sitting worthlessly at his place. 

He keeps the car on drive, just letting his foot rest on the brake as he unlocks the door for you. 

“Just keep ice on it intermittently throughout the night,” he reminds you. “The swelling should be mostly gone by the morning.” 

Staring at the darkened apartment building, you slowly nod your head as you’re suddenly hesitant to leave his car for some reason. Your seatbelt is still buckled, your body feeling almost too numb to even manage that.

The thought of going into the empty apartment isn’t by any means a pleasant one. You hadn’t even thought of the fact that you’ll be all alone tonight. No one to take care of besides yourself. (And that’s not something you're well versed in.)

You’ve gotten so used taking care of her since it’s just been the two of you. Being in the apartment without her just feels…wrong. On every level. And being alone in your guilt feels even worse. 

At this moment, you’re not sure you can do it. But you haven’t a choice. 

“Y/n?” Jake’s calm voice pulls you back to reality, to the fact that you’re still sitting in his car, quietly contemplating. He’s probably ready to get you out of here so he can go home. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you lie, not wanting to delve into the turning wheels of your brain. 

Then, he puts the car in park, leaning back in his seat as he looks at you with inquisitive eyes. “Are you sure?” He questions. “Because you’ve hardly said a word since we left the hospital, and you’re not exactly in any hurry to get inside.”

Embarrassed, you force yourself to remove your seatbelt. “I’m fine, just a little tired is all. Thank you for taking me tonight, I really appreciate it.” You begin opening the door to let him leave, gathering the mental strength to prepare yourself to walk into an eerie, empty apartment.

“You know, it’s pretty late,” he says as you're one foot out of the door. “And it’s a long drive back to my place. I could stay here, sleep on the couch. That way you’d have someone to take you tomorrow morning.” 

It’s almost like he could hear the thoughts in your head. He knows, somehow, that you can’t handle being alone tonight. Like there’s something within him that understands. 

“Jake I–I can’t ask you to—” 

But before you can finish, he shuts off the ignition.

“You’re not asking if I’m offering,” he protests. And he’s right. You didn’t ask, but you still feel bad. Because you would love to have him stay. “It’s actually easier for me if I do. Saves on gas.” 

Instantly, the thought of having his company makes you feel worlds better. Even if he’ll just be on the couch. Just knowing he’s there will make things a little more bearable for you.

“Are you sure?” You ask, timidly. 

“If you don’t feel comfortable with it, I can just—” he starts.

“No, no. I’d love it if you did. Thank you, seriously.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been lying wide awake in your bed for what’s felt like hours. Flipping and tossing about in search of a comfortable spot that you just can‘t seem to find. 

It’s not really the bed that’s the problem. It’s your unabating mind that won’t turn off its wandering thoughts. You’ve tried scrolling on your phone, using every app you can think of to distract you. But the thoughts are domineering your every attempt to silence them. 

Did they give her the right medications? Are they keeping her oxygen on her? Is someone staying with her all night to make sure she doesn’t stop breathing? Who called 911? 

Or, the worst one…the loudest one.

Is she dead and they just haven’t called me yet?

You’re so accustomed to her being here, hearing the humming of her oxygen machine, being able to check on her to be sure she’s okay. At least when she’s here, you know. With her gone, it leaves the floor open for your mind to wander to every terrible scenario that you can’t do anything about. You just don’t know what’s going on. And the unknowing is the worst part.

Your grumbling tummy is just about as loud as your mind, reminding you that you’ve not eaten anything in almost twenty four hours. 

There’s nothing else to do, so you pull yourself out of your unwelcoming bed t o go find a midnight (actually, closer to two in the morning) snack. 

Eating is a little terrifying to you right now, but you figure some popcorn won’t do much harm. 

You slowly open the creaking door of your room, holding your breath as it seems to be louder than normal in the dead quiet apartment. The last thing you want to do is wake Jake up, so it’s vital that you’re as silent as possible as you make the journey to the kitchen.

You tiptoe as gracefully as your tired body will allow across the living room, avoiding coming too close to the couch where Jake sleeps as you walk as far away from him as you can, not even looking in his direction.

A sigh of relief passes your lips as you reach the kitchen successfully.

You know that there’s one more bag of Pop Secret sitting on the second shelf of the cabinet right next to the microwave. Relying only on the soft light above the stove, you shuffle through the various items in search of it until you at last feel the familiar plastic cover. 

Instantly upon finding it, you start looking for the nutrition facts to know just how much you’re putting in your body. An old trait of yours that you’ve not done in years, yet suddenly, as if it’s purely muscle memory you flip the bag over to the side to note the amount of calories you’ll be taking. 

I’m not reverting back. I’m just curious about what popcorn is made of, that’s all, you try telling yourself. (Although, you know yourself in situations like these. When you’re stressed, you seek comfort in old habits. One old habit of choice just happens to be food restriction and calorie counting.)

It won‘t last long. I won’t let it. I just need something familiar.

130 calories, 6 g fat, 14 g carbs, 2 g protein per 4 cups is printed on the back in dark blue ink.

Could be worse. And there’s nothing saying you have to eat the whole thing. Maybe you can split the bag in half, that way you’re only getting half the fat and carbs. That’ll still be enough to quiet your empty tummy. 

You toss the bag in the microwave and set the timer to three minutes, pressing start and cringing at the loud humming from the appliance. You’ve also forgotten just how noisy preparing this little snack can be. 

Each pop of the buttered kernels echoes throughout the open kitchen and you’re praying to every star that this won’t wake him up. 

With two seconds left on the timer, you quickly open the door to avoid the unpleasant ding that’s sure to wake him up if you didn’t catch it in time.

You pour the contents of  the bag into your favorite blue bowl, designated long ago as the official “popcorn bowl.” You can’t go without a little extra salt, so you dump a good amount over top and sift it around so it’s all coated. 

You’ve realized that you instinctively poured the entire bag, even though you decided to only eat half. You’re not happy about the extra temptation, but you’re mentally telling yourself that there’s no need to eat this whole bowl. 

Shutting the door to the microwave as quietly as you can, you begin to tip toe back to your room to safety.

Only now, you’re met with a slightly horrifying discovery.

He’s laying on his back, sans hoodie that's draped over the arm of the couch and the blanket you gave him sitting just below chest. (God he looks good.) The light from his phone illuminates his face as he’s holding it sideways, seemingly watching a video of some kind. But his drowsy eyes flick to you as you begin the walk back to your room.

As you awkwardly stand in the middle of the room, blue popcorn bowl in hand, he pulls out an earbud and sets his phone down. “Trouble sleeping?” His groggy voice asks. 

“Yeah,” you answer, a little embarrassed that he’s caught you in such a state. “I just can’t seem to relax…but what are you still doing awake? I hope I wasn’t being too loud.”

“I’m a bit of an insomniac, I suppose,” he answers. “Popcorn, huh?” 

He swings his legs over the side and sits himself up on the end of the couch, a silent request to have you come sit next to him. You take the hint. The company would do you a little good right now, anyway. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?” You still can’t help yourself from asking if it’s okay, given your less than welcomed history with him. 

“Under one condition,” he remarks, full smirk across his lips. 

You stop before you take a seat, slightly terrified of what his ‘condition’ could possibly be.

“And what is that?” you timidly ask. 

He flashes you a warm grin that looks all the more inviting under the very dimly lit living room, chuckling lazily under his breath. 

“You have to share your snack.” 

You nervously laugh as you situate yourself on the opposite side of the couch, taking a few pieces of your snack of choice and passing the bowl over towards his direction. 

You catch a glimpse of his phone that’s still unlocked and sitting upright, paused on what looks like some professional chef working away on some fancy meal.

Perfect opportunity for an ice breaker. 

“You like cooking?” you ask while tossing a piece of popcorn in your mouth. (You’re really hoping you just got a bad piece, because it tastes burnt to hell and way too salty.)

“I dabble here and there,” he answers through loud crunches.

“I’m the one who needs to watch those videos,” you say, wincing at the second piece you’ve now eaten that tastes just as bad as the last one. “I’m probably the worst cook I know.” 

“I’d say so,” he acknowledges through a soft giggle, wincing as he tries more of your snack. “You’ve burnt the shit out of this popcorn and you didn’t need to add so much salt.” 

Of course, he noticed. 

You’re thankful for the mostly dark room as you can feel the blood rushing to your face over ruining something as simple as popcorn. 

But, it’s making him laugh. And you’ve come to really appreciate the moments that you do get to hear him laugh, because it isn’t often. Even though it’s at your own expense, you’ll take it. 

It’s surely been a great way to combat any awkward silence between the two of you. 

You chuckle to yourself as you set the popcorn bowl on the couch, centering it so you and Jake can both grab some as you please. 

“So,” he begins as he brings his feet up to rest on the coffee table in front of you. “I know you’re from somewhere where haunted houses are called spook houses. Where might that be? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oklahoma,” you answer, a little embarrassed. You’ve learned that your home state isn’t much of a popular one amongst people. Although you do understand why, you can’t help but find yourself missing it every now and again. It has its charm, however hard it may be to find. You know it’s there. Parts of it still remain lovingly in your heart. “A very, very small town in Oklahoma called Cherry Tree.”k,

With a soft nod of his head, his hair falls around his face and even in the dark, you can see how shiny it is. You can even see the soft smile over his lips. “I hear it in your voice,” he softly says. You look to him with question, silently asking him to elaborate. With a snicker, he continues. “Your little southern drawl. It’s not very strong, but it definitely stands out around here. A far cry from a Michigan accent.” 

Your whole life, you’d tried to mask your naturally derived, southern accent. You hated it. And you hated when people told you that you had one. It just made you want to unlearn it even more. 

Especially when you knew you would move to Michigan. The last thing you wanted was to stand out as if you’re not from here. 

Clearly, your efforts were useless. And as much as you’ve cringed when people have brought up the way you talk in the past, there’s something about hearing Jake point it out that actually makes you a little fond of it. 

Maybe it truly isn’t something to feel any shame over. It makes you unique, sets you apart, and perhaps that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Time feels mute, like it doesn’t exist in this realm you and Jake are together in. 

The early dawn is creeping through the window blinds, and when you glance at your phone, you come to realize that you’ve been talking with him for nearly three hours, and that’s shocking  to you—it’s shocking because it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. 

The conversations have been flowing so naturally, so authentically. He’s easy to talk to. So easy. You would've never guessed how seamless keeping a conversation going with him could be. 

And, to your astonishment, he’s done most of the talking. You’re witnessing a brand new side of him, one that you could’ve sworn wasn’t there. It seems as though he’s finally comfortable with you. Which is a really good thing, considering he’s spending the night in your place. 

He’s been the best distraction for you amidst everything. If he weren’t here, you’d be lying in your bed, probably crying your eyes out and dealing with the anxiety all alone. 

He’s the very last person you’d suspect would be here for you in a time like this. But, fuck, if you aren’t so happy that it is him.

And as time has gone on, you’ve both moved closer and closer to each other. His legs are spread out on the expanse of his cushion and yours, while your legs are slowly coming to rest on top of his, your body facing him. 

Every so often, his hand will find your calf as if he’s done it a thousand times before. An innate gesture that he hardly seems to notice he’s doing.

But you certainly notice, every single time it happens. Each brush of his hand against your skin causes your heart to flutter. It’s innocent, of course. But it’s the fact that he’s finally revealing himself to you, that he’s trusting you. 

It feels good. It feels really good. 

You’re listening intently as he’s telling you more about the music that has shaped his life up until now. You’ve never noticed all of his little mannerisms, like the way he brushes the tip of his nose after he laughs, or how his hands struggle to stay still when he talks. 

And his eyes, the way they beautifully catch the early light. Their color like a glass of honeyed whiskey over ice, glowing against the rays of the young sun. 

“...and that’s when I discovered the versatility of the SG. My dad searched the entire midwest until he finally found one for me.” The palm of his hand comes to rest on your leg again, only this time, it’s a little higher. His fingertips dare to brush the inside of your upper thigh, his thumb tracing delicate circles across your now trembling skin. The fire within you is growing, felt from the pit of your stomach to your swimming head. “That guitar taught me how to challenge myself. My dad encouraged me every day to keep playing and I’ll never be able to thank–” 

Something changes in his eyes, his expression faltering as he falls silent. There’s a sudden difference in him, one you can’t quite grasp.

And then he looks down at his hand still placed upon you, and with a thousand silent words, he removes it. Quickly. Like he didn’t realize it was there in the first place. Or, worse; like he was suddenly repulsed by the fact that he was touching you. 

The room changes abruptly, the air feels heavier, denser. You notice he avoids meeting your gaze, his thought left unfinished.

What have I done wrong?

“Jake?” 

He moves so he’s now sitting upright, as close to the other end of the couch as he can be. Furthest away from you.

“I should…I should probably get some sleep,” he says, the words sounding ever unsure. “And you should, too. We’ve only got…” He takes his phone to look at the time, breathing deeply from his lungs when he sees that it’s nearly six in the morning. “Jesus.” He runs a hand over his face in…frustration? Exhaustion? You can’t be sure. “We’ve only got about two hours until they allow visitors, and I’ve got to go to work right after.” 

You take the hint that he wants you away from him. 

But for what reason? Well, you’ll be left to wonder that for the next few hours, alone. 

You don’t say anything as you stand up, only nodding your head and shielding your face the best you can.

You don’t want him to see the new tears that have begun to surface. 

“Sorry,” is all you can muster as you open the door to your room. He doesn't respond, only pure silence comes from the living room. 

Whatever you did, it was enough to force him to realize he doesn't want to be close to you, emotionally or physically.

It was going so well. But, you ruined it. Just like you ruin everything else in your life. 

You’ve no doubt that you won’t be getting any sleep for the next few hours. Your thoughts are too loud, screaming everything you’ve ever done wrong in your ear. 

And you can’t get the look in his eyes out of your head, how they appeared uncomfortable being in your presence. How he suddenly decided he didn’t want to be around you. 

But, then again, you can’t blame him. Because who in their right mind would want to be around you?

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The alarm on your phone is blaring. You’ve been  counting down the minutes until it was set to go off, laying in complete silence and watching nothing but the clock. Every second felt like twenty minutes in your brain.

When you walk out into the living room, you’re met with an empty space. No Jake. 

Did he leave…? 

The couch is back to normal, the blankets you gave him folded and sitting on the cushion under the pillow you let him use. (Your favorite pillow, but you’ll never tell him that you sacrificed it for him.)

Great. He’s gone. 

And you have no way of getting to the hospital without him. 

Natalia.

You’ll call her, see if she can take you. 

Which you shouldn’t have to do. He said he would take you, and he just fucking left. 

It’s safe to assume that whatever relationship you were building with him last night, has all but left the apartment with him. 

Deciding it’s not worth your time at this point, you grab your phone, unlocking it and tapping on Nat’s contact to call her. 

It’s ringing. And ringing. And ringing. 

Fuck. If she doesn’t answer, you don’t know what you’ll–

“What are you calling me so early on a Saturday for?” She finally answers, her raspy voice a clear indication that she’s just woken up.

“I need your help, Nat. Can you come get me and take me to the hospital?” 

You hear her gasp on the other end of the phone. 

“What? Are you okay? What’s going on?” she asks, her questions coming in quick succession. 

“To make a long story short, my car broke down at the Kiszka’s last night, so Jake had to bring me home. There was an ambulance when we got here, and it were here for my mom. They took her to the hospital, but I had to come separately. So, since I didn’t have my car, Jake took me. I couldn’t stay the night with her and when he brought me back home, he stayed the night to be here in the morning to take me back to her, but he left a while ago and I was hoping you could come get me.”

Even you can’t believe the words out of your mouth. A convoluted mess that you hope she’s comprehending at such an early hour. 

“Holy shit, y/n. Yeah, of course. Is your mom okay?” she questions after a brief moment of silence, probably in an attempt to understand the shit show you’re currently dealing with. “And where the hell did Jake go?”

“Wish I knew,” you say with a cynical tone. “And I don’t really know. They told me she was stable last night but they still needed to keep her. Since I was gone, I have next to no idea of what happened.”

Just as she begins to respond to you, you feel your phone vibrate against your cheek. 

“One sec, Nat. I think I just got a text.”

Jake: I’m outside in the car. Ready whenever you are.

“What the fuck, Jake,” you mutter softly, but loud enough that Nat heard you on the other end of the phone call you’re still on. He couldn’t have communicated this to you? 

No. Instead, he just made you believe he left. 

Either way, you’re glad he’s still here. He’s not that cold towards you. (Although you’re not exactly shocked at the fact that you didn’t question it when you thought he left.)

“What did he do?” You hear her say at a low volume. 

Bringing the phone back up to your ear, you say, “He’s still here, apparently. Just in the car waiting for me. I’ve got to go, I’ll keep you updated.”

With that, you hang up the phone and quickly begin to get ready. 

You take the first pair of leggings you see sitting in your dresser, then decide to throw on your vintage, oversized Billy Joel sweatshirt that you'd completely forgoton you owned. 

The state of your hair is one that you can’t do much with at the moment, you figure a messy claw-clip bun will have to suffice. You put a little moisturizer on your face, grab your belt bag and keys, and run out the door. As much as Jake has upset you in the last few hours, you still don’t want to keep him waiting any longer than he already has. 

He’s sitting in his car, just like he said. Wearing the infamous John Lennon frames that remind you of when you first encountered him. You had no idea at that moment, when he brushed up against you in the hall, when he tried to make you look like an idiot in class, that you’d be here with him. And if you’re honest, given the way he reacted to your closeness last night, you’re not sure this is much better. 

It’s like he wants to be closer to you, but when the time actually comes, he realizes it’s you he’s getting closer to, and backs off. And that effectively makes you feel about a hundred times worse than you did a few months ago. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were out here already,” you tell him as you open the passenger door and take a seat. 

“No problem.” He waits until you’re buckled and settled before he starts backing out of the spot, his right hand grabbing the head rest of your seat while he turns his body to have a better view of the back window. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The drive has been quiet, (shocker) save for his music. Something you can’t deny him is his impeccable taste, his taste that is so similar to yours. 

He must’ve taken notice of your Billy Joel sweatshirt, because, ironically, Vienna begins playing over the speakers. One of your favorites. And one that, without fail, makes you cry every single time. He probably queued it up because of your shirt, but little does he know of the deep, deep history you have with this song. 

He doesn’t know that your dad used to play this song while you were getting ready for school in the mornings, how he told you one time that he wanted to name you the title of this track, but your mom wouldn’t agree to it. But, that didn’t stop him from associating the tune with you. 

He called you his little Vienna for a good chunk of your childhood, up until you got to high school and asked him to stop out of embarrassment. You didn’t want everyone privy to your dads nickname for you. Just a normal, teenage thing. 

Then you remember…This was your dad’s sweatshirt that he gave to you a long, long time ago when he left for a work trip. You were devastated that he was going to be gone. He gave it to you for comfort, to keep a piece of him with you while he was away. 

And you chose to wear it today, of all days. When you need the extra comfort. When you know, deep down, that you need him. Your subconscious knew it. That’s why you gravitated towards this shirt without even realizing that you were. 

You’ve not heard this song since he left. Not even so much as thought about Billy Joel’s music, let alone this sweatshirt that somehow made the move to Michigan when you thought you got rid of everything from your dad. 

A single tear falls from your eye, landing on the top of your lip. You taste its salty presence before you wipe it away with the cuff of your (his) shirt. 

The lyrics feel heavier than they ever have. 

Why don’t you realize…Vienna waits for you?

When will you realize…

As the song comes to an end, as Billy plays the final note on his piano, you arrive at the hospital. (Something about it feels poetic.)

He stops at the main entrance of the hospital this time, instead of the emergency room one.

“I have to go into work,” he says while you’re unbuckling your belt. “So just text me and let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll come get you.”

“If it’s too much trouble for you, I can just ask Natalia.” You say as you get out of his car. “ I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. She doesn’t work today, so it’d be easier for her.” 

Your tone is awfully cold. Distant. 

You feel like you’ve bothered him enough. So, you want to give him an out. He probably regrets ever helping you in the first place. 

His eyebrows become wrinkled underneath his sunglasses as he’s looking at you. Before you go to close the door, you hear him speak up.

“Well, that–that’s up to you, I suppose. But I don’t mind, y/n.” 

“I’ll let you know,” you say, staring down at your feet as you’re finding it difficult to make eye contact with him right now. “Thank you again.” 

And after that, you shut the door and walk towards the front door, hearing him drive away behind you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“She’s in room 430. Just take the elevator to the fourth floor and follow the signs. You’ll come up to locked doors, so you’ll have to buzz in with the phone on the wall. Just tell them your name and who you’re here to see, and they’ll let you in.” This receptionist is worlds kinder than the one you encountered last night. She’s got kindness inscribed in her dark eyes, and a smile that tells you she truly cares about her job. Her long curly locks are beautiful and charming, the color a lovely shade of auburn. Perhaps not natural, as her roots are nearly black. But this shade suits her skin tone perfectly. 

“Are there stairs I could take instead?” You ask the curly headed receptionist. Elevators are not your thing. You’ve had a lifelong fear of becoming trapped in one, and with your anxiety levels higher than usual today, it’s probably best if you avoid them altogether. 

She shows you a warm smile as she guides your sight in the direction of the staircase. Thanking her, you quickly head that way.

The climb up the stairs is grueling and as you finally reach the last step, you’re struggling to catch your breath. It seems you didn’t realize just how many steps there are in four flights. It’s a lot of steps. But, still much better than the chance of becoming trapped in a tiny ass elevator. 

After catching your breath, you take heed of the receptionist's directions and follow the signs that lead you in the direction of her room. And just like she said, there’s a set of locked doors with a phone hanging on the wall. 

As soon as you lift it from the receiver, someone answers instantly. You tell them your name and your moms. They verify her birthday with you and once you tell them the correct date, you hear the doors unlock. You thank them before hanging up the phone and heading down the long, somewhat eerie hallway. 

You’ve always wondered why hospitals look like this. The cold, stark white walls and matching laminate flooring, the harsh fluorescents that are painful to look at. Nothing about it is inviting or comforting in the least, and you’ve always thought they should be. Especially for long term patients that are stuck here for god knows how long. 

It just doesn’t make sense to you. In your mind, hospitals should strive to have a warmer environment, for nothing else other than to make people feel more at ease when they’re in hard situations. 

As you’re nearing the end of the hallway, you see room 428 on your left, 429 a little ways further on your right, meaning 430 is the very last one on the end to your left.

The door is open, and just as you’re approaching it, a nurse is leaving the room with her rolling cart that’s carrying a slew of things to check, what you’re assuming, are vitals. 

She smiles as she walks past you, her squealing cart still audible as she rounds the corner to the unit secretary desk. 

You’re still for a moment, standing just a mere feet from her. Out of her sight, of course. And she out of yours as you’re not standing in the view of the doorway. 

There’s a rush of hesitancy forcing you to stay where you are. You’re not sure where it’s derived from, perhaps it’s from the fear of seeing her in such a state. 

Perhaps it’s something else. But you don’t know what.

Finally deciding that just standing here isn’t doing you or her any bit of good, you put one shaky foot in front of the other and walk towards the open door. 

And then, you see her.

Looking the smallest she’s ever looked in your eyes. She looks too small for all of the devices she’s hooked up to. 

Tangled wires. A mess of tangled wires and tubes and IV bags…

As you walk in a little further, she hears you. Her eyes, ever slow in their movement, blink open and shift to you. 

They’re heavy, almost drooping down her pale cheeks. They look tired. So, so tired.

“Hi, honey.” Her words come through in a sad attempt of vocalization. You hardly understood her, more so relying on reading the movement of her lips than anything. Her hand, complete with an IV needle, raises to motion a weak wave at you. 

I wasn’t there. I wasn’t fucking there when she needed me. I can’t leave her…I can’t leave ever again. It’s all my fault.

“Mom I’m–I’m so sorr–”

“You must be y/n!” You hear a booming voice from behind you, interrupting entirely. When you turn around, you see an incredibly tall man wearing a set of blue scrubs with a white lab coat on top. “Your mom has told us a lot about you. I feel like I know you already.” 

As he reaches out his hand for you to shake, he smiles widely when you take it in yours. “I’m Doctor Roth. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He seems positive. The smile he’s wearing makes you believe that everything just might be okay. “It’s really nice to meet you, too,” you say, a little timid. 

You look back to your mom, who seems to have fallen back to sleep. Rest is probably the best thing for her right now, so you don’t want to wake her. Even though all you want is to talk to her, tell her how terrible you feel that you  weren’t there. But it can wait. As long as she’s resting. 

“Hey, y/n.” Doctor Roth pulls your attention away from her with his James Earl Jones-esque voice. “Would you mind coming to speak with me for a moment?” 

While his bearings have changed a bit, he’s still smiling. But, something is a little off in his tone with the question he asked you. 

“Um, yeah. Of course.” You tell him, although you’re not sure you want to have this conversation. 

Will he tell you that she’s progressed much further than you initially thought? That she’ll never leave this hospital again? She’s dying and will be dead soon? 

As he leads you down the hall, stopping at a little room near the restroom, your heart is thumping rampantly in your tightening chest. 

“Before we begin,” he says while pulling a wooden chair out for you to have a seat. “Is there anything I can get you? Water? Coffee? I believe we have herbal tea, if you’d prefer.” 

Herbal tea always sounds wonderful to you, but you’re not sure you could even stomach a simple cup of water right now, so you politely decline his kind offer. 

“I would just like to ask you a few questions about your mom, if that’s okay.” He takes a seat directly across from you at the round table centered in the middle of the conference room. 

You nod your head, letting him know you’re okay with it. 

“I understand she is prescribed a series of medications for her pulmonary fibrosis. If my memory serves me correctly, she’s on Ofev, Pirfenidone and an anti-inflammatory. Is that everything?” He asks you, taking his rectangle frames off and placing them on top of his head.

“Yes, that’s correct.” You give her those pills every single night. You know their strange names by heart at this point.  “She also uses a few different inhalers to help airflow from her lungs. And she wears her oxygen about eighty percent of the time, of course.” 

“Right,” he says, blowing out a long sigh as he sits back in his chair. “Well, let me ask you this. When was the last time she took those medications? That you know of, of course.” 

“She took them last night before I left.” You answer, confidently. 

“Are you sure she did, y/n?” 

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” you say with a little offense. “I watched her take them before I left—” 

Then, you suddenly remember that you didn’t actually see her take them. You left them out for her and reminded her to take them before bed, but you didn’t see her take them. 

“I guess…I guess she didn’t take them before I left. But, I’m sure she took them before bed. She always does.” There’s a terrible feeling present within you, making your already turning tummy feel a lot worse. “Doctor Roth, why are you asking me this?” 

“There wasn’t any indication of them in her system when she came in. Usually, those drugs can be detected for a few days after they’ve been taken, but there was no sign of them in her bloodstream. Meaning, she hasn’t taken them in at least two to three days.” 

No. He’s wrong.

“That’s not possible. I give them to her every night. With the exception of last night, I always watch her take them. I make sure she takes them. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to be mistaken.” Your offense has now shifted to full on defense. 

He’s questioning your ability to take care of her, and that is not something you will take lying down. There’s a whole list of things you’re terrible at, but taking care of your mom is not part of that list. You know that for a damn fact. 

You’re not going to sit here and take this, so you decide enough is enough and stand up from your chair to leave. 

“Y/n, please. I need you to listen to me. The progression of her disease, it’s…” That word. Progression. It stops you dead in your tracks. You hate that word. “...it’s the quickest I’ve ever seen in my fifteen years of practicing. If she were taking her medication as she’s supposed to, her lungs wouldn’t look as bad as they do. They would still look bad, but those medications help to slow the stiffening of her lungs. But with the state they’re in, it’s clear that she’s taken very little to no medications.”  

You’re not sure what to make of this…what is he saying? 

Well, clearly he’s saying that she’s not taking her medications…but how? 

You give them to her, you see her take them…right?

“Is—is there a chance her disease is just progressing more rapidly than what’s normally expected?” You hate saying those words. They feel like poison coming out of your mouth. But they sound better than “she’s not taking her medication.”  

He stands up from his chair to stand closer to you, taking his glasses off his head and placing an end piece on his bottom lip. “That is a possibility, although that doesn’t explain why we saw no signs of her medications in her bloodstream.” 

“Is she on them now? Is that why she’s so groggy?” You ask him, remembering how she was hardly able to speak or move when you saw her just moments ago. 

“Yes, she is. And that is another sign that she’s not been taking them as prescribed. Her body should be adjusted to the severe lethargy that these are known to cause, and it’s clear she’s not.” 

While you know Doctor Roth has no reason to lie to you, you still can’t bring yourself to believe him entirely. It’s not like your mom to do this, to not take care of herself. 

But there’s no sense in arguing with him anymore. It’s not worth it. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s here. 

And as that terrible thought resurfaces, you’re reminded of a question you need to ask him. 

“How much longer will she need to stay here?”

“I can’t be certain,” he answers. “But we’ll need to monitor her a bit longer, run a few more tests. At least another three days or so, but we’ll let you know when we believe she’s ready.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

She’s still fast asleep, having been for a few hours while you sit quietly on the stiff couch in the corner of her room. The room is small, stuffy. Her only source of entertainment is a tiny television mounted high on the wall. 

You know she hates it here. You hate it for her. 

But the one redeeming thing about this room is her giant window that offers a beautiful view of the city skyline. Detroit is always busy, always bustling. 

But it’s lovely, especially from this fourth story view. 

And it's a nice distraction from the beeping monitors and noisy machines. 

Nurses have been in and out every hour to check her vitals, making small talk with you while they record every result. They’ve all been so friendly, each one of them asking if they can bring you anything to eat. You’ve turned them down each time. 

Food hasn’t been your concern today. Wasn’t your concern yesterday, either. 

You’re hungry, that much you can tell. But you can think of a million things you’d rather do right now than eat. Eating would only increase your anxious thoughts, and that wouldn’t do you a bit of good at the moment.

You can just eat when you get home. You’ll last until then. (You’ve lasted a hell of a lot longer than this before.)

You suddenly feel the vibration of your phone still tucked away in the waistband of your leggings. 

To your astonishment, it's a text from Jake. 

You didn’t expect to hear from him, but seeing his name on the screen of your phone does feel nice. It feels really nice, actually. 

Jake: I meant to ask but it slipped my mind. How's your hand?

You’d completely forgotten about your hand. But Jake didn’t.

And it warms your heart that he thought to ask about something so meaningless to you. 

You look down to examine your fist to give him a proper answer. Aside from a slight purple tint on the skin, you wouldn’t be able to guess it was injured at all.

You: It’s much better. Some bruising but no more swelling and I can hardly feel it. The ice really helped!

He responds almost instantly, meaning he probably still had your messages still pulled up on his end. 

Jake: Good. : )

Jake, although he has his moments, is great at forcing a smile out of you when it feels impossible to do so. 

His message is reassuring, especially with how last night (early this morning, actually) ended. 

Before you can type out a response, you notice she’s beginning to stir just a bit. She’s done this periodically throughout the day, but this is the first time you’ve seen her open her eyes since this morning when you first arrived.

She turns her head a bit towards you, so you get up and move closer to her. 

“Hi, mom.” You say softly.

She smiles at you, the best she can despite every obstruction on her face. 

Just then, a nurse walks in for her hourly check. “She’s awake!” He excitedly exclaims. 

He’s young, probably a fresh graduate. You’ve seen him in here once before a few hours ago. He’s very sweet, the kindness you’d expect every nurse to have. 

He runs through her vitals quickly, telling you he wants to give you two plenty of alone time. 

You thank him as he leaves, and he flashes a sincere smile while he turns the corner of the hallway. 

Her eyes are suddenly glued to you, but not just you. Your sweatshirt. 

“Where’d you find that, honey?” She questions. 

“Oh, I don’t know I just— I’m not worried about it. I am worried about you. What happened last night, mom?”

You’re sure she recognizes that it’s your dads…and you feel terrible for wearing it around her right now for that very reason. You just didn’t consider it. So, it’s probably best to change the subject. 

She sits up a bit and you reach out to help her. You place her pillows in a way that keeps her upright without her needing to use much strength to do so. Once she’s comfortable, you sit down in the recliner next to her bed. 

“They’re telling me all kinds of crazy things,” she says. “I’m just fine, I know I am.” 

They’ve more than likely asked her about her medications, how they didn’t find any in her system. You want so badly to ask her about that. But, it’s not the time. Not yet. 

“I feel so bad, mom. I shouldn't have been out that late. I should’ve been there, I could’ve done something, I…” Your throat becomes tight with a lump, your eyes brimming with a hundred unshed tears. It’s just all too much. And you feel like you’re to blame. You just can’t shake that feeling. 

“Don’t be sorry, sweet girl.” Her weak hand reaches out for yours. As you take it, you notice just how clammy she feels. “It would’ve happened whether or not you were there. I think it was bound to happen sooner or later.” 

She’s probably right. But, had you been there, maybe the ambulance would’ve been called sooner.

The ambulance. How did they…? “Mom, I have to know who to thank for saving your life.” The tears are streaming down your hot cheeks at this point. “Do you know who called?”

“Mrs. Sweeney,” she answers right away, as if it didn’t require any thought. “Bless her soul. She’s the sweetest lady. She heard me cry out just as I fainted, and called 911 for me.”

Mrs. Sweeney is your next door neighbor in your complex. She’s been the most wonderful neighbor to your and your mom since you moved in. It makes perfect sense that she’d be the one to call. 

“I’ll have to thank her,” you say, wiping away the tears. “She did what I should’ve been there to do.”

Her eyes suddenly widen, a stark contrast in how they’ve looked all day. “There’s…there’s no need, honey. I already thanked her. Called her last night, she’s been thanked plenty.” 

She could call Mrs. Sweeney…but not me?

“Oh. Well, okay," you say, confused. “I guess it would be beating a dead horse at this point to thank her again.” And with that, her eyes go back to their groggy state, closing slowly as she falls back to sleep.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“How is she?” Jake asks as you climb in the passenger's seat. He insisted on coming to get you as soon as visitings hours ended. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. He told you he was already on that side of town anyways, so he didn’t see the point in you asking Natalia to make the trip. 

“She’s…I don’t really know, to be honest.” It’s true. You don’t know how she is. You’re leaving the hospital with more questions than you had coming in.

His question…there’s just no easy way to answer it. “She’s okay, for now. But she…she may not be much longer. It’s…complicated.” 

“You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to. I’m glad she’s okay at the moment.” He tells you.

You smile at him, then relish in the silence the rest of the way home. 

You’re grateful that he’s not prying. It’s too much to talk about right now, and it seems he’s picked up on that. 

You breathe a deep sigh of relief when you arrive at your apartment, ready to climb in bed and try to get some much needed sleep. 

You thank Jake before he leaves, fishing for your keys out of your belt bag as you head up the stairs to the third floor. 

Once you make it to your door, you see Mrs. Sweeney leaving as you’re about to walk into your place. Your mom told you not to thank her again, but you can’t help it. You still haven’t thanked her, and it’s just not in your character to ignore a good deed from someone.

“Mrs. Sweeney?” You say as she’s locking her door. 

“Hi, dear! How's your mom today? I’m sure you two have had quite the night.”  

“She’s okay,” you say, the words feeling like a lie. “All thanks to you. I can’t thank you enough for calling the ambulance last night. Seriously, you saved her life when I wasn’t here–”

You stop talking once you see her expression change. She looks befuddled, almost disoriented. “Oh honey, I’m not the one who called last night. I thought you did, dear.” 

…she didn’t call? 

“But my mom said— you didn’t hear her call out for help?”

With a contemplative look, she puts her keys in her purse and faces you. “I didn’t hear anything. And I was home all night. This is the first I’ve left since yesterday morning. I’m sorry I didn’t hear her, dear. Were you not home?” 

As if it were even possible, there are more questions filling your head. 

“I wasn’t, but I’m sure one of the other neighbors called. Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Sweeney. I hope you have a good day!”

“Not a bother at all, love.” 

You walk into your empty apartment, in a near state of shock. 

Why did your mom lie to you? And so blatantly, at that? It’s not something you want to let yourself believe. Maybe it was because of her state, she was just confused after everything. But…she didn’t look confused. 

And she told you she talked to Mrs. Sweeney herself, which clearly didn’t happen. 

As much as you want to figure all of this out, you’re far too exhausted to give it much more thought. You need sleep. Sleep first, then you can get to the bottom of it. But for now, the only thing you’re craving is your bed. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A pounding on the door  wakes you from the depths of your slumber, nearly startling you off the bed in the process. The post nap disorientation is in full effect. The sun was still up when you laid down, and now your room is in almost complete darkness. 

The pounding on the door persists, forcing you to wake up all the way. Who in the world…?

Hesitant to answer with it being so late and being all by yourself, you reach for your phone in case you need to call someone.

And right as you go to grab, you realize you have four text messages from Nat. 

Nat: Are you home yet??

Nat: If you are, be ready to come outside in about 20.

Nat: Hello?

Nat: COME OUTSIDE! We have a surprise for you. 

Based on the messages, you’re realizing that Nat is the persistent knocker. You love this girl so much, and you’re hoping that whatever her surprise is was worth waking you up for. 

Also, you’re not sure what she meant  by “we,” though you’ve got a hunch it could be her new suitor. 

You: Sorry, just woke up. On my way

Summoning what little strength you have left, you force yourself to get out of bed and head towards the front door. Your feet are literally dragging as you walk across the dark apartment. Turning on the outside light, you swing open the door to Nat’s beaming, beautiful face adorned with a full toothed smile. 

“Hey there, sleepy head!” 

Bringing your hand up, you rub what’s left of your (very little) sleep from your eyes. 

“What’s your surprise?” You ask with a tired voice. 

“Hold out your hand,” she says, an enormous grin still across her face. “And close your eyes.”

With as heavy as your eyes still are, closing them isn’t an issue. (You just wish you were still in bed while doing it.)

You do as she says, and as soon as your eyelids are shut and your hands are outreached, she places something peculiar in your flattened palms. 

“What is thi–'' you begin to ask, interrupted by her as she practically yells for you to open your eyes. 

And when you do, you see a single key. 

But, not just any key. It’s the key to your shitty ass Firebird.

“What the hell? Natalia Delores, what did you do?” You ask her, having a good idea of what this is all about.

And then you hear a honking coming from the parking lot. As you look over the edge of the stairs, you see Danny’s curly brown locks hanging out of the driver's side window of your car. 

“Surprise!” She exclaims. “Dan the handyman fixed your car!” 

Cringing at the ridiculous nickname, you give her a huge hug before sprinting down the stairs to do the same to handyman Dan. 

“Did you realize you were missing your key?” He asks as he wraps you in a long embrace. 

“I had no idea,” you say, still held tightly in Danny’s muscular arms. “How did you guys manage to get it without me noticing?” 

“Jake,” Nat tells you. “He took it off your keyring this morning.” 

You’ve a good feeling that happened before you got up this morning, probably before he went out to wait in his car. 

Danny is the first to break the hug, leaving you on your own against the chilly night air. 

“Can I pay you for this?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest to act as a barrier from the cold. 

“Absolutely not. I won’t accept a single dime from you.” He insists, brushing a curl out of his face. 

“Danny, I know this was probably really expens–”

“Nope.” He interrupts. “Not a dime.”

With a fake grunt of irritation, you give in. (Partly so you can get inside and out of the cold.)

“Thank you. Thank you both, seriously. This is such a huge burden lifted.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Despite how things transpired with you and Sam, he’s still treated you the very same. You were terrified that there would be some awkward air with you two after the way you left him the other night, but it’s as if he’s all but forgotten about it. He still fawned over you when you arrived for filming tonight, him and Josh referring to you as “the queen” when you walked in, as usual. 

You haven’t told him about your mom. In fact, the only people who know are Jake and Natalia. You asked them both to not say anything. It’s not because you don’t trust everyone—they’ve all become some of the best friends you’ve ever had in your life, better than any friend you had back in Oklahoma. You just don’t want the attention that would inevitably bring. You don’t need them feeling sorry for you, and you don’t need them asking questions that you don’t want to answer, to questions you can’t answer. And you know it would lead to the fact that your dad doesn’t have shit to do with you. 

It’s just not something that needs to be advertised, not yet. You don’t want it to be the only thing everyone associates you with. You want them to still like you for you. Everything else can be addressed later. 

Of course, that did raise some other questions. Mostly about why Jake didn’t come home that night when your car broke down. His response to his brothers was simple; he just didn’t feel like driving back home that late, so he crashed on your couch. That wasn’t too far from the truth.

They didn’t even bat an eye at it. Just accepted it as fact and moved right on, not giving it a second thought. Jake is a bit distant from his brothers at times, so it’s probably not entirely out of the norm for him to not come home some nights. 

You’re glad that things have been pretty much normal for you and your filming crew.

While you’re not acting tonight, you decided to come over to the Kiszka place anyway, just to get away from your own mess for a little while. The apartment feels much bigger when it’s just you living in it. You love to have your alone time, but it’s been so much lately that your mind is going to some dark places, places that you’re forced to revisit when there’s no one else around to distract you.

So, suffice to say, you jumped at the opportunity when Josh asked you to come over tonight. He often invites you over on filming nights when your scenes aren’t being shot, says he enjoys your company and input on accuracies pertaining to the lore. You normally turn him down on those instances, feeling far too guilty for leaving your mom when you are filming. But with her still being in the hospital, you didn’t see the harm in taking him up on it this time.

Tonight's scene is between Arthur and Camille. Between Jake and Stacy. The first time you’ll see Jake as Arthur, and you’ll finally get to see for yourself what their on-camera chemistry is like. You’ve been told more than once that they’re great together, but now you have the chance to see it instead of just being told about it.

Although, you’re not exactly excited  to see them interact this way. And a huge part of you is hoping that they’ll royally suck together. You’ve been so busy that you haven’t had time to come watch their scenes, not that you’ve really tried that hard to do so. You could’ve if you actually wanted to.

But, you figured you’d rather see it in person than wait until the film is finished. And your imagination has run rampant with what they’re like together and the ‘not knowing’ has been painful. At least after tonight, you’ll know. You won’t have to wonder anymore, and it won’t be a surprise when you get to see the film in its entirety. 

Something you’re a little (more than a little, honestly) happy about is the fact that Stacy doesn’t have her “own” dressing room like you do. Granted, it’s Jake's room that has been designated as your changing space. But, still. She’s stuck using the guest bathroom to change in, and you can’t help the curling of your lips when you see her struggle to carry her costumes in there. 

Nat nudges your shoulder with hers when she catches your grin, letting you know that she saw that. You can tell by her features that she’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You know I need more details.” She says, hushed. 

You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you’ll play dumb anyway.

“Details?” You question with a look of false confusion. “Details about what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, y/n. Tell me more about Jake spending the night with you.”

You shush her as you lead her over to the dining table for a little more seclusion, both sitting in the chairs furthest away from the commotion in the living room where Josh and Malachi are busy adding the final touches to tonight's set.

“Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re wondering. Neither one of us could sleep very well, so we sat on the couch and talked for a bit, but that’s all.” You stare down at your thumbs as you twiddle them. You don’t really feel like mentioning him physically brushing you off when you both got a little too close for his comfort. You don’t even like thinking about it, let alone talking about it. 

Attempting to come up with something to change the subject, you feel terrible when you realize you’ve not even asked Nat anything about her and Danny. You perk up when at the opportunity to talk about something that isn’t the awkwardness between you and Jake.

“Speaking of details,” you say, sitting both your elbows on the table and resting your face in your hands, giving her your full attention. “I need you to tell me everything about you and Daniel this very minute. And don’t you dare leave out a single thing.”

A beautifully shy smile stretches her plump lips as she tucks a loose curl behind her ear. 

“Well, what would you like to talk about first?” She asks, her eyes lighting up. “The fact that we’ve seen each other everyday since our first date, or the fact that he’s the best I’ve ever had in bed?”

Your hands drop to the table, a stupidly massive smile plastered to your face. 

“Natalia!” You exclaim, scooting closer to her. “I can’t believe it, dude! So, are you, like, official? Or just fucking?” 

“Official,” she says, your mouth dropping from pure excitement for them. You can’t get over it. They make such a stunning couple. And she’s clearly so damn happy. That’s the most important thing. “And fucking,” she continues as you throw a hand over your mouth to muffle the laughter. “ A lot of it, too.”

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She looks breathtaking. Gorgeous. The pale shade of purple they have her in accentuates the emerald tones in her round eyes, the matching flowers in her braided hair look like a halo casted over her shiny, sunshine-yellow locks. 

Stacy’s appearance serves as a stark contrast to Guinevere’s. Her look embodies sweetness, innocence. While your character exudes sensuality as an adulteress with her black and red color palette, Stacy’s is meant to radiate charm and a sense of purity. Purity in the sense that, while she’s cheating with Arthur, she isn’t cheating on Arthur. 

Josh did this on purpose, to make Camille look innocent and unassuming, but in reality, she will be a catalyst in King Arthur's inevitable downfall. The fact that she’s an evil enchantress is hidden beneath her flowery looks. With everyone believing Guinevere to be the horrid seductress, no one would suspect that the true horror lies in the guise of Camille, who’s ever cunning under her false veil. 

Though you’re not surprised, she looks the epitome of sheer beauty. Walking perfection. And it’s a bit painful to see. She’s everything you wish you could be. 

You’re suddenly not sure you’re ready to see her interact with Jake in this scene. But, better now than later. Get it over with so you won’t have to wonder. You can sulk about it later when you have time to really feel your insecurities.

And now, here comes Jake. As if it weren’t hard enough to witness the utter beauty that Stacy carries, it’s an entirely different feeling with Jake’s. 

He looks…just so damn good. 

Tonight, instead of just the usual chainmail top and black trousers, he’s added a touch of regality with black velvet cloak over top, the very same one Josh promised him months ago. He looks like true royalty, exuding an aura of majesty, complete with a sword sheathed at his side. 

They both get settled in their respective places on set, and as soon as Josh yells “action,” a surge of unease radiates within you as you feel your whole body tense up.

As soon as they slip effortlessly into their characters, their obvious chemistry is instantly ignited before the camera. Every touch, every glance they share is loaded with an undeniable intensity. 

The way Jake's hand lingers on Stacy's waist, the way they lock eyes with such intensity…you can’t deny the fact that they’re wonderful together. Aesthetically, they just fit. Much better than you and Jake would, you’ve no doubt. 

When Jake speaks his first line, you’re shocked to hear him use a British accent. A horrible one, at that. 

You have to cover your face to hide the fact that you’re trying not to burst at the seams. But you’re not the only one. Nat has turned her head entirely in the direction opposite of you, which is probably a good thing. One glance at each other and you’d both break with boisterous laughter. 

Sam, however, makes no attempt to hide his true feelings. Standing right behind you, he loudly chuckles his classic, Sam laugh that makes it even harder for you to maintain composure.

Then, you hear a very audible groan from Josh, followed by yelling “CUT!” at the top of his lungs.

“Why did you stop us?” Jake blurts out, his arms flailing in obvious frustration. 

“I told you to use whatever creative liberty you deemed necessary for the character,” Josh confirms, both hands resting on his hips. “But I’ve asked, more than once, mind you, to not use that ridiculous fucking accent.”

Here we go. It just wouldn’t be a normal night of filming without at least several fights from the twins.

“It’s essential to the character, Josh. He is the legendary King of Britain, is he not?” His question is more like a statement, adding extra emphasis on the word “Britain” to secure his point.

“I told you, Sir Jacob.” 

Sir Jacob…?

“It doesn’t make sense if no one else is following suit with your shitty accent.” Josh continues. Jake flips a rather dramatic middle finger towards his twin, with Josh generously showing him the very same affection. 

“Alright. Take two of scene number 67,” Josh pauses a moment, waiting until they’re ready. “And…action.”

Thanks to Jake's “creative liberty,” you have to sit through the scene again, watching them and their perfect chemistry—again. 

And then…

…they kiss. The very moment you were not waiting for.

With the way his lips so passionately intertwine with hers, it’s clear they’ve done this more than a couple of times. And not only for the sake of the film. This kind of intimacy transcends the limits of film.

You and Sam had natural chemistry, but their chemistry goes miles beyond what you instinctively had with Sam. Theirs feels experienced. Experienced with each other. 

If there was any doubt lingering that they slept together that night after the haunted house, it’s all but confirmed for you now. 

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“When will your mom be ready to come home?” Nat asks you as the two of you are packing up the set.  

You quickly look around to be sure no one’s close enough to hear, the hesitancy to let everyone know is still hanging onto you tightly.

“Actually, she’ll get to come home tomorrow," you share with her. “She was good as new when I visited her today, and the doctor said she’s making huge strides.”

Your words carry a little unsureness. It’s not that you’re not happy to have her home, the apartment has been terribly lonely and you’re ready to get things somewhat back to normal. But, you can’t get rid of this feeling that something’s just not right with the whole situation. 

From the Doctor telling you there were no medications in her system to her telling you that she personally spoke with Mrs. Sweeney, thanking her for calling the ambulance, despite Mrs. Sweeney having no recollection of it and having not made the call to 911…There’s a web of uncertainty weaving in your brain. You know Nat can sense your apprehension based on the look she’s giving you as she places all the silk flowers neatly in their box. 

“You don’t sound too excited,” she observes. “Are you still thinking about what the doctor told you?” 

“I just can’t force myself to believe it. I know the evidence is there,” you remark, brows furrowed in confusion as you help her shove the ivy vines in the box with the flowers. “But it just…it doesn’t feel right, you know? Why would she do something like that?” 

Her eyes mirror the same questions plaguing your mind, the empathy ever present in them. You know she understands your confusion, her support has been a comfort during these last few maddening  days. (Though you still haven’t told her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You suppose that can wait until you’ve had enough time to process it.)

“But, I am happy that she’ll be home. It’s been so weird not having her there.” Once you get the last of the silk plants packed up, Nat takes the packing tape and adds a few pieces along the center to secure it for safekeeping. 

“I’m just worried about getting her up the three flights of stairs to our place,” you continue. “The elevator went out again and she can’t really climb them on her own. And I’m not strong enough to get her up myself.” You look to her with pleading eyes, hoping she’ll pick up on your silent request for help. 

“You know I would help if I could, y/n. But I’ll be out of town all day tomorrow with Danny visiting his family.” She tells you. You can tell by her tone that she feels bad, but it’s not her fault. 

“Well,” she says, contemplating her options. “Maybe I could just drive myself, so that way I could leave and come help you with your mom and then go back when she’s all settled.” Her offer is undeniably kind, but you can’t bring yourself to allow her to do that. You don’t want to be the reason her whole day is disrupted. 

“No, no. It’s totally okay, babe,” you acknowledge, grateful that she’d even consider such a thing. “We’ll manage. Thank you, though. I appreciate you a lot.” 

Just as you’re finishing up, you hear someone shuffling around in the kitchen. Looking in that direction, you see Jake gathering a few things to prepare dinner. 

“I can help you tomorrow, y/n.” He says, back turned to you and Nat. “Just let me know when.” 

You and Nat share a knowing glance that says what you’re both collectively thinking. 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’s offering, given how much he helped you that night and the next day. But, you still can’t help feeling shocked at his proposition.  

“S-sure, Jake.” You say. “I’ll text you the time.” 

But as you accept his offer, gratitude mixed with trepidation floods your thoughts. You’re suddenly mortified at what he may have heard you and Nat talking about, surrounding your unease with your mom’s situation. 

How long had he been standing there?

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“So this is the famous Jake,” she remarks as you wheel her through the automatic doors to Jake, who’s standing outside his Range Rover ready to help her into the passenger’s seat. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as she makes it obvious that you’ve talked about him to her before. 

Meanwhile, Jake’s lips curl in a playful grin at her statement. “Nice to finally meet you,” he says, extending a helping hand as you begin helping her out of the wheelchair and onto her feet. You try to avoid making eye contact with him as you and he position yourselves on either side of her, helping to stabilize her as she walks towards the car. But he isn’t trying to avoid it. Each accidental glance his way is met with his mischievous eyes fixed on you, his grin remaining ever present. Together, combined with what little strength she has, the three of you successfully settle her into the car without any issues. 

Taking the middle seat in the second row, you buckle up as Jake starts the engine and begins the drive to your place.

You didn’t consider the fact that she would probably bombard him with personal questions, and that’s just what she does the entire way home. She asks him all the basics, probing into his background and interests with relentless questions. His answers are pretty short for the most part, not getting very personal with her curiosity. (Sounds familiar.) But it’s her next question that has you wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Are you single?” She inquires innocently. (Although it’s perhaps not very innocent, given what you’ve told her about him.)

In the reflection of the rearview mirror, you see Jake’s eyes widen, mirroring pure shock. You bring your palm up to rest against your forehead, silently wishing to teleport to your apartment and end this agonizing drive once and for all.

But when he answers, you feel your heart sink to the pit of your stomach. 

“I, uh, guess you could say I’m single. I’ve been dating casually, nothing serious though.”

At his mention of “casual dating,” your mind instantly begins reeling and going straight to Stacy and the possibility (likelihood) that he’s been dating her. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you’re nothing to him, after all—but the sting of his words still linger in the air, leaving you feeling so small. Perhaps if you looked like Stacy, he’d be just as interested in “casually” dating you. 

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“Would you like to stay for dinner?” She offers once the three of you make it up to the third floor of your complex. “I’m sure y/n could whip up something quick for us.” A bit of annoyance washes over you with her offering for you to make dinner for everyone. She obviously can’t, but the fact that she just decided you didn’t have anything else to do besides making dinner for three people? Maybe you’re overthinking it, but it’s not sitting right with you at the moment. 

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation finally catching up with you. Or it’s your mind swirling with a million things at once. The doctor's words, Jake dating Stacy, the burgeoning voice insisting that you don’t eat. (And eating around other people right now is just far too much.)

“Thanks for asking, but I have to get back to work,” he tells her as he’s helping her in the door.

“What do you do for work, Jake?” She asks. But before he gives himself the chance to answer, he’s telling you both goodbye as he quickly heads out the door.

…okay? It’s such a simple question, why couldn’t he answer it?

While you’re standing here, confused and baffled by his actions, your mom seems to have not even noticed it as she’s now seated on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels to find one of her shows. 

“When will you be ready for dinner?” She asks you, not even looking your way as you're standing dumbfounded in the middle of the living room. Trying to shove down your frustration, you take her hint that she’s ready to eat and head into the kitchen to prepare tonight's meal. 

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You greet Jake with a sincere smile as you take your seat in Movacks class, only to be met with a simple nod as he looks away from you. 

“Mornin, Jake!” You chirp, summoning your best “Oklahoma” intonation like he brought up the other night, hoping to coax a smile from him. But you're left feeling utterly humiliated as he doesn't even acknowledge you, opting instead to focus on his phone. It's as if you didn't say a single word, leaving you feeling like an actual imbecile for the obnoxious display you've just made. It’s rather clear he wants nothing to do with you today, his pissy mood a good indication that you should probably just keep to yourself. No need in furthering his frustrations with the annoyance that is you.

You’ve tried to ignore the fact that he’s become considerably more distant with you since he helped you bring your mom home the other day. You’ve not even heard from him since then, and given how invested he seemed to be with the whole thing, it’s almost like he’s completely left in the past at this point. 

“I trust you all read the poems you were assigned with your project partner last time we met,” proclaims Dr. Movack as he walks into the room just as class is set to begin.

You and Jake were assigned Sir Lancelot and Guinevere by Alfred Tennyson, a poem that delves deeply into the forbidden affair. A bit of an unwitting irony when considering the depths of your project. He seemed out of sorts about it when you were given the poem to analyze last class period, acting as though it was a chore to have to read it. But you were excited about it, for very obvious reasons as it’s yet another layer added to your research on the character you’ve been playing. 

"Alright, everyone," Dr. Movack announces, starting the timer on his phone. "For the first twenty minutes of class, I want you to pair up with your partners and discuss your individual analyses of the piece you were assigned."

With a hefty sigh, Jake pivots his upper body towards you. “Thoughts?” He asks as his hands gesture for you to begin the conversation, clearly annoyed at this whole thing. (As if it’s your fucking fault you’re his partner.)

“Well,” you start, still taken aback but his brash behavior towards you for, as far as you can tell, no logical reason. “It compares their love to that of nature, while also equating Guin’s beauty to the same thing, making it seem as tho–”

“Kay.” He abruptly cuts you off, turning himself around so he’s no longer facing you, arms crossed and a vexed look about his pretty face. Clad with his John Lennon glasses, reminding you way too much of your initial interactions with him.

“I…I wasn’t done, Jake,” you state, sternly. 

“What else do you need to say?” He implores, his tone making sound more like a harsh statement than a question.

“I also need to say that its theme is a balance of pain and joy, of knowing that they can never truly have each other the way they desire, but celebrating the profound joy they do experience in their shared moments,” 

“The poem constructs the idea of Lancelot tending to the needs of Guin much more tenderly and passionately than Arthur could have ever done for her,” you suggest, pushing him to give you more than what he’s been giving you thus far. (Which has been absolutely nothing.)

But… it didn’t work. You lost him. It was as if the last word out of your mouth shut him completely down. You see through the wire earpiece of his staple Ray-Bans as his eyes close. A hand slowly goes up to rub his temple. 

One more shot. 

“What do you think about—?”

“What the fuck did they teach you in Oklahoma?” He fumes, suddenly and unexpectedly, his head snapping in your direction.

“What?” You blink a few times, surely hearing him wrong. 

“This stupid ass shit you’re spewing,” he growls, turning away from you once again. “Just shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?” Okay, you were nearly certain you had heard him correctly. And the way his mouth was set in a straight, unchanging line of ire told you as much.

“I’m so tired of this back and forth game where you think your little hick town brain can get you anywhere in a place like this,” he mumbles angrily, ripping open his journal and book to take his own notes. “It’s not cute to use what little knowledge you came here with as a point of intellect. It doesn’t work to prove anything. We all know the backwoods girl who is hiding underneath this fucking charade you’re displaying for everyone.” 

Your throat constricts, growing tighter and tighter as tears wet your eyes, threatening to fall. He rakes his fingers haphazardly through his shoulder-length, waving locks. With fists clenched, nails pinching your skin where they dig into your palms, you want to grab him by his hair and force him to fully face you again. 

He needs to not be a coward when he says shit that makes your heart quite actually break, crookedly down the middle. Your heart that can only take so fucking much.

He turns, just slightly. His jaw is tight, flexing beneath his frustratingly beautiful skin. How could one man encapsulate so much? One second, he’s driving you here, there, and everywhere—making you feel at ease in a time of desolation. And the next, he’s mocking you for your heritage—calling you out and chiding you for something you can’t help or control. 

A state that, in this moment, you realize you’re proud to represent in some way (you grew up there, the place raised you). You’re feeling some strange, burning need to defend it. 

His body is swiveled back around to fully face you when he rips his glasses off of his face. You fear momentarily of him breaking the delicate metal, but you soon forget the thought when you notice his expression. 

His eyes are flaming, indignant — pure fire in the sweet honeyed bourbon hue of his irises. A fire that infiltrates something so sweet and almost pure… almost. It’s Jake, for God’s sake; he can only get so pure. The word doesn’t even come close to fitting his demeanor at this moment.

The way he looks at you, making you want to crawl completely out of your skin.

“I don’t want you to insert an opinion on this material that is founded on the bullshit they teach you in tiny towns like Cherry-fucking-Tree,” he spit. “It’s a waste of my time and energy to even entertain the ideas that circulate in your mind full of, at best, average thought processes.”

Average. Just an average, hick girl. From the shitass town of Cherry-fucking-Tree. 

Average—Worthless. Just like the town you come from. How could you ever be anything coming from a place like that?

The tears begin cascading down your cheeks before you can even think to challenge them. There is no point in stopping the pools that are leaving your eyes in steady tracks down your hot cheeks. You’re shaking—shivering with equal parts twinging sadness and unkempt rage.

You let them fall momentarily, in shock as his eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering and loathsome of you. In his eyes, you watch every negative emotion he feels for you pass through them. 

“Fuck you, Jake.” Your words are stern, louder than you expected. Yet, you don’t care–because your voice conveys all of the hurt you’re encompassed with. 

And as you utter the cold words, you notice that the rest of the classroom is dead silent. A quick glance out of your peripheral vision confirms that all their heads are turned towards you and Jake.

But the eye contact with him doesn’t break. As much as you hate when people see you cry, you need him to see the hurt he’s caused you. 

“I have heard quite enough out of the two of  you!” Shouts Dr. Movack from his place at the podium. Still yet, neither one of you looks away from the other. “You both need to leave my classroom, immediately!”

“Gladly,” you shout, tossing your things in your bag with such a force that causes Jake to wince with each thing you throw in. 

He begins doing the same, matching your frustration with heavy hands. 

You don’t want to walk out with him, so before he can finish, you begin stomping through the classroom, brushing past Dr. Movack once you make it to the door. 

“Expect zeros for today's participation!” He proclaims, but you’re already halfway down the hall. 

Heavy streams of tears drench your face as you pick up the pace to get the fuck out of this godforsaken building before Jake can catch up to you. 

You can’t stand the sight of him right now, you can’t even fathom ever speaking to him again. His words cut deeper than any knife ever could, of that you’re certain. 

It hurts, it really fucking hurts. 

“Y/n, please wait, I–I’m sorry,” you hear in the distance as you’re crossing the street to the parking lot where your car sits. “I didn’t mean—fuck.”

The sound of the voice is unmistakable.

It’s Jake’s. You can discern it from the one he wielded like a weapon, his tool of choice to dismantle and destroy you, word by hateful word.

He calls for you again, but you choose to ignore his pathetic attempt at an “apology,” jumping in your car and starting the engine, wiping the excess tears away that are constricting your vision.

You briefly look up as you shift the gear into drive, catching sight of Jake’s defeated form standing on the last concrete step of the stairway leading to the doors of Angell Hall. 

And as you’re backing out of your spot, he rips his glasses off, tossing them to the ground with a force that very obviously shatters them. 

You know he was probably just speaking out of pure anger, but where that anger is derived from is what you don’t understand. You’ve not done anything so bad to him to deserve any of what he just threw at you.

But no matter where it came from, he had no fucking right to speak to you the way he did. 

Not finding the strength within you to turn back and go to him to hear his apology, you drive away and leave him there to deal with what he’s done alone. 

While there’s a part of you that wants to hear his explanation, you don’t owe it to him to give him the chance. It’s not worth your time at this point. He’s made it known that you’re nothing but a massive pill in his life, that he would probably be much happier without you in it, ruining it with every backwoods word you speak.

He watches you as you drive away, his features as cold as if they were carved in the very stone he’s standing on, unreadable even from a distance.

Tears begin brimming in your ducts yet again as you turn onto the street to head home, him now fully out of your sight. 

It's unfathomable how someone could harbor such hatred towards you, and yet, despite it all, you can't shake the intense desire you still feel for him. 

It just doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t make sense.

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The squeaky wheels of the wooden library cart echo throughout the entire building with each push. The screeching metal wheels send a chill up your spine each time you move, and you’re silently apologizing to everyone in here for the obtrusive noise. With midterms officially over as of last week, everyone has been dropping their books off in piles the past few days. After sorting through them all, making sure to note who returned their books on their account, it’s finally time to put them back on the shelf. 

As much as you hate the squeaky cart, this is your favorite part of the job. It gives you the chance to conduct a very detailed tour of the library on your own terms, truly allowing you to see it all. There’s no lack of discovering something new each time. You love this old building, and you love the smell of the books. The scent was the first thing you noticed when you walked in here for the first time all those months ago, and it still remains your favorite smell in the world.

As you look towards the end of the long Political Science aisle you’re standing in, you suddenly catch Nat peeking her head around the corner, waving at you while her clunky brown boots click as she walks your direction. 

“Need any help? It’s dead as a doornail up there and I’m bored as hell.”

“Sure, Mr. Dickens,” you joke at her nod to a literary classic. “I’ll gladly accept your help.”

She begins helping with your task, finding a certain peace in her company amidst the quiet library.

“I can’t find where this goes, any clue?” You ask, holding up the book on the tools of presenting a good argument. She takes it from you and examines it a bit, reading the faded numbers on the spine. 

“Well, I see why you’re having trouble,” she says, full smirk across her blush pink, glossy lips. “It’s marked wrong. This goes in General Law.”

With a playful wink, she gestures toward the correct section to guide you to its proper place on the shelf.

“How’s your momma?” She asks. “Is she feeling better?”

“She’s okay. She’s home, and she’s alive…it’s all just so strange.” You shelve the last of the political science books stacked on your cart, wheeling it around the corner to the General Law section as Nat follows close behind. “There’s still so many unanswered questions. I just can’t figure out who called the ambulance.”

“Wasn’t it your neighbor?” She asks, helping you maneuver the heavy cart around the tight corner. 

“That’s what I thought,” you answer, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you remember the strange conversation you had just days ago with Mrs. Sweeney. “But she told me she didn’t make the call. She said the ambulance just showed up. I asked her if she heard my mom calling out for help, or anything from our apartment that sounded concerning, something that would prompt an emergency call…and she said no.”

Nat matches your confused state, stopping to take in everything you’d just told her. “That just doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Is it possible that she called for the ambulance?”

“My mom?” You hadn’t even considered the possibility. And, she would’ve told you…right? You don’t know why you’re so desperate to know, why it’s keeping you up at night that Mrs. Sweeney told you she didn’t call, that your mom had basically lied to you about the whole thing. “I–I don’t think so, Nat. She was completely unresponsive when they found her.” 

Now the wheels are turning. Maybe it was her, and perhaps she just…didn’t tell you? Is she trying to hide something? It just doesn’t feel likely but…possible, you guess. It wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Putting this whole thing to rest would make it so you can finally rest.

“Well, like you said,” Nat utters, breaking you free of your relentless, turning mind. “She’s alive. And that’s all that really matters, right?”

Of course that’s all that matters. But, you can’t help the feeling that there’s more to this than what you’re able to see, more that’s being hidden beneath the seemingly cracked surface. It could just be your anxious tendencies, telling you to worry when there’s truly nothing to be worried about.

Or, your gut feeling is correct. There’s something you’re not aware of that feels big.

You begin wheeling the now empty cart back to the circulation counter to grab another lot of books, Nat leading the way ahead of the obnoxious wheels. 

“Right,” you answer, deciding to push aside that worry for the time being.

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“Do you have any idea why Jake despises me? Like, has he ever said anything to you or Josh? Or Malachi?” You ask as you fill the cart with the next bundle of books to be put up.

“He doesn’t despise you, y/n. I know his exterior is rough, but there’s not an ounce of hate in that boy's heart. Just give him more time. You’ve seen it, you know he’s a good one.” 

You know deep down that he is, that he’s got a good heart with good intentions. But, there’s something about when he starts to become close to you that forces him to back away, to treat you like you’re a nuisance. He can shove his hatred for you down long enough, until he can’t and it comes out of him like he was accidentally hiding it.

“He does hate me, Nat. You can’t deny the way he acts when I’m around, like I’m the biggest burden that could’ve possibly been placed upon him.” You roughly toss the final book on the cart, wincing at the loud noise it made that you didn’t quite mean to happen. “You didn’t hear the way he spoke to me the other day, Nat. He belittled me in class. I have never been so humiliated and disrespected before in my life. Pretty sure I’m nothing more than walking garbage to him.”

“I hate to interrupt your little drama fest, but you are not the biggest burden in his life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him.” She says, frustration in her tone as she intervenes, slamming a book down on the cart just like you did. “I will stick up for you, y/n. But I also know things about him that you don’t.”

“That’s the problem. I know nothing about him. He doesn’t want me to know him. He’s built this wall around himself and refuses to let me in. He almost did the other night at my apartment, but when he realized he was getting a smidge too close to me, he shut down again. He’s the never ending enigma, one that just so happens to hate my guts.” Your words hang heavy in the air, a tense silence grappling them as you’re left with the realization of just how complex your relationship with Jake is, and it’s not by your choice. 

“I know he can be closed off, and I know he can be an asshole sometimes. Trust me. But you need to know a few things. He’s been through the ringer, multiple times.” She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, stopping you as you begin to walk away to put the books up, silently urging you to consider another perspective. 

“He and his brothers were adopted by their grandparents after their mom and dad were killed in a car accident. Drunk driver. It left all of Frankenmuth completely devastated.”  

His parents.

You’d never even once thought about where they were, or who they were. Being so caught up in your own shit, you hadn’t even considered…

Fuck.

“Their dad was in a local band,” she continues, taking a seat in the rolling chair behind the counter. “They never made it big beyond the area, but god, everyone in town loved them. And when Jake was about ten, he started playing with them. Playing the guitar his dad bought him, the one sitting in his room. He worked his ass off to buy that for Jake. They were killed only a few months after the first time he joined them on stage.”

When she mentioned his guitar, it all of a sudden reminded you of the night at your apartment. The night he became so disgusted by you right before he could finish talking about…

…about his dad. And the guitar he bought him, the very same one Nat is telling you about right now. You know this because you instantly took note of the SG sitting in his room the first night you stepped foot in there, and that’s the exact model he was talking about that night…the one he said defined him as a player, the one his dad searched high and low for. 

Oh my god.

“When they died, they moved in with their grandparents. But they owned an apartment complex in Detroit, so they had to move here with them. That’s when I met them, when they started school at Central High.”

You just nod in response, needing a second to fully absorb her words that are beginning to paint a much clearer picture of Jake. 

“Then, their grandma suddenly died. They were devastated, didn't come to school for weeks.” Her voice softens, her expression reflecting the weight of all the loss they had endured at such young ages. “They had to help their grandpa with the complex, learn how to run the business. Which turned out to be a good thing, because he got sick a few years later. Pancreatic cancer. The boys ended up dropping out of college for a bit to take care of him, to essentially take over acting landlords.” 

“Nat I can’t…I can’t believe it. I had no idea…” Your brain is struggling to process it all. And if it’s that hard for you to imagine, it must have been hell for Jake and his brothers to live it. It was their reality. But to you, it’s utterly heartbreaking. Unfathomable. 

 “They never left his side, especially Jake. He was with him twenty four seven, and when he died, Jake kind of became a recluse.”

The compassion you’re feeling for Jake and his family swells your heart as you’re realizing the depths of his burdens. His guarded nature suddenly makes a lot more sense as everything she’s telling you is fully sinking in. The old saying is true; you truly never know what someone is going through, what someone has been through. 

Regardless of how he’s acted towards you, you’re feeling a lot of guilt for being so quick to judge him. 

“Jake was the only one with him when he died. Matter of fact, he died in the exact same hospital your mom stayed in. I bet it was kind of hard for him to be there, but he stayed for you, y/n. That is the real Jake.”

Jake was committed to you that night. Stayed with you in the hospital that holds so much weight for him. Even in the midst of his own pain, he stayed with you. It explains so much.

“What happened to the complex? After their grandpa died?” 

“They live in it,” she answers with a grin. “They’re landlords. It was their inheritance. And as hard as it was for them to take over ownership as college students, they made it work. The three of them make one hell of a team.” 

You didn’t know what Jake did for work, but owning an apartment complex with his brothers was not on your list of possibilities. An extremely nice complex, at that. 

“Why didn’t any of them mention this to me? I get Jake but, Sam? Josh?” You can’t help the mix of surprise and confusion, wondering why they hadn’t shared such a big part of themselves with you. It’s their job. And you’ve never known anyone to keep something like that from you. 

Although it does make sense if they didn’t want it to lead to a deeper conversation about their losses. Maybe they’re the same as Jake in that aspect. They just don’t like to talk about hard things.  

Then, you remember how you’ve kept your life a secret from them, too. The only reason Jake knows about your mom is because he just happened to be there. But he knows nothing else. Your dad… he hasn’t and will probably never be mentioned with him. With any of them. And it’s not because you’re ashamed; it’s just not something you want broadcasted. 

“They don’t care for the attention it garners,” she explains. “And they probably didn’t want you to treat them any different. The only reason I know about it is because of my brother, and he’s the one that told me everything else about what they’ve been through. They really don’t like to talk about any of this stuff,” she adds, her voice heavy with sympathy. “They don’t want it to define them.”

“I can definitely understand that.” You say with deeply rooted empathy. Your heart aches, for all of them. But, you can deny the extra twinge of softness you feel for Jake. For him to have shoved all of this down the way he has, it’s no wonder he acts the way he does. It doesn’t completely excuse it, but it sure as hell makes a lot of fucking sense. 

The amount of pain they’ve experienced in their lives, losing practically everyone important in their lives. They’re not only bonded by brotherhood, they’re bonded even tighter because of everyone they’ve lost. All of them being so close to them, raising them. They’ve lost almost everyone who was ever important to them, being left with just each other to lean on. It all makes sense, and as much as he’s hurt you, you just can’t bring yourself to keep holding it against him. 

He’s hurting, too. 

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Carrying the third laundry basket up the stairs from the in-building laundry, you’re wondering just how two people have managed to collect so much clothing. You try to designate time each week specifically for laundry, but you’ve gotten so far behind on it that it’s become a little overwhelming. Each basket of clothes you’ve washed and brought back up to the apartment has been overflowing. You’re sure you’ll discover a missing sock or a pair of underwear or two that fell during the journey back to your place, but you’re not about to go back and find out.

You’re finally done washing everything. Now, the worst part: putting it all up. You decide to put that part off for a little while to get caught up on the rest of the chores that need to be done tonight. 

The dishes are next on the list. You usually don’t mind doing them, but your dishwasher decided to quit on you and the landlord is in no hurry to come and fix it. So, you’re stuck hand washing the pile that has somehow accumulated significantly over the last few days. 

With a resigned sigh, you roll up your sleeves and begin scrubbing away at the stack of plates and utensils. The warm water soothes your hands, and you find a sense of rhythm in the repetitive task. 

Your mind starts to drift to the other tasks that still need to be taken care of. The vacuuming, tidying up the living room, perhaps taking out the trash if you can muster up the energy.

But for now, you decide to focus on the task at hand, finding a strange sort of comfort in the motion of washing and rinsing each dish.

Despite the annoyance of hand washing dishes, there's a strange comfort in the routine of it all. With each plate cleaned and set aside to dry, you feel a small sense of accomplishment. 

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You peek around the door frame to see her lying in the same spot she has been for the last few hours, still grazing her plate of food you gave her and watching something mindless on the television. She hasn’t noticed you standing there yet, and just as you’re about to say something, you notice she’s not wearing her oxygen. 

“Mom,” you assert as you storm inside of her room, the frustration in your voice apparent. You grab her nasal cannula sitting on her nightstand and help her put it on. “How long have you not been wearing it?” 

She takes a deep breath as she further adjusts the tube to her face, letting out a dry cough from deep in her chest. “I’m fine, sweetie. I won’t keel over  if I go without it for a little bit. It’s just so invasive, I hate wearing that damn thing.”

“That is not what the doctor said.” You check her tank to be sure she’s getting enough to compensate for however long she’s kept it off. “And based on how horrible your cough sounds, you need it right now. Please, mom. You have to follow their orders. You don’t want a repeat of the other night, do you?”

She sits herself up a bit, as well as she can. Smiling at you and nodding, she says, “I know, I know. Your momma is just a little stubborn sometimes. What would I do without my sweet daughter to take care of me?” You smile back at her, but it quickly fades as you're reminded yet again of the other night and the questionable events that transpired. 

She picks up on your sudden change in expression. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She asks with wary concern. 

You decide that right now is as good a time as any to ask her your burning question. With a heavy breath, you take a seat on the edge of her bed beside her. Clearing your dry throat, you say “I have to ask you something.” 

“Of course, honey. What’s on your mind?” Her eyes watch you with a gentle kindness about them that you’ve always loved about her, but right now, along with the kindness there are a thousand secrets as dark as her pupils. It casts an unease in your spirit that is brand new to you, yet feels oddly familiar all at once. Has it always been there and you’ve just never noticed? Have you just denied it?

You can’t decipher why you’re so nervous to ask her. You shouldn’t be; it’s a simple question. But you feel this heaviness deep within your body that you can’t explain. An intuition that something is awry, perhaps? 

You’ve never once doubted your mom. You’ve always trusted her with everything for the simple fact that she’s never given you cause not to. But you can’t deny that something feels…off. And as she’s looking at you right now, you’re suddenly not sure you recognize the woman sitting before you anymore. Something is different. Everything is different. 

And you don’t know why you feel this way. But you do. And denying it further will only cause you to descend into a maddening cycle of endless wandering.

Her eyes are flicking back and forth between yours, her eyebrows are scrunched and her thin lips are slightly agape. With a curious nod of her head, she quietly signals you to just ask your damn question. 

“Did…” Your tight voice cracks and as she grabs your hand to try and comfort you, you find your voice to continue. “Did you call 911 that night?” The words flow out of your mouth like a river with no end, a strong current that knocks you into the depths of the raging waters. 

Her eyes widen and her mouth falls the rest of the way open. Her hand slowly moves away from yours as her eyes stay steady on you. A look of pure shock washes over her face as she’s quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. 

“I thought we agreed on Mrs. Sweeney calling.” She finally asserts, her voice suddenly much more strong and clear than it has been in a long time, startling you. “I’m not sure why you’re still on this, y/n.” Her tone is sharp as a blade, penetrating you each time she utters a word. She’s almost defensive, angry. Her eyes are narrowed on yours, unblinking and stilled. 

“I just…you’re right. I’m sorry, I must've forgotten.” You manipulate your tone to sound more sure, more accepting than you truly feel. You decided against telling her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You’ve a solid feeling it may not go over well if you tell her what was said. There’s a queasy feeling in the pit of your belly telling you to just shut up. A feeling you’ve never felt with your mom before. You’ve always known you could go to her for anything. Right now, you feel like shutting down completely. 

Her gruff features soften back to the way you’re most used to them, her smile taking over her thin scowl. However, the kindness in her eyes that was mixed with secrets earlier, has shifted to the secrets taking command. You don’t know who she is right now. And you’re wondering if you’ve ever truly known.

“It’s okay, honey. I know you’re awfully busy these days. I’m so proud of you.” Her tone has gone back to its weak, hushed quality. What was once a comfort to you, now feels quite the opposite. And something about her compliment felt…forced. Like she only said it as a distraction. And her voice changing on command, like that was forced, too. As if you weren’t feeling off about this whole thing enough, this has made it ten times worse.

Before you can figure out what to say, you catch the time from her nightstand clock out of the corner of your eye. Realizing it’s well after ten o’clock, you immediately step back in your caregiver shoes. It’s over an hour past time for her to take her evening medications. You grab the three bottles sitting next to the clock, dumping one pill out of each in your hand and setting them back down, taking the half-full glass of water in your hand next.

“Take these really quick.” You say as you hand her the pills and the glass. “I’ll get you more water once you’re done.” 

She nods, tossing all three pills in her mouth and downing the rest of her water before handing the glass back to you. 

Standing from the edge of her bed to head to the kitchen, you tell her you’ll be right back with her water. Without a word, she just smiles your way as you walk through the door.

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It’s nearly three in the morning and you’ve still not gone to bed. With as much time as you’ve had to dedicate to your mom, the apartment upkeep, work, and filming all while attempting to maintain a rather poor excuse for a social life, school and homework have been on the very bottom of your priority list. And that is very much not like you. Your grades have suffered the last few weeks. You’re falling behind, nearing the point of no return. So, sleep isn’t much of an option right now. Hasn’t been for several nights. It’s the only time you’ve got to do something for yourself. Even something as grueling as English homework. 

Tonight's task is to complete your paper on Carmilla for your Classic Horror course, but the words aren’t flowing as seamlessly as they should. As much as you want to be able to focus, you just can’t. You can only manage to get out a few sentences at a time before you have to stop and regather your train of thought. You keep checking your phone, scrolling through mindless social media, getting up to get a drink, anything that might keep you from this rather daunting task.

Your frustration with yourself is growing by the minute. You have to get this done by Monday, and you’re nowhere near finished. There’s hardly a conceivable thought typed on your word document and you don’t see yourself being able to form one anytime soon.

The ever burdening worry is all the more present after your talk with your mom. The way she acted when you asked your question, how her entire demeanor changed to one that made her unrecognizable to you…The questions are persistent, their relevance feeling more palpable than before.

As you start typing out your second paragraph, you’ve suddenly come to a realization that keeps you from continuing…

If she’s hiding that she did call for the ambulance, she would’ve had to use her cell phone. That call would still show up in her log, and although you don’t believe in invading someone's personal space, you just need to know. Odds are, she’s right. She didn’t call, and you’ll probably find absolutely nothing in her phone to indicate that she did. But at least you’ll know. And you can check it off your list of possibilities. You’ll be able to confirm that she wasn’t lying to you. (Because she wouldn’t do that…right?)

You’ve decided that checking her phone is the only way you’ll be able to put this whole thing to rest. Is it the right thing to do? Absolutely not. But you can’t focus until you know. 

Her door is always left open just in case something happens, you can hear her easier. So, with a light step, you walk inside her mostly dark room. Her television is quietly playing some old Western film you know you’ve seen a dozen times, but you can’t decipher which one it is. Some desert battle with horses and weapons flashes on the screen, the light illuminating the room in eerie beams. 

She’s fast asleep. Her oxygen tank is a steady hum against the low volume of the film, her breathing heavy but not labored.

Her phone rests on the nightstand closest to the wall, plugged into the charging cord. As you lift and touch the screen, you’re reminded of the fact that she keeps a six digit code to keep it locked. A code that you don’t know.

Although, you’ve got a hunch. With shaky thumbs, you type out the month, day and year of your birthday.

It worked. You’re in. 

Your eyes quickly shift to her sleeping form to be sure that she is still asleep. She’s situated on her back, her head rolled over on the pillow facing you. Her eyes aren’t open, and she’s not moved since you’ve been in here. You make haste in locating her call log and scrolling all the way to the date she landed herself in the emergency room. 

…and she was right. 

There are no 911 calls anywhere on her log. Not even a call made to the hospital…nothing. But as you take a closer look, there is something amiss. 

It was just after 1:30 in the morning when you and Jake arrived at your apartment to the chaotic scene. There’s an outgoing call that was made at 1:16…just minutes before the ambulance must have arrived. She was completely unresponsive when they found her, so how did she…? And why didn’t she call you?

The contact name is only adding to your questions. It’s a name you can’t place, and it’s an odd one.

Dodger.

Who the fuck is Dodger?

You don’t know a single person with that name…not that you can think of right away, at least. 

Whoever this Dodger is, might be the person responsible for the ambulance call. If not them, then who else? And the fact that she was on the phone with them right before…

Finding out the area code might give you some clue as to who this is. If nothing else, you’ll at least have an idea of where they live. After tapping the information icon to the right, you’re shocked when you see the three digits that tell you this is an Oklahoma number. 

There’s no one back home that she’s kept in touch with since the move. At least, not that you know of. She didn’t have many friends. None, actually. She spent all of her either time at home or, when your dad left, with you. Your mind is empty at trying to conjure up a single person she’d need to call from back home. You stare at the screen for a moment, trying your best to make sense of what you see before you. But you just can’t.

You need to call this number. But not with her phone, so you text yourself the contact information and delete the text from her phone so she won’t know. 

And as you’re in her text messages, you decide to see if she and Dodger ever text each other. But, there’s nothing. You’re quite literally the only person she texts, making this whole thing all the more strange. 

You place her phone back on the nightstand, checking on her once more before you quietly walk away. But before you do, something catches your eye. Her glass of water. It’s empty. You may as well fill it for her so she has it in case she wakes up thirsty. As you pick it up, something else catches your eye. Something far more alarming than an empty glass. 

You see the pills you gave her earlier, the ones you saw her swallow down. Or, at least you thought she did. But she didn’t. The three pills you gave her are sitting behind the glass, hidden from plain out of plain view. Had you not moved the glass, you wouldn’t have seen them. 

Suddenly, you’re remembering how the doctor was convinced that she hadn’t been taking them, asking you suspiciously if she had been. 

And you told him yes. Of course she’d been taking them, why wouldn’t she? 

You give them to her every night. You watch her take them every night. But if you thought she took them tonight when she actually didn’t, does that mean…that she never takes them? 

You can't bring yourself to believe that. You don’t even want to believe it. There’s an explanation. Has to be. 

She wouldn’t do that to herself, to you as her number one caregiver. She’s told you time and time again that she wants you to live your life for you, not for her. She’s said that she hates relying on you, but loves that she can. 

No, she wouldn’t do that. She would know to take her medications, because they make her better. And she wants to get better. For her and for you, like she’s said since she got sick in the first place. 

But it doesn’t explain…

…she really hasn’t been taking her pills.

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The cold, wet hair hitting your back makes you shiver before you wrap it up in a towel, taking the matching one to wrap up your soaking wet body. You decided to take an ‘everything’ shower before filming tonight, completing all of your deep conditions and skin scrubs. This is the most refreshed you’ve felt in weeks.

Tonight will be your last intimate scene with Sam, black lace dress included. And also your first with Jake. This will be the first time you’ll share the screen with him as your fictional ‘husband and wife’ characters. But there will be no loving sentiment between them on the screen. 

No. Tonight, Arthur will catch Guinevere in the middle of the act with her beloved Lancelot, his closest companion and best comrade. It’s going to be one of the most intense scenes within the entire project. 

According to what Josh has written in the script, Arthur will walk in on Guinevere and Lancelot making love, thus beginning the downfall of his reign due to his all consuming desires to get rid of Lancelot. 

Something else Josh wrote into the script is that Arthur and Lancelot have quite the heated argument over who is more deserving of their precious Guin. All the while, she is laid out on Lancelot's bed, clad in her most scandalous attire in front of both men whose need for her will end their relationship in one of the worst ways imaginable. Arthur will take one look at his wife, her body nearly on full display before them both, the most intimate gift that she’s offered his once closest confidant. He will then immediately order the death of Sir Lancelot for treason as he has committed one of the most heinous crimes against the king. 

Lancelot won’t argue, as he believes his time with Guinevere, however short, is enough to sustain him, even in death. She was worth it, she is worth it. And he will force Arthur to look upon her and realize the treasure in her that he has taken for granted. He will beg the king to at last show her the love she deserves once he is gone and no longer can. 

Suffice to say, tonight's scene is a big one. It serves as a catalyst for a lot of significant plot points. And you’re hoping that everything you’ve learned about acting thus far will suffice for the heaviness expected from you and your fellow actors. The hard part about this scene for you is the lack of dialogue. Once Arthur becomes privy to the affair between the two, Guinevere stays silent for the most part save for a few lines. Meaning you’ll be relying heavily on your body to convey her every emotion and thought, which you’ve found to be far more challenging than speaking a few lines with a manipulated voice.

Manipulating your body without a single word is a different thing altogether. To be able to convey emotions without speaking is something you’re not the most confident in, on and off  the screen.

But something happens to you once you put your costume on. You become someone else, someone you’ve always wished you could be. And with Jake being present, you’re sure you’ll have a little added inspiration. But that means you’ll be trying a little harder to look nice for tonight's filming session. Hence the ‘everything’ shower that felt like it took literal ages to complete, but felt so incredibly wonderful. (And also felt rather necessary.)

With your body now only a little damp, you remove your towel to start lathering yourself up in your favorite body lotion, fragrant with notes of wild lavender and chamomile, then taking your frenshe body oil in vanilla cashmere and massaging it all over your skin, focusing a little more on your neck and chest, even adding a little to inner thighs. These scents make for the perfect, seductive aroma, and your skin feels so soft, so alluring. Perfect for tonight.

Normally, you’d shy away from looking at yourself in the mirror, especially your nude form. Yet here you are, scrutinizing your reflection, noting each and every tiny thing that you wish you could alter. The years that you’ve spent hiding…years. 

It’s hard to look at your body when it’s not covered by the sweaters that are two sizes too big. You’re forced to accept your body, to accept the things you hate that you’ve felt the need to cover with a security blanket ever since you were a child. 

You stand to the side to see just how much your tummy is pooched from the apple cinnamon oatmeal you ate this morning. It could all be in your head, but you’re almost sure you can see the bloat from your tiny meal. You turn around completely, looking back for the crinkles of cellulite that you know are present in your ass. 

They’re there. Just as you suspected. You’re sure no model. No perfect ‘beauty queen’... 

…no Stacy. 

Fuck. How could anyone find you attractive when you’re so mortified by your own reflection? 

The voice in your head is loud and overpowering. It’s screaming louder than the voice that talked to you through recovery. 

You’re in such a strange place.

While your confidence in yourself has arguably never been higher, the urge to relapse has grown right along with it. Maybe it’s because you’ve suddenly found a version of yourself that you can appreciate. A version of yourself that you’ve always longed for. But she can’t be found in your real life. 

No. She only makes her appearance when you’re pretending to be someone else. She isn’t you.

She lives within you, but she isn’t you. 

You grab the towel and quickly cover yourself back up with it, not wanting to spiral even deeper into your insecurities when you’re supposed to be playing a confident, beautiful queen in a few hours. 

You’ll be fine once you put the dress on, you tell yourself. Please, please don’t do this. Not right now. 

You know shoving down the thoughts, ignoring them with a temporary fix, isn’t the answer. But you can’t deal with it right now. You don’t have time. You don’t have the mental space for it. 

You’ll deal with it later. It can wait. 

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Josh’s room is the set tonight, and it looks incredible. The bed is adorned with a white satin duvet, with red and white rose petals scattered all over. This is your throne for the night, where you’ll be lying for the entire duration of the scene. 

Josh’s walls are painted white, but he and Malachi have worked pure magic with the lighting that has given them a dark red hue. You thought they had actually painted them when you walked in, but Josh showed you the lights, the “wonders of cinematic sorcery,” as he called it. It looks like a brand new room, it looks so good. 

Jake was right when he told you his brother is one hell of a director. Everything he does feels professional. You just know you’ll see Josh’s name alongside the likes of Tarantino and Scorsese someday. His talent and eye for putting together the best scenes will get him far. And Malachi will be right alongside him, designing the perfect costumes for Josh’s films. A dynamic duo, those two. 

But if you’re honest with yourself, the beauty and eroticism of the set has you even more nervous for this scene. You just hope that you can do this set justice and not fuck it all up. It deserves some of the best acting you can offer Josh. You don’t want to let him down with your insecurities that have been weighing so heavily all day. 

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“I still can’t believe it,” Nat says as you’ve just finished applying the final layer of Ben Nye to your secret ink. (You still can’t get over the fact that Sam now knows about it. Not what you wanted, but there’s nothing you can do now. It’s done. It just feels strange that something so personal is now not as personal as you intended for it to be.)

As you dab a little finishing powder over the foundation, you turn your head over your shoulder to Natalia, who’s sitting crisscrossed in the center of Jake’s bed. “Believe what?” you ask her, snorting a chuckle. 

“Your sexy little tattoo, that’s what.” Her beautiful face wears that contagious smile of hers, her right eye throwing you a sly wink. “I would’ve never suspected it when I met you. You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?” 

You have no idea. 

“Guess you could say that.” You huff a giggle while you secure all of Josh’s makeup back in his bag. Still to this day, he’s yet to ask you what it’s for. Odds are, he thinks you just need a little extra coverage for your face. It doesn’t seem he suspects a thing. (You’re just hoping Sam keeps his mouth shut about this unrevealed aspect of yourself.) 

“Do you think you’ll ever get anymore?” She questions as she’s handing you your gown. 

“Thank you, babe,” you tell her, taking the garment bag from her. “And I don’t know, I’ve not really put too much thought into it.” She helps you secure the hook and eye in the back of the dress, holding your hair over your shoulder so it’s not in her way. “I was pretty drunk when I got this one. But I do love it. So, maybe. It makes me feel mysterious, you know?” 

With the dress fastened, you stand in front of the mirror and adjust a few things. The thing you’re always the most concerned about with this costume is the chest area, naturally. If you situate the lace just right over your breasts, there’s not quite a full view of your intimate area. But there’s still enough to add a little sensuality to it. 

“Damn, y/n.” Nat says, her eyes trailing your chest as you get yourself adjusted just the way you like. 

“What?” You say through a giggle. 

“Oh, nothing,” she says. You can see her devious grin in her reflection of the mirror in front of you as she’s pulling your hair off your shoulder, smoothing out the kinks. “Just that Danny’s lucky he snatched me up when did.” Her golden eyes lock with your reflection as she winks and chuckles. “You’re just too gorgeous, girl.” 

You playfully roll your eyes as you both break out in a fit of giggles. (You wish everyone saw you that way. Jake, mostly.) With a final onceover of your liquid lipstick, blotting your lips and cleaning up the edges, you feel you’re about as ready as you can be for tonight's scene. 

“Well, he better watch his back,” you say, opening Jake’s door and walking through the threshold, Nat following close behind. “I could still steal you away.” More laughter sounds from you two as you head down the hallway, walking past the living room and up the staircase to the loft.

Danny is waiting at the top of the stairs, and when Nat makes it up to him, his toned arms wrap her in a full hug. “What are you two laughing about?” He asks, planting a sweet kiss to her temple.

Neither one of you says a word as you throw a silent wink towards Nat, letting the laughter bubbling within you both burst through yet again. 

“What?” He insists. 

Without an explanation, the two of you lock arms and proceed to the film set, leaving him still asking what the commotion is all about, but letting him sit in his wonder while you walk away together.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You ready for this?” Sam whispers to you, his face mere inches from yours. With you splayed out on your back, and he perched on his side right next to you, arm draped across your body, you’re positioned just the way Josh had in mind for the beginning of the shoot.

His smile, infectious and beautiful as always, warms your soul (and your body) and has you feeling very much at ease as you mentally prepare for this scene. You haven’t filmed with him in a while, and you’ve been so busy with the utter shitshow your life has been lately that you’ve just not been able to see him much. Feeling him this close to you again after all this time, you’d hate to admit just how nice it feels. 

It feels really fucking nice. You hadn’t realized how bad you missed it, how bad you missed him.

“I think so,” you mutter, smiling at him while he looks at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. “But, are you ready?”

He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it lovingly behind your ear with a peculiar smirk across his lips. You can’t see Jake, but you can hear the prolonged sigh from his lips as he’s positioned just outside the bedroom door, awaiting his cue to barge in on the two of you. 

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he confirms, sending off his words with a wink before he shifts his attention to your director.. “I think we’re good to go, Josh!”

Josh confirms with a nod of his head, gesturing a thumbs up to Malachi to dim the overhead lighting and giving Danny the “okay” to shine a little spotlight on the bed you’re on. 

“Scene 73, take one.” He doesn’t yet have a cue card, so with (a rather loud) clap of his hands, he yells, “ACTION!”

As soon as the scene begins, you’re fully encompassed by your alter, the ever sought after Queen Quiniverre. Every insecurity, every doubt, all but washes away once Josh says the word. You’re not you anymore; you feel as though everything you hate about yourself doesn’t exist within this realm. You’re not you, and Guinevere would never be insecure about the things that you are. 

And that’s exactly what inspires you to be the best Guinevere that you can be. You wish, more than anything, that you had her confidence. But even if you don’t have it, she does. And at least you can know what it’s like, even if the moments are short. 

Once Sam says his few words of dialogue, he leans in to envelop you in a passionate kiss full of burning desire. Bodies tangled, hands searching one another; a moment of pure ecstasy shared between two secret lovers, bound together by a love so deceitful to the King. 

And then, you hear him. He walks through the threshold with heavy feet, his breathing stern and labored. 

“I thought I knew better than to heed Mordred's vile words of my first in command. And yet, I find that I needn’t worry of his lies, only those of my beloved and her dearest, both of whom betray their King.” 

He unsheathes his sword, a motion to take Lancelot for himself. To battle to the death for their prize who lie in the bed before them. 

…his voice. 

It echoes throughout the entire room, the entire apartment. The anger he’s displaying is being pulled from somewhere deep within him, exhibiting itself through the King as he’s finally privy to his wife's infidelity. The volume nearly startles you from your position on the bed. You didn’t expect such vibrancy from him, such passion to be exuded through him. He’s speaking his dialogue perfectly, acting through it as though he’s done it a hundred times over. He’s still using his accent, but it’s believable this time. It’s coming through much more powerful than the last time you heard it. 

“My once most trusted comrade, you must die at my hands for treason. The highest crime against your king, to lay with his precious Guinevere, deserves no less than a death of the highest order.” 

His accent, where it was once convincing and accurate, has now begun to falter under the pressure of the scene. He’s beginning to sound less like the betrayed king, and more like an pissed off Jake.  

He continues to hold his sword out firm, glaring at Lancelot with a fiery anger from the depths of his soul, until he shifts them to you. The same anger geared towards you, only it doesn’t feel as though it’s Arthur looking at Guinevere, it’s more like Jake looking at you. And the extent of it is making you more uncomfortable as the seconds (that feel more like hours) are passing without a word from either of them. 

It’s supposed to be Sam’s turn to speak, but it’s likely that he’s caught on to the tension pouring from Jake, and the tensions that lie in the space between you and him. 

“Sam!” Jake screams, causing you to jolt from the sheer volume. “Say your fucking line so we can get this over with and I can get the fuck away from all of you!”

“Woah, woah,” Josh interjects, motioning for Malachi to turn the lights back on as he cuts the camera. “What the fuck, Jake? What’s your problem?”

Jake tosses his sword to the floor, taking off his cloak and throwing it towards Josh who hardly has enough warning to catch it. “This, Josh. This is my fucking problem!” Jake fumes, gesturing his flexed arms towards you and Sam as you’re both struck silent by his sudden outburst. “I can’t perform with this, I won’t.” 

You look to Sam as he blinks a few times, as if suddenly being pulled out of his state of utter shock at his brother's actions. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sam challenges, getting up from his position and leaving you there by yourself. 

Danny grabs Nat’s arm to take her out of the room, and she’s waving for you to join her. But you don’t want to leave, not yet. You don’t normally stick around for a full blown, Kiszka fight. But you have to hear what Jake is going to say for yourself. 

“It means, Sam, that I can’t stand working with you,” he looks to you, still on the bed but now in an upright position as you watch the scene unfold before you. “Or her.” 

What the fuck–?

Josh is pleading with him to calm down, but he won’t have it. He brushes him off when his twin offers a comforting hand to his arm. 

“Fuck this goddamn film and fuck every single one of you that has anything to do with it! It’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry, Josh. I’m fucking done.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You can’t take it any longer. You storm out after him, heedless of everyone else, ignoring their presence and pushing your way through to reach him. 

He slams his door but you waste no time in opening it immediately after, refusing to let him shut you or anyone else out after such a blow-up.

There’s not much light in his room, save for the lamp in the corner shining a warm hue on the space. The calming aura of his room means nothing in comparison to the tensions between you two— the ever growing tensions that now feel sharper than any blade.

He stands facing his bed, his back turned to you. As soon as you enter the room and shut the door behind you, he quickly turns on his heel to face you. And he does not look pleased, his features etched with irritation. But you continue to stand your ground, not willing to budge anytime soon.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He growls, deep enough for your bones to feel it. His cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat accumulated between his knitted brows. That familiar flare of his nostrils makes an appearance and his lips are pursed in a tight scowl.

Normally, you’d cower down to anyone who’d find it in themselves to speak to you this way. You’d hide yourself, hide your feelings, stay quiet and out of the way. Give into them to keep the peace. But right now, fuck keeping the goddamn peace. You’ve kept it for far too long at this point and you’re done allowing yourself to be invisible any longer.

“My clothes are in here and I need to change since you selfishly decided that filming is over for the night,” you simper back, your volume challenging his. “And I’m also here to figure out what the fuck your problem with me is!”

His furious stare is penetrating your very soul, his eyes the darkest you’ve yet to see them. His fists are clenched and his biceps are bulging so much you’re just waiting for the chainmail sleeves to give way. 

But you’ve never seen him look better. 

“Problem?” He begins closing the short distance between you, practically stomping across the carpeted floor, flailing his arms about as he speaks. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The heat behind his tone grows stronger and stronger, his gaze on you darkening by the second. 

You refuse to break eye contact while you snicker and shake your head at him playing stupid with you. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he’s clearly choosing to play dumb with you, acting like he hasn’t put you on a fucking roller coaster with him since the day he was shoved into your already messy life. If he wants to keep playing games with you, then you have no problem playing your own against him. 

You’re still in your revealing attire, your breasts nearly on full display, the entirety of your form leaving next to nothing to the imagination— to Jake's imagination. You’re privy to his numerous glances at your breasts. You won’t pretend you’re not, and you can’t hold back the satisfied, devious curl of your lips each time you catch his gaze. You should find the urge to cover up, to hide yourself or wait until you can change to confront him.

But that’s not what you intend to do. Wearing this dress brings out a part of you that you’ve come to cherish— it cloaks you in a confident aura that you’ve lacked all your life. And as much as he tries to pretend it means nothing to him, you know the effect this dress has on him. You’ve seen it firsthand for yourself. He can try to hide it all he wants, but you and him both know what it did to him the first time he saw you wearing it in this very room. You may as well use that to your advantage right now. 

You feel powerful, in control. Those doubtful thoughts you were having earlier tonight about yourself have lowered their volume nearly to a full mute. If he can’t handle talking to you like this, then he can’t handle you.

“You’re fine with me one minute,” you huff a snarky giggle, standing firm and refusing to bring your arms up to cover yourself, even with his continuous gazing.“Then you act like you can’t stand my very existence the next. I’m just fucking confused, Jake. If you hate me so goddamn much, why don’t you ask me to leave? You don’t need me to do this fucking film. Why don’t you find some other unsuspecting girl and rid yourself of me once and for all?”

With as much of yourself as you’ve invested in this film, and the new found sense of self-assurance being in front of Josh’s camera has given you, you don’t want to quit this project. If walking away was truly what you wanted, you would have done so a long time ago. And deep down, you want to believe that if Jake truly wanted you to leave, he would’ve demanded it already. But right now, all you can think about is that conversation you overheard weeks ago. 

“I only asked her because I had to…I was not about to work on something alone with her.” 

It’s something you’ve not let yourself forget. Even after everything he’s done for you— helping you with your mom, staying the night with you when it felt like your world was crumbling— none of it seems to matter because of  his words that linger in your mind like a never ending echo. He wouldn’t have said them if he didn’t feel them. That much, you’re certain of.

And after what he said to you in class…it was a harsh reality that you weren’t ready to face. He validated your deepest fears of not belonging, of not being accepted. Every hurtful thing he’s ever said about you, each cutting remark he’s said to you are repeating relentlessly in your head. 

“I don’t hate you, y/n!” He shouts through gritted teeth. He takes a few steps towards you, leaving only inches of space between your bodies. His eyes are still fixed in their vexed glare, yet there’s something different behind their darkened gaze. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then…” Your voice is shaky as you try to raise it. You have to look up at him to see his face, he is so close to you. Your trembling body begins fighting against your accusatory words. “Then why did you say you only asked me because you had to? That you didn’t want to work on something alone with me?” Of everything he’s ever done to you, those words hurt the most.

“Because I can’t…” He throws his arms up in frustration, shaking his head as he looks away from you. “...I can’t trust myself to be alone with you. And I can’t fucking stand it when—” He stops himself before he can continue, his index and thumb tightly gripping his chin, almost and if to physically stop himself. 

“You can’t stand what, Jake?” Your anger surges, overpowering everything else. Your vision blurs and your limbs are tingling with pure rage. “What the fuck do I do that you can’t stand so badly?” 

He snaps his head towards you, his loose waves, making a luscious display around his handsome face. “I can’t stand seeing you with him.” He points to the photo on his dresser, the one of him and his brothers. The one with Sam. “You think it’s fucking easy for me to see you with him like that? Especially knowing what happened between you two the night we all went to the stupid fucking haunted house.” 

Now you’re pissed. Not only is his reasoning ridiculous, he’s also accusing you of something that didn’t happen. This isn’t your fault. None of this is. And for him to treat you like shit because of that?

“You don’t know shit, Jake!” Your voice rises to a near scream, letting go of any pretense of holding back. “Nothing happened that night, and even if it had, why the hell do you care? What makes you think you have any right to be pissed about anything that I do? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you; this is your fault! So your reasoning is, frankly, complete bullshit. And I’m not buying any of it.” You’re yelling so loudly your voice is cracking and breaking, your words reverberating with raw, pissed off emotion. No one has ever provoked you to this level of anger. No one except your dad, when he decided out of the fucking blue to leave you. You hate that he’s brought out this side of you. “You act like that because you can’t stand the very thought of me,” you continue. “Just tell me you want nothing more to do with me and I’ll walk right out that door. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He stands still for a while, silently staring at the floor. He brings his hand up to rub his chin, something you’ve seen him do a hundred times, when his mind is racing about something. Josh almost always points it out. He does it a lot during filming, during your scenes with Sam. Especially during the ones when you’re wearing the very outfit you’re standing before him in right now. 

Then, he takes two more steps, until he’s close enough to you that you can feel his heaving breaths against your already heated skin. His demeanor has changed. He doesn’t seem angry anymore. The way he’s looking down at you…he now seems desperate. 

“I can’t stand the way he looks at you…the way you look at him,” he whispers, his eyes traveling the curve of your breasts as his lungs deflate letting out a deep sigh. His eyelids have become heavy over his whiskey colored eyes that flick back to yours. “I can’t stand it…because I wish it were me.” His voice, once harsh and furious, is now a deep, hushed whisper. It’s low, gravelly in pitch. 

It’s fucking sexy. But you’re still not convinced. You need more. You’re sick of thinking he likes you for a split second, then pulling himself away when he feels you’re getting too close. 

No. Not this time. If he pulls away again, you’re done. Out the door. Gone from his life and free to live yours without him and this film. You’ll take a failing grade if it means you don’t have to go through this anymore.

“I don’t believe you, Jake.” Your words are stern, but your body language begins deceiving your cold statement. You’re trembling, vibrating through to your very core. No matter how pissed you are, you can’t fight this incessant attraction you’ve felt for him for a long time now. You fought fiercely in the beginning, had completely convinced yourself that he was nothing more than a handsome jerk who harbored feelings of distaste towards you. 

But fuck. That made you want him more. His mystery, his demeanor. The kindness that seeped through every now and again. Nat was right; you’d always known it was there. His genuine heart is sometimes too strong to stay masked behind this rough act he's tried to uphold. It's broken before you enough times to know that it’s there. And maybe it’s because of you that it's breaking more and more. His guard is falling. That’s why you’re so fucking pissed that he’s fighting every second to keep it up. And what you just said…it's not that you don’t believe him. A big part of you does. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he was completely dumbfounded the first time he saw you in this lace dress. The way he seethes when you’re with Sam. On camera or not. 

But right now, you need to fucking see it. To see that side of him that you know is buried within. It’s not enough to simply hear his words; you need him to prove it to you. You’re tired of the back and forth with him. This is his opportunity to show you what ever the fuck it is that he wants from you.

There’s a look of confliction as his hand reaches out to you tentatively, his fingers playing with the lace on your shoulder. They move, hovering just inches over your collar bone before his fingertips delicately skate over the skin with such a gentle, intentional touch. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding as you feel the warmth of his touch.

“I’ve wanted to touch you…” His fingers follow the curve of your neck, passing over your pulse point, tracing a path along the curve of your jawline. “...just like this since the day I fucking laid eyes on you. And seeing my brother get to do it…” Your bottom lip is lightly tugged by the pad of his thumb, smearing the dark lipstick. “...it eats me up inside, y/n. I don’t think I can watch him kiss these lips one more time.” His focus is now entirely fixed on your lips, as his tongue gracefully glides over his own. Your craving for him intensifies with every passing moment. Each second fuels the fiery need within you.

“Then…why don’t you just do it?” The words fall straight from your mouth before you can even think twice about saying them, hanging in the air that’s slowly shifting from an angry tension to a much different kind. Your eyes lock yet again, each of you silently pleading with the other to bridge this divide between you once and for all.

With one hand still caressing your face and finding the small of your back, he pulls you flush against him, holding you tight against his warm body. He leans in, his lips brushing over yours, a feather-light caress that steals your breath. 

And as if you’re pulled together by an invisible tether, your lips finally meet. 

It starts slow, almost hesitant. But the intensity begins growing as your emotions are spilling over, fueling the kiss with a passion that is closer to desperation. His hand finds your hair, tangling your soft locks as he pulls you even closer, deepening your embrace with a hunger born of a longing that’s finally being set free.

You can feel his walls crumbling before you, letting break through his barrier. The insurmountable distance that was created between you, not only physically but emotionally, has at last been closed. 

His tongue glides across your teeth, drawing your bottom lip firmly between his. He serenades your mouth with the most beautiful melody, eliciting a yearning that forces your thighs to come together in an attempt to soothe the desire pulsing between them.

He tastes like the sweetest honey infused bourbon. His lips are soft, putting the most sumptuous velvet to shame. 

The hand resting on your back glides upward along your torso, stopping just before he reaches your heaving breast. His lips break from yours before he tugs on the hair at the nape of your neck, fully exposing the expanse to him. 

“Jake…” You start, but he’s already so attuned to your desires that you don’t have to say another word before his mouth meets your taut skin. His tongue traces along your neck, stopping to suckle the skin. A strained moan sounds from deep within you, eliciting a sensual snicker, reveling in the response he’s drawing from you.

“You smell so good,” he mumbles against you, sealing his compliment with a kiss. As if you’re not falling apart enough, you nearly melt into him when his hand finally caresses over your full breast. “This okay? Can I touch you here?” He whispers softly in the shell of your ear, his words both a question and a promise of his respect for you.

“Please, Jake, more” you whimper through heaving breaths. 

He groans deeply against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he teases your hardened nipple through the flimsy lace. You practically cry out for him, your body squirming with anticipation, begging him for more. He shushes you gently. “I’ve only just begun,” he whispers, his index finger tracing slow circles over your sensitive bud. “Let me take my time with you.”

He pinches your nipple, playful smirk gracing his lips as he chases the sounds escaping your parted mouth. 

You clutch his biceps tight, anchoring him to you to keep him from slipping away. He hisses as your nails dig into his skin, only igniting his desire for you.

“Do you believe me yet?” He whispers, his lips grazing your jawline.

While there’s not an ounce of lingering suspicion within you, you dare to toy with him a little further.

“Nuh uh, not yet.” You respond quietly, your body betraying you as your desire is displayed physically. He can sense it, and the mischievous grin curved on his lips assures you he’s privy to your little game.

“Feel how much I want you.” And with that, his hand takes yours, guiding it to his pulsing cock that’s straining against his black pants, imploring you to feel the undeniable need he has for you.

He throbs beneath your touch as you palm him through the satin fabric that still conceals him, keeping in time with your own racing heart. His breath hitches, he whimpers beautifully in your ear as you continue to feel him, and if it were even possible, he’s becoming even harder against your touch, desperate to remove the confines of his pants.

“Holy fuck, Jake…” 

Your legs press together once more at the feeling of him, his sheer size and thickness that is obvious even through the barrier between you. All you can think about is how he’d feel nestled away deep inside of you, filling you with every inch. He’s massive, that much you can tell, even through the barrier.

“Yeah?” He hums through heavy breaths. “That’s all for you, love.”

His words have your arousal nearly dripping down your thighs, your body growing more impatient by the second.

“Lay down for me,” he mutters in your ear. “Just like you were for the scene. Only this time, for me.” 

His words, almost possessive in their wake, leave you speechless and craving him even more. He lightly motions you in the direction of his bed, keeping his eyes locked with yours. 

Once you lie down, just as you did just moments ago, he positions himself at the end of the bed while he looks at you, taking in the vision before him. 

Normally, you wouldn’t have half the confidence for a moment such as this, and it’s for that very reason you’re glad  you’re in this very dress. It’s been the source of most confident moments as of late; it only makes sense that you’re wearing it in real life with Jake. 

As he begins to remove his chainmail top, you tremble at seeing him so bare. You’d seen it before, but not like this. This time, he’s taking it off for you, removing yet another barrier that exists between the two of you. 

You’re breathless at the sight of him. His pecs, sculpted and chiseled, rising and falling with his deep breaths. The smooth expanse of his unflawed skin, begging to be touched and explored. And his broad, sturdy shoulders that beckon you to sink your nails into, to keep a tight grip against while he’s on top of you. 

“Look at you,” he mutters, his eyes tracing every curve  of your body as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you as though he’s not done looking at you just yet. “You’re a fucking queen,” he whispers, his voice husky and filled with desire. Finally, he leans in, his lips meeting yours with a tender gentleness, leaving you yearning for more as he lifts away again just slightly. “A beautiful queen.” 

He kisses you once again, this time hungrier than the last. His hands roam your body with a newfound intensity, each touch igniting a fire within you that leaves your body arching towards him, begging for more. More of him.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of kisses along your skin as his body slowly lowers down yours. You suck in a deep gasp as his warm, wet tongue follows a slow trail from your belly button, gliding all the way up to your chest, tracing along the curve of your breast. 

His lips suck a mark right where his tongue stops, leaving a bruise right where the fabric ends along your chest.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against the bruise his lips left on your taut skin, marveling at his work. “All marked up from me. Want to mark you up everywhere…”

His focus seems deliberate, as if he’s determined to leave his mark where it will be most visible during your scenes, his attention fixed solely on the skin peeking out amidst the black lace. 

“This…will be hard to cover up for filming, Jake…” you utter, breathless from your purely aroused state. 

“No,” he whispers between leaving his mark right in the middle of your breasts. “Don’t cover them. Let them see.”

Before you can continue your weak protest, he carefully pushes back the lace over your left breast, fully unveiling it before him. He shushes you as his lips instantly attach to your perked nipple, sucking it deep within his mouth, softly nibbling at it all while his hand removes the lace from your right breast, kneading the flesh between his fingers.

But as he does so, you feel your body begin to tense when you discover his fingers are all over the area covered with makeup. The area with your tattoo. It feels too fucking good to make him stop, but that same feeling that overcame you when Sam unsuspectingly saw it is blazing within you. 

Once you shift your eyes to his hand, you notice the makeup smeared almost completely, the red ink bleeding through to present itself, even if you aren’t ready for it to.

“Jake I…” 

But it’s too late. As he lifts to switch his attention to your right breast, he sees it. His eyes are fixed on your etched secret, mouth lazily agape at this small piece of you he’s discovering for the first time. 

“H…holy fuck,” he stammers, leaning in to peck his lips against the word along the tender spot. “This is so sexy I just…” he brings up his finger, tracing the “R”, then the “E”, the “D”

“Do you like it?” you ask him, feeling a rush of confidence wash over you.

Your initial hesitation has all but vanished. It's so different with Jake…something about the way he makes you feel, the way he brings out this part of you that no one else does. Not even Sam.

“I love this, y/n,” his lips meet the ink once more, decorating it with wet kisses. 

“I…I’ve always been so scared for people to see…” Your words would hardly be legible if he wasn’t so close to you. Your mumbled tone is evidence of how he’s affecting you, what he’s doing to you. “... and it’s not exactly accurate for the film,” you mutter through a weak chuckle.  

“Does anyone else know?” he quietly implores. “Does Sam know?” 

“No.” 

The word flies out of you before you can even take a second to think about it. It’s a lie. Sam does know. But that doesn’t matter to you right now. And Jake doesn’t need to know of what you almost did with his brother in a shitty attempt to get to him. 

“Only Natalia knows.”

“Good,” he mumbles between leaving more kisses along your breast, slowly creeping closer towards your erect nipple.“Let’s keep it that way.”

His tongue lightly flicks the sensitive bud, drawing languid circles around it while his fingers follow the same motion of the other breast.

With the way his body is positioned between your legs, you can’t close your thighs together to ease the ache between them. It doesn’t stop you from trying, though, and when he notices, he grins against your supple flesh, looking up at you to see your completely fucked out state. He understands what you need without a word, and he begins to shift his body even further down your own, keeping your legs spread and his mouth trailing down your flesh, until his face is nearly level with your throbbing core. 

The slit in your dress proves to be quite convenient at the moment, enabling your legs to spread easily while the only coverage you have is from the thong that perfectly matches your skin tone.

As his lips brush against your inner thigh, his warm breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, you find yourself instinctively arching your hips closer to him, craving whatever pleasure he can offer.

“You smell so fucking good, love,” he mutters. 

You’re silently praising yourself for thinking to add your body oil to your thighs, not realizing you were doing it for Jake. 

He’s not done marking you up just yet, as he sucks long and deep on the flesh of your inner thigh, eliciting a high pitched moan from deep within your being, your hand quickly flying up to stifle your sounds. 

“This one is just for me,” he mumbles against the bruise, tracing it delicately with the tip of  his finger. “And only for me.”

“Jake, please…I need more,” you cry out, your voice trembling with desperation as he stares deeply into your heavy, longing eyes. 

“What do you need, beautiful?” He probes, peppering your thigh with gentle kisses, following a slow path towards where you crave his lips the most.

“Jake…”  

“Tell me what you need,” he says in a hushed voice, his lips trailing a delicate kiss just above your throbbing clit. “Just tell me and I’ll do everything in my power. It’s the least I can do for you…please, let me make everything up to you.”

“Jake I don’t care anymore I just—” you reach down to brush a loose strand out of his face, fingers grazing over his sharp jawline as he leans in, leaving a sweet kiss in the middle of your palm. “I just need you.”

A devious, sinful smirk graces lips as his attention diverts to your aching heat. 

With his index finger, he traces the wetness you’ve left on the fabric of your panties, drawing slow and lazy circles over your clothed clit. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks, his blown pupils dark with need as his question almost sounds as though he’s begging. “Want to see you, all pretty and wet for me.” 

“It’s all for you, Jake.” 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. His hands, strong and firm, reach up to your hips, tugging at the sides of your thong as you lift yourself to help him pull it down your thighs. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He helps you lift your right leg out, then your left leg, placing your panties on the edge of the bed once they’re finally off of you. 

Out of everyone you’ve ever been with, no one has ever taken this much time with you. Not once has anyone asked what you need, what you want. It's a side of Jake you never expected to see. In a thousand years, you wouldn't have imagined him being this attentive, this caring toward you. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hums, his eyes longing fixed on your dripping core. “Every single part of you, just perfect.”

You instinctively jolt once his lips attach to your already sensitive clit, sucking it gently, his warm tongue swirling around it. With a tender touch, he holds your hips down in place, keeping you still for him as he explores you.

“Jake, oh my god, plea–”

He cuts off your words with a long glide of his tongue from you leaking entrance to your aching clit, sealing with a deep kiss to your throbbing bud, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

With his middle finger, he prods your entrance before slowly pushing it all the way in, finally filling you as you clench hard around his long digit. His grip on your hips does little to restrain you; you find yourself grinding against him, yearning for more of his touch. His tongue dances over your clit while his finger delves deeper into you, setting an delicious rhythm that has you craving more.

Then, he adds a second finger, filling and stretching you around him even more. His thrusts quicken, driving you closer to the edge with each brush of his fingers inside of you. 

Your hands instinctively find his soft locks, fingers entwining in the strands and tugging. A low moan escapes him, sending vibrations against your core.

“Just like that, Jake, just like tha–” 

But just as you're nearing your peak, there’s a sudden knock at the door that causes Jake’s fingers to still their movement, keeping them inside of you as he lifts his face that’s now glistening from your dripping arousal. 

“Jake? Are you and y/n okay?” It’s Josh. He sounds concerned, distressed. It’s sweet, although his timing is…awful. “You’ve been in there for a while…we’re just worried about you guys.”

Shit.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: oof. that was a lot. thank you for sticking with me, lol.

who do we think the mysterious Dodger could be?

i'd love to hear your thoughts! don't be afraid to reach out; hearing from you all keeps me going.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you)

sending all my love!

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27

[jeystattoos]

Lady of Neptune - Jey Uso x Reader

Jey Uso x Black Reader!

Word Count: 1538

18+

"No, cause I need you baby. When I fuck you all the ways that you want it, don't ever leave me baby."

August 22nd was practically a national holiday. You treated it as such. It was the day that your beloved boyfriend Jey Uso, and his twin Jimmy Uso were born. It was no secret that the Fatu family was compiled with some of the most beautiful humans to ever grace the Earth.

Jey truly didn’t age, he aged backwards. He didn’t look a day over 27, his skin was supple and soft. His body was like a living masterpiece; he was running out of skin to cover with his tribal tattoos. Sometimes you enjoyed tracing every single intricate detail with your tongue, using it to drive Jey absolutely insane.

You’d been sitting on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He’d spent half the day with his twin, and you enjoyed watching the shenanigans they’d gotten into throughout their day. You were a bit too excited to give him his presents. Jey wasn’t a materialistic man by any means, but he did have an affinity for the nicer things in life. He busted his ass for the money he earned, so he spent it on whatever caught his eye, or yours.

He was a sneakerhead, so he was always looking for the flyest pair of Jordan’s. He also enjoyed Rolexes, so he kept a small collection of those as well. You’d secretly spied on him while he was on the phone, looking at the latest editions of the watches and sneakers. To say you’d spent a pretty penny on these luxury gifts would be an understatement. The price didn’t matter, though. You enjoyed spoiling your man with the things he loved, but you had a feeling he’d be more interested in what you’d really gotten him.

Jey was a sucker for you and every little thing you did; he couldn’t contain himself when you wore lingerie that hugged every part of your curves. He was obsessed with your body, in love with the thickness of it. Your thighs didn’t stand a chance, as they were always bitten up by your man.

You’d found a spicy new set from SavagexFenty in a deep maroon color, with a matching silk robe. The kitten heels were a nice touch, complimenting the soft makeup you’d done as well. Jey loved the way that your 4C curls fell in perfect harmony down your back, so you made sure that they were on full display for him.

The sound of the door unlocking made your heart stop. You sat up on the couch, waiting impatiently for him to step through. As Jey emerged through the door, you rose to your feet. His eyes fell over you, licking his lips as he made his way towards you. He was wearing that sexy smile. “Damn, hey baby.” He greeted you with a soft kiss on the lips. His strong hands were around your waist, holding you tight against his rock hard figure.

“Hey baby, I’m glad you’re finally home. I’ve been waiting for you.” You said with a smile, running your fingers through his dark curls. Jey’s smirk grew, as he kissed your jawline. 

“Yeah? What’s up with the presents, baby girl?” He motioned towards the two boxes that were wrapped, sitting on the couch. You smiled and took him by the hand, leading him over to the couch. You handed him the big box first. “Open this one first!”

Jey looked up at you, before he ripped into the box. He pulled out the Jordan 1s, Chicago edition. They were the hardest to find, and you knew how much he wanted them. You sat in his lap, watching as his eyes twinkled with excitement. “Baby girl… how the hell did you find these?” He looked up at you, smiling from ear to ear. You smirked and kissed him softly.

“I have my ways, baby. Now, open this one.” You handed him the smaller box. Jey didn’t waste any time opening it. When he realized you’d also got him the Rolex Midas, his cheeks were full from how hard he was smiling. His happiness made your heart flutter.

“Oh my God, thank you so much baby.” Jey sat down the presents, returning his attention to you. He gave you a million little kisses. You pulled away briefly, smirking deviously at him. “There’s just one more gift,” You rose to your feet, and began to take off the robe. Jey’s eyes followed your every movement. The robe dropped to the floor, your brown body on full display in the sexiest lingerie you’d ever worn. Jey’s gaze was lustful, as his eyes flicked up to look into yours. He slowly rose from his seated position, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“God damn…” He cursed, before diving in for a hungry kiss. He kissed you aggressively, claiming your lips with his teeth. He nibbled at your bottom lip, soon slipping his tongue into your mouth. One kiss from him and you were weak in the knees. Jey scooped you up with ease, making his way towards the staircase. He marched to your bedroom, keeping the steamy kiss between the two of you going.

You heard the door shutting behind him, your back feeling the coolness from the wall that he’d pinned you against. He momentarily pulled away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m finna fuck the shit outta you, doll.” His voice was gruff, barely above a whisper.

Jey let his hands roam your body. His fingers slipped between your inner thighs, tickling your slit. Once he discovered that the lingerie set was crotchless, his eyes refocused on you. He continued to play with your slick folds, smirking down at you as he did so. You were already on the brink.

“I got your pussy drippin’ already, baby.” He taunted, as he removed his hand. He left you aching for his fingers, wanting to feel them inside of your soaking cunt. Jey ripped his jacket and shirt off in one go, his tight jeans soon following suit.

He wasted no time lining his thick cock up with your entrance, beginning to push his length inside of you. He wasn’t giving you time to adjust or prepare, but you didn’t need it. You were used to his size. You enjoyed when he behaved this way; so aggressive and dominant. It turned you on beyond belief. Once he had fully entered, he started stroking quickly. His hand held your neck in place, as he suckled on your neck, leaving hickies everywhere. You’d have to cover them up in the morning.

“You’re the only gift I need, baby.” He grunted, picking up the speed a bit. His grip around your neck tightened, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Daddy,” You mewled, melting under his spell. Jey let out a breathy laugh, pulling his head up to look you in the eyes. “What’s my name, baby?”

“D-daddy,” You purred, never looking away from his hickory eyes. He smirked, giving you a deep kiss as a reward. “Say it again.”

“Daddy!” You whine, succumbing to his incredible stroke game. He’d slowed down momentarily, using it to his advantage. As you continued to call him Daddy, he continued to tease you.

“That’s right, Y/N. I’m your Daddy,” He growled in your ear, nipping at your earlobe. He began pistoning in and out of you at an alarming rate. You couldn’t keep quiet, moaning and gasping how good he felt. He was living up to his promise, fucking you into a euphoric state.

“Hnng, mm, ngh,” Unable to form a coherent sentence, you’d been reduced to nothing but a slew of moans. Jey was in love with what he was doing to you. “Good girl. Take my dick, baby.”

Jey pulled you off the wall, wrapping both of his arms around your waist as he bounced you up and down on his cock. The squelching noises of how wet you were filled the room, along with the sounds of passion omitting from you both.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby? Are you going to let Daddy destroy you?” Jey whispered, slipping his hand around your neck. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, as if you were searching for your words. They’d left you a few strokes ago.

“Y-yes..” You managed to say, tightening your legs around his waist. Jey began to pound you ruthlessly, not letting up for a single second. His thumb flicked back and forth over your clit, grinning as you started to squirt a bit. Your orgasm was on the horizon. Your body felt like it was on a spiritual plane of pleasure, spasming as your orgasm claimed you. Jey didn’t stop, though. He loved to overstimulate you until you couldn’t take anymore.

“Fuck!” You hissed, draping your body against his. Jey braced you against him, feeling you growing weaker in his arms. He slowed down, walking the two of you over to the bed. He laid you down on the mattress, pulling himself out of you. He smiled down at you, before he kneeled in front of you. You pulled yourself up to look into his eyes. “What are you doing, babe?”

Jey laughed. “I haven’t had my birthday cake yet,”

[bradshawsbitch]

hard hitter | bradley bradshaw x f!reader

warnings: SMUT. 18+ minors DNI!! afab!reader, oral (f and m receiving), piv sex, switch/sub Rooster, nipple play, power play, public stuff, mirror stuff, a hint of mommy kink, praise kink, use of the term ‘good boy’

disclaimer: uh, well, I listened to WAP and suddenly I craved subby Rooster. please read at your own discretion, it’s a lot. please heed the warnings as written above.

description: you knew men like Bradley liked being in control, but what if you like it too?

tagging @theharddeck @roosterforme & @mak-32 cause i think they might enjoy this one!

Men were easy. If you weren’t looking for someone to take care of you, if you were just looking for the pleasure a man can provide - men were very easy. A little hint of fluttery eyelashes, a small lick of the lips, a sway to the hips - they were done for. It was a power trip. The key was to make them think they were the ones in power. Make them feel big and manly and strong for you, when in reality the leash was in your hands, and you kept it tight.

The current man you were playing your little game with was going to be a challenge, you could tell - and the mere thought of having this man on his knees for you made a delicious thrill run through your spine. You’d matched with him on one of those apps that people sometimes tried to fool themselves into thinking were for finding friends or partners. You knew better than that. Flicking through this man’s picture had you licking your lips, thighs clenching together slightly at the thought of what fun you could have with him. One picture depicted him with a football, shirtless, with abs, pecs and biceps glistening in the sun. How slutty.

His name was Bradley. A slutty name if you ever heard one. He exuded dominant vibes, something that made you smirk. You’d cracked some men who though the held all the power before, but this man felt like a real challenge. He was a naval aviator, which meant the man literally had a thrill chase almost every time he went to work. You’d have to put in a little more work this time - and honestly you were pleased. It had almost gotten too easy lulling these boys into a sense of false security.

You had to give it to him, he tried very hard to be a gentleman in the beginning of your texting. Seemed to be the type to want to wine you and dine you before he bedded you. You weren’t one to complain, and you’d agreed to a date as soon as he was home from his current deployment.

However, you knew you needed to start working him early for your game to work. So that’s why you’d found the most intricate looking lingerie you could find, black lace, garters attached to your thighs - a choker delicately placed snug around your throat and Mary Jane heels on your feet as you posed for lewd pictures.

You’d describe the pictures as high art, though some might describe them as pornographic. Some pictures were downright artsy, with nice lighting, of you in bed, arching your back whilst grasping your breast, chin tilted up to create an alluring figure. One was a closeup of your pushed up tits, tongue outstretched to taste your manicured finger, that one might teeter on the pornographic side of the scale. Sending them to him - you’d simply captured them “Thinking of you x”. It had worked like a charm. Bradley’s response was exactly what you'd hoped for.

“Fuck, baby, you have no idea how many times I’ve jerked it to these. Came so fucking hard for you, babe x” that text had a smirk forming on your lips. Knowing you made him cum before you even met him was a powerful feeling.

The thrill of knowing you could have a man go crazy with lust with a couple of pictures of your clothed body, skimpily dressed, sure - but not necessarily to the point where you had given it all away at once. He had never met you, but you’d made him fist his cock, made him groan and moan at the thought of fucking you.

Bradley had followed up with texts of the things he wanted to do to you, how good he’d make you feel - and you had to give it to him, he had you worked up with his creativity. And you’d be lying if the tasteful pic he’d sent you hadn’t had you whimpering a little, he knew what women wanted. It was a picture of his bare upper body in a mirror, grey Calvin Kleins slung low on his hips, hand gripping his hard cock through the fabric. The hint of happy trail and the dusting of chest hair had your mouth watering. God, he was packing.

Suddenly you couldn’t wait for Bradley to come home. It almost concerned you a little how much you were longing to ride him until he saw stars, you’d never spent this much time thinking about one singular man before. Shaking your head, you hoped that you’d forget about him after you’d gotten it out of your system.

As the night came, you were dancing happily along to a playlist that made you feel like the hottest and most powerful woman in the world. Fixing your tits in your tight, black, satin dress - you smirked. The dress supported your bare tits beautifully, pushing them up just enough to make them look a little mouth watering. A thin chain of rhinestones were wrapped tight around your throat, and the Mary Janes you had worn in the pictures you’d sent to Bradley adorned your feet. The dress had just enough of a slit to show a tantalising amount of your thigh. It was perfect for the night you had planned. It was finally time to put your game into play.

Wrapping neatly manicured nails around the stem of the glass of wine you had poured yourself, you downed the rest of the drink as your doorbell rang. A breath hitched in your throat, eyes glittering with excitement. Showtime.

Opening the door, Bradley’s form almost had you stuttering on a breath again. Fuck, he was more gorgeous in real life. He’d made an effort, wearing a black suit, opting for his white shirt to be slightly unbuttoned instead of wearing a tie.

“Bradley,” his name fell off your lips like a purr, the corners of your lips turning up in an innocent smile. You took a step forward, slinging an arm around his neck, embracing him in a half hug, making sure to press your chest against his as you smiled up at him - making sure your wrist lingered near his face so he could inhale the heady scent of the vanilla perfume that lingered there.

A smirk played on his lips as he looked down on you “Baby,” he spoke and you hadn’t anticipated that his voice would be raspy, deep, and way too seductive for your own good. Fuck. “You look…” he trailed off, obviously fighting the urge to say something along the lines of ‘fuckable’.

“I hope the end of that sentence is good?” You teased, stepping away from him. He chuckled as he helped you into his car.

“Yeah, you rendered me speechless, baby doll,” fuck, he was good. The pet names were going straight to your core, making it hard to keep your game in play. He was sinful.

Dinner was eventful to say the least. Bradley kept running his hand over his throat and into the opening of his shirt to scratch at his chest. You wondered if that was intentional. His eyes were glittering with mischief, a hint of lust hidden behind them as you pulled out your A game - gasping and praising his dangerous job, nothing had men reeling more than being made to feel important and dangerous. Your heeled feet had “accidentally” stroked his calves a couple of times, and you had fluttered your lashes, trying to look bashful as you bit your lip and apologised. Bradley had arched a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked amused. You silently wondered if he was onto your little game. If he was, he seemed eager to play.

After finishing your wine, whilst waiting for dessert to arrive, you figured you’d try another little play of yours.

“Bradley, did you see where the bathrooms were?” you looked around, brows slightly furrowed as you bit your lower lip softly. “Yes, doll, right around that corner,” Bradley murmured. You smiled sweetly, rising slowly to your feet, giving him a good look at the swell of your tits.

“Thank you, Bradley,” you purred “I’m just going to touch up my makeup,” you continued, letting your eyes flicker to his crotch, before meeting his eyes - giving him your best sultry doe eyes, before turning and walking away. You took a beat before glancing over your shoulder - seeing Bradley’s hungry eyes on you, you shot him a quick wink before disappearing in to the fancy bathroom.

Closing the door you drew a shaky breath, looking into the large, ornate floor-length mirror. Your smirk widened, looking at the excited look on your face. If this worked out how you wanted it to, this would be golden. As you looked into the mirror, you saw the erratic rise and fall of your chest as you waited with somewhat baited breath. You wanted Bradley to cave so bad. Finally, the unlocked door slowly swung open, and you bit your lip hard as you made eye-contact with Bradley’s hungry, amber eyes.

“Thought you’d never come,” you smirked, turning around, placing your hand over his on the handle of the door - helping him close and lock it. He hadn’t uttered a word before you sunk to your knees in front of his tall form, licking your lips as you kept gazing into his stormy eyes. Slowly raising a brow, your eyes flickered down to his semi-hard cock straining against his dress pants. You were sat on your bare knees, the slit of the dress giving him a good look at your soft thighs - your heels tucked under your butt, giving him a nice visual in the mirror.

“You want my cock that bad, doll? Couldn’t wait until after dinner?” Bradley reached out his hand, his fingers ghosting over your jaw and chin, tucking your hair behind your ear. If you hadn’t been kneeling in front of his hardening cock, the action would have been sweet.

“You came here, didn’t you?” You hummed as you slowly reached for Bradley’s fly, slowly pulling his pants off.

“I can be a patient, good girl for you if you’d rather we wait, Sir,” your tone was definitely mocking, and you put on a pouty face - a teasing glint in your eyes as you saw Bradley twitch in his boxers and his breath stuttering.

“No this is good,” he murmured, stroking the back of your hair.

“I thought so,” you whispered, grinning up at him as you palmed him through his boxers. He hissed at the sudden sensation of pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me, Bradley,” you purred as you adjusted your position, gently moving him to where you wanted him. Your fingers latched onto the hem of his boxers, pulling them down until his hard, veiny cock sprung free. The small whine that left your throat wasn’t planned, but fuck he was big. Bradley groaned at the sound, opening his eyes and obeying your demand by looking down at you.

“In the mirror, Bradley. Look at your cock fucking my mouth,” you whispered, a sinful look on your face as you licked his tip. A long, drawn out moan tore from deep within his chest as he felt you wrap your hot, wet mouth around his length. He heeded your suggestion, glancing in the mirror. Bradley could barely keep from cumming then and there - seeing your ass, legs, heels and thighs, knees wide apart and open for him, your sinful mouth swallowing his cock again and again like such a good girl.

“Fuck,” he moaned out as you finally managed to take him all the way to the back of your throat. Your tongue swirled and licked at him, whilst hollowing your cheeks to suck at him hard. His noises had you whimpering and squeezing your thighs together slightly. Bradley was stroking your hair, sometimes tangling his long fingers in it and tugging slightly to get you to take him even further. Taking him deep in your throat again, you moaned at the sensation of his heavy cock throbbing in your mouth. His pre-cum mixing with your saliva made for a perfect blend for Bradley’s cock to slip in and out of your mouth, further and further down your throat.

Bradley had been so fixated on the visual the mirror provided, your body looking so good kneeling for him, your eager mouth taking his cock so well. As he looked down he choked on a breath, seeing his cock bulging deep in your throat. With an animalistic moan his hips stuttered, a strangled warning managed to slip from his lips before he shot his hot seed deep down your throat. His ears almost started ringing as he noticed the soft moan that left your throat, muffled by his cock in your mouth. Fuck, that was hot.

Bradley looked down at your fucked mouth, thrusting slowly once, twice, watching you swallow around his cock, tears leaking from your eyes as cum dribbled down your chin. He groaned deep within his chest as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Fuck, you look absolutely delectable right now, angel,” he murmured, trying to catch his breath. He helped you stand up and you shot him a small smile.

“I think our desserts might have come now, let me just touch up my makeup and I’ll be right out,” you winked playfully, turning to the mirror to correct the smudged mascara and your cum covered chin.

“Sinful…” Bradley could hardly believe how much you turned him on. Such a good play by you, the delivery… everything. Fuck, it turned him on to know you’d planned that, to know that you knew he’d take the bait - hook, line and sinker. He felt a little dazed as he did up his pants and slinked out of the bathroom to leave you to clean up. A blush worked up his throat as he saw that a middle aged woman was stood waiting for her turn at a bathroom just a bit down the hall. He hoped she hadn’t heard him getting the life sucked out of him a few minutes ago.

Finishing up dessert, Bradley offered to pay for you both, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer even when you wanted to pay half. You smiled gratefully at him as he led you out of the restaurant, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“I can’t fucking wait to get you home, sweetheart” Bradley murmured as the two of you made your way towards his car. You put on an innocent look, lips slightly parted “So the evening’s not over yet?”

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” he murmured, pulling you close to his chest, his hand still resting dangerously low on your back. Bradley was now stood by the passenger side door, and you couldn’t resist the temptation of placing your heels on top of the step, trapping Bradley to the car as your inner thigh graced his leg - dress falling away from your thigh.

“No, Bradley, I don’t think I want the evening to end quite yet,” you whispered, leaning in closer to him. His hand found your thigh, grasping it hard, hoisting just a little higher up on his hip so that he could feel your warm core against him. A small moan slipped from your lips as you tried to get even closer to his large frame.

“You need to get in the car before I fuck you right here where all these respectable people can see us,” Bradley growled, opening the door and hoisting you up in your seat. What he didn’t know is that you’d probably love that, and his sentence sent a thrill of pleasure down your spine.

Bradley had hardly put the car in park before he was jumping out, unbuckling your seatbelt and carrying you into his home in a flurry of wet, open mouthed kisses. He hurriedly shrugged out of his suit jacket, before locking lips with you again, holding you close to his chest.

“I’ve been thinking about this body for weeks, nothing but my hand to satiate me,” Bradley mumbled as his palms brushed over the swell of your tits. You tilted your head back, leaning into his touch as you arched your back. That sentence almost had you purring with pleasure. Your pictures had made him think about you for weeks as he pleasured himself, longing for the real deal.

“Well now that you have me, lieutenant, how do you plan to use your time?” Rooster would never admit it, but the way you confidently challenged him turned him on beyond belief. He’d never encountered anyone who he had to fight for dominance with. All of his previous partners had just happened to submit to his every whim so easily. Now, when you were demanding answers, demanding actions - he felt like a fucking teen, stuttering and fumbling with his words.

“I’ll help you, sweet boy,” you cooed softly, reaching up to softly stroke Bradley’s cheek, his eyes wide with shock. “You’re gonna be a good boy for me and make me cum on your tongue, okay? That sound good, baby?” your voice was sweet, slightly condescending, as if talking to someone who was struck dumb. And he was.

“Fuck… yeah, I’ll do that, doll” Bradley muttered, looking down at you, awestruck at the look that swirled in your eyes. He felt as if you were looking straight through him.

“What’re you waiting for, lieutenant? On your knees,” you spoke, tugging at his collar. Bradley blinked, still not quite comprehending how this had happened.

“Sweet boy, don’t make me punish you,” you tutted, pushing gently on his shoulders as he sank to his knees before you. A slightly choked ‘fuck’ slipped past his lips as your heel clad foot rested on his clavicle and shoulder. He took the hint, his hand wrapping around your calf as he kissed your ankle, going higher, kissing and nipping at your calf before he moved closer, moving your leg so that your thigh rested against his shoulder.

He noticed that your hand had found its way to his hair, and you gave it a small tug of appreciation as he kissed and licked your inner thigh.

“Good boy,” you sighed, and to Bradley’s surprise, he moaned at your words, his cock twitching in his pants. He wanted to hear your praises again. He swiftly pushed your underwear to the side, licking a long stripe between your folds. He very nearly moaned at the sweet taste, and his hands found your hips and ass - needing to have you closer. Spreading your folds with his tongue, he slowly licked up and down, before swirling his tongue around your clit - earning him a gasp and a tug of his hair from you. He let his lips wrap around your sensitive nub, suckling at it gently - reeling from your soft moans.

Licking a broad stripe again, he noticed how you seemed to tug harder on his strands when his tongue played with your entrance, and he glanced up at you before he let his tongue slowly slip in to your wet, aching core. The long, drawn out moan and the harsh tug to his hair had him moaning against your wet cunt. He lapped at your entrance for a bit, before he noticed that you seemed to like it most when his tongue slipped in and out of you, his tongue fucking into your wet heat as his nose occasionally dragged against your clit.

“Fuck, yes, Bradley!” You keened “you’re doing so good, eating my pussy so fucking good, baby” Roosters cock was hard and leaking now, and a moan fell from his lips into your pussy as he switched to sucking at your clit, before returning to your weeping hole - letting his broad tongue lick and slip into you, shaking his head slightly to reach further into your core. You were practically fucking his face now, hips stuttering against him as your hand held a tight grip on his hair.

“Fuck, Bradley - don’t- don’t stop— I’m so fucking close” you whimpered, before one last swipe of Bradley’s tongue had you falling apart against his mouth. Looking down at him, his chin glistening with your arousal, you offered him a genuine smile as you cooed “you did so good for me, baby,” stroking his cheek, at those words, he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he stuttered on an exhale, almost making it sound like a whimper. A rush of satisfaction ran through your spine.

“Will you help me undress, lieutenant Bradshaw?” Lifting your leg off of his shoulder you turned around and waited. You heard him scrambling to stand up, his large hands hastily pulling your zipper down. The dress fell soundlessly to your feet, exposing your bare breasts and your lacy panties.

“Where’s your bedroom, lieutenant?” You asked, turning around. Bradley, who seemed to have come down from the high of having been ordered around, quickly lifted you up, a smirk on his face as he carried you towards his bedroom “Right here, baby doll,” he said as he put you down. He figured you’d let up now, let him fuck you dumb on his cock after your little power play.

You let him have a little moment, where his hands palmed at your breasts, his fingers pinching and rolling your hard nipples, making you moan and whimper at his skilled touch.

“That’s right, sweet thing, I’ll take care of you,” Bradley murmured into your ear as his mouth licked and sucked at your sensitive skin.

You almost rolled your eyes. You give a guy an inch. Instead you smiled, tugging at the short hair at the nape of his neck. A groan rumbled deep in his chest, as you steered him to the bed, undressing him as you went.

Bradley laid you down on the bed, climbing on top of you, his lips connecting with yours in a sloppy kiss, tongue stroking against yours eagerly. Hooking a leg over his hip, you used his temporary weakness against him as you flipped him over - so that you sat straddled across his lap instead of him rutting into your clothed pussy.

“C’mere, baby,” you murmured, urging Bradley to sit up. You covered his hands, currently placed on your hips, with yours and guided them to your breasts. He moaned along with you as he squeezed and played with them, his fingers yet again teasing your nipples.

“Be a good boy and use that talented mouth of yours?” You breathed out, head falling back at the pleasure of Bradley’s hands stimulating your sensitive breasts. He didn’t waste any time in licking your nipples, his tongue gently swirling around the hardened tips. He carried on like that for a while, switching every so often. It was good, but not what you wanted.

Placing a hand on the back of Bradley’s head, you pushed him closer to your chest as you ground your soaking wet pussy against his hard cock.

“C’mon sweet boy, suck on my tits for me, baby - I know you want to,” you murmured, underlining your words by gently stroking the back of his head. A whimper fell from his lips before he latched onto your nipple, lips closing around the supple flesh as he sucked and licked at you. You moaned loudly and ground down harder against him.

“Fuck, just like that baby, good boy - fuck, you’re being so good to me,” you were overwhelmed by pleasure as Bradley whined and whimpered whilst he sucked at your nipple, gently using his teeth to heighten the sensation.

“Fuck me, Bradley,” you moaned, reaching down to stroke his leaking cock, pushing your underwear to the side to guide him into your entrance. The loud moan that spilled from his lips was heavenly, and you couldn’t help clenching around his deliciously thick cock as he bottomed out. Bradley fell back against the pillows, pistoning his hips into your wet, welcoming heat. His hand gripped at your hips, helping you slam down on him in time with his hard and deep thrusts. You could tell you’d riled him up good, he was chasing his release like a man starved of touch.

“You feel so fucking good squeezing my cock like this, doll,” he moaned, swatting at your ass. This man was so used to being in charge. You smirked, rolling your hips agonisingly slow, drinking in all his pretty boy moans.

“Fuck, whose is it, doll?” Bradley groaned out as he looked at how his cock slid in and out of your weeping cunt. Your eyes were rolled back up until that point, head tilted back at the pleasure rolling through you with Bradley’s deep thrusts into you. Your thighs clamped down on his hips, restricting his movements as your eyes snapped to meet his, a mischievous smirk adorning your lips as you placed your hands on his lower abdomen.

Swirling your hips, you rolled and dragged them in agonisingly deep and teasing ways - and what Bradley wasn’t aware of, was that you were spelling out your name on his cock.

Leaning down, you placed your smaller hand on his thick neck - applying just the tiniest amount of pressure as you growled out

“Mine,” as you suddenly sunk down hard on his leaking cock.

“C’mon baby, make me cum all over your thick cock,” you demanded, keeping him in place as you used his cock for your own pleasure.

“You’re not allowed to cum before me,” you continued, bouncing up and down on Bradley’s cock as you chased your high, small moans slipping from your lips. Bradley sat up again, pathetically grinding his hips into yours.

“I’m so fucking close, I can’t—” he whimpered, and you gave him a searing look.

“Don’t you dare, lieutenant,” you threatened, fucking yourself harder on his cock. He could feel your cunt fluttering and clenching around him harder and harder as you were approaching your high. He was babbling now, begging to cum in your sweet pussy, begging to let him please spurt so hard in you. Whining, begging, tears sliding down his face as he watched you fall apart on him.

“Fuck, please, please I’ve been good - please let me cum in you, mommy,” he whimpered, not even sure what he was babbling because he was so fucked out, so worn and needy for your approval.

You moaned loud at his words,

“Fuck, Bradley, yes baby - cum baby, cum for mommy,” you urged, and the words had barely left your lips before you felt hot ropes of cum hitting your cervix over and over again.

Bradley’s forehead fell against your heaving chest, his upper body glistening with sweat.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” You murmured, stroking his hair. “You did real good, I could tell you weren’t used to taking that role,” you smiled, tilting his head up to look into his eyes. He wore a dopey, sheepish expression.

“I’ve never cum so hard in my entire life,” he confessed, before telling you he’d never let someone take charge like that in the bedroom. As you cleaned him and yourself up, snuggling up to him, you asked how he liked it.

“It felt nice to be taken care of,” he blushed, hiding his face in your neck as he kissed you there.

“I’ll let you fuck me dumb next time,” you promised, giving him a sweet kiss before you fell asleep.

[writing-for-marvel]

In The Margins

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Summary: At first you’re confused by Bucky’s choice of gift for you, until you look a little deeper.

Warnings: this is meant to be a general holiday gift exchange fic and I’ve tried to make it as holiday neutral as possible but please let me know if I’ve missed something, a little light angst at the start cause it’s me, but other than that just fluff

Word count: 717

A/N: banners by @vase-of-lilies, dividers by @firefly-graphics. I haven’t written in over a month cause work has been insanely hectic so please be kind, I’m a little rusty 💜

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

It was clearly a book.

Bucky’s untidy, and sticky tape littered gift wrapping did nothing to hide the size, shape or pliant feel of the present. You had been gifted enough novels in your life to know there was indeed a paperback book underneath the holiday themed wrapping paper.

And as reading was one of your favourite pastimes, you were excited at the prospect of having a new story to absorb. A complex world with compelling characters you could fall in love with for the first time, the possibility of finding a new author with a fresh and unique style that would capture your intrigue to delve down a rabbit hole of their publications.

As you unwrapped the gift, you were met with extremely familiar cover art. One that had become your greatest source of comfort, an intricate world you loved to get lost in and one you frequently returned to when times were at their toughest. These particular set of words felt like a warm and protective embrace, one that you could alway rely on being there for you when you needed solace.

You chuckled nervously, unsure why he gifted you a copy of your favourite book, one that was clearly secondhand if the crack in the spine was anything to go by.

You already owned a copy that was extremely well loved, and you knew it wasn’t a first edition based on the cover age, so it puzzled you as to why he thought this would be the perfect gift he had teased in the lead up to the holiday.

Bucky knew this was your favourite book, he had listened for hours as you dissected apart the themes, your favourite scenes, the character you identified with most and how their love interest would go to the ends of the world to protect them.

Your heart sank - had he truly not been paying attention all that time?

Perhaps you were being too harsh, maybe he was just one of those people that was terrible at giving gifts.

Every interaction with Bucky always felt as though he knew you like the back of his hand, that he could read how you were feeling as if you were his favourite book.

You smiled at him, trying to avoid that awkward exchange of pretending you liked the gift when in reality it was something you already owned, but he was already on the offence, knowing you well enough to tell you were attempting (and failing) at hiding your true reaction.

“Open it.” He chuckled, as if to say ‘give me a little credit, there’s more to it than that’.

Once you flipped to the first page it dawned on you what Bucky had actually done. Scrawled in the margins of the page was his own handwriting, having underlined certain lines and scribbled annotations beside them.

Flicking through each page his handwriting gradually became messier, but the commentary didn’t abate. And when you finally reached the chapters you loved most, you could tell he had been paying attention during all your rants because his comments included ‘I see your point about…’ and ‘I can see why you adore this part so much’.

Lost in your own little world, you could hear Bucky’s voice in your head as you read his annotations, his chuckle when he underlined certain phrases and wrote ‘this reminded me of you’. The way your heart swelled in that moment could rival when the grinch's heart grew three sizes.

It was the most extensive love letter you had ever received, the person you loved most in the world providing you with his intimate thoughts on a book you treasured with your whole heart. Every time you picked up that book you would never be alone, Bucky would now forever be reading it alongside you.

Tightly clutching the book close to your chest, you finally looked up at Bucky with teary eyes to find his own softly gazing at you, brimming with affection.

“I don’t have any words except thank you. I love it.” Your throat felt dry, though a tear slipped down your cheek. Bucky reached up and carefully wiped it away.

“And I love you.”

Next year you’re really going to have to up your gift giving game if you’re going to outdo him.

[decaying-words]

Lapdog

All chapters Edward Nigma x Reader • 18+ Explicit • 4.4k words TW & tags: Pet play, spit play, oral sex, leg humping AO3 • All my stories

"You are still here", he notes in quasi disbelief, an unreadable expression on his face. He must have been expecting that I had left hours ago, I am sure, and yet I have no explanation to give, not even to myself. Why did I stay here, I wonder, waiting patiently for him to come back home and comfort my raw nerves, like a lover would; yet a lover I am not. Not quite anyway.

Lapdog

Painted hands of a similarly stained clock move painfully slowly, the face glaring at me mockingly. The night is cruel in its loneliness, progressing at an agonizing pace and taunting my uninteresting tasks; collecting the misplaced tools with unnecessary care and caution, gathering the wandering paper notes and organizing them in a neat pile that I know will be thoroughly demolished in an infantile desire to illustrate my incompetence and ignorance, and, finally, removing the comical amount of empty coffee mugs abandoned on various and, at times, frankly bizarre and unexpected places. 

Ever since my last fruitless experiment that ended in a copious string of creative insults resembling a degrading rosary in his ridiculing tone, the Riddler does not let me forge new projects, not until I “find the required brain cells to not waste his most precious time”, as he said. What little frustration and heartache I felt in my demotion died in a strangled whimper under his uninterested gaze, interrupting any protest I might have by demanding to leave the premises immediately. That time, I spent my sleepless night crying heavy tears, fingers grabbing my hair and tugging until my scalp felt sore.

The Riddler is absent tonight, and there is only so much to do once my mediocre tasks done. Pacing around the warehouse, my light footsteps echo in the green inferno; hand crafted machineries engulfed in a toxic hue stare at me with profound limpness, buzzing ominously in the otherwise aphonic place. Crudely painted symbols, equations and riddles adorn the fatigued floors and, more curiously, the impossibly tall walls. My interested gaze following the cryptic logorrhea ornamenting the area, my mind wanders in places I do not belong to. 

I have always wondered what Edward felt during one of these manic episodes, of which I’ve witnessed quite a few times before, always quietly and with empathy, furiously writing incomprehensible thoughts, mysterious threats and other obscure formulas; did it feel like a lifeline at the time, cautiously grounding him when his mind grew foggy ? 

I have never doubted for an instant that underneath the intricate layers of his great intelligence was a gravely sick man; beyond the burning pride and arrogance in his demeanor is hiding the weak ghost of a deeply confused man, a man profoundly afraid of the glacial emptiness of neglect, who at times struggles to recognize even himself. It is cathartic for him, I believe, when he frantically scribbles his thoughts, face perverted in anguish, eyes wide open akin to an animal, skin glistening in sweat; entire body aquiver as if terrified of forgetting who he is beyond the Riddler. Of course, he never notices my balmy gaze on him when I catch a glimpse of his broken soul; nor does he know of my intimate desire to heal him. He would find it inappropriate, I am sure, grotesque even. Foolish girl.

He did catch my gaze tonight, however, sharply dressed up for an important meeting with his peers, one I am not invited to, obviously –why would I be? He looks like a different man entirely when he abandons his filth covered shirt, sweat caked beater and stained cargo pants; his demeanor metamorphosed also, standing straight like a bow, chest swelling proudly, his gloved hands flattening his decorated tie. His tailored suit fits him beautifully, the color matching the green bowler hat that is tucked underneath his arm. 

Edward is handsome, the most handsome man I have ever seen, and while his sunken cheeks and fatigued eyes are the only remainders of his declining mental state, he conceals his insecurities with a renewed, and perhaps slightly fabricated, confidence. The crimson tip of his tongue darts past his lips in the way it always does when he’s lost in his thoughts, and my heart opens and sings inappropriate songs that flush my cheeks a ruby tint. 

This is when his eyes lay on me, cocking an amused brow at my flustered face, silently expecting a flattering comment, though he would never voice it. My mouth opens and closes, carefully picking my words so as to not upset him. You look magnificent, I confess; he seems pleased, a toothy grin spreading on his glowing face. Naively, I wish I could come with him, the insinuation of proximity, emotional or otherwise, public and absurd; the childish dream of being introduced as his assistant – his lover, a little voice in my head whispers.

You know, you remind me of a dog, is what he says; the words are meant to humiliate, a demeaning inflection in his voice, though there is no bite to them. I do not mind them; in fact, I find myself agreeing with him, smiling at him tenderly, face flushed. Edward cocks a surprised brow, as if not expecting this reaction, honest and quasi vulgar . He exhales a chuckle, a subtle twinkle in his eyes, pupils dilating slightly. I recognize this gaze, filled with a still unfamiliar arousal; he looked at me in a similar manner the last time we were intimate, when I lapped his body with a burning hunger until he came undone on my face, eventually fleeing the scene as if ashamed of his own desires. We haven’t talked about this event since, nor the one preceding it, a painful habit of his I’m afraid.

Edward shakes his head, the tip of his tongue licking his chapped lips, thinking of something indecent, I believe. To my great dismay, he will not act on these thoughts, instead putting on his bowler hat and smirking at me, bidding me goodnight, leaving me to my menial tasks.

Hours pass and undesired thoughts pile and overflow in my bored mind, cruel and anxiety inducing. I wonder, wholeheartedly embarrassed, if someone else will collect the fruits of his short-lived desire, if this will mark the end, then, of what did not even have the time to mature in this closed space. Inappropriate jealousy turns to dread and sorrow as I curl in an emotional ball, slumped in the worn-out couch, tears growing in front of my glassy eyes. 

Despite the light tremor of my bottom lip and the cruel knot building in my closed throat, I remain still with the perfect inertia of a corpse, mind turning absolutely blank, drained and hopeless, as if I ceased to exist the moment Edward left; and perhaps it is the case, the grandiose emptiness inside of me begging for him to come back. 

Suddenly, the mechanical noises reverberating in the metallic Hell become inescapable, spiteful and intolerable; the aggressive lights turn caustic, loud and vicious; all I can hear are the agonizing thoughts, the barbarous internal monologue, chest heaving as my breathing turns erratic, broken sobs strangling in my throat, body aquiver with what seems like a fatal panic attack. This place, once perceived as an embracing and loving cocoon morphs grotesquely into a diabolic pit for which I feel only hatred and disgust. My tortured mind screams in horror, heart beating furiously in my chest, and as I feel the crushing weight of time passing, I wonder when will Edward come back, and why did he leave me alone in the first place.

My body jolts in a whimper when I hear the colossal metal doors of the elevator creak, spitting a dusty cloud on the ground as it lands heavily. My weak frame contorts, alert and hopeful, craning my head to stare at the iron cage; I imagine my face being twisted in desperate relief, brow knitted tightly, eyes wide open like a traumatized animal, panting as I emerge laboriously from my panicked state. Edward quirks a brow, a perplexed frown on his closed face, considering me for a minute; he must find me disgraceful, I suppose, viciously gripping the leathery arms of the couch, the flayed expression on my face morphing into one of profound happiness.

Edward reeks of cigarette smoke, a filthy habit that conceals his natural scent. He seems surprised to see me, glancing at the watch on his wrist then at me with a questioning look, yet I offer him no answer. You are still here , he notes in quasi disbelief, an unreadable expression on his face. He must have been expecting that I had left hours ago, I am sure, and yet I have no explanation to give, not even to myself. Why did I stay here, I wonder, waiting patiently for him to come back home and comfort my raw nerves, like a lover would; yet a lover I am not. Not quite anyway.

I swallow meekly, and answer the only way I know how; with a smile, genuine and kind, happiness glowing on my face, while a dumbfounded expression shadows his. Through his round glasses, his eyes contemplate me for an instant, an impossibly green ocean licking the shores of my mind. There is a storm hiding in the horizon, even I can tell, and so I offer him an excuse, sheepishly. I missed you . It is the truth.

His reaction is immediate and what I sense nervous, barking a laugh; not quite cruel, not quite amused, but instead coming from a place of insecurity, disdain and indecision. His expression contorts, pupils dilating enough to obscure the emerald of his irises, and I feel my guts twisting. Carefully putting his bowler hat on the nearest surface, revealing his now slightly sweaty hair, Edward turns his back at me, looking in the distance, gears grinding in his mind. He reaches for his leather gloves next, long fingers fiddling with the pressure buttons, and then stops. He does not remove his gloves. 

“You truly are a dog, aren’t you?”

My entire body shivers, a burning pit gnawing at my stomach with confusing feelings, all of them caustic, perverted and exquisite. I mouth aphonic words of which I ignore the intent. There was a playful element in the inflection of his voice, and when he turns his proud silhouette to face me, there is an indecent smile on his face; one that reeks of contempt and desire. I stare at his grandiose form, lips parted and cheeks flushed from a somewhat familiar hunger; he appreciates seeing me so submissive and needy, I am sure, for he tilts his head on the side and grins wider, the question, unanswered, floating in the air still. “Well?”

There is so much left unsaid, so much left for him to create and define as he sees fit, when I realize that he looks at me expecting an answer that comes quickly, as if foolishly obvious, and yet one that sounds like a permission. “Maybe I am.”

Edward bites his bottom lip frankly, doing a particularly poor job at suppressing his wolfish smile; his gaze holds the power of a storm, breathing heavily through his flared nostrils. When he walks in my direction, each one of his steps sends a spasm to my cunt, shamefully awake and interested, until he stands in front of me, my eyes at the level of his stomach, the memory of the coarse hair hidden under his neatly tucked shirt making me salivate.

“Oh, I know you are. With how easily and quickly you were to drop on your knees, indulging in rather vulgar activities with this obscene tongue of yours.”

His voice is low and dark, the tone dripping with disdain and arousal, his words carefully crafted and picked; he takes great pleasure in seeing me squirm on the couch, muffling soft gasps when his eyes look down on me with a carnal appetite. My expression is one of false shame bordering on inappropriate satisfaction, silently confirming my crude desires. Edward’s voice is husky, shivering with an unconcealed, unmistakable thrill when he asks a question laced with all the neglected lust he once buried deeply in the graveyard of his humanity.

“And what does that make me, then?”

He wants to hear it from me . He wants to feel powerful, wants to dominate me. Taking immense pleasure in my submissive nature, breath hitching even more as his darkened gaze drills burning holes in the back of my skull, a delicate vein on his neck throbbing expectantly. Under his perfectly cut suit pants, I am certain he is hard. I hardly recognize the man who ran away from me after his uncontrolled orgasm; I wonder how much of him is still treading carefully, inexperienced and hesitant, discovering his limits, toying with mines. There is nothing less than adoration in my eyes, hoping to give him the silent reassurance and comfort he seems to seek, heart beating frantically in my chest when I mouth the desired words.

The master.

His shoulders twitch in response, a delicate flush tinting his cheeks, flustered, uncomfortable but positively euphoric . Long seconds pass before he emerges from his enchanted inertia, contemplating the possibilities, evaluating his desires; he looks beautiful in this bemused state, getting acquainted with his most intimate cravings. A part of me wants to guide him, encourage him, reassure him that I will not break easily, though I know how quickly his ego can get bruised; instead, I watch him intently, obediently, lips slightly parted. I believe he needs to be treated with patience and care, more than he needs the control; although it might be wishful thinking from a lovesick deviant.

I follow the gesture of his hand immediately as he snaps his finger and points to the ground. Of course. A dog doesn’t sit on the couch. I cannot help but notice the light tremor in his thighs when he takes my place, spreading his legs wide enough that I can crawl and kneel in between them, hands folded on my lap devotedly. 

The profound exhalation is probably louder than he expected; as if releasing an unknown tension, his body slumps in the couch, contemplating my weaker position. It takes him a few most necessary seconds to collect himself, towering his frame above mine with the glory and poise of a panther. Flexing his still gloved hands a couple of times, visibly debating his next move, he decides to lay his elbows on his thighs, bringing his hands towards and cupping my face, the tender touch eliciting a needy whimper. Under his delicate and short chuckle, I lean my face against the warm leather, embracing his hold with closed eyes, focusing on the complex sensations, all of them delicious and dripping with liquid desire. His thumb draws circles on my cheek, fingers experimenting with the softness of my flesh for a blissful instant in a quasi silence. Elbows securely laying on his thighs, body slightly lurched, his voice is a whisper, a caress against my face.

“Will you be a good dog for me?”

I nod.

“Will you be loyal to me, will you wag your tail for me?”

I nod more frankly, a rush of blood pumping in my system, tinting my cheeks a delicate shade of rose and making my core throb; my hips jerk once, reflexively, as if every single atom constituting my being was yearning for him. Then, said so softly I almost didn’t hear it despite our close proximity. Good girl.

The strangled sob in my throat comes immediately, a built-up feeling that makes my heart ache and swell as I sink my half-lidded eyes in his, desperately searching for approval, squirming on the ground uncomfortably. His thumb brushes against my parted lips gingerly, the intent clear as I open my mouth wider to invite his gloved digit in the warm cavity. A stifled groan shakes in his throat when he caresses my fleshy gums, teasing my crimson appendage. Greedily, I close my mouth around his thumb and suck crudely, bobbing my head along the length of his digit under his mesmerized and lustful gaze. His languorous hums are quasi pornographic, hissing through his teeth when he forcefully removes his thumb in a wet noise, brutally shoving instead his index and middle fingers inside my welcoming mouth.

The sucking noises I make are obscene and vulgar, licking the trembling leather digits, penetrating eagerly and hungrily the space between them with my appendage. His moans are low and choked, a single strand of hair dropping on his forehead, glasses slightly askew, and oh does he look beautiful with his face distorted with a shameful lust that he is just now allowing himself to discover and explore. I feel his fingers thrust inside my throat in wet gagging noises, a foamy pool of saliva accumulating on my pink lips; I do not miss how his hips buck involuntarily, my hands then reaching for his clothed thighs, muscles tense like a bow. When my fingers brush against the outlines of his hardened bulge, Edward removes his fingers from my mouth in a drenched noise and grabs my face with a renewed vigor, the both of us panting in unison, a lewd blend of labored effort and burning arousal.

“You’re so eager, so… hungry . You would take anything from me.”

His voice is low and coarse, akin to a groan, dangerous and feral, and shooting tremors in my thighs, my sex pulsating as I whimper and nod positively, face flushed and beaming. He chuckles nervously, beautifully , looking down at me before working the inside of his mouth with a clear intent, one that makes me sob and weep, opening my mouth wide and sticking my tongue out expectantly, obediently.

Edward spits a big, heavy glob of saliva on my welcoming tongue, watching me with bewildered eyes when I swallow it greedily before opening my mouth again, excitedly presenting him the glistening cushion of my tongue, eager and prepared. He chokes a flustered chuckle, face flushed with quasi embarrassment, his voice trembling and laced with lust. “Incredible.”

His fingers release the soft skin of my face and migrate to my hair, grabbing it enough to feel held in place but not enough to hurt. His flush spreads from his cheeks to his neck giving him an almost bashful look; I see him work his throat again, collecting as much saliva as he can produce, while I pant under him, squirming on the ground like a starving animal. 

When he releases another generous glob of spit that lands perfectly on my tongue, the offering promptly and greedily swallowed, he moans lewdly, emerald eyes clouded by a thick arousal. He pants loudly near my face, his breath smelling of coffee and cigarettes, and I wonder if his lips taste the same, if I will ever be able to know. 

My body squirm uncomfortably on the ground, desperately searching for friction, and perhaps even release. My curious dance does not get lost on him, as he smirks at me with a renewed confidence, fingers grabbing and tugging viciously at my hair, eliciting a mean grunt out of my used throat.

“Are you still hungry, pet? Do you want more?” His voice is a taunting snarl, an amused inflection in his tone, and I whine stupidly, unable to move my head still tightly held in his unforgiving grip. He wants an answer, I understand, cocking his head to the side with an exhausted grin; I believe he too wants, needs release.

“Yes, please. More, I want more.”

My scalp is sore when he releases my hair, looking at his gloved hands with a quasi hypnotic interest when they are unbuckling his belt with trembling fingers, quickly untucking his beautiful, perfect cock; the tip angry red, length flushed in a delicate shade of rose, delicious veins rolling under the flesh. Generous beads of glistening precum drip from the glans in an obscene invitation; one I answer with the crude spectacle of my tongue licking the lips of my already open mouth. Before I can even taste his heavenly flesh, I feel his hand grabbing fistfuls of my hair, preventing any further movement. My frustrated whimpers make him bark a cruel laugh then coo at me, taunting me and mocking me. He is taking great pleasure in my vulgar despair; pumping his cock with his free hand, Edward smiles smugly, humming lowly.

“Beg for it.” It’s almost a murmur with how breathy his voice is, panting loudly as if he were the one begging for release really, and I humor him; of course I do, for I want him with a desire I had never felt before, certain I will die if I don’t immediately swallow his cock.

“Please, please I want you, I need you.” A truth, on more levels than one, but I do not believe he can see all the subtleties of this confession when he presses the back of my head, guiding it towards his hardened sex; or when he cries out in pleasure when I take his entire length down my throat, gagging loudly at the sudden, yet delicious pain. I am quick to work my jaw and bob my head up and down his glory; he tastes just as good as I remember, perhaps cleaner than last time. I do not mind. For a little while, he allows me to swallow his shaft, swirling my tongue over the underside of his cock, passionately sucking at his rosy glans, at the measure of his most indecent moans, loud and primal.

A ferocious groan is all the warning I get before I feel his hands at either side of my head, locking it immobile before his hips start thrusting at a punishing pace, fucking my throat mercilessly. I let him use my fleshy hole wholeheartedly, one hand finding purchase on his clothed thigh, gagging and choking every time the glans hits the back of my throat, foamy spit and precum pooling down my chin; a sight he finds most alluring, I believe, as I feel him throb fiercely.

My other hand snakes down my body, unbuttoning my pants, fingers sinking in my wooly curls until I reach my drenched core and my swollen bud. Edward then snarls and releases my assaulted mouth, maneuvering a booted foot to lay it right between my legs, making me straddle the cold hard leather with his shin pressed against my chest.

“Go on then, dog.”

A broken moan dies on my lips, fingers grabbing at his strong thigh, positioning my clothed cunt perfectly right on his boot, the ankle brushing against my swollen clit. His fist is pumping himself earnestly in a crude and wet noise, his breath labored and quasi pained. There is a pang of hesitation in my chest, one quickly erased when I lift my eyes and find his gaze; there is arousal there, and something akin to tenderness.

And then, I start thrusting.

The friction is electric, his body warmth pressed tightly against my core as my hands clench around his thigh. I feel the rough fabric of his pants rubbing against my cunt as I hump his leg, shattered moans and heavy cries echoing in the warehouse. We maintain eye contact, his face red and glistening with a thin veil of sweat while he’s fucking his hand, panting like a feral beast, chest heaving under his now uncomfortably tight shirt; he is beautiful.

My hips rock more earnestly, his shin rubbing against my throbbing clitoris while the buttons and laces of his leather boot bump and stroke my fluttering cunt; the mixed sensations are otherworldly, experimenting with angles and pace until I find the right combination, the right amount of friction, under his entranced gaze. I do not recognize my voice when I sob stupidly, my cunt clenching and tensing as I near my orgasm, eyes still on his, always on his, never leaving his. He seems to pick up how close I am, for his voice is a fractured murmur. 

“Come for me, and I will reward you.” A promise.

A particular stitch of his boot is what ruins me. Or perhaps is it the way he looks at me, with a carnal adoration when I am fucking his leg. Either way, I feel myself clench, the orgasm devastating, unexpected and exhausting. Every nerve, every muscle tense and burn, stomach flipping painfully as I ride the last waves of this intimate climax.

Pressing my cheek against his knee, almost drooling on the green fabric of pants, breathing heavily, I search his eyes for approval, with the pure desire to become his property, to belong in the most intimate way he can offer.

Edward is nearly there, his fist pumping his angry cock at a frantic pace until all I hear is a strangled sob, a cue I immediately identify as I prop myself on my knees and swallow his cock tenderly, sucking him until I feel him spurt heavy strings of semen down my throat. He cries out, hips bucking as much as he can, fucking the last of his orgasm in my mouth, emptying his seeds in my stomach. He tugs at my hair gently once he feels so overstimulated it begins to hurt, and I remove myself graciously, wiping the remainder of our body fluids with the back of my hand. 

I brace myself for the possibility of him leaving the premises again, leaving me empty and emotionally flayed, but am surprised when he does not. Slumping on the couch, head tilted back against the seat, his hand lays flat on the top of my head, caressing my hair aimlessly. Closing my eyes, I lean against his touch, almost purring, a profound feeling of happiness pooling inside of me. I wonder if dogs feel as elated and content from the simple pleasure of sitting next to their master; I wonder if they too feel an unconditional love, as long as they can lay their heavy head on their master’s lap. In the stillness of the night, life seems perfect as long as I am near him.

Sitting back on the couch and buttoning his pants, Edward looks at me, his face adorning a somewhat torn expression; something between exhaustion, insecurity and doubt. His fingers trace shapeless lines on my face, slipping down my neck where the fingertips stay for a while, a contemplative and pensive look on his face. I offer him a smile, tender and mild, and for a fraction of second I see the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. My heart sings. He inspires deeply, collecting himself and working his throat until he finds the right words, ones that come in his naturally detached tone.

“It’s getting really late, I think you should go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nod, running my fingers through my hair and massaging where my scalp feels sore. When I stand up, my knees burn from the uncomfortable position, my inner thighs feel sticky from my orgasm. Collecting my last belongings, I nod at him politely, bidding him goodnight. His smile is tired but genuine.

Goodnight, dear.

[jaydee3779]

Oo we oo, Ooohh yeeeaahh, baby. I’ve been waiting to post this one!!! I finally found an excuse to draw the Frame Arts Hatsune Miku model kit that I had. It was so awesome seeing everyone’s art for the collab come together as I was slowly together the most intricate fan art I’ve ever done. Also this version of Miku is 15 metres tall. So, that's wild to think about.

Link to the Miku Art Collab thread 🧵 and EVERYONE ELSE WHO DID AWESOME MIKU ART AAAA: https://twitter.com/slackot_art/status/1805667875115483307

the cool little showcase poster was done by one organisers of the collab, slackot_art on twitter.

[lighthouseshepard]

uhhh you asked for asks???

srry i feel so self conscious rn

clingy human john!! do with that what you will :D

i love ur writing so much btw, like three of ur works are in my comfort fic bookmark collection 💖💖💖

WHAT IF I CRIED SJHFfj. thank you so much ;_; your art srsly sustains me 💖💖

and thank you for the ask AAAA! this was really fun to write out!! it got... a bit away from me length-wise. but i just really love clingy human john <3

He senses the hands poised and waiting on each side of him before he even opens the fridge.

John was never one for subtlety. He was crafty, certainly, and intricately aware of his own innate cunning to get what he wanted, often to the annoyance and detriment of everyone around him. Manipulation by default carried its own brand of skillful deception, an artform of hiding partial truths in favor of what you wanted others to believe instead. But rarely did it require him to be totally discreet in those aims - and even now when he had grown so far beyond the king he used to be, his lack of remaining subtle in every single act grew with him.

"John," Arthur says slowly. "Can I open the refrigerator, please?"

Those arms wrap around him before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth. John holds him loosely as he comes to stand just behind him, draped like so much heavy wool, the differences in their heights never more apparent than when he rested his chin atop Arthur's head. 

"I don't know," John muses thoughtfully, "can you?"

Arthur sighs, fighting helplessly against the curve of a smile. "It's only been five minutes since I got up," he recalls. "I told you I was coming back soon enough."

"Mhm," comes the indifferent hum. His breath stirs a few wayward strands of swept back hair. John's own long black curls had spilled over his shoulder, tickling the side of Arthur's cheek. "I missed you, though."

"Five minutes," he emphasizes, attempting and failing to reach up and grip the refridgerator's handle. "You couldn't wait for me that long?"

"I got bored," says John nonchalantly. "It's too cold in there."

"What do those things have in common, exactly?" he asks airily, giving into a grin.

Rolled eyes go unnoticed as John hugs him tighter, chest pressed against his back. "The heating is out," he clarifies as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I was impatient waiting for you to come back. You're the warmest thing in the house right now, ergo, I came to find you."

"I see." He nods sagely. "Ever the survivalist. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death. May I have my hand back, please?"

"Can I have it when you're done?"

"Yes, John, Jesus Christ," Arthur laughs, the sound dancing joyfully around the tiny kitchen. "I just need a moment."

With a grumble, he relents, releasing the left hand only. Arthur's other remains solidly trapped under the reach of John's left arm, fingers brushing the backs of scarred knuckles absentmindedly. It grounds as much as it distracts, and when he's finally able to open the door and stand sightlessly in front of the cool draft wafting out, he forgets entirely what he was going to make.

"What are you looking for?" John asks him, unconsciously mirroring the thought. His chin hasn't moved. Every miniscule movement of Arthur's he matches, the two of them swaying imperceptibly in place. 

"Something to eat, clearly," he says drily. "Any suggestions?"

John shifts briefly to put both palms on either side of his waist, feeling the curve there. "Something fattening," he recommends. "It's still like grasping a slip of tissue paper."

Arthur huffs, but doesn't give in to the gentle ribbing. "I'm trying, alright? I’ve a lot to make up for."

"Try harder. More of you means more for me to hang onto."

It had been this way ever since they'd gained him the body both had worked so hard to achieve. From day one John had clung to him like someone starved of affection his entire life - and in all aspects of the phrase, he very much was. Out in public they tended to keep a lower profile, relying on the indiscretion of linked pinky fingers when walking or shoulders bumped playfully against one another, but rarely did it satisfy their longing for the comfort of simple touch. At home, safe from prying glances and safe in each other, John followed him almost everywhere he could. Usually his excuses were believable enough for Arthur to concede to them, but after a while John gave up pretending altogether. 

In complete honesty with himself, Arthur would never have turned him away, false reasons for wanting to be near him or not. He would drape himself over Arthur's neck while he played piano, something he knew tickled him enough to lose focus; he cared very little about this, only lamenting the stall of music. He would lay his head in his lap while John described the movie they were watching, eyes fluttering shut when wandering hands played with his hair, losing the plot entirely. A bed empty on one side soon became the two of them slotted neatly together, neither looking for anything more than someone to breathe next to, hold through the small hours of the morning. 

All those eons alone, Arthur thinks to himself as he reaches for the bread. All that time spent denied any tangible adoration or connection, unable to consider what that could even mean, too large in the scope of his unending dominion to conceive of something so plainly momentous as two hands coming together. No wonder he was ravenous. It must have felt like finally being let inside after staring for so long through the glass.

All that history behind him, and it only made him want to feel loved. In this, Arthur could resonate well.

"John?" he asks, setting the bagged loaf on the counter. John follows behind him, still wrapped. Arthur could have stood on his toes and had him walk them both across the room if he wanted to. 

"Hmm?"

"What's it like?"

John blinks drowsily. "What is what like?"

"Being able to touch, I mean. I know you had my hand, of course, but with your own body I imagine it's much different to experience humanity through."

John considers this as he watches the sandwich forming, not bothering to help as Arthur struggles to grab a plate over John's cemented grip. He'd mulled it over on multiple occasions, tried numerous ways to explain it. All his eloquence went out the window when faced with such a question, simple on its face but possessive of an entire linguistic ocean underneath.

His mouth opens, a half formed sentence lingering there, before promptly closing. Arthur winces at the tap of his jaw against the top of his head.

"Ouch?"

"Sorry."

He can't find the words. Perhaps he didn't need to. This source of physical consolation and the way he coveted it would have to be enough to make him understand. The sensation of fresh cotton clothing, skin warmed by the sun casting its narrow beam of light across the kitchen floor, muscles and joints and a collection of scars all silhouetted into a body he had once lived in, and now knew as well as his own: it's a humbling wonder. 

But Arthur sighs, and this description too leaves him. So instead he settles.

"It's nice," he says quietly, reveling in the sturdy softness within his reach that he would be forever grateful to share. "It's nice."

[igelmanz]

"Call me Larissa"

Chapter 1/2

Words:1123

Rating: T/M

Summary: When Larissa catches you staring at her, she thinks it's because you find her repulsive. You're not about to let that stand.

-------------

She was beautiful.

She might just have been the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, you thought. She was more than beautiful, she was ethereal, actually. The way the sunlight reflected off of her silver hair made you ache to touch it. You wanted nothing more than to free it from its intricate up-do and run your fingers through it. Would she like it? You thought about the sounds she would make, blushing at the thought.

Your gaze traveled further downward, scanning over her face, her prominent features, brows furrowed in concentration while she worked. You let your eyes wander, let them take in her lips, coated in red lipstick, and you found yourself wanting to kiss them until yours were the same shade.

And lower…

The expanse of her long neck visible to you. What would it be like to cover it in kisses, some soft, some not as much. What if you left marks on it? Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red.

And lower…

You took in the way her dress hugged her figure. She was the spitting image of perfection, but you couldn’t help but imagine ruining her. You imagined her, dress bunched up around her thighs. How beautiful she would look. You sighed, letting your eyes wander upwards again.

Chest, neck, lips, eyes. Eyes that were trained on you.

Her blue ones stared into your own, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was staring right into your soul. Your face burned and you quickly averted your eyes. God, you really had fucked up now.

She was your boss, and you were in a meeting, surrounded by staff members. And all you could think about was how her skin would feel if you ran your hand over it and how her fingers would feel inside-

“Professor, a word, please.”, you heard her say, snapping out of your line of thought. You noticed that everyone had gotten up and was leaving. Except for her. Oh no, you couldn’t handle being alone with her. What had you done to deserve this torture?

“O-of course, principal Weems”, you stuttered out, hoping that she didn’t notice your nervousness. She did.

You saw her rising from her chair, and she kept rising, and rising. You would never get used to this, how tall she was. And you would never stop admiring her, her height only making her more beautiful in your eyes. You were thankful that you were sitting because you knew exactly that you would have gotten weak in the knees at that moment.

She approached you, walking slowly, and you felt like prey under her gaze that couldn’t be describe as anything other than predatory. She came to a stop in front of you, and leaned on the desk that was separating the both of you, putting her hands on either side of your body. You felt like you would die at that very moment. She leaned closer, seemingly searching your eyes for something, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You couldn’t help the whispered “holy shit”, that escaped you.

It seemed like she had found what she was looking for, because she narrowed her eyes at you before leaning back completely, now taking to pacing around the room. You heard her whisper “Why you, when… nevermind”.

You were confused, to say the least. Carefully, you got up from your chair, not sure what to do, so you just walked towards her.

“Um, principal Weems? Are you alright?”, you asked before flinching violently when she suddenly raised her voice without warning.

“Oh, I’ve had it with you! It’s no use playing nice now, you can drop the act!”, she screamed, startling you.

Ok. What. The. Fuck.

“I’m afraid I don’t under-“, you started before she cut you off, stepping closer with a raised hand.

A beautiful hand. Not the moment.

“You know, very well what I mean, professor.”, she said agitatedly.

You were still just as confused but you let her continue, too baffled to defend yourself. She, on the other hand, seemed to take your silence as confirmation.

“We took a chance with you, you’re our second normie teacher ever, and after last year, after what happened with Miss Thornhill, we placed our hopes in you. I placed my hopes in you! It seems I was mistaken.”, she ranted, and you cringed at the disappointed tone in her voice.

She stared at you accusingly, and you finally found the words you had been unsuccessfully searching for the last minute.

“Listen, I genuinely don’t know what I’ve done wrong! Working at nevermore has been great. I’m sorry for whatever it was that upset you, but if you could just explain it to me, please.”, you pleaded, aware, but not caring in this moment, how desperate you sounded. The idea of upsetting the principal mortified you, and you didn’t want to ruin whatever small chance you hat to get back on her good side.

You saw the confusion that replaced her anger for just a second, but it was gone so quickly that you weren’t sure whether it had actually been there or whether you had only imagined it.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”, she seethed, and with every step she took forwards, you took one back. “I’ve seen the way you look at me!”

Shit.

If she really knew how you thought of her, you were thoroughly fucked. And not in the way you wished.

But she proved you wrong with her next words.

“The fact that you didn’t even bother to hide it. The least you could have done is hide your staring. Do I disgust you that much? Is it the idea of me being shapeshifter? Is it repulsive to you?”, she asked, laughing a joyless laugh.

Well, now she really was going off trail. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it. A mistake, as you soon realized when your back hit the wall and you realized that she had cornered you. She was downright furious now, and it looked like she wanted to make you regret ever taking the job as a teacher here. Her hand shot out, taking your jaw between her pointer finger and her thumb, squeezing, effectively forcing you to look up at her. Not that you had been looking anywhere else anyway.

God, she was hot when she was angry.

“Listen, darling,”, she said, her words dripping with venom, the pet name tasting like poison on her tongue “feel free to do as you please, I don’t care. But there is one thing I do not tolerate, and that is insulting me or other outcasts. To insult me is to insult Nevermore, and I will not have you seeing my school in such a light. Especially if you want to continue working here.”

You stared up at her, not quite believing what you were hearing. Your boss, the Larissa Weems, the woman you had secretly been crushing on since you had begun working here, thought of you as an outcast-hating bigot. This just wouldn’t do.

“You’ve got it all wrong, I’m afraid.” You said, knees weak under her stare, her eyes burning into yours. “I don’t hate you, it’s quite the opposite, in fact.”, you said quietly, your eyes widening as you realized what you had basically just admitted to her.

She seemed to be confused once again, not sure how to take that confession. You felt her grip on your face soften, her hand taking to caressing it now, rather than squeezing. Your face grew hot under her touch.

"Such a curious one.", she murmured, running her thumb over your bottom lip, earning a sharp intake of breath from you.

She was still staring at you with that same intensity, but something was different. She was back to searching again, taking in your heavy breathing and blown pupils. You heard the hitch in her breath and it sent heat rushing down to your core.

“Professor”, she whispered breathlessly, letting you pull her closer to you.

“Principal Weems”, you panted.

“Call me Larissa.”, was the last thing she whispered against your lips before you closed the distance between you with a harsh tug on her dress, crashing your lips together.

She responded eagerly to your kisses, and you felt her hands exploring your body. You moaned into her mouth when she squeezed your breast.

You broke free from her due to your need for air, which gave you time to assess the situation.

Fuck.

You had just kissed your boss. You panicked, you needed this job. What if she fired you for this?

You pushed her away slightly, just enough to slip from her grasp and collect your things from one of the tables. You stumbled a little when you made your way to the door, your legs still shaky from the events that had just transpired.

“I better get going.”, you said, still panting, not daring to look at the silhouette of your boss, still leaning against the wall, not at all pleased with your leaving.

You had your hand on the doorknob, about to turn it when you felt a body pressing into yours, hugging you from behind. You felt her hot breath against your neck. A shiver ran down your spine when you heard a husky voice whisper in your ears.

“I’m not done with you yet, professor.”

----------

I hope you liked it. The second chapter is written. I'll post it if you guys like this one :)

[californiaboytoybilly]

Eye Candy pt 2

My apologies that this took so long. I’ve been having a hectic few weeks. Part three will come faster!

Steve had no idea how to feel the moment his eyes locked on the man who’d spoken.

On one hand, he felt distinctly caught. Something like embarrassment crawled up the back of his neck, hot and twitchy, motivating his feet to take off in a run. Robin would probably kill him if he did, however.

But he was also warm for an entirely different reason.

Because holy fuck, this just might be the single most attractive man he’d ever seen and every single one of his nerves was firing sporadically.

They were about the same height, but that’s where the similarities ended. The man had soft looking blond curls pulled back from the sides of his face with sleek silver clips. A single, perfect ringlet dangled over his forehead artfully.

His eyes- a startling blue even in the dim light- were rimmed with smoked out eyeliner, sparkling with amusement as Steve’s silence stretched on. Golden skin was showcased by a silky ruby toned shirt only half done up, tucked into a leather corset style belt with hand etched designs so intricate Steve would bet it cost more than two months of his rent.

“I… I uh-“ Steve stuttered over his attempt to answer, cheeks flooding red. The pretty man ran his tongue over a pointed canine as he waited.

“We must’ve gotten the wrong address.” Robin interrupted when she realized Steve’s brain was fully broken.

More of those pearly teeth flashed at them with the answer. “Ah, of course.” He didn’t believe them at all, the dimple in his cheek twitching with the effort not to laugh. Robin grabbed Steve by the wrist, yanking him towards her and the door none too subtly.

“Sorry, we’ll be- uh, on our way!” She gave the guy a tight smile, tugging at Steve again. Giving in, the brunette man started to follow her towards the door, only to be stopped by a larger hand clasping around his opposite wrist.

Steve’s eyes shot up and back to lock with an intense blue gaze. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come in, I promise I don’t bite.”

*Unless you ask nicely*, Steve could’ve sworn he heard exhaled afterwards.

He should’ve said no, apologized and left probably. They didn’t know this guy and this had already been an embarrassing start. But Steve really was a sucker for pretty boys.

“Uh-uhm, yeah. Okay. Why not?” His voice was a little strained and he tried to ignore the stunned look Robin shot him. He was gonna get an earful for this later, that was clear.

“Perfect…” The man smiled more genuinely, letting go of his wrist. Steve tried not to mourn the loss. “You can call me Billy, by the way.”

Billy. Steve rolled the name around in his mouth and decided he liked it. He would’ve expected the fallen angel currently guiding them through the other guests to have a name as elegant as his clothes but for some reason the commonality of it almost stood out more.

It suited him.

“Steve. And that is Robin.” He replied with a tongue that felt too big for his mouth, trying not to drool. The entire back of Billy’s shirt was taken up by a sheer panel that showed each fluid shift of his back muscles as he walked.

Steve wanted to bite them.

He was shaken out of his trance when they arrived to a smaller living room than the one at the front, where only a small handful of guests lingered. Five or six people besides them, max. A guard stood at the entrance, but paid Steve and Robin no mind as they trailed in at Billy’s heels.

He led them to a couch, where only one other person was sitting. A lithe, wisp of a girl in a lilac satin cocktail dress, a silver chain belt draped over her hips and wild brown curls she’d hauled up into a bun. She was almost as captivating as the blond, with pointed, lovely features that reminded him of a little of the elves in Dustin’s movies.

Her eyes brightened as they landed on Billy, then turned sly as she moved to their guests. “Ooh, where’d you find these ones?” She all but purred, getting to her feet with feline grace. Steve didn’t have to feel guilty about his mind’s preoccupation with Billy, though.

Most of her attention seemed locked on Robin, who was currently wide eyed like a deer in traffic.

“They ah… got a little lost. Figured I’d be a good host and let them stay.” Billy sounded amused repeating their bad excuse, which made Steve bite down a little harder on his lip.

“I’m not complaining. Have a seat.” She said, taking a step back and lowering herself onto the black couch once again. “Heather.” She held out a hand towards Robin, who took it expecting a shake.

“Nice to meet you. I’m um- uh…“ Steve almost wanted to laugh at how flustered the girl was, but he was self aware he’d been even worse than her before. He wasn’t going to invite her to call him out.

“Robin?” She finally managed, though it sounded a little like a question. Heather let out a pleasant peal of soft laughter. “You’re an awfully cute one.” She said like a fact, Robin’s freckles officially vanishing as her blush darkened impossibly more.

Oh god, what had they gotten themselves into?