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joshym · 5 months

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 3

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (STAY WITH ME)

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 24.6k+ (i am so sorry)

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, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, mentions of sexually explicit scene on film being shot, anxiety/stress, stressing about college grades, worries/anxiety about failing, test anxiety, over-indulgence of alcohol (drunkenness lol), spook/haunted houses, people in scary clown makeup, mentions of jumps scares, *consensual* relations where people put their mouths in *certain places*(not full smut. yet.), ambulances, someone being wheeled out on a gurney (with a lifeless-looking body), JEALOUSLY. lots of jealousy.

a/n: i apologize for this chapter taking me literal years, lol. this one is a bit heavy & was a little hard to write at certain points. but, it's been my brainchild for over a month now & i had to be sure it was perfect before i posted it. i hope you enjoy & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. 🤍

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

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The midterm pressure is now properly underway. With tests nearly everyday this week, a rigid filming schedule, work, and taking care of your mom, you’re on the edge of being worn completely thin.

Not to mention, you’re awfully distracted these days.

Filming has continued as normal. And you finally tackled that scene with Sam just weeks ago, and it went perfectly. Josh had a vision— to show the first fully intimate moment between the secret lovers. The first time their bodies become entangled in their heated passion. The ‘most significant image of the film in its entirety,’ as Josh had put it.

You’d been scared.

But after the kiss you shared with Sam, the one that moved far beyond the legendary characters you were portraying, the scene was performed to utter perfection. It was seamless; it felt completely natural.

Something ignited within once you put the costume on; something you’ve never felt before. A new kind of assured confidence in your body that has never once exuded from you. Your body that you’ve hated since your first cognitive memory, the body that you’ve opted to shield with oversized clothes to hide yourself beneath their stitched fabrics.

But, something happened.

After draping the thin lace over your frame, you were no longer you. You became a queen with a body worthy of being desired.

Josh and Malachi knew just what they were doing when they chose that (extremely erotic) dress.

For once, instead of being ashamed of your skin, you were fucking proud of it. You looked goddamn good.

And by the way Jake had been frozen solid in the door frame with his eyes locked on your exposed figure, you’d say he thought so, too.

You’d half expected him to drop to his knees right then and there, to fully submit and hand himself over to your will. And he probably would have, had it not been for Nat physically throwing him out of the way. (Had you not been so utterly turned on in the moment, you probably would have busted out laughing at the sight.)

The scene was filmed the very next day (with tattoo makeup, of course) and you used that exact heated tension within you to perform your very best.

When Sam saw you in the gown, his reaction was much the same as Jake’s. He was entirely transfixed by you; his eyes never diverting from your body. Not even once.

You had belatedly decided to forgo nipple pasties, much to Natalia's surprise. There was something about the way you felt, with your breasts still hidden, but your buds peaking through the thin fabric. In a weird sense, it made you feel even more in control of your body.

And the way Jake looked at them…

You couldn’t get his lust blown eyes out of your mind. He was, inadvertently, the reason why you felt so self assured during that scene, why you were able to give Sam such a heated performance… even if only a little. You had to credit his reaction for the help it had given you. It had been what your brain kept going back to time and again, anytime you swept the lace over your body. It was him who had helped you to have this overwhelming, new confidence when wearing the revealing piece.

(And you’d never admit it to anyone, but every time you put the costume on, you only ever thought of Jake. Not even his initial reaction—just him. When you felt sexy, he came to mind. And the thought of him alone helped your nipples to be prettily peaked for every intimate scene Josh would shoot.)

But Sam. Sam is the one who actually uses his words to reassure any unsureness you may have every single day.

Sam is the good one. The sweet one. The brother who never fails to put a smile on your face.

“Y/n…holy fuck.” He had said as you met him on set the first day you’d worn it.

And fuck, he’d looked damn good himself. No shirt, tight satin pants of the purest white. His hair was fixed to look disheveled and tangled, framing his features and giving him a look of pure sex ridden lust.

As heavy as the kissing scene had been, this one was levels heavier.

According to the script, you were meant to be laid out on a bed of red satin. You, sprawled out before him, and he on his feet at the foot of the bed, admiring the vision that is the ever lasciviousness Queen Guiniverre. (The vision of you.)

And admire you he absolutely did.

With the same look his brother gave you the night before, sending flutters to your heart and a pulse to your core. You envisioned Jake, but you saw Sam.

These two have entirely consumed your every thought. Sam has been in communication with you nearly every day, even outside of filming.

He conned you into giving him your number (not that it took much convincing) and he texts you, even calls you, multiple times a day.

Just innocent small talk, usually. Something little will make him think of you and he’ll send a quick message to tell you what it was. Sometimes he’ll send a joke or two that will force a laugh out of you, along with an eye roll. However there have been a few times that he’s taken it upon himself to make sure you know just how much fun he’s having with you on this film, that he knows his body sometimes speaks his infatuation with you louder than his words ever could.

And complain you will not. He’s a fucking dream, the sweestest man you’ve ever encountered. And so outlandishly beautiful.

It would be strange for you to not develop feelings for him, especially given just how close and personal the two of you have become during filming.

But,

Jake.

He wrapped you into all of this. He showed you a side of him that you’ve yet to see since. You couldn’t deny him, although you had every reason to.

It’s like he only wanted you to keep his promise to his twin of helping him find someone to play opposite of him (Sam, mostly, of which he clearly didn’t realize) and he only did so because you’re partners in this blessed project. Not because of who you are.

He buttered you up, to convince you to say yes, and that was the end of it.

Then, he went right back to his asshole ways.

That’s why for the life of you, you can’t fathom the idea that you’ve developed much stronger feelings for him than for Sam. (Who is, obviously, the far better candidate.)

And Sam is the one who gives you the attention you deserve.

But fuck.

The way Jake stared at you in that costume. And the way he didn’t take his fierce eyes off of you during the filming of your scene in that gown.

His jaw clenching with every kiss shared between you and Sam, his fists bunching up with each touch that connected your bodies. You heard deep, drawn signs coming from him when Sam caressed you. Furious sighs from flared nostrils.

He ended up storming out mid scene, slamming the door so loud you all nearly jumped out of your skin. Thanks to that, you had to redo certain parts of the scene. Sam had made a joke about how he “wasn’t upset” to have to do it more than once. (And you weren’t, either.)

But not having Jake in the room made it slightly more difficult to put yourself back in the mood. His presence alone, the deep breaths filling his lungs, his stare casted on you each time you glanced his way— that was plenty of inspiration to perform your sexiest.

But without him there, all you could do was picture him in your mind. Which you did with no problem. But it just wasn’t the same without his body in the same room as yours.

Before you left that night, you heard yet another fight commence between the twins.

“You should’ve told me it would be like this,” Jake fumed.

“I abso-fucking-lutely did, Jake. You just don’t listen worth a single shit.”

Jake slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, “I helped you write the goddamn script and those scenes were not in there. You know that for a fucking fact.”

“Okay— so I took a little creative liberty and added a few things. I am, after all, the director for god's sake. I think I’ve earned the right. But you knew the plot, Jake. Don’t act like you didn’t,” Josh spouted.

You’d gone to walk out the door before more was said. You felt guilty for listening, them both under the impression that you’d left.

But you’d heard something more that kept you from fully shutting the front door on your way out.

Sam was apparently in on this argument, too. And you’d overheard some rather interesting things regarding you— some things you haven’t been able to let go of since.

“Just admit it, Jakey boy. You thought you would be the one enjoying all these scenes with y/n. That’s why you asked her to join the cast, isn’t it? You’re just pissed that I get to share these moments with her and not you.”

Hearing those words come out of Sam's mouth was something you were not prepared for in the slightest.

You needed to just close the door and leave, to stop listening in on this conversation that you were most definitely not meant to hear.

But after hearing that, you just couldn’t bring yourself to take a single step. You had to hear Jake’s response.

“That’s true isn’t it, Jake.” Josh agreed. “That’s why you’re all out of sorts with this whole thing.”

“First of all,” Jake raised his voice with yet another loud crack against the granite countertop, (His fist must’ve fucking hurt like hell that night) “I only asked her because I had to. We were assigned this ridiculous project together and I was not about to work on something alone with her.”

…that was a fucking blow to the heart.

“Secondly, Sam, I don’t give a fuck one about your special little scenes with her. What I’m pissed about is that you’ve made this entire plot about fucking, Josh. That is not the only goddamn thing that happens in the original texts.”

He did make a solid point there. But from everything he’d told you about the plot before you agreed, (which wasn’t much, if you’re being honest) that was the whole point of the film. At least to show their adulterous human desire, that their love for one another wasn’t a strong enough force that others couldn’t break their way through.

“Jesus, Josh.” You heard footsteps coming closer to where you were hidden, so you quickly made your way out the door to conceal yourself. Before fully closing it, you heard Jake say, “I don’t want to be part of a fucking x-rated film. That isn’t what I signed up for. And you’ve basically taken everything I’ve helped you with and thrown it in the trash. Why did you even ask me to help if you didn’t want to use me for anything other than your precious fucking Arthur that you’re ruining with these worthless rags you call costumes?”

You quietly padded your way to the car as you heard Jake coming closer to the door. You felt you had heard enough, and you weren’t sure if you could mentally handle hearing much more.

As you drove home that night, your car squeaking and rattling its way through the middle of Detroit, the sound of Jake’s words in your mind were far louder than that of your beat down Firebird.

“I only asked her because I had to…I was not about to work on something alone with her.”

You couldn’t control the stray tears that fell down your cheeks. You’d always known that was the only reason he asked you, but hearing him say it…was something else entirely.

At that point, you’d decided that you’re not doing this for Jake anymore. Not even for the sake of your class.

You know it’ll get a good grade. That’s no longer a worry of yours.

No; You’re doing it for the friends you’ve made in the process of this goddamn thing that you would regret doing if it weren’t for them.

They way Jake’s family has treated you, especially in comparison to how he has treated you…you’re only sticking it out for them. Fuck Jake and his shit attitude that he’s given you since the first moment he met you.

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You dramatically set your cold brew on the plastic table, throw your bag on the sticky floor and plant your ass so hard in the metal chair you’re sure it’ll be purple in a few hours.

Elbows resting on the table, you let your head fall in your hands as you let out a long sigh.

“That good, huh?” Nat questions.

You peak at her through your fingers, taking in her almost apologetic smile. “I’ve not scored anything above seventy percent on a single midterm. And I still have one more to go.”

True to her character, she pulls your hand away from your face. She’s told you before that she likes to see your full face when she talks to you— just another reason, that even in the short time you’ve known her, she’s been the best friend you’ve ever had.

“And what is wrong with that, might I ask? Seventy percent is a C. And last I checked, that’s a passing grade,” she says with her slim fingers still held tight to your wrist.

You move your other hand away from your face as it falls limp into your lap. “I didn’t move over fourteen hours away to go to the school I’ve dreamt about since I was a child to make C’s, Nat. I want to excel. I want to make the dean's list. I want to leave my mark. I won’t be doing any of that with anything less than all A’s on my transcripts.”

She just smiles at you and softly shakes her head, a few perfect ringlets falling from her silken scarf.

“You will make your mark with or without a perfect 4.0, y/n. Your life is more valuable than a silly cumulative number that isn’t reflective of the person that you are.” She lays your hand down on the table with a soft pat against the back of it, her long acrylics leaving the gentlest, comforting scratches. “You have to stop being so hard on yourself, babe.”

She’s absolutely right, and you know it. In the grand scheme, grades don’t matter as long as you’ve passed. But dammit– that’s just not enough for you. You can’t, you won’t accept anything lower than an A.

You have to prove it to everyone who said you’d never make it. Everyone from your tiny hometown, everyone in this city who expects you to fail.

Everyone. Even your father who left you and your mom when things were at their outright worst. The man who cared more about his own well-being than that of you and your disabled, ill mom. You have to defy the standard, beat the odds. You refuse to become merely a product of your shitty situation.

You have to show him. Show him that you’re worth more than he thought you were. That you can do just fine taking care of your mom and yourself. Without him.

“It does matter, Nat. If I don’t do well now, I’ll never get accepted into a grad school and if that doesn’t happen, all of my hard work has been for nothing. I’ve proved fucking nothing.”

The sternness in your voice causes her to withdraw her hand from yours and sit herself all the way back in her chair, arms crossed in a state of defiance. “Who the hell do you need to prove yourself to? Why do you care so much about what other people think when I’m sitting right here trying to convince you that you don’t need to do that?” Her voice matches your tone perfectly, with seriousness and irritation present in her inflection. (Perhaps a bit more than you had anticipated. She’s passionate, you can’t deny that for a second.)

You pause for a moment, taking in the vast realization that you’ve never gotten that personal with Natalia on your behalf. She knows of your struggles with your body, and she’s done everything in her power to make you see yourself the way she sees you ever since you opened up to her.

She knows where you live as she’s had to pick you up and drop you off a few times for filming, so you’re sure she realizes that you live in a complex for low income, disabled tenants. She knows you leave and come back periodically if filming runs a little late, unbeknownst to her that it’s to take care of your ailing mom. But not once has she ever pried with a wandering mind. She’s been waiting for you to tell her.

Talking about these things is just something you’re not keen on doing. It presents an awful lot about you that you wish you could’ve left in Oklahoma.

It’s just hard.

And it’s hard to know who you can and can’t trust, who will take advantage of you and who won’t.

But as far as Natalia goes, you’re certain you could tell her just about anything and she’d be the last person to use it against you. But that doesn’t make it any easier to say everything out loud.

Suddenly, she stands up from her chair, the sound of the metal legs against the tile floor sending a shiver throughout your body. “W-where are you going?”

“Come on,” she responds, swigging down what’s left of her coffee. “We’re going to my car.”

Instead of arguing, you stand up with her and gather up your things, following her as she takes quick strides towards the glass doors.

“Why are we going to your car, again?” you ask.

“So you can tell me what you’re not telling me.”

At first, you’re a bit confused as to why she’d prefer to go to her car to talk. But as you open her passenger door, you remember that car talks are always the best place for deep, emotional conversations to happen. That’s exactly what she wants from you, and as soon as you take residence on the black leather of her Escalade, you feel the unrelenting urge to spill it all.

She slams the car door before adjusting body so she’s facing you. She rests her elbow on the center console, placing her face in the palm of her hand as she scans you with her chocolate eyes, waiting for you to speak.

“It’s just…” you sigh deeply from your chest before you begin telling her everything. “I’m the sole provider now. My mom isn’t much longer for this earth,” The sting in your heart upon hearing yourself say those words feels like an electric shock to your system. Speaking them feels like pure bile leaving your mouth. But it’s true. And not saying it doesn’t make it not true. “So it’s up to me to take care of her. She doesn’t have anyone else.”

Nat’s eyes soften at your vulnerability. Where they were once inquisitive, they’re now full of warmth and realization.

“I can’t fail her by failing myself. My education is just as important to her as it is to me. She didn’t even question it when I told her I wanted to come here for school. She showed me nothing but support, even coming with me when it was most definitely too dangerous for her to make the move. She did it anyway— she wanted to do it. She wants to see my education through as much as I do, and I’ll be goddamned if she doesn’t.”

“Is that why you go home so often? Why you can’t always stay very late for things?” she asks with a timid, sweet voice that calms your spirit a bit.

“I have to take care of her. Make her dinner, sort out her medications, make sure her oxygen tank is well tended. I’m terrified to be away from her, Nat. But she insists that I still live my life. I feel like I’d be doing her a disservice if I wasn’t, you know? But my biggest fear is that I’ll come home and she’ll be gone…and I wasn’t there to save her.”

“Shit, y/n,” she says, hardly above a whisper. “I hate that there’s so much pressure on you, girl. What about a live-in nurse? Or home health? Is that something you could do?”

“Her insurance won’t cover a live-in, unfortunately. And there’s no way in hell we could ever afford one on my paychecks alone. Her disability plan claims she doesn’t need home health, and that is something I just don’t understand,” you respond.

“Do you have any other family that could step in and help? What about your dad, where is he?”

You haven’t spoken of your dad since he left. You’ve hardly given him a single thought, even. The move was another way of purging him from your life completely— leaving the home you had once shared with him, getting rid of all of the stained memories once and for all.

You know that deep down there are plenty of happy memories of him somewhere, buried, in your psyche. But after the way he just up and left you and your mom as soon as her diagnosis was confirmed, the way he left in the middle of the night with no warning and leaving you to manage it all yourself, it’s hard to muster up a single pleasant feeling towards him.

“I wouldn’t care to know, if I’m honest.” You chuckle rather cynically, “The very moment he found out my mom could no longer serve his needs, that he would have to actually take care of someone for once in his goddamn life, he fucking ditched. Left over a year ago, haven’t seen nor heard from him since.”

Your life changed forever when you woke up that morning to his stuff cleaned out of the house, his oil stained spot in the driveway missing his pickup truck, and nothing but a handwritten note on the fridge that said ‘I’m so sorry, baby girl -Daddy.’

From that very moment, you became your moms entire world. Her one and only ‘person.’ It was no longer your life you were living for. She needed someone to take care of her, and the person that vowed to do that in ‘sickness and in health’ left. Just fucking left.

“He is who I have to prove myself to. That fucking asshole needs to know just how well I’ve done— how well we’ve both done without him. I don’t need him to take care of her, to get myself through school and graduate with fucking honors, and then go on to get my masters. I can do it all without him.”

Heavy tears begin to well in your tear ducts, tears that have been begging to be shed since the day he left. But you haven’t allowed yourself to cry over it. You swore to yourself that you’d be strong for your mom.

“Y/n I–I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have asked.” She most definitely picked up on the sudden onset of your emotions. As much as you try to hold it back, you just can’t any longer. Your flushed cheeks become soaked with your tears. You're sad, but more than anything, you’re angry. Angry for you, angry for you mom. You haven’t allowed yourself to properly feel any of it. From finding out your moms terminal diagnosis, to your dad abandoning you the very next day. You haven’t done a bit of healing since.

But something about her presence makes you feel like it’s okay to show your emotions, to at last let them come to the surface for the first time since everything has happened.

You try to tell her it’s okay, that you actually really needed this. But the words are incoherent behind your sobs.

She takes note and doesn’t say anything more. She reaches her arms out towards you and you lean forward, falling into her embrace.

She rests her head on yours, her own tears falling onto your hair. Her empathy is something you treasure most in your friendship.

She always knows the right thing to say, and she always knows when words aren’t necessary. Right now is most definitely one of those times.

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“I can help whoever’s next!” You shout to the small line of students filling the lobby, each one hugging a pile of books flush to their chests as they patiently await you and Natalia, stationed at the other computer behind the desk, to lend them their study tools.

Work has been especially hectic this week as everyone is cramming in their last minute studies. Each computer designated for student use has been occupied nearly everyday this week, but even with the prominence and accessibility of the internet these days, there have been plenty of students checking out real hard backed, leather bound books as well.

As an avid reader yourself, it brings a spark of joy to your heart to see so many people still reading physical forms of literature.

You’ve loved seeing the mass array of books that have come through the counter this evening, ranging from the iconic literary classics all the way to the Fundamentals of Trigonometry.

Next in line is one you recognize from your beloved (sometimes) class on the mysterious King Arthur.

Toney Carmichael. The six foot something, brawny, platinum blonde wide receiver for the Michigan Wolverines. And one of the most academically scattered people you’ve ever encountered.

You’ve made up your mind that the only reason he’s taking classes is to play football. He couldn’t care less about the school aspect of it all.

He makes the most outlandish, blatantly incorrect comments during class each week. You question how he managed to weave himself into such a high level English course.

Your first thought: rigged. Absolutely rigged. Someone pulled some tight strings for him to be able to continue his education so he can keep his precious football schedule.

From what you’ve heard, he’s quite good. One of the best on the team.

Not that you would know (or give the slightest shit) about a single thing to do with that area of the university.

You’re far too ‘liberal arts’ brained to understand the intense lore behind competitive sporting.

You fight off the urge to roll your eyes as he quickly pads his way to the edge of the counter, plopping a mass amount of books before you, one even falling behind the counter and onto your keyboard.

“Hey, Toney,” you say, with little to no enthusiasm.

You begin scanning the ISBN tags on his books, noting that they are a cumulative of the required semester readings for your shared course, all of them pertinent to the first half of the class.

You snicker to yourself, realizing that he’s waited until the very last opportunity to read these novels before the midterm test, which is tomorrow.

This class is very reading intensive; you can’t fathom waiting until the last moment to tackle all of these incredibly difficult reads.

Nine books in, you’re finally down to the last two to scan into his account. With a limit of twelve books that can be checked out at once, he’s cutting it awfully close.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight are next, scanned in and bagged with the rest.

At last, the final novel.

It's so torn up and ragged that you can’t even make out the title on the tattered cover.

You scan the faded tag placed on the spine; Le Morte d’Arthur.

Not just that, but the exact one Jake had returned months ago. The one you wouldn’t loan back to him because you had a far better version that you let him borrow in lieu. (That he also hasn’t given back yet, you suddenly remember.) You recognize it as such now, though you didn’t realize it at first. But the computer also conveniently notifies you of the last six students who had possession of the book.

You twinge a little upon seeing the name Jacob T. Kiszka in bolded arial font on the desktop screen.

But, no matter. It isn’t Jake in front of you right now, it’s Toney Carmichael. Star football player. (Sadly.)

You finish the last few steps, placing Mr. Carmichael’s receipt with the date of return stamped on the top in his bag.

“Here you are, Toney. Good luck on the midterm tomorrow!” you say, bidding him adieu while handing him his stuff.

“Shit, that’s tomorrow? I thought it was Friday!”

Idiot.

“Nope, it’s tomorrow. Better get to reading,” you tell him. He flings his plastic bag of books over his shoulder and nearly sprints out of the building. Again, you ask yourself, how the hell did he manage to get enrolled in his course?

You turn your attention back to the led screen, fully intending to clear the display in preparation for the next student. You’re met with the harsh realization that a certain name is still grievously present.

It serves as a reminder of the very night he asked you to do this confounded film for his brother. Where the very seed of his kindness was planted, only to never be watered and die in the soil with his shit personality. (That somehow still hasn’t turned you off entirely. What the fuck, y/n.)

You see a student walking up out of your peripheral, and before you can tell them you’ll help them in just a moment so you can finish ridding your computer of Jake’s name, they slyly place a venti cold brew next to your hand situated on the mouse.

You pause your task to snap your head up to see who in the hell brought you your go-to drink.

What’s the perfect distraction from Jake? His charming and equally stunning younger brother.

And god, stunning doesn’t even begin to describe the vision before you.

This is the first time you’ve ever seen his hair pulled back, tied in a loose messy bun sitting at the nape of his neck with a few strayed pieces framing his cheekbones.

He’s wearing the most lovely blue button up embellished with cream colored flowers, left partially unbuttoned on the top to frame a dainty silver charm hanging from a matching chain, complete with a black and white canvas belt bag draped across his midsection.

Fuck, the way that these colors accentuate his flawless complextion is rather elating. Your heart jumps a few extra beats when he makes eye contact with you.

“Sammy! What are you doing?” you inquire with an embarrassingly huge smile plastered to your face.

He flashes a smile that matches yours, the corners of his mustache curling with his sweet grin, his round eyes crinkling above his cheekbones.

“Figured you could use this,” he says while nudging the cold brew a bit closer to you. “Oat milk and extra vanilla, right?”

You pick up the drink and take a long swig of the cold coffee, sighing in relief at the feeling of the caffeine entering your worn down system.

“I most definitely needed this. How did you know this is my favorite?” you ask him, taking another sip.

He looks to Natalia who’s standing near you behind the counter and throws her a sly wink. “A little bird told me.”

You turn your head to look her in the eye, while she quickly looks away and pretends to busy herself with something useless.

“Natalia Dolores! Are you the little bird?” you say with a shocked tone, a massive smile threatening to make an appearance as she attempts to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Woah, she middle named you, Nat. This is serious,” Sammy jokes, his lips tucked in a patronizing grin and his eyebrows hiked.

“Don’t look at me, girl! He’s the one that asked!” She wags her finger towards Sam, her other hand planted firm on her popped out hip.

It’s staggering how the smallest act of genuine kindness, something as simple as surprising someone with their favorite coffee, carries a meaning far beyond the gesture itself.

Also, it just so happens that coffee is one of the direct lines to your heart.

You snicker at her response as you shift your attention back to Sammy, catching the twinkle in his drowsy, honey eyes as they set their gentle gaze on you.

You can see so much behind them, so much that he isn’t afraid to hide from you. His unfeigned honesty is captured perfectly beyond his feather lashes.

But the only thought pounding from the screaming voice in your head…why couldn’t it have been Jake instead?

You quickly force yourself to shove that thought down immediately. It’s quite simple; Sammy gives a shit, Jake doesn’t. It’s time to put an end to your sad, unreciprocated little crush on Jake. His disinterest is unequivocally clear, he’s even said so himself. (Even though he had no idea you were listening in.) So why bother with your silly infatuation any longer when there’s someone far better giving you the attention you deserve?

“Thank you, Sammy,” you tell him, the feelings for his insolent brother waning as you catch the genuinity behind Sam’s smile. “You’re truly my knight in shining armor.”

“You’re quite welcome, your majesty,” he counters with a regal bow of his head.

You smile at him as you take another sip of your gifted liquid gold, humming at the bitter sweetness as it falls down your throat. Perfection in a cup.

“You know,” Sam resumes, shifting his body to get a good look of the old building in which he resides. “I’ve never actually stepped foot in this library. Not even once. It’s quite beautiful.”

Nat, still standing behind you, huffs a rather obnoxious laugh that makes you jump a bit. “That’s because you’re never on campus, Sam. It’s a wonder to me that you manage to pass all of your classes.”

“Geniuses rarely have to try,” he retaliates, placing his elbow on the counter in front of him, resting his head condescendingly in his opened palm. “Which one of you ladies wants to give me the grand tour?”

“That’s a big fat hell no for me. Y/n, show the man around. I’ll take care of the front desk,” Nat says, logging herself back into her computer on the opposite end of yours. “But make it snappy. And don’t forget we’re closing early tonight! I want him out of here by 5:15 and not a second later.” she says with a cunning grin.

You grab your coffee and walk around the other side of the counter, giggling as you get a look at Sam’s full outfit. He paired his rose patterned shirt with gray drawstring pants, covered in contrasting white stripes.

Sam matches your giggle, asking “What’s so funny?”

“Sammy,” you say through your almost uncontrollable chuckles, “you look like the fabric section of a craft store.”

Another boisterous laugh echoes from behind you, as Natalia chimes in with her agreement.

Sam looks down at this outfit with knitted brows, smirking to himself while drawing a deep breath to say, “Well, jokes on you both. I happen to love the fabric section at craft stores.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“And this is my absolute favorite spot; the British Literature section.” You tug on Sammys arm to pull him closer as he smiles at your unbridled passion. “You’ll find all your British classics here. The Once and Future King, The Mists of Avalon, The Canterburry Tales,” You list them off as you read the titles off the exposed spines, stopping once you get to one you’re sure he’ll be intrigued by. “And, of course, The Adventures of Sir Lancelot The Great.” You pull the book from the shelf and flip through the first few pages, quickly noting the intense worn smell emitting from the bound paper. It’s clear that this book has been sitting here for quite some time. “God, I just love this smell. I could make a candle out of it.”

Sam gently takes it from your hands and takes a whiff himself, making a face that tells you he’s not as entranced by it as you are. “That’s an… interesting scent. Kind of smells like Jake’s musty room when we were growing up. Makes sense, with all of his old books he used to keep in there.”

No. Please don’t say that.

“I know absolutely nothing about our beloved Sir Lancelot,” he continues, glancing at the words printed on the first page. “Well, other than what we see in the Monty Python masterpiece.”

As much as you’d hate to admit it, The Holy Grail is, in fact, a masterpiece. You’re pretty sure you could quote the whole thing word for word.

“And,” he proceeds, “that he likes to bone the king's beautiful wife.”

His eyes flick up from the book to meet yours. You can’t help the flush of pink that encompasses your cheeks upon his brash statement. (Or the heartbeat that is pounding at your very core.)

“I guess you could say that’s a pretty significant trait of his character,” you say, your soft tone cracking a little.

He smiles at you as you smile back, quickly casting your eyes downward to avoid the prolonged contact that’s only intensifying the blood rushing to your face.

You hear his feet shuffle a little closer to yours. That heartbeat you were feeling a second ago has now tripled. He gently takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, lifting it ever so softly so you have no choice but to look in his eyes. “Guiniverre could only wish to be as beautiful as you.”

You move your glare to his lips, so soft and pink. You’ve lost count over how many times you’ve kissed them the past few months. How many times you’ve wished the camera wasn’t there during those moments.

His gravity is pulling you closer to him, urging you to crash your lips with his in a kiss that would put everything you’ve ever done on camera to shame.

But just as you’re about to…

“Sam? Y/n? Where the hell did you go?”

Natalia. Like clockwork. Here to ruin a special moment just as she did with Jake all those weeks ago when he saw you in the black lace gown for the first time. When she removed him from your sight.

You curse under your breath, reluctantly stepping away from Sam as she stomps up the old wooden stairs and finds you both.

“You guys! I told you 5:15 and it’s…” she pauses to pull her phone from the back pocket of light wash mom jeans. “5:21! Sam, you need to leave. We have to close.”

Sam hands you the book and you place it back in its designated spot.

“I can’t wait to hear more about his story,” he says as he walks away.

“What? Whose story?” you ask absentmindedly. Your mind has become so jumbled with everything that transpired in the last few minutes, you’ve completely forgotten what you two had been talking about beforehand.

“Our good old Sir Lancelot. It’ll help me perfect his character on the screen, you know, like you said.” He throws you a little quick wink as he makes his way down the stairs, leaving you alone with Natalia.

“Do I want to know what you two were doing up here?” she asks, her eyes opened wide and her hands settled on both of her hips.

You look back to the book you’d just put away, running your finger along the spine, stopping on the engraved Lancelot in gold lettering. “Just as he said,” you tell her. “We were talking about his character for the film.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

An air of confidence fills your lungs as you walk into Movack’s class. Finally your last midterm of the semester, and while the others haven’t gone as well as you’d hoped, you feel good about this one.

This is the class you’ve felt the most prepared for. And admittedly, this is the one you’ve studied for the least. But, you feel you can get away with that.

If there’s anything you’re sure of yourself in, it’s your knowledge of this lore. You’ve studied it on an academic and scholarly level for more than half of your life. Needless to say, you’re pretty well versed in it all.

The only issue with this class: Jake.

He’s proven to be a bit distracting during quizzes, resulting in you receiving less than satisfactory grades. But you’ll be damned if you allow that any further.

He’s disrupted things long enough since you’ve started classes, it’s time to forget about him once and for all and focus on what truly matters.

He’s already seated in his spot, books opened flat on his desk as he does a little last minute reading before the exam begins.

You don’t even look his way as you sit in your chair. You simply pretend he isn’t there, a method you’re planning to use for the entirety of his test. (And the rest of this semester, if you’re lucky.)

You sure as hell don’t smell his cologne, vanilla mixed with a musky sandalwood, that has bewitched you since the very day you met him. Nope.

And you certainly don’t care that he’s wearing a white button up that gorgeously flatters the leftover tan he still has from the summer. Or that he’s not wearing his John Lennon sunglasses that you’ve hated (sort of) for months now, allowing for you to see his sparkling, whiskey colored eyes underneath the shadow of his brown leather wide brimmed hat.

No, you don’t care at all about these things. Your heart isn’t racing erratically at feeling his body heat radiate on you in the cold classroom from just how close your seats are.

Fuck. You can only tell yourself that for so goddamn long. And no matter how much you try to fill your head with other thoughts, when he’s sitting right next to you, drawing deep breaths as he’s focused on his reading, he’s the only one you can conjure up.

Of course he would choose today to look the best he’s ever fucking looked.

You hold your breath as you hear the clinking of his necklaces each time he moves to open and close his books, the ridiculous amount of silver charms he wears being one of your favorite things about him.

He seems a bit flustered, sighing and anxiously rubbing his chin (a nervous habit, according to Josh) with each page he turns.

Surely he’s not nervous for the exam…right?

“The exam will begin in one minute. Please place any books you have under your chairs and silence all cell phones. The link to the exam has been sent to your school email through LockDown Browser. Please be sure all other tabs are closed as the system will not allow you to open the test otherwise,” Dr. Movack announces.

You tuck your bag beneath your chair and open your laptop, scrolling through your emails until you find the one from Dr. Movack for the test.

“Good luck,” Jake says in a monotone voice, still so alluring and sexy despite lack of tone.

He’s shocked you almost completely still as you sit there staring at the homescreen for the test. You don’t say anything just yet, giving yourself a moment to register that he actually spoke real words to you. Words that didn’t sound angry or annoyed for once. Something kind of sincere, even.

“Uh- yeah, you too,” you stumble in response.

“The test will begin now,” says your professor.

You try to read the first question, however your mind is turning it into a jumbled mess of incoherent words. You read it over a second time, slower to really focus on what it’s asking.

But it’s no fucking use.

Jake is clicking away at his keyboard, typing his answer with hardly a second thought it seems. You hear his silver bracelet (that you find rather appealing) hitting the side of his laptop and causing a hitch in your breath.

The sound of his heavy breathing as he types should annoy you, but of course, it’s only affecting you further in your distraction.

No. You need to focus.

You shake your head a little to snap yourself out of it, realizing it’s taken you more than two minutes to just read and comprehend the first question of the test.

You're wasting time. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let this happen.

In yet another attempt to reread the question, it finally proves worthy as your brain can make sense of it this time.

Rank and briefly describe the Three Estates of medieval society. Then, describe their individual significance and contribution.

You rub your temple and your eyelids to relieve the tension before you begin writing out your answer, going as fast as you can as you’ve already wasted more than an appropriate amount of time on the very first question.

As you type out your response, you can’t help but notice that Jake hasn’t stopped typing since this whole thing began. Curiosity has you wondering what question he’s on, since he’s clearly flying through this thing with absolutely no problem.

You glance up at Dr. Movack to see him seated at his desk, eyes cast downward at his own computer. You then look around the room a bit, each student fully attentive to their own test.

Turning your head to Jake, you sneak a look at his computer to see what question he’s on.

Number five. Already. And you’re still stuck on the first one. Pathetic.

As you turn your attention back to your screen, you hear someone clearing their throat rather loudly. But it’s not coming from just anyone, it’s coming from Dr. Movack.

“Ms. Y/n.” His deep voice startles you, your body jolting a bit at the aggressive tone bouncing off the walls. He’s now standing at his podium, looking directly at you while every student follows in his suit with nosey eyes cast on you. “This is your first and final warning. Keep your eyes on your screen and off Mr. Kiszka’s, or you will leave my classroom and take a zero for the exam.”

Great. He thinks you’re trying to fucking cheat. And so does everyone else in this goddamn class.

You’re not cheating. Didn’t even think about cheating. But how the fuck do you even begin to defend yourself?

“Sir, I-I wasn’t-“ You trip and stutter your words, trying desperately to make yourself look any better than you do right now. But you quickly realize just how terrible it truly looks as you scan the room to see forty nine sets of eyes glaring at you, judging you. And yes, even Jake’s.

He abruptly cuts you off before you can somehow explain yourself. Although there’s really no good way to explain it. “I didn’t ask for a response. Cheating is strictly not tolerated here and you should find yourself awfully lucky that I’m letting you off with a warning.”

Lucky. That word isn’t even a part of your vocabulary these days.

You nod your head in understanding, shamefully setting your attention back to your laptop. But the words are even harder to read now, as you’re trying to comprehend them between welling tears sitting in your ducts.

The humiliation is settling in as you’re trying to finish your exam, but it all feels in vain now.

Everyone in here, including Jake, thinks you were cheating. On Jake’s test, no less.

So much for your fucking method of pretending he isn’t there. In no way did you manage to be even remotely successful in that pursuit.

And not only did you fail yourself in that aspect, but now the whole class, including Jake, knows it was his screen you were peering at.

Humiliated doesn’t even crack the surface.

You can’t win in this class, nor can you win with fucking Jake.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Walking out of class feels like the ultimate walk of shame. Worse than a walk of shame. Like utter defeat— an ignominy.

The most painful part is this is now the third time you’ve been the center of attention in the class— for the worst reasons.

And to add even more salt to the wound, you only received a sixty eight percent on the test. A fucking D. In the subject you’ve considered to be your best since you can remember.

And it’s not for a lack of knowledge. It’s because of the string of shit luck and continuous distractions that seem to follow you as of late.

The uncontrolled tears are soaking your cheeks as you speed walk down the halls of Angell Hall, considering never coming back as you run down the concrete steps outside.

You heard footsteps following closely behind you, but you couldn’t be bothered to turn around to see who it was. In fact, you were hoping that whoever it was would just fucking give up and stop following you. You thought that if you ignored them long enough, they’d just give up.

But, no. They followed you all the way out the door, and now you hear them continue down the fucking steps after you. Relentless.

You stop on the last step, having every intention of turning around and giving whoever the fuck is behind you what for.

But just as you’re about to, you hear, “Y/n. Will you please talk to me?”

Of fucking course.

With the sleeves of your U of M hoodie, you wipe away the streaks of tears sitting on your face, looking at the black marks staining the cuffs from your running mascara. You don’t want him to know you’ve been crying, but the state of your makeup is most likely a dead giveaway and there’s not much you can do about it right now.

You snap around to see him standing at the front door of the building, hands tucked loosely in the pockets of his blue patchwork pants.

“What, Jake? What is there to talk about?” you say, your voice quivering from the tightness in your throat.

He walks down to the step you’re standing on, and you catch his eyes widen at your confrontational tone before he takes his sunglasses from his breast pocket and places them on his face, tucking a few hairs behind his ear.

“Well, first,” he says, using his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose the rest of the way. “Movack can be rather gruff at times, so just turn a blind eye to him. But second, I just want to know why you were looking at my test. You’re smart as fuck with this stuff, I can’t fathom why you would need to read my answers.”

You’re struggling to think of an answer. You want to explain yourself, to defend yourself. But where do you even begin?

Do you tell him that you were so fucking distracted by him that you couldn’t focus, inevitably causing you to take far too long to answer even the simplest questions, and that you just wanted to see how far along on the test he was to compare to your sudden ineptitude?

No. Not a goddamn chance. While the whole thing looks terrible, you find the true reason behind it all to be much worse than the cheating allegations.

“I wasn’t reading your answers, Jake.” Your voice is still restricted from the lump in your throat that just won’t go away. But you shove it down as much as you can. The only thing that would make this entire thing worse is to cry about it in front of him. “It wasn’t anything more than my eyes needing a break from my own screen for a tenth of a second. Movack already has it out for me, so I’m sure he was eyeing me the whole time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”

He chuckles softly to himself, and you can’t help but watch the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down. And his pretty smile that illuminates his entire face, his cheekbones sitting high atop his glowing features… it sends an electric shock to your heart. You don’t get to see him smile nearly enough, and you wish so much that you did.

“You’re probably right about that one,” he agrees. “I swear Movack picks and chooses students each semester to single out. And you made it easy on him with those first few days in class.”

There’s his sweet smile again, prompting goosebumps to rise on your skin and forcing out a smile of your own.

You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not; being the utter enigma that he is makes him incredibly difficult to read.

And after hearing him angrily spit out his true feelings for you a few weeks ago, your brain won’t let you forget his harsh words. Of course, he doesn’t know that you heard. And you’ll continue to act as if you don’t know.

But, knowing what he said makes you wonder if anytime he’s being “sincere,” it’s just a facade.

Still yet, you’re appreciative of the fact that he’s not outright accusing you. Almost coming to your defense, even. Not only that, but he sort of complimented your knowledge and academic abilities.

At this point, you’ll take whatever you can get from him.

“If you have any tips on how to survive his class the last half of the semester, I’m all ears,” you tell him, nervously twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers. This is the closest you feel you’ve ever gotten to a ‘normal’ conversation with him.

“At this point,” He places his hand on your shoulder, gripping it tight. You don’t even notice the breath you sucked in at his touch, feeling like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to blow it back out. “you’ll have to go above and beyond to put yourself in his good graces.”

He wraps up his advice with a soft squeeze of your shoulder before he steps down onto the sidewalk.

“Above and beyond?” you repeat, matching his tone with an added sarcasm. “Got it. No problem.”

Although it would be a lot easier if you weren’t there to distract me.

“You can do it,” he says as he’s beginning to walk away, adjusting his leather satchel over his shoulder. “Remember how you put me in my place on the first day?” he recalls through a laugh. “Yeah, just keep doing that.”

You dramatically cringe at the memory of your first day of classes, not really in the mood to ponder that mess just yet.

But he is right. That’s the only memory you have of Movack actually being somewhat kind to you.

“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have any problem doing that,” you say with a devious smile.

“That’s only if I let you do it,” he remarks with a smirk as he’s already halfway down the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow.”

Your tummy immediately fills with butterflies as you watch him saunter away. You weren’t sure how to feel about him being a decent human being… you just know you wanted more of it. More of the Jake you’d come to fantasize about from time to time in your cluttered mind.

Like the one who throws one more small (devastatingly handsome) smile over his shoulder at you, still standing in the same place where he’d left you, before he turns the next corner.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Filming has just ended for the night. Jake filmed one scene and left just as you arrived for your shots, so it’s just been you, Josh, Sam and Malachi for the better half of the evening.. Things tend to go much more smoothly with this crew; you quite enjoy nights like these.

You’re seated on their fluffy beige couch in the living room next to Sam, Josh and Malachi perched on the opposite end. With filming ending a bit earlier than usual, (given that Jake wasn’t here to cause any delay with his constant arguing) you’ve got a little time to sit around and enjoy a movie with everyone.

Josh did ask everyone what they wanted to watch, however it’s clear he never intended to let anyone's preference determine what would actually be viewed.

Once he turned on the television, he’d already had A Clockwork Orange queued up on the roku— it appears it was predestined for that to be tonight's film of choice. Not that you’re complaining, though. You do rather enjoy the madness that is this classic Kubrick film.

You’re no more than thirty seconds in the beginning of the movie when Josh says, “You know, Kubrick never really wanted to make this film. He thought the book was a yawn fest when it was presented to him. Just didn’t find much interest in it.”

Sam and Malachi basically ignore him, merely nodding their heads while their eyes stay fixed on the blue lit screen.

Still yet, he continues. “It was only when he imagined Alex being played by Malcom McDowell that he decided it’d be worth a shot. Can you believe McDowell didn’t even know who Kubrick was? He’d seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, obviously, but didn’t know Kubrick by name. It’s mind blowing, truly.”

Now that is a fact you most certainly did not know. And being the massive Kubrick fan you are, you’re surprised you didn’t know that.

“Wait, really?” you ask with genuine curiosity to discover more that he might know.

Sam places a hand on your knee and squeezes ever so gently. “Don’t encourage him, y/n. Or he’ll never stop,” he says with a half grin.

From where you’re seated, you can see Josh’s face perfectly. And even with nothing but the bright screen illuminating him, you see him roll his eyes and toss his hand in Sam’s direction.

“Yes, really! Isn’t that wild?” Josh proceeds despite Sam’s interjection. “I bet you also didn’t know that his nod to Gene Kelly was improvised.”

“It was?” you respond with a bit more shock in your tone than you had wanted. You can’t help it; this stuff fascinates you.

“Indeed my dear, it was. Kubrick directed him to do anything that would serve as a major contrast to the violent and sinister nature of the scene, told him to dance around or something. So, that’s exactly what he did. Took one of the most convivial moments in cinematic history and turned it into an example of Hollywood’s gift of euphoria, using it against the very corporation it came from.”

“How on earth do you know all of this, Josh?” you question.

“Because he spends all of his time studying this useless stuff,” Malachi jokes. He pulls Josh in by the shoulders and hugs him tight to his chest while they both bust up in a fit of laughter.

“Watch the hair, please!” Josh says, his voice muffled by Malachi's shirt.

You’ve truly come to admire their relationship over the short time you’ve known them. The love they have for one another and the love they each give to everyone around them, so selflessly and without condition— they are just wonderful, beautiful people.

You still can’t help but question how Jake carries the same DNA in his body as Josh, because they are so vastly different from each other.

The movie continues while Josh throws in a few more tidbits, piquing your interest and subsequently annoying Sam. (That’s almost more entertaining than the movie.)

Sam seems to be a little antsy. Antsy over something else other than his older brother talking away about mindless things.

You’ve noticed him glancing your way periodically out of your peripheral, and he keeps taking a breath as if he wants to say something but stops before he gets a word out.

You can’t take it any longer. “You okay, Sammy?” you ask in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb Josh and Malachi.

“Y- yeah, I’m okay,” he whispers. But you know better. Something is plaguing him, and you will get to the bottom of it.

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little bit of inflection on the last word.

He nods his head and hums in confirmation, setting his eyes back on the sci-fi film while you shrug him off and do the same.

As many times as you’ve seen this movie, you still can’t help but cringe during the infamous torture scene.

You verbally express your disgust over the torture being inflicted on Alex, holding your hands over your face and barely peeking through the space between your fingers.

The guys all snicker at your squeamish recoil, opting to watch you versus the movie as your reaction is probably more riveting than the horrid images on the screen.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The early evening has now cast a full, lunar glow as time has drawn on with the movie now running its ending credits.

Josh and Malachi have long since fallen asleep, cuddled up in an impressive knot together.

You peel yourself up off the soft cushion and stretch your stiffened limbs as Sam remains tucked deep between the pillows, still awake as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone as you suddenly remember you haven’t checked yours since filming came to an end hours ago.

You reach in your bag to fish it out, only to find that the battery is now completely dead.

“Shit,” you mumble more to yourself than anything else.

Your mind is instantly filled with the worst case scenario. Is your mother okay? What might have happened in the time between your phone dying and now? If she was in trouble, there is no way you would’ve known.

“You okay?” Sam hushes from his cocoon in the couch, lifting up a bit as you give him a sideways glance.

You had just tried to turn your phone on, to no avail. Only being met with the red battery telling you that you’re shit out of luck. Deciding to play it off, you do your best to not overthink it as you toss your phone back in your bag.

You feel your heart plummet with the phone the slightest bit. “Y-yeah,” you stutter, keeping your tone quiet for the sleeping lovers. You throw a thumb towards the door, connecting your eyes with his again. His expression is so concerned, his eyes mimic that of a baby calf. “I’ve just gotta go. Just a grade I’ve been dying to check and my phone is dead,” you lie through your teeth, starting to head to the door.

But just as you get to the door, his hand is over yours on the handle. Your heart rate admittedly speeds up at the proximity. Cute, sweet guy who you’ve been sitting closely with all night? Touching your hand?

You turn your head back and upwards to get a look at where he is standing behind you.

“Let me walk you out,” he offers, his tone kind but leaving no room for argument. “I don’t like the idea of you being out there at night by yourself.”

Little does he know where I fucking live. This place is nothing.

But, again, you play it off. Company on the way to the car wouldn’t be bad.

“Okay,” you grin. And he’s so close, you can’t help but blush as you open the door under his hand, still covering yours.

Once you get out to your car, you’ve built up a little bit of nervous energy from Sammy following you out. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a bit of a crush, and having him so near was doing funny things to your heart.

You turn to the driver’s side door and go to put your key in the lock.

“Thanks for walking me out, Sam,” you look over your shoulder, trying your best to look as cute as possible in front of your beat up, jank-ass car. “I really loved hanging out with you tonight,” then you turn back to open the door. “Have a good night, Sa—.”

“Wait—,” you hear him say, his voice anxious. You follow the tone of his voice, and turn to face him front on. You can’t help the grin that flutters to your features as you wait for him to finish. “I’ve—I’ve actually been wanting to ask you something. I just wasn’t sure how to do it, but— fuck it. Do you want to go out this weekend? With all of us, I mean. Well, with me, but everyone else will be there too.” he utters, stumbling all over himself as he does so. “Josh wants to have a party here with all of the cast and crew to celebrate being halfway done with the film, and then we’ll all go out afterwards. Well, just my brothers and I. Of course Malachi will come. And you, I hope.” He’s spitting this all out so quickly, it’s like whiplash trying to keep up with everything he’s saying.

He seems…nervous? That is quite shocking to you given how close you two have been for filming. He seems to never have an issue in those circumstances. He’s incredibly confident and sure of himself while he kisses you like no one has ever kissed you before. All for the sake of a silly college project.

You smile at him and grab his hand before you respond, attempting to reassure him and make him feel more comfortable. “I’d love to, Sammy.”

You can visibly see the anxiety wash away from his body as he relaxes a bit, loosening his stiffened posture. “Great! How do you feel about haunted houses?”

“Haunted houses?” you question. “Like, spook houses?”

Your Oklahoma is showing, y/n.

Sam chuckles, “I forget you’re from down yonder,” he jokes with the worst fake southern accent you’re sure ever heard. “Yeah, like those. We go every year to them, kind of an annual ritual for my brothers and I. I’d really, really love it if you joined us this year. It’s a blast. That's what we’re planning on doing after the party. There’s a new one we’re wanting to try out for size.”

You’ve been so caught up in the chaos of everything consuming your life at the moment that you’d completely forgotten that Halloween is this weekend. Time has utterly flown by since your move. It still feels as though you’ve just begun classes at the U of M only days ago, when in fact, it’s been months since the semester started.

“God, I haven’t gone to a spook hou– sorry, haunted house, in years.” you tell him.

His face scrunches up in a tenderhearted grin at your correction.

“It’s a date, then!” he exclaims with an enthusiasm that swarms your belly with tiny butterflies.

He opens your car door a little wider as you climb yourself in the driver's seat. “It’s a date,” you repeat through a full toothed smile. He matches your grin as he gently shuts your door, bidding you a farewell with a sweet salute.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Each outfit you put on just doesn’t flatter you in the slightest. Every shirt is either too tight or too low cut, each pair of jeans has a weird gap in the crotch, your leggings only look good with a baggy sweater. And even though that’s your go-to comfort outfit, that is not the vibe you're going for tonight.

No; you have to look damn good tonight. You want to look good for Sam, for him to see you in something cute that’s not just a film costume. (But there’s also the incessant part of you that desperately wants to impress Jake, too. And your usual attire just won’t do the trick.)

You dig through to the deepest crevices of your closet in hopes to find something that looks good, but also makes you feel confident in your body.

The only thing you do feel confident in these days is your seductive wardrobe for the film. But, for obvious reasons, you can’t wear those to the party or the spook house. That is not the kind of attention you’re attempting to draw this evening.

You stumble upon a black velvet skirt, short with a small slit on the left thigh. You’ve never worn it. You bought it years ago for a reason that you can’t seem to remember at the moment. But it’s managed to withstand the multiple closet purges you’ve done over the years, so part of you has clearly always thought it would come in handy at some point.

Holding it up to your hips, you figure it’ll probably still fit. (Fingers and toes crossed that it does.)

It’s supposed to be a bit chilly out tonight, so you rummage through the second drawer in your dresser for the pair of black tights you have tucked away at the very bottom under all of your other undergarments.

You sit on your bed as you pull the tights over your calf, up to your thigh before repeating the same thing on the other leg, standing up to awkwardly pull them the rest of the way up over your hips and ass, covering the cute black boy shorts you chose to wear underneath that match your black t-shirt material bra. These particular tights have some serious tummy control— something you’re quite grateful for.

Now, for the brutal moment of truth. Will the skirt fit?

You certainly hope so. Trying on anything can be incredibly difficult for you. You live in fear that nothing will fit you. Too big or too small, it doesn’t matter. Dealing with the size of your body in any aspect is paralyzing and far too triggering. So, doing this right now is a massive step for you. But, if it fits, it’ll be worth it.

You undo the zipper on the back and step into the skirt on one foot at a time, sucking your stomach in fiercely as you zip it back up at your waist and clasp the small hook and eye at the top.

As you let out the breath you’d been holding, you’re delightfully shocked to find that the skirt fits. Not too tight, not too loose— it’s perfect. A wonderful surprise that you truthfully weren’t expecting.

You walk over to your small vanity to take a look in the mirror sitting on top of the white wooden table. You bend down a bit to get a better look at the skirt, and holy hell.

Your ass looks fantastic. And the little slit sitting on your left thigh is tastefully sexy as hell. The tights were a great choice as they make your legs look smooth and complement the black velvet beautifully.

Now, to find the right top.

Giant sweaters are your comfort, but you’re feeling like trying something a little different tonight.

You have a dark gray, long sleeved mock neck that’s been hidden away almost as long as your skirt has. The fit of it has always given you wild amounts of anxiety. It’s tight. Like, skin tight. Yet, it’s remained part of your wardrobe for a long ass time. So, why not give it a try? You’re feeling a little more brave at the moment, and it might surprise you just as the skirt did.

Shifting through the hangers holding your shirts, you finally find it. Still brand new with the tags. You can’t remember why you bought this, either. Perhaps past you was looking out for future you to have something hot to wear on this very night? Who the hell knows.

You rip the tags off of it, figuring it’s probably much too late to return it now. You stretch out the mock neck a bit before pulling it on over your head, smoothing it over your breasts and down your stomach, tucking the length into your skirt and tights.

You adjust the arms a bit, feeling a tinge of apprehension at just how snugly the material is clinging to your biceps. A body part of yours that you’re not so keen on accentuating.

But as you take a look in the mirror, you’re shocked yet again— over just how good this looks on you, too. The tight-fitting fabric is actually doing you a lot of favors, particularly in the region of your breasts.

The shirt isn’t cut in a way that would show any cleavage, but the way it fits around them emphasizes their shape, making them look rather perky as they sit perfectly upon your chest.

The whole outfit is flattering you in ways you’ve never explored. The anxiety about trying something so far outside of your comfort is still ever present, but as of late, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s okay to do that every once in a while.

You’re tired of being trapped in the prison cell that is your self conscious brain. It’s time to break free, and the confidence that filming has brought to you feels like the very key to unlocking the bars that keep your thoughts in confinement. And so does this moment as you’re seeing yourself in yet another new light. It makes you feel utterly silly for feeling as shitty as you always have.

You glance at your phone to check the time, and you still have over an hour until you have to be at their apartment. You’re thankfully making good time, so you have plenty to dedicate to your hair and makeup to perfect it.

You decide to throw a few loose curls in your hair, letting the waves fall around your face to frame it. Keeping your makeup a bit on the light side, you choose to go with a small, subtle black wing and black mascara to accent your eyes. You decide on a daring red lip, but not just any red lip– the same shade of red you’ve been wearing while you’re portraying the highly coveted Guiniverre. You grin as you swipe the scarlet color across your lips, thinking back to all the times it’s become smeared on yours and Sammy’s. The giggles that you two have broken out in over the mess you’ve created on his face.

Digging through your jewelry box, you find some silver and gold chains you like to pair together. You place them meticulously around your neck, making sure they’re stacked to perfection. Then a pair of big hoop earrings that show beautifully through the loose curls around your face.

But just as you’re closing the lid to the floral painted ceramic box, something catches your eye.

A little golden charm in the shape of a heart with your initial engraved on it. Your fifteenth birthday gift from your dad. You used to wear it every single day, up until the very day he walked out of your life for good.

You threw it away that day. Tossed in the garbage the second you realized what he had done.

While you’re not entirely sure how it made its way to Michigan with you, you’re willing to bet your mom dug through the trashcan to salvage it for you, hiding it in your box for you to discover later on.

As much as you’ve struggled to contrive a single memory of your dad that doesn’t involve him leaving, looking at the necklace has your mind venturing back to the moment he gave it to you. Wrapped up so elegantly in a red velvet bag, with a letter from him that told you the story behind your name, how he chose it special after his grandmother that helped raise him when his parents gave him up. (Seems a little ironic.)

You suddenly begin to panic. Where did that letter end up? Did you throw it away, too? God, you really hope you didn’t. But it seems like something you definitely may have done in the midst of your unforgiving anger with him.

But you loved that story. You used to make him tell you about your name all the time, and having it written down in his handwriting was something you held rather close to your heart until he up and left.

You start scrambling, pulling your tangled jewelry out in handfuls to see if it’s buried in there, but it’s no use. It’s not here, and you truly feel in your heart that it’s somewhere in the landfills of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma. Disintegrated to near nothing.

It breaks your heart to think of it in that state. But maybe it’s for the better. Maybe that’s the universe trying to tell you that it was meant to stay back in Oklahoma with the life you no longer have with him.

One thing is for sure, there’s no use in shedding tears over it. It’s in the past, and that’s probably the best place for it.

You check your phone once more, realizing that you have to leave in no less than twenty minutes if you want to be there on time.

You begin rushing around, looking for your black thigh length leather jacket (faux, of course) that you know will match your outfit perfectly.

You find it buried under a few other coats on the shelf of your closet. You swiftly grab it and start heading out of the door of your bedroom, realizing that you’re still clutching the heart necklace in your right hand’s grip.

Mindlessly, you slowly place it around your neck, lining it up with your others so it sits in just the right place. You hold tight to the engraved charm, swiping your thumb over the initial a few times, just as you always did for comfort in the years that it was worn.

The comforting feeling is still there, strangely. Everything has changed since you last wore this, yet somehow it all feels the same.

The memories start to flood back like a tsunami, but you don’t have time for them right now. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself with it all. Wearing the necklace is just one step towards forgiveness, and that’s all you have the mental capacity for at the moment.

Throwing your jacket on your shoulders, you walk down the hallway to the living room to search for your purse and keys.

Your mom is seated on the couch, watching her favorite television show and cleaning up the plate of food you made her. She starts to get up to take her dishes to the kitchen, but you stop her before she can stand all the way.

“Let me get that, mom.” You take them from her, rinsing them off in the kitchen sink before placing them in the dishwasher. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with me gone for so long?”

Tonight will be the longest you’ll be gone from her since you made the move, and the worry sitting on your heart is almost too heavy for you to truly feel okay with leaving her tonight.

Your biggest fear is playing over and over in your head like a damaged record. But when you told her about tonight, she wouldn’t accept anything less than you going and having a great time.

“You look beautiful, sweetie. Does my poor heart some good to see you like this,” she says as you saunter your way back into the living room to meet her warm, smiling face. “And I told you, honey. I will be fine. Don’t you dare fret about me tonight.”

Triple checking that all of her nighttime medications are out and within her reach, you also take a moment to check that her oxygen tank is full and that her mask is nearby should she need it.

“Y/n.” She takes your hand away from the tank and pulls it close to her. “I am just fine. Now get on out of here and enjoy yourself, sweet pea.”

She pats the back of your hand with her other, something she’s done since you were a child.

“Okay, mom,” you utter through a deep sigh. “But please promise you’ll call me if you need me for anything, okay?”

She nods her head in agreement, sending you a warm smile yet again as she lets go of you and softly nudges you in the direction of the front door.

“Love you, mom,” you tell her as you step through the threshold.

“Love you more, y/n.”

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You nervously pull your car in the lot of their complex. It’s been clanking around more than usual tonight and there’s an odd smell emitting from the engine. You’re counting your lucky stars that you’ve made it here in one piece. You’re hoping that having it sit and rest for a while is just what it needs.

Your dad was always your right hand in fixing any issue that arose with your old piece of junk. Without him, you don’t even know where to begin. What shops to take it to, who will overcharge you and who won’t. Car mechanics are a foreign concept to you.

He even promised you a new one by the end of your junior year. It’s a pretty safe bet that that won’t be happening.

Josh answers the door before your fist even collides with it. “Y/n, my sweet dove! I’m so happy to see you!” he exclaims, clearly more than a few drinks in as he holds one tightly in his hand.

He practically pulls you into their home, wrapping you in a Josh-famous hug while nearly spilling his glass filled to the brim with some stout, honey colored liquid. The same one that you smelled on his breath as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Joshua!” you huff, laughing at his loose state. “The night has barely begun and you’re already drunk?”

“Ah, yes! The night is still young, and there’s plenty more trouble to get into!”

Your hand covers the sound of the giggle that erupts from you. “It sounds like you’ve gotten into enough already, Josh,” you say through your fingers.

His drink meets your empty hand in a clumsy ‘cheers,’ a few drops of his drink landing on your skin before he lifts his glass to take a big swig.

“The queen is here, everyone!” he shouts while stumbling through the crowded living room. You cringe at the sudden influx of eyes staring at you from Josh (loudly) announcing your arrival.

You flash an uncomfortable smile, waving stiffly at everyone while you take your jacket off and hang it on the coat-stand in the corner of the foyer.

“The queen, the queen!” Sammy roars from the kitchen, setting his glass down on the granite before swiftly padding his way across the living space to meet you. He instantly envelopes you in a warm, soft hug, digging his chin in your shoulder. His coarse facial hair tickles your neck as you playfully squirm away from his embrace.

He takes a step back, amorous eyes flicking up and down your form. “You look intoxicatingly lovely tonight,” he whispers, taking your hand as he gives the tops of your knuckles a quick peck.

Although he’s not quite as inebriated as his older brother, you can tell he’s had at least a few. Enough to sustain a pretty decent buzz. So, you don’t think his actions are completely due to the alcohol. Perhaps a bit, though.

“Come with me,” Sam says while he drags you by the same hand his lips just met. “Your lack of beverage is deeply concerning.”

As he leads you to the kitchen, your eye is caught by Jake standing by the array of finger foods intricately splayed out on huge charcuterie boards.

And fuck, does he look sexy as hell.

His dark beige collared jacket over his loose, worn white t-shirt is something brand new to you, and his denim button up tied around his waist above his black skinny jeans shouldn’t be nearly as inviting as it is.

You instantly notice the slightly cropped nature of his top, revealing just enough skin. Even the slightest vision of his lower stomach has your head spinning.

But then you realize… he’s not alone.

And she’s pretty. Really fucking pretty.

Her sun bleached hair falls just below her impossibly tiny waist. Her green eyes are complemented beautifully by her mulberry sweater, the deep neckline emphasizing her perfect breasts.

He’s smiling, laughing, and she’s laughing right along with him, making doe eyes as he talks to her. She’s holding some bright pink concoction, of which she’s taking the daintiest sips, never breaking contact with his eyes.

You’ve never seen him so outgoing, so talkative. And it’s all thanks to her.

Sam notices your stare in their direction, and switches directions so you’re now heading towards them.

“I don’t think you two have properly met!” Sam interjects. “Y/n, this is Stacy. She’s playing the woman that steals your man.”

He laughs ridiculously loud at his own joke, obviously not understanding where your mind is at all. (How could he possibly know? But, still. Poor taste, Sam.)

She is Stacy. Of course she is.

You’d heard about Stacy, but you hadn’t met her yet. All you knew was that she was the one cast as Camille, Arthur’s very own secret lover who will later turn out to be as evil as Morgan le Fey herself.

Nat has mentioned her briefly, telling you that she’s “kind of a moron, but a fantastic actress,” whatever the hell that means.

Her availability has been much different than yours for filming, so your paths have yet to cross. And since Josh has a strict ‘no pre-edit viewing’ rule, you haven’t seen any of her scenes with Jake.

And part of you isn’t entirely sure you want to. With how titillating your scenes with Sam have been, and the rather exposed nature of your own costuming, your wandering mind can only imagine how similar Jake's scenes are with Stacy and the costumes they’ve chosen for her.

The script you possess only includes scenes with you, so you haven’t even been able to read any of Jake’s that don’t include you, which also means you haven’t even read any of hers.

You’d already made it up in your mind that she was probably quite beautiful. That Jake probably believes she’s quite beautiful, too.

And you were unfortunately right. She’s a fucking goddess. You can’t hold a candle to her. And given the way Jake is looking at her, it’s safe to assume that he would agree.

Does he feel the same things for her that you feel for Sam? Why does it seem he gives her the attention you so desperately crave from him? Is she the reason why he has next to nothing to do with you?

It shouldn’t matter to the extent that it unfortunately does, but the thoughts are deafening nonetheless.

You’re jealous. And there’s no reason to be jealous, but you can’t begin to help it.

Out of instinct, you bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You suddenly feel like hiding once again.

The thrumming bass from the loud music is keeping perfect time with the amplified beating of your heart.

Why do you have to care so much?

You swallow it all down, breaking free from your thoughts to be cordial with her. Because she has yet to give you a reason not to be, and you don’t want to be that jealous bitch.

“Hi, Stacy!” you exclaim with a forced smile and a reach of your hand to shake with hers. “It’s so great to finally meet you.”

She disregards your outstretched hand, opting to pull you in for an unexpected hug in lieu and nearly causing you both to topple over.

She smells fucking incredible. Like fresh cherries and oranges.

She breaks from the hug, still grasping hold of each of your shoulders as you’re standing completely stiff in shock over the way she’s greeting you, as if she’s known you all her life.

With a giant smile, (displaying her perfectly white, straight teeth) she says, “I am so happy to see you! The boys have told me so much about you— well, mostly Sammy. He told me you’re a super awesome actress and has gone on and on about how pretty you are.”

Sam wraps his arm around your waist, giggling and blushing at her statement. You find his sudden onset of embarrassment to be absolutely adorable. You catch yourself smiling at the thought of him speaking of you in such a way. His sweetness more than makes up for the lack thereof from his older brother, who is standing stiff as a board behind Stacy.

His eyes flick to yours, and they burn a hole through your own gaze before they land on Sam’s arm that’s hugged tightly to your body. His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches before he gives Sam a look that you’re pretty sure could actually murder him if it were possible.

You can’t discern how he’s feeling, but whatever is on his mind, he certainly does not appear to be happy about it.

You look up to Sam to see that he’s staring right back at Jake, even throwing him a sly wink before Jake abruptly walks away from the three of you without a single word.

What the fuck is his problem now?

You all stand there in silence for a moment, Stacy’s head quickly whipping around in the direction he left in.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat to draw the attention elsewhere. “I’ve heard plenty of wonderful things about you also, Stacy. I am so excited to see you in the film. I bet you’re absolutely great!” You’re more so telling her this in an effort to relieve the tension that Jake so lovingly left behind.

She smiles before taking a few sips of her drink, licking the rememints off her full, rose colored lips. “Jake is just a dream to work with. He’s so patient and kind with me. And he’s just the sweetest guy! When he asked me to come to the party tonight, there was no way I could say no.”

No. There’s no way she’s using ‘patient’ and ‘kind’ to describe the same Jake that’s been a rude, arrogant pain in your side for the past few months. He is most definitely not the ‘sweetest guy.’

You’re practically biting your tongue in half to stop yourself from saying anything.

Why the hell has he been treating her so much better than you? What is so special about her that you’re lacking?

Well, aside from her Barbie-like beauty. That is something you can’t compare to, sadly. You’ll never equate to girls that carry her kind of flawless, graceful allure.

And that is probably why you don’t receive the same respect as her. It makes perfect sense.

What a vain, fucking asshole.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been subtly eyeing them all night, watching as they’ve kept themselves tucked away together in a desolate corner of the living room, completely separated from the rest of the party.

He’s been ogling the hell out of her while she rambles on and on, talking his ear off for what feels like hours. (About something mindless and irrelevant, you’re sure.)

But whatever it is has acquired his full attention as they’ve basically not lost sight of one another since the night began. (Aside from the numerous times you’ve caught him glancing your way tonight. Maybe this outfit was a good idea.)

Sammy thankfully hasn’t taken notice of your wandering eyes. In fact, he’s been just as glued to you as the two of them seem to be.

And if you’re honest, he’s been a welcome diversion.

The drinks have made him a little extra clingy to you, and even more complimentary, as if that were even possible.

You’re asking yourself yet again why you care so fucking much about what Jake is doing, when you have Sam practically falling all over himself for you. (Almost literally, thanks to the alcohol flowing freely through his system.)

You’re still working on your first drink that Josh mixed for you, and you now know what Malachi meant when he told you to beware of an infamous Josh cocktail. There’s just a hint of lime juice swimming in an endless sea of Camarena tequila. (A Kiszka staple, you’ve come to find.)

You can only sip on it gingerly as a full gulp would probably cause your blood alcohol levels to rise rather quickly, so taking it slow is necessary.

“I think I’ll go pour myself another refreshment. Anything I can get you?” Sammy asks, effectively pulling your attention away from them again for the umpteenth time tonight. (Thank god he hasn’t noticed.)

“I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”

He gives you an inquisitive look as he downs the last few drops of what's left of his drink. “And you’re sure you don’t want something to eat? There’s plenty up there.”

You’ve turned down his offer at least three times now. He’s been questioning you all night about eating, but you just can’t right now.

The fear of becoming bloated while in an outfit as tight as this, clinging to every square inch of your body, is far too great to allow yourself to indulge.

If you want to look good, especially around the likes of Stacy, food is out of the question for tonight.

“I ate with my mom before I came over, so I’m really not very hungry.” That’s a lie. And you hate to lie to him, to anyone. But you don’t want to be tempted by him bringing you a plate of food. You’ve hardly stepped foot in the kitchen for that very reason.

He just smiles and says “okay” as he stands up from the couch to grab his refill, leaving you sitting there by yourself.

Normally you’d be grateful for the moment of solitude amongst the wild party goers as they dance and galavant around.

But all it’s doing is setting your attention right back on Jake, who’s still conversing with Stacy.

Only now, it’s much worse.

Your stomach tightens and drops when you see him mindlessly run the backs of his fingers up and down her forearm, landing loosely on her waist as their proximity has become even closer somehow.

You shouldn’t care. You really shouldn’t fucking care. But goddamnit— how you wish it were you.

You’ve told yourself over and over again to let go of this idea that he could ever possibly like you. It’s pointless, useless. He’s made it plenty well known that he isn’t and never will be interested.

But suddenly, he makes eye contact with you again as he’s wrapped up with her, and she doesn’t notice. She just keeps talking to him as if he were still listening.

But you can tell he’s not. His eyes are tightly fixed with yours, and this time, neither one of you are quick to break the contact.

There’s close to twenty people between the two of you, yet they all suddenly disappear. The music has turned into a muffled, incoherent beat. It’s as though you’re both standing on either end of a tunnel, the rest of the world stuck on the outside, unbeknownst to what’s occurring beyond the cylinder walls that encompass only you and Jake.

Your trance is broken by Stacy taking hold of his face and turning it back towards her. You can’t hear what she says, but based on the movement of her lips, you’ve gathered it was something along the lines of, ‘who were you looking at?’

She turns her head in your direction, looking around intently to answer her own question.

But she doesn’t look at you. Because in her mind, why would Jake ever look at you when she, perfect and beautiful as can be, is standing right in front of him?

No. She’d never suspect it.

And maybe she’s right, anyway. You turn to look behind you to see a slew of beautiful girls standing close by. Friends of some of the crew for the film, you assume.

He was probably just looking at them. Not you.

Never you.

You feel the couch cushion sink in next to you with Sammy sitting back down, clutching his newly fresh drink, completely oblivious to everything happening within your mind.

You suddenly feel your phone vibrate from your purse, and you unlock the screen to see a text message from Natalia.

It’s suddenly registered with you that she isn’t here yet, which isn’t like her to be late to anything.

Nat: “So, about tonight…”

You: “Are you okay?? Where are you, dude?”

Nat: “I *may* have a date planned, & I *may* not be making it to the party because of said date. ;)”

You: “A date?? With?? SPILL IT!”

Nat: “A certain curly headed boy who was also supposed to be there tonight. :p Any guesses?”

You glance around the room to determine who should be here but isn’t.

You still don’t know very many people in this town just yet, so the possibilities of who it could be are rather limited.

It clearly isn’t Sammy. And it most definitely isn’t Jake or Josh.

Then, it hits you.

Daniel. Sammy’s best friend who has been nowhere to be found all night, who was most definitely supposed to be here.

You’ve loved getting to know him over the last few months. Everything runs extra smoothly when he’s around to help with the camera work, and he serves as the best mediator for the twins. (And Sam when he’s feeling extra ruthless.) Fights are almost non-existent when his presence is looming.

And he is absolutely sexy as fuck. The tallest of all the boys, and the most muscular.

With Nat’s unmatched beauty along with her kind heart, the two of them would make the most ideal, movie worthy couple.

You’re sad she won’t be here tonight, but the thought of her going out with Danny has you far too excited to care. She deserves this.

You: “Danny?? SHUT THE HELL UP? I’m so happy for you!”

Nat: “Maaaaybe. ;) I’ll keep you updated! Sorry for ditching you tonight, love you & have fun!”

You: “You’re such a shit. Love you!”

“What are you so smiley about?” Sam asks, nudging your shoulder playfully with his as you grin at your phone.

You lift up your screen to show him, his smile matching yours once he discovers what has you so giddy,

“No fucking way!” he shouts, taking your phone from your hand to get a better look at the messages. “He’s been wanting to ask her out for ages. Way to finally grow some balls, Daniel!”

Sinking into the cushions a little further, you accept your fate of not having Nat with you for the night. You’re going to miss her. You are not sure how you’re going to make it without her perfectly timed buffering. And tonight of all nights is the one where you need her as a distraction. A distraction from the continuously ridiculous display that Jake and Stacy are giving with their secret giggles in the corner.

Next to you, Sammy’s small, drawn out cackle pulls you back. It brings a small smile to your face as it’s an honestly endearing sound–reminiscent of a laugh influenced by weed. You’ve gotten used to hearing it often, as Sam is always laughing if there’s a laugh to be had.

He’s a good distraction. A good buffer. You’ll have him to lean on all night. You’re assured of this as he looks down at you with his big, beautiful, deep brown eyes. He’s pulling you in, making you feel safe in this overly crowded room.

But another drink would be nice. Just to alleviate any tension that could unintentionally make its way into your muscles. It’s a humongous risk as Jake and Stacy leave their cocoon in the corner to make their way back to the kitchen.

Yeah, you don’t want to go back there. You need a drink, but you don’t want to accidentally see them canoodling when that’s the last thing you want to be privy to. The drink’s a necessity, though, you realize as you already feel irritation flare in your veins at the thought.

“You need something, hun?” Sam asks.

You bring your eyes, zoning out on nothing, back to him. God, he’s so sweet. Why can’t he be the Kiszka you want most?

Not knowing what else to say or do, you figure asking him to run to the kitchen for you might be a good idea. You need the alcohol, and he would surely love to help. Perfect combo.

“I need a drink,” you say, a shy smile taking over your features. “And I’m too comfy to get up.”

You really feel bad making him be your errand boy. Especially when his face lights up at the prospect of possibly helping you.

“Yeah!” He eagerly responds, getting up in no time. “Whaddya want? Mixed? Beer? Wine?”

“Glass of wine, maybe?”

“Dry? Sweet? Sour?”

“Sweet,” you respond, without thought. Sweet wine is always the only route. “Thank you,” you offer, blushing with the quiet thanks.

“Sure thing,” he winks. Then, he’s crouching in front of you, his hand landing on your thigh. Your skin heats under his touch. He’s so fucking gorgeous. And he’s so close. And he’s leaning in.

You lean forward, too, and capture his lips in an effortless kiss. So soft, his mustache tickles your upper lip just right.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and your tummy does a funny twirl before he’s standing back up with one more wink and a little grin that makes your cheeks flare red. “Be right back, sweet thing.”

As long as you can without having to move from your spot, you watch him lazily (and sexily) walk to the kitchen for your beverage. You’re biting your lip, still, when you turn back to face the rest of the party in front of you.

Then you see Jake leaving the kitchen right as Sammy enters it. And with Stacy momentarily distracted, he lets his eyes wander. But, you realize, they don’t really wander– no, they go immediately to you.

You’re still biting your lip, but you let your teeth slip just the slightest bit with the look he’s giving you. It’s haunting–almost as though it’s a best-kept secret. He looks…pensive. But his eyes are open, wondering and curious with his lips parted just slightly– so prettily.

You let your gaze stay on his face–continue looking in his mysterious eyes–until Sam is the one exiting the kitchen. So, you turn your attention back to his face. He’s smiling at you, holding up a clear plastic cup, holding what looks like Pink Moscato. Your lips turn up at the sight, but let your eyes float back to Jake’s of their own accord… but he’s no longer looking at you.

No, he’s looking at Malachi, who is still engaging in conversation with Stacy.

But he’s not smiling along with their conversation. He’s scowling, his jaw clenching enough to make your skin feel hot. Why’s he so mad?

You choose not to think about it, instead averting your eyes to Sam, now back in front of you with your wine, setting his new drink on the table. You let your eyes settle on his ass in his gray jeans and you can’t help but appreciate the view.

Then he’s turning around and his phone is getting clicked open from his pocket.

Peering at the screen, you wrinkle a brow.

“What’s–?”

“Twenty Questions!” He excitedly says as he hands you your wine and settles in next to you again. “Thought it could keep us busy for the next bit of time.”

Your eyes twinkle. He’s adorable.

“Okay,” you smirk, taking a drink of your wine, which settles immediately into your cheeks. Warms you right up. And, yes, it’s Pink Moscato. “How did you know I love this type of wine?”

“Lucky guess,” he chimes, the apples of his cheeks pink after a swig from his brand new mixed drink. “You wanna play?” He flashes his screen at you again, lit up way too bright with the questions he’d found online.

“Yeah,” you reply with a sure nod. “Give me your worst.”

And, without being able to help it, you’re peeking over your shoulder once more.

You find Jake’s eyes, dark and waiting for you, before you’re both turning back to your tasks at hand.

Your tummy is positively fluttering as Sammy asks his first question.

“What’s one of the craziest things you’ve ever done?”

Not helping the giggle that bubbles out of your chest, you know exactly what your answer is.

Ironic.

“Craziest things I’ve ever done…” you hum, already knowing what you’re going to say when you give him a tiny smile. “Well, one of the craziest things I’ve ever done is definitely agreeing to star in a project film with a bunch of people I really didn’t know worth shit.”

His signature cackle comes to join your giggle, and you feel totally at ease in the moment.

God, he’s easy to talk to.

“That’s fucking hilarious,” he responds. Then, there’s a wholesome smile under his mustache, his eyes encompassing a brand new emotion. “But I’m really glad you did it.”

And, with Sam’s precious face making you feel a little giddy, and the feeling of eyes burning into the back of your neck making your stomach feel heavy with want, you say the only thing you can think of.

It’s simple.

“Me too.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The chill of the night is nearly unbearable as you’re waiting in the line for the hayride that takes you to the haunted house, and you’ve found yourself regretting your choice of attire.

Your pleather jacket isn’t doing a damn thing to block the crisp breeze, and the small amount of alcohol you had ingested earlier has completely worn off, so you can’t rely on that to warm your system.

Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest in a desperate attempt to use your own body heat to warm up, but there isn’t any heat left to be used. You’re sure everyone can hear the incessant chattering of your teeth and the jingling of your jewelry from your uncontrollable shivers.

Michigan cold feels different than Oklahoma cold. Your body clearly hasn’t adjusted to the northern weather as of yet. (It also doesn’t help that you haven’t eaten a single thing since you woke up early this morning, but you turn that thought away fast. You’re not ready to confront that just yet.)

You half expected Sam to offer you his coat by now, but he’s too busy cutting up with Josh and Malachi at the moment to pay you any mind. You feel too awkward to ask, so you’ll just stand here and wait for your body to completely ice over while you wait for this fucking hayride that won’t allow you to be any warmer than you are right now.

Hell, even Jake gave Stacy his coat, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. He just did it.

And it doesn’t help that she can’t stop making her ‘pick me’ comments about how his coat is so big on her that she looks so tiny in it.

You’re annoyed as fuck that she’s here. The way she chimed in before you all left, nosing her way in to figure out where you all were going, just to get Jake to ask her to come. And of course he did. Of fucking course.

So, she’s here. Bumbling about and talking about whatever comes to her dull mind. But, her looks give her a pass. You’ve found yourself wondering more than once tonight why they didn’t cast her as Guiniverre. Her beauty alone makes her more than qualified for the role. And if her acting is as good as everyone says, it just doesn’t make sense why she wasn’t chosen.

You’re really wishing Nat was here. She would just get it and share along with your annoyance. But she would definitely say something along the lines of what you’re thinking. She’s not one to hold back like you are.

(And you’re starting to understand why she referred to Stacy as a ‘moron.’)

The line has been still for well over forty five minutes at this point, and you’ve not even moved a quarter of an inch since you’ve been here.

This better be worth it.

Stacy decides to join in on the guys’ fun, making an obnoxious show of herself as she does so. You know she’s only doing it for the sake of Jake’s attention.

And apparently Sam’s, too.

She’s got her arm interlocked with his as they stand in front of you, making ‘jokes’ with one another that might actually make you hurl.

Sam is too naive (and still a bit too inebriated) to understand her little game, but you’re not.

And it should be pissing you off that she’s suddenly all over your date, but at least it’s keeping her from clinging to Jake.

The vexed look on Jake’s face says everything you’re thinking— his annoyance isn’t quite as subtle as yours.

You’re a little relieved to find that he is also not thrilled about the situation. Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves, and it’s not that you’re not, you just wish you weren’t so damn cold.

A sudden gust of wind hits you like a frozen freight train. It’s nearly painful, piercing through your skin to your chilled bones.

“Jesus!” You exclaim from the sharp gale, causing everyone to startle and snap their heads in your direction.

“You alright?” Jake asks.

You notice the bright pink hue on his cheeks and the very tip of his nose, and you’ve heard him sniffle every few minutes since you’ve been here. You kind of feel bad for him. Having given up his coat to the little blondie keeping Sam’s attention far away from you, he must be as cold as you are.

“I’m fine,” you fib through your jittering teeth. “I’m just so fucking cold.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad out tonight. Actually this whole month has been much colder than normal, I believe.” He cups his hands, bringing them up to his lips to blow warm air on them before sticking them back in the pockets of his skinny jeans.

You’re definitely not used to this kind of simple, small talk with Jake. And his annoyed demeanor has suddenly vanished. He no longer looks completely miserable, probably because he’s now ignoring Stacy’s obnoxious, forced laugh as she’s still messing around with Sam, Josh and Malachi just a few feet in front of you.

You’re absolutely over her at this point. The way she will snort out a fake laugh and casually peek over at Jake to see if he’s looking at her— it’s nauseating to watch, really.

“I think there’s a hot chocolate stand over there if you wan-” Jake starts, but he’s interrupted by Sam.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t realize you were so cold.” Sam says, wrapping his arms around your frigid body and rubbing his hands up and down your back to warm you up.

You’re grateful for his body heat, the way it instantly puts your endless shivers to rest.

But you wish he would’ve waited until Jake finished his thought. (And you wish Jake were the one warming you up instead.)

But while in Sam’s embrace, you catch Jake watching, glaring.

His jaw becomes tightly clenched, his chest rising up and down rapidly with his deep breaths, his eyes narrowed in on you wrapped tightly in his brother's arms.

And even as Stacy waltzes her way to him, tucking herself into his body, seeking his warmth, (quite literally just mimicking you and Sam) Jake's burning gaze doesn’t cease.

You’ve stood like this for so long that you don’t even realize you’re all next in line for the hayride.

Sam helps guide you in the back of the wagon, being sure you don’t slip on the unstable wooden step. Josh and Malachi pile in shortly after you, then Jake and Stacy.

You wince as you take a seat on the sharp hay, wishing even more that you would’ve chosen something thicker than your skirt. The hay is stabbing you through your clothes, and no efforts in situating yourself to find a comfortable spot are proving to be successful.

“Here, “ Sam says, patting his thigh. “Sit on my lap, you’ll be a lot more comfortable.”

The dry hay may as well be needles poking your ass, so you don’t turn down his offer. Plus, his body heat will also come in handy as you’ve got a pretty substantial way to go before you reach the haunted house.

He holds you close to him by your waist as you situate yourself on his warm thighs, but you hear a rather unpleasant scoff coming directly from Jake’s mouth as you do so. And so does everyone else, apparently, as everyone looks his way at the sound.

Sammy snickers, asking “You good over there, Jacob?”

His condescending tone catches you completely off guard. And clearly has pissed off Jake.

“Sam, it’s in your best interest to shut the fuck up.” Jake angrily retorts.

Stacy is seated next to him, a ridiculous smile splayed on her unaware, perfect face. Giggling and laughing when she has absolutely no clue what’s going on between the brothers.

(If you’re completely honest, you’re not entirely sure you do, either.)

But the tension is evident, nonetheless. And she is obviously incapable of picking up on it.

But what she does pick up on, is how you're seated comfortably on top of Sammy's lap, giving her the idea to also do that. Because for some fucking reason, she feels the need to always do the exact same thing you and Sammy do.

You have to hold back your laugh as she moves to sit on Jake, and he tells her it’s not a good idea and makes her sit back down on a dirty piece of hay.

Serves her fucking right.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A slew of bloody, killer clowns lead you all out of the hay covered wagon. Their makeup is…mediocre at best. Not the most realistic you’ve ever seen but you can tell there was at least a little more than minimal effort put into their costuming.

Stacy, of course, is screaming at the top of her lungs with each move they make, attaching herself to Jake in an obnoxious manner that almost prohibits him from being able to walk. The look on his features tells you he’s less than pleased with her actions, but he doesn’t stop her.

They then lead you all to the beginning of their ‘Three Ring Maze of Horrors,’ guiding you through the dark black lit entrance. The sounds of exaggerated screams and wails can be heard through their less than adequate sound system, playing on an endless loop along with circus music in an eerie minor key.

A typical cliche; nothing you haven’t seen adapted a hundred times before. The concept is a bit overdone in your eyes. Being the horror fan that you are, you’re pretty desensitized to things like this. It takes a lot to scare you anymore. But, you still enjoy the atmosphere nonetheless.

Not only was Jake chosen to be the designated driver tonight, it was a collective decision to have Jake lead the whole group through the haunted house. Of course, Stacy is close behind, clutching his back and burying her face into his jacket, seeking her pick-me attention yet again from him.

You and Sam are close behind, with you in front of him. He’s not quite as brave as you are, closely mimicking the reactions of Stacy, much to your annoyance.

Josh and Malachi are the tail end, clinging to one another as they both share in their fear together.

You and Jake seem to be the only ones who aren’t phased in the least. He’s hardly even winced at a single bloody clown threatening to have him for dinner.

But with every jump and yell of a clown, comes a blood curdling scream from Stacy that is far more dramatic than necessary.

Again, you have to fight back your laughter at the fact that Jake quite literally shrugs her off and ignores her every time. It appears he’s not buying any of her shit anymore tonight.

Sam, on the other hand, is much more fearful than you would have initially thought. (Especially considering they do these every year. Surely he doesn’t think this one is bad, right?)

He’s basically using you as a human shield everytime a clown reaches for him, squealing and bending down to your height to hide himself behind you while you simply look at the clowns and wave, being the pretentious asshole you are.

You’re thankful that both him and Stacy can’t see the ceaseless rolling of your eyes each time they make a fuss over something that is not as scary as they’re making it out to be. Yeah, you’ve jolted backwards from a jumpscare or two, but the whole thing is planned out in a way that you can almost guess exactly when and where an actor will strike. It’s textbook for spook houses. Some of them (including this one) are incredibly predictable.

As you’re finally nearing the end of this poor excuse of a fear seeking thrill, you catch the smallest glimpse of a grotesque clown's meticulous hiding spot. But he’s not hidden as well as he thinks, since you can still spot him even with the neon lights flashing about in an attempt to disorient your vision.

Jake is walking closer and closer to his spot, and you have a pretty good feeling that he’ll strike once Jake is within the appropriate distance.

You see the clown prepare himself and just as Jake is in the perfect spot, he jumps out in front of him, letting out a rather deafening wail.

Jake clearly did not see him, having the ever loving shit scared out of him and raising his fist to throw a punch at the actor.

Thankfully, the clown tucked himself back away in his little hiding spot before Jake could throw his self-defense punch.

Why was that so fucking hot?

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

After a rather interesting time out, you’ve all finally made it back to their apartment.

The night ran a little later than you intended, so you’re making haste in preparing to leave so you can get home. Sammy isn’t too keen on you leaving just yet, offering hug after hug in an attempt to keep you here a little longer with him.

I don’t deserve him.

“Do you really need to leave?” Sam asks, his tone of voice telling you he’s got something special in mind. You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t intriguing to you. “It’s pretty late, you know. I’d hate for you to drive all the way home at this hour. You’re more than welcome to stay here.” His wink sends a swarm of butterflies to your undeniably eager tummy.

You hear Josh agree that it’s a good idea as he and Malachi are making their way up the stairs to their room. You instinctively look to Jake to try and gauge his thoughts, but, as usual, you can’t read his stone cold face.

If circumstances with your mom were different, you might agree. But you’ve been gone from her for far too long. And being away from her overnight just simply isn’t an option.

“I wish I could, but I’ve got piles of homework sitting on my bed waiting for me.” Again, that’s a lie. But telling everyone the true reason is a task for another night.

“Will you at least text me that you’ve made it home safe?” Sam asks. His request sends a wave of warmth to your heart. The fact that he just fucking cares about you, and makes it evident.

“I will, Sam. I promise.”

You start gathering your things that you left on the couch earlier, and as you’re about to open the front door, you hear something that sends a boiling heat to your blood.

“Sam's right, Stacy. It isn’t safe to be out driving at this hour. I’m going to insist that you stay here tonight.” Jake tells her.

Don’t stay, don’t stay, d-

“I’d love to, Jakey!” her squealing voice answers.

Jakey?

“You can just sleep in my room, if you want,” he continues.

As if your blood wasn’t heated enough, now it’s blistering.

You cock your head in Jake’s direction, and his eyes are frozen solid on you.

He’s doing this on purpose. He’s getting even with you for all of your antics with Sam tonight.

Fuck you, Jake.

She follows him down the hall to his room, and when you hear his bedroom door shut after they walk in together, you decide that enough is enough.

You throw your stuff back down on the couch and stomp your way towards Sammy who’s staring at you with wide eyes.

Non verbally agreeing to his inquisition, you wrap your arms around his neck and attach your lips to his with everything you’ve pent up from the entire night, letting it all out on Sammy who’s willing to take it with no question.

He doesn’t break away to ask what changed your mind, he just reciprocates the same passion you’ve bestowed upon him. He’s practically clawing at your body to bring you closer, shoving his tongue past your lips and moaning straight into your open, hungry mouth.

With no more thoughts running through your mind, you leap into his ready arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands reach to cup your ass.

He starts carrying you up the stairs, holding your body as if you weigh nothing. His lips only detach from yours long enough to open his bedroom door and carry you in, carefully letting you to fall on his mattress.

He wastes no time crawling on top of you, sucking the skin of your neck before finding your lips once again.

You grab hold of his white button up and tug on it until it reaches his shoulders, digging your nails into the now exposed skin of his back.

He lifts up to take it all the way off his body, tossing it across the room somewhere before gracefully flipping you both so you’re now on top, straddling him, your skirt now fully bunched up around your hips as his hands begin kneading the flesh of your thighs over your black tights.

You grind yourself on his body in desperate search for a release to ease the built up tension tonight has caused you.

“Shit, y/n,” he hisses, moving his hands to your hip bones to help guide you even further into him.

The moan you let out is one you’re sure everyone else in the apartment heard, but you couldn’t begin to care even if you wanted to.

I hope he fucking heard that.

You lean yourself down, your lips flush against his once again, making a show of sticking your ass out as much as you can.

“Y/n,” Sam pulls away from you. You chase after him, but he stops you again. “Hey, are you sure you want this?” he whispers.

You find his question to be utterly ridiculous. Of course you want it.

Even though it may not be for the right reasons…

You lift yourself up to look him in the eyes, “Do you not want this?” you ask, a bit of defensiveness in your tone.

His hand reaches out to pull you back down to him, enveloping your lips with a long, drawn out kiss that steals every breath of air from your lungs.

“I have wanted this since I fucking laid eyes on you,” he utters against your parted lips. “I just want to make sure that you are ready.”

You don’t want to think anymore, you don’t want him to think anymore.

Instead of using words to tell him just how badly you want this, you lift back up to tear your shirt off your body, leaving just your black bra on your top half. There’s no use in overthinking that, considering he’s already seen your breasts due to the sheer nature of your black lace piece for the film.

“Fuck,” he whispers, running his hands up your bare stomach, reaching to gently cup your still clothed chest. His thumbs trace delicately over your hardened nipples through the fabric, a rise in goosebumps enveloping your body. “You are so goddamn sexy, y/n.”

Just as you’re about to lean back into him, you notice something catching his eye. You instantly realize what it is.

Fuck. You weren’t ready for that yet.

“What’s this?” He traces the outline of your tattoo etched under your right breast, no longer disguised under the heavy stage makeup you’ve used during filming. Your body stiffens at the realization.

Now that he’s officially witnessed the most personal part of you, it suddenly registers what you’re doing.

And the anxiety becomes all consuming. All you want to do is cover up, to hide.

At this point, you’re only doing this to get to Jake. It’s absolutely not fair to Sam, using him and his affection for you like this. It’s not fair to yourself, either.

This isn’t what you want. But you’ve convinced yourself that it is, letting it go so far that your best kept, most intimate secret has officially been revealed.

You begin feeling a loss of your sacred identity, a piece of yourself that you weren’t ready to share just yet.

It’s much deeper than the tattoo at this point.

What the fuck am I doing?

You swing your leg over Sam, removing yourself from his body and searching frantically for your shirt.

You have to get out of here. You should’ve just fucking gone home.

“Y/n?” His voice sounds shaky and unsure. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it so far.” He stands from the bed to meet you, the concern painted on his features shattering your heart.

As bad as you feel right now, you would’ve felt a thousand times worse had you continued this whole thing for all the wrong reasons.

“You didn’t do anything, Sam. I need you to know that. I just—“ Fuck. You don’t want to hurt him. And you don’t want him thinking any of this is his fault because it absolutely isn’t. “I thought I was ready, I don’t think I am. I’m so sorry, Sammy.”

You swallow down the massive wave of tears threatening to fall, but you can’t help the wetness forming in your ducts.

You’re angry with yourself for letting it get this far. You’re angry that you almost used someone who’s been nothing but kind to you to get to someone else, for your own selfish purposes. And you’re angry that you almost gave yourself fully to him without being ready to do so.

And for allowing him to see a part of you that practically no one knows about.

“Hey, hey,” he says, cupping your cheek. You know he can see the tears welling in your eyes, as much as you wish he didn’t. “Please don't be sorry. I’m only into this if you are. You call the shots, okay? I don’t want you to ever feel rushed.”

“I think I’ll just go home, if that’s okay.” You pull your shirt back on over your head, wanting nothing more than to be in one of your giant sweaters for just a semblance of comfort right now.

“Of course that’s okay. Do you want me to walk you out?” He asks. His sweet, quiet voice is comforting you a little, but you can’t shake the guilt you’re carrying heavily on your shoulders right now enough to find enough solace.

You tell him no, that you’re okay to walk out on your own. You can’t bear letting him do anything else for you. You just need to go.

He hugs you goodbye, telling you to be safe and reminding you once more to text him when you get home.

You tell him you will, and walk out of his room, shutting the door behind.

As you run down the stairs, you’re immensely hoping that no one is down there to see you leaving but as you reach the last step, that hope you were clinging to is no more.

It’s Jake. Rummaging through the fridge in the dark kitchen, and to make matters worse, (and slightly more awkward) the only thing on his body is a pair of black sweatpants.

And when he turns to face you, you realize how low they’re sitting on his waist. Low enough that you can see his hip bones and a small trail of hair sticking up from the waistband. Fuck. His hair is an absolute mess, tangled and sticking to his sweaty, flushed face.

You would enjoy the view, but you know good and well why he looks like this. And you know Stacy is still in his room, probably in a very similar state.

He watches you while your hurriedly head to the door, not stopping to say a single fucking word to him. He mutters something to you as you shut the door, but you don’t bother turning around to catch what he said. You just ignore him, practically racing to your car to get the hell out of here.

You throw the driver's side door open, slamming it shut once you’re seated. You sit in silence, laying your head on the steering wheel while the levees in your eyes finally break. The tears are uncontrollable, and leaving right now would prove useless as your vision is completely blurred.

The disappointment in yourself is ripping your soul in two.

And you feel so fucking bad for Sam. You made him feel as though he was to blame. But the real reason for everything that transpired is so terrible. This isn’t like you, to take advantage of someone for the sole purpose of making someone else jealous.

Someone as lovely as Sam who absolutely doesn’t deserve something so cruel.

You’ve successfully lead him on in ways you never intended, all for the sake of someone who can hardly hold a normal conversation with you.

You feel like you’re beneath the lowest levels of the earth right now.

You’re just ready to be home. All you want right now is to be tucked away in the comfort of your bed, to finally go to sleep and forget about everything for a while.

And the reality of how long you’ve been away from your mom is setting in, yet another thing to feel guilty about.

You choke back your sobs, fanning your eyes with your hands to dry them enough to see.

You take your key and turn it in the ignition, waiting for the car to start.

Nothing.

You pull it out and try once more. It almost starts to turn over, but the laggy engine isn’t doing anything other than sputtering and heaving.

You wait a minute before you try again, giving it a second to breathe and praying to every god in the universe that it’ll start.

In one last ditch effort, you hold the key as long as you possibly can this time until you hear a loud pop from under the hood. Then, total silence.

This isn’t happening…

You try the ignition once more just to see if by some miracle it’ll start, but it won’t even try to turn over now. There’s no more power.

Your car is fucking toast. And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

The last thing you want to do is go back inside to ask for a ride. But at this point, your options are rather limited.

Your first thought is to try and call Natalia. But both times you try, it goes straight to voicemail.

Great.

You have to get home, even if that means swallowing your shame and going back for Sam’s help.

With a reluctant and heavy sigh, you leave your car and drag your feet back to their apartment.

You turn the knob of the front door to find that it’s still unlocked. (Thank god you don’t have to knock.)

But when you quietly step in, you’re mortified to see Jake and Josh now awake and in the kitchen, snapping their heads sharply upon you entering.

“Jesus Christ!” Josh shouts, his whole bodying jolting forward into Jake’s in a dramatic display.

You feel bad for scaring him so bad, but his comical reaction does bring a hint of a smile to your face. Although you’re far too upset to laugh right now.

“You okay, love?” Josh asks with a gentle voice while he quickly walks over to you, looking at you with sweet concern.

You know for a fact that your mascara has left streaks of black down your face, so you’re sure you look absolutely insane right now but you couldn’t be bothered to fix it before you came back inside.

“Um, my car-“ you start, clearing your throat to strengthen your weak voice. “My car broke down and I need a ride. I really have to get home.”

Without as much as a single question, Josh takes his coat off the rack and grabs his keys off the hook beside the door, but he’s promptly cut off by Jake swiping them away from his hand.

“You’ve been drinking, Josh,” he says while hanging the keys back in their spot. “Driving isn’t a good idea.”

“She needs to get home,” Josh argues, ripping his keys off the hook yet again. “I’m completely fine. I’ll take her.”

Jake takes the damn keys back again, this time shoving them in the pocket of his sweatpants to ensure Josh can’t get ahold of them. “No. There’s goddamn liquor running through your blood. I’m not letting you drive. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Do you want to take her, then?” Josh asserts, rubbing a frustrated hand across his forehead.

God, please no.

The thought of being in a car alone with Jake is enough to make you put your foot down on that idea. But you’re also not too keen on him seeing that you live in one of the most rundown, shitty complexes in the entire city.

But Jake is right, as much as you’d hate to admit. With as intoxicated as Josh had been earlier, it’s not smart that he drives you. You can still smell the alcohol on his breath and he’s not even standing that close to you.

“Just go get Sam,” Jake responds, stomping off to his room.

Josh grunts and matches his heavy footing up the stairs to Sam’s room, leaving you standing there alone and wondering what the fuck this whole night has become.

A few minutes pass, and as Josh is heading back down the stairs, you notice he’s alone and appearing even more irate than he was previously.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. He’s completely passed out and won’t move. I’ll just have to get Jake to take you since he’s so insistent that I can’t drive.”

Fuck.

Before you can oppose, he’s already knocking on his door.

“Jake, put a goddamn shirt on and take her home.” He yells, not caring enough to quiet his voice for the sake of the others who are fast asleep.

You take a peek down the hallway to catch Jake tossing open the door, damn near slamming Josh with it while aggressively putting on a Jimi Hendrix hoodie.

Stepping into a pair of black vans, he takes what you assume are his keys from the hook, already halfway out the door before he asks, “Are you coming, y/n?”

His tone pisses you the hell off— he’s not hiding the fact that he’s not thrilled about this. Both with his tone of voice and his assertive body language.

Sorry to inconvenience you so goddamn much.

You’re not in any mental state to argue; getting home is your only goal right now.

“Yep.” You sneer, grudgingly following him out the door to his car.

You had seen the practically brand new, matte black Range Rover sitting in the parking lot plenty of times, but you never gathered that it was his.

Although you should have guessed, given the way it so perfectly matches his aesthetic. You recently discovered his affinity for all things piratical, learning from Josh that the medallions he wears around his neck are ancient coins found amongst the ruins of old shipwrecks. He also told you about Jake’s childhood obsession with Johnny Depp's famous portrayal of the beloved Jack Sparrow character, so you’re not the least bit surprised when you see ‘BLK PRL’ engraved in the metal license plate. Clearly a nod to that part of himself. (That you can’t help but find awfully endearing.)

It’s nice. Really fucking nice. And clearly very well taken care of as there’s not a single flaw to be found.

The question remains– how the hell does a college student afford one of the nicest apartments you’ve ever seen and a new Range Rover?

You still don’t know what he does for work, but you don’t care enough at the moment to find out.

To your shock, he pulls a pure gentleman move by opening the passengers door for you and helping you in his car. Something you certainly hadn’t planned on but found rather charming.

Once he verifies that you’re in and secure, he shuts the door and heads to the drivers side, letting himself in and starting the engine.

He begins backing out of the driveway, one hand on the steering wheel and one on the headrest of your seat, his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth in concentration. You find it all to be inexplicably attractive and you can’t take your eyes off of him.

But when his eyes catch your stare, you look away, hoping he doesn't realize just how long you’d been watching.

“Where do you live?” he asks while putting the car in drive.

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want him knowing that you live in one of the worst areas in the entire Detroit, Ann Arbor area.

But you no longer have a choice.

“Redwood Apartments,” you say quietly, wishing that this whole thing wasn’t happening. “Down on north Highland, just a block away from Meijer down the road.”

“Yeah, I think I know where that’s at.” He nods his head as he begins to take off in the direction of your home.

The car is completely silent, the rumbling tires against the pavement being the only thing you can hear. Neither of you says a word for what feels like hours, but when you look at the clock, you realize your trek began only ten minutes ago. It’s a solid twenty minutes between your place and theirs, so you still have another agonizing ten minutes left to go.

Once you hit a red light, Jake reaches to the center console for his phone and unlocks it, handing it to you with his screen open on his Spotify page.

“Pick something to listen to,” he says as the light turns green once again.

It feels utterly illegal to be in charge of his phone right now. But you’re also a fan of having something to listen to that isn’t your combined breaths and the sound of his heavy tires rolling against the road.

You take the opportunity to scroll through his playlists, seeing literally hundreds of them categorized quite specifically.

Picking the one titled ‘Fave Psychedelic,’ you scroll through until you find Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix. An old favorite of yours and the song you instantly thought of when you saw him put on his hoodie.

You set his phone back down as the song begins, feeling your spirits beginning to lift upon hearing the transcendent tonality that can only be described as the Hendrix experience.

Even Jake can’t sit still, nodding his head to the beat and tapping his fingers to the rhythm of Jimi’s strumming.

“Good choice,” he mutters, humming along to the classic tune.

“I must say, though,” he continues. “I actually prefer Stevie Ray Vaughan’s take on this one, especially when he played it live. He just exuded the very essence of Jimi, took everything he did and amplified the hell out of it while showing nothing but respect to the original masterpiece.”

Stevie is another favorite of yours. God, the hours you spent during your childhood watching him play, appreciating the passion and time he put into his art.

You went through years being bullied relentlessly for your taste in ‘old people’ music, having never found anyone else who shares the same musical palate with you.

Until now.

Having this conversation with Jake is something you so desperately needed right now.

“I completely agree,” you say, searching for his cover on Spotify and adding it to the queue. “The way he could make his guitar sing, like you can hear his emotion through his strings. One of the only guitarists worthy of being compared to Hendrix.”

You’re thinking about Jake’s style, his hats and choice of mostly black attire, his mass amounts of jewelry… it suddenly dawns on you that he must really love Stevie because his style is so closely linked to his. A style you’ve been attracted to since you can remember.

You’re shocked that you’ve not picked up on that until now, but it perfectly explains your instant infatuation for him.

“Absolutely,” he responds. “They’re both my biggest inspirations with my own music. I have so much admiration for them, and Clapton, Petty, Harrison, all the rock and roll greats who incorporated the deep roots of the blues in their playing.”

Imagining him playing like some of your favorites… it’s nothing but elating. Your imagination is running rampant with picturing him playing the kind of music you’ve spent so much of your life deeply appreciating. The music that connected your soul to things far beyond the physical realm.

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” you say, turning a bit shy at your sudden valiant request.

Stopped at another red light, he looks to you with the most genuine smile you’ve yet to see from him. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You suck in a deep breath as Jake makes it closer to your apartment complex.

Lights. Flashing of blinding red and blue.

In the parking lot of your complex.

Fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance. All situated in front of the run down building.

“What the hell is going on? I can’t even make it in the parking lot, jesus.” Jake is driving around in slow circles trying to find a place to enter that isn’t blocked by cops.

It’s all beginning to set in. You feel your heart plummeting to the depths of your stomach, your breaths barely filling the capacity of your lungs.

Your worst fear.

You shouldn’t have fucking left her.

“Jake. Pull over. Now.”

You pull your seatbelt off, grabbing the handle of his passenger's door but it won’t open. You try tugging on it further, realizing it’s locked.

Jake picks up on the urgency in your voice and abruptly slams on the brakes, throwing the gear shift into park to unlock the doors.

“Y/n, what are you–” he tries to ask, but you’re already out of the car and sprinting towards the maelstrom of lit up vehicles.

But as you’re stepping over the curb into the lot, an officer stops you.

“Ma’am, you need to stay back. They’re about to carry someone out and we can’t let you over there just yet,” he says, holding your forearm to stop you.

Using every bit of strength you can muster in the moment, you pull away from him and continue running. You hear him yelling for you to stop, but his shouting is muffled by the voice in your head telling you to get to your mom now.

As you make it closer, you see them pulling a gurney down from the second floor.

The floor your apartment rests on.

They pull it down the stairs slowly, and they’re angled in a way that you can’t see who they’re carrying.

All you can do is stand there and wait amongst the paramedics and EMTs who are trying to tell you that you’re not supposed to be here.

But they’re blurred images to you. The only thing you can see clearly is the gurney being wheeled in your direction, squeaking metal being the only sound that fills your ears.

And as it finally reaches you, your fear is imagined.

Her swollen face is distorted by an oxygen mask, her weak body bound to the flat table by straps holding her tight to its cold metal.

Her right hand dangles off the side, swaying back and forth lifelessly with every push and pull of the wheels.

You lunge yourself forward towards her, being stopped forcefully by two officers who’ve been telling you this whole time to step back. The weight of their bodies against yours knocks the wind from your lungs, hardly allowing your choked cry for her to be heard.

“I have to go with her!” You scream as they situate the gurney in the back of the ambulance.

One of the paramedics steps between you and the cops, taking your hand and looking you in the eye. The kindest gesture you’ve encountered in the midst of this whole thing.“Honey, you can’t be in there when they take her. You can drive yourself and meet them at the emergency room, okay?” she tells you.

But your car. You don’t have your fucking car. It’s sitting completely useless at the Kiszka’s complex. Without it, you have no way of getting there.

You suddenly feel another hand on your body, your left shoulder. It’s warm. Firm. Yet soft and assuring all at once.

It pulls you from your disorientation, grounding you. You peek over your shoulder to see Jake standing there, his presence crashing in like a wave of peace over the chaotic storm that has become your reality.

Your eyes become wet at the mere sight of him.

He’s still here.

“Come on,” he utters calmly, moving his grip down to your hand, interlocking his fingers tight with yours. “I’ll take you.”

a/n: i'd love to hear your thoughts about everything! as i said, this one was tough for me to write, but it was something i desperately needed to do.

i hope you all love it as much as i do. 🤍

(i would also like to apologize again for taking so long with this one. i promise the next chapter won’t take nearly as long.)

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add 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 @aflame4goinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @styles-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27 @hippievanfleet @jazzyfigz @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @smoking-jakelane @hernameis-heaven

i'm fairly certain i've included everyone but if i've forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)

152 notes · View notes

stwritings · 8 months

Text

I Warned You

Synopsis

The aftermath of Eddie and reader's night together following a bad drug trip. Requested part 2, you can read part 1 here!

What To Expect/Warnings

This is a rather heavy topic and potentially triggering to some so please proceed with caution. ♡

No use of y/n, smut, 18+!!!, toxic relationship, mentions of drug use & peer pressuring, alcohol consumption/intoxication, brief mentions of eating/description of food, anxiety/brief mention of panic attack, hurt/comfort, violence, angst, mutual pining, slight emotional & physical cheating (reader is aware of it and feels bad), happy ending.

Let me know if i missed anything! (also this is my first time writing smut so pls bare with me🥺)

Dawn broke in the Munson's cozy home when the sound of the trailer door shutting stirred Eddie out of his sleep; his uncle had returned from work.

It took Eddie a few seconds to gather why he was laying on his back, seeing as he was normally a stomach sleeper. His body also seemed to be overheating, which was also cause for confusion. Post inspections of his surroundings quickly cleared up his confusion as he noticed the weight of her head on his chest, along with the heavy blanket draped on top of them. The trailer usually didn't offer much insulation from the cold outdoors, so this newfound warmth from her presence felt nice. The feeling was foreign, but nice nonetheless.

He lightly hummed in content and began shutting his eyes again before quickly snapping them wide open.

The events of the night prior came flooding back, dragging him out of the moment. A mournful feeling washed over him as he thought back on the state of fear and discomfort she was in. He still couldn't believe how little compassion or care was shown from her boyfriend. Was he even one bit worried about her unknown whereabouts? Her safety? For all he knew, his girlfriend could be in serious danger or worse... Sadly, Samuel didn't seem to care. He had shown his true colors that night, and they weren't pretty.

Despite this, Eddie couldn't help this gnawing feeling of guilt starting to build in the pit of his stomach. Samuel didn't deserve an ounce of sympathy, but Eddie was a good person, and he felt pretty scummy laying in bed with his girlfriend, no matter how pure his intentions were. He also worried about her reaction once she woke up, would she have any recollection of the events that had transpired? The last thing he wanted was for her to think he had taken advantage of her while in such a vulnerable state.

Not wanting to risk making her feel uncomfortable, he attempted to get out of bed by gently sliding from under her. After successfully freeing one of his arms, his efforts were overshadowed by her readjusting even closer to him, letting out a tranquil sigh once she was settled. Eddie froze, his prior discomfort regarding the situation had now worsened now that her body was tangled tightly around his. He briefly thought of waking her, but upon glancing at the clock on his bedside table, he figured he would let her sleep in some more. Besides, it was only 6 am.

Eddie stared at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity following his failed attempts at falling asleep. He laid in bed listening to the tv quietly playing from the living room and tried following along with whatever show Wayne had put on. He quickly gave up after a while, the volume being too low for him to understand anything. He gently leaned over to get a glimpse at the clock now reading 8:35 am. She was still fast asleep, not showing any sign of waking up soon. He figured he may as well relax a little and untense, accepting that he'd be there a while. He began lightly stroking her hair as his arm was once again trapped under her head. He thanked his lucky stars neither of them had been scheduled to work that weekend.

10:51 am

She began to gently stir awake, her eyes remaining closed. She fought to stay asleep for as long as she could, not wanting that feeling of serenity to fade. She leaned into the man embracing her, momentarily forgetting she had spent the night at Eddie's. She took in the feeling of him, appreciating his presence with all of her senses. His warm body holding her while his hand lightly caressed her head. His shallow sleepy breathing causing her head to gently rise as his chest did. His sweet yet musky scent filling the air. It was unbelievably comforting, the feeling overwhelming in the best way possible.

The moment was perfect, and she never wanted it to end.

She shifted slightly in an attempt to get closer to him, despite already having most of her body resting on his form. Her movements yielded the results she was hoping for as Eddie pulled her closer as his grip tightened lovingly. He sighed sleepily and hummed in content, the small reaction made her stomach flip. No longer able to fight her state of consciousness, she slowly opened her eyes scanning the room around her while being careful not to disturb Eddie with any harsh movements.

The reality of last night's events started to dawn on her, and she was quickly met with the feeling of her aching body. She was now painfully aware of the searing headache, along with her desperate need for water. This was far worse than any hangover she had felt before, granted, she had never done hard drugs before.

She felt like she was rotting from the inside; body, mind and spirit... She felt drained in every sense of the word, but especially mentally. The come down from whatever she had taken wasn't done messing with her yet, taking a toll on her well being well into the next day. There was an overwhelming sense of dread looming over her, one she couldn't seem to shake.

She knew there would be hell to face once she returned to her apartment, no matter how hard she'd try to keep the peace. She unintentionally tightened her grip on Eddie's shirt, her body becoming rigid. Unbeknownst to her, Eddie wasn't asleep but rather resting his eyes and was quick to notice her change in demeanor. Worried he was overstepping or making her uncomfortable, he loosened his hold and inched away slightly, tilting his head downwards to face her.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, his tone low and husky.

His sudden words startled her slightly, her head snapping up to meet his gaze. She paused for a moment, admiring his face while taking in his beauty. It was almost unfair that he looked this lovely in the morning. His hair fell perfectly, only a few strands out of place. There was a shimmer in his eyes that she had never noticed before. He still had a few pillow markings on his face, most likely caused from sleeping on his face at some point in the night. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his worried gaze softened into a warm smile of his own as he waited for her response.

"Hi" she whispered, unintentionally ignoring his previous inquiry.

"Hi" he responded while chuckling lightly.

They stared at one another for a few minutes, unsure of how to break the silence. Their faces were inches away from each other, her body still tangled with his. The air was thick with unspoken feelings becoming harder to ignore. They were both painfully aware of their longing for one another, trying to gage what their next move should be. Her morals were becoming greyer by the second, her feelings for Eddie taking precedent. Eddie on the other hand was hoping she would make the first move while cursing himself for thinking this way. For a brief moment, she came close to giving in, feeling her face begin to move closer to his. She reluctantly halted her movements, knowing in her heart that it was the right thing to do.

Eddie's heart just about stopped in that moment. He was so hopeful and it broke him to see her change of heart in real time. He wanted nothing more than to be with her, to cherish her for all she was worth. But it wasn't his place, and he certainly wouldn't be the one to bring up romantic feelings.

She began to withdraw from his hold, sitting up on the bed to face him. The feeling of loneliness found it's way back to her heart the moment she left his embrace. Eddie noticed her shift in behavior and began to worry he had in fact overstepped. He couldn't help but think that their friendship would forever be changed. He was plagued with a million questions, none of which he truly wanted the answers to. The biggest one being, what now? Does life resume as it once was with no mention of that evening? Would there always be these unresolved feelings that wouldn't be acknowledged? Eddie knew he would forever see her in a different light, unable to bare the mere mention of her boyfriend. It was all too much. All he could do was smile apologetically at her as they sat in silence. After a few seconds, the quietness in the room was growing uncomfortable and she felt obliged to speak. "I'm sorry about all that" she began.

"'Bout what?" he replied genuinely.

"Everything"

Her body was slightly slumped over now, eyes glued to her fingers she was picking at nervously. She wasn't sure how to elaborate on her apology. She was overcome by a massive wave of guilt, feeling as though she was letting everyone down. She knew Eddie had feelings for her, now more than ever, and it tore her up. Putting him through all this crap, subjecting him to Samuel's antics. She felt horrible, Eddie deserved nothing but the best and she was giving him the opposite.

Eddie didn't respond right away, unsure what to say. He instinctively reached out his hand to place it softly on top of hers in a comforting gesture. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

She sighed heavily, shutting her eyes tightly in an effort to suppress her tears forming involuntarily. "I shouldn't have stayed here..." she let out weakly.

Eddie's heart sank once again. "Look, I... I didn't mean to make things weird between us. I'm sorry if I did. I can drive you home now if you want?" he offered, trying his best not to sound crushed.

"Could you?" she asked, still unable to make eye contact.

"Of course, let me uh, let me get changed quick."

She nodded and began getting out of the bed, heading towards the bedroom door. Eddie was quick to stop her, not wanting to risk the possibility of Wayne being woken up. He offered for her to wait in his room as he excused himself to the bathroom after grabbing a fresh set of clothes. She nodded, plopping back down onto his bed.

As she waited in his bedroom alone, the dam broke. Tears began to spill from her eyes uncontrollably, her attempts at composure unsuccessful. Eddie returned to the bedroom quicker than anticipated, catching her off guard. Upon noticing her distress, he quickly crouched down in front of her just as he had the night before to try and mend whatever was causing her to be this upset.

She met his concerned eyes and noticed the amount of sincerity and love behind them. For whatever reason, this made her incredibly emotional. She had reached a breaking point and was now sobbing violently. It was the type of cry that makes a person fold over, wrapping their arms around themselves in an attempt at self-soothing.

"Oh.." he voiced in a broken tone. Eddie quickly wrapped his arms around her. He swiftly pulled her onto his lap, his previous posture being slightly awkward and hard on his knees. He began slowly rubbing her back in attempts to sooth her as she buried her face in his chest.

He hated seeing her this upset, no matter the reason. He never wanted to see it again, for the simple fact that it absolutely broke him. She was trembling in his arms from the force of her sobs, nearly hyperventilating. He whispered sweet nothings in an attempt to comfort her. A combination of 'you're safe', 'I've got you', 'it's gonna be okay', 'breathe', etc.

They remained in this position for well over 20 minutes, as she desperately tried to catch her breath. Once her sobbing had subsided, she slowly lifted her head off of him. She stared into the distance, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. Eddie brought his hand up to her face and slowly guided her to look at him.

"Hey..." he said softly, smiling meekly. With his hand still cupping her face, he started gently stroking his thumb on her damp cheek, trying to wipe away some of her tears. She took a few shaky breaths while attempting to return the smile. This panic attack had absolutely drained her and she was exhausted. Her body melted under his touch as she rested her head against his chest once more, wrapping her arms around him. He pulled her closer, placing one hand onto the back of her head, the other hand rubbing her back still.

"I'm sorry..." she muttered into his chest.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he asked once more.

She sighed at the thought, lifting her head off of his chest. "I don't know."

"Okay, why don't I get you some tissues?" he offered, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, that's a good start." she said, laughing lightly as she noticed Eddie's tear stained shirt.

"Alright. Be right back." he replied gently patting her back, signaling that she needed to get up in order for him to complete the task at hand. She got the message and moved off of him, sluggishly getting back into his bed. She wrapped the blankets around her head as she had the night before, seeking any form of comfort during Eddie's absence. He returned to the room quickly with the box of tissues, extending his arm out to hand them to her. She grabbed the box and began to blot at her face. Eddie remained standing while she freshened up, slowly pacing around his room, pretending to look at anything else. Once he thought he had heard the last blow of her nose, he turned towards her. "May I?" he asked while gesturing to the bed.

She nodded, silently giving him permission to climb in next to her. He sat up against the wall, wanting to give her space, while she sat opposite of him. "Could I stay here a little longer?" she asked quietly, her eyes once again fixed on her nails.

He smiled at her request. "You can stay as long as you like." he answered.

A shy grin formed on her face and she slowly crept closer to him, once again resting her head on his chest as she laid beside him. The room grew quiet, leaving Eddie with his thoughts. He understood that now, more than ever, comfort was what she needed most. He gently stroked her hair until she eventually fell asleep, undoubtedly exhausted from her intense emotions over the last 24 hours.

1:22 pm

Unaware that she had drifted off, she woke up once again curled up in Eddie's hold. She groggily lifted her head looking up at him only to be met with a warm smile.

"Afternoon." he greeted in a low voice, grinning as he admired her sleepy face. She hummed in response while rubbing her eyes. She contorted her body to get a view of the clock, noting the time. A sinking feeling rushed over her; she knew she had to get back to her appartement sooner than later. Her head fell back gently onto Eddie's chest, groaning in frustration. Eddie couldn't help but snicker at her grumpiness, she seemed to be feeling more like herself. Upon hearing him laugh, she raised her head off of his chest, leaning on her left shoulder for support as she looked up at him. He offered a warm smile, his eyes gleamed inquisitively as he waited for her to speak.

She found herself at a loss for words, once again enamored by the man mere inches from her. Her eyes kept darting from Eddie's eyes to his lips and it didn't go unnoticed. Eddie seemed visibly nervous now, his cheeks slowly turning into a light shade of pink as he waited in anticipation. She felt herself moving closer to him as if her body had a mind of it's own.

Impulsivity took over and before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the gap between them, softly kissing his lips. She withdrew almost instantly, realizing what she had just done. She moved away ever so slightly to analyze Eddie's face, desperately hoping that this wasn't a mistake. He stared at her, expressionless, unable to process what had just happened. He felt as though he had imagined the whole thing. He had to remind himself to breathe as he inhaled a big gulp of air while blinking rapidly.

She began to stutter while moving her body further from his on the opposite side of the bed. She stuttered, trying to formulate a sentence as she scolded herself for her reckless actions.

"I.. I'm so sorry Eddie... I shouldn't have done that. That was stu-"

Her words were interrupted by Eddie carefully leaning forward and placing a hand on the side of her face. He paused, gazing into her eyes lovingly then brought his other hand next to her on the bed to provide support as he leaned in. The moment she felt his lips on hers again, she felt immense relief. He kissed her with intent, but it wasn't aggressive. It was... loving.. longing. She felt like he had been waiting years to kiss her and that no person or other-worldly force could separate them in this moment.

As he gently broke away, they exchanged flustered gazes and chuckled excitedly. It had been a very long 24 hours, and this sweet moment was exactly what they needed. Eddie leaned back in to kiss her once more, this time with more passion and certainty. The force with which he kissed her made her arms give out, her body falling backwards onto the mattress. This didn't stop them but rather added fuel to the raging fire. The intensity of the kiss made for a few awkward mishaps of teeth clattering and unsynchronized movements, but they eventually found the perfect rhythm.

Her tongue danced it's way into his mouth, in a desperate search for his. This sudden action cause Eddie to gasp lightly as he obliged and reciprocated the movement with his own.

Eddie adjusted his body ever so slightly causing her to part her legs, inviting him to rest comfortably between them as they continued to kiss. The room was getting warmer, their actions growing more desperate. All these months of pent up longing was finally being released as they explored one another. Her hand had found it's way to his messy head of hair whilst his found her waist.

It had been a very long time since she had felt this level of intimacy or crave for someone and it was taking over her. Consuming her mind and clouding her better judgement. Their bodies began to shift simultaneously, both desperately seeking some sort of friction to relieve the building ache they were feeling for one another. She wrapped her legs around his hips, resulting in his body pressing up against hers.

She could feel Eddie's hot breath as he moved to kiss her neck, his hips stuttered as they lined up perfectly with her core. Even through the fabric of both of their pants, the feeling sent shivers down her spine. He was big, she could tell. A stifled moan escaped her lips but Eddie was quick to shush her with a kiss, suddenly remembering that his uncle was only a few feet away from them in the living room. He continued his movements, grinding against her core as she matched his pace. Her cheeks were flushed from the intensity of the moment, it was as if the whole room was spinning. She broke away from the kiss suddenly, breathing out Eddie's name as she did so. He froze for a moment, once again fearing he had crossed a line.

“I just…I don't want you to think that…that this is just….” she trailed off, sighing deeply in frustration. Of all the times she could be tongue tied, now was not the time! She closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to find the right words, then opened them in search of Eddie's sweet doe eyes, desperately wanting to convey sincerity. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, I just couldn’t…”

Eddie picked up on her intended words right away, smiling down at her as he nodded quickly. He felt relief along with a slight sense of validation. It was nice to know that he wasn't imagining this chemistry between them. And hearing that she felt the same as he did? Well, that just sent him over the moon. He began planting gentle kisses on her cheek before looking at her face once more. “I know, baby. I know... Me too.”

She returned the same excited smile he adorned and leaned up to kiss him once more. Her quick movement upwards coupled with Eddie's downward motion led to their teeth clanking together awkwardly. They both froze and began laughing at the silly moment. Her head fell back down onto the bed, and she brought her hand up to his face, gently rubbing her thumb along his cheek. Eddie closed his eyes and hummed, this sweet gesture of intimacy had him reeling.

"If this is gonna happen, i think we should..." she trailed off and paused before correcting her choice of words. "I want to do this right."

She always knew Eddie was a respectful man, a gentleman, but it never failed to make her heart skip a beat when he would display this type of character. At her words, he instantly withdrew from her hold, sitting upright in front of her as he ran his fingers through his hair and adjusted his now, very, tight pants. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Yeah, of course, whatever you need." he assured lovingly, still flustered.

After quietly exiting the Munson residence and completing the half hour drive, they arrived at her apartment complex. She knew she couldn't stay with Samuel, nor did she want to, but she worried about returning home, even for the brief moment that it would take her to pack her essential belongings and end the relationship. She feared the worst reaction from him, but unfortunately, confrontation was inevitable. She wasn't sure how to go about doing it, she just knew that it had to be done.

She nervously opened the car door and smiled weakly at Eddie. He offered to come upstairs with her, but she knew that would only make things worse. He reluctantly obliged and waited in the car as she made her way to the entrance of the building, but not before giving him the appartement number just in case. She soon disappeared behind the closing doors of the elevator, hoping for the best.

As she reached her front door, she couldn't help but notice the blaring music coming from their unit. She reached for the doorknob, assuming she wouldn't be needing her key to unlock it and slowly pushed the door open. As expected, Samuel was home laying on their sofa with a nearly empty bottle of gin in hand. He didn't seem to notice her come in initially, so she took this opportunity to hurry off to their bedroom.

Fearing the worst, she felt it was best she end things with him in the morning when he wasn't intoxicated. She was hoping he had passed out on the sofa as he often did, and began to pack a bag as quietly and quickly as she could. Her hopes were quickly met with disappointment when she heard the bedroom door swing open and Samuel stumbling in.

"Nice of you to show up." he slurred, anger coating his tone. She didn't respond right away, which further aggravated him. "Where the fuck have you been?" he persisted.

"At a friend's." she lied, feeling it was best to bend the truth for her own safety.

"That's not what i'm asking." he spat, clearly referring to the unaccounted two days.

"Can we not do this right now? Let's talk in the morning when you've sobered up." she pleaded, knowing reasoning with him in this state was next to impossible.

"I'm fine, you know what isn't though?" he began, starting towards her aggressively. "Whoring yourself around and then showing up 2 days later acting like nothing happened."

His eyes with red with anger. He took another swig of the bottle before letting out a sinister laugh as he spoke. "Going home with some guy you met at the party? After everything I've done for you!"

He was mere inches from her face now, his hold on the liquor bottle tightening as he became angrier.

"You left me, Samuel!" she fired back, no longer able to suppress her emotions. "I wasn't okay, and you just left me! You didn't care. How long did it even take for you to realize I was gone?" Tears began to form in her eyes but she blinked them away, refusing to succumb to the hurt he had caused her.

"Oh my.. Don't fucking cry and try to turn this on me. You always do this." he yelled as he retreated to the living room, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

Her legs weakened and she sat back down on the bed feeling completely defeated. Her mind quickly went to Eddie, who was anxiously waiting for her downstairs, giving her some much needed strength to power through. She continued packing, grabbing her favorite articles of clothing and a few items in the bathroom before making her way to the living room to grab whatever valuables she had. Samuel was quick to notice, immediately stumbling up from the couch to confront her. "What the hell are you doing." he asked menacingly.

"Leaving you." she responded matter-of-factly as she kept packing.

Another dry evil laugh left his lips as he followed close behind, moving through their shared space. "That's funny." he said dryly.

"I'll be back tomorrow to pick up the rest of my stuff." she paused, turning to face him. "I'm done, Sam. I can't do this anymore."

Her words did nothing but anger him further. He stepped closer to her, grabbing her arm tightly. His nails digging into her flesh. She winced at the contact, thrashing her arm in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.

"You can threaten to leave me all you want but you know damn well you're not gonna find anyone that's willing to put up with your shit like I do. I give it a day, you'll come back." he growled lowly, roughly releasing her arm before taking a big swig from the bottle he was still holding.

"Keep telling yourself that." she muttered coldly under her breath as she retreated to the bedroom. She took a moment to catch her breath and examine her arm. Blue markings were already starting to form from his rough hand. Her eyes widened, Samuel had never laid a hand on her before so his sudden aggressive behavior was the final push, screaming at her to get out now. She hurried towards the front door and shrieked once she opened it when she bumped into someone's chest; Eddie.

Relief instantly washed over her and she flung her arms around his torso, embracing him into a tight hug. "I told you to wait in the car." she quietly whispered whilst holding onto him.

"I got worried, you were taking so long." he responded, kissing the top of her head.

Samuel overheard the commotion and began observing from the living room. The sight of his now ex-girlfriend embracing another man lit a fire under him. He made his way towards them, flinging the botte of gin mere inches from her head. It made contact with the wall and shattered, glass flying everywhere. A small shard ricocheted off of her face, drawing blood. Shock and adrenaline prevented her from feeling the cut, she was frozen in place as her eyes locked with Samuel's who was marching over to her. Eddie was quick to step in front of her, anger now prevalent on his face.

"Is this the guy you've been screwing?" he yelled without slowing his pace. He seemed unphased by Eddie's presence, trying to bypass him to get to her. Once face to face, Samuel tried to shove his way passed Eddie unsuccessfully given his smaller form. He tried shoving his way through again, growing more agitated at his failure to do so. In a final attempt, he used both of his hands to push Eddie in the chest, yelling out insults and trying to instigate a fight. Eddie pushed him back, causing him to stumble a few feet away.

"Cool it, alright. Before I beat the shit out of you." Eddie said sternly before leaning down to grab the duffle bag she had dropped while hugging him.

This gave Samuel a clear view of her, a frightened expression displayed on her face. She couldn't think of anything to say, fearing it would trigger a negative reaction from him. He starred at her with an icy expression, before retreating to the kitchen.

"Come on, let's go..." Eddie spoke softly, gently placing a hand on the small of her back guiding her out of the appartement. They stopped in their tracks as they heard more glass breaking from the kitchen. Against her better judgement, she slowly inched back into the entrance, Eddie following closely behind her.

Once in view of the kitchen, she could see the source of the racket. Samuel had picked up a baseball bat they kept by their balcony door and was smashing hanged pictures on the wall. Glass littered the floor along with broken picture frames.

"You did this!" he yelled. "You ruined us. You stupid bitch!"

He flung a slew of insults at her while smacking the bat against any fragile surface he came into contact with.

"Sam, please stop." she cried, her eyes filling with tears once more.

He ignored her request and continued on with his rampage, making his way towards the living room. He began hitting their shared stereo, the music that was still blaring began to distort until it ultimately stopped completely. She was frozen in place, horrified by his outburst. Eddie gently placed a hand on her shoulder, quietly suggesting they leave before things got any uglier. She obliged, a sob involuntarily escaping her lips.

They were halfway out the door, Eddie leading the way, when he heard the distinct sound of the bat smacking against the wall. Too close for comfort. He spun around as he heard her yelp out in pain and was met with rage. Samuel had made his way to them once more. This time, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her backwards while uttering threats as he forced her head inches from his face.

Now, Eddie wasn't a violent person. Contrary to popular belief, he had only ever gotten in a couple of fights, none of which he ever instigated. That being said, he was very protective of the people he loved, and god help anyone who dared threaten their safety or well being. In this moment, Eddie saw red. The pent up anger that had been building following the night of the party where he saw first hand the mistreatment she was facing, most likely on a day to day basis was all he could think about. The flood gates opened and without a moment of hesitation, he sprung into action. He hurried back into the apartment, carefully maneuvering past her and grabbing onto Samuel's shirt as he began hitting him with his free hand. Samuel's grip on her hair instantly released as he fell to the ground. Eddie dropped to his knees, his punches never slowing as he continued to hit him. Bringing a hand up to soothe the sore spot left from Samuel's harsh grasp, she watched on in shock.

"I warned you, you piece of shit!" he kept yelling in between punches. Samuel attempted to fight back at first, but it was no use. Eddie had overpowered him early on, and the sheer force behind each hit lead to a total knock out. It was the she felt she needed to step in.

"Eddie... stop..." she muttered quietly, still stunned by the scene unfolding before her.

He didn't stop though. He was in a anger-fueled trance that prevented him from hearing her words. He finally snapped out of it and spun around quickly after feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder. His fist was still clenched as he came back down to earth, a mixture of both his and Samuel's blood splayed over his knuckles. Once he registered who he was looking at, he lowered his fist. His pupils were blown out and he was out of breath. He turned to look at the damage he had caused and instantly felt remorse. Two punches would have been plenty, this was overkill.

From the looks of it, he had broken Samuel's nose and given him black eyes. His face was already starting to swell and he was out cold.

"Oh my god... I..." he stuttered, falling back on the heals of his feet. He was starring at the ground, shock painted on his face. She kneeled down next to Eddie and placed a hand onto his functional one in a gentle, comforting gesture.

"It's okay, he'll be fine. This isn't the first time he's gotten the shit kicked out of him." she reassured.

"But I..."

"You're okay, it's okay." she interrupted, speaking quietly, reassuringly. Her other hand met his cheek as she gently lifted his face to meet hers. His eyes, now glossy, met her gaze.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, noticing the cut on her cheek. He slowly brought his hand up to her face, being careful not to touch the open wound.

"Yeah... Yeah, im okay." she reassured him in a quiet, loving voice. "Can we please go?"

"Yeah um, what about...?" he trailed off motioning towards her ex boyfriends stilled body behind him.

She gently shook her head no as she stood, extending her arms in an offer to help Eddie up. He understood immediately. She had ran out of sympathy or care for Samuel, he was no longer her problem to fix.

Back at the trailer, they stumbled through the front door sluggishly, the adrenaline now fully worn off. They came face to face with Eddie's uncle who quicky sat up from the couch after seeing their disheveled states.

"Jesus..." he gasped under his breath while staring at Eddie. "Boy, you look like hell. What happened?" he asked, a confused but concerned look growing on his face. His eyes met hers and he instantly rose from the reclining sofa. "Let me get the first aid kit."

Eddie nodded in agreement, making his way to the sofa as she followed close behind him. Wayne returned with the small box of supplies, handing it to her.

"There you are, darlin'."

"Thank you Mr. Munson" she replied sweetly.

She began to work on patching up Eddie's hand, gently dabbing at his sore knuckles, attempting to remove the blood that had coagulated. Every wince of pain that came from her gentle touches was followed by soft apologies as she tried her best to remove most of the gunk from his hand. His skin was raw, and she quickly realized that most of the blood on his hand was actually his. His hand had swollen twice it's normal size, and she suspected he had broken a knuckle or two. If not, they were definitely bruised to the highest degree. She applied bandages once the cleaning process was complete and quietly excused herself to the bathroom.

The men stepped outside for a much needed cigarette and Eddie filled Wayne in on their hectic afternoon. He admitted to feeling guilty and despising how violent he had gotten, especially in front of her. He worried that his behavior may have altered the way she thought of him or that she might be afraid of him now.

"Boy, you and me both know that ain't never gon' happen. What you did back there was justified."

"You didn't see his face..." he responded while staring at his feet.

"Don't need to. Been in enough fights myself, kid. I reckon you beat him pretty good." he said while motioning to Eddie's mangled knuckles.

"Hell, I would have. Lost his damn mind thinkin' he can hit a lady..." he trailed off, shaking his head while bringing the cigarette to his mouth. "Look, you feelin' bad about it just proves that you're a good person. I wouldn't have, what does that say about me?"

A smile crept on Eddie's face at his uncle's words. He thought the world of him and could say with absolute certainty that he was a good character, despite his admission. "Thanks uncle."

"'Course. Now go check on your lil' lady, make sure she's alright." he ordered with care.

"She's not my lil' lady." Eddie smiled bashfully.

"Well you better go on and change that!" Wayne retorted sassily.

Eddie chuckled, brought his hand up to his uncle's shoulder to give it a pat and headed inside the trailer. He made his way towards the bathroom where the door was ajar. He lightly knocked, opening it after hearing her quietly grant him permission to enter. She was sitting on the edge of the bath tub when she looked up at him and smiled. He walked towards her, closing the toilet seat lid to sit on it.

"How you holdin' up?" he asked. She wasn't crying and appeared to be calm, which surprised him.

"Is it awful to say, good?" she spoke carefully, contorting her face slightly. "I don't know, it's like this massive weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. All this time i never realize how much he was weighing me down..." she trailed off, staring at her hands.

"No, i get it. Makes perfect sense." he spoke softly, matching her tone. His eyes never left her face, admiring her every feature including the newly added band-aid on her cheek. "How's your face?"

"S'fine, surface level cut."

"Good." he replied with care while staring adoringly into her eyes.

Their moment was interrupted by Wayne poking his head into the bathroom. "Sorry to interrupt, i'm fixin' to start on dinner soon, will you be joining us?"

She looked up at Eddie, seeking approval, not wanting to impose. He met her gaze with a warm inviting smile which she returned before turning to face his uncle. "If you don't mind..." she replied gratefully.

Wayne nodded before making his way to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. They were once again left in each other's company and Eddie suggested they exit the bathroom to find a more spacious area to hangout in. She agreed, letting Eddie lead them to his bedroom, shutting the door behind them to give his uncle space in the kitchen. Wayne was a simple man who seldom said much, he especially enjoyed peace and quiet while he was cooking.

Once in the room, she settled on his bed as she had grown comfortable doing so while Eddie pulled out the chair by his desk to sit on. Despite everything they had been through in such a short period of time, he still worried about overstepping and wanted to ensure to respect her boundaries and give her space when really, he was burning with love and desire.

Unbeknownst to him, space was the last thing on her mind. Ever since Eddie had held her in his arms and demonstrated such gentle love and care, she had been craving it. Craving something she never knew she so desperately needed. His touch was something she had never felt before, it was electric. Without ever saying it, Eddie had showed her just how much he cared and had restored her faith in love. It wasn't until she felt his touch that she had realized just how awful her relationship with Samuel was, and how desperately she craved to be loved.

She gazed up at him, an involuntary smile creeping on her face when she noticed he had been observing her from across the room. She didn't want to waste any more time dwelling on the the past and decided to act upon her feelings.

"You comfy over there?" she asked playfully.

"You know, it's actually much more comfortable than it appears" he replied, using his legs as propellors, gently spinning the chair.

"You know what else is comfortable?"

"What's that?"

"Your bed." she quipped with a cheeky smile while patting the empty space next to her.

Eddie was quick to get up, making his way to the bed. He playfully stretched both of his arms the way an athlete would while warming up before a work out and dived into the bed next to her. The sheer force of his body hitting the mattress jolted her up slightly and she yelped. Eddie turned onto his side to face her, admiring her smile as she came down from the high of laughing. She was laying on her back, turning her face to look at him. "Hi." she said quietly.

"Hi" he repeated, a big dorky smile plastered on his face.

She shifted to her side, her body now facing his and pulled the covers up to her nose.

"Oh, gettin' shy on me now, are ya?" he teased.

"M'not!" she playfully snapped back, the blanket muffling her voice.

"So what's this about then? You get cold all of a sudden?"

"I like your bed, it's cozy." she replied closing her eyes and letting out a sigh.

Her words brought him back to the night she first stayed over. He couldn't stop thinking about how his presence alone helped to comfort her in her state of distress. The idea that someone he loved could potentially feel the same way was almost overwhelming. His stomach was constantly fluttering when she was around; he was lovestruck.

"What's your uncle cooking up for dinner?" she asked, interrupting his train of thought.

"Your guess is as good as mine, we never have guests so he's probably gonna try to show off his skills."

His response elicited a laugh. "Well whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be good." she paused, wanting to craft her next reply carefully. "Thank you for letting me stay here while I sort all this out."

"Of course..."

They exchanged loving eyes for a few moments before she inched her body closer to his in an attempt at cuddling. Eddie repositioned himself so he could pull her into a tight but comfortable hug. They laid together in comfortable silence until Wayne was overheard calling for them to come get some food.

They made their way to the kitchen, the smell of chicken parm prominent in the air made them realize just how hungry they were. She was pleased to see the delicious food waiting for her, not used to this kind of service at home.

"This looks amazing!" she exclaimed, quickly grabbing a plate.

Wayne politely shrugged off her compliment, muttering something about it being nothing special. Eddie refused to let his modesty cast a shadow on the quality of the meal, and reinforced her praise. This evoked a timid smile from his uncle, as he insisted they stop with the pleasantries and have a seat before the food got cold. Given that the dinner table only seated two, they made their way to the sofa to enjoy their meal allowing Wayne to sat at the table, facing the pair.

They sat in the living room for a solid half hour once they finished eating, continuously praising Wayne for the quality of their meal. She eventually got up with her and Eddie's plates and made her way towards the sink. She returned to retrieve Wayne's dish before being abruptly stopped.

"What do you think you're doin'?" Wayne protested, pulling his plate towards him and furrowing his brows.

"Oh, uh I was gonna do the dishes." she replied unsurely.

He hummed shaking his head in response. "You're a guest in our home, I certainly won't be havin' you doin' chores. Eddie can take care of those."

She turned to face the now less than pleased looking metal head grimacing over the sudden task he had been assigned. She stifled a laugh by pressing her lips together before looking at Wayne once more.

"It's the least I can do! Really, I'm happy to do it." she persisted sweetly. "Besides, don't you have to work tonight?'

Wayne reluctantly handed her the plate, thanking her while doing so. He gave Eddie an impressed look once she turned her back. His nephew had only ever brought home a couple of girls, but she was by far the most well-mannered one to date. He assumed Eddie had told her he worked nights at the plant, but having her take note of it and be so considerate of his schedule was much appreciated. He motioned with his head for Eddie to go help her tidy the kitchen, excusing himself to the bathroom to freshen up for work.

By the time the dishes were washed, Wayne was heading off to work while wishing them a good night. Eddie suggested they watch a movie which ended up being more difficult then either of them had anticipated. For the first time since they had known each other, they were met with a conflict; picking a movie. Eddie was a big fan of the horror and thriller genre, watching almost exclusively those types of films whereas she didn't care for that type at all. She enjoyed romcoms or westerns, two genres that happened to be Eddie's least favorite. Such a small clash in taste lead to a playful yet heated debate yielding little results.

"I'm telling you, if you just give this movie a chance i bet you'll enjoy it!" she stated with certainty.

"No way, I've seen my fair share of lame westerns no thanks to Wayne and they're all the same!! Old men in the desert shooting guns and riding around on horses. It's garbage!"

"It's classic." she corrected him. "And I could say the same about those scary movies you like so much. Why does being scared while watching a movie sound appealing to you, anyway?"

"It's exciting!! Keeps you on your toes!" he exclaimed.

"You know what else is exciting? Action movies, which, if i'm not mistaken, The Shadow Riders falls into that category..." she trailed off, her tone raising in a sing-songy way.

"No westerns." he insisted, punctuating each syllable.

"Fine." she sighed, snatching the remote from his hold. "What about The Breakfast Club? Have you ever seen it?"

"Nope, don't want to either." he replied stubbornly.

"Eddieeee...." she whined, collapsing dramatically on the couch. Her actions elicited a laugh from him as he snatched the remote back.

"Alright, alright. Let's see..." he trailed off as he scrolled through the catalogue. "Child's Play?"

"What's that about?" she mumbled, her face still buried in the sofa cushion.

"A murderous doll on a rampage." he stated matter-of-factly.

"Sure."

"Wait, really?" he exclaimed excitedly.

She lifted her head off the sofa before saying: "No." with a playful grin.

Eddie, now mimicking her prior dramatics went limp, sliding his body off of the couch and onto the floor letting out a pained grown. She laughed, joining him on the ground.

"This is brutal." he said while chuckling.

"Tell me about it. Got any games we could play instead?" she offered, admitting defeat in their attempts at compromising on a film to watch.

"We've got cards somewhere, let me have a look."

After a few minutes of searching random drawers in the dining area, he returned with a small deck of cards.

"Uh, this is all we have..." he offered timidly.

Upon observing the pack, her face lit up and she grinned wildly. "No way, Wizard?! I love that game!" she exclaimed.

"You do?" Eddie's smile was growing by the second. Next to D&D, Wizard was his favorite game to play. Truthfully, he was pleasantly surprised that she had even heard of it, let alone seemed to enjoy it as much as he did.

"Don't act so surprised." she retorted with feigned offence.

"No, it's just... I didn't think you were into this kind of stuff." he said, inadvertently blushing.

"Nerdy stuff?" she quipped. "Well, I've only ever played once... But I loved it!"

"Shall we play then?" he said excitedly while lightly shaking the deck of cards side to side.

"Let's do it, I ought to warn you though, I annihilated my friends last time." she provoked.

"Alright well I'll have you know, I've never lost a game, so..." he trailed off making a silly, challenging face.

"You're on." she playfully retorted.

A couple of hours and a few beers deep led the pair to lose interest in the card game. Eddie had won most of the matches anyway. They were sprawled out on the living room floor, deep in conversation when she suggested they move to a more comfortable spot, noting how sore her elbows were getting from propping herself up off the ground. Eddie agreed and guided them to his bedroom, feeling a bit tired himself.

Once in the room, Eddie gathered some clothes and excused himself to go change in the bathroom. This gave her time to pull out some sleep shorts and an oversized tee and get dressed herself. Once comfortable in bed, Eddie walked back into the bedroom wearing checkered pajama pants and a CCR band tee. She glanced at the shirt, then at his face with a cheeky grin.

"CCR, huh?" she playfully questioned, brows raised.

He paused for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by her comment. "They... You know, they're a good band!" he paused as he noticed her struggling to keep a straight face. "Shut up!" he exclaimed playfully while getting into bed.

She giggled before responding. "I never said they were bad! I just didn't take you as a fan!"

"Yeah, well... You can thank Wayne for that..." he chuckled while shaking his head, the memories of his uncle and him bonding over this genre of music came flooding back into his mind. She smiled at his response and got closer to him, her head once again finding it's way onto his chest. She pondered for a few minutes, then chose to speak up, not wanting Eddie to succumb to his tired state.

"Thank you... For everything." she said while her fingers traced patterns on his chest. He squeezed her shoulder lovingly in response and kissed the top of her head. A silence lingered in the room as the pair waited for one another to speak up. It wasn't awkward by any means but simply quiet, peaceful, as they both laid together.

Thoughts of Samuel began to plague her once more, until she felt Eddie's warm touch, rubbing her arm soothingly. She suddenly was brought back to the present, realizing that her ex boyfriend no longer had a hold over her. He could no longer dictate her actions or jeopardize her happiness. She felt her heart flutter, feeling a sense of newfound freedom and excitement washing over her. She gazed up at Eddie who returned a loving glance and smiled from cheek to cheek, blushing slightly. She felt a lump in her throat from excitement and pushed herself to make the leap. Fuck it.

She inched her body forward, close enough to give Eddie a sweet kiss on the cheek. She talked herself out of a proper kiss on the lips, wanting to gage his reaction first. As she pulled away, she once again looked at him sweetly and paused. The ball was now in his court.

Eddie couldn't believe this had all worked out in his favor. In both of their favors. He was so incredibly relieved that she was able to get away from Samuel, while selfishly praising every deity there was for giving him a sliver of hope that, maybe... Just maybe... He could get the girl. Eddie was so caught up in his thoughts that he just stared on, admiring her features. He finally snapped out of it when she leaned in once more, this time committing to his lips.

Despite having kissed before, this time felt different. The intensity of it grew rapidly, Eddie making quick work to sit up against the wall and help pull her up onto his lap. She straddled his thighs, trying her hardest to never break away from the kiss. Her hand found it's way to the nape of his neck, while the other was exploring his body, moving from his chest to his waist.

With the house being vacant apart from the both of them, Eddie was a lot more vocal that he had been earlier that day. His breathing quickened the more they kissed and small breathy moans began to escape his lips with every small rhythmic movement her hips would make. She snaked her hand under his shirt, making her way to his back. There, she lightly scratched it with her nails, resulting in an elongated groan from the riled up metal head. He took her face into his hands and began kissing her more intently, expertly slipping his tongue into her mouth. This warranted a positive reply from her as she grinded her hips harder against his now very hard cock. She retracted her hand from his backside and broke awake from the kiss, urgently working to remove Eddie's shirt. He obliged, hurriedly taking off the band tee and chucking it across the room. Before he could do the same to her top, she was already tossing it to the ground, exposing her breasts to him for the first time.

Like a deer in headlights, Eddie froze, his mouth hanging agape as he gazed upon what was, in his opinion, the prettiest set of tits he had ever seen in his life. She halted her movements, analyzing his reaction to her exposed chest and couldn't help but giggle at his frozen state.

"You okay?" she asked shyly.

Eddie blinked rapidly as he now looked her in the eyes. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, sorry... I uh.. I mean, wow..."

She giggled once more at how flustered he was and leaned in to kiss him once more. She resumed her movements, earning a strained moan from Eddie as he kissed her passionately. His hands found their way to her chest, as he gently but firmly began to fondle. He winced slightly at the pain from his sore hand but desperately tried to ignore it. (Priorities, am I right?)

He broke away from her lips and began planting soft kisses on her neck. She sighed, moving her head back to expose more of the area. Eddie gently nibbled and sucked onto the sensitive spot, making sure to leave a mark. He grinned in the nape of her neck when she let out a near pornographic moan and grinded harder against him.

"Take these off." he instructed as he gently moved his hand to her thigh and tapped it.

"Only if you do." she responded playfully. She couldn't help but stare at Eddie's bare chest. His tattoos seemed to have been placed by the Gods. He was toned, especially in his arms and shoulders, though he had a small pudgy stomach that drove her crazy. She could feel her mouth watering and her eyes drowning in desire as she waited for him to undress. She was so caught up in her daze that she almost forgot their pact. It wasn't until Eddie started to shift away from her to gain access to his bottoms that she clued in and began removing her sleep shorts. She tossed the fabric onto the ground and settled on the bed once more, where her eyes found Eddie's now fully nude body. She could feel her eyes widen and her mouth salivate as she gazed upon his large member. Her ex boyfriend wasn't small by any means, but he definitely wasn't this big.

Eddie noticed her stunned state and began feeling self conscious but those thoughts only lasted a second, fading into oblivion as she moved towards him, gently pushing his chest down so he could rest against the wall once more. She made quick work of straddling him once and leaned in for another kiss. This one is slow, sensual, she wants to take her time. She feels insanely comfortable with him, which is very new and oh so intoxicating. By now, she can feel her arousal sticking to Eddie's thighs as she continues to rock back and forth against him, desperately seeking friction to relieve this ache in her core. Finally, her hips move upwards just enough, causing her heat to grind against Eddie's throbbing cock. A strained groan escapes his lips, forcing him to break away from the kiss.

"Honey, do you... Um.." he seems conflicted, debating whether or not he should finish that thought. She looks at him, trying her best to catch her breath as she waits for him to complete his sentence.

"Uh... fuck... I don't have condoms..." he says reluctantly, palming his forehead. He begins to shift backwards, clearly understanding that this unfortunate hitch in their desired plan shouldn't be ignored.

This hitch doesn't seem to phase her though, as she softly shakes her head and leans in for another kiss. "I don't care... Just pull out. Please, i need this." she desperately moans into his mouth.

Eddie is less than convinced, knowing that the responsible thing to do would be to post-pone their sexual activities until he can get proper protection. She moves to his neck, gently planting kisses before whispering in a needy tone into his ear: "I need you, Eddie... Please... Please fuck me"

Eddie never knew he had thing for begging until this moment, but apparently that was all it took for him to throw common sense out of the window. He groaned, half in lust, the other half in slight defeat as he knew how grave the consequences could be, but nevertheless he caved. He kissed her passionately, tangling his hand into her hair. His free hand found it's way to her ass, as he grabbed a fistful and gently squeezed. She lifted herself up onto her knees in response, readjusting so she could line herself up to his member. Once there, she began grinding her hips against him, transferring her slick onto him. Eddie already felt like he was gonna bust from the friction alone, but was holding on for dear life, not wanting this moment to be over one second too soon.

As though she had heard his thoughts, she gave him one more deep kiss before smiling excitedly, and lifting her hips up once more. Eddie took the hint and took his hard cock into his hand, stroking it a few times before lining it up to her entrance. As soon as he felt the tip begin to probe at her tight hole, his eyes shut tightly and a guttural moan left his mouth. He forced himself to open his eyes once more, not wanting to miss the girl of his dreams sinking down onto him in pure bliss and pleasure.

When she finally started to sink down on his length, she couldn't help the small gasp that escapes her lips. She froze momentarily as she presses her lips together. Eddie admires her, thinking she truly is a sight for sore eyes. He brings his hand up to gently caress her cheek while he stares at her beautiful features. Her brows are tightly knit and her eyes shut. He begins to trace along her cheek with his thumb in a comforting way. “You okay?” He asks in a hushed tone, as he patiently waits for her to resume her movements.

She snaps out of her meditation and looks down at him, shooting him a timid smile. “Sorry…M’not used to it”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow, unsure of the meaning behind her comment. “Oh, are you…uh..” he trails off, he can't imagine that he would be her first, unless her previous relationship just wasn't a sexual one...

She quickly realizes that her comment was misinterpreted and quickly acts to clarify. “No, god no…” she giggles before continuing. “I mean I’m not used to it being so big…” She sighs once more as she makes another attempt at lowering herself onto him, her eyes fluttering as she does.

Eddie can’t help but feel a huge rush of adrenaline as her words give him confidence. Soon enough, she begins moving once more causing him to groans while his head falls onto the pillow. His hand that was once holding her cheek falls by his side as he brings the other one to rest on her hip. He squeezes it encouragingly as she slowly, but finally sits perfectly on his entire length. She takes a moment to get used to the feeling. Eddie’s eyes sparkle with admiration as they dart from her beautiful face to her chest, slowly rising as she sighs in pleasure. She's grinding against him as she tries to get used to the feeling of being so full. Her nails that were resting on his chest begin to slowly drag along his skin as she lifts her body, only to slam it back down onto his. This causes Eddie to groan once more, only this time its much louder, needier. She smirks down at him and begins setting a slow but steady pace.

Her jaw becomes slack and her eyes gloss over as it is now her turn to admire the man below her. Though she had fantasized about this moment many times before, nothing compared to the present. Both of his hands had made their way to her hips, slowly guiding them to keep up with the pace she had set. Eddie’s low moans were music to her ears, but she craved more. She bent down to kiss him whilst still riding him at a steady pace. As she began to focus more on the kiss, her movements faltered slightly. Eddie took this as his cue to take over, snapping his hips upwards at a quicker pace. The sudden movement drew a lewd moan from her and she began to whine into the nape of his neck.

"Fuck, you feel so good sweetheart" he rasped as he continued to pound into her. "Been dreamin' about this..."

Her stomach fluttered as she processed his words and she moaned in response. Hearing Eddie being so vocal was a stark contrast to her previous relationship and it ignited a fire deep within her. She liked it. Alot. She was definitely the vocal type during sex as well, but always held back per her ex boyfriend's request to "tone it down". Given how vocal Eddie was, it just felt natural to do the same. She began moaning and whimpering more freely, as a way of testing out the waters. This seemed to be received well as Eddie responded with an even needier groan from hearing her. She planted a kiss on his neck before moving to regain control of the pace, returning to her previous position. She expertly rolled her hips with deep, slow movements. The friction caused by her clit brushing against his pubic bone was sending her over the edge. Eddie noticed right away as he felt her walls tighten and her legs get shakier.

'Yeah, that's it baby..." he encouraged breathily, admiring the way she moved on top of him. "Ride it out..."

"M'so close... Love feeling you..." she whimpered in a hushed, whiney tone.

Eddie swore he had died and gone to heaven, he was enamored by her beauty and so incredibly close himself, he was certain this had to be a dream. He adored seeing her in this position, so much so that he grew desperate to know how she would look underneath him. He swiftly halted her movements by placing both of his hands on her hips. "Let me get you there." he pleaded, quickly flipping her onto the bed and getting on top of her.

She spread her legs, allowing enough space for Eddie to settle between them. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, then her lips as he, without warning, slid into her tight core once again. She sighed in pleasurable relief, the new position feeling amazingly unfamiliar. Eddie was quick to set a rapid pace, wanting to get her to where she so desperately wanted to be. The sound of his balls smacking against her ass along with whimpers and moans were echoing throughout Eddie's small home. Soon enough, she could feel the all too familiar ache begging to be released from her lower abdomen. Her breathing quickened as she chased the high. Eddie's bangs began to cling onto his forehead as small beads of sweat began to form. His arm muscles were very prominent as he propped himself up, fucking her senseless.

"Come on baby, cum for me." he encouraged breathily, feeling his own release fast approaching. He shifted his position slightly, hitting her g-spot perfectly, again and again. She moaned loudly, screwing her eyes shut as she felt her orgasm fast approaching.

"Fuck, Eddie! Right there!" she blubbered, struggling to get the words out between quick gasps.

Eddie took her words as a challenge and began fucking into her quicker and harder than before, desperate to see her come undone. His movements made her exclaim, expelling what little air was left from her lungs before she quickly took a sharp breath in.

"Ed's, I'm cumming!" she gasps, screwing her eyes shut. Eddie feels her tightened walls begin to spasm as her orgasm crashes into her. He continues to pound into her while she rides out the high, trying to get to his own release.

"I love you" she breathily whines, completely fucked out. Eddie's movements falter, and his rhythm slows. He can't comprehend what just happened. All he knows is that her words are actively pushing him over the edge. He moans while he reluctantly pulls out, spilling his seed into his hand as he pumps his dick a few times, letting out strained moans. A few seconds pass before he opens his eyes again and his knees give out from under him. His gazes falls upon her, laying on her back still, gazing at him lovingly while still catching her breath.

He returns a loving smile in her direction while chuckling lightly and shaking his head. He breathes in deeply then gets up to retrieve some well needed tissues from his desk. As the true gentleman he is, he prioritizes her comfort over his and gently cleans her up. She winces slightly over the sensitivity but thanked him nonetheless, blushing slightly. After tossing the used tissues into his small trash bin, he climbed into bed, tugging the blanket up so they could both be covered once again. They settled in bed, cuddling up to one another, despite how hot and humid the small bedroom had gotten from their heated night.

The feeling of discomfort grew, resulting in Eddie reluctantly getting out of bed to open the small window in his room. His hopes that the night would offer a cool breeze were met with satisfaction as he felt instant relief from the cracked window. He hurriedly got back into bed, desperate to feel her close once more.

As she lay on his chest, she was growing anxious at her spontaneous love confession mid-climax. She cursed herself, fearing that, despite how true her words were, they were spoken far too soon. She tried to muffle her overthinking thoughts, opting to sleep and deal with them tomorrow.

"Night Eds..." she quietly spoke, raising her head off of his chest to give him a small peck on his abdomen.

Goodnight... "he responded, squeezing her arm lovingly.

The room grew silent, long enough for her to start feeling drowsy, mere seconds away from slumber, when Eddie leaned over. He kissed the top of her head a few time then uttered ever so quietly: "I love you too, by the way."

the end

Thank you for being so kind & patient with me while i wrote this out!! I'm sorry it took so long, I hope you enjoyed it :")

Thoughts & comments are appreciated!♡

Tag List: @addie0ffset , @thatmultifandomlovingmf , @took-me-hours-to-steal-those , @basketcaseeeeee , @erinsingalong , @captainonaboat , @ghosttownwherenoonegoes , @bimbobaggins69 , @mygirlchaos , @mrsjellymunson

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things eddie #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson oneshot #angst #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x hurt/comfort #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfiic #eddie munson x female reader #st4 eddie #hurt/comfort #eddie munson smut

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penvisions · 10 months

Text

the melting point {chapter 11}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: You share the hardest parts of your path with Frankie and offer understanding to his own.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: narcotics, recreational use of narcotics, addiction, recovery, nicotine, cigarettes, mentions of smoking, descriptions of injuries, blood, gun violence, brief description of a shooting scenario, readers past is revealed, medical jargon, trauma, ptsd, ptsd triggers, reference to use of alcohol, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, kissing, Frankie’s skilled mouth, baking puns to lighten the mood??

A/N: HEAVY CHAPTER!! please, please proceed with caution, while the chapter is balanced it is very emotionally heavy. i do not take anything described in this chapter lightly, having been a victim in a school shooting myself at a young age, i still carry it with me to this day and it affects how i feel about crowds and small spaces. readers past is something i’ve had to deal with but thankfully there were no deaths in my experience.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Frankie was seated at a booth in an empty diner. He had been sitting there alone for hours, staring into the mug of black coffee the waitress was kind enough to refill before it was truly empty. After the third time, she had brought over a plate of toast, to help settle his stomach. It was late, well past midnight.

Midnight. Midnight.

He could’ve sworn he was supposed to be somewhere, but his mind was so foggy from the hours-long conversation he had with someone he had never thought he would encounter again. They had gone in circles, only to come to a mutual understanding of what happened. But it still didn’t take any of the emotions away; if anything it had brought them all back to the surface. There was so much pain, remorse, regret, weakness, desperation filling him to the brim and his mind had flowed out along with what he couldn’t handle. Down the river and into the whitewash that was the rapids of his life. One mistake after another, one bad move after another…

‘I just…I kinda like you and want to see where this goes beyond today?’

‘I’d be up for that, because I kinda like ya too.”

“Fuck!” Frankie stood with a jolt, rustling the table in front of him with the movement. He took his wallet out and fished out a bill, threw it down on the table before he peeled out of the diner.

A shuffling sound roused you from your deep sleep, but your eyes were still too heavy to open. You lifted your head from where it rested on your arms atop your pillow. You had collapsed onto the bed on your stomach, hips canted up slightly as your legs spread in a way to relieve tension on your injury and you had scrunched a pillow underneath your arms and laid your head atop them. Your hair was loose and long around your face, fanning out over your bare shoulders. There was the sound of the cats chittering at someone and you lifted your head up more to peer through the open bedroom door. You saw the shadow of someone standing in your living room through bleary eyes.

The shadow moved a bit and the bill of a cap was visible. You deflated back into the mattress, knowing you were safe, and sleep curled its tendrils around your mind and pulled you back under. You hummed into the quiet as you felt warm arms wrap around your middle. One had moved underneath you, brushing the bare skin of your chest in passing as the other laid gently on your back. You felt a nose nuzzle into your hair, near your neck and a gentle kiss was placed there before a head rested on the pillow beside you. Legs carefully situated around yours, skin on skin where they touched just slightly.

“Lo siento, estoy aquí ahora, cariño.”

You were already too far down underneath the hold of sleep, a quiet murmur leaving your lips at the words before you were out completely.

Frankie lay there, down to his shirt and briefs. He cuddled around you as close he could without agitating your injuries or waking you up completely. Guilt and shame eating away at him in the darkness of your room. He watched the shadows of the cats as they jumped up and settled around you both for some sleep themselves. A sigh heaved itself into its chest and caught, choking him as he realized you felt good in his arms. You were good. He was good with you. You were good together.

The sun was just beginning to rise for the day, casting gentle light into the bedroom where it seeped in from the other rooms of your space. Frankie lay awake, his mind not letting him fall into a slumber that was really sleeping. He was watching the way your lashes fluttered as you dreamt in your sleep, you had been snoring lightly, though he was sure you would deny it should he feel like he could tease you about it. Words and apologies and reasons flitted across his mind, mentally exhausting him as he had no clue what to actually say to you once you were awake. He had seen the bottle of vodka, emptied, on the coffee table. He had seen the bottle of your pain medication next to it. The smooth cursive of your writing turned messy and illegible to him on a notepad beside them both, recipes and ideas for the bakery scribbled out in your altered state.

You had numbed yourself in his absence.

Because of his absence. When he had specifically promised his time to you.

But it had been the page that had been torn out and crumpled that worried him the most, thrown in what he could only picture was a moment of overwhelming emotion. It had been on the floor, beside your dead phone, halfway under the coffee table. The words ‘I’m sorry’ scribbled all over the page, filling it until there was no space with overlapping letters. The words of Tom echoing in his ears, ‘Kids tend to end up in graves around her’.

Frankie worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his heart stuttering and his chest getting tight when you shifted in your sleep with a tiny huff. Your face scrunched up in a rather adorable way before a sneeze racked your body. What wasn’t adorable was the spray of blood that resulted from the sneeze. With a rather loud groan you were opening your eyes and bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose to stop any flow of blood that may follow.

“Fuck,” You shimmied from the blankets, oblivious to the man beside you. Frankie had moved away from you in the night, especially when you had begun to shift a lot, seemingly unable to get comfortable. You were rushing to the joined bathroom and Frankie averted his eyes at your naked form. He wasn’t sure were you stood, where he stood….

The sound of the water was a quiet hush that allowed him to recenter. The blood spotting his face was cold, the spray of it causing unwanted memories to blip in his mind but he pushed them down. He was safe in your room, safe in your bed, safe with you. He startled when you called his name, bringing him out of his thoughts.

You watched him from the doorway to the bathroom, arms pulling on an oversized t-shirt. He could see the flash of tan lace you had pulled up your legs to cover yourself and he felt a strike of arousal. You slowly made your way back to the bed, sitting gingerly on the edge of it, eyes on him the whole time.

Your face felt weird from the sneeze and your mind foggy from the night before, but you were sure you weren’t hallucinating the handsome man in your bed. The one that had stood you up for your date last night. Your heart was torn between being angry that he had made such a big deal about showing you how serious he was about this then bailing and wanting to melt at the prospect of him using the key for the first time and slipping into bed with you.

You didn’t say anything as you leaned over him a little, placing a hand on his chest to balance yourself as you reached over with a damp washcloth and wiped the blood from his face with the other. Your skin tingled where your hand rested on him, despite only feeling the heat of him through the shirt. His eyes tried to catch yours but you ducked your head as a deep blush rose to your cheeks. You were about to pull the washcloth away from him but a hand came up to grasp your wrist gently.

He didn’t say anything as he brough his other hand up and notched a finger underneath your chin to tilt it up. His brown eyes caught the light and turned amber in the morning sun, causing your already fast heartbeat to pick up at the sight of this beautiful man in your bed. His eyes were worried, as you chanced making contact with your own. You could feel tears race down your cheeks as you watched the emotions swirl in the brown depths. You were overwhelmed, your own emotions a whirlwind.

“Tell me you didn’t change your mind,” Your words were whispered, your fear of breaking the moment all too real. Vulnerability winning out against the anger and worry and had turned into hurt. Tears continued to fall, your face growing hot with them and your breathing beginning to shift into a weird staccato as you tried to keep yourself together. “Please tell me, Frankie, please tell me you still want me.”

When he was silent for a beat too long, you were ducking your head, eyes clenching shut and you drew in a shuddering breath. You had never felt so willing to ask such a question, for once you didn’t dwarf your needs and worries in favor of someone else. You’d reached your melting point and you needed to know if redemption was possible. Because you wanted it, by god did you want it, to be redeemed and feel like you were worthy of good things. Of being good with the man who made you feel like you hadn’t in a long time. To be wanted by him just as much as you wanted him.

During a time past, you might consider this pathetic, but circumstances change. People change you, people become more important than coming across as weak and vulnerable, the love you have for people changes you.

“I need to-“

He swallowed the rest of your words as he kissed you, his tongue delving into your open mouth and tangling with your own. Both of his hands came to cup your face, his fingers light on your cheeks and you melted into him. You kissed him back fully, taking what he was willing to give. Worried it was fleeting.

When he pulled back, he had tears of his own shining in his eyes.

“Of course I want you. Oh, sweet girl, you’re one of the only things I’ve ever wanted this much.”

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth flooding your entire body and making you feel wanted. But his actions had wounded you, brought up feelings of inadequacy, and while realistically a part of your brain knew it wasn’t intentional, it did send a message. It did lend to facts that had to be faced, questions that had to be answered. For both your sake.

“Then….then why do you make me feel like you don’t?” You couldn’t look at him, gently leaning back from him, your hands wringing in your lap. Frankie sat up from the pillows, reached out and pulled you to lay along his side. It took a minute for you both to get comfortable, his right arm around you as you leaned heavily into his side with your head resting high on his chest. His hand traced up and down your back smoothly, comforting. “I understand, please don’t mistake that, but…I just, I just need reassurance and I know that’s too much for some people and I-“

“No, no, sweet girl. It’s just that…I’m bad at this, I realize that. But please don’t let it make you feel like I don’t want this.” He sighed, jostling you with his breath. “I know words are just words, but querida, I really do care about you.”

“You stood me up, I called and texted and felt so foolish.” You hid your face in his chest, smelling the scent of him that was a combination of something woodsy and warm. Reminiscent of early autumn hikes in the forest, it smelled like home. “I feel like a damn fool, Frankie…I waited up for hours, wondering if you were okay…”

“I wasn’t okay. I’m still not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay, sweet girl.”

“You will be, you are.” You reached a hand out and gripped his free one that had been resting on his middle. You intertwined your fingers with his own, his hand dwarfing yours. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated your next words. Not wanting to make him feel seen or that he was transparent with the things he was hesitant to share with you. “Recovery isn’t linear.”

“…you know.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, an understanding. He knew that you knew. You knew about the parts of him that he tried to hide and cradle in his own hands, that he tried to resolve in the form of swapped vices and managing triggers. He worried for a second, panicked really, that you were about to tell him that it was something you could help him with. While it would be appreciated, he didn’t want to drag anyone down with the gritty details of what exactly he dealt with.

Of course you knew he was in recovery, you had seen it enough times out in the field, with your friends, with your family. His triggers, the smoking having replaced some other vice, the way his nose would twitch when he was agitated, the way his fingers would tap when he was anxious. The meetings he wouldn’t tell you details about, the way he was hesitant with certain foods, with certain places. The way he devoured anything sugary and inhaled fruit anytime it was in front of him.

All signs of someone fighting a battle that would take the rest of their life to overcome. You had been present and a part of the recovery when the battle was lost, both on the clock and off…

“Frankie, I was an EMT for a decade. I didn’t want to pry because you hadn’t said anything, and your business is your own. I’m not one to shoulder their way into anything, I’ve been humbled beyond comprehension on that, believe me.” Self-depreciation saturated your words, turning them bitter in your mouth. You weren’t brave enough to glance up and peak at Frankie’s expression, but you felt him tense up as you lay against him.

Your name sounded in the air, bathed in a tone you had yet to hear from him. You tensed at it, not sure what was going to happen next.

“It’s not an excuse. I was getting you flowers down the way last night when Alexia’s mother approached me. Didn’t even know she was still in town after all these years. She spooked me to hell and back, my mind went blank. Nothing was anything and before I knew it, I was running.”

“Frankie, you don’t…”

“I do, I do have to. I want to. I want you to know.”

You pushed your cheek into his chest, hiding your face. Not sure if you were ready for what he was going to say. Would she want to be a part of his life now? Would she want to see her child? Frankie’s daughter was only someone you interacted with once, but you weren’t willing to share her with the woman who walked out on her. You weren’t willing to experience the heartbreak it would bring Frankie to share her.

You listened. You took what he wanted to say and you held it close. You grasped it and kneaded it into yourself the way you worked bits of chocolate and fruit into dough. You folded the hard pieces of him into yourself and took them on, helping to soften the burden of them. You gave them a smoother edge so that he could handle them easier.

He explained the last night he had her, what her name was. He explained the challenge of attempting to raise Alexia together and get clean at the same time, how it was easier for him to let go of the substance than it was for her even throughout her pregnancy. That she never seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of their child and what they created together. He told you how he had offered her his hand in marriage and how she had said no.

How determined he was to be a good father, to provide everything for his child. To offer her anything she might want or need or even think about in her life, how he wanted to be able to give her the time he had to devote to work in order to prove to her.

“Our bill was settled when I dropped her off yesterday.”

Your hand had been tracing patterns across the fabric of his shirt stretched over his chest. You fingers stilled for the barest of seconds before continuing their movement but you were aware that he caught the action. There was a question in his words that you knew was aimed directly at you, he was looking for confirmation of a hunch he had. You hummed a curious sound, knowing you weren’t fooling anyone.

“Thank you,” He murmured lowly, his chin resting atop your head for a moment before he laid it back against the pillow.

“…I wanted to.” You spoke carefully, unsure if you had stepped over a line. “You said you were worried about the bill and how she was so excited. That you didn’t want to let her down and her miss out on being away with her whole class.”

“She drew you something, we brought it the other day before everything hit the fan. I brought it with me, it’s on your fridge.”

“She’s sweet. Thoughtful like her father.”

“She’s a lot of things I’m not too. And so genuine in them. So understanding and forgiving, so easy going. So eager to try new things and to get out of her comfort zone.” He fell silent. You could sense he was thinking something over. He clicked his tongue before his next words. “I told her about you. About liking you and taking you out on a date.”

“Oh?” This curious sound was genuine. You felt your heartbeat quicken at his words, nervous.

“She was so excited she wouldn’t have to give up treats from the bakery because I would be dating someone else and was sure you’d be upset about it.”

“She is smart. I would definitely cut you off from treats if you dated someone else.” You quipped, words holding no real heat as you chuckled at the stern look you pictured her pinning him with as they talked this over. He huffed a quiet laugh.

You listened as he told you how he lost his license, due to his addiction. How it scorned him to this day that he let it take such control over his life and how sometimes it’s all he wanted still. You were quiet, letting him get it all out, not pressuring him with comments and thoughts you had in response. How he worked so hard to get it back and took every class and course they offered him to keep up to date with protocol and regulations, so he could keep flying the way he always wanted to.

You cuddled closer to him, trying to melt into him as he talked, offering him comfort in a quiet way as spoke. His voice would crack every so often as emotion got to be too much for him. He would clear his throat and hold your back firm so as to not jostle you too much when he did so. He fell quiet and you both just took the moment for what it was, not saying anything as you both processed the steps you were taking together.

“Tell me.” You felt his arm tighten around you, pulling you closer to him. A kiss was pressed to the top of your head. Followed by another and another, his facial hair hushing against your curls as he rested his face there. “You know about my worries. Tell me about yours. About what Tom was talking about, please. If you still want to, I’ll listen. I’m here, I’m with you, I’m trying. You have me.”

“You…you won’t like me anymore…”

Your name was a whisper, a plea.

“You, um, you heard the nurse mention a shattered hip?”

“I did, you were so overwhelmed, and I was not having the best day so I didn’t ask. I don’t like I’ve ever faced so many goddamn triggers in the same day as yesterday, but we’re focusing on you right now. You are important. You mean so much to me.” His hand trailed down to grip your waist, warmth seeping into you underneath it. It gave you the courage to continue, his quest reserve calming you. “I hadn’t wanted to get into anything heavy with both of us so worked up. I know better than that now, too much experience with doing the opposite.”

Quiet enveloped the room for a moment, the both of your just laying with each other. The morning sun rising and bringing light to the new day, revealing the world much the same way you were both revealing things about yourselves to each other. Memories and emotions flooded you, and you tried to concentrate on the best wording to explain the worst day of your life to someone who wanted to help you bear the weight of it.

“It got shattered when I got hit by a round from an automatic assault rifle. I was the first on the scene of a shooting and had run into the shooter in the building. I think we both startled each other. But he had the upper hand to my pistol.

He, uh… he was young, maybe late teens? I don’t even remember that now, it was about six or so years ago now. But I remember what he looked like, what he was wearing, the expression on his face…the blood splatter that marked his entire body. The squeak of his shoes as he ran down the halls of the building and stalked from room to room, leaving bloody footprints in his wake…

It was a school, an elementary school. I don’t remember the motive, I don’t remember the time of day the call happened, but I remember feeling the fear and anger emanating off of him, the heaviness of the air all throughout the building, it was suffocating. It was terrifying. I remember how warm the blood was as I tried to stop the bleeding on more than five children, only successful with two of them…

They were so panicked, they had been so scared, so worried about their parents and friends not knowing they loved them…. asked me to save them, to help them, but I couldn’t. Those guns do so much damage, they do too much damage to fix. I- I tried, I did everything I could, and it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t enough, all of my training and all of my experience and I couldn’t save those kids while they begged me and pleaded with me to help them. It doesn’t matter how many people I had saved until that point, I had failed them, I didn’t do my job. I couldn’t do my job.

I was put on medical leave for the duration of my recovery, the shooter passed away during his. My shot had been placed well, but it had taken too long for him to succumb to it, allowing him to fire shots into two more classrooms before he collapsed. I needed multiple surgeries to repair my hip and ended up getting a replacement a year down the line. That’s why I don’t bear as much weight on it, it’s…foreign to have something so vital taken away from you and replaced in the wake of such an emotional tragedy.

I lost more than just a part of myself mentally that day, but physically as well. And it’s a constant reminder every time it twinges, or I feel the dull ache that never seems to quite go away.

I was put on suspension pending two investigations that went to trial. One from the shooter’s parents for wrongful death and one from the parents of one of the children I couldn’t save for failure to administer appropriate medical treatment. I got harassed and blamed for the death of the shooter who had done the killing and then called a killer myself. I had been painted in the same light as the shooter, as if I was the one that pulled the trigger and fired on those innocent children.

Everyone was looking to place the blame in the wake of his death. And it landed on me.”

You were crying, tears dampening the fabric of Frankie’s shirt. You felt your bottom lip trembling, sure you had stuttered over words and that your voice was an octave higher than normal. Your hands were shaking too, but Frankie had on in his grip and was holding it firm, his warmth seeping into you, grounding you as you shared with him the worst chapter of your life.

Your ears burned in the silence that followed your words. All you could hear was the blood rushing in your veins and the faded memories of gunfire. The gunfire hushed and was replaced with quiet murmurs of consolation from the man cradling you. Frankie pulled you carefully over to lay atop him completely, both of his arms wrapped tight around your frame. His chest was rising and falling in a way that mimicked yours, telling of the tears he was fighting back. You buried your face in his neck, hand going to rest over his beating heart to ground you.

Your name fell from his lips as he buried his own face into your hair.

It was hours later, you having trusted the shop to Louise for the day. You had baked enough stock for her to get through yesterday and today, business picking up enough to warrant double batches of everything. You had an untouched Sunday paper from the past week on the kitchen island, secured underneath the leather journal you kept all your recipes in. You admitted to Frankie over getting coffee brewed that you were afraid of reading the blurb that had been written about your bakery in the article about the first summer farmer’s market. The second had gone as well as the first. You had more applicants, more business, more interest in the things you created and were willing and happy to share with the world.

He carefully pulled you into his arms and leaned against the counter, the sound of the coffee pot brewing turning into background noise. You had been feeding the cats their dry food, their chittering and meows filling the air in such a domestic way. Your back was warm against his chest and he reached for the paper to hold it in front of both of you. He read the words printed on the pages to you, his lips close to your ear as he did so. The praises printed in ink felt were comforting coming from his lips, his smooth voice giving them life that you refused to give them yourself. He placed the paper back down on the counter and made sure it was safely tucked back so as to not get ruined. His arms came back around you and he spun you so you were facing him.

He was about to say something but you leaned up and captured his lips with your own. Your hands coming around his shoulders. Before you could register where his own were wrapping underneath your bottom, he was lifting you to carefully set you on the island. He leaned into your space, delving his tongue into your open mouth and pulling a moan from your chest. His fingers trailed featherlight paths across your skin underneath your shirt. Sparking warmth and tingles in their wake.

You took a moment to catch your breath before you mouthed at the hinge of his jaw, tongue trailing the shell of his ear. You placed sucking kissed down the column of his neck and revealed in the feeling of him hardening against you where he was pressed to you as closely as possible. He vocalized his appreciation at your attention, his hands continuing their exploration and coming to thumb at your nipples.

You arched into him even more, a gasp smothered into his heated skin.

“I’m falling for you.”

All you could do was hide the wide grin that broke out over your face in his neck, tightening your arms around his neck.

“I’m going to take you against this counter and then again in your bed. We’re going to go to the store to get stuff for dinner and I’m going to take you back to mine. Where I’ll take you again and again until you’re satisfied.” His words rumbled in your ear, causing pleasure to settle between your legs and you tightened your thighs around his waist, grinding yourself against him.

“I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me, over….and over….and over again.”

He kissed you deeply, again and again until the coffee was finished brewing. He stepped away to ready two cups and handed you one. He watched as you cupped both hands around the ceramic, taking his own in one and bringing it up to sip. He reached out and trailed his index finger along the front seam of your underwear as he bracketed himself back between your dangling legs. Your eyes widened and you whimpered into your cup at the pleasure that sparked. Legs opening more as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Just enjoy your coffee, sweet girl. Let me take care of you.” He was placing his own mug back down on the counter. Watching the way you watched him as he lowered himself to his knees. He leaned close and licked a hot line to mimic his finger just seconds before. His large hands gripped your waist and pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, his tongue hard and flat against the front of your underwear. He looked up at you, seeing the way your fingers were white where they gripped your coffee. He pulled away for the barest of seconds.

“Drink, sweet girl. And I’ll do the same.”

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juicyflawless25 · 1 year

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Capillaries Are Bursting (Ch.2)

Notes; Trigger warnings for physical abuse and emotional abuse. If things like this trigger you, this chapter may be hard to read. Please proceed with caution.

Ch.1

Roger Face Reference ; Mads Mikkelsen

Not beta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.

In all honesty, Larissa felt that her marriage was more of a job than it was an actual marriage. For the entire twenty years that they’d been betrothed, Roger had used Larissa as leverage, as a piece to use when he wanted something. He took whatever he wanted to take and gave nothing back. Her feelings never mattered, that much was clear as she went around the room speaking to the people Roger wanted her to sweet talk and impress. Larissa had a way with people and Roger took full advantage of it. Her words always formed in such a way that made those around her listen intently. Everyone except Roger, of course. He only listened to his own bellowing, forever blowing smoke up everyone’s asses and loving every second of it.

As she chatted with the mayor of the town, gently touching the man on the arm to her husband’s request, she felt Roger’s eyes boring into the back of her head. He always kept an eye on her at these parties, making sure she did exactly as he told her. The only reason Larissa ever did as he told her was to keep the peace for those around her, but most importantly for her daughter. She was the most important thing in her life and her husband knew that. In heated arguments, threats against Olivia were always lobbied to Larissa like heavy knives. And each and every time, they hit their mark. Just like they had done earlier, before the party.

A malicious man, her husband was. That much was for certain. So, Larissa put on her best smile and played the room like a golden fiddle. She greeted everyone she knew with a smile, a touch to the arm, or grabbing their hands gently. All paired with carefully crafted words and phrases to make the other person feel as if she cared.

Did she care? No, not in the least bit. The high and mighty’s of Jericho were the worst kind of people she had ever come across. The only thing that mattered to anyone was their reputation and their money. They hobnobbed with each other in the light of day, making nice and giving vaguely veiled snobby looks at one another. And when one’s back was turned? There was sure to be ill-gotten gossip being slung around about this person and that. There was nothing genuine about anyone in Jericho and Larissa felt she was a part of that. She put on like her life was perfect, despite it being so far from it. But truly, it was her husband she had to thank for that farce. He wouldn’t let anyone find out any differently.

These thoughts and more crossed Larissa’s mind as she held onto the mayor’s arm, laughing with him and feigning the grandest time of all. At least everyone believed she was having a good time and enjoyed the company. Having them think anything else would warrant consequences from Roger in ways Larissa didn’t want to think of.

“That is a wonderful idea, Mayor Walker!” Larissa exalted with a grin, clapping her hands together in (mock) excitement. “I believe a statue of Joseph Crackstone would look marvelous placed in the middle of town. You’re brilliant for thinking of it!”

The mayor grinned widely back at Larissa, soaking in the praise she was throwing at him. The small group gathered around them nodded in agreement, everyone all smiles and enthusiasm. Larissa felt like puking, but she kept on the facade and did her best.

“Why thank you, Larissa. It just came to me recently and I feel it would truly inspire everyone in our little town of Jericho.” Mayor Walker flattered himself with his words, showing off like a peacock looking for a mate. Larissa wanted so badly to roll her eyes, but instead, she grinned and agreed, like always.

Roger lingered behind Larissa, watching her like a hawk stalking its prey. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but it was starting to become more of a burden to do so. When she cut her eyes towards Roger, he looked somewhat displeased. A shamed heat rose to Larissa’s chest and she had to steel herself not to look terrified in front of everyone. She knew what Roger’s face meant, she knew that look in his eyes as he stared.

“Jericho is lucky to have you as their mayor, Mayor Walker. Truly such a brilliant man.” Larissa praised him a little more, hoping maybe this would placate her husband in some way. Her words must not have sounded very genuine to him, perhaps it was the slight drop in her smile and the way she had let go of the mayor’s arm. Larissa couldn’t be sure. All she knew was that her husband was not going to let whatever farce he saw slide.

“My apologies, Mayor Walker, but if you’ll excuse me for a moment. I have something I need to attend to.” She offered as she placed her hand on the man’s arm again, giving her biggest and brightest smile, her blue eyes conveying her apologies.

Before he could answer, Larissa had turned a made a beeline for the area she knew the bathroom was located. She could feel the anxiety and the panic rising in her stomach, coupled with the feeling that Roger’s eyes were still on her. Part of her knew that her biggest mistake was leaving the crowd, but the last thing she needed to do was fall apart in front of the most important people of Jericho. What would they think? That’s what she knew Roger would be thinking, what he would be yelling at her about later. That thought alone only made the panic rise higher and higher, making her feet move faster to make it to the bathroom in time to lose her metaphorical shit.

Larissa practically flung herself into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her before locking it and falling against it, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. Her hands were shaking and her legs felt weak, barely holding her tall frame up as she tried to find support in the wood door holding her up. She wanted the ground to swallow her whole, to make her disappear so that Roger could never find her. She wanted to run away, taking her child with her and making themselves scarce.

Sobs bubbled up from Larissa’s chest to spill from her mouth, rocking her body hard against the door. She slid down it slowly, her legs unable to hold her up anymore. Perhaps it was unladylike sitting on the floor of the bathroom in a dress, but at the moment Larissa couldn’t care any less. She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, holding herself tightly as she cried into the material of her dress. Strong shoulders shook with the force of her crying, making her chest feel tight and uncomfortable.

As she sat there sobbing her anxiety in heaving breaths, Larissa wished she had some sort of comfort from someone. She’d had so little of it through her lifetime and all she wanted was someone who truly loved her to hold her and tell her it was going to be okay. Despite being the tallest person in every room, Larissa felt small and unimportant, and empty. She couldn’t wrap her head around why she had to be given the life she was. Who out in the universe hated her enough to make her suffer this way?

Larissa sat that way and sobbed for quite some time, feeling helpless and alone. She knew she needed to get up and fix herself, to push these feelings aside and leave them for a more private time, but the anxiety riddling her body only steeled her to the floor. A moment later, loud, angry banging came from the other side of the door. Larissa gasped and scrambled away from the door in fear. She wasn’t usually one to respond in such a way, but the terrified feeling in her heart told her that Roger was on the other side of the door.

“Larissa!” Roger’s voice reverberated off the wood of the door, giving it an even more malicious tone. Larissa closed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to will herself up from the floor and the tears to disappear. “Larissa Weems, I know you’re in there and if you don’t come out this instant, I will be knocking down this door. What you’re doing is unacceptable. You should be out here with everyone else, doing as I told you.”

Her husband’s words sounded as if he was saying them all through gritted teeth. And truth be told, they probably were. His meaty fists continued to bang on the door, knowing that making such a scene would more than likely make Larissa come out of the bathroom. For someone who wanted things to look so perfect, he had no qualms in showing everyone who wore the pants in the relationship, who was in charge. The hatred in Larissa’s heart only grew the more he made a scene, the more he berated her through the door. Everything in her wanted to deck him dead in the face, but the woman in her that had been taught how to act in polite society told her otherwise. Fear, perhaps, held her back as well.

“I’m coming, Roger.” She finally called out, hauling herself up from the floor and looking in the mirror at herself. Her makeup was a mess, mascara running down her face in broken lines. “I’ll be out in a moment, just fixing my makeup.” Larissa explained, hoping she could do something with it before Roger gave himself a coronary. Honestly, she really did wish he would drop dead.

“Hurry up, woman! We do not have all evening! You’ve wasted enough time already!” He bellowed, belligerence soaking each word.

Larissa gripped the marble countertop with her free hand, trying to calm herself down before she had her own outburst. That would not bode well for her, especially in a public setting. She took in several deep breaths, dabbing at the mascara on her cheeks in order to make it disappear. When she finally felt like she looked somewhat decent, and all excess mascara was gone, Larissa stared at herself sternly in the mirror before nodding to herself and turning to head for the door.

When she finally opened the door, Roger’s bloated and fire-red face greeted her with a sneer. “Let’s go.” He said, grabbing her by the arm a little more forcefully than was necessary. Larissa followed with him, clearly given no other choice.

Several hours later, after night had fallen and the sky turned dark, the married pair finally arrived home. Larissa could feel exhaustion settling in her bones, her nearly forty age making her feel things in her body she hadn’t felt before. Although, the way Roger had manhandled her after they were in the privacy of the car probably wasn’t helping either. He was still seething as they made their way through the lavish front doors of their mansion. His mansion, as he had pointed out so many times before. Not that it mattered since Larissa felt it was more of a prison anyway.

The clack of Larissa’s heels couldn’t even be heard on the marble floor over the sound of her husband admonishing her for yet another problem only he saw.

“You’re an embarrassment to me, Larissa. I don’t understand why you can’t get anything right. All you ever do is fuck everything up! I often wonder why I even bothered to accept the proposal from your father about marrying you. You were supposed to be the perfect wife, you were supposed to be properly taught. But here we are, Larissa. Here we are having to deal with your screw-ups yet again. You’re too tall, you’re uglier than sin and it makes me sick to my stomach that I procreated with you. It’s a shame you can’t just shapeshift yourself into someone better looking! Then maybe I would have been more inclined to fuck you! Perhaps then your mistakes would be easier to overlo-”

Larissa turned around on her husband at that moment, her own anger crashing to the surface as she listened to his stinging words. He’d said the same things to her over and over again throughout their marriage. These were things she had heard so many times before, but tonight she couldn’t help but react to them. She knew better, knew better than to make his anger worse, but there was no stopping a speeding train.

“Shut up, Roger! My god! You repeat these same words over and over again, and I am SICK of you!” Larissa spat, hands flying with her ire. “All you ever do is berate me and put me down! I never wanted your hand in marriage! I never wanted you, never wanted whatever fucking life we seem to be living! If I’m as ugly as you say I am, then I pity your parents for having to raise someone even uglier!”

Larissa’s chest was heaving as she spoke her words, screaming at him and hearing her anger bounce off the walls back at her. Her entire chest and face were red from her exertion, making her feel hot and utterly foolish.

She opened her mouth to yell at him again, but not even one word came out before the back of Roger’s palm came striking against her cheek. Larissa gasped and cupped the spot where he had hit her. She could feel the stinging cut from the ring he was wearing, eyes tearing up as she knew this would leave a mark. Fury licked like flames in Roger’s eyes and he brought his hand up once again, on the verge of striking her again.

“Stop right there!” Came an outraged voice from the top of the stairs. Larissa turned towards it and her eyes went wide as she saw Deirdre standing there, glaring vehemently at Roger. “One more time, Mr. Weems, and I’ll be calling the cops.” The nanny threatened as she crossed her arms across against her chest, a resolve in her eyes that Larissa envied.

The two women could feel the malice rolling off of Roger in waves as he glared between the two women. It was clear he wanted to say more, very clear that he wished to harm them both, but they all knew that he wouldn’t want the cops coming to his home. Despite the fact that he was friends with most of them, the rapport having practically been created because of Larissa, he didn’t want there to be any rumors going around town over what Larissa and Deirdre would say. And Jericho was small, so word would get around quickly.

Roger lowered his hand slowly, an evil grin twisting his features into something Larissa wished she could unsee. “Very well then.” He said calmly, a little too calm for his wife’s liking. He straightened up and smoothed at the wrinkles threatening the lapels of his jacket. “This isn’t finished.” Roger threatened, looking Larissa deep in the eyes before making his way up the stairs. He spared no look at Deirdre, wanting to show her the least amount of respect possible.

Deirdre glowered at him with the power of a thousand suns before she let go of the breath she was holding. She looked down at Larissa, seeming so small at the bottom of the stairs and her expression changed immediately. It became softer, more gentle, and more caring than anything she could ever conjure up for that man who’d just walked away.

She tilted her head towards the hallway behind her. “Come on, let’s take care of that cheek, shall we?” Deirdre’s voice was but a whisper, not wanting to startle Larissa into any hysterics or fear. She held out her hand, despite the fact that the tall woman was all the way at the bottom of the stairs. DD gently nudged her hand towards her, giving a small smile to Larissa.

Larissa hesitated for a moment, wanting to hide her face and the tears wanting to spill. She was mortified and embarrassed, to say the least. But there were other emotions lingering underneath those. Admiration, astonishment. Those were good words, to begin with, as she glanced up at DD with watery eyes. She nodded, the updo of her hair bouncing with the motion as she started up the stairs.

When she reached the top of the stairs, Deirdre very gently took hold of Larissa’s elbow, wanting to guide her. “Is this alright?” She questioned, her Irish accent peeking its way through her words.

Larissa swallowed for a moment, hand still cupping her cheek, still in shock. “Yes, thank you.” She whispered, letting DD guide her towards whatever nearest bathroom was available.

The nanny delicately ushered Larissa into the bathroom she used the most, having stocked it with her own things in case she needed them for Olivia. She sat the beauty down carefully on the edge of the wide tub and let go of her with a reassuring, but sympathetic smile. “Stay right there. I’m gonna grab materials to help clean you up.” She rubbed her arm, waiting for a nod from Larissa before turning around and getting to work.

She placed gloves on her hands after washing them, wanting to make sure no infections would happen, just in case. She grabbed the first aid kit and some rags before looking over everything, wanting to be sure she had all she needed. DD could feel Larissa’s eyes watching her, but she paid no mind to it as she concentrated.

Larissa couldn’t help but watch Deirdre, wondering what she had done to warrant so much help from her. She had to blink back her tears for a moment, feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed by everything that had occurred. A tear dropped onto her cheek, despite her best efforts, and Larissa hissed from the sting of it.

Deirdre turned around quickly at the sound, eyes washing over Larissa’s form in worry. “Are you alright? What’s the matter? Did he hit you somewhere else?” She questioned, taking steps closer to the other woman, hands hovering over her but not touching.

Larissa shocked her head, hands waving with her answer. “No! No! I’m fine! I’m…fine.” She choked out, tripping over the last word unintentionally. “A t-tear just hit the cut.” She explained, looking down at the ground. She couldn’t bare to see whatever look DD might have in her eyes.

Deirdre wanted so badly to reach out and cop Larissa’s cheek, to give her some small hope that things would be okay. But she knew touching her right now would probably not be the best answer. After all, Larissa was her employer. And married, but that bit she almost wanted to ignore. But now was not the time for that train of thought.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Weems.” Deirdre offered, giving a sad smile to the woman sitting in front of her. She knew her words were only words, but there was not much else she could truly do. At least not right now.

A short, amused scoff resounded from Larissa’s mouth as she looked up at DD, a mixture of emotions lingering in those icy blue eyes of hers. “After pulling a move like you did with Roger, I firmly believe you should call me Larissa.” A small smirk etched the corner of Larissa’s lips and she gave a short nod, confirming her words.

DD smiled, tilting her head to the side a bit. “Well, Larissa.” She started, liking the way her name tasted in her mouth a little too much. “Someone had to step in. I may just be the nanny, but I firmly believe no woman should be hit or taken advantage of by a man or anyone else.” Her words were tinged with a strong belief in autonomy and feminism. It sent a shiver down Larissa’s spine. “Now, let me take care of you before you get a scar.”

Larissa had to laugh lightly at the boldness and authority Deirdre carried on her words, which also clearly stood proud on her shoulders. And she couldn’t help but admire the woman as she watched her methodically clean up her cheek, paying close attention not to hurt Larissa. There was a moment where the blonde thought she saw something akin to love in Deirdre’s eyes, but it was gone before she could even assess it.

When the nanny was done, she took a step back from Larissa and looked over her like a mother would a child. Something Larissa had done with Olivia plenty of times. “Looks good as new, love.” DD said, giving a curt nod.

Larissa pushed down the tingling feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach at the affectionate word, telling herself that she’d heard her use it for Olivia as well. It meant nothing, of course. This was just a woman looking out for another woman. With a sigh, Larissa rose and towered over DD for a moment, looking into the woman’s eyes.

A stretch of silence lingered for a moment as Larissa mulled over the thoughts in her head, feeling as if she should lean forward and connect her lips to the other woman’s.

But she did no such thing, straightening herself and learning her throat. “Thank you, Deirdre. I am grateful for your help this evening. But…” Larissa hesitated, concern making her eyebrows knit together and a crease to form between them. “Please, be careful when it comes to Roger. I don’t want him to hurt you as well.”

DD actually laughed for a moment before locking eyes with Larissa, her stare containing a resolve that no one could break down. “I’d like to see him try.”

#larissa weems #larissa weems x original female character #capillaries are bursting

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enihk-writes · 8 months

Text

[dancing in the dark, in the pale moonlight]

pairing: baek cheon x afab!she/her!reader

summary: fuck that stupid ass job that almost cost you your relationship, am i right?

word count: 5.54k

[01] ║ [02]

content warning: an attempt at the reader's life // reader's injuries are gory (kinda) // mentions of someone (not the reader) being buried alive // misogyny as per the product of the era // reader talks a little on religion and the afterlife

author's note: i started writing this the moment i posted the other part because my brain was still working in high gear and all... i'll have to postpone my other baek cheon fic for a while,,, i wrote topics in that one that are a bit toooo heavy for me rn. i researched on fashion through the dynasties in china for like,, one short segment on the story. so anyways... if my guess is correct hwasan timeline is most likely inspired by the sui or tang dynasty during the 581-907 AD which means that the spirit here is going to be from the qin or han dynasty around 220 AD and most martial artists uniforms come from this era iirc. i feel like i might not actually use this research too closely,, but i had to put this in to tell yall about what i found lol...

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

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by the time you arrived at the deserted manor, the clock had struck midnight. and in a few moments, the spirit or spirits behind all the bride murders would be making their appearance.

chief...

the vice-captain starts, uncharacteristically. they've always been on the quieter side, never really talking unless they were spoken to. you raise your eyebrows, curious about what got them to speak up.

chief, please be careful.

you smile softly, tussling the vice-captain's hair.

i will.

you look around for a moment. hm, looks like you'd have to put in your best effort tonight, as the oldest since these kids relied on you. with a flick of your hand, everyone on site dispersed to their assigned positions, waiting for their next orders.

you stood all alone outside of the bedroom, waiting patiently for the critters to grow quiet. animals, after all, are said to have a keen sense for things outside of the human realm.

finally, the long-awaited silence fell onto the empty courtyard and you slide open the doors to the room — stepping in carefully. your padded feet barely making a sound as you walk into the carpeted room. from where you stood, you could see the shadows cast by the sparse furniture under the dim moonlight. you hadn't decorated the place, not really seeing any need to.

click.

the doors to the bedroom had been slid shut. you fold your arms behind your back. the spirit should be here soon.

hehehe...

a tinkling laugh swept past behind you in the dark bedroom.

you grip the short blade hidden under your sleeves, honing your senses to pin down the other presence with you at that moment. it was harder than anything you've done before, were you dealing with something far bigger than what you were capable of?

no. you had to snap out of that thought. if not you, then who would get rid of this vicious entity? those kids were still too inexperienced, you shouldn't grow disheartened now.

sighing, you walk around the room, stopping by the open window, looking up at the moon hanging in the cloudless sky.

how peculiar, it seemed the longer you were staring at it, the heavier your eyelids felt. it was almost bewitching, looking at the moon, you wonder if it was a trick of your hearing or was the moon calling you to move closer towards it? and also —

wasn't the room growing awfully cold?

your body reacted faster than your mind did, the blade whistling as it cut through the air to slice at the shadow forming behind you.

an ear-piercing hiss came from the shapeless being, slowly backing away as its features took form in the body of a girl no older than sixteen. she clutched her neck, and though the cut was shallow, she certainly looked like she felt the pain from it.

how dare you cut me!

she yells and lunged at you, catching your neck in her hands as she pins you to the ground, the furniture around you clattering away from the impact. you were sure you could've heard a bone crack in you.

keugh...!

you felt the air leave your body, you tried to breathe but it was hard, with the way her hands pressed down on your throat. how was a dead spirit this strong? your fingers grip the blade tighter, cautiously getting it ready so she wouldn't see.

with a swift action, you stabbed into the girl's side and she retreated to the furthest corner of the room with an almost animalistic growl, all while glaring at you.

you throw the ripped veil off your head, the flowers falling off and your hair coming undone. you stood up, wincing at the dull throbbing in your head, your vision going blurry for a moment — curse your anaemia for acting up now of all times.

you crazy hag! i can't believe you fucking stabbed me!

okay, now that was just straight-up disrespectful.

hag?

oh, so the insane bride-killing ghost that died at sixteen years ago, even before you were born, wasn't the hag — but you were? you were the hag? where the hell was the justice in that, huh?

you roll your eyes and sigh. no, you shouldn't be swayed by your short temper, you shouldn't let the spirit find an opening to attack you. remember — you had to finish the job before the night ended and the spirit got away.

you walk towards the girl in large strides, arms raised above your head, ready to strike her down with the purification sword. you didn't want to think about how much worse it could get if a spirit that didn't know how strong it was found out about its strength. not leaving a trace of their presence after such a gruesome act? you shudder from the thought.

the girl begins to cry.

you tell yourself that this was all an act, but it was hard to convince yourself. especially when the spirit had curled herself into a ball, shaking in fear, her eyes peeking out from her arms to look at you like a scared little girl.

your movements falter.

that was a mistake.

a hazy, clawed hand unfurls from behind her and reached out to slash at your chest, right where your heart lay. you stagger backwards, the cut had been deep enough to have you cough up blood. as your open wounds stained your already red dress darker, the shadow lingered at your feet, seemingly trying to collect your blood.

you tried to move back but you weren't fast enough.

the girl lunges at you again, but this time, her spirit went straight for your core, in a final attempt to possess your body and finish you off, probably.

as you fought to stay conscious amidst the myriad of voices assaulting your mind, you think back to something your master told you in passing when you were still in training.

something about spirits and their last will?

silly girl, every spirit has a last will. and not everyone knows what to do with that will. their grief takes the form of vengeance and i can only hope you know what to do when you ever come across a restless soul like that.

═══════════════

you wake up facing a young village girl.

gasping, you stumble backwards and hit a hard surface. but, it was weird. well more accurately, it felt weird. you were sure you were in a wooden house, so the walls would be rougher, so why did it feel fuzzy?

wait. the girl didn't seem to see you.

you walk cautiously around her, looking at her features carefully. her skin was tan from the time she spent under the sun, it was a little uneven and spotty in some areas. she was just a teenager, and that was kind of expected. you follow her gaze and see that she had been looking at herself in the mirror.

you wave your hand in front of her eyes to get a reaction out of her. she didn't seem to notice.

you blew air to see if she would hear it, but not even a single strand of her hair budged.

defeated, you try to swing your arm and slap her back — only for your whole arm to phase through her body.

ah?

your mouth hung open in shock. your whole arm went through a person, have you truly died and become a spirit?

no. that wasn't it. you reason with yourself.

this was the ghost's doing, and she wasn't here with you right now. this scene unfolding before your eyes, could they be a clue on her, or were they a distraction to fool you?

a horse whinnies on the road outside the girl's window. a barrow wheel squeaks as it turns, the horse's feet clipping noisily on the pavement. you peek past the wooden panes, eyeing the passing residents. their clothes were all plain and coloured in dull or muted tones. the texture looked rough. this wasn't a well-off part of town.

you look at the village girl. her hair was slicked back and tied into a low bun. her clothes were a little worn and a little dirty at the hems. her hands and feet calloused from the years of hard labour.

小燕！

the voice of an older woman calls from another part of the house, wiping her hands on her apron, the girl fixed her appearance one last time before she scurries towards the direction of the voice, while you stayed behind in the room

xiao-yan? as in little sparrow?

my name is actually 春燕 (chūn yàn). my mother just likes to call me xiao-yan at home.

the ghost had been standing next to you, her voice still edged on hostility but was softer now, nonetheless.

your mother?

the person calling to me.

the ghost walks out of the room as you trailed behind, looking past to see the old woman sitting on a chair by the doorway. needle and thread in hand, patching at tattered clothes. her crows' feet settling deeply on her features.

my xiao-yan ah... please be careful on your way out... come home before dark okay? don't make me worry okay?

you worry too much ma.

the village girl, or rather, the human incarnation of the spirit next you chirped as she made her way out the door. you wondered what the spirit was trying to show you, was this her life story before she crossed the bridge into death?

you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to ask more questions. the spirit continued to narrate.

i forgot everything about my time alive, except for this one day.

a sigh.

everything went wrong all in this one day.

═══════════════

you blink your eyes slowly, now walking alongside the village girl and the spirit. to your left you could see the sprawling acres of farmland and the town bustling with life below. looking ahead and past the hanging branches stood a towering gate.

no one had to tell you that this was where the lord's family lived.

the girl was led to the main hall where the lord and lady of the house resided. you and the spirit followed closely behind, passing through the countless maids and attendants working around the compound, it was fascinating seeing how no one could see or sense either of you. two beings who were not a product of this era, your bloody clothes and the ghost's tattered ones, you both stood out like sore thumbs.

it was silent. muted, almost, in the main hall. the lord and lady sat side by side as their son stood by his mother, his hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder.

do you know why we have called you here today?

the lord asks, gravely.

no, my lord.

the village girl shakes her head, confusion swirling in her eyes, as she sat on the ground, kneeling before the family.

the lady grows agitated, she leans forward in her chair, opening her mouth to spew a tirade of grievances when the young master of the house gently pushes his mother to lean back in her chair.

let me, dear mother.

the village girl feels her heart race from his smooth and velvety voice. she'd only ever heard about the young master through rumours and quick glimpses through the crowd, so to be this close to him, the other girls from the village would be shaking in envy. she quietly notes that he was much more stunning up close — she must be really lucky today.

perhaps she had been staring for too long because the young man had cleared his throat awkwardly.

miss, i assume you must have heard about my older brother?

she nods, remembering the procession from earlier that year.

yes, may the first young master rest in peace.

the room grows silent to pay their respects to the deceased.

the young man spoke up again.

we are worried for my brother in the afterlife. he died without ever getting wed. we don't really want him to be made fun of by other spirits in the afterlife you know?

the village girl grows confused. she wasn't sure what he was getting at. what has the marital status of a dead man have to do with her?

the fortune teller we consulted has calculated that you are the best marriage candidate for my oldest son. so we want you to get married to him as soon as possible. by tonight if time permits.

with her voice shrill from agitation, the lady of the house sits up, fist shaking in the village girl's face, unable to contain her anger at the young girl's supposed stupidity.

the village girl on the other hand, felt her jaw go slack, she tried not to let it hang open from the shock of her lady's words.

marriage? to a dead man?

she's heard of horror stories of young brides being buried together with their deceased husbands whom they had married before his life expired. but those were supposed to be just stories! not an actual practice... right?

miss, i don't know what you might be thinking. but i assure you that this marriage will not be as morbid as it sounds. take it as any other marriage ceremony, except without the groom. you just have to sign papers and be my brother's bride on official documents! after that, you and your family will be rewarded handsomely for the trouble. this won't take over a day!

sensing the village girl's worrying silence, the young master interjects quickly, wringing his hands trying to close this deal as soon as he can. the faster their family gets this done and over with, the faster his life can continue from this standstill. his thinking was truly like a businessman's.

hearing that her little contribution would be compensated generously, she didn't think twice before agreeing to the suspicious deal. if it was like that then, when she goes home with the money, her mother wouldn't have to work anymore.

well, if that's the case, let's start the preparations now. the faster we get this done, the faster we can all go on with our lives.

the lord finally spoke up and with a clap of his hands, the room was filled with attendants, most of them surrounding the confused village girl. helping her to her feet in hushed tones, taking her away to presumably prepare for the ceremony that night.

the spirit follows the crowd and you hesitate following behind. the whole exchange felt off to you. surely, if you stayed here the family might let something slip, something that would prove your suspicions.

though you didn't have much choice in this matter. the features of the people in the room began to melt and drip, the scene morphing rapidly to the next part of the spirit's memory.

that's right, you had forgotten again. everything you saw was from the spirit's perspective. anything else beyond that was all up to one's imagination. was there really nothing you could do?

you hated this feeling.

this feeling of knowing something is going to go wrong, yet being so powerless to stop it from happening.

═══════════════

imagine having to sit in a tight space with a spirit, and a memory fragment who doesn't know you and the spirit exists. there was only that much space in the palanquin, and your knees touched the spirit's even when you were hugging them to your chest.

sorry about the space...

you try to start a conversation. but the other just wasn't interested, opting to stare at the image of herself — the village girl sitting across the both of you in this tiny palanquin. you look around the boxed space, noting the shoddy workmanship. looks like those nobles were really in a rush to get this done and over with.

the wind picks up and the curtains flutter upwards.

the night scenery was beautiful but—

this isn't the way to the lord's house?

the village girl mutters. and you had begun to think the same. sitting up with your senses heightened, you try to make out where the attendants were taking the girl. the spirit continued to remain unfazed.

something bad was about to happen. wasn't it?

the movements stopped abruptly, and you felt the palanquin being set down on the ground. the curtain slides open, a slender hand reaches out to guide the village girl sitting inside.

don't take his hand...

you try to tell the girl, you didn't like the heavy smell of incense and dirt surrounding the area. but of course, you were nothing more than a spectator to this whole ordeal.

you watch on helplessly next to the spirit as two footmen threw the village girl into the freshly dug-up pit. the fortune teller circles the pit, tossing water into the hole as she chants mantras of matrimony. all while the village girl calls for help, begging tearfully for mercy and her life. the overwhelming feelings of her fear washing over you again and again, knocking the air out of your lungs at each crashing wave, your heart squeezing tightly in your chest.

it seemed as though this just wouldn't end, as you watched the dirt fill up the hole and the poor girl's voice grow tired and hoarse, the pain grew from your heart to the tips of your fingers and dropped down to your stomach, swinging up and down like a pendulum continuously, making you even more nauseous than you already were.

but finally.

finally, the ordeal stopped. the sensations you felt lifting and leaving your body in a heated mass. everyone stayed silent at that moment, letting the sins of what had occurred sink into them. no one spoke, no one dared breathe a sound under the moonlight, lest the spirit of the village girl heard them.

there was shuffling and low greetings of reverence left the people's lips as they all stepped aside for a hunched-over man in heavy white robes to make his way to the edge of the covered-up pit. you could tell from where you were knelt over in pain that he was an exorcist similar to you.

he mummers prayers and covers the ground in talismans written in red ink, bells shaking with each step he took. binding chains reaching up from the scattered talismans to wrap around the spirit taking shape above them. poor girl, even in death, she wasn't allowed to rest in peace.

═══════════════

you blink, wincing at the bright sun shining into your eyes.

the spirit stands next to you, chains holding her down on the ground. you didn't have to look to see that you were both above her grave.

i was so stupid, believing all those lies. my mother collapsed when she heard about what happened to me. she couldn't pay for the house and she eventually died in an alley without anyone finding her corpse until days later when rats had already gotten to her. maybe if they had given her that money they promised to me, i wouldn't have been as angry about dying like this.

the spirit clenched her fists, teeth gnashing together in rage.

as if burying me alive wasn't enough, they called a fucking exorcist to cleanse this area, all because they were scared i would come and bite back at them for doing this to me.

the spirit's voice grows more irritated.

it's not fair! it's not fair! why do they get to die and move on to the afterlife? why did they get to continue to live their lives like my blood isn't on their hands? why did they get to have a happy marriage, a healthy baby watch their children and their children's children grow up to have their own families like my life was just... was just...

the spirit, no — chun-yan, began to cry, her back heaving as her sorrowful wails pierced your heart. she was just a girl. she was just a little girl barely on the cusp of adulthood. how could anyone be this cruel to her? how could the heavens let this happen?

you reach out to hold her in your arms, letting her cry her dead little heart out.

you wished things could be better for her. you truly did, however, what about all the innocent lives she had taken in vengeance? she still has to atone for that action.

it was abit of a shot in the dark, she didn't tell you nor did her memories reveal anything to you. but to free her spirit, you had to fulfil a wish of hers, this was the one and only shot that you had with this. if you got it wrong, you might have to go through a harsher method of exorcism. you hoped it wouldn't go to that stage.

yan-ah.

the girl sniffles.

chun-yan.

hm?

she asks you her eyes watery and tired.

is this the wish you had while you were dying?

you ask, throwing over the red veil slightly tattered at the edges, somehow still in your possession. you smooth the crinkles over the girl's head like an older sister would on her younger sister's big day.

═══════════════

the memory was collapsing.

you look around the dark space around you, taking a while to register that you were back in the bedroom where this whole thing first began. you lean back with a sigh, your head was starting to spin, you were sure that by tomorrow, you would be down with a fever.

chun-yan stood up, making her way to the vanity with a mirror at the other end of the room. she looks at herself for a long time in the mirror. a strong gust of wind blows through the open windows, toppling the remaining standing furniture. the curtains billowed in the currents, hiding chun-yan behind them.

your worries subsided when the winds died down and brought down the curtains with them, revealing chun-yan now dressed in proper wedding attire. a clean and crisp red veil, a long and thick wedding dress made of red silk with golden decorations embroidered into the fabric. the girl's hair was done up in two half buns with fresh peonies and flower buds woven into the thick tresses.

you bite back from making any noise. your heart swelled with a bittersweet feeling. you wished chun-yan's mother, the little old lady who you've only caught a glimpse of, could see her beloved daughter like this too. you rub your nose, sniffling.

...it suits you well.

chun-yan looks longingly at the moon, and then turns her gaze towards you. fidgeting, she asks quietly.

am i going to hell now?

yeah. you are.

your shoulders drop and you look at her sadly. you wished you could give her good news. you wished the world to be more fair, but you weren't god. you were merely someone who built bridges for spirits to cross over to the afterlife, in the end.

because i killed all those people... right?

you nod.

is it going to be scary?

probably.

chun-yan fiddles with her thumbs, picking on her nails.

mother always told me that bad people go to hell. and i became a bad person that's why i'm going there... right?

chun-yan... listen.

you ponder for a moment, you didn't really want to send her off with this heavy feeling.

sometimes, good people also go to hell. and it's because these good people made a mistake... and then another... and then another without stopping or thinking about stopping. and when they realise that they have been doing all these terrible things, they feel bad and if they are willing to atone, i think they should be allowed that chance to change...

you pause.

chun-yan... remember that you are going to hell to repent for the lives you have taken wrongfully. it's not because you were always meant to go there... i think. i hope that's not the case.

what did you want to say, what were you trying to say?

you weren't sure but, you wanted to ease the girl's burden a little.

hm.

chun-yan hummed. taking in your words. it seemed like she had understood something you hadn't. but whatever it was, it must have comforted her.

she stood still, flames growing at her feet. she didn't move or wince from them, letting it grow bigger and engulf her in it. as she disappeared along with the hellfire, she gave you a nod, perhaps as thanks for keeping her memories in your heart. you bow your head in reply, keeping it down until the crackle of the blaze grew quiet.

═══════════════

chief!

good god, who was it yelling so loudly in the morning?

chiiiieeeeffff!

heavens, were they crying? why are they crying like you were dead?

chief... don't die...

even your calm and collected vice-captain? now what was going on?

you try to sit up. emphasis on try, because for some reason you had been swaddled in layers upon layers of bandages. the smell of herbs crushed and rubbed onto your wounds and bruises was overpowering. to put it lightly.

ugh. what's going on.

chief!

the chief is awake!

you're still alive... huhuhuuuuuuu...

a chorus of ecstatic shouting and sobs was heard across the crowd gathered around you. judging by the voices, your best guess was that everyone there was the kids in your unit. seeing how happy they were, you must have passed out after the events of last night. truthfully, you barely remembered stumbling past the doors of the bedroom and into the vice-captain's arms.

all's well, ends well.

now, if the emperor would be so kind to give you a month—

no. a year, off work... you think you would be his biggest supporter. hell, you might even work for free.

but that aside, you think there might just be something you were forgetting right now.

═══════════════

baek cheon had volunteered to keep watch for that night. he barely slept since he came across you in that wedding attire. he was trying not to cry, but he's sure the junior brother sleeping across him must have heard him tossing and turning and borderline sobbing.

it was a little embarrassing to face everyone in the morning with his eyes puffy and face swollen. thank god chung myung wasn't with them this time, or baek cheon would have never heard the end of it.

he sits on a rock further away from where everyone else had set up camp. they were next to a stream, the sloshing of the water and the cackle of the firewood breaking apart soothed his senses. he thinks back to the times he had spent with you when the moon hung high in the sky just like this.

he sighs, leaning back against a tree with arms crossed — his fingers gripping his sleeves as he thinks again about the encounter with you the other night. you looked so pretty in a wedding dress, was he being too delusional when he dreamt about a future where you were wearing that for your marriage to him?

he sulks by himself, feeling jealous of the person he made up in his head, the person that he was sure you were going off to get married to.

he thinks the guy would be a little closer to your height, so that it made sharing kisses easier. the guy might have nicer hair, fluffier and maybe a little matted so you'd have a reason to run your fingers through it. your husband-to-be might have a more childish personality, much like yours so that the both of you would be on the same wavelength. he thinks the guy might also be mature enough, like you were so that you and him would ground each other. the other guy might have nicer skin that was soft and smooth and unblemished. his eyes would be fierce but gentle all at once, the shape of his eyebrows would be thick in a single stroke...

he realised the image of the guy was looking a little too much like chung myung.

tsk. that's no good, he was starting to get even more pissed off and upset.

cheon-ah!

this was no good. he was starting to hear things because of how much he missed you.

cheon-ah!

how was it that he could replicate the sound of your voice in his mind? truly, the yearning of a man in love was so fascinating.

cheon-ah!

baek cheon wonders if he was going crazy for thinking the voice was growing closer to him. poor guy didn't even get the chance to look over before he felt the full weight of somebody colliding with him. his arms instinctively wrapped around the other's waist, his body recognising that it was you faster than his mind would.

you're here?

he asks, bewildered.

baek cheon couldn't wrap his head around how you got to him so quickly. did you really abandon your husband-to-be at the altar like that? for him?

listen to me baek cheon.

the man nods mindlessly, revelling in the warmth of your being so close to his — he was barely listening, let alone registering what you were saying right now.

maybe he should steal in a kiss.

his hand find its way to the back of your head, pushing you down to have your lips meet his. whatever you had been rattling on about died in your throat, muffled sounds of shock morphed into soft sighs. you pull away, moving to sit more comfortably on his lap, legs swinging on either side, straddling him.

holding back a laugh, your arms circle around him, pulling him closer. he hadn't heard a thing you said from having his head up in his own clouds. what were you going to do with this man?

cheon-ah... did you hear what i was saying?

you ask, peppering kisses on his cheek, brushing his hair out of his eyes. baek cheon shakes his head, still very much starstruck.

tsk, tsk...

you tut disapprovingly, pinching his nose, breaking him out of whatever fantasy he was deep into. he looks at you, wide-eyed and a little offended by your gesture. he sulks when he meets your unimpressed stare.

i'm sorry... i'll listen well this time...

he whines quietly. not wanting to lose you to some other man again.

the other night, when you saw me in the wedding dress... it was for an assignment... you ran off before i could tell you about it... my poor baek cheon, tell me you didn't lose sleep over that?

his eyes widen.

an assignment? so... you weren't getting married for real?

the melancholy settling in his bones lifted instantly, his gloomy expression brightened, and his eyes started to sparkle. he didn't care about acting borderline pathetic these past few hours, you weren't getting married to someone else! and that was all that mattered to him right now.

what's going on in that pretty head of yours?

nothing... i... i'm just so happy that i still have a chance...

he mutters the last part of the sentence, hoping that you wouldn't hear it. but you did, of course you did. he can't have let the nature of your occupation slip from his mind now, has he? your squeal of excitement reached his ears, barely registering the flurry of kisses you were raining down all over his face.

cheon-ah! you like me enough to want to marry me? ah! my lovely baek cheon, hehehehe...

you were acting a little strange, he noted. were you ever this affectionate? what's going on?

he catches a whiff of the herbs slathered under your bandages, your forehead brushing past his cheek felt hot in the feverish sense. one closer look at you and he could see your eyes glossing over along with the sniffling you had been trying to hide.

no way... was the great inspector... sick?

you whine, throwing your head back as baek cheon desperately tries to catch you from falling head-first on the rocks. your temperature was rising and your head had begun to spin. no wonder it did, after all, you did run out of the room you were to carry out your bedrest in — without any food in your stomach or any breaks from what happened with the exorcism last night.

you just knew you had to clear things up with baek cheon, the feeling of leaving the misunderstandings in the air, weighing at the back of your mind consistently.

ugh. it was embarrassing to have him see you in this out-of-character state. maybe when you got better, you will have to meet up with him again to talk about your relationship more seriously.

for now though, you just needed him to know how much you liked him back. and that you weren't going to get married to someone else anytime soon.

baek cheon though?

he's going to have to worry about how to explain why you were here to his martial brothers, and also bring you back to your unit somehow. but that was none of your concern, was it? you were already knocked out from the fever catching up to your body.

#enihkwrites #return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #return of mount hua #baek cheon #baek chun #rotbb #rotmhs #baek cheon x reader #baek chun x reader #return of the blossoming blade x reader #return of the mount hua sect x reader #3rd ish last fic #im clearing out the hwasan ones i have because i drafted 2 for another webtoon lol.... my hyperfixations move fast #i saw an artist call baek cheon the neighborhood idiot #havent stopped thinking about it since #my beloved #my ideal man is a stupid himbo with nothing going on up there just vibes and prayers and yearning #ugh the end is so sappy i had to take breaks to throw up

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comatosebunny09 · 2 years

Text

Drive You Home

Genre: Romance, Drama, Modern AU, Smidge of Angst

Warnings: Alcohol Use, Attempted Ass*ult, Profanity, Pissed Off Kyojuro

Inspiration: Drive You Home – Jackson Wang

Please proceed with caution, as this may trigger some. Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy!

You feel it; the subtle buzz of liquid marijuana, coupled with your cell phone in your purse.

‘Outside baby,’ reads his simple text.

You plaster a sloppy grin on your face, building enough fortitude to make your way towards the door.

The dancefloor is a sea of writhing, sweaty bodies, sensuality swelling in the air. It’s your favorite song blaring from the speakers overhead, Amber Liu making you feel all types of loose and goofy and free. You would stay a bit longer to enjoy the vibe if not for the urgency wading over your loosened limbs.

Almost there, you urge yourself, toddling in your heels, dizzied by the frenzied LED lights.

It’s your boss’s 30th birthday.

Not a big fan of clubs, it took quite a bit of coaxing and guilt-tripping to get you out of your PJs; into a too-tight dress with towering, spiked heels. Kyojuro grinned and slipped a few hundred-dollar bills into your clutch, ushering you out the door with a luscious kiss on your bared shoulder, and a spirited smack to your ass.

You aren’t exactly the epitome of a social butterfly, either.

With a bit of liquid encouragement—Jose Cuervo, Patron, and some shots that tasted like cold medicine—you became the life of the party. Hinatsuru swiped your car keys before you could do anything reckless. However, as your night drew to its conclusion, she was nowhere to be found. So, you phoned your ever-reliable boyfriend. And, within minutes of hearing your slurred words and squeaky laughter, he was on the highway without a second thought.

Now, he is downstairs in the parking garage, waiting dutifully to take you home.

“Finally,” you sigh in triumph, pushing against the glacial steel of the door handle. Your feet are ablaze with pain, but the crisp breeze of the autumn air is a welcomed distraction. Tugging on the hem of your mini dress, you make your way across the dimpled sidewalk.

The music vibrates the concrete outside, a muddled mess of instruments and bass to your tipsy ears. You feel amazing; an upside to being intoxicated. It’s a feeling akin to floating amongst the clouds, weightless. You’re so gone that you hardly register the warm body sidling up to you, nor do you register the arm snaking about your waist to keep you from bowling over.

“Hey,” he says too close to your ear. You twist out of his hold, blinking with heavy lids. You’re seeing double, yet you still make out his silhouette. He’s one of your co-workers, fairly new and easy on the eyes. From the pungent aroma of alcohol gushing from his mouth and singeing your nostrils, you can tell that he is quite inebriated himself.

“Wh-what’s up?” you stutter, taking a step back to glance at his towering form.

“You leavin’?” he queries, taking two steps towards you.

You nod in reply, an uneasy feeling sinking into the pit of your stomach.

“So soon?” said in mock disbelief.

You peek over your shoulder, motioning towards the parking garage. “Y-yep. Boyfriend’s here to take me home.” With an unsettled laugh, you turn away, intent on booking it to Kyojuro’s car.

You’ve heard all the stories, read scenarios, and seen movies regarding situations like this. Not to say that he’s a bad guy, but you’d rather be safe than sorry, knowing that numerous sexual assaults involve someone the victim knows—

Shit.

Suddenly, your wrist is held in a restrictive vice, halting your escape. You’re still slack from the alcohol, but you snap in his direction, glaring down at his hand.

“Mind letting me go?” You wriggle your wrist, seeking freedom, but to no avail.

His hold tightens the more you struggle. Expression morphs into a salacious leer and, oh my God! This can’t be happening. The world starts to spin as panic pulses through your veins, but then…

The crunching of bone, followed by a guttural groan, permeate the night air.

You glance back, seeing your would-be assaulter in the fetal position on the ground, nursing an angry, crimson mark on his jaw. A pair of polished, ebony Oxfords paint your vision before you follow them skyward. Kyojuro froths in front of you with unbridled rage, hair tussled, jaw stiff. Murderous intent swims in his luminous eyes as his chest heaves.

“What the fuck, man!” comes the wet, garbled cry of your co-worker.

“Be grateful that it was only your fucking jaw,” Kyojuro spits, the words foreign and dangerous against his lips. He glowers down at the shit stain of a man before ensnaring your wrist in his hand, snatching you to him. You stumble over the crumbled heap into your boyfriend’s rigid chest. Kyojuro wordlessly directs you from the scene to his car.

Kyojuro spares you a fleeting look after he’s tucked you into the passenger seat, you wrapped snuggly in his overcoat. He remains quiet and stony whilst pouring himself into the driver side.

As if I don’t feel pitiful enough, you muse, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. The tide of guilt paddling over you is enough to sober you up. The ride home is awkward and tense enough to cut with a knife. You give your boyfriend a sidelong glance, noting how his jaws clench and unclench; how his grip tightens on the steering wheel, so much that the squelch of leather fills the quieted car. You’ve never seen him this enraged before; wonder if it’s your carelessness that causes worry lines to settle on his dashing features.

It doesn’t take long to reach your destination.

You release a breath you weren’t aware of holding as the Challenger slides into his apartment complex. You sit in the car for what feels like eons, avoiding eye contact with the simmering blond.

Suddenly, there are tender fingers on your cheek, causing you to leap some fifty feet into the air. Calming yourself, you turn to him with hooded eyes, feeling like a scolded puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. The look that mars Kyojuro’s handsome face, causes your heart to plummet into your stomach.

Kyojuro’s wiry brows are knit together, concern adorning his visage. His lips are red and swollen, having been bitten for the past 20 minutes out of sheer frustration. He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it.

Absently, you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. You kiss the hot flesh, muttering drunken apologies into the hardened creases of his hand. Kyojuro’s thumb skates over your bottom lip before he drags himself across the center console, a hand fastened to the nape of your neck to draw you into him. The boiling embers of his eyes flash in the darkness before he kisses you fully, pouring every ounce of irritation and dread into your waiting mouth. He trails feverish, wet kisses down the side of your face, neck, further still…

With such simple gestures, it all becomes so very clear to you.

You scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

“Shouldn’t have let you out of my sight,” he croaks, lining your shoulder with frantic kisses. “Never again.”

You smile the smallest of smiles, warmth striding over you. From the alcohol or the overwhelming feeling of being doted on, you aren’t quite sure of the source. However, you don’t get much time to ruminate further, for Kyojuro is already at your side of your car, peeling you from your seat.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, lacing your fingers with his. You look away bashfully, thinking that your savior is just the sweetest thing; ponder on ways to assuage his worry, all of which end in his bedroom.

Masterlist

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kink-queerious · 1 year

Text

a lil bit about your resident boytoy sea creature:

call me shark, pet, toy, or some other thing you feel like if were mutuals (if it's ableist/transphobic that's a direct pass to block city)

-> baby shark is reserved for my partner unless given explicit permission otherwise

they/faer/it pronouns, if you're trans/enby/gnc then whatever you feel like as long as it's not she/he

trans/enby/fag and generally queer as fuck

disabled/mobility aid user ✨

top surgery 2021 💖

heavy sub-leaning switch

kink heavy blog

I really want to get back into making content again so keep an eye out for that

my current casual content is tagged #baby shark

closed poly relationship

if you're ever wondering the 🥺💀 tag is for my partner

this blog vs @k1nk-qu33rious

this blog is my main and where i follow/interact from

this blog will be a mix of content (original and reblogged, we don't do stolen content here), horny text posts, and general personal text posts/thoughts

my other blog will be content only and less kink-heavy (but there will still be kink there just not as extreme)

will there be content reblogged to both accounts? yes, that will be most posts because i'm indecisive and creators are out here making amazing content so they deserve double reblogs

*DNIs: minors/ageless blogs, cishets, transphobes, ableists, racists, radfems, terfs, swerfs, i.e. human rights aren't up for debate or a "difference in political opinion"

just remember: punch n@zis, acab, and eat the rich!

this is a kink-heavy blog with a lot of kinks that can be triggering, here's a list of things that you might see/what i try to tag posts as:

knives, knife play, blood, blood play, breath play, cnc, mild cnc, public, semi-public, group use, edge play, somno, mild somno, hypnosis, free use

if i miss something please let me know

sometimes i might miss things so please proceed with caution if you're not okay with any of these

feel free to send recs for other creators: I'm always looking for more queer, trans, disabled content creators to follow

#i think ive remade my pinned post like 5 times now?#im so disorganized but i wish i was organized so I keep making chaotic attempts at clarity and organization #pinned #baby shark #about me #trans nsft #nonbinary nsft #queer nsft

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joshym · 7 months

Text

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (oops)

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: poor body image, body dysmorphia, mentions of a past eating disorder, an ill parent, (this will include descriptions of struggling to breathe due to illness & mentions of an oxygen mask) drinking, cussing, Jake is jealous? 18+ ONLY: some pretty heaving making out, (but it's not with who you think it is hehe), mentions of an erection, slight nudity, mentions of being turned on. (please let me know if i missed anything. there are a few heavy topics mentioned, & the last thing i want is for anyone to begin reading without a proper warning.)

a/n: i am so sorry this chapter took so long. i truly hope you love it & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! i love hearing from you guys. 🤍

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

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Your morning drives to school are your absolute favorite part of the day. They serve as your singular moment of complete peace to counteract the chaos that can be expected once the day truly gets started. The serenity of the morning air calms your spirit and prepares you for whatever the day may bring.

You’ve managed to find an alternate route to campus, one that keeps you far away from the heavy morning traffic. It adds nearly twenty minutes to your journey, but the cost of waking a little earlier each day is worth the promise of a few spare moments of quiet solitude.

The new path you’ve found leads you straight to school, and the best part– it’s an image right out of a fairy-tale.

Trees line the unpaved road, their leaves in early autumnal splendor. Hues of orange and red greet you in their forenoon charm, catching the rays of the waking sun as they glow in bright iridescence.

This morning, there’s a light rain shower leaving tiny droplets on your windshield. The sun still dares to peek through the gray clouds, illuminating the glittering raindrops as they gently fall to the ground.

You’ve yet to be met with another morning traveler since you discovered this road only days ago. It feels as though you’ve found some secret passageway— a hidden spot with no name, set aside just for you.

Pure tranquility washes over your body as your foot rests on the gas pedal.

It’s the moments like these that remind you of the beauty that still exists around you— that no matter what downfall you suffer, the earth will always be there to offer you her tiny bits of wonder to keep your feet planted firmly against her soil.

Your Firebird putters into the university parking lot, amongst the slew of shining, new vehicles with hardly an imperfection to be seen on any of them. You used to be embarrassed of your old clunker, but as time goes on you’ve learned to be grateful for it and all the places it has taken you.

Your new staff parking spot is awaiting you, of which you are entirely grateful. After your first day, you found that the parking lots fill up rather quickly with commuter students, so having a designated spot just for you everyday has saved you a lot of grief in the mornings. Yet another wonderful perk of being an employee of the university.

The smell of roasting espresso penetrates your senses as you waltz through the doors of the campus coffee shop. You and Natalia had agreed to meet this morning before your classes to study a bit for your course on influential women in literature.

Carmen, your favorite barista greets you as you walk up to the counter. Her sincere smile is always such a pleasant addition to your mornings.

She’s the most lovely vision; her loose curls always tied in a perfect ponytail, her bangs framing the contours of her face beautifully. Her black browline glasses sitting atop her freckled nose that push up past her eyebrows when she smiles, showcasing her sweet dimples.

You’ve made the coffee shop part of your morning routine everyday, so you’re not surprised when she knows your order without you having to say anything more than “Good morning, friend!”

“Large cold brew with oat milk and extra vanilla?” she asks, already writing it on the cup with a Sharpie.

You smile broadly. “You’re amazing, Carmen!” You hand her a ten and a five, insisting that she keep the change. She fights you a bit but realizes she’s already lost the battle.

She hands you your drink and you thank her, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow at the same time.

You choose a table close to a window so as to have a view of the gloomy, morning sky.

Watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the window seal, leaving their trail as the others merge to quickly join behind them— it gives you a sense of nostalgia that takes you back to a time when things were simply…easier.

One thing about growing up in Oklahoma— it was always raining. And much to your mom’s discontent, you were sure to be found outside right in the middle of it.

It probably explains why you were almost always sick as a child. Frequent head colds were the norm for you. It never stopped you, though. The rain brought forth a sense of clarity for you—feeling the cold drops hitting your face was the mental reset your mind needed, and it still is to this day.

You’d always been fascinated with weather— but specifically the rain. A poem you’d fawned over in your childhood spoke of rain carrying the ghosts of the past— a sentiment you’ve held onto dearly ever since.

That very poem is the reason you love literature. It’s the reason you’re here, to study the thing that brings you the most comfort.

Each time it rains, you’re flooded with lovely memories…memories of the ghosts that still linger from your youth.

This is the first rain shower you’ve experienced thus far in your new home; it feels as though the earth is trying to tell you it’ll all be just fine. She’s telling you that you do belong here, that you’re right where you need to be.

“Daydreaming much?” Natalia pulls out the chair opposite of you, sitting her usual hazelnut latte down as she takes her seat.

“Guess you could say that,” you say through a smile. “I just adore the rain.”

You each pull out your laptops and Charlotte Brontë books, catching up on your weekends with one another.

“You’ll never believe what I agreed to on Friday,” you say.

She looks at you with a smirk splayed across her glossed lips, her rose colored cheeks still wet from having just walked through the rain.

To your surprise, she asks, “Does it have anything to do with a little medieval film project?”

“How in the hell do you know about that?”

“My brother,” she responds. “He’s helping Josh with it. Doing set designs, costuming— it’s quite impressive, honestly. Those costumes are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I’ve done theatre my entire life.” She blows air on her coffee to cool it down a bit before taking a sip, wincing from the heat as she pulls the cup away from her lips. “I knew they were searching high and low for a Guiniverre— guess I should’ve known it’d be you.” Her long, butterfly lashes flutter with a wink as she giggles.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of her last statement. You just chose to ignore it.

“He said it’ll be killing two birds with one stone— that we’ll be helping out his brother for his film class, while also having something for our project in Movack’s class.” You pause to take a deep breath, “But I am no actress. And if it’s all truly that impressive, I may prove to be a bit of a disappointment.” Your hands fall into your lap as you stare down at yourself— your body comfortably covered with your usual oversized sweater and leggings, feeling a rush of insecurities as you imagine yourself being filmed. “I’m more of a behind-the-camera type of gal, anyways.”

You’ve fought this inner battle for as long as you can fathom— your appearance is a topic you tend to avoid. You hide behind people for photos, or offer to be the one taking them to get out of being in it altogether.

Disordered eating had been a side effect of the severe dysmorphic thoughts. But thankfully, after years of receiving help, you’re finally in a stable place in your recovery.

The thing that still lingers, though; the harsh way in which you view yourself. Specifically, your appearance.

“You said you’ve done theatre your whole life— why aren’t you playing Guiniverre?” you ask her. “I can’t imagine they haven’t thought of you.”

Natalia is far more fitting for this film. She carries the beauty required to take on such a role; the beauty of a lust worthy queen. Just as well, she clearly has the experience you so greatly lack.

She scoffs as she sets down her coffee and crosses her arms. “I was not about to kiss Sam. Nope. No way. That boy is a pain in my entire ass.”

Sam?… Kissing?

This is the first you’ve heard of any of this.

“Wait— what?” Your reaction seems to have caught her by surprise. Her eyes become wide and her lips part as she takes in your obvious confusion.

“Jake…didn’t tell you about that? Did he tell you anything?” She leans in closer to you, a slight look of irritation present in her honey eyes.

“He only gave me a vague synopsis— just about the infidelity in Arthur and Guinevere's marriage.”

You suddenly come to a harsh realization that you hadn’t even thought about until now.

Adultery and infidelity— forbidden romance. An entire film all about said romance, of which you are a main component. Of course there will be kissing in this film, perhaps even more.

Your stomach drops at the prospect, and you're silently cursing Jake for leaving this little tidbit out.

Of course, it isn’t entirely his fault. You should’ve guessed when he told you the focus of the film.

You’ve already agreed, and backing out now would mean you’re back to square one with a project for Movacks class.

All you can do now— beg to be anyone but Guiniverre.

“First off,” you question, “who on earth is Sam?”

“Sammy? He’s their baby brother. He also takes classes here— well, when he decides to show up, that is. He lives with the twins.”

You pick up your coffee, taking a large gulp to keep the caffeine running through your system. “And why do I have to kiss him again?”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she says, huffing a laugh under her breath. “Josh has…plans.”

You cock an eyebrow at her, having a pretty good inclination about what these plans entail. You nod your head to let her know to continue.

“There will be a few…intimate scenes, between you and Sam. He’ll be playing the knight of romance and chivalry himself, our beloved Sir Lancelot.” She follows suit in taking a few swigs of her coffee now that it's cooled down a bit. “You and Sam will really get to know each other. And from what I’ve gathered about this film, the emphasis will be on Guin and Lance’s love. Arthur will have a different love interest— I think they’ve already casted her? Anyways, I doubt you and Jake will have many, if any, scenes together. At least no saucy ones. Which I’m sure you’re glad to hear.”

You were not prepared in the slightest for intimacy. Intimacy in front of a camera— with someone you don’t know, all for the sake of someone you hardly know. Someone who’s been a massive dick to you, no less.

But her last statement— about not having any special scenes with Jake. She’s right, mostly. It would be incredibly uncomfortable to have any scenes like that with him…right?

But, if you're being fully honest, a small part of you is a bit…disappointed.

You shove that thought down fast. “Uh, yeah. I’m more than thrilled to hear that. That would be awkward as fuck.” You’re doing your best to be sure she doesn’t see right through you.

“But seriously, y/n. Those costumes…” She smiles widely, shaking her head back and forth. “ My brother did a great job finding those. They’re going to accentuate you in all the right ways.”

That is exactly what you’re afraid of.

With your elbows on the table, you throw your face into your open palms with such force that you nearly knock your cold brew to the floor.

“Nat, I– I don’t think I can do this.”

She lightly takes your wrist in her hand, jolting you a little so you’ll lift your face. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s just acting, love. It’s not that serious, I promise.” Her voice is so sweet and gentle, her eyes have softened and are full of quiet concern.

“I know it’s not that serious,” Out of instinct, you pull your sleeves over your hands and take your hair out from behind your ears, hiding yourself as best as you can. “I just don’t like…this,” Your hands motion to your body covered with the security of your baggy clothes. “I’ve never liked this. I mean, just how much will these costumes… accentuate me?” The thought of baring yourself even in the slightest has your stomach tumbling with somersaults.

“Listen— I know Josh, and he will never let you do something you’re not comfortable with,” she assures, her honest smile making an appearance. “His mind is wide open and his soul is in all the right places. If there’s something you don’t like, just tell him and he’ll fix it.”

You’re racking your brain with the thought of his twin being as wonderful as she described. How could someone who shares the same DNA profile with Jake truly be that amazing?

“And stop worrying about the costumes. I can promise you, y/n, you will look sexy as hell.”

She’s doing her best to reassure you— though it’s not totally working, you act as though it is to change the subject and get started on your studies.

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You frustratedly close the lid to your laptop after having nearly failed your quiz. You had set aside plenty of time this weekend to study, but with how distracted you are right now from your conversation with Natalia this morning, all the time in the world for studying wouldn’t have mattered.

And of course, it’s Movack’s class— the one you most want to excel in, the one you share with Jake.

He closes his laptop only seconds after you.

It’s not a fucking race, Jake.

Movack stated at the beginning of class that once you finish your quiz, you’re free to leave. You quickly pack up your things, trying to make a hasty escape before Jake to avoid any possible conversation with him.

You’re halfway down the hall and as you’re about to turn the corner to safety, you hear, “Hey, y/n! I need to ask you something.”

Fucking hell.

You pause for a moment, dramatically rolling your eyes before you turn around to see Jake walking towards you.

He takes his sunglasses off and places them in the breast pocket of his shirt. He makes eye contact with you, a rarity for him, before he asks “Are you free on Saturday afternoon? Around 4:30?”

…what?

That is the very last thing you’d ever expect to come from his lips.

His gaze has yet to break as he awaits your response. His deep set amber eyes are piercing right into yours. He has an almost desperate look about him— as if he’s anxious for you to reply.

Is he…asking you out?

Your intuition tells you there’s no way, but…why else would he be asking you this?

Suddenly, your body begins to tingle. The butterflies in your tummy begin swarming.

You don’t know what changed— perhaps agreeing to the film? Maybe he’s finally seeing you as more than a scholarly competition, maybe he’s finally seeing you. Whatever it may be, you’re not questioning it any longer.

You’ve decided you’re completely infatuated with him, and getting to know him even better outside of this classroom sounds…wonderful.

“Y-yeah! I don’t have anything going on. I’m totally free!” With a full toothed grin on display and perhaps a bit too much eagerness, you follow with, “Why? What did you have in mind?”

His brows then become furrowed, his slight look of desperation transforming into one that says he’s now… confused.

“Um… okay,” His voice sounds unsure, his inflection coming off as more of a question than a statement. “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through of some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

Oh. My. God.

You’re mentally smacking yourself across the forehead. You want to crawl inside the deepest fucking hole on this planet and stay there with your shame.

What is wrong with you? It’s as though you’ve completely forgotten you have a project to do with him— that that would be the only logical reason he’d ask if you were free. Obviously.

That’s why he looked desperate. Not because he wanted you to agree to some date— because he needs your help with this stupid fucking project you regretfully agreed to.

Your face (noticeably, you're sure) drops. You’re so humiliated at your response. No wonder he looked so damned confused.

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” You revert back to your initial irritated tone, refusing to look him in the eye now, hoping that he’ll somehow forget you were any other way.

“He also needs you to try on the costumes, too. Make sure they’re the right size.”

The costumes.

This couldn’t get any fucking worse. But you can’t turn him down now, given you were so quick to tell him you’re free on Saturday.

You simply say “okay,” as you nod your head in agreement.

He takes out his notebook, writing down his address before ripping the sheet of paper out and handing it to you.

You tuck it away in your bag, bidding him a quick adieu before turning to walk far away from him.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. Not out of sadness, but out of mortification. Out of irritation.

Irritation with yourself, with him. And it’s not even his fault. You’re the one that jumped to ridiculous conclusions— jumped the highest you possibly could.

You feel utterly stupid.

So fucking stupid.

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Your mom looks at you in shock as you walk inside your apartment. Ridding yourself of your bags with a swift toss to the floor, you slump down next to her on the couch.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you had class until later this afternoon,” she probed.

“Just a little tired,” you say. “Thought I’d give myself some time to rest before work.”

“This isn’t like you, y/n. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She’s right— this isn’t like you. You normally wouldn’t even think of skipping class, your education being the most important thing to you. But, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it today.

“Kind of a long day, I guess. And I’m a little stressed out with my classes.”

She then turns the television off and glares at you with the eyes of a worried mother.

“Talk to me, y/n. I know there’s more.”

You should know by now that you can’t hide anything from her. She knows you too damn well.

You can’t hold it back any longer as you begin to spill it all.

“It’s… stupid Jake. I thought he was asking me out today, but he most definitely was not. And I made an idiot out of myself because I misunderstood and—”

She stops you mid sentence, “And who is Jake?” she questions.

You haven’t told her a single thing about him, about your project, anything. It’s not that you were trying to hide it from her, you just really didn’t want to talk about it.

With a heavy sigh, you say, “He’s my partner for this huge semester project in my King Arthur class. We’re doing an Arthurian film with his brother,” you put a palm to your face. Looking up at her with a sarcastic smile, you add. “Oh, and Jake is a major dick.”

“Do you like him?” she asks with a smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“Absolutely not!” you exclaim— rather loudly, at that.

Even you don’t believe the words that came out of your mouth, so why would she?

She just chuckles at your response, knowing better than that but deciding to not ask you about it any further, switching the topic to your project. “Tell me about this film you're doing,” she says.

“You won’t believe this but, I’m actually acting in it.”

“You? Acting? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” she jokes, forcing a smile out of you.

“Just wait. It gets better,” you say. “I’m actually playing Guiniverre and Jake will be Arthur. It’s all about their adulterous marriage, and the focus will be on them cheating on each other. Quite romantic, huh?”

She begins to laugh again, trying not to wear out her weak lungs, but it doesn’t work. She gets caught up in a huge coughing fit, struggling to catch her breath.

This always happens; she can’t even laugh without her lungs giving her trouble. It shatters your heart. She’s always had the most contagious, obnoxious laugh. You miss the pure, unpunctured sound of it so much.

You reach for her oxygen mask and gently place it over her mouth. “Just breathe, mom. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe for me, in and out…”

As much as it scares you whenever this happens, it scares her even more. The look in her eyes makes you want to cry. It’s a look that says “please make this stop.”

You wish more than anything that you could.

It’s the moments like these that you want to curse your dad for leaving, for leaving his wife of almost twenty years like this.

She begins to calm down, her breathing slowing as she’s able to take full breaths again.

“You okay?” you ask.

She moves your hand and lifts the mask from her face. “Just fine, sweetie. Sorry about that.” Her voice sounds so frail, like she’s just run a marathon.

“Don’t apologize, Mom,” you lay a hand on your skinny thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “Please.”

She nods, then requests. “Tell me more.”

She doesn’t like to dwell on these things when they happen, so you start talking about the film and Jake some more.

“He’s got a younger brother named Sam, who’ll be playing Lancelot. Apparently, there are a few scenes between him and I in the script that are a bit… sensual, you could say.”

“Well, is he as cute as Jake?” she snickers.

“Mom! I never said Jake was cute.”

“Didn’t have to,” she says. “You think he is, I can tell.” Her grin says she can see right through you, and she’s not wrong. She never is.

“I haven’t met his brother yet, so I have no idea.”

You continue telling her more about the film, telling her about Natalia, but the conversation ends up taking a turn to being mostly (completely, actually) about Jake.

“He’s just intimidated by you, y/n. That’s why he acts the way he does, so you don’t know his true feelings.”

You just shrug it off, knowing she’s obligated by blood to tell you that. She’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Just wait,” she says. “He’ll come around.”

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You look at your phone to check the time.

3:45 am. Ugh.

You’ve been in bed for hours desperately trying to sleep but your body just won’t relax.

You hated seeing your mom like that tonight. Watching her struggle to breathe… it's traumatizing every time it happens. And the episodes are becoming more and more frequent.

You just want her to be healthy again. You want to be able to have a normal conversation with her without worrying about making her laugh. It’s tearing you down, watching her wither away like this. It’s not fair.

You just wish there was more you could do.

Along with the stress of that, you also keep hearing Jake's voice on a loop in your head; “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

“I’m only asking…”

It’s the way he said ‘only,’ as if to say ‘don’t get your hopes up, that’s not what this is.”

Him posing that question (before you knew the true intent behind it) made you realize that— as much as you wish you weren’t— you’re somehow on the cusp of having feelings for him. And your conversation with your mom made that fact even more abundantly clear.

It’s most definitely not because of his winning personality.

No; it’s much different than that.

He brings about an air of mystery everywhere he goes. Every step he takes adds yet another layer to your curiosity about him.

And the way he acted when he asked you to be a part of his brother's film, how his face lit up in a whole new light. There’s a genuine man beneath his exterior— you can sense it. You just wish that were the Jake you’ve come face to face with nearly everyday since classes began a few weeks ago. That’s the side of him (if it is truly there and you’re not just making things up) that you want to discover.

He’s just… different. And you're annoyingly drawn to it. You're completely drawn to it.

You’ve never met anyone like him— let alone anyone that looks like him. As much as you hate to admit it, he is the personification of the female gaze. And his ridiculous attire, complete with his open shirts that display his necklaces on top of his bare chest— and yes, even his sunglasses that you try (but fail) to hate— all make it incredibly difficult to not find him attractive.

He’s beginning to consume your every thought, and you’re so mad at yourself for it.

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Saturday.

You’ve spent the entire week dreading today, contemplating backing out more times than you can count. Jake has been increasingly rude to you since your encounter with him on Monday. He’s spoken one or two words to you throughout the course of the week, but that’s about it.

Again, you're wondering why the hell you agreed to do him any favors.

If it wasn’t for this fucking project in fucking Movack’s class…

Without the consistent convincing from Natalia, you would have backed out. No question about it.

“Just make it through Saturday, y/n,” she said. “And if you still feel this way, tell him you want to do something else for your project. He’ll have to understand.”

You told her you’d do it, but only if she agreed to go with you. Thankfully, it didn’t take much convincing on your part and she happily accepted your terms.

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You bring your fist up to knock and wait a moment; nothing.

You feel as though you’ve given it ample time, so you knock yet again.

Finally, the handle on the door twists and is opened by, of course, Jake.

You embarrassingly stare a few seconds too long, not able to find words.

Unenthusiastically, he breaks the silence, “Welcome to our humble abode.”

He holds the door open as you and Natalia walk through the threshold together. Immediately upon seeing the place, you’re in a state of pure shock.

You’re not sure what you expected of Jake's home, but a two story, industrial loft apartment— massive loft apartment— right in the heart of downtown Detroit, was most surely not the first thing on your list. Natalia told you it was nice, but you weren’t prepared for this.

How do three college students manage to afford this?

The ever plaguing mystery continues.

It’s like walking into a photoshoot for a prestigious interior design magazine. This place doesn’t even look real.

Your eye is instantly caught by the decor. A tasteful mix of bohemian and modern rustic. The red brick walls lead to tall ceilings covered with exposed steel piping, adding so much unique character to the place. Trailing vines line the huge windows, casting the living room in an almost sage glow.

Jake ignores you, (shocker) as he heads into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Well that’s just great,” he says, taking out a can of Miller Lite and turning to face Natalia. “The least your brother could do is restock our beer when he takes the last one.”

She just snickers in response.

Suddenly a loud bang comes from a room up the long staircase, followed by a pair of animated giggles.

Jake turns his head slightly in the direction of the commotion, mumbling “fucking imbeciles” quietly to himself, but loud enough that you heard it.

“What the hell was that?” Natalia asks.

“Our moronic brothers,” Jake grumbles.

Then, a man with a set of wild, messy curls on top of his head jogs down the stairs, giggling while struggling to keep his footing.

“What were you doing up there?” Jake demands.

“Do you really want to know?” the curly haired one says, wiping his shiny lips with the sleeve of his shirt before smoothing down his disarrayed mustache.

“Nope. Not one fucking bit,” Jake scoffs.

Jake then nods his head in your direction, letting him know that you and Natalia have arrived.

“Well hello, my dear Natalia!” he says, pulling her into a hug.

Then, he catches your eye.

“Ah hah!” he shouts, giving you a long look. “You must be our queen! Lovely to meet you, m’lady,” He grabs your hand and kisses it before making a dramatic display of bowing before you. “If I may be so bold, the name is Josh. Sir Josh of the Frankenmuth, Michigan sector— at your service.”

This is Josh? The other half of Jake?

There’s no way. Sure, they have the same face. Well, besides the addition of a mustache and goatee to Joshs, but still. Clearly they’re identical, but so starkly different from one another.

You look over to Jake, noting a slight irritated look from him. Ignoring it, you meet Josh in a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You throw a little extra emphasis on ‘so’, looking at Jake once more and picking up on his eye roll— even from behind his sunglasses.

You’re remembering your first encounter with Jake—how it was so vastly different from right now as you’re meeting his twin for the first time.

You instantly felt welcomed with Josh, while with Jake, you felt like a major inconvenience. (And admittedly, you still do.)

How can they be so different, yet look the exact same?

He’s even dressed like the perfect contrast of Jake.

Jake is clad in his usual monochromatic look—sunglasses, black button down and all. (How many of these fucking shirts does the man own, for godsake?)

But Josh, on the other hand— he’s wearing a stark white sweatshirt and skin tight khaki pants, pulled together aesthetically with high top tennis shoes that mimic the brightness of his top.

They are the personification of yin and yang standing before your very eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Josh offers. “We have beer, wine—”

Jake interrupts him, yelling, “There’s no more beer!” as he takes a long sip out of his can.

“Okay then, no beer.” Josh chuckles. “Well we have water, of course. But that’s far too boring. I'd be happy to mix you one of my world-famous cocktails if you’d like.”

“Take it from me— if you don’t want to end up sloshed, do not let him make you a cocktail.” Another man makes his way down the stairs, stopping once he gets to Josh. He towers over him, being at least six inches taller. He’s awfully handsome, with the same kind, honey toned eyes that mimic those of your lovely friend standing beside you.

“My sweet, sweet Malachi. It’s okay to just admit that I make the most pristine drinks known to man.” Josh grabs his waist and tugs him close in an embrace.

“This would be my brother,” Natalia says.

“This is y/n?” He greets you with a hug, nearly lifting you off your feet. “It’s so great to meet you! You’re so kind to help with this.”

“I’m glad to help! I’m a huge Arthurian nerd, so this is right up my alley,” you say to him. “I just hope I can do Guinevere some justice. I’ve never really acted before.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be great!” Josh chimes, “If you’re ready, I’ve got one of your costumes set up in Jake's room. Last door, straight down at the very end of the hall.”

Jake’s room?

“Okay! Sounds great. I’m really excited to see these. Nat told me they’re amazing,” you say, heading in the direction Josh told you his room is in.

Josh watches you leave, holding his hands up in a makeshift camera. “Yep. You’re the perfect vision for our Guin. Very pretty,” He playfully nudges Jake with his elbow, “You were right, my brother.”

What does that mean?

Jake’s cheeks become encompassed in a pink hue as he chokes on the beer he’d just taken a sip of.

“Why thank you, Sir Joshua,” you say as you turn around towards him to curtesy.

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You were nervous enough about being in his home, but his room? That is an entirely different story.

A person's room is the most personal, intimate space. The space that holds all their innermost secrets. Walking in feels like the ultimate intrusion.

Your stomach tightens as you turn the knob on his bedroom door.

Immediately, you're struck with the same scent he carries with him.

His whole room smells like it— like him.

You turn to shut the door behind you to have some privacy, catching a canvas portrait on the back depicting an iconic Edgar Allan Poe quote: “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

The room is dimly lit, with blackout curtains hanging over the windows—only a single lamp in the corner next to the bed illuminates the space.

The walls are lined with medieval artwork. Depictions of Ophelia and The Lady of Shalott, with a few famous pieces by the great Edmund Blair Leighton that you’d recognize anywhere. And, of course, no medieval artwork collection is complete without the classic portrait of Morgan Le Fey. She’s illustrated in her quintessential colorful attire, looking as enchanting as ever. A favorite or yours.

Your curiosity is certainly piqued as you notice a few books sitting upon his bedside table.

The Lord of the Rings series. A Tolkien fan— you’re not surprised in the least.

The Two Towers is splayed open to page 316 with the corners very gently dog eared.

Next to the book lies an opened notebook donned with scribbled detailings of what he’d read. Little footnotes and observations, brief analyses of chapters.

A smile dares to creep across the corner of your mouth— finding it incredibly nerdy, yet all at once completely endearing that he places so much care in what he reads.

You know next to nothing about this man, but one thing you do know— he loves literature. And you’d bet he loves it almost as much (if not slightly more) than you do. That truly says something.

On top of the table on the opposite side of the bed sits a small record player, the record sitting under the stilled needle— Electric Ladyland by Jimi Hendrix.

You skim a few other album titles placed on the shelf next to it, seeing the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin; he’s a blues kind of guy.

You grew up on that very same music, all thanks to your mom. She made sure you were well versed on music from a very young age.

A dark red Gibson SG is perched on its stand right next to the table holding the record player. The scratches engraved on its body indicate heavy use— you can tell this thing is quite loved.

He’s… a guitarist?

God. The mystery surrounding this man is never ending. There’s so much you don’t know, so much you wish you did know.

Feeling as though you’ve explored far too much of his room, you decide to focus your attention on the garment bag laid out across the black velvet duvet across Jake’s bed.

You unzip it, your nerves exuding through your shaky hands at whatever you’ll discover inside.

You lift the dress out of the bag high above your head as the length reaches clear to the floor.

Holy shit.

When Natalia told you these costumes were amazing, she was understating to the highest degree.

Golden hand sewn lace embroiders the deep burgundy corset bodice. The square neckline is garnished with gold and red gems in the most intricate pattern, with the same jeweled design present on the cuffs of the long sleeves. The skirt, the same shade as the bodice, is silken and heavy and adorned with a similar gold design cascading all the way down to the hem.

Truly fit for a queen.

You can’t help but wonder where they possibly found this. It’s the most gorgeous gown you’ve ever seen— and you get to wear it.

Undressing yourself in Jake's room feels…strange. You feel vulnerable and exposed, but the butterflies in your belly are swarming at the thought— the thought of being only in your bra and panties in Jake’s bedroom.

Taking another look at the corset, you quickly learn that a bra is simply not an option for this dress. You remove it, feeling particularly risqué now being half nude in his room.

You lay the dress on the floor and step into the skirt one foot at time, lifting it up and carefully putting your arms through the sleeves.

You try tightening the laces of the corset, but without being able to see, it’s proving to be rather difficult. You know there’s not a chance you can get this situated yourself.

You decide to text Natalia to come help you, but as you go to look for your phone, you remember you left it sitting on the coffee table in the living room.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

You open the door and marginally peak your head out, calling for her to come lend you a hand with the dress.

“Sorry— should’ve warned you about that,” you hear Josh yell from across the apartment.

“You rang?” Natalia jokes as she makes her way down the hallway to you.

“This is fucking impossible to get on,” you huff, closing the door as she walks in the room.

She chuckles as she shoves your hands out of the way to take over tying the corset. “You’ve really got yourself in quite the mess here.”

She sinches it as tight as it will go, forcing the breath out of your lungs in one final tug of the laces.

“Jesus, Nat!”

“Oh you’re fine. God, you literature people are so dramatic.”

“You’re one of us too, you know,” you quip back.

She secures the ribbon tightly with a bow before she says, “I think you’re in. Turn around, let's see what we’re working with.”

You run your hands down your torso and up to your chest, feeling the constriction present against your breasts as you turn your body to face her.

“Holy fucking shit, y/n. That’s what you’ve been hiding under those giant ass sweaters?” she marvels with arched eyebrows and wide unblinking eyes.

You haven't seen yourself yet, and judging by how snug the top of this dress is hugging you, you’re not exactly sure you’re ready to.

Pointing to the mirror leaned against the wall, she tells you, “Get your ass over there, you have got to see this.”

Years of body dysmorphia have set you up to hate everything you put on if it isn’t something that hides you. Tight fitting garments are your worst nightmare. You feel safe in things that conceal your figure, and being in something that doesn’t do that is forcing you to come face to face with the thing that terrifies you the most.

With a reluctant sigh, you slowly walk over to the large wooden oval floor mirror standing next to the matching dresser.

The first thing you notice upon lifting your eyes to meet your reflection— your breasts. From feeling them moments ago, you knew they were on full display, but you didn’t realize they’d be this exposed. One slightly questionable movement, and it’s all over.

The sleeves sit off your shoulders, leaving them exposed with the rest of your chest.

Your eyes trail down to your waist that is being held tightly by the corset, your figure finally being exposed.

“O-oh god…” you quietly stammer. “I look…”

“Insanely hot.” Natalia interrupts.

“…I look fucking ridiculous.”

“What the hell are you talking about, y/n?” she demands.

“This isn’t flattering…not in the slightest.” You bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You can’t hide as easily as you would like to in this get up— and the thought of being filmed in this has your stomach in a nauseous hold.

She walks closer to you and gently brushes your arms, motioning for you to put them down— to stop hiding.“You’ve got to be kidding me, y/n. This dress was made for you.” She adjusts your right sleeve a bit, smoothing down a few wrinkles. With a tender voice, she asks, “What could you possibly not like about this?”

“I’m not you, Nat. I can’t pull this off like you could.”

“Do not start that shit with me, girl.” She sounds more stern this time. “Just because you don’t look like me, does not mean you aren’t fucking beautiful. If I have to spend all night convincing you that you’re gorgeous, I will.”

Natalia is the kind of person you’ve needed in your life, your whole life. She just gets you, and she always has the right thing to say at any given moment.

Not wanting to make this moment any more about yourself than you already have, you simply say, “Thank you, Nat.”

You reach for a hug and she pulls you in, saying “You’re welcome. Now, get yourself out there. I can’t wait to see the look on these boys’ faces.”

Just in time, a knock sounds against the bedroom door. “Uh ladies? Time is of the essence!” Josh jokingly yells from the hallway, snapping being heard through the wall.

You’re standing completely still, fear keeping you frozen on your feet. She notices and motions for you to move.

“You first,” you tell her.

She playfully rolls her eyes and agrees. Opening the door, she says, “Let’s go, your highness. Your kingdom awaits your arrival.”

You follow her down the hallway, hiking the skirt of your dress up as it’s far too long for you. You're so anxious to let Jake (and the other guys— but mostly Jake) see you like this. Petrified, really.

You’re afraid of his reaction, that it won’t be what you want it to be— that he’ll act disgusted.

But all the same, you want him to see. Maybe this will change his mind. Maybe he’ll think you look as good as Natalia says.

You can only hope, anyways.

Natalia pulls out all the dramatic stops to introduce you. “Gentlemen, I present to you, your queen.”

She stands to the side as you walk forward into the living room. Josh is sitting on the couch next to Malachi, both of them with large smiles across their faces at the sight of you. They each fawn over you, telling you how immaculate you look. Josh praises Malachi over and over for managing to get them the perfect gown, “The sizing is impeccable!” he tells him. Then he winks at Natalia. “Thanks for getting her sizes for us, Natty!”

You hear them, but you’re hardly paying them any attention as you’re stuck scanning the room for Jake, but to no avail. He’s nowhere to be seen. To say the very least, you’re full of disappointment.

“Well, fuck me,” you hear a voice say, one that you’re not quite so familiar with.

You snap your head in the direction of the voice to see a man— who looks a little like Jake?— leaning up against the floor to ceiling window in the dining room.

“Seriously, Sam?” Natalia snaps, “Where the hell are you manners?”

Sam— the Sam. The one you’ll be sharing the screen with the most.

It makes sense why he’d be chosen to play ever-romantic Lancelot. He’s a major flirt, quite fitting for the role. And— he’s fucking beautiful. Something you were not anticipating. (And something you hadn’t even thought about, with your mind being so overloaded with thoughts of Jake.)

While he doesn’t share the same similarities with Jake as Josh does, (they’re twins, so, obviously) you most definitely can’t deny the fact that they’re brothers.

Sam is a bit taller than the twins, his body shaped completely differently to accommodate his longer frame. His facial hair is quite similar to Joshs’, with his hair more the likes of Jakes'.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl,” Sam blurts. “You sure you’re at the right place? Seems you should be galavanting in Hollywood looking like that.”

A heat rises to your cheeks at his compliment. You’re sure your face is nearly the color of the gown you’re in. He’s awfully bold— and you kind of like it.

His eyes stay fixed on you as he begins walking in your direction.

“I take it you’re y/n?” he asks, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a quick peck. “I’d say Jake made a good choice for our queen.” He looks into your eyes as he gives the back of your hand yet another kiss— this one a bit more involved.

You smile at the feeling of his mustache ticking your hand as he grins against the skin. “Thank you, Sam. I’m quite flattered,” you say, still giggling like a fucking school girl with a brand new crush.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Nat quips with a stark roll of her eyes.

“This…THIS!” Josh shouts as he stands from the couch, trotting over to you and Sam. “The exact chemistry I was hoping for. You two just naturally have it— you exude it.” He grabs you both by the shoulders and pulls you both into a three-way embrace. “Sam, go put on your costume. We should run through a quick scene. I just have to see how this will play out.”

Josh is so giddy about it all that he plants a wet kiss to your cheek, saying with a sincere smile, “You really do look wonderful, you know.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Josh led you all down a little pathway behind their apartment building that leads to a shrine of towering beautiful, old trees. The sun just barely breaks through the colorful leaves on their full branches, illuminating the mossy ground in a soft and subtle golden glow.

His vision for this particular scene with Lancelot and Guinevere is to take place in a forest setting, a “secret hiding place tucked away in the depths of nature's wonder,” as he put it.

You look around in awe; it’s though you’ve walked through the pages of an old story book. An enchanted forest, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the busy city. You would have never guessed this was hiding here. The perfect spot for a film– more importantly, it’s the perfect spot for lovers to enjoy their inconspicuous love affair.

“The lighting right now is unmatched,” Josh exclaims, taking note of the time so he knows when to come out when you’re ready to actually start filming. It’s just after 5:30, and with autumn nearly in full swing, it’s right at the beginning of golden hour. With the way the trees are shading the sun, it makes for the most beautiful, soft scene— almost lucent.

It reminds you so much of the serene road you’ve found for your morning treks to school each day. You feel the same way here as you do on that secret road; this will surely be a new favorite place of yours.

You’ve got the script in your hands, skimming through the scene Josh has highlighted for you.

Guinevere is sending Lancelot off to a jousting match, giving him her red scarf in secret to tie around his arm as a token. He must wear it during the game for good luck, and he’s meant to return it to her once he wins. A common medieval practice amongst lovers.

It ends with her wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in a “deep, heated kiss to bid a farewell,” according to the script.

Oh god.

You read ahead a little. Apparently, this will be what gives their little love affair away. Arthur will recognize the scarf around Lancelot's arm as his wife’s, and the rest will be left to history. Angsty– wonderfully so.

“Right here,” Josh says. “This is perfect.”

He positions you and Sam in a spot that’s right in the middle of a circle of trees.

Sam's skin is glowing beautifully in this light, his dark eyes now several shades lighter as the sun catches them just right.

You can’t help but stare at him. He’s just so handsome, and he looks particularly regal in his costume. A white velvet, high collar top with white pants that are hugging him in all the right places, and a deep red cape draped over his broad shoulders— the same shade as your dress.

Is it historically accurate? Absolutely not. But it is most definitely serving its purpose of making him appealing to the eye, or making him lust worthy— which is exactly what Malachi was going for when he chose this get up.

His cape is meant to match your dress, symbolizing their affection for one another.

It’s brilliant, honestly.

Josh puts his hand on your shoulder, his perfectly round eyes meeting yours while he quietly says, “If you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t be afraid to tell me or Sam. Promise me you’ll say something.”

Sam looks at you with the same eyes as Josh, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable enough with everything before you start.

You smile at them both, patting Josh's hand that’s still resting gently on you. “I promise.”

“Okay, great. You guys ready?” Josh asks.

“I think so,” Sam says, looking down at you with heavy eyes and a sweet smile. “You ready, y/n?”

As you’d walked the path down here, Josh mentioned that Jake left to go get more beer while you were getting dressed. And… he’s still not back yet.

A part of you doesn’t want to do this without him here. Why? You wish you knew. It just doesn't feel right for some reason.

You look around at everyone once more to see if maybe he’s shown up and you just didn’t realize it.

You see Josh, Malachi and Natalia all standing around you— but no Jake.

Oh well…

Matching Sam's smile, you say, “Yep. I’m ready.”

Neither of you have your lines memorized just yet, so you both read directly from the script.

Sam begins the scene:

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

Then you:

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

You know Sam is acting, but the way he’s looking at you as you say your line— he looks like he’s madly in love. It’s catching you off guard, making your knees weak as your voice trembles with the next line.

“Seal your promise of returning to me with your lips, my love. Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

With that, Sam drops his script to his feet. He lifts his hands to cup your face, holding it gently as his thumbs lightly sweep across your cheekbones. Your breath hitches, and you too, drop your script.

This… this suddenly doesn't feel like acting anymore.

He leans in slowly, his lips just beginning to brush over yours. You grip his shoulders, leaning in the rest of the way until, finally, your lips collide with his.

A kiss so sweet and tender. Not too deep, yet a far cry from a friendly peck.

He pulls away from you delicately, the sound of his lips breaking from yours the only one you can hear as silence lingers in the air around you.

As you look into his eyes, you notice something different, something real. Like he’s wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on you just a short while ago.

“Wow, y/n’s got some serious acting chops after all,” you hear Natalia say, slowly clapping.

But it’s abruptly interrupted by someone speaking.

“What— what the fuck is going on?” That voice… you know that voice without even looking away from Sam.

Jake. He’s back.

“Bravo, bravo!” Josh shouts while clapping his hands. “God. Beautifully done, you guys. I’d like to run through it just once more. Give me a little more passion this time.”

You finally look away from Sam, seeing Jake standing next to his twin with a bewildered look upon his face.

In his all black outfit, he really stands out amongst everyone, amongst the golden sun rays that shine down upon him.

He’s not wearing his sunglasses, and you’re once again spellbound by his eyes. Their amber tone heightened in the light.

He just looks so fucking good.

Sam is beautiful, but he’s just not Jake.

“Hello? Is anyone going to fill me in on this?” Jake asks again, motioning his arms toward you and Sam.

“We’re rehearsing a scene, Jake.” Josh retorts.

“Yeah? And what scene might that be?” Jake sounds quite unhappy, much to your confusion.

Josh picks up the script at Sam's feet, holding it open to the page you’re currently working on. “This one,” he says. “The one where she gives Lancelot her token. I wrote this weeks ago, Jake. Why are you acting like you’ve never seen it?”

Jake hastily takes the script from him and reads over the scene in question. “I swear I’ve never read this before.” He continues flipping the pages, going back and finding more scenes that will be shared between you and Sam. “Why the hell do they have so many of these scenes together? When did you decide on all of this?”

“Seriously, Jake?” Josh scoffs. “These scenes have always been there—,” he growls, using his hands to help communicate the emotions in his next words. “You clearly haven't read a word of the fucking script. Guinevere and Lancelot’s affair is the main focus, with some on Arthur’s affair with the maiden. We literally talked about this. Multiple fucking times.”

Jake gives the script back to Josh, fiercely rubbing his chin as he does so.

“Why are you so upset, Jake?” Josh asks.

“I’m literally not, Josh.”

“Uh, yes you are. You only rub your chin like that when you’re pissed.”

With a flair of his nostrils, Jake says, “Just get on with your goddamn rehearsal.”

“Just ignore them. They do this shit all the time,” Sam quietly says to you. “Ready to do this again?” he asks.

With your attention back on Sam, you smile and nod your head.

You do the scene again, much the same as you had before. But this time, with the watchful eyes of Jake, you feel a bit more… inspired.

“Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

Sam once again takes your face in his hands, leaning in close to you.

This time, instead of grabbing his shoulders, you opt to run your fingers through his hair.

Locking eyes with Jake, who’s standing perfectly in your view, you lift your face to crash your lips with Sam— much harder this time.

Josh wanted more passion, and he’s getting exactly that.

You push your tongue past Sam's plush lips, eliciting a soft grumble from deep in his throat.

His hands suddenly move from your face to your neck, his fingertips tracing the skin while leaving goosebumps in their wake. He then reaches down to your waist, pulling you tightly against his body.

This is no Guiniverre and Lancelot sharing a secret kiss in the middle of a hidden forest; this is you and Sam enjoying the hell out of each other.

But even as your mouth is fully enveloped with Sams, even with your tongues fighting for dominance with one another— your only thought… is Jake. Fucking Jake.

You situate your face just so, where you’re again able to look Jake in the eyes. He intensely glares as he watches you in a moment of pure desire with his brother— and he doesn’t look happy.

Incidentally, it's only adding fuel to your fire as your lips continue furiously attacking Sams.

You wrap your hands even tighter around his soft locks as his tongue is dancing with yours.

More beautiful, hushed moans escape Sam’s mouth straight into yours as you echo them right back to him.

He tastes like heaven mixed with a delicious honey sweet bourbon, he’s fucking delectable.

With a little hesitancy, (especially on Sam's part) the kiss breaks as you are forced to come back up for air.

Sam is still holding you close, so close that you can feel his enthusiasm between your bodies that’s thankfully being covered by the skirt of your dress.

“You’ve uh, got me in a bit of a predicament here,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You look him in the eyes, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip. “I can tell. Pretty big predicament, huh.” Your new found bravery has taken even you by surprise.

Sam just smirks at you while everyone is left stunned at your performance.

“I… am so fucking pissed,” Josh says.

“Why, babe?” Malachi asks him.

“Because I didn’t bring my fucking camera. You two… you two were made to do this together. I really hope you can do that again. Holy shit. Bra-fucking-vo.”

“What do you think, y/n? Think we could do that again?” Sam asks you. Although it’s clear he isn’t referring to the film.

Looking at Jake, his jaw clenched and his fists tight, you say, “Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from Jake, looking at Josh to finish. “I think we could do that again.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A few weeks have gone by, and most things are going very well with the production.

Josh is a fantastic director (albeit, a little too bossy at times). Their sweet friend Daniel wound up being a great cameraman, getting shots of you that didn’t make you completely cringe at first glance. Then there was Malachi, who is consistently helpful, just like his sister. Sam, the perfect scene partner— so attentive and great at checking in with you between takes.

And Nat, ever the loyal friend, has still been coming to rehearsals with you. She hasn’t missed a single one, and her support has meant the world to you. Each time you feel a rush of insecurity washing over you, she’s there to talk you through it and be the encouragement you need.

The only part of these rehearsals that’s getting extremely old is how much Jake inserts his “constructive creative criticism.”

On more than one occasion, you’d shoot daggers in his direction and remind him that he’s not the director and to leave it to his brother. To which he’d respond with a scoff, palms planted, strong on his hips, and turn to leave the room in a huff.

Then there are the arguments between the twins… which have been growing in intensity. Some days production ends because the two of them just refuse to see eye to eye, making it impossible to get through a single scene.

You have to admit— these two are rather passionate about their work.

You just wish they’d stop arguing long enough to showcase their talents.

The most memorable day on set as of yet was the day Jake's costume had finally arrived.

He’d been taking far too long to get dressed in his attire, causing Josh to succumb to a near full meltdown. The sun was setting and Josh was adamant about getting at least one scene with Arthur shot outside.

Jake, however, was extremely unhappy with the costume that was chosen for him. He refused to walk out in it, claiming it was nothing like what he had pictured for the character. “This isn’t Arthur,” he said. “This is a goddamn see-through crop top.”

And that had instantly piqued your attention. You’d walked around the corner of the hallway, Natalia leading the way. Thankfully— because she did not need to be privy to the fact that you were so curious.

Then, you saw him. Clad in his film outfit that was a cut off chainmail top, with its short, tight sleeves putting his muscular biceps on full display.

His pecks, (which you’ve caught yourself admiring a time or two before) looked particularly perked and rounded.

You also loved how sheer the top was, giving you a fantastic view of his skin underneath.

Jake clearly wasn’t happy about it, but you most definitely were.

“Goddamn…” you whispered to yourself, watching the way his arms flexed each time he adjusted his shirt. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so fucking sexy.

“I’m not wearing this, Josh.” Jake asserted. “Nope. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes you are, Jake. It’s only for a few scenes, then you can wear the outfit you chose.” Josh blurted. “And I told you we’d get you a black cloak to wear. Will that make you feel better?” You noted a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Fuck no,” Jake said. “And why the hell does Sam get to have my sword for so many of his scenes?”

The argument continued on, and almost an hour later, Jake finally gave in. But, it was too late. The sun had gone down, and you were all ready to call it quits for the night.

“Well, a fucking wasted day. Thanks an awful lot, Jake.” Josh shouted as he stomped up the stairs.

They were able to shoot that scene the very next day, and as usual, they acted as if nothing had happened.

It’s pure whiplash with these two. One minute they’re cussing each other out, on the verge of throwing fists; the next, they’re making each other laugh so hard they’re nearly rolling on the floor.

Outside of filming, Jake has remained stoic– ignorant to your existence.

At school, he acts as though you don’t exist– only acknowledging you if he absolutely has to. For instance, before you can even try to get a word in before or after class, he’s already shooting up out of his seat before you have time to even think about standing up.

And similarly, at rehearsals, your conversations are limited to one or two words here and there, besides the incessant critiques he tosses around after your scenes.

Sam, however, has given you nothing but praise after praise. His flirting hasn’t let up— and you’ve been dishing it right back any chance you get.

You had ultimately decided if Jake wouldn't give you the time of day, you’d give it to someone who will. Who just so happens to be Sam.

Although, it lends more material for Jake’s reproval. The comments he’d make about it were aggravating at best.

“Can you show us all some fucking respect, please?”

“We’re trying to get work done.”

“Do you want us all to have failed projects because you two can’t stay fuckin’ focused?”

And, to every response, Josh shut him down, scolding him for being an asshole.

“You’re going to chase away my muse, Jake. Please, cut the shit,” he’d roll his eyes, messing with the sides of his hair, fluffing it, cutting a glance at his twin. “I’m tired of you acting like a child. You’re the one causing us to lag with the ridiculous comments.”

The comments did distract you a little from the scenes you knew were coming up rather quickly on the filming schedule… but his remarks also added unnecessary anxiety to the overall atmosphere for you. In which case, Sam would be the one to make you feel better, bringing you right back to him.

The particular scene that’s hurtling towards you is happening later this week. You’re filming a brand new scene with Sam that will be far more intimate than anything you’ve filmed thus far.

Josh wanted to give you time to adjust to everything and feel completely comfortable before he introduced this part of the film.

You’re still nervous about it, but your eagerness to see the film through has you ready to give it a go.

The day before the filming of the scene, you go about things like normal. You have so much fun rehearsing with Sam; Nat and Malachi watch in awe as the scene flows flawlessly between the two of you, like it normally does.

And today, it’s easier because Jake had been strangely absent. But, it hadn’t been better. Because no matter him being so irritating, you had sort of missed looking up at him, mid-scene with Sam. It had become oddly normal to find his eyes while meeting Sam’s lips.

After finishing a rather long rehearsal, Josh reminds you in passing that you’ll be wearing a brand new costume for tomorrow’s shoot.

And you figured today was as good a day as any to give it a peek.

Walking to Jake’s room to locate it, you sent Nat a quick text that you were heading there. She’d slipped away with Malachi to discuss costumes, but you knew if you ended up trying the costume on that you’d need her there to help (or at the very least, encourage).

Jake’s room has become designated for your costumes, of which he has expressed ample irritation about. Just one more thing for the twins to fight about.

You’re actually starting to believe that Josh made it that way just to spite Jake.

Once you make it there, the stark red garment bag is hanging on the closet door, awaiting you. It’s the other one that had been laid out on Jake's bed that first day you came over.

That day had slipped away from all of you with Josh’s insistence that you and Sam re-rehearse the kiss, over and over. So, you never got the chance to try it on.

You had hesitated looking at it since that day, though, because Nat forewarned you that this costume was much more revealing than the last, and knowing that, you haven’t really been in any hurry to try it on.

Lifting up on your tiptoes the slightest bit, you grab the garment bag that holds the brand new, different costume that Malachi has specially picked for you.

Nat had fortunately gotten the text and had made it in time to help you remove the corset dress, carefully placing it back in its garment bag.

Left in your black thong, lacking a bra from your prior costume, you look at the other bag, now laying on the bed. Your stomach sinks to your knees at the possibility of what’s hiding beneath the red canvas.

“Just how bad is it, Nat?”

The anxiety you faced trying on the first dress weeks ago is now creeping its way back in. You’re scared stiff for a moment, staring down at the costume still hidden beneath the red fabric.

“You’re overthinking it, y/n,” she says. “Just open it and find out. All I can tell you is you’re going to look unreal.”

Not wanting to draw this out any longer, you start unzipping the bag, slowly revealing the black lace that was tucked away inside.

You pull on the hanger to take it out of the bag fully.

A long black gown of intricate lace and chiffon— a lavish, luxurious piece of… lingerie. The gown exposes skin, hiding just beyond the cloth. Tight at the bust and waist, and flowing out at your hips.

The neckline is completely open and plunges down to the waist. The mesh material decorated with an elaborate floral design— is utterly see-through. The front of the gown is held together with only a black satin ribbon tied in a bow.

“Holy shit, y/n,” she gasps, admiring every piece of your body she can see. “You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

“God, Nat…” You hold it up to your body, running your fingers over the long, bell sleeve. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Josh told you if you don’t like it, they’ll find you something else. But you should at least try it on, see what you think,” she says.

You’re scared of putting it on and absolutely despising your body; you’ll be forced once again to face all of the things you don’t love about it— you won’t be able to hide in this. Not at all.

But, you promised Josh and Malachi you’d try it. And Nat is right— they have assured you over and over again that if you’re not happy with something, they’ll fix it. No questions asked. Josh asks you every single day if you’re comfortable with everything, and he’s made it abundantly clear over the course of the production that you must tell him if there’s anything you don’t like.

Clearing your mind of any more thought, (because you’ll overthink yourself to the death if you don’t) you untie the sash, placing the gown over your body.

As you suspected, there's nothing left to the imagination.

The lace just barely covers your breasts, laying completely open down to your belly button— and you’ve suddenly become hyper aware of the fact that your nipples are peeking through the sheer fabric.

“Please tell me they have pasties for me, because this,” you grumble, pointing to your chest, “is not going to work for me.”

Initially you’re talking about your nipples that you can see through the sheer fabric, but you figure there’s no use in hiding what’s on your chest from Nat. Something you would also like to be covered from eyes that you can’t fully trust yet. So, you lift your breast the slightest bit to also expose the red ink lying beneath the supple flesh.

Redrum, in dark red ink etched along the curve underneath your right breast.

Your best kept secret is no longer hidden with the likes of this dress.

“Is that…. a tattoo?”

You had decided on an impulse one night (after a few too many drinks) that you wanted a tattoo. It had been a hard week of treatments for your mom, while also simultaneously being the week that you found out about your acceptance to U of M. And you had figured you might as well do something for you— both to celebrate and distract yourself from the sad reality of your mother’s decline.

No one knows about it (save for Natalia now). Not even your mom. It was gotten with the intent to be something special for you and only you. A part of your body that you could find comfort in despite your dislike for your build— something about yourself to be comfortable with.

And being the massive Stephen King and Kubrick fan that you are, you decided on a tattoo that solidifies your love for The Shining. Both the book and the film have carried through some incredibly tough times in your life, so you can’t really say you regret the permanent decision. But, you like that it’s something sacred for just you.

“Yeah,” you say, tracing your finger along the flesh like you do nearly everyday. Just to ground yourself. “Important to me for several reasons. No one knows about it. You’re the first to know I have it actually.”

She nods in approval. “I’m honored,” she says, a sweet grin highlighting her features. “And I’m totally here for it.”

You really weren’t ready for everyone to see it yet, though.

“Do you think there’s something that we could cover it up with?”

She is already walking to the door as you ask, ready to help however she can.

“I’m going to check with Malachi,” she says, one foot out the door. Then she steps back inside the room, shutting the door to a crack before she whispers. “I won’t tell anyone about it. I’ll just say I wanna snoop through Josh’s Ben Nye.”

“You’re the best Nat,” you feel tears well in your eyes.

You’ve never had a friend as wonderful as Natalia, and with every small thing she did to help, it solidifies how grateful you are for her.

When the door closes behind her, you decide to bite the bullet and look at yourself once more.

Your thoughts begin to torment you, but you combat them with Natalia’s words.

“You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

You wish so badly you could eternally shut the thoughts off long enough to see yourself the way others see you, especially in these stunning costumes that you should feel beautiful in.

Someone as lovely as Nat— inside and out— complimenting you in the way she has, you should feel inclined to believe her; she’s not just telling you what she thinks you want to hear. She’s the most genuine person you’ve yet to meet and the last person to ever bullshit you.

A few heavier tears have begun to form, threatening to fall at any moment as you take in your image in the mirror.

You do look beautiful.

For the first time in god knows how long, you can see your beauty reflecting back to you, effectively telling your ever intrusive thoughts to ‘fuck off’ once and for all. And it’s not just in your body, it’s in you. The beauty within yourself that fully encompasses who you’ve grown to become as a woman.

You’ve been through some tough ass shit— had to go through things that you wish you hadn’t had to… and you’re still standing here to speak of it. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment that shows some sort of beauty and resilience flowing from inside of you.

It doesn’t feel right acknowledging these things. You’re not used to it. But at this moment, it feels okay. Feels good. You let yourself have it for now.

You normally wouldn’t dare be caught in something like this (let alone allow yourself to be on camera) but now, you’re actually excited. You never would have guessed you had a passion for acting, for playing a character so vastly different from who you are in real life. You’re glad to have somehow stumbled upon this whole thing; it’s helped you find the confidence in yourself that you’ve been desperately searching for your entire life.

Moving the material covering your thighs the slightest bit, you reveal your leg, flexing it and admiring the taut flesh there. The feminine way your body is built complimenting the lean muscle that’s been built from hard work over time— working your ass off to get to where you wanted to be. Then, you poke your ass out, turning the slightest bit, you see the plush skin of your ass through the thin, dark material. You take the briefest second to appreciate the way it looks, round and full at the top of your thighs. Usually you would hate acknowledging that—hate. it.—but right now? It’s something sort of… sexy, seeing it. It’s hidden away beneath the flowing material, but wholly visible as well.

It’s mysterious and you like it. The gown acknowledges parts of your body, without putting it on full display and it’s honestly everything you needed. It helps you to accept the curves you usually curl your lip at.

Just then, as you stand there with your leg completely out of the slit, you hear the handle on the door turn and the door slowly creak as it’s being opened from the other side.

Nat must’ve found the makeup for your little secret. You hold your breast in preparation to cover the ink, but don’t immediately turn around towards the door. Part of you, wanting her to see this new found confidence you’ve discovered within the confines of this gown.

“I am so fucking glad you talked me into trying this on. I would have never if it weren’t for you— “

The sound of a throat being cleared of tension is made, interrupting you before you’re able to get the rest of your words out.

With a slight cock of your head in the direction of the door, your hair waving around your shoulders in the process, you realize… it’s not Nat standing on the threshold.

Stunned, frozen solid in your position that exposes your leg all the way up to the round flesh of your ass peeking through, you realize that standing where Nat should be… is Jake.

He’s as still as you, with one hand still on the doorknob and the other tightly gripping the frame on the other side.

You half expected him to shut the door immediately upon seeing you, but he didn’t. He’s just standing there, eyes trailing your barely clothed figure.

You should say something. You should tell him to get the fuck out and give you some privacy. But as you attempt to open your mouth to do so, nothing comes out.

His eyes linger on your face for a time, but eventually, they start trailing from your feet, up your legs, over your hips and taut stomach. You’re hardly breathing, but your chest is still heaving short breaths…

It becomes obvious to you that you like how his eyes feel on you. How he’s observing every inch of your body that you’re feeling brave inside for once…

You want him to see, to see you exactly like this.

Suddenly, your nipples harden when his dark, whiskey colored eyes (sans sunglasses, thank fucking god) find your shapely breasts outlined by the fabric just barely hiding them. The hand covering the round flesh tightens in an attempt to conceal the tattoo, but you’re longing to release the hand and show him all of you.

But you know better. So your hand stays firm, but you let your erect nipple peek through the fingers splayed across your chest.

You hear footsteps quickly stomping down the hall, becoming louder as they get close to Jake’s room.

“Jake! What the fuck are you doing?” Nat’s hand reaches out from nowhere, takes his arm and shoves him clear of your sight. Successfully breaking your lust ridden trance. “Give her some fucking privacy, godammit!”

And as you stood there, Nat giving Jake a piece of her mind, you can’t ignore how hot and bothered you’d become. You rub your thighs together, searching for a hint of friction from whatever had just transpired between you and Jake, longing for more of it.

Your friend finally comes in, adamantly running her mouth about how irritated she is by Jake’s intrusion, but you don’t hear her words.

Because you feel the complete opposite of her. In fact, you want to push her out of the room and bring Jake back to finish what had just barely begun.

“God, he’s a fucking idiot. I’m sorry about that,” she says as she begins rubbing the stage makeup on the skin of your tattoo, you imagine briefly that her fingers are Jake’s…

Then, feeling your nipples begin to harden from the thought, you clear your throat. Fuck. Too far.

Cover, cover, cover…

She can’t know.

“Damn,” you shake your head, your cheeks hot. “Why do they always keep it so cold in here?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice a shift in dynamic as she laughs.

“I know, girl,” she snorts, a curl falling in front of her eye that she blows away. The breath makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Malachi is always giving Josh shit about it.”

She finishes blending out the makeup, adding a little powder on top to set it.

“I’d say we’ve got you pretty well covered. Take a look, tell me what you think.”

You turn back to face yourself in the mirror, and right before you’re able to look at your reflection, a picture sitting on the dresser catches your eye.

It’s of the three brothers— Josh, Sam, and Jake… their arms around each other as they smile wide.

But you can only look at Jake’s face, his smile so beautiful and bright in the image.

“Yeah, it looks great,” you say, eyes fixed on Jake’s handsome face, smiling back at you. “Looks really good.”

a/n: any thoughts as to why Jake is being so horrible during this film production? 🤔

buckle up, we've only just begun. ;)

if you'd like to be tagged, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. 🤍

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