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#What if ice cream was evil? A movie

ghostfacd · 5 months

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WIRED AUTOCOMPLETE. | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which you and tom make a special appearance on wired’s autocomplete interview

installment of this au | recommend reading for more context

“Hi — we’re Y/N Avocot and Tom Blyth — and this is the Wired Autocomplete Interview!”

You’re both handed a white board, bigger than your face, and there’s a list of questions with some of the words covered.

“Do you want to go first?” Tom asks, giving you a small smile.

“Yes! I’m pretty excited actually,” you begin to peel off the first question. “Okay, first question: what was Y/N Avocot’s first role?”

You think for a moment, “well in terms of roles in general, my first acting role was very small and I believe it was for this ice cream commercial as a kid. I’m not sure if it’s still up but my mom had signed me up for it and they thought I was a really cute kid so they casted me.”

Tom laughs, “really?” He then retrieves his board from the crew. “Okay my turn. Why does Coriolanus Snow turn evil?”

That question makes you slightly giggle, because it’s so broad that it’s nearly impossible for Tom to narrow down exactly what it is that made Coriolanus suddenly switch. “I believe you should be asking Suzanne Collins, shout-out to her for making the entire trilogy and prequel. But honestly? I think he was always power hungry, and even though Tigris tried her very best to bring out the humanity in him, it was just never enough. Especially after Sejanus’s death, I think Coriolanus realized there was no going back.”

“Oh wow,” you say, very impressed with how he decided to answer it. “That was a terrific answer Tom.”

“Thank you m’lady.” You giggle at his antics, rolling your eyes jokingly.

“What role does Y/N Avocot play in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes?” You clear your throat, imitating one of your character’s iconic resting bitch face.

“I play Balleona Laurent, duh.” You joke. “Anyway, yes, I play Balleona, also known as Leona. She’s originally from the Capitol just like Coriolanus. They met at the academy and she automatically knew she had to have him. She comes from the Laurent family, which is a very very wealthy, well off, intimidating family that Coriolanus knows he just has to get into, which is why they start dating. I don’t wanna spoil too much of Leona and Corio in the movie, soooo you guys should definitely check it out!”

“Alright,” Tom adjusts himself in his seat, ripping off the paper for the next question. “Does Tom Blyth have a girlfriend?”

He pretends to think, which makes you bite your lip, suppressing a laugh. “Hmm, very complex question.”

“Oh give the people what they want!” You tease, “yes he does. He’s inlove with Jennifer Lawrence.”

“I am not inlove with Jennifer Lawrence!” He exclaims quickly, “although I greatly admire her work. My girlfriend is Y/N Avocot over here, sadly.”

“Sadly?!” You fake offense, “cut the cameras. I’m gonna beat Tom up.”

You peel away at your next question, the interview already being loads of fun for the both of you. “Is Y/N Avocot a good singer?”

Your head falls forward, and Tom’s automatic instinct is to catch you, not realizing you’re only joking. “Oh God, I hope so!” You say, laughing as you pick your head up. “I’m no Mariah Carey but I like to think I’m a pretty okay singer.”

“More than okay,” Tom chimes in, which makes you laugh.

“Aw, thanks Tom.”

Tom reaches to peel another question off. “Is Tom Blyth American?” This question makes you almost spit out the water you were currently taking a sip out of. “Well, a lot of people get shocked when I say I’m from the UK. I mean, is my American accent that good?”

“Guess so,” you shrug. “Okay next. Is Y/N Avocot in The Summer I Turned Pretty?”

You clasp your hands together excitedly, giving the camera a wide smile. “Yes! I play Maekella Fisher, also known as Ella Fisher, Steven Conklin’s love interest and sister to Conrad and Jeremiah. The first season airs out soon so please stay tune for that! I’m so excited to be apart of this amazing show with such amazing people.”

“I always come to watch her on set,” Tom says, “they’re all such funny and charismatic people. I swear I’ve became friends with everyone on Y/N’s cast.”

“Okay, my last question,” Tom peels off the paper, grinning. “Will Tom Blyth star in another movie soon?”

He smirks, eyes playfully looking into the camera. “Who knows? But I do know that something exciting will be coming out soon so prepare yourselves!”

“Way to tease the crowd Blyth,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Anyway! My last question, this was quick. What is Y/N Avocot’s skincare routine? Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one.”

You sit on the edge of your seat, and Tom finds it endearing that you’re so excited about something as small as this.

“First, I rinse my face with cold water and I dip my face in a bowl of ice and water for 3 minutes. Afterwards, I put on my dewy toner from Innisfree, it’s so smooth and nice. Sometimes I’m too lazy for this step but I also put on sunscreen, it’s important so I always remind myself to not forget— but I love to use Supergoop Unseen’s Sunscreen. I use drunk elephant’s bronze drops if I wanna go for a sunkissed look that day, but I usually don’t. And then I just shake my Tower facial spray and spray it all over my face. Usually, I touch up my eyebrows and do my eyeliner but that’s really about it!”

“It’s true,” Tom adds. “She asked me if I could go buy her the tower spray yesterday because she was almost out.”

“No need to expose me like that,” you say, clinging your arms onto his. “Well thank you guys for watching!”

“Thank you!” Tom and you wave at the camera, smiling brightly.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #tbosbas #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games

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heartsfourdazai · 4 months

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boyfriend!dazai who...

poll has spoken; and boyfriend!dazai headcanons has won!! i will write all the ones on the poll, however they will be in order by most voted to least voted ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ small nsfw warning; nothing huge! unedited writing! PLZ ENJOY<3

tags: @atlasnessie @alcides @silverbladexyz @heycharrr @riiwrites @sukiischotic @duin36 @iratherowan @mynaii @tender-rosiey @kawieiichan @yaamssie @moth-of-mythos @pockystixxs @cheeszsecakee @nope0o3 @avocate-assia-dazai @elizais @leyla3x0 @elizaelisabethelisa @ddzai9 @vicsxwy @yashaa11 @hopefulpain @littlestar1-1-1-1 @vanilla-crumbs @ashley-in-scoot @dead-sunflowers @woodle @goth-gaming-nerd @onlinewhisper14 @eyeheartdefton3s @texas-bitch-yee @powerjayyy @sagesdrafts @sleepy-and-lazy @nxathyx @twst-om-lover @dazaisbandagedfingers

white = couldn't tag :[

who is a sucker for your touch and attention!! in a sexual way or not, he will beg for you hands on his!

who guilts you into hanging out with him; even when he knows your busy.

who will take a day off just to be with you.

who lives for your kisses on his neck, he may be major sensitive there but he only allows your lips to kiss it.

who loves it when you so what he asks of you, not even in a sexual way; he just loves how submmisive you are to his words.

who goes on the most crush dates he can think of; amusment parks, movie theaters, ice cream dates, even just movie night at home!

who begs you to do your makeup; even if it's just eyeliner, or blush to make you look pretty!

who holds you close to his chest when he sees you crying about anything. he hates it when you cry, you have no reason to when he's with you.

who doesnt take all your "insecure crap!" not in a rude way- no, no, no- he just doesnt see the point in arguing with you about it; your astonishing!! almost to perfect for this sad and evil world.

who will brag to atsushi about you; to the point the boy gets prettt sick of hearing it. [ however, he would love to meet yoi sometime ]

who hates to fight with you; however he will when needed to. he tends to leave you alone and wait for you to come crawling back to him...

who asks you to do a "double suicide" with him...hes dazai, of course he will. he will stop if you uncomfortable with suicidal jokes, on the spot!

who gets possesive when jealous. pulls you to his side when he sees another man/women try to woo you away from him.

who is broke asf and uses most of the ADA's credit card to pay for your dates/hang outs; or if you want this or that that you come across on dates.

who loves to play with your hair...he loves to comb his fingers through; short or long- putting it in ponytails, styling it.

who makes you feel like your on cloud nine when having sex. he loves to hold you while hes ontop of you and seeing the look on your face.

whos gentle...to a certain extent. he will get rougher; but he does it more the more you ask him to do so.

who has the best aftercare; he will rub any sore spots on your body, mostly your back, thighs, and sometimes ass or arms.

who teases you in bed by kissing your tummy before suddenly biting your inner thighs.

who doesnt mind being the bottom, as long as he gets to feel good he's pretty much at your will.

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gracieheartspedro · 7 months

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Somewhere With You

Part 4 of How Long

pairing: f!reader x brother-in-law!joel miller

FIND Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 HERE!!

description: sleeping with your exes brother is one thing, but envisioning a whole life with him? that's a dangerous game. but you did it. now you're here, and tommy is fucking pissed.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: MINORS DNI! this is 18+, pre!outbreak joel, there is smut in this part!! fear of being caught by sarah?, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), joel is a CONSENT KING, dirty talk, overstimulation, titty fucking (yw caly), light violence, tommy is literally evil.

author's note: jesus christ i'm so glad I am finally here with this. I feel like finishing this is my greatest success in life lmao. I will probably continue this series but this is the last part for a while. I appreciate everyone's love on it and I can't wait to get more stuff out to y'all!

“Are we going to have a celebration when we get home?”

Joel laughs, “Yeah, we can. What did you wanna do?”

You just listen to Sarah list off all the possible ways to celebrate winning the tournament. The movies, going to the mall for new jeans, going to the local ice cream parlor every night of the week. Joel shakes his head at that one as he turns the truck onto the highway. You have your knees up to your chest, the zip up Joel let you borrow hanging off your shoulders. You had complained about how cold you were all weekend, so Joel shut you up by tossing you his zip up. You haven’t taken it off since.

The sun was setting over the horizon, drawing the Sunday to a close. You had to work in the morning and you were dreading concluding the weekend you spent with Joel and Sarah.

Everything with them seems natural. It felt like family.

You did not want to face tomorrow, especially when there was no set plans as to when you would be hanging out with them again.

Luckily, Sarah has not mentioned much of anything about what she saw early Saturday morning, so there was no awkward tension. The only time it came up was when you all were tired from Saturday’s events and you arrived back to the hotel room.

“You two sleeping together tonight, too?” She asked, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She wasn’t even trying to be rude or demeaning, she just wanted to know if she could fall asleep in one of the beds without being stirred.

“Yeah, you can have that bed hun.” Joel answered.

Sitting on those horribly uncomfortable bleachers and cheering Sarah on had taken a lot out of you, so you were ready to throw yourself into the plush mattress, too.

You watched Sarah throw herself onto of the comforter, sinking into the pillows face first. It makes you giggle while you grab your pajamas to change.

Joel nudges you while you dig through your duffle, “No funny business tonight, ma’am.”

You shake your head, his comment making your stomach turn upside down with nerves. You smack his chest with the back of your hand, “No duh, asshole.”

Sarah puts her headphones on, drowning out Joel’s humming to an old country song. You just stare ahead, watching him speed pass car after car. His truck revs every time he does it which makes you clench your knees a bit tighter.

“In a rush, dear?”

The nickname makes his heart race.

He taps his fingers, trying to act like that nickname doesn’t drive him insane. “Want to make sure to get you home so you can be rested up for work in the morning.”

“That’s mighty sweet of you, but take your time. I’m in no rush.”

He eases off the gas a bit, taking your advice.

“You talk to your Mama lately? She still likin’ Maine?”

It wasn’t a question you were expecting coming from Joel. You had told him about your mom around the time that she moved away, however long ago that was. You truly didn’t expect him to even remember.

“We talk every week, she likes it there. Wants me to come experience a winter there, so I may go up for Christmas,” You explain, remembering back to conversation you two just had last week. She wanted you to feel what fluffy snow felt like and maybe go skiing with her.

It makes Joel’s heart sink a bit. Not because you would be visiting your mother, but instead you would not be here to spend Christmas with him and Sarah. He had already planned on making a spot for you at the dining table.

“That’d be nice,” He licks his lips, contemplating if he should say what he really wants to say, “‘M bettin’ she misses seein’ your beautiful face everyday.”

You smile, your cheeks burning hot at Joel calling you beautiful. You knew you had to throw him off and give him a sarcastic response to keep him on his toes.

“Gonna freeze my ass off there. May have to borrow some of your flannels.”

He chuckles, tilting his head towards you, “You already havta’ have about four of my t-shirts, now that hoodie. You wanna raid me some more?”

“If I’m remembering correctly, you said I just had to “get with you” to get clothes,” You’re whispering, leaning into him. You don’t want Sarah to hear the words you’re speaking to her father, “How many times do we need to go at it before I get one of those denim jackets you own?”

He peers over at you. You smirk, quirking one eyebrow up.

“You with me to get my clothes or somethin’?”

“That and other things,” You tease, pulling away, leaning your back against the seat again.

Joel peers into the rear view mirror. Sarah is asleep, her headphones blasting her favorite pop album. He tilts his head towards you, his eyes not leaving the road, “You’ll havta remind me of those other things when we get home.”

He could get used to always having you in his passenger seat.

Sarah was dead asleep in the backseat, so you both decided to get all the stuff from the back inside before nudging her awake. You quietly shut the door, grabbing Joel’s one bag from the driveway and slinging it over your shoulder.

You follow close behind him as he unlocks the front door and places Sarah’s stuff on the staircase.

The idea of having to leave made you want to scream. You didn’t feel like driving home and laying lonely in your own bed. You didn’t want to resume your boring life at work. You just wanted him.

This weekend made you realize that you really couldn’t live without him. You’re not only comfortable around him, but he’s exciting. He cracks jokes and compliments you when you don’t expect it. Those couple of months without him were still months he was plaguing your mind, even though he wasn’t physically around you.

You snap out of your thoughts quickly. You start watching Joel’s muscles restrict over his gray t-shirt and it’s enough to send you to your knees. You didn’t even realize how crazy he was driving you. His messy curls that were trapped under a hat most of the weekend are finally loose and curling up his neck. And the way his jeans hugged his ass while he walked away from you? You didn’t know how long to could refrain from telling him you needed him, right this second.

“I may call out tomorrow. Too tired to sit on my computer all day and run reports,” You say while he wonders back to you from his bedroom down the hall. You’re hoping it leads to an offer.

He nods, tossing his keys on the entry table next to you,“Yeah, I am off tomorrow. Have to get this house in order and make sure Sarah actually wakes up for school in the morning.”

No offer. Maybe you could propose it?

“Maybe I could just spend the night.”

The air is thick instantly with tension. You can hear the hitch in his throat. Once you say it, you realize how desperate you must sound. But you want to be able to lay next to him again. You want and need him.

“If that’s what you wanna do, sweetheart. I don’t mind none. Love havin’ you here.”

He grabs your waist lazily, pulling you into his chest. The connection sends chills down your arms.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to you to think I’m being needy.”

He doesn’t even hesitate, he just bows his head to capture your lips with his, giving you a slow sensual kiss. You move your hands up to his neck, pulling him down further into you, eager to be close to him.

When he realizes that’s where it’s going, he pulls up for air.

“Lemme go get the last couple bags and get Sarah inside.”

As he says that, the door flings open behind you. A sleepy Sarah blinks at both of you, shaking her head instantly when she sees her Dad’s arms wrapped around you. You push back, flinging yourself backwards and away from Joel.

“Can you lovebirds do that somewhere else,” She groans, while rubbing her eyes, “Don’t need another sibling created right in front of m-”

“Sarah Jane!”

You smile when Joel drops onto his mattress with a huff.

“So…” You drift off, crawling onto Joel’s lap, “You come here often?”

He chuckles, his hands beginning to trail your waist.

“Come here quite often, actually,” He jokes, his hands resting right under your shirt and on your hips. “How about you?”

You hum, “Not really. Maybe a couple times. Would love to come around, more though.”

“That so?”

You lean down, using your fingers to pull back his brown locks and pivot his head upward. You kiss him gingerly, smiling at his small groan.

You pull away, “I’d love to come to your bed every night, Joel Miller.”

The guttural moan he makes sends a rush to your core. He grabs the nape of your neck and brings you back down to his lips. He takes control of your movements, switching positions by gently laying you back. He leans over your body, his lips carrying the weight of his emotion. You’re scrambling though, tugging at his shirt, trying to rid it off his body. He pulls away to throw it off his body, motioning you to do the same. Soon, you two are completely naked.

“I never get sick of this view,” He rasps, his eyes raking your body.

You smirk, “Back atcha, babe.”

He positions himself on top of you, his lips lingering on your neck and collarbones.

Joel’s kisses are always intentional. It’s like he knows every pressure point on your body. His lips are always wet and supple, dragging across your soft skin.

When his mouth reaches the skin around your breast, you start to arch up for more contact. He grabs your stomach, pushing it softly down onto the bed.

“Patience, baby,” He mumbles, kissing the same area on the other breast. You jerk up again, absentmindedly.

“Can’t help it,” You whine, trying not to sound so desperate.

He clicks his tongue, “You can and you will.”

His lips wrap around your nipple and you just watch with hooded lids. His eyes are closed, so focus on teasing every inch of your body. You can feel the slick pool between your legs at the sight.

“Joel, please.”

He releases the pink nub, “What, baby? Use those words.”

“I want you all over, Joel.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?”

He grabs your breast roughly, making you mewl.

You finally gesture down. Your hand slides between your legs, dragging up and down your own slit. You gather as much slick as you can, bringing it up to Joel’s surprised expression.

“I see…” He brings your fingers up to his lips. You gape at his next actions, amazed that he’s so filthy. He takes your two fingers and licks them like a popsicle. You audible sigh as he sucks on your fingers like a man starved.

“You goin’ to be extra good for me?” He asks when your digits escape his mouth.

“Always am.”

Your voice is shaky when you say it. It makes Joel smirk. He loves when you sound ruined.

“Love hearing those words come out of your pretty little mouth.”

He crawls down your body, peppering kisses from your stomach down to your thighs. You watch him closely as he props your thighs over his shoulders. He does not waste time, diving straight into your divine center. You try to refrain from screaming his name, knowing Sarah may not be asleep yet. You clap your hand over your mouth while he licks your sensitive clit. He lays his tongue flat, pressing into you as he shakes his head back and forth. When he does that, you yelp into your palm.

“Mmm, baby girl wants to be loud so bad,” He chuckles darkly, using his fingers to spread your lips, “You wanna be loud for me huh?”

“Yes, please, God,” You pant, “Need you in me, Joel.”

“Yeah? Lets stretch you out a bit,” He doesn’t even give any warning when he sinks his fingers inside your pussy. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready, baby girl. Want you to cum before I stick this cock in ya.”

You swallow, letting him take the lead like usual. You liked it this way, when he ravishes you with his abilities and you get to cum several times. You never had sex like this in your life, especially consistently.

His fingers curl inside you, pumping in and out. You can hear how wet you are, the wetness sequelching against Joel’s fingers. Your pussy is graced with his tongue again while he fucks you with his digits. It’s like it’s pulled out of you. The orgasm sends white hot flashes to your vision. You know you’re saying something, but it’s no word in the English language.

When you come back down from euphoria, Joel’s ontop of you again. He’s kissing your cheeks, mumbling something about how beautiful you are when you cum.

“Joel, please,” Your hands grab onto his biceps, “Want you inside me.”

His cock drags along your navel, as he situates himself between your legs.

“Yeah? Always so eager,” He grabs his cock with his free hand, “Wanna try something a little different?”

Your stomach drops, “Like what?”

He toys with your nipple with his pointer and thumb, “Always wanted to fuck these.”

You smirk at the thought, your stomach finally at ease.

“You want to fuck my titties, Joel?”

“If you’ll let me,” He squeezes your boob gently, “Think these things are perfect. Want my cock right between them.”

You nod, “Fuck ‘em then, baby.”

He pulls you up, practically shoving you on the ground beside his bed. He wasn’t being aggressive, just guiding you to follow his lead. You sit on your knees, watching up at him as he pumps his cock over you. You use both hands to push your tits together. He grins as he touches the head of his cock to your hard nipples.

“So good for me,” He groans, slipping his cock between your cleavage, “Obeyin’ me and doin’ everythin’ I want. My fuckin’ dream girl.”

He starts to fuck your squeezed together tits as you stare up at him with a completely spent expression. You dribble some spit down between the break in your breast to lube up the area. Your pupils are blown and you feel the wetness of you slit soaking the skin of your legs. You can tell by the look on Joel’s face that he could cum at the sight of you.

But he stops and instead, grabs your bicep and tosses you back on the bed. You watch him crawl up between your legs, his face untamed and filled with anticipation.

“Need to cum in that pussy,” He pumps it a couple times before slipping in between your pussy lips, “Do you need me to put on a condom or anything? I don’t have to fuck you raw every time.”

You bite your lip, “I like feeling every part of you, Joel. I promise.”

“Mmm,” He hums, sinking his cock head inside you, “Love to hear that, baby.”

You circle your hips, practically fiening for him to sink all the way into you. He takes the hint, plunging into you with one snap. Once he’s finally sheathed in you, you groan out which only instigates him. He draws out and back in, his pace painstakingly slow. You grip onto his forearms, digging your nails into them. Maybe he will take the hint that you need it faster.

But, no.

“Words, darlin’. Tell me what you need.”

You choke out the words, “Faster. Harder.”

He kisses your lips, shushing you as his tempo picks up. He wants to feel the vibrations of your moans. He knows if you’re too loud there may be listening ears, so kissing you will hush the sounds of pleasure. He sits up and repositions, grabbing the back of both of your legs, practically folding you in half. You smirk in delight, watching his furrowed expression focus on your body’s reactions.

“This pussy is mine,” He huffs, watching himself plow into you, “All fuckin’ mine. Ya know that?”

“Yes,” You manage to peep out, “It’s yours, Joel.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” He spreads your legs, opening you up nice and wide. His thumb finds your responsive clit, circling it with the momentum of his hips, “Cum for me, baby. Soak this fuckin’ cock.”

Your body reacts in the way he finds so satisfying. Your hips lift up as the climax takes over, your whole body shaking at the ecstasy he brings you. He doesn’t let up, chasing his own bliss. You are so overstimulated, you are just gasping for air. He starts to falter, his pace slowing as he coats your insides with his cum.

You start to chuckle when his body practically collapses onto you. His sweaty curls stick to your perspiring cheek. You find yourself kissing his temple, practically thanking him for fucking you so good every time.

He stands up, his half-hard dick slipping out of you pain-stakingly slow. You whimper at the feeling, still a mess from your orgasm.

“God, you are perfect,” He mumbles, his hand slipping down your bare thigh, “Could fuck you every day for the rest of my life.”

You are still awestruck by the interaction, you don’t even know you’re saying it, “Why don’t you?”

He smiles while he helps you sit up, “I will. Now let’s get you all showered and ready for bed, huh?”

“Yes, please.”

Luckily for you, your body naturally wakes up at 5:30AM. You creep out of the bedroom, making sure not to stir Joel awake. You find the house phone and call your boss, letting her know you were “sick” and needed to use a sick day. She just mumbled a “whatever” and you hung up, heading back to the warmth of Joel’s bed.

Joel wakes up as soon as you crawl back into bed, but he knew he had to get up and make sure Sarah got ready and off to school, anway. He cuddles you for a bit, watching you nod back off to sleep. He let you sleep in while he cleaned up the house a bit. He tries his best not to much too much noise, not wanting to rattle you awake.

You did wake back up when you heard the vacuum. You pull yourself together, putting your hair up into a bun as you stumble out of the bedroom. Joel stands in the living room, not even aware you’re behind him. He jumps when he notices you in the threshold, turning off the vacuum.

“Mornin’ sleepin’ beauty,” He laughs as he wraps up the vacuum cord.

“Mornin’ handsome.”

You watch him roll the machine back into the hall closet before taking note to how nice and clean the house looked.

“Looks good in here,” You mumble, noting how every surface looks dusted, “It’s missing one thing. You have a vase?”

He silently nods, looking at you confused.

“Go fill it with water, I’ll be back.”

You walk towards the front door, swinging it open as you begin tip toeing to Joel’s side garden. He had started it with Sarah years ago, and for the most part, it was completely overgrown. Some flowers still bloom in the Texas sun, so you pick the prettiest from the dirt. Once you have a bundle, you practically jog inside to show Joel your bouquet.

“Hmm,” He smirks, “Didn’t think we needed flowers.”

“Well, you do.”

He shows you the vase on the coffee table, letting you take on the responsibility to make it pretty. He watches you carefully, your tired eyes trained on the task.

You were his dream girl, truly.

Once you’re satisfied with your arrangement, you make a grand gesture.

“Beautiful, baby,” He beams, wrapping his arms around your waist. He drops down onto the couch, pulling you into his lap.

“Who me or the flowers?” You joke.

“Both.”

You give him a lazy kiss, smirking into it.

This part of life with Joel is so domestic and perfect. You two could create this little world and live in it forever. He appreciated your silly antics, knowing how neglected this side of you must have been with Tommy. He didn’t care about the small gestures like Joel did.

It was so reassuring being with Joel. He praised you like you had never been before.

As you pull away from his lips, you hear a door slam outside. Before you could even react, the front door swings open into the house. You sit on Joel’s lap, turned away from the front door, completely dumbfounded.

“What is going on here?”

His voice scares you. You don’t even want to turn around in Joel’s lap to face him. Joel slowly helps you out of his lap, his eyes never leaving Tommy’s.

When you finally turn to face Tommy, his eyes are wild and bright red. He looks like he hasn’t showered in days, his longer hair greasy and standing in all sorts of directions. It’s not his appearance that scares you, it’s the energy he’s brought into Joel’s living room. It’s the same scary tension you experienced when he lashed out on you before.

Joel finally speaks up, clearing his throat. “What do you mean?”

But Tommy isn’t talking to Joel. He’s looking at you.

“Are you fuckin’ my brother?”

He’s pointing at you, his finger waving at you like an adult who’s scolding a child. You open your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your throat is dry, the shock and terror taking ahold of your vocal chords.

“Tommy, we aren’t doing this.”

Joel puts himself in between Tommy and you, ensuring he doesn’t creep closer to you. You want to believe Tommy would never get physical with you, but the way he looks now, you’re not one hundred percent positive.

“That’s not what I fuckin’ asking, Joel. Are you two sleepin’ together?”

His voice is booming, bouncing off every corner of the room. It makes you shrink three sizes.

Joel places his head up, warning him silently not to get any closer, “Tommy-”

“Answer the fuckin’ question!”

You want to curl into a ball. You knew this would fucking happen. You knew he’d go insane.

You look at Joel finally. You realize your eyes were trained on Tommy in terror, unsure on how to console him. Joel licks his lips, rolling his eyes a bit. You just nod, trying to answer Tommy’s question without saying anything. You didn’t want him to realize how shaky your voice was.

Once he gets confirmation, all hell breaks loose. He’s pushing on Joel with his chest, screaming expletives at him. You stand in the corner of the living room, your body practically wedged between a lamp and the couch. You want to become one of the dustbunnies on the floor boards, not wanting to be apart of this situation.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole! You fucked my girl-“

Before he can even finish the statement, Joel becomes a brick wall. He’s staring down at Tommy now, all the while snot is running down at his little brother’s face. He looked pathetic. As he nudges Joel’s chest, he hardly moves a milimeter. Joel doesn’t even hesitate when he says the next words.

“Not your girl.”

You truly cannot believe the words coming out of Joel’s mouth. You knew what he was insinuating and it brought chills up your back. Tommy’s movements completely halt and he stands there in a stunned silence. Joel’s jaw is slack, his eyes trained down at Tommy. It’s a stand-off.

Tommy crooks his head to the side, like he’s stretching it. “You want to pull that shit now, Joel? I knew you wanted my sloppy seconds the moment you told me she was at your house that night.”

Being referred as “sloppy seconds” makes your blood boil. It’s so dehumanizing.

“Stop talking about her like that,” Joel warns, his voice a whole octave lower.

“No,” Tommy growls, his gaze finally falling on you again, “You’re a whore. Just like your stupid sister.”

You swallow hard. It’s finally your moment to shine. The burst of adrenaline chorusing through your veins finally propels you forward, pushing Joel out of your way.

“You’re the town whore, Tommy Miller. You fucked your way around Austin and then came home to me every night,” You are shaking. Luckily, your voice isn’t wavering, “You lie. You cheat. You are a decietiful little shit. And I’m so glad you are because if you hadn’t slept with my sister and told me, I would have never realized how terrible you were to me all these years. I wasted so much time on babying you.”

The vein in his forehead is bulging and it makes you smile a bit.

“If I could go back in time, I would’ve saved my fucking tears and ran the other direction.”

He has the audacity to giggle, “Instead you ran right into Joel’s arms.”

You don’t hesitate, “You never gave a damn about me, he actually did. I should’ve taken the hint the moment he brought me flowers for my graduation, and you showed up with a flask.”

“You graduated college! Big fuckin’ deal! Get over yourself!”

Now you’re laughing.

“Bite me, Tommy,” You reach out and grab his t-shirt, pulling him into you. It makes Joel super nervous how close he is to you. He knows Tommy’s temper and how easily he will snap. He doesn’t know the next words about to come out of your mouth.

“You cheated on me, you fucking loser. I told you then we were done that night, did I not? What I did after that point is not your business. I’m not yours anymore. And your brother, he treats me real good. Way better than you ever did. He can actually last, unlike you,” You smack your lips together, “He can fuck me better than you, that’s for sure.”

Joel’s eyes widen at the words. Tommy looks completely dazed, but as soon as the last line leaves your mouth, he pushes you backward, right into Joel. You squeak at the contact, your brain registering that he actually put his hands on you. Joel quickly grabs you from tripping over him, and places you behind him quickly. Tommy reaches out for you, but Joel stops him meer inches from your face.

“Fuck you!”

Tommy tries to throw his hand at Joel’s head next but it’s quickly stopped by Joel’s forearm. Instead of Tommy continuing the fight with you two, he takes it out on the new flowers and vase you just put out on Joel’s coffee table. He uses all his force, grabbing the vase and launching it towards the wall. The glasses shatters, water splashes on the wall, and pieces of flowers litter the floor.

The action sends Joel pushing Tommy backward and against the wall. You want to yell out for them to stop, but all that comes out his Joel’s name.

When he pins Tommy to the wall, he finally turns to you.

“Don’t.”

It’s the only word you can say. You’re shaking, your eyes welling with tears. Joel knows you don’t want to see him demolish Tommy with his fists, so he thinks quick. He grabs Tommy’s collar, dragging him out the front door.

You follow far behind, not sure what Joel’s gameplan is.

Tommy is yelling, telling Joel to unhand him. Joel just tightens his grip.

“Coming into my house, talking to my girl like that. Fuckin’ disrespectful little shit.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” Tommy yells, his voice probably waking the neighbors. Joel launches Tommy’s body into the front yard, right near the flower bed. You watch from the doorway, wanting to keep your distance from the confrontation.

“Remember when you had temper tantrums when Momma told you no as a boy? Nothings changed. You’re an immature little brat.”

Joel reaches down into the flower bed, grabbing the hose. Tommy is still on the ground, scrambling to get up. Joel does something so unexpected, it makes you yelp. He starts soaking Tommy with the hose.

“Yeah, like the girl said before,” He aims towards Tommy’s face, “bite me.”

Tommy starts to spit up water, jumping up and away from the stream of water. Instead of tackling Joel like you anticipate, he just shakingly wipes his hair out of his eyes.

“You two are sick. Fuckin’ sick. And everyone will know about this.”

It makes your heart sink to your stomach. You don’t really care if anyone knows anymore. You knew this was going to be the worst part, but its the way he makes it sound like a threat.

“I bet they will, I just don’t give a damn.”

Joel sprays him while he stands up, making Tommy groan and yell out in annoyance. Joel just smiles, sickly.

Tommy storms off to his truck, dripping wet from the shower Joel just gave him on his front lawn. Joel tosses the hose back into the garden, satisfied with his work. You two stand there, watching Tommy do a burn out and speed off down the road. You breathe out loud, your hands finding your face. Joel glances between his neighbour’s houses, ensuring there is no one outside watching the events unfold. He did not care if they did watch, but he knew you would probably care.

He grabs ahold of your shoulders, guiding you back inside the house. Your eyes instantly fall on all the shattered glass and flowers as you walk inside. Joel ignores it and brings you into the kitchen.

Your mind is racing. You knew every word you said to Tommy was right deep down. But the girl you were, she wouldn’t have instigated his rage. She would’ve sat there and took every word he said to heart and believed them.

But the girl you are now, that girl is completely ruthless. You are petty. You are harsh. You are angry.

You kind of scared yourself.

“Joel-”

“No baby,” he mutters, “You better not say what I think you’re gonna say.”

“Joel, we can’t d-”

“We can. Because fuck Tommy. Fuck everyone,” He grabs your hips, letting his hands settle softly on your curves, “I want you. I want you so bad. I am not lettin’ you get away. Tommy can tell everyone in the fuckin’ world about us, and I won’t fuckin’ care. What he says doesn’t reflect you. You did nothin’ wrong. Okay?”

You swallow. You know he’s right, but you’re so scared of all this fallout. You don’t want it to scare you away from Joel, but it’s nervewracking to wait around and anticipate all of the chaos that will follow this incident. You did not want to tear apart a family. It’s the same feeling you had the morning after you first slept with Joel.

You’re scared to have him because of what it means for him. It means weird holidays and weird stares at grocery stores. It means you will be known as his brother’s ex girlfriend never just his girl.

You don’t realize it, but you’re staring past Joel. He tilts your head towards him, making your eyes connect.

“I love you, okay?”

His words make your heart flutter with relief. Maybe that’s what you needed. You needed him to finally say those words. Because those words were hanging in the back of your mind, simmering, waiting to be said.

“I love you, too, Joel.”

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #gracieheartspedro

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luveline · 8 months

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Maybe a Eddie and Roan where Roan gets into an argument with one of her friend/classmate and she’s like really grumpy and reader and Eddie try and cheer her up or even defuse the situation??

tysm ♡ eddie and roan

Roan toddles out of her classroom with her eyes on the floor until she reaches Eddie's legs. He frowns at her in surprise, smoothing the frizz of her curls away from her forehead. "Hello," he says.

"Everything okay?" you ask.

That morning at the kitchen table, when you told Roan you'd be there at pick up with her dad (the two of you taking a much needed day off to waste together in bed doing alternate loads of laundry), she smiled and climbed into your lap. "Good," she said, her lips shiny with waffle syrup, "I'll make you a present in arts and crafts."

"You will? Thanks, baby," you'd said.

The present isn't anywhere to be seen now, nor is your sparkling girl. Roan rubs her cheek against Eddie's legs without greeting you. Eddie takes the hint and leans down to take her into his arms. He sighs as he stands, ducking his head to hers.

"Hello," he says again, gentler now. "Bad day?"

She sniffles and puts her face in his shirt collar. Eddie covers the back of her head, his eyes wide. What the fuck, he mouths, surprise melding into something worse. He hates when Roan's upset like this. Her tantrums are loud but her real tears are always quiet, and you can see the moment Eddie's heart breaks, her hands gripping his hair urgently.

"Hey, okay, don't worry, bubby��" He nods his head back the way you came, and you follow at his elbow, crestfallen.

He prods at it as you walk to the car. What happened? and Talk to me, babe. Roan stops crying and turns silent, until the concern gets too much.

"I'm sure whatever it is, we can make it better. You just have to tell me what happened, roly-poly."

"Nothing! Nothing happened, dad, stop."

Eddie rubs her shoulders. "Alright. If you say so."

You open the car door for them and Eddie covers the top of Roan's head as he tucks her in. She's definitely reaching an age where all this carrying is unnecessary, but Eddie always says he has muscles for a reason. You like to roll your eyes, and, secretly, think it's amazingly sweet. He's like that.

"Want me to come and sit in the back?" you ask.

"No."

"Are you sure? We can play pat-a-cake, or thumb wrestle?"

"I don't want to."

More of the same on the drive home. Eddie suggests ice cream, movies, McDonald's. Roan stares out the window and refuses to answer. Safe to say, you both hate it. It's your worst nightmare to know that somethings wrong but not know what that something is.

"Let's go to Leaven," you whisper.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, though he takes the turn, whispering back, "Why Leaven?"

"We can buy her some fancy cupcakes and new pyjamas and stuff. And a tape, whatever she wants."

"We can't just buy her happiness," Eddie says.

"Really?"

"...Maybe."

You park up in the family spaces near the front of Leaven and Eddie insists upon himself from car to store. "Please hold my hand, babe, I'll get lost in Leaven by myself," he whines, waving his hand at her. "I won't know where to go if you don't steer me."

"Fine!" she says, taking his hand furiously.

"Do you want to know why we're here, lovely girl?" you ask.

"No."

"Roan, don't be mean," Eddie says reproachfully.

"I'm not mean, dad."

"You're being a little tiny bit mean. We should try to be nice to the people we love even when we have bad days. Work is very very hard, but I try to pick you up from school and be happy because you haven't done anything wrong."

"I don't want to be happy," she pouts, twisting her head away from you both.

Eddie huffs playfully and grabs her from behind. Arms under her armpits, he swings her around and chuckles maliciously in her ear. "Silly girl left herself open for my evil plan," he croons, the voice of a character from one of his campaigns that gives you and Roan the shivers.

You grab a kart and push the children's seat out for Eddie to slide her in. "Trapped!" he declares, squeezes the arms of her vinyl coat. "And there's nothing you can do to stop us!"

Roan struggles to pretend she doesn't find it funny. "Stop what?" she asks, exaggeratedly unhappy to maintain her grumpy facade.

"We're going to spoil you, duh," he says, voice back to normal. "What should we get first, my love?" he asks you. "Cupcakes?"

"Best get cupcakes before they run out of the pink bunnies."

Roan's lips quirk at the name of her favourite ones. "Are we really having pink bunnies?" she asks.

"We're having anything that will make you smile," Eddie says.

You link your arm through his for most of the journey, the smell of his cologne rich and smokey. He doesn't smell like diesel, a rare occasion, nor are his clothes mottled by oil. You look like a family meant to shop at Leaven (sort of, you aren't so decked in designer as the wealthy Hawkinites). Roan perks a little as you pick cupcakes from the bakery counter, their gold foil wrappers reflected in the brown wells of her eyes. Eddie lets her eat one as you walk around so long as she puts the wrapper in the bag when she's done.

From there, you choose pyjamas, a stuffie shaped like a frog, and a breadcrumb covered tray of mac and cheese. You pick up things you don't need as you go, fancy brownies in a tub and clothes softener. The best part is the deliberating, you and Eddie and Roan taking turns sniffing the caps and debating which one smells best. You settle on deep sea minerals, probably because Roan likes the seahorse on the front.

"You're a traitor," you say, putting back the scent you'd preferred with put upon disappointment.

Roan giggles sweetly. Like a plug pulled, a levy unburdened, she laughs from the checkout to the car, all the way home. You barely notice how dark it's become, focused on the loving heat of Eddie's hand on your knee and Roan's renewed smile.

Later, once she's had a bath and you're all in your pyjamas, Eddie asks her again what upset her, and she gives a teary answer. One of the Stacey's said her hair looked ugly, and Roan agreed with her.

"Bubby, your hair's not ugly," you say, chucking her under the chin. Eddie, her chair, leans his chin over her shoulder to agree.

"It's beautiful."

She sniffles. "I said it was ugly, and it's not nice because daddy has the same hair." She sputters wetly, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. "I'm really sorry."

"Aw, Ro." Eddie hugs her with both arms tight to his stomach. "Don't be sorry, you don't have anything to be sorry for. Stacy shouldn't say you have ugly hair– you have beautiful hair. So shiny and bouncy. I promise you it's perfect."

You smile at Roan encouragingly. "Your hair is soooo super pretty. Just like your dad's."

"You think so?"

"I know so." You coil a curl around your finger. When you let it go, it springs away and falls against her face.

Roan relaxes into Eddie's chest. He rubs her upper arm, a similar relief on his pert features.

"Is there anything else wrong?" Eddie asks.

Roan closes her eyes, dark lashes kissing her cheek. "I think I have a tummy ache."

"I bet you do, babe. Why don't we lie down for a bit?"

Roan agrees wholeheartedly. It's a tight squeeze, but the three of you manage to lay on your couch, the smell of sugary pink icing stuck to your fingers and the warm scent of mac and cheese floating in from the kitchen.

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prettymeredith · 3 months

Text

Tickle Questions for Lers! 😈

What is your favorite tickle spot?

2. If you were to interrogate someone with tickling, what kind of information or questions would you be looking to get or ask?

3. Tag someone you want to tickle. (If you're comfortable).

4. Famous person you'd most like to tickle?

5. Share one of your favorite reactions you've had from tickling someone.

6. What is your preferred way to restrain your Lee for a tickle session?

7. Is wearing a mask or a costume a thing for you while tickling? If yes, what kind?

8. Most affective tickle tool?

9. What is something you've always wanted to try on a Lee?

10. Best advice you have for other Lers?

11. Best advice you have for potential Lees?

12. What is your least favorite tickle trope?

13. What is the difference between a punishments tickle vs. a playful tickle?

14. What never fails to trigger a ler mood?

15. When did you first discover your internet in tickling?

16. For people who are strictly Ler, why is there a lack of interest in tickling from a Lee perspective?

17. If you're tickle style was a flavor of Ice Cream, what flavor would it be and why?

18. The best kind of Lees are the ones who:

19. What would your ideal "Tickle Room" be like? Aesthetic, tools, equipment, etc?

20. If a Lee is being tickled alone in the woods, does it make a sound?

21. Have you ever made someone snort whole tickling?

22. Do you prefer to have blindfolds? Or have them witness whats coming?

23. What does your ideal session look like?

24. Do you use your tickling as a force of evil or good? Both?

25. If you were a warden of some made up "Tickling Prison" or "Asylum" what are some key rules you have for your occupants?

26. Favorite Tickle Studio?

27. Is it more fun to have another Ler help or do you prefer to work alone?

28. What kind tickle scenes would you like to see more of on your Tumblr feed?

29. What kind of nicknames do you like to use on a Lee?

30. If you could choose a Lee to tickle based off of their occupation alone, who would you choose? (For example, Teacher, Nurse, Police Officer, Politician, etc.)

31. You and a Lee agree to a fixed time for a tickle session. As the final minutes approach, how would your orchestrate your final tickle attack?

32. Is there a public place or setting where you've often dreamed of to tickle somebody?

33. Favorite form of aftercare?

34. Genereally, are tickle scenes in TV and Movies more awesome or kind of cheesy? Depends?

35. For you, who is the one Lee that 'got away' and sometimes reflect about what you could have differently to achieve a different, more desired, outcome?

36. What is the biggest compliment a Ler cab recieve?

37. Of the following categories, tell us if they give off Ler, Lee, or Switch energy: Jocks, Nerds, Loners, Cheerleaders, Goths, Band Geeks, Drama Members, Teacher's Pets, Hipsters.

38. How often do you need a tickle 'fix'?

39. Favorite way to fluster a Lee?

40. "_______ and Tickling goes together like Chocolate and Peanut Butter."

41. What is a popular Movie that you would add a Tickle Scene into and why?

42. Thoughts on Renaissance/Medieval style Tickling?

43. You have to pick one area to NEVER tickle again; whose gotta go? Feet, Tummy, Armpits, Thighs.

44. What is a "Tickle Game" that is fun, or looks fun, to play?

45. Do you like to slowly remove shoes/clothing from your lee or do you prefer a 'blank canvas' to work with?

46. Could you handle tickling two Lees at once?

47. Using a pen to write/scribble things on your Lee, Yay or Nay? What do you draw/write?

48. What is a piece of tickle media you haven't seen in a long time but would loke to see again?

49. Have you ever seen someone with a feather tattoo and wondered if they were into tickling?

50. T.I.C.K.L.E. stands for what?

#tickle community #tickle asks #tickling #tickle #tickle kink #tword community #tickles #ler mood #ler

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kugokizs · 2 years

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DEVILISH | F. TOJI (m)

what was supposed to be a chill night alone turns into a fight for your life; Toji has been watching you, waiting for the best moment to strike, and he’s finally found the right time — but why are you so utterly enticing?

PAIRING: toji x fem! reader

WARNINGS: dub-con, serial killer!toji, predator and prey dynamics, mentions of murder/violence, breeding, mating press, degrading, mentions of stalking, morally grey character, dumbification, size kinkkkk, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, pussy eating, oh and they have sex outside… on the ground. lmk if i’m missing anything !!!

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

A/N: i honestly can’t remember if i based this off scream or scary movie but toji is a serial killer !! pls be advised, view at your own risk, pls my loves, keep yourself safe!! send me an ask or reblog if you enjoyed !! tysmm.

NOW PLAYING: all i need by lloyd, one night only by sonder, devilish by chase atlantic, & skin by rihanna.

Toji Fushiguro is a very sinister man.

He holds grudges, is very keen on practicing “eye for an eye”, and he holds dear his power over weak, vulnerable, young women. He prowls for the pleasure of it, for the thrill — to hear them beg for mercy, for one more chance. They beg on their knees as if he’s a God, the bringer of all evil, the grim reaper, the devil himself. And, Toji thinks, maybe he is. After all, who else could invoke such fear in people. Who else could cause someone to shiver just at the mention of his name? To run for the hills at any sign of danger. Who else could do what he does? No one, and that’s what makes him enjoy it even more.

Toji Fushiguro is a very sinister man, and right now he has his eyes on you. It’s been months, bumping into you at the grocery store, handing you things that you’ve dropped accidentally, holding the door open for you, dropping food on your doorstep — he’s seen it all. Late nights with friends, early morning at university, skipping lunch to study in the library… Toji has been there. Watching, waiting, prowling. Ever since the first time he saw you he’s wanted you, to add you to his ever growing collection, to keep you, to make you his. You’re his. And the only one between you both who didn’t know that yet, was you.

He has a foot buried in your grass, a cap hanging low on his head and a knife tucked inside his jacket. He makes sure to move with precision, watching out for the automated sprinklers and for any animals that might come looking. After all this time he knows the routine well. He knows when you’re staying home all night, what time you usually shower, when you eat, everything. He knows you’re a naturally anxious person, jumping at any sudden movements or noises, and he also knows you’re careless. Blasting music on flimsy headphones, falling asleep to the sound in your ear, oblivious to the world around you. Oblivious to the devil creeping on your doorstep.

He crouches down low, your blinds open just enough that he can see you plopped down on your couch with a bowl of ice cream in hand and a silly movie playing on the TV. Your legs are curled up, oversized pajama pants falling over the soles of your feet, and your attention solely on what’s playing in front of you. Toji’s been inside your house before, on the rare days where he wasn’t following you around he made his way through the place, memorizing the layout, seeing which rooms were the most lived-in, taking his time to appreciate your bedroom and all it had to offer. Drawers upon drawers of lingerie greeted him when he peaked inside — he didn’t think you had it in you. His fingerprints would’ve been all over the place if not for gloves, his face on every camera if he hadn’t known all the blindspots. And thank God you didn’t have cameras inside, because then it’d only make it harder for him, and if you wanted something a little less painful when your time was up, it was best you didn’t piss him off.

Though Toji thinks he might play with you a bit. You’re interesting, just anxious enough to get by yet careless and reckless enough to get caught in a stupid situation. You’re pretty — innocent in the sexiest way possible. You look like you’d go dumb for a taste of his cock and that’s exactly what he likes most about you, but he knows you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and he appreciates that, too.

The moon shines a ghastly glow over his features right as the end credits of the movie start to run, and that’s when he decides it’s time to play. He picks up a smooth, round, pebble — no bigger than a quarter, and throws it so that it hits the window pane. He crouches down just the smallest bit lower, eyes peeking over the blinds and he trusts the darkness to obscure him. He knows that you won’t ever get close enough to actually look through them, and he’s right. Always so easily frightened, like a little lamb. You freeze where you’re sitting, head whipping around to look at where the sound came from, and you pause for only a few moments, watching and waiting to see if it comes again. At least a minute passes before you turn back to the TV, curling in on yourself and tucking your lip between your teeth.

Toji can barely stifle the giggle that threatens to leave his lips, it feels like childish glee watching you get so scared from a measly little rock against your window, but he does it again, throwing it harder now, and the sound echoes so loudly that he can hear it bounce back from inside your living room. This time you stand up, looking back towards the window and stepping forward, head tilting downwards as you try to see through the blinds. You squint at the glare from your lights and otherwise stay silent. Toji is sure your heart is beating erratically, your hands starting to shake, and he thanks God that you have so many windows. You don’t sit back down, instead looking around the room and muting the TV. You stay like that for a long time, you’ve always been so overly paranoid, and it fills Toji with immense satisfaction to know that he’s the one doing this to you.

He walks away from the window, allowing you to rotate methodically on uneasy feet and a rapidly beating heart, creeping around to the back door and picking the locks. He’s already deactivated the back camera and dropped a cat by your front porch so it didn’t seem too suspicious that you weren’t getting alerts. He knows that’s it’s rare anything ever triggers the back camera, and you feel too secure with the gate locking it from the outside. He’s easily bypassed those barriers, and now he simply opens the door. He knows you have sensors to tell you when the door has been open and shut, and he didn’t bother shutting those off. He wants to see how scared you can really get.

He shuts the door and slips into the closet, covering his lone figure with various jackets and scarves that hang from the hooks. There’s boxes and bottles of cleaning supplies piled at the bottom, and they block his legs from view. He’s still, silent, and patient. He hears your footsteps rushing towards the door, your heavy breathing, your frantic whispers of “Oh God,” and his eyes all but roll back in undeniable pleasure. He’s going to ruin you.

Your footsteps get nearer before they stop, you’re most likely looking through the window of the now closed back door, hands trembling and knees weak in fear. You’re probably on the verge of tears, barely holding in a whimper. He doesn’t hear you step away, but he can see your shadow from under the door. Hmm. You’re trying to be cautious now, are you? Toji already knows this routine. You’ll run to grab your phone, call someone, try to get in your car and drive away. Maybe grab a large kitchen knife just in case, but what are the chances of you actually using it? Toji has practice, he’s skilled, he’s used to this. You, a lone studious girl who’s paranoid but way too careless for her own good, has never stabbed anyone in her life. Has never even imagined it, so what’s the chances of you dropping the knife before it can even plunge into him? Maybe trying to get away with a scratch in the arm or a stab to the leg, but Toji has enough scars for that to not even matter. He’ll keep coming and there’ll be nowhere for you to hide.

But he’s gonna let you try, let you think there’s a chance for you to run for the hills, maybe get to some help in time, he’ll let that relieved smile flit itself upon your face before he comes back to rip that hope from your body, just to do it all over again until the fight leaves you completely. Maybe he’ll let you reach someone in time, someone innocent, and then kill them right in front of you. Make sure you realize that this is your fault, you did this, you put this innocent person in danger. You murderer. You killed them. You.

Toji realizes he has a lot to think about.

Your chest pounds with the rapid beating of your heart. Your legs barely hold your weight and threaten to crumble with every movement, shaking every time you stop and wobbling uncontrollably when you run. You grab a knife from the kitchen counter and run back to the living room and grab your phone. It all started with the random sounds coming from the window. They came out of nowhere, pounding harder and harder until they stopped completely. You had thought you saw someone moving behind the blinds but chalked it up to paranoia. It’s been raining a lot more recently, so maybe it was just the rain pouring down onto the windows.

You tried to go back to your movie after that, you had clutched your phone tightly despite reassuring yourself multiple times that it was nothing. There was nothing there. You were almost able to relax. Almost, before your security system alerted you of the back door opening. At that moment it felt like your heart had lurched out of your chest, as if the shock and fear had paralyzed and crippled you completely. The silence was suddenly too thick — too loud, and it was all you could do to attempt to heave yourself up and off the couch to investigate. You already knew you should never venture deeper, never look for the source of the sound, but you needed to see.

When you got to the back door it was already shut. You’d ventured on tippy toes to look through the small window and there was nothing there. Yet you couldn’t stop the way your breath left you in heavy gasps, the acrid smell of fear and anxiousness seeping from you in waves. You didn’t forget the closet right in front of the door, but you knew you’d never be able to open the door without shaky limbs. If there was someone in there, you’d let them leave of their own accord. You were leaving immediately. You slowly stepped away, looking up to the ceiling and clutching your lip tightly between your teeth. Sweat formed at the top of your mouth and you felt like you were going to throw up. Your throat ached, your stomach was in knots, and you felt like you could collapse at any second.

You crossed the living room with amble speed, grabbing a jacket from the hook by your front door and running outside. Rain dropped down in an angered flurry, beating the pavement with troubled fists, and your shoes were soaked with water before you could fully cross your front lawn. You scrambled to get the car door open, throwing yourself inside ungracefully. The first thing you did was look in the backseat before locking the doors and wasted no time taking off out your driveway and into the streets. You wanted to play music, blast it even, it was what calmed you always and without it you were leaving yourself vulnerable to the fear you’d been trying to ignore. You’d be able to get away — far, far, away — and sometime in the future you’d forget this night ever happened. You’d contact the authorities, move somewhere tropical maybe, and pray they never came looking.

The fear was slowly starting to easen, there were no cars following you, no weird men in the road, nothing but the stars and the moon and the lone sound of rain. You were slowly starting to relax, allowing yourself to take a few deep breaths, before a hazard sign started blaring on your dashboard.

Flat tire.

Flat tire?

You kept driving, desperate for a few more miles between you and home, but your car didn’t appreciate that, and you came to a stop. A fear-mongering, bone-chilling, stop.

You couldn’t afford to waste time, you had to keep moving. You jumped out the car, a tight grip on your knife in one hand and your phone in the other. Your feet splashed in large puddles, the streets lined with thick trees that had never looked so imposing until now. A quick look around told you that you were alone, but you couldn’t be sure. You kept moving, rushing but not moving too fast where the sounds of your splashing would drown any other noises out. Your hand curled tightly on the knife as if it was a lifeline, and your phone was inside your pocket — kept safe from the rain. Streetlights shined down from above, blinding white lights that illuminated the entire area before you, and you were grateful for it but loathed it all at the same time. Bright lights mean you could see everything around you, but it also meant anything around could see you too.

Your breath was shaky, every exhale felt like it would be your last, but you didn’t stop moving. The brushing of trees or a snap of a branch would make you jump and squeal in fear just to see it was a product of the wind or your own feet pressing against wood. Ahead you could see the shadows of houses, loud and imposing in structure, and your legs carried you faster with a new found determination. Your vision was blurry with tears of relief and raindrops that sat on your eyelashes, just to be blocked by something — something warm and soft, something sturdy, something breathing.

You couldn’t help the shrill scream that left your lips, but it was drowned out by the storm anyway. You stomped hard on his boot and sliced, not sure if you hurt him but giving yourself a chance to run away. Your legs pumped with adrenaline, your eyes wide in fright. Your grip on the knife only got even tighter, your nails embedding themselves lightly in your palm, but you had to keep going. Any noises became muffled as you ran, the sounds of trees rustling in the wind, rain slapping against the pavement, your feet slamming against the ground. His own feet moving leisurely behind you. It all became nothing but background noise to the pounding of your heart.

“There you are, little lamb.”

The whimper that leaves your lips has Toji grinning in delight. He surges forward, trapping you between strong arms and a broad chest, pressing against you tightly and dragging you backwards. You claw at his arms, kick your feet, and use the knife to slash at any part of his body that you could. You didn’t make it easy, and you could hear him growl in frustration. He tipped the knife out of your hands and then gripped your arm with a frightening intensity, you bit your lip to stop the cry of pain from leaving your mouth.

“Stop fighting.”

“Ugh, get off me!” You cried, and you bit at the skin of his arm, hard, and he pushed you off, allowing you to fall flat on your back. You groaned, rolling over on your side before a dark shadow loomed over you. You winced, your eyes shutting in fear before strong fingers gripped your chin.

“Not so fiesty anymore? We were having lots of fun,” He cooed, a devilish grin forming on his — and you hate to say it — near perfect features. The only blemish on his face was the small scar over his lips, and even that made him look attractive. You lost your breath for a short moment, staring into unforgiving eyes and at pearly white teeth, before you came back to your senses and jerked your knee upwards into a firm abdomen. When the man didn’t even bother to pretend to be hurt you did it again, but this time you used your hands to push him backwards as well. He stumbled just a little, but it was enough for you to jump to your feet and start running back in the direction you came.

“You’ll stop if you know what’s good for you,” The man grumbled, but you didn’t stop moving. You wouldn’t. You didn’t bother screaming for help this time and ran straight through unforgiving trees and underbrush. You weren’t worried about getting lost anymore and could only focus on losing him and getting away.

Except he must’ve known, because gone was the leisurely pace he’d originally held. He ran through the trees with crippling speed, and it was all you could do not to yelp in fear and keep moving. But it didn’t seem like any speed you took was fast enough, for he kept getting closer and closer. It was just your luck that you’d trip over the roots of a large tree, falling flat on your face. You attempted to scramble backwards before he could reach you, but your limbs were growing tired, your brain was ready to shut off, and not even the adrenaline could keep the paralyzing fear from your veins. you whimpered as a large hand grabbed at your ankle, dragging you through the mud and leaves.

“Come on, little lamb, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

All you could do is bite your lip to stop the whimpers and cries from flooding out. You squeezed your eyes shut, stiffening when soft lips brushed against your skin. “We can have fun, can’t we?” He murmured, and your breath left you in a shudder. Calloused hands rubbed against the skin exposed by the lift of your shirt, and small puffs of breath knocked against the shell of your ear. “Do you wanna have fun?”

Your heart kicks up an irritating notch when he slides a warm hand up your shirt. You can feel the way his fingers ghost over your skin with an unnatural intensity, as if his touch is amplified tenfold.

“Look at me, pretty,” He growls, your eyes opening at his command against your better judgement. His pupils are dilated, staring down at you with desire. The way he looks at you is an awakening, and with a foreign feeling surging through you, you bury your fingers into the collar of his shirt, bringing him down for a kiss. It’s a little awkward with your apprehension, your fear, your desire to just give up — all teeth and clumsy movements until he takes the lead. He licks into your mouth, coaxing feelings out of you you've never felt before— kissing you into blissful dizziness.

"I wonder why you're so pretty, hm? Been torturing me for months, sweet thing," He hums, pressing your thighs apart, tongue pushing against yours, his lips cherry red. You want to kiss him again.

Your breath hitches when his hands move to your pants, slipping under the hem and unbuttoning the fabric. When he pulls your pants down slowly, so slowly it feels like time stands still, all that’s on your mind is him. His breathing, his touch, the cold feeling of his fingers. When your pink, lacy panties come into view the chuckle Toji lets out is so deep it feels like a heavy blanket over your mind, soothing you yet igniting something in you that you didn’t know existed. God, you’re in the demon's bed but you feel like you’ve gotten a taste of heaven, and when those soft, cherry red lips ghost over your skin, trailing over your pelvis, leaving light kisses along your skin, all you can do is jerk in his hold.

"Pretty little lambs deserve to know what it feels like to have me right here,” Toji starts, leaning down to press a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. He bites and marks along the fleshiest parts, chuckling at your quiet whimpers and yelps. He slides a hand up between your thighs and rubs between your folds, still covered by your lacy panties. “Aren’t you scared?” Toji murmurs, before splitting them to rub your clit through the fabric. You feel like falling as he circles between your thighs, a gasp hiccupping at the base of your throat before it gets stuck— you can’t make a sound.

You faintly hear the rustle of clothing and the absence of Toji’s touch, opening your eyes to see him pulling his shirt off, biceps flexing as he does. He’s so big, and fuck, his whole body could cover your own if he really wanted. He towers over you, caging you in and surrounding you from all sides. When his shirt is off and thrown somewhere to the floor, he looms over you, his hands pressing into the bedding at either side of your head, and all you can do is gasp— your eyes widening at his proximity.

You allow him to pull your underwear down until they’re hanging off your ankle, your arousal sticks to the fabric, but with a flick of his wrist they’re gone. They’re gone. Oh god. You’re really doing this. You take a deep breath, and when a warm hand comes to press against your cheek you yelp. It’s okay. You’re okay. Right?

Soft lips press against your skin, tainting the unmarked flesh with bites and bruises. He paints your neck purple and blue, fingers ghosting between your thighs, tracing and playing with the obvious wetness coating your arousal. His mouth travels upwards, pressing against your own as he claims your lips in a devouring kiss. Everything is on fire, hot and burning as lust begins to entirely consume you.

A small moan slips past your lips as he dips a finger into your slick, warm cunt, and you clench around the digit almost immediately as instinct. The cool air and your nerves make your thighs tremble, but it doesn’t seem to affect him— not at all— if the way he keeps eye contact with you while he fingers you slowly is any indicator. Painfully slow. You don’t know if this is to pleasure you or torture you, and you can’t help the way your thighs tense under his ministrations.

His eyes roam over the look on your face, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, bright eyes glazed over and hooded in a bliss that’s otherwise foreign to you, a particular ease directed towards him. Then he shamelessly lets his eyes drop down to your thighs that tremble even harsher under his gaze. The action only forces his mind to run wild. He can’t help but wonder how you do it— looking all innocent— being all innocent but acting like you’re not. Like you’re so sure. You’re confused, God, you don’t know what real pleasure is— and it’s Toji’s job to teach you. Fuck, did he want to be under you, gazing up at you through half lidded eyes, hungrily eating up the sight of you bouncing on his cock like the slut you could be.

He dipped his head down, and your hands automatically perched themselves on his shoulders, and he grins, moving the finger thrusting into your cunt harsher, faster.

“Oh, god,” You moaned, loud, your grip on his bare shoulders tightening ever so slight. His skin was warm under your fingers— soft and smooth and fuck if it didn’t feel good.

He groaned, cock stiffening more than it already had. At this rate he was probably going to cum in his pants untouched, but he held himself back. He moved his mouth from yours to slip lower, down lower and lower still until he came face to face with your arousal.

“Fuck. You’re driving me crazy.”

You tried to quiet your moans by clamping a hand over your mouth, but sitting up and watching the way he sucked and licked at your arousal made your head spin. He made the action so nasty. So filthy. He was wild yet careful. But what did you know? All you knew was that it was driving you insane and you didn’t know anything could feel this good.

One hand supported his weight on the ground by your head while the other was preoccupied, curled around his cock as he stared down at you— something akin to a beast in his gaze. Tip reddened and precum oozing from the slit while he groaned. The tingly feeling in your groin was coming back, similar to the fluttering you always felt whenever a boy you liked would come bother you. It intensifies when Toji wraps your legs around his waist and pulls you closer to him, your body dragging grass from under you.

He rubs the tip of his cock against your pussy, teasing actions feeling more like torture before he finally sinks in. Slowly, deliberately, but you still tense. It’s scary, having something stick itself inside of you. Having him stick himself inside you.

“Relax,” Toji murmurs, pressing his mouth to your cheek. “You’re having fun, right?”

Dark eyes are locked intensely on your cunt, Toji watching the slide of his cock as he thrusts inside. His hair is plastered along his forehead, and he sinks back into your inviting walls with another roll of his hips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You moan, high and light, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss while Toji’s chest expands with a satisfied breath. He rolls his hips into yours— sinking his cock into your cunt saying the filthiest words you’ve ever known, before his words break off into a moan, his tone lower and deeper.

“Oh, please don’t stop— be nice to me,” You babble, your hands grabbing at whatever you can— his shoulders, his back, his hair; and that’s all it takes before he suddenly takes up a pace that’s a little faster, rougher as your pussy squelches, wet and messy while your arousal smears along your thighs and the ground below you.

Your body jolts with each thrust, pussy clenching around him as Toji moans—every twitch and squeeze of your pussy leaving him breathless. “Come on, little lamb,” He groans, and you don’t know what to do. You’re too lost in the haze of pleasure that’s taken over you— you can’t hear past the slap of your skin and his groans in your ear. You know you’re moaning, but you can barely hear yourself. It’s all him. Him all over you, surrounding you, making you feel good.

He grunts as you clench down on him with another roll of his hips, sinking deeper into you with each thrust. “That’s it, pretty,” he grunts, “Taking me so well, fuck. So greedy for me.” And you tense up, your body convulsing and arching upwards as his thrusts grow more frantic— harsher and harsher as he groans gutturally in your ear with one last thrust long and deep, and when something shoots deep inside, you shiver one last time before your body sinks into the grass and debris and Toji’s weight cases you in.

You feel boneless, lethargic with your movement. You feel when the man gets off you, when he closes your legs after slipping your underwear back on. You hear it when he sighs, something deep and satisfied, and you barely manage to answer when he asks you how you feel. Yet, somehow, it all comes back to you in a flash. You sit up, head throbbing, and stare up at him. Wide-eyed and fearful.

“Please don’t kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel.”

He grins, “I think we can work something out.”

a/n: excuse the corny ending i couldn’t help myself

#toji x you #jujutsu toji #toji smut #toji x y/n #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji scenarios #toji x female reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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joshym · 2 months

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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 4

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 32.3k+ (dear lord)

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

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

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

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

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Christmas Eve: Cherry Tree, OK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You want to cry, but you can’t.

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

You just can’t.

Everything feels numb.

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

Well, aside from Jake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Why did you have to bring her up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me see,” he softly demands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mom.

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

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

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

Is it because she’s dead?

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

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

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

She grabs your arm to help stabilize you.

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

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

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

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

She’s alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better not let that one get away.”

If only she knew.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jake I–I can’t ask you to—”

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” You ask, timidly.

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

Or, the worst one…the loudest one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what is that?” you timidly ask.

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

“You have to share your snack.”

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

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

Perfect opportunity for an ice breaker.

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

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

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

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

Of course, he noticed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels good. It feels really good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What have I done wrong?

“Jake?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

Did he leave…?

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

Great. He’s gone.

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

Natalia.

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

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

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

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

It’s ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lyrics feel heavier than they ever have.

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

When will you realize…

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

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

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

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

Your tone is awfully cold. Distant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you see her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom I’m–I’m so sorr–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure she did, y/n?”

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

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

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

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

No. He’s wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake: Good. : )

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

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

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

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

“Hi, mom.” You say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could call Mrs. Sweeney…but not me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…she didn’t call?

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

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

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

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

“Not a bother at all, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nat: Are you home yet??

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

Nat: Hello?

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

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

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

You: Sorry, just woke up. On my way

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

“Hey there, sleepy head!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when you do, you see a single key.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope.” He interrupts. “Not a dime.”

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks…just so damn good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you, Sir Jacob.”

Sir Jacob…?

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

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How long had he been standing there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One more shot.

“What do you think about—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It hurts, it really fucking hurts.

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

The sound of the voice is unmistakable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nat matches your confused state, stopping to take in everything you’d just told her. “That just doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Is it possible that she called for the ambulance?”

“My mom?” You hadn’t even considered the possibility. And, she would’ve told you…right? You don’t know why you’re so desperate to know, why it’s keeping you up at night that Mrs. Sweeney told you she didn’t call, that your mom had basically lied to you about the whole thing. “I–I don’t think so, Nat. She was completely unresponsive when they found her.”

Now the wheels are turning. Maybe it was her, and perhaps she just…didn’t tell you? Is she trying to hide something? It just doesn’t feel likely but…possible, you guess. It wouldn’t hurt to ask her. Putting this whole thing to rest would make it so you can finally rest.

“Well, like you said,” Nat utters, breaking you free of your relentless, turning mind. “She’s alive. And that’s all that really matters, right?”

Of course that’s all that matters. But, you can’t help the feeling that there’s more to this than what you’re able to see, more that’s being hidden beneath the seemingly cracked surface. It could just be your anxious tendencies, telling you to worry when there’s truly nothing to be worried about.

Or, your gut feeling is correct. There’s something you’re not aware of that feels big.

You begin wheeling the now empty cart back to the circulation counter to grab another lot of books, Nat leading the way ahead of the obnoxious wheels.

“Right,” you answer, deciding to push aside that worry for the time being.

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“Do you have any idea why Jake despises me? Like, has he ever said anything to you or Josh? Or Malachi?” You ask as you fill the cart with the next bundle of books to be put up.

“He doesn’t despise you, y/n. I know his exterior is rough, but there’s not an ounce of hate in that boy's heart. Just give him more time. You’ve seen it, you know he’s a good one.”

You know deep down that he is, that he’s got a good heart with good intentions. But, there’s something about when he starts to become close to you that forces him to back away, to treat you like you’re a nuisance. He can shove his hatred for you down long enough, until he can’t and it comes out of him like he was accidentally hiding it.

“He does hate me, Nat. You can’t deny the way he acts when I’m around, like I’m the biggest burden that could’ve possibly been placed upon him.” You roughly toss the final book on the cart, wincing at the loud noise it made that you didn’t quite mean to happen. “You didn’t hear the way he spoke to me the other day, Nat. He belittled me in class. I have never been so humiliated and disrespected before in my life. Pretty sure I’m nothing more than walking garbage to him.”

“I hate to interrupt your little drama fest, but you are not the biggest burden in his life. There’s a lot you don’t know about him.” She says, frustration in her tone as she intervenes, slamming a book down on the cart just like you did. “I will stick up for you, y/n. But I also know things about him that you don’t.”

“That’s the problem. I know nothing about him. He doesn’t want me to know him. He’s built this wall around himself and refuses to let me in. He almost did the other night at my apartment, but when he realized he was getting a smidge too close to me, he shut down again. He’s the never ending enigma, one that just so happens to hate my guts.” Your words hang heavy in the air, a tense silence grappling them as you’re left with the realization of just how complex your relationship with Jake is, and it’s not by your choice.

“I know he can be closed off, and I know he can be an asshole sometimes. Trust me. But you need to know a few things. He’s been through the ringer, multiple times.” She places a comforting hand on your shoulder, stopping you as you begin to walk away to put the books up, silently urging you to consider another perspective.

“He and his brothers were adopted by their grandparents after their mom and dad were killed in a car accident. Drunk driver. It left all of Frankenmuth completely devastated.”

His parents.

You’d never even once thought about where they were, or who they were. Being so caught up in your own shit, you hadn’t even considered…

Fuck.

“Their dad was in a local band,” she continues, taking a seat in the rolling chair behind the counter. “They never made it big beyond the area, but god, everyone in town loved them. And when Jake was about ten, he started playing with them. Playing the guitar his dad bought him, the one sitting in his room. He worked his ass off to buy that for Jake. They were killed only a few months after the first time he joined them on stage.”

When she mentioned his guitar, it all of a sudden reminded you of the night at your apartment. The night he became so disgusted by you right before he could finish talking about…

…about his dad. And the guitar he bought him, the very same one Nat is telling you about right now. You know this because you instantly took note of the SG sitting in his room the first night you stepped foot in there, and that’s the exact model he was talking about that night…the one he said defined him as a player, the one his dad searched high and low for.

Oh my god.

“When they died, they moved in with their grandparents. But they owned an apartment complex in Detroit, so they had to move here with them. That’s when I met them, when they started school at Central High.”

You just nod in response, needing a second to fully absorb her words that are beginning to paint a much clearer picture of Jake.

“Then, their grandma suddenly died. They were devastated, didn't come to school for weeks.” Her voice softens, her expression reflecting the weight of all the loss they had endured at such young ages. “They had to help their grandpa with the complex, learn how to run the business. Which turned out to be a good thing, because he got sick a few years later. Pancreatic cancer. The boys ended up dropping out of college for a bit to take care of him, to essentially take over acting landlords.”

“Nat I can’t…I can’t believe it. I had no idea…” Your brain is struggling to process it all. And if it’s that hard for you to imagine, it must have been hell for Jake and his brothers to live it. It was their reality. But to you, it’s utterly heartbreaking. Unfathomable.

“They never left his side, especially Jake. He was with him twenty four seven, and when he died, Jake kind of became a recluse.”

The compassion you’re feeling for Jake and his family swells your heart as you’re realizing the depths of his burdens. His guarded nature suddenly makes a lot more sense as everything she’s telling you is fully sinking in. The old saying is true; you truly never know what someone is going through, what someone has been through.

Regardless of how he’s acted towards you, you’re feeling a lot of guilt for being so quick to judge him.

“Jake was the only one with him when he died. Matter of fact, he died in the exact same hospital your mom stayed in. I bet it was kind of hard for him to be there, but he stayed for you, y/n. That is the real Jake.”

Jake was committed to you that night. Stayed with you in the hospital that holds so much weight for him. Even in the midst of his own pain, he stayed with you. It explains so much.

“What happened to the complex? After their grandpa died?”

“They live in it,” she answers with a grin. “They’re landlords. It was their inheritance. And as hard as it was for them to take over ownership as college students, they made it work. The three of them make one hell of a team.”

You didn’t know what Jake did for work, but owning an apartment complex with his brothers was not on your list of possibilities. An extremely nice complex, at that.

“Why didn’t any of them mention this to me? I get Jake but, Sam? Josh?” You can’t help the mix of surprise and confusion, wondering why they hadn’t shared such a big part of themselves with you. It’s their job. And you’ve never known anyone to keep something like that from you.

Although it does make sense if they didn’t want it to lead to a deeper conversation about their losses. Maybe they’re the same as Jake in that aspect. They just don’t like to talk about hard things.

Then, you remember how you’ve kept your life a secret from them, too. The only reason Jake knows about your mom is because he just happened to be there. But he knows nothing else. Your dad… he hasn’t and will probably never be mentioned with him. With any of them. And it’s not because you’re ashamed; it’s just not something you want broadcasted.

“They don’t care for the attention it garners,” she explains. “And they probably didn’t want you to treat them any different. The only reason I know about it is because of my brother, and he’s the one that told me everything else about what they’ve been through. They really don’t like to talk about any of this stuff,” she adds, her voice heavy with sympathy. “They don’t want it to define them.”

“I can definitely understand that.” You say with deeply rooted empathy. Your heart aches, for all of them. But, you can deny the extra twinge of softness you feel for Jake. For him to have shoved all of this down the way he has, it’s no wonder he acts the way he does. It doesn’t completely excuse it, but it sure as hell makes a lot of fucking sense.

The amount of pain they’ve experienced in their lives, losing practically everyone important in their lives. They’re not only bonded by brotherhood, they’re bonded even tighter because of everyone they’ve lost. All of them being so close to them, raising them. They’ve lost almost everyone who was ever important to them, being left with just each other to lean on. It all makes sense, and as much as he’s hurt you, you just can’t bring yourself to keep holding it against him.

He’s hurting, too.

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Carrying the third laundry basket up the stairs from the in-building laundry, you’re wondering just how two people have managed to collect so much clothing. You try to designate time each week specifically for laundry, but you’ve gotten so far behind on it that it’s become a little overwhelming. Each basket of clothes you’ve washed and brought back up to the apartment has been overflowing. You’re sure you’ll discover a missing sock or a pair of underwear or two that fell during the journey back to your place, but you’re not about to go back and find out.

You’re finally done washing everything. Now, the worst part: putting it all up. You decide to put that part off for a little while to get caught up on the rest of the chores that need to be done tonight.

The dishes are next on the list. You usually don’t mind doing them, but your dishwasher decided to quit on you and the landlord is in no hurry to come and fix it. So, you’re stuck hand washing the pile that has somehow accumulated significantly over the last few days.

With a resigned sigh, you roll up your sleeves and begin scrubbing away at the stack of plates and utensils. The warm water soothes your hands, and you find a sense of rhythm in the repetitive task.

Your mind starts to drift to the other tasks that still need to be taken care of. The vacuuming, tidying up the living room, perhaps taking out the trash if you can muster up the energy.

But for now, you decide to focus on the task at hand, finding a strange sort of comfort in the motion of washing and rinsing each dish.

Despite the annoyance of hand washing dishes, there's a strange comfort in the routine of it all. With each plate cleaned and set aside to dry, you feel a small sense of accomplishment.

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You peek around the door frame to see her lying in the same spot she has been for the last few hours, still grazing her plate of food you gave her and watching something mindless on the television. She hasn’t noticed you standing there yet, and just as you’re about to say something, you notice she’s not wearing her oxygen.

“Mom,” you assert as you storm inside of her room, the frustration in your voice apparent. You grab her nasal cannula sitting on her nightstand and help her put it on. “How long have you not been wearing it?”

She takes a deep breath as she further adjusts the tube to her face, letting out a dry cough from deep in her chest. “I’m fine, sweetie. I won’t keel over if I go without it for a little bit. It’s just so invasive, I hate wearing that damn thing.”

“That is not what the doctor said.” You check her tank to be sure she’s getting enough to compensate for however long she’s kept it off. “And based on how horrible your cough sounds, you need it right now. Please, mom. You have to follow their orders. You don’t want a repeat of the other night, do you?”

She sits herself up a bit, as well as she can. Smiling at you and nodding, she says, “I know, I know. Your momma is just a little stubborn sometimes. What would I do without my sweet daughter to take care of me?” You smile back at her, but it quickly fades as you're reminded yet again of the other night and the questionable events that transpired.

She picks up on your sudden change in expression. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She asks with wary concern.

You decide that right now is as good a time as any to ask her your burning question. With a heavy breath, you take a seat on the edge of her bed beside her. Clearing your dry throat, you say “I have to ask you something.”

“Of course, honey. What’s on your mind?” Her eyes watch you with a gentle kindness about them that you’ve always loved about her, but right now, along with the kindness there are a thousand secrets as dark as her pupils. It casts an unease in your spirit that is brand new to you, yet feels oddly familiar all at once. Has it always been there and you’ve just never noticed? Have you just denied it?

You can’t decipher why you’re so nervous to ask her. You shouldn’t be; it’s a simple question. But you feel this heaviness deep within your body that you can’t explain. An intuition that something is awry, perhaps?

You’ve never once doubted your mom. You’ve always trusted her with everything for the simple fact that she’s never given you cause not to. But you can’t deny that something feels…off. And as she’s looking at you right now, you’re suddenly not sure you recognize the woman sitting before you anymore. Something is different. Everything is different.

And you don’t know why you feel this way. But you do. And denying it further will only cause you to descend into a maddening cycle of endless wandering.

Her eyes are flicking back and forth between yours, her eyebrows are scrunched and her thin lips are slightly agape. With a curious nod of her head, she quietly signals you to just ask your damn question.

“Did…” Your tight voice cracks and as she grabs your hand to try and comfort you, you find your voice to continue. “Did you call 911 that night?” The words flow out of your mouth like a river with no end, a strong current that knocks you into the depths of the raging waters.

Her eyes widen and her mouth falls the rest of the way open. Her hand slowly moves away from yours as her eyes stay steady on you. A look of pure shock washes over her face as she’s quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“I thought we agreed on Mrs. Sweeney calling.” She finally asserts, her voice suddenly much more strong and clear than it has been in a long time, startling you. “I’m not sure why you’re still on this, y/n.” Her tone is sharp as a blade, penetrating you each time she utters a word. She’s almost defensive, angry. Her eyes are narrowed on yours, unblinking and stilled.

“I just…you’re right. I’m sorry, I must've forgotten.” You manipulate your tone to sound more sure, more accepting than you truly feel. You decided against telling her about your conversation with Mrs. Sweeney. You’ve a solid feeling it may not go over well if you tell her what was said. There’s a queasy feeling in the pit of your belly telling you to just shut up. A feeling you’ve never felt with your mom before. You’ve always known you could go to her for anything. Right now, you feel like shutting down completely.

Her gruff features soften back to the way you’re most used to them, her smile taking over her thin scowl. However, the kindness in her eyes that was mixed with secrets earlier, has shifted to the secrets taking command. You don’t know who she is right now. And you’re wondering if you’ve ever truly known.

“It’s okay, honey. I know you’re awfully busy these days. I’m so proud of you.” Her tone has gone back to its weak, hushed quality. What was once a comfort to you, now feels quite the opposite. And something about her compliment felt…forced. Like she only said it as a distraction. And her voice changing on command, like that was forced, too. As if you weren’t feeling off about this whole thing enough, this has made it ten times worse.

Before you can figure out what to say, you catch the time from her nightstand clock out of the corner of your eye. Realizing it’s well after ten o’clock, you immediately step back in your caregiver shoes. It’s over an hour past time for her to take her evening medications. You grab the three bottles sitting next to the clock, dumping one pill out of each in your hand and setting them back down, taking the half-full glass of water in your hand next.

“Take these really quick.” You say as you hand her the pills and the glass. “I’ll get you more water once you’re done.”

She nods, tossing all three pills in her mouth and downing the rest of her water before handing the glass back to you.

Standing from the edge of her bed to head to the kitchen, you tell her you’ll be right back with her water. Without a word, she just smiles your way as you walk through the door.

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It’s nearly three in the morning and you’ve still not gone to bed. With as much time as you’ve had to dedicate to your mom, the apartment upkeep, work, and filming all while attempting to maintain a rather poor excuse for a social life, school and homework have been on the very bottom of your priority list. And that is very much not like you. Your grades have suffered the last few weeks. You’re falling behind, nearing the point of no return. So, sleep isn’t much of an option right now. Hasn’t been for several nights. It’s the only time you’ve got to do something for yourself. Even something as grueling as English homework.

Tonight's task is to complete your paper on Carmilla for your Classic Horror course, but the words aren’t flowing as seamlessly as they should. As much as you want to be able to focus, you just can’t. You can only manage to get out a few sentences at a time before you have to stop and regather your train of thought. You keep checking your phone, scrolling through mindless social media, getting up to get a drink, anything that might keep you from this rather daunting task.

Your frustration with yourself is growing by the minute. You have to get this done by Monday, and you’re nowhere near finished. There’s hardly a conceivable thought typed on your word document and you don’t see yourself being able to form one anytime soon.

The ever burdening worry is all the more present after your talk with your mom. The way she acted when you asked your question, how her entire demeanor changed to one that made her unrecognizable to you…The questions are persistent, their relevance feeling more palpable than before.

As you start typing out your second paragraph, you’ve suddenly come to a realization that keeps you from continuing…

If she’s hiding that she did call for the ambulance, she would’ve had to use her cell phone. That call would still show up in her log, and although you don’t believe in invading someone's personal space, you just need to know. Odds are, she’s right. She didn’t call, and you’ll probably find absolutely nothing in her phone to indicate that she did. But at least you’ll know. And you can check it off your list of possibilities. You’ll be able to confirm that she wasn’t lying to you. (Because she wouldn’t do that…right?)

You’ve decided that checking her phone is the only way you’ll be able to put this whole thing to rest. Is it the right thing to do? Absolutely not. But you can’t focus until you know.

Her door is always left open just in case something happens, you can hear her easier. So, with a light step, you walk inside her mostly dark room. Her television is quietly playing some old Western film you know you’ve seen a dozen times, but you can’t decipher which one it is. Some desert battle with horses and weapons flashes on the screen, the light illuminating the room in eerie beams.

She’s fast asleep. Her oxygen tank is a steady hum against the low volume of the film, her breathing heavy but not labored.

Her phone rests on the nightstand closest to the wall, plugged into the charging cord. As you lift and touch the screen, you’re reminded of the fact that she keeps a six digit code to keep it locked. A code that you don’t know.

Although, you’ve got a hunch. With shaky thumbs, you type out the month, day and year of your birthday.

It worked. You’re in.

Your eyes quickly shift to her sleeping form to be sure that she is still asleep. She’s situated on her back, her head rolled over on the pillow facing you. Her eyes aren’t open, and she’s not moved since you’ve been in here. You make haste in locating her call log and scrolling all the way to the date she landed herself in the emergency room.

…and she was right.

There are no 911 calls anywhere on her log. Not even a call made to the hospital…nothing. But as you take a closer look, there is something amiss.

It was just after 1:30 in the morning when you and Jake arrived at your apartment to the chaotic scene. There’s an outgoing call that was made at 1:16…just minutes before the ambulance must have arrived. She was completely unresponsive when they found her, so how did she…? And why didn’t she call you?

The contact name is only adding to your questions. It’s a name you can’t place, and it’s an odd one.

Dodger.

Who the fuck is Dodger?

You don’t know a single person with that name…not that you can think of right away, at least.

Whoever this Dodger is, might be the person responsible for the ambulance call. If not them, then who else? And the fact that she was on the phone with them right before…

Finding out the area code might give you some clue as to who this is. If nothing else, you’ll at least have an idea of where they live. After tapping the information icon to the right, you’re shocked when you see the three digits that tell you this is an Oklahoma number.

There’s no one back home that she’s kept in touch with since the move. At least, not that you know of. She didn’t have many friends. None, actually. She spent all of her either time at home or, when your dad left, with you. Your mind is empty at trying to conjure up a single person she’d need to call from back home. You stare at the screen for a moment, trying your best to make sense of what you see before you. But you just can’t.

You need to call this number. But not with her phone, so you text yourself the contact information and delete the text from her phone so she won’t know.

And as you’re in her text messages, you decide to see if she and Dodger ever text each other. But, there’s nothing. You’re quite literally the only person she texts, making this whole thing all the more strange.

You place her phone back on the nightstand, checking on her once more before you quietly walk away. But before you do, something catches your eye. Her glass of water. It’s empty. You may as well fill it for her so she has it in case she wakes up thirsty. As you pick it up, something else catches your eye. Something far more alarming than an empty glass.

You see the pills you gave her earlier, the ones you saw her swallow down. Or, at least you thought she did. But she didn’t. The three pills you gave her are sitting behind the glass, hidden from plain out of plain view. Had you not moved the glass, you wouldn’t have seen them.

Suddenly, you’re remembering how the doctor was convinced that she hadn’t been taking them, asking you suspiciously if she had been.

And you told him yes. Of course she’d been taking them, why wouldn’t she?

You give them to her every night. You watch her take them every night. But if you thought she took them tonight when she actually didn’t, does that mean…that she never takes them?

You can't bring yourself to believe that. You don’t even want to believe it. There’s an explanation. Has to be.

She wouldn’t do that to herself, to you as her number one caregiver. She’s told you time and time again that she wants you to live your life for you, not for her. She’s said that she hates relying on you, but loves that she can.

No, she wouldn’t do that. She would know to take her medications, because they make her better. And she wants to get better. For her and for you, like she’s said since she got sick in the first place.

But it doesn’t explain…

…she really hasn’t been taking her pills.

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The cold, wet hair hitting your back makes you shiver before you wrap it up in a towel, taking the matching one to wrap up your soaking wet body. You decided to take an ‘everything’ shower before filming tonight, completing all of your deep conditions and skin scrubs. This is the most refreshed you’ve felt in weeks.

Tonight will be your last intimate scene with Sam, black lace dress included. And also your first with Jake. This will be the first time you’ll share the screen with him as your fictional ‘husband and wife’ characters. But there will be no loving sentiment between them on the screen.

No. Tonight, Arthur will catch Guinevere in the middle of the act with her beloved Lancelot, his closest companion and best comrade. It’s going to be one of the most intense scenes within the entire project.

According to what Josh has written in the script, Arthur will walk in on Guinevere and Lancelot making love, thus beginning the downfall of his reign due to his all consuming desires to get rid of Lancelot.

Something else Josh wrote into the script is that Arthur and Lancelot have quite the heated argument over who is more deserving of their precious Guin. All the while, she is laid out on Lancelot's bed, clad in her most scandalous attire in front of both men whose need for her will end their relationship in one of the worst ways imaginable. Arthur will take one look at his wife, her body nearly on full display before them both, the most intimate gift that she’s offered his once closest confidant. He will then immediately order the death of Sir Lancelot for treason as he has committed one of the most heinous crimes against the king.

Lancelot won’t argue, as he believes his time with Guinevere, however short, is enough to sustain him, even in death. She was worth it, she is worth it. And he will force Arthur to look upon her and realize the treasure in her that he has taken for granted. He will beg the king to at last show her the love she deserves once he is gone and no longer can.

Suffice to say, tonight's scene is a big one. It serves as a catalyst for a lot of significant plot points. And you’re hoping that everything you’ve learned about acting thus far will suffice for the heaviness expected from you and your fellow actors. The hard part about this scene for you is the lack of dialogue. Once Arthur becomes privy to the affair between the two, Guinevere stays silent for the most part save for a few lines. Meaning you’ll be relying heavily on your body to convey her every emotion and thought, which you’ve found to be far more challenging than speaking a few lines with a manipulated voice.

Manipulating your body without a single word is a different thing altogether. To be able to convey emotions without speaking is something you’re not the most confident in, on and off the screen.

But something happens to you once you put your costume on. You become someone else, someone you’ve always wished you could be. And with Jake being present, you’re sure you’ll have a little added inspiration. But that means you’ll be trying a little harder to look nice for tonight's filming session. Hence the ‘everything’ shower that felt like it took literal ages to complete, but felt so incredibly wonderful. (And also felt rather necessary.)

With your body now only a little damp, you remove your towel to start lathering yourself up in your favorite body lotion, fragrant with notes of wild lavender and chamomile, then taking your frenshe body oil in vanilla cashmere and massaging it all over your skin, focusing a little more on your neck and chest, even adding a little to inner thighs. These scents make for the perfect, seductive aroma, and your skin feels so soft, so alluring. Perfect for tonight.

Normally, you’d shy away from looking at yourself in the mirror, especially your nude form. Yet here you are, scrutinizing your reflection, noting each and every tiny thing that you wish you could alter. The years that you’ve spent hiding…years.

It’s hard to look at your body when it’s not covered by the sweaters that are two sizes too big. You’re forced to accept your body, to accept the things you hate that you’ve felt the need to cover with a security blanket ever since you were a child.

You stand to the side to see just how much your tummy is pooched from the apple cinnamon oatmeal you ate this morning. It could all be in your head, but you’re almost sure you can see the bloat from your tiny meal. You turn around completely, looking back for the crinkles of cellulite that you know are present in your ass.

They’re there. Just as you suspected. You’re sure no model. No perfect ‘beauty queen’...

…no Stacy.

Fuck. How could anyone find you attractive when you’re so mortified by your own reflection?

The voice in your head is loud and overpowering. It’s screaming louder than the voice that talked to you through recovery.

You’re in such a strange place.

While your confidence in yourself has arguably never been higher, the urge to relapse has grown right along with it. Maybe it’s because you’ve suddenly found a version of yourself that you can appreciate. A version of yourself that you’ve always longed for. But she can’t be found in your real life.

No. She only makes her appearance when you’re pretending to be someone else. She isn’t you.

She lives within you, but she isn’t you.

You grab the towel and quickly cover yourself back up with it, not wanting to spiral even deeper into your insecurities when you’re supposed to be playing a confident, beautiful queen in a few hours.

You’ll be fine once you put the dress on, you tell yourself. Please, please don’t do this. Not right now.

You know shoving down the thoughts, ignoring them with a temporary fix, isn’t the answer. But you can’t deal with it right now. You don’t have time. You don’t have the mental space for it.

You’ll deal with it later. It can wait.

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Josh’s room is the set tonight, and it looks incredible. The bed is adorned with a white satin duvet, with red and white rose petals scattered all over. This is your throne for the night, where you’ll be lying for the entire duration of the scene.

Josh’s walls are painted white, but he and Malachi have worked pure magic with the lighting that has given them a dark red hue. You thought they had actually painted them when you walked in, but Josh showed you the lights, the “wonders of cinematic sorcery,” as he called it. It looks like a brand new room, it looks so good.

Jake was right when he told you his brother is one hell of a director. Everything he does feels professional. You just know you’ll see Josh’s name alongside the likes of Tarantino and Scorsese someday. His talent and eye for putting together the best scenes will get him far. And Malachi will be right alongside him, designing the perfect costumes for Josh’s films. A dynamic duo, those two.

But if you’re honest with yourself, the beauty and eroticism of the set has you even more nervous for this scene. You just hope that you can do this set justice and not fuck it all up. It deserves some of the best acting you can offer Josh. You don’t want to let him down with your insecurities that have been weighing so heavily all day.

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“I still can’t believe it,” Nat says as you’ve just finished applying the final layer of Ben Nye to your secret ink. (You still can’t get over the fact that Sam now knows about it. Not what you wanted, but there’s nothing you can do now. It’s done. It just feels strange that something so personal is now not as personal as you intended for it to be.)

As you dab a little finishing powder over the foundation, you turn your head over your shoulder to Natalia, who’s sitting crisscrossed in the center of Jake’s bed. “Believe what?” you ask her, snorting a chuckle.

“Your sexy little tattoo, that’s what.” Her beautiful face wears that contagious smile of hers, her right eye throwing you a sly wink. “I would’ve never suspected it when I met you. You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you?”

You have no idea.

“Guess you could say that.” You huff a giggle while you secure all of Josh’s makeup back in his bag. Still to this day, he’s yet to ask you what it’s for. Odds are, he thinks you just need a little extra coverage for your face. It doesn’t seem he suspects a thing. (You’re just hoping Sam keeps his mouth shut about this unrevealed aspect of yourself.)

“Do you think you’ll ever get anymore?” She questions as she’s handing you your gown.

“Thank you, babe,” you tell her, taking the garment bag from her. “And I don’t know, I’ve not really put too much thought into it.” She helps you secure the hook and eye in the back of the dress, holding your hair over your shoulder so it’s not in her way. “I was pretty drunk when I got this one. But I do love it. So, maybe. It makes me feel mysterious, you know?”

With the dress fastened, you stand in front of the mirror and adjust a few things. The thing you’re always the most concerned about with this costume is the chest area, naturally. If you situate the lace just right over your breasts, there’s not quite a full view of your intimate area. But there’s still enough to add a little sensuality to it.

“Damn, y/n.” Nat says, her eyes trailing your chest as you get yourself adjusted just the way you like.

“What?” You say through a giggle.

“Oh, nothing,” she says. You can see her devious grin in her reflection of the mirror in front of you as she’s pulling your hair off your shoulder, smoothing out the kinks. “Just that Danny’s lucky he snatched me up when did.” Her golden eyes lock with your reflection as she winks and chuckles. “You’re just too gorgeous, girl.”

You playfully roll your eyes as you both break out in a fit of giggles. (You wish everyone saw you that way. Jake, mostly.) With a final onceover of your liquid lipstick, blotting your lips and cleaning up the edges, you feel you’re about as ready as you can be for tonight's scene.

“Well, he better watch his back,” you say, opening Jake’s door and walking through the threshold, Nat following close behind. “I could still steal you away.” More laughter sounds from you two as you head down the hallway, walking past the living room and up the staircase to the loft.

Danny is waiting at the top of the stairs, and when Nat makes it up to him, his toned arms wrap her in a full hug. “What are you two laughing about?” He asks, planting a sweet kiss to her temple.

Neither one of you says a word as you throw a silent wink towards Nat, letting the laughter bubbling within you both burst through yet again.

“What?” He insists.

Without an explanation, the two of you lock arms and proceed to the film set, leaving him still asking what the commotion is all about, but letting him sit in his wonder while you walk away together.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“You ready for this?” Sam whispers to you, his face mere inches from yours. With you splayed out on your back, and he perched on his side right next to you, arm draped across your body, you’re positioned just the way Josh had in mind for the beginning of the shoot.

His smile, infectious and beautiful as always, warms your soul (and your body) and has you feeling very much at ease as you mentally prepare for this scene. You haven’t filmed with him in a while, and you’ve been so busy with the utter shitshow your life has been lately that you’ve just not been able to see him much. Feeling him this close to you again after all this time, you’d hate to admit just how nice it feels.

It feels really fucking nice. You hadn’t realized how bad you missed it, how bad you missed him.

“I think so,” you mutter, smiling at him while he looks at you with heavy, lust filled eyes. “But, are you ready?”

He brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it lovingly behind your ear with a peculiar smirk across his lips. You can’t see Jake, but you can hear the prolonged sigh from his lips as he’s positioned just outside the bedroom door, awaiting his cue to barge in on the two of you.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” he confirms, sending off his words with a wink before he shifts his attention to your director.. “I think we’re good to go, Josh!”

Josh confirms with a nod of his head, gesturing a thumbs up to Malachi to dim the overhead lighting and giving Danny the “okay” to shine a little spotlight on the bed you’re on.

“Scene 73, take one.” He doesn’t yet have a cue card, so with (a rather loud) clap of his hands, he yells, “ACTION!”

As soon as the scene begins, you’re fully encompassed by your alter, the ever sought after Queen Quiniverre. Every insecurity, every doubt, all but washes away once Josh says the word. You’re not you anymore; you feel as though everything you hate about yourself doesn’t exist within this realm. You’re not you, and Guinevere would never be insecure about the things that you are.

And that’s exactly what inspires you to be the best Guinevere that you can be. You wish, more than anything, that you had her confidence. But even if you don’t have it, she does. And at least you can know what it’s like, even if the moments are short.

Once Sam says his few words of dialogue, he leans in to envelop you in a passionate kiss full of burning desire. Bodies tangled, hands searching one another; a moment of pure ecstasy shared between two secret lovers, bound together by a love so deceitful to the King.

And then, you hear him. He walks through the threshold with heavy feet, his breathing stern and labored.

“I thought I knew better than to heed Mordred's vile words of my first in command. And yet, I find that I needn’t worry of his lies, only those of my beloved and her dearest, both of whom betray their King.”

He unsheathes his sword, a motion to take Lancelot for himself. To battle to the death for their prize who lie in the bed before them.

…his voice.

It echoes throughout the entire room, the entire apartment. The anger he’s displaying is being pulled from somewhere deep within him, exhibiting itself through the King as he’s finally privy to his wife's infidelity. The volume nearly startles you from your position on the bed. You didn’t expect such vibrancy from him, such passion to be exuded through him. He’s speaking his dialogue perfectly, acting through it as though he’s done it a hundred times over. He’s still using his accent, but it’s believable this time. It’s coming through much more powerful than the last time you heard it.

“My once most trusted comrade, you must die at my hands for treason. The highest crime against your king, to lay with his precious Guinevere, deserves no less than a death of the highest order.”

His accent, where it was once convincing and accurate, has now begun to falter under the pressure of the scene. He’s beginning to sound less like the betrayed king, and more like an pissed off Jake.

He continues to hold his sword out firm, glaring at Lancelot with a fiery anger from the depths of his soul, until he shifts them to you. The same anger geared towards you, only it doesn’t feel as though it’s Arthur looking at Guinevere, it’s more like Jake looking at you. And the extent of it is making you more uncomfortable as the seconds (that feel more like hours) are passing without a word from either of them.

It’s supposed to be Sam’s turn to speak, but it’s likely that he’s caught on to the tension pouring from Jake, and the tensions that lie in the space between you and him.

“Sam!” Jake screams, causing you to jolt from the sheer volume. “Say your fucking line so we can get this over with and I can get the fuck away from all of you!”

“Woah, woah,” Josh interjects, motioning for Malachi to turn the lights back on as he cuts the camera. “What the fuck, Jake? What’s your problem?”

Jake tosses his sword to the floor, taking off his cloak and throwing it towards Josh who hardly has enough warning to catch it. “This, Josh. This is my fucking problem!” Jake fumes, gesturing his flexed arms towards you and Sam as you’re both struck silent by his sudden outburst. “I can’t perform with this, I won’t.”

You look to Sam as he blinks a few times, as if suddenly being pulled out of his state of utter shock at his brother's actions. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sam challenges, getting up from his position and leaving you there by yourself.

Danny grabs Nat’s arm to take her out of the room, and she’s waving for you to join her. But you don’t want to leave, not yet. You don’t normally stick around for a full blown, Kiszka fight. But you have to hear what Jake is going to say for yourself.

“It means, Sam, that I can’t stand working with you,” he looks to you, still on the bed but now in an upright position as you watch the scene unfold before you. “Or her.”

What the fuck–?

Josh is pleading with him to calm down, but he won’t have it. He brushes him off when his twin offers a comforting hand to his arm.

“Fuck this goddamn film and fuck every single one of you that has anything to do with it! It’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry, Josh. I’m fucking done.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You can’t take it any longer. You storm out after him, heedless of everyone else, ignoring their presence and pushing your way through to reach him.

He slams his door but you waste no time in opening it immediately after, refusing to let him shut you or anyone else out after such a blow-up.

There’s not much light in his room, save for the lamp in the corner shining a warm hue on the space. The calming aura of his room means nothing in comparison to the tensions between you two— the ever growing tensions that now feel sharper than any blade.

He stands facing his bed, his back turned to you. As soon as you enter the room and shut the door behind you, he quickly turns on his heel to face you. And he does not look pleased, his features etched with irritation. But you continue to stand your ground, not willing to budge anytime soon.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” He growls, deep enough for your bones to feel it. His cheeks are flushed and there’s sweat accumulated between his knitted brows. That familiar flare of his nostrils makes an appearance and his lips are pursed in a tight scowl.

Normally, you’d cower down to anyone who’d find it in themselves to speak to you this way. You’d hide yourself, hide your feelings, stay quiet and out of the way. Give into them to keep the peace. But right now, fuck keeping the goddamn peace. You’ve kept it for far too long at this point and you’re done allowing yourself to be invisible any longer.

“My clothes are in here and I need to change since you selfishly decided that filming is over for the night,” you simper back, your volume challenging his. “And I’m also here to figure out what the fuck your problem with me is!”

His furious stare is penetrating your very soul, his eyes the darkest you’ve yet to see them. His fists are clenched and his biceps are bulging so much you’re just waiting for the chainmail sleeves to give way.

But you’ve never seen him look better.

“Problem?” He begins closing the short distance between you, practically stomping across the carpeted floor, flailing his arms about as he speaks. “What the fuck are you talking about?” The heat behind his tone grows stronger and stronger, his gaze on you darkening by the second.

You refuse to break eye contact while you snicker and shake your head at him playing stupid with you. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he’s clearly choosing to play dumb with you, acting like he hasn’t put you on a fucking roller coaster with him since the day he was shoved into your already messy life. If he wants to keep playing games with you, then you have no problem playing your own against him.

You’re still in your revealing attire, your breasts nearly on full display, the entirety of your form leaving next to nothing to the imagination— to Jake's imagination. You’re privy to his numerous glances at your breasts. You won’t pretend you’re not, and you can’t hold back the satisfied, devious curl of your lips each time you catch his gaze. You should find the urge to cover up, to hide yourself or wait until you can change to confront him.

But that’s not what you intend to do. Wearing this dress brings out a part of you that you’ve come to cherish— it cloaks you in a confident aura that you’ve lacked all your life. And as much as he tries to pretend it means nothing to him, you know the effect this dress has on him. You’ve seen it firsthand for yourself. He can try to hide it all he wants, but you and him both know what it did to him the first time he saw you wearing it in this very room. You may as well use that to your advantage right now.

You feel powerful, in control. Those doubtful thoughts you were having earlier tonight about yourself have lowered their volume nearly to a full mute. If he can’t handle talking to you like this, then he can’t handle you.

“You’re fine with me one minute,” you huff a snarky giggle, standing firm and refusing to bring your arms up to cover yourself, even with his continuous gazing.“Then you act like you can’t stand my very existence the next. I’m just fucking confused, Jake. If you hate me so goddamn much, why don’t you ask me to leave? You don’t need me to do this fucking film. Why don’t you find some other unsuspecting girl and rid yourself of me once and for all?”

With as much of yourself as you’ve invested in this film, and the new found sense of self-assurance being in front of Josh’s camera has given you, you don’t want to quit this project. If walking away was truly what you wanted, you would have done so a long time ago. And deep down, you want to believe that if Jake truly wanted you to leave, he would’ve demanded it already. But right now, all you can think about is that conversation you overheard weeks ago.

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

It’s something you’ve not let yourself forget. Even after everything he’s done for you— helping you with your mom, staying the night with you when it felt like your world was crumbling— none of it seems to matter because of his words that linger in your mind like a never ending echo. He wouldn’t have said them if he didn’t feel them. That much, you’re certain of.

And after what he said to you in class…it was a harsh reality that you weren’t ready to face. He validated your deepest fears of not belonging, of not being accepted. Every hurtful thing he’s ever said about you, each cutting remark he’s said to you are repeating relentlessly in your head.

“I don’t hate you, y/n!” He shouts through gritted teeth. He takes a few steps towards you, leaving only inches of space between your bodies. His eyes are still fixed in their vexed glare, yet there’s something different behind their darkened gaze. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then…” Your voice is shaky as you try to raise it. You have to look up at him to see his face, he is so close to you. Your trembling body begins fighting against your accusatory words. “Then why did you say you only asked me because you had to? That you didn’t want to work on something alone with me?” Of everything he’s ever done to you, those words hurt the most.

“Because I can’t…” He throws his arms up in frustration, shaking his head as he looks away from you. “...I can’t trust myself to be alone with you. And I can’t fucking stand it when—” He stops himself before he can continue, his index and thumb tightly gripping his chin, almost and if to physically stop himself.

“You can’t stand what, Jake?” Your anger surges, overpowering everything else. Your vision blurs and your limbs are tingling with pure rage. “What the fuck do I do that you can’t stand so badly?”

He snaps his head towards you, his loose waves, making a luscious display around his handsome face. “I can’t stand seeing you with him.” He points to the photo on his dresser, the one of him and his brothers. The one with Sam. “You think it’s fucking easy for me to see you with him like that? Especially knowing what happened between you two the night we all went to the stupid fucking haunted house.”

Now you’re pissed. Not only is his reasoning ridiculous, he’s also accusing you of something that didn’t happen. This isn’t your fault. None of this is. And for him to treat you like shit because of that?

“You don’t know shit, Jake!” Your voice rises to a near scream, letting go of any pretense of holding back. “Nothing happened that night, and even if it had, why the hell do you care? What makes you think you have any right to be pissed about anything that I do? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you; this is your fault! So your reasoning is, frankly, complete bullshit. And I’m not buying any of it.” You’re yelling so loudly your voice is cracking and breaking, your words reverberating with raw, pissed off emotion. No one has ever provoked you to this level of anger. No one except your dad, when he decided out of the fucking blue to leave you. You hate that he’s brought out this side of you. “You act like that because you can’t stand the very thought of me,” you continue. “Just tell me you want nothing more to do with me and I’ll walk right out that door. You’ll never have to see me again.”

He stands still for a while, silently staring at the floor. He brings his hand up to rub his chin, something you’ve seen him do a hundred times, when his mind is racing about something. Josh almost always points it out. He does it a lot during filming, during your scenes with Sam. Especially during the ones when you’re wearing the very outfit you’re standing before him in right now.

Then, he takes two more steps, until he’s close enough to you that you can feel his heaving breaths against your already heated skin. His demeanor has changed. He doesn’t seem angry anymore. The way he’s looking down at you…he now seems desperate.

“I can’t stand the way he looks at you…the way you look at him,” he whispers, his eyes traveling the curve of your breasts as his lungs deflate letting out a deep sigh. His eyelids have become heavy over his whiskey colored eyes that flick back to yours. “I can’t stand it…because I wish it were me.” His voice, once harsh and furious, is now a deep, hushed whisper. It’s low, gravelly in pitch.

It’s fucking sexy. But you’re still not convinced. You need more. You’re sick of thinking he likes you for a split second, then pulling himself away when he feels you’re getting too close.

No. Not this time. If he pulls away again, you’re done. Out the door. Gone from his life and free to live yours without him and this film. You’ll take a failing grade if it means you don’t have to go through this anymore.

“I don’t believe you, Jake.” Your words are stern, but your body language begins deceiving your cold statement. You’re trembling, vibrating through to your very core. No matter how pissed you are, you can’t fight this incessant attraction you’ve felt for him for a long time now. You fought fiercely in the beginning, had completely convinced yourself that he was nothing more than a handsome jerk who harbored feelings of distaste towards you.

But fuck. That made you want him more. His mystery, his demeanor. The kindness that seeped through every now and again. Nat was right; you’d always known it was there. His genuine heart is sometimes too strong to stay masked behind this rough act he's tried to uphold. It's broken before you enough times to know that it’s there. And maybe it’s because of you that it's breaking more and more. His guard is falling. That’s why you’re so fucking pissed that he’s fighting every second to keep it up. And what you just said…it's not that you don’t believe him. A big part of you does. You’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he was completely dumbfounded the first time he saw you in this lace dress. The way he seethes when you’re with Sam. On camera or not.

But right now, you need to fucking see it. To see that side of him that you know is buried within. It’s not enough to simply hear his words; you need him to prove it to you. You’re tired of the back and forth with him. This is his opportunity to show you what ever the fuck it is that he wants from you.

There’s a look of confliction as his hand reaches out to you tentatively, his fingers playing with the lace on your shoulder. They move, hovering just inches over your collar bone before his fingertips delicately skate over the skin with such a gentle, intentional touch. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding as you feel the warmth of his touch.

“I’ve wanted to touch you…” His fingers follow the curve of your neck, passing over your pulse point, tracing a path along the curve of your jawline. “...just like this since the day I fucking laid eyes on you. And seeing my brother get to do it…” Your bottom lip is lightly tugged by the pad of his thumb, smearing the dark lipstick. “...it eats me up inside, y/n. I don’t think I can watch him kiss these lips one more time.” His focus is now entirely fixed on your lips, as his tongue gracefully glides over his own. Your craving for him intensifies with every passing moment. Each second fuels the fiery need within you.

“Then…why don’t you just do it?” The words fall straight from your mouth before you can even think twice about saying them, hanging in the air that’s slowly shifting from an angry tension to a much different kind. Your eyes lock yet again, each of you silently pleading with the other to bridge this divide between you once and for all.

With one hand still caressing your face and finding the small of your back, he pulls you flush against him, holding you tight against his warm body. He leans in, his lips brushing over yours, a feather-light caress that steals your breath.

And as if you’re pulled together by an invisible tether, your lips finally meet.

It starts slow, almost hesitant. But the intensity begins growing as your emotions are spilling over, fueling the kiss with a passion that is closer to desperation. His hand finds your hair, tangling your soft locks as he pulls you even closer, deepening your embrace with a hunger born of a longing that’s finally being set free.

You can feel his walls crumbling before you, letting break through his barrier. The insurmountable distance that was created between you, not only physically but emotionally, has at last been closed.

His tongue glides across your teeth, drawing your bottom lip firmly between his. He serenades your mouth with the most beautiful melody, eliciting a yearning that forces your thighs to come together in an attempt to soothe the desire pulsing between them.

He tastes like the sweetest honey infused bourbon. His lips are soft, putting the most sumptuous velvet to shame.

The hand resting on your back glides upward along your torso, stopping just before he reaches your heaving breast. His lips break from yours before he tugs on the hair at the nape of your neck, fully exposing the expanse to him.

“Jake…” You start, but he’s already so attuned to your desires that you don’t have to say another word before his mouth meets your taut skin. His tongue traces along your neck, stopping to suckle the skin. A strained moan sounds from deep within you, eliciting a sensual snicker, reveling in the response he’s drawing from you.

“You smell so good,” he mumbles against you, sealing his compliment with a kiss. As if you’re not falling apart enough, you nearly melt into him when his hand finally caresses over your full breast. “This okay? Can I touch you here?” He whispers softly in the shell of your ear, his words both a question and a promise of his respect for you.

“Please, Jake, more” you whimper through heaving breaths.

He groans deeply against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he teases your hardened nipple through the flimsy lace. You practically cry out for him, your body squirming with anticipation, begging him for more. He shushes you gently. “I’ve only just begun,” he whispers, his index finger tracing slow circles over your sensitive bud. “Let me take my time with you.”

He pinches your nipple, playful smirk gracing his lips as he chases the sounds escaping your parted mouth.

You clutch his biceps tight, anchoring him to you to keep him from slipping away. He hisses as your nails dig into his skin, only igniting his desire for you.

“Do you believe me yet?” He whispers, his lips grazing your jawline.

While there’s not an ounce of lingering suspicion within you, you dare to toy with him a little further.

“Nuh uh, not yet.” You respond quietly, your body betraying you as your desire is displayed physically. He can sense it, and the mischievous grin curved on his lips assures you he’s privy to your little game.

“Feel how much I want you.” And with that, his hand takes yours, guiding it to his pulsing cock that’s straining against his black pants, imploring you to feel the undeniable need he has for you.

He throbs beneath your touch as you palm him through the satin fabric that still conceals him, keeping in time with your own racing heart. His breath hitches, he whimpers beautifully in your ear as you continue to feel him, and if it were even possible, he’s becoming even harder against your touch, desperate to remove the confines of his pants.

“Holy fuck, Jake…”

Your legs press together once more at the feeling of him, his sheer size and thickness that is obvious even through the barrier between you. All you can think about is how he’d feel nestled away deep inside of you, filling you with every inch. He’s massive, that much you can tell, even through the barrier.

“Yeah?” He hums through heavy breaths. “That’s all for you, love.”

His words have your arousal nearly dripping down your thighs, your body growing more impatient by the second.

“Lay down for me,” he mutters in your ear. “Just like you were for the scene. Only this time, for me.”

His words, almost possessive in their wake, leave you speechless and craving him even more. He lightly motions you in the direction of his bed, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

Once you lie down, just as you did just moments ago, he positions himself at the end of the bed while he looks at you, taking in the vision before him.

Normally, you wouldn’t have half the confidence for a moment such as this, and it’s for that very reason you’re glad you’re in this very dress. It’s been the source of most confident moments as of late; it only makes sense that you’re wearing it in real life with Jake.

As he begins to remove his chainmail top, you tremble at seeing him so bare. You’d seen it before, but not like this. This time, he’s taking it off for you, removing yet another barrier that exists between the two of you.

You’re breathless at the sight of him. His pecs, sculpted and chiseled, rising and falling with his deep breaths. The smooth expanse of his unflawed skin, begging to be touched and explored. And his broad, sturdy shoulders that beckon you to sink your nails into, to keep a tight grip against while he’s on top of you.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his eyes tracing every curve of your body as he climbs onto the bed, hovering over you as though he’s not done looking at you just yet. “You’re a fucking queen,” he whispers, his voice husky and filled with desire. Finally, he leans in, his lips meeting yours with a tender gentleness, leaving you yearning for more as he lifts away again just slightly. “A beautiful queen.”

He kisses you once again, this time hungrier than the last. His hands roam your body with a newfound intensity, each touch igniting a fire within you that leaves your body arching towards him, begging for more. More of him.

His lips trail down your neck, leaving a path of kisses along your skin as his body slowly lowers down yours. You suck in a deep gasp as his warm, wet tongue follows a slow trail from your belly button, gliding all the way up to your chest, tracing along the curve of your breast.

His lips suck a mark right where his tongue stops, leaving a bruise right where the fabric ends along your chest.

“So pretty,” he mumbles against the bruise his lips left on your taut skin, marveling at his work. “All marked up from me. Want to mark you up everywhere…”

His focus seems deliberate, as if he’s determined to leave his mark where it will be most visible during your scenes, his attention fixed solely on the skin peeking out amidst the black lace.

“This…will be hard to cover up for filming, Jake…” you utter, breathless from your purely aroused state.

“No,” he whispers between leaving his mark right in the middle of your breasts. “Don’t cover them. Let them see.”

Before you can continue your weak protest, he carefully pushes back the lace over your left breast, fully unveiling it before him. He shushes you as his lips instantly attach to your perked nipple, sucking it deep within his mouth, softly nibbling at it all while his hand removes the lace from your right breast, kneading the flesh between his fingers.

But as he does so, you feel your body begin to tense when you discover his fingers are all over the area covered with makeup. The area with your tattoo. It feels too fucking good to make him stop, but that same feeling that overcame you when Sam unsuspectingly saw it is blazing within you.

Once you shift your eyes to his hand, you notice the makeup smeared almost completely, the red ink bleeding through to present itself, even if you aren’t ready for it to.

“Jake I…”

But it’s too late. As he lifts to switch his attention to your right breast, he sees it. His eyes are fixed on your etched secret, mouth lazily agape at this small piece of you he’s discovering for the first time.

“H…holy fuck,” he stammers, leaning in to peck his lips against the word along the tender spot. “This is so sexy I just…” he brings up his finger, tracing the “R”, then the “E”, the “D”

“Do you like it?” you ask him, feeling a rush of confidence wash over you.

Your initial hesitation has all but vanished. It's so different with Jake…something about the way he makes you feel, the way he brings out this part of you that no one else does. Not even Sam.

“I love this, y/n,” his lips meet the ink once more, decorating it with wet kisses.

“I…I’ve always been so scared for people to see…” Your words would hardly be legible if he wasn’t so close to you. Your mumbled tone is evidence of how he’s affecting you, what he’s doing to you. “... and it’s not exactly accurate for the film,” you mutter through a weak chuckle.

“Does anyone else know?” he quietly implores. “Does Sam know?”

“No.”

The word flies out of you before you can even take a second to think about it. It’s a lie. Sam does know. But that doesn’t matter to you right now. And Jake doesn’t need to know of what you almost did with his brother in a shitty attempt to get to him.

“Only Natalia knows.”

“Good,” he mumbles between leaving more kisses along your breast, slowly creeping closer towards your erect nipple.“Let’s keep it that way.”

His tongue lightly flicks the sensitive bud, drawing languid circles around it while his fingers follow the same motion of the other breast.

With the way his body is positioned between your legs, you can’t close your thighs together to ease the ache between them. It doesn’t stop you from trying, though, and when he notices, he grins against your supple flesh, looking up at you to see your completely fucked out state. He understands what you need without a word, and he begins to shift his body even further down your own, keeping your legs spread and his mouth trailing down your flesh, until his face is nearly level with your throbbing core.

The slit in your dress proves to be quite convenient at the moment, enabling your legs to spread easily while the only coverage you have is from the thong that perfectly matches your skin tone.

As his lips brush against your inner thigh, his warm breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, you find yourself instinctively arching your hips closer to him, craving whatever pleasure he can offer.

“You smell so fucking good, love,” he mutters.

You’re silently praising yourself for thinking to add your body oil to your thighs, not realizing you were doing it for Jake.

He’s not done marking you up just yet, as he sucks long and deep on the flesh of your inner thigh, eliciting a high pitched moan from deep within your being, your hand quickly flying up to stifle your sounds.

“This one is just for me,” he mumbles against the bruise, tracing it delicately with the tip of his finger. “And only for me.”

“Jake, please…I need more,” you cry out, your voice trembling with desperation as he stares deeply into your heavy, longing eyes.

“What do you need, beautiful?” He probes, peppering your thigh with gentle kisses, following a slow path towards where you crave his lips the most.

“Jake…”

“Tell me what you need,” he says in a hushed voice, his lips trailing a delicate kiss just above your throbbing clit. “Just tell me and I’ll do everything in my power. It’s the least I can do for you…please, let me make everything up to you.”

“Jake I don’t care anymore I just—” you reach down to brush a loose strand out of his face, fingers grazing over his sharp jawline as he leans in, leaving a sweet kiss in the middle of your palm. “I just need you.”

A devious, sinful smirk graces lips as his attention diverts to your aching heat.

With his index finger, he traces the wetness you’ve left on the fabric of your panties, drawing slow and lazy circles over your clothed clit.

“Can I take these off?” He asks, his blown pupils dark with need as his question almost sounds as though he’s begging. “Want to see you, all pretty and wet for me.”

“It’s all for you, Jake.”

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. His hands, strong and firm, reach up to your hips, tugging at the sides of your thong as you lift yourself to help him pull it down your thighs. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He helps you lift your right leg out, then your left leg, placing your panties on the edge of the bed once they’re finally off of you.

Out of everyone you’ve ever been with, no one has ever taken this much time with you. Not once has anyone asked what you need, what you want. It's a side of Jake you never expected to see. In a thousand years, you wouldn't have imagined him being this attentive, this caring toward you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he hums, his eyes longing fixed on your dripping core. “Every single part of you, just perfect.”

You instinctively jolt once his lips attach to your already sensitive clit, sucking it gently, his warm tongue swirling around it. With a tender touch, he holds your hips down in place, keeping you still for him as he explores you.

“Jake, oh my god, plea–”

He cuts off your words with a long glide of his tongue from you leaking entrance to your aching clit, sealing with a deep kiss to your throbbing bud, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

With his middle finger, he prods your entrance before slowly pushing it all the way in, finally filling you as you clench hard around his long digit. His grip on your hips does little to restrain you; you find yourself grinding against him, yearning for more of his touch. His tongue dances over your clit while his finger delves deeper into you, setting an delicious rhythm that has you craving more.

Then, he adds a second finger, filling and stretching you around him even more. His thrusts quicken, driving you closer to the edge with each brush of his fingers inside of you.

Your hands instinctively find his soft locks, fingers entwining in the strands and tugging. A low moan escapes him, sending vibrations against your core.

“Just like that, Jake, just like tha–”

But just as you're nearing your peak, there’s a sudden knock at the door that causes Jake’s fingers to still their movement, keeping them inside of you as he lifts his face that’s now glistening from your dripping arousal.

“Jake? Are you and y/n okay?” It’s Josh. He sounds concerned, distressed. It’s sweet, although his timing is…awful. “You’ve been in there for a while…we’re just worried about you guys.”

Shit.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: oof. that was a lot. thank you for sticking with me, lol.

who do we think the mysterious Dodger could be?

i'd love to hear your thoughts! don't be afraid to reach out; hearing from you all keeps me going.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you)

sending all my love!

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27

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jenosbliss · 5 months

Text

🍃 ⌇ nct 127 ! and doing a staring contest with them

pairing. gn!reader x nct127 | genre. fluff, crack | wc. 1.3k | warning. none expect Jaehyun’s part which a bit suggestive

TAEIL.

You think he’ll let you win? No no no you’re so wrong cause he’ll do anything to win.

As soon as you open your eyes he already has a foolish grin adorning his lips. And with gritted teeth he mutters “Let’s get it”

You lasted for a minute before bursting out laughing because of his expressions. He still had that grin from the beginning and tears in his eyes which made him look hilarious and you could not control your laughter anymore.

Is so proud of his victory that from now on every time you have a disagreement he challenges you to a staring competition which ends up in him winning each time.

JOHNNY.

Was really competitive when you mentioned it. He was like “you know I could stare at you all day. Not a big deal~”

But it proved to be a big deal for him as he didn’t expect you to be so determined to win and his eyes started to water . He tried making weird and funny faces even doing seductive gestures but nothing worked on you.

While he was trying out seductive gestures like smirking, passing flirtatious remarks staring at your lips instead of your eyes —which was a foul— he winked not realising it’ll get him eliminated.

Pretended to sulk until you got back from the ice cream parlour and showered him with kisses and hugs. He would’ve gotten your favourite flavour even if he had won the contest.

TAEYONG.

Lost in 5 seconds *smh*

You would be so confused as to what happened because even before you could focus on him he was already facing the other side. His neck burning red.

You convinced him to do it once more but again he’s a blushing mess as he giggles and hides his face in the crook of your neck placing soft kisses there. “I can’t do this.”

He gets very flustered and clingy to you after this contest but never told you that whenever he looked in your eyes he couldn’t stop himself from blushing and that you looked too pretty and kissable at the moment that he couldn’t help being flustered.

Anyways you won and he never agreed to a staring contest again.

YUTA.

He’ll make you regret asking him to do a staring contest with you.

As soon as you both start he’ll smirk evilly as you grow suspicious of his intentions. But before you could ask or say anything he had already blown in your eyes making you lose.

He would laugh like an evil queen in a Disney movie while you called him out for cheating and whined. “There was no rule I could not blow in your eyes? I didn’t blink.”

“If it’s like that then let’s play again!” “You lost y/n accept it.” Nope, he didn’t have a rematch so got all sulky and walked away from him. And let's say it wasn't easy for him to get you talk to him again but a day worth of his kisses and cuddles wasn’t that bad.

DOYOUNG.

Won’t take you or this game seriously at first and would call this childish but he liked it when you suggested such games.

Would be nonchalant in the beginning but soon be immersed in it as if his life depends on the game. “Hey you blinked!” He said, making you flinch “No I didn’t!” You retorted, rubbing your eyes back annoyed as it’s the nth time he did it “You won’t say anything from now on!”

Would lose every time as his eyes aren’t that strong for a staring game and hence asked for a rematch again and again until you give up.

At last you blinked purposely as he jumped up happily and did a little victory dance to tease you while you scoffed annoyed “someone said it was childish.” Would hold your face and kiss you softly. “Don’t be sad, it’s okay to lose.”

JAEHYUN.

He might be known as the unbothered king but he is also known for his competitiveness. Don’t assume he’ll go easy on you.

He was smiling brightly throughout the game as he knew your weakness : his dimples. He would use unfair means to distract you.

As he was playing dirty you decided to do that same as you inched closer to him and now staring at his lips while licking your own. You were sure you saw a glint of surprise in his eyes as his smile faltered.

“You wanna play dirty? You’re such a bad girl y/n.” He whispered as his voice dropped low and he pushed himself in front of you, his lips just a mere inches away.

Flustered, you blinked continuously trying to understand what just happened and realised everything when that smirk made his lips curl up. “Now you have to do what I say since I won.” You gulped as a shiver ran down your spine at the sudden change of atmosphere. “Bedroom now baby.”

JUNGWOO.

It was him who recommended this game as both could not decide on the menu. He wanted Thai food while you wanted to go for Chinese food.

Even though he was determined to eat Thai food he couldn’t help but get flustered by you. Only he knows how he is holding up to this game.

Would let out a nervous chuckle and as he couldn’t handle looking at you without being shy he looked away clearing his throat and wiping a few tears.

“Woah what happened?” You tried looking at him but he avoided eye contact until a few minutes later when he looked at you “No-nothing, let’s go-go for Chinese food then.”

You knew it was much more nothing cause his red ears and flushed cheeks spoke more than his words. He just loves you so much that he can’t handle his heart sometimes like today.

MARK.

He tried his best okay? He did! It’s not his fault that he cannot control his laughter.

Would be laughing from the beginning till the end. The moment you mentioned ‘staring contest’ he started giggling and was in a state of disbelief to be honest.

Would look in your eyes trying to control himself from bursting out laughing but would still say things like “Dude oh my your eyes look like watermelons.” “Mark!”

Had a fit of laughter before apologising and staring at you again, pursing his lips together and even bit his tongue to stop laughing. Would literally stop laughing for a moment but blinked unknowingly.

“You lost.” You announced standing up from the couch. “Wait what? How- like you know- like- I was looking at you, I didn’t blink!” He’s not ready to accept this until you recorded the next match and showed it to him.

HAECHAN.

Had a smug smile throughout the game and did everything to make you lose.

He made those funny frat boy faces, poked his tongue at you, would even try shouting out of nowhere to make you flinch, resulting in you getting irritated.

“C’mon y/n why are you so determined?” He whined trying to make you blink.

It’s already been more than 5 minutes and both of you have tried every trick you knew to make the blink but none of you did and low-key knew you could go for another 10 minutes bcs his eyes haven’t even watered as much as you.

Noticing your teary, red eyes and your eyelids twitching he blinked his eyes purposely. The smile he had seeing your proud face was the one which only appeared with you.

And ofc to not let his act lose he even pretended to be sad and pouted as you jumped in his arms suddenly overflowing with love for him. Who was he to miss on your love for a stupid staring contest?

masterlist. nct 127 | nct dream | wayv navigation.

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staytheword · 1 year

Text

do you like it?

do you like it? — one shot request by anon [ general masterlist ] [ requests ]

18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• seungmin x female reader; felix, jisung and jeongin are also featured.

• non idol au. college au. strangers to lovers. just some seungmin smut for mental health. drinking, drugs (weed), college parties, mention of different kinks. explicit language, explicit sexual content. sex positive mc. dom!seungmin. dirty talk, fingering, use of pet names, degrading, unprotected sex (don't do it please), sort of public sex, creampie.

• word count: 4.5k

You desperately need distraction from studying, so you and a friend head to a party. That's where you meet Seungmin, who joins you for a fun game.

• author’s note: Thank you anon for this request, I hope you will enjoy it. Please let me know if you liked it if you can!! I had a lot of fun writing it! What a great way to unwind haha. Thank you everyone for your support as always ♡ I know this is a little different from what I usually write, but it's my way of not overthinking things, of challenging myself, and to just have fun writing and sharing things with you. Please be kind haha I'm very scared :') ♡

You are bored.

You close your phone, rubbing your eyes. It’s not like you have nothing to do - there are dozens of things you could and probably should be doing, but you can’t bring yourself to. Studying. Cleaning. Answering messages. But everything feels empty, everything feels flat.

You need a distraction. A real one. Something to disconnect your brain, to collide with the universe, to explode into sparks.

Chae-won is lazily tapping something on her computer. You stand up from your chair and take the few steps it takes to reach her desk, leaning on it, gesturing to her to remove her headphones. She looks at you, her short black hair in slight disarray, the dark circles under her eyes betraying the fact that she hasn’t been sleeping very well lately.

“Hm?” she asks in a low tone.

“Save the document,” you tell her.

She frowns slightly but indulges, and once she has clicked the option, you slam her laptop screen closed.

“What are you doing?” she cries out, although she doesn’t seem bothered.

“Enough of this shit, Chae,” you exclaim, circling the desk to sit on her bed. “We’ve been doing nothing for too long. Our brains are puddles. We are barely human beings anymore. This can’t go on.”

“But I have this essay…”

“The deadline is still days away,” you interrupt her, shaking your head. “You need some air. Isn’t that what people say? Perspective is good or something like that?”

Chae-won sighs, falling back into her chair. “I guess they do say that.”

“We need to get out of this room before we turn into our desk chairs. I’m crawling up the damn walls. Let’s do something.”

Your friend rubs her eyes, a slight pout on her lips. “Like what?”

“Anything,” you retort. “See a movie. Take a walk. Get ice cream.”

You both look at each other and sigh. It’s not that you don’t want to do those things - but they will not scratch your itch, that much you know. You stand up and start to pace around the room both of you share. It’s not very big, and the colors are painted a very odd beige color, but you and Chae-won still managed to make it your own. String lights, movie posters, plants - you’ve made sure to use every inch square possible and maximize the space.

After a second or two, you snap your fingers and smile triumphantly.

“I know. Let’s go to a party.”

Her face lights up. “A party? Hm. Yeah, that… That sounds nice. It’s been a while.”

You grin, standing up, taking your friend’s hands to lift her up on her feet. She twirls, letting out a little giggle.

“We can get drunk. We can get high.”

“Even better,” she tells you, raising an index. “We can get laid.”

Both of you break into your best evil laughs, and you already feel revitalized.

“Let’s fucking do it!” you roar. “Now we just need to find a party. It’s a Tuesday, though…”

“We’re in college, Y/N,” she tells you. “There’s always a party going on somewhere.”

Chae-won puts on some music and both of you sit down on your bed, pulling out your phones to go on the hunt for a party. You feel your heart beat faster in your chest, excited about the turn your day is taking. At the start of the semester, the both of you had been attending every possible party, but it’s been a few weeks since you even thought about going to one. You and Chae-won were the same - you took your studies seriously, but you also adored completely losing it at parties. You called it balance.

You check social media while Chae-won messages a few friends from her classes, but you don’t see much. It’s still early, too, so you guess that even if parties were taking place tonight they wouldn’t have started yet.

“They’re having a party at the Kapa Delta,” Chae tells you, showing you a Facebook event.

You scrunch your nose. “I can’t fucking stand them, though. And the guys that go there are gross.”

“That’s just because you don’t like jocks.”

“That is not true,” you reply, shooting your friend a dark glare. “I like Changbin a lot, he’s a jock.”

“He’s not a jock, he’s a gym obsessed music geek.”

“Whatever,” you mumble. “I should text him. I miss him. He graduated way too fast.”

“Yes, Y/N, I know,” Chae laughs. “Best fuck you’ve ever had and all.”

You giggle to yourself, scrolling through stories, when you stumble upon an interesting one. It was posted by Felix, a guy you met a few weeks ago, and shows the picture of a brownie with confetti emojis. You show the screen to Chae-won with a grin.

“That looks like a party to me,” you tell her, and you both smile.

You immediately reply to Felix’s story.

you can we come over??

His answer comes quickly.

felix who dis

LOL JUST KIDDING OFC

He adds about four lines of texts’ worth of emojis, so you guess it’s positive. You and Chae-won giggle in front of your phone.

you drop the address!!!!!!

Once Felix has given you the information, you and Chae-won start to get ready. It takes a few tries to get the perfect but comfortable outfits. You each take two shots from the bottle of tequila you keep in your desk, do each other’s makeup and finish hyping yourself with some dance therapy. After, you slip on your shoes and text Felix you’re on your way.

The dorm is already filled with people when you arrive, the party well on its way. It’s the typical college party you are used too, with loud music, the smell of beer, people making out here and there, guys with no shirts screaming nonsense. You and Chae-won make your way through the crowd until you find Felix, who looks already completely high, sitting on the floor of the corridor next to his friend Jeongin.

“Oh, Y/N!” he grins, waving at you. “You made it.”

“Like half the college population, yeah,” you giggle. You wouldn’t say you’re drunk, but you’re definitely tipsy from the shots you and Chae-won took. “Why the fuck are there so many people here?”

“Jisung hacked the college email and sent the invite to everyone,” Jeongin says, and you all burst out laughing.

“No way, that’s kinda genius,” Chae-won comments.

“Genius? I’ll take it,” says a voice.

It’s Jisung, who has appeared next to your roommate, putting his arm on her shoulder with a seductive smile.

“Why do I not know your name, beautiful?”

Chae-won scoffs a little. “Because you’ve forgotten it. We met like four times before.”

You, Felix, and Jeongin cackle at Jisung’s slightly defeated face. “I have?”

“No,” Chae-won laughs. “I’m just messing with you.”

“Come on, that’s not -”

“Ji, leave them alone,” Felix says, shaking his head. He stands up on clumsy legs and waves at you to follow him. “Let’s get you some brownie, yeah?”

You all head towards the dorm kitchen and Felix draws a half eaten brownie from the fridge. You and Chae-won each eat a square, sharing drinks with everyone. You talk with Jeongin a lot because you discover a shared love for a band, feeling the small amount of weed and the booze do their magic. Before you know it, you’re giggling for no good reason. You stand up to follow the others out of the kitchen, laughing with Chae-won about Jisung’s cheesy pick-up lines. You’ve just gone through the door and heading left when you crash against someone.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” you laugh, looking up.

You do not know him. Dark brown hair, wide smile, square jawline, deep brown eyes. He looks sweet, but has a strength about him that you instantly like. An energy, a certainty.

“You alright there?” he asks you, giving you a smile. When you don’t answer, feeling slightly awestruck, he laughs. “Lix, what kind of weed did you put in your brownie this time?”

“The normal kind?!” Felix answers, arching an eyebrow. “Guys, this is Seungmin. He goes to West U.”

“Oh,” you say, finally able to give him back his smile.

That must be why you’ve never seen him before. He gives you a last smirk, turning away to follow all of you to another room. He throws his arm around Felix’s shoulder affectionately and you sharply turn to Chae-won.

“Holy fuck, he’s so hot!” you cry out.

You didn’t see Jisung right next to her, who grins. “Y/N HAS A CRUSH ON -”

Chae-won slams her hand across his mouth, chuckling. “He’s so your type, Y/N. We’ll be your wingpeople, won’t we, Jisung? Quietly and subtly?”

Jisung nods, and Chae-won removes her hand.

“What she said,” he nods solemnly.

You shake your head, laughing, and all of you make it in a dorm room where there aren’t too many people. You sit down on a couch, Chae-won making sure Seungmin is next to you. You give him a smile as you cross your legs. He smells good, a perfectly balanced cologne that almost makes you dizzy.

“So, Seungmin…” you say, tasting his name on your lips. “Are you single?”

He chuckles, taking a long sip from his red cup. “That’s the first thing you want to know about me, huh?”

“Just wondering how much I can flirt with you,” you grin.

“You can flirt with me as much as you like, cutie. I’m not really a relationship type of guy.”

You arch an eyebrow, unable to hold back your satisfied smile. “Most guys in college aren’t.”

Seungmin laughs. “Good point. But I’m not saying that just because I want to get laid. I have commitment issues.”

His honesty takes you by surprise and you stammer, the light in Seungmin’s eyes almost making you blush.

“Is that why you attend parties in other colleges?” you ask once you recover. “So you can hook up and not have the chance to see the person on campus again?”

“You see right through me.”

His sense of humor keeps catching you off guard, but you appreciate it. You don’t feel like you’re just flirting, but like you’re having an actual conversation - and you are so absorbed that you almost forget the party around you, the people screaming, the smell of booze and sweat. It is only when the person next to you spills his drink on the couch and almost all over you that Seungmin takes your hand, drawing you away, and you lean against the wall not too far, next to each other, so you can keep talking. Seungmin stands close to you, sometimes whispering in your ear so you can hear each other better.

After a while, you stare at your empty cup. “Fuck, that’s been empty for a while.”

“You want a refill?” Seungmin suggests.

“I’m fine. I came here tonight for distraction, and it was either getting really drunk or hooking up, so…”

“You chose the second option,” he finishes for you, smirking. “Is that right?”

You bite your lip, staring up at him, the curve of his lips, the shape of his shoulders underneath his black shirt, the silver chain around his neck. He’s just doing something for you, and you know it, and he knows it. Instant connection, you think is what people call it.

“I’m really considering it,” you tell him in a breath.

He leans in slightly, cupping your cheek. His hand is warm, big, and you want it to touch you everywhere.

“Why don’t I help you make your choice?” he suggests.

You nod, and he pushes his lips against yours. The kiss is eager but not too insistent, and you quickly fall into it. His hand falls on your waist and he pulls your body slightly closer to his. You moan in his mouth as he starts to play with your tongue. Your mind is reeling, your thoughts a complete mess, when he leans back.

“So, what do you think?” he breathes in your ear, keeping his voice low.

“I think…” you sigh. “I think we need to find a place that is more private so we can do some more of that.”

Seungmin laughs and takes your hand to lead you away, but then Jeongin appears next to you, a large smile on his face.

“There you are!” he cries out, grabbing Seungmin’s sleeve. “Come on, we’re playing a game!”

There is clearly no chance of arguing with him, so you exchange an amused look with Seungmin and shrug. This can wait, you think to yourself, and you both follow Jeongin back to your friend group. You all sit in a circle as Jeongin explains you are going to play a round of Do you like it. You arch an eyebrow as he takes out the cards and displays them.

“I don’t know the game,” you say to Seungmin. “What’s it about?”

“Sex,” he answers simply.

Your eyes grow a little wide, and he keeps his eyes on you. A smirk appears on your lips, amused.

“Oh,” you answer. “Interesting.”

You all form teams of two, the other being your opponent. Chae-won pairs with Jisung, Felix with Jeongin, so you end up with Seungmin. The game is simple. One of the teammates is given a word or phrase related to sex, and the teammate has to guess how the other would rate it out of ten.

Felix seems to know Jeongin almost too well, guessing right his love for threesomes and his aversion for eating food off bodies. Jisung surprises no one with his love for porn but admits he’s not much for step sister fantasies. After the others’ turns you are tearing up from laughing too much, holding your sides.

“Your turn, Y/N,” Felix tells you. “You have to guess Seungmin’s.”

You shake your hands, turn to face your teammate. “Hit me.”

Seungmin chuckles and draws a card from the pile. “Ok. First is… blowjobs.”

You squint your eyes at him, trying to figure out his reaction. He is unreadable, however. You pout.

“I’ll say 9 out of 10.”

“Close,” he replies. “8.”

He gives a little shrug.

“I’m more a giver than a receiver.”

You can’t hold back a slightly nervous, slightly amused giggle. Can’t wait to find out, you almost tell him.

You can’t help it - the game is turning you on slowly but surely. You still feel Seungmin’s lips on yours as you find out about his kinks. Maybe it’s his direct gaze on you as you speak about sex and orgasms, or the way his hand brushes your thigh as he leans to take a card, or his voice, steady and low, telling you how much he likes the doggystyle position. Whatever it is, it’s working, and your heart is beating hard and fast in your chest. Then it’s your turn, in which he discovers you’d love to try out bondage and you love using toys during sex.

“Take some notes, Seungmin,” Jisung chuckles.

He does not answer anything, but you enjoy the look on his face a little too much. This almost feels like very long foreplay.

“Last but not least,” Seungmin says, staring at you.

You draw a card and blush a little. “Dirty talk.”

“I’ll say 6.”

“Wrong,” you retort, lifting your chin proudly. Better he knows. “That is definitely a 10.”

Your group of friends erupts into laughter and whistles, and Seungmin shoots you a surprised look.

“A 10, huh? Good to know.”

He stares at you with such intent you feel your walls tighten. It’s like you can see through his eyes that he’s thinking about it, and you wonder if he’s as turned on as you are.

The game ends when someone suddenly turns up the music at the sound of a classic party song, and you all stand up to start dancing. You and Chae-won dance together for a while before you feel someone’s hand on your waist, sweeping you away. You twirl on your feet, your eyes falling in Seungmin’s.

He starts to dance with you, his eyes fixated on you, your bodies close to one another. He completely takes your breath away. You sway your hips, smiling up at him.

You like him perhaps a little too much, you tell yourself, but you do not hide it. Why would you? From the way he looks and smiles at you, you’d say it’s pretty much mutual. You hope something more can happen. You want to find a way to get him alone with you, or at least to find a corner where you can make out again, when Felix decides you will all be playing seven minutes in heaven.

“Lix, we’re not 12 anymore,” Jeongin sighs.

“Exactly,” Felix points out with a cheeky smile. “Imagine what can happen inside seven minutes…”

You all complain but you still end up playing. The first to go in are Jisung and Jeongin, and they come back in the middle of a heated debate about video games. Meanwhile, you and Seungmin keep talking, and he actually leaves a hand on your thigh. You stare down at it sometimes, loving the sight of his long fingers sprawled on your skin. You imagine them being somewhere else, feeling your panties getting drenched. Seugnmin feels it, you are sure of it, because he gives you a smirk. Then, Jisung gets chosen again, but with Chae-won this time - and from the blush on your friend’s cheek, you are pretty sure something happened in that closet, although you couldn’t tell what. You’ll have to ask her later.

“I have an idea,” Chae-won says. “Why not do it with the teammates from earlier? Me and Jisung went, so why not Seungmin and Y/N this time?”

You shoot your friend a glare. Not very subtle, you mouth, and she shrugs.

“Sounds good,” Seungmin simply states, taking your hand and guiding you towards the closet.

You follow him inside, your heart beating fast in your chest. Is this really happening?

The closet door closes, and you look up at Seungmin.

You are pretty much the same height, so there is no escaping his direct gaze. You swallow as he smirks, your mouth feeling dry.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” he says in a low voice.

It’s not silent, because you can still perfectly hear the sound of the conversation and music just on the other side of the door, but it’s muffled enough for you to hear him perfectly.

“Let’s not waste a second, yeah?”

You part your lips to speak but Seungmin gently pushes you against the wall of the closet, pinning one of your hands next to your shoulder, his mouth leaning into the crook of your neck. You let out a soft whimper, unable to stop yourself from clenching around nothing.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, his breath tickling your skin. His other hand slithers around your waist, resting on the small of your back. “But if you let me, I have a good idea of what I want to do with my seven minutes....”

You breathe out, arching your back slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

Seungmin chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

He tilts his head to look back into your eyes, licking his lips slowly. His pelvis is barely brushing yours, but you can feel his erection building, pushing against your leg.

“Dirty talk, huh? If that’s what you like, I can give it to you,” he growls, kissing your jawline. “You want me to tell you what a fucking slut you are? You like it filthy?”

You open your lips to answer but Seungmin’s teeth tease your earlobe, and your words come out as pathetic moans. “F-fuck, S-Seungmin…”

“Seven minutes is not nearly enough, but it’ll have to do for now. Fuck, I’m so glad I came to this party.”

His large hand slides around your leg, pushing your thighs apart, and you wrap your arm around his neck for support. You already know you are soaked - you have been for the past hour, ever since the game, and even before that. There’s just something about Seungmin that makes your legs go weak, a hunger in his eyes, a mischievousness in his smile. You want him to ruin you, you want him to whisper the nastiest things in your ear, and he looks just about to do that, so you can barely bring yourself to breathe.

Seungmin pushes two of his fingers against your pussy, above the fabric of your panties. You let out a choked moan, your body jolting.

“Fuck, those panties are drenched,” he chuckles in your ear. “How about I finger you in the closet like the dirty little whore you are, hm? Would you like that?”

You nod. “Yes,” you breathe.

Seungmin breathes hard, and pushes your panties down. They fall at your feet and you spread your legs a little more to give him some space.

“That’s right,” he groans. “Open that pussy for me. Fuck, that’s hot. You’re so fucking wet.”

Seungmin’s long fingers draw circles on your folds, and he squeezes your clit in between them, drawing a louder moan from your lips. You do not care if people can hear you, they probably already know what you are up to.

You roll your hips against Seungmin’s caresses, breathing hard in his neck, your legs already weak. He holds you up against him, however, his hard cock pressed against you. Each time you roll your hips, causing friction against his bulge, you hear him hiss in both annoyance and delight. You wish he would fuck you right there, but his fingers feel like heaven, and you don’t him to stop.

“P-push them inside, Seungmin,” you plead. “P-please.”

“Pretty girl wants to fuck herself on my fingers, huh? Let me see how good your hole feels. I bet you’re so warm and tight…”

He slowly inserts two fingers inside of you, and you shudder against him.

“Fuck, yes…”

“God, fuck, I was right,” Seungmin breathes as he does not waste any time starting to fuck your cunt with his fingers. His movements are sharp and deep, curving inside of you to reach even further, and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Fuck, Seungmin!” You cry out, digging your fingers into the back of his neck.

It’s like he instantly knows exactly how to pleasure you, his speed, his angle, his rhythm. You can’t focus on anything else than how he sinks his fingers into your pussy, and you can only hear him breathe, the squelching sounds of him fingering you relentlessly filling the closet. Your cunt clenches as he inserts another finger, stretching your hole. You are shaking, his passion consuming you whole, your orgasm on the tip of his fingers.

Seungmin keeps whispering filth in your ears, his whispers getting more and more disordered. That’s my little slut, you fucking take it, such a tight cunt, my fingers are fucking you so deep, am I going to make you cum like a whore?

“S-seungmin,” you whimper as you are about to come.

He growls, and it’s so animalistic it feels unreal. Suddenly his fingers disappear from your cunt and you gasp at the sudden absence, opening your eyes in a panic, but Seungmin is only unbuttoning his jeans. You see his bulge, big and pushing against the fabric, and you hurry to help him take his cock out. It’s rock hard but you don’t have time to look at it, because Seungmin guides it under your cunt.

“I don’t have -”

“I don’t care,” you whisper.

He pushes his cock deep inside you, bottoming out instantly. It doesn’t hurt because you were soaked and already stretched by his fingers - it just feels both overwhelming and magnificent. You cry out his name as he buries himself inside of you, his hips immediately thrusting hard, fucking you against the wall almost desperately.

“F-fuck,” he grunts. “So fucking tight… around my cock… I was meant to fuck that cunt, fuck.”

You have no words - you only hold onto him tighter, feeling full and fucked out already. Seungmin pounds into you, his cock throbbing against your walls.

“I’m gonna - Seungmin, fuck!”

“Taking my cock so well,” he whispers in your ear, his voice trembling. “So fucking well, like the slut you are. Getting fucked in a closet with all your friends to hear it. You’re not going to walk straight after this, are you?”

“Don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, your head dizzy.

Your orgasm feels like a flash of lightning, blindening you to everything else, your cunt throbbing and fluttering around him. Your legs are shaking but Seungmin holds you up and keeps whispering in your ear, drawing out your orgasm, your cum making the fuck even more messy as you drip around his cock.

“Fuck, yes. Keep clenching like this around my cock.”

You’re not sure how you’re still standing, because Seungmin has not slowed down whatsoever, and you are holding on to him because you might fall if you don’t. He moans in your ear, his body pressed hard against yours. You can feel he is close too, his cock pulsating in your cunt.

“Are you going to take my cum inside of you, huh? Are you a good little cumslut? Gonna let me fill up that tight little hole?”

You nod. “Give it to me.”

He sinks into you, a growl escaping his lips, and comes. His cock spurts out his warm cum inside of you, and you moan at the feeling. He’s filling you up, your hole sensitive and deliciously aching.

“Fuck,” Seungmin sighs, staying inside of you for a second, his forehead resting on the wall beside your head.

Your fingers come to stroke his hair, which is a little sweaty, and you stay silent for a few seconds. You are completely fucked out, your legs wobbly, and you have no idea how you’ll be able to even leave this closet. How long has it been? Feels like seconds, like hours. Has it been seven minutes? More, less?

Seungmin places a kiss on your neck, and you shiver.

“You’re going to keep my cum inside of you, won’t you?” he breathes, and you can only nod. “Good girl.”

He removes his cock, his fingers immediately sweeping the overflowing liquids to push them back into you. You squirm at the touch, sensitive, but Seungmin does not stop. He guides your panties back between your legs, and replaces your skirt.

Just then, you hear a knock on the door. You recognize Felix’s voice.

“Guys, we’ve given you some more time because you were clearly busy, but… Hurry the fuck up, will you?!”

You giggle. “Just a sec!”

Seungmin takes a step back, a satisfied smirk on his lips, and you watch him put his cock back in his jeans, mouth parted, breathless.

“Dirty talk, check,” he smiles, looking up at you. “Next time, should we try sex toys or bondage?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “We did one of mine, so next time, let’s do one of yours.”

Seungmin’s eyes light up. “Are you sure you’re up for it, cutie?”

You just smile, putting a hand on the door handle. “Fuck yes, I am.”

(note about taglists) I don't want to tag anyone on this because this is different and tagging gets me a little anxious, but if you do want to be tagged on requests like these, let me know ♡ Lots of love!

#seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n #seungmin smut #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #skz smut #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n #stray kids smut #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #kpop smut

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rd0265667 · 1 year

Text

Haven(Minji HC)

The door hinge creaked as you trudged through the door "What's up bro!" Your girlfriend shouted from her room, her teasing tone not lost upon you, but to be honest, you were too tired to reciprocate "Honey? Are you there?" Her voice rang through once again, this time laced with a little concern. You would always tease back, so when you didn't, she knew something was up "Honey?" She asked again, running out of her room to see you, disheveled and soaked, hair a mess as you looked defeated. As she ran to your side, you could feel tears slowly trickling down your face, prompting Minji to quickly bring you to the couch, comforting you "I'm gonna go get you a change of clothes alright?" She lightly whispered to you, as she ran to your room, grabbing a set of comfy pajamas and towel, giving it to you to change into. As soon as you changed into the clothes, you saw a sight that finally elicited a smile on your face. Your girlfriend lying on the couch, one hand holding open a blanket, inviting you to lay by her side, with her box of snacks lying next to her.

You quickly jumped into the blanket, and you immediately felt Minji's arms wrap around you, the big spoon as she held you in her protective grasp. "Do you want to talk about it?" She whispered into your ear, as you slowly shook your head. You had enough of work and other people. For now, you just wanted to be with your loving girlfriend. Nodding in response, Minji whispered, "Ratatouille?" Once again, your eyes lit up in enthusiasm as you looked up at Minji and nodding, Minji chuckling at your child like demeanour and puppy dog eyes. Minji wasn't sure why you liked that rat, but you did, so Minji liked that rat As the two of you watched the rat and the guy cook, Minji didn't stop shovelling your favourite snacks into your face, not that you were complaining though. Minji was basically babying you the entire movie, and making sure you felt happy.

Feeling a little thirsty, you tried to wiggle out of Minji's grasp, only to be met with a mewl and a firmer grip on you. Turning to face her, you lightly kissed her on the nose, causing her to blush and turn away, not lightening her grip though "Jagi, I'm just getting a glass of water." You explained as she shook her head, puffing her cheeks up in mock defiance "You can't go until you're feeling better." She said, leaning up to kiss you "I am feeling better, Bro." You said teasingly, as Minji chuckled, rolling her eyes before allowing her hands to loosen around me Getting to the kitchen, you grabbed a glass of water, before opening the freezer, opening the object of Minji's dreams

"You know I was supposed to save this pint for a special occasion right? My mom bought this for me on her trip to Germany." Minji lamented "Still eating it Bro." You teased, reaching over to the pint as she quickly pulled it out of reach for you, a defiant glint in her eyes "Fine, none for you Bro." She stuck her tongue out, scarfing the ice cream down. You immediately frown, your face going back to the way it was when you came back, as Minji's playful smile immediately drops into a worried look "No, No, I'm just joking Honey, you can have all the ice cream, don't be sad alright?" She offered, extending the pint out, as you immediately grabbed the pint, chuckling like an evil villain "You little shit..." She groaned, pouting. "Your little shit." You clarified "Whatever bro." She said, rolling her eyes Scooping some ice cream for her, you extended the hand out "Peace?" She crossed her arms, turning away as she pouted 早上好中国，现在我有冰淇淋 "You know you want it" You said teasingly, waving the spoon in front of her mouth, as she stared at you for a moment, before pouncing at the spoon "I love you, Minji-ah, thank you for this." "No problem bro." "What did I say about romantic moments Minji..." "I love you bro." "Kim Minji, I swear I will finish this pint myself." "I love you too Honey."

"Better." You smiled, pulling Minji towards you as you booted up the next movie. You were uncertain what you did to deserve Minji. But you weren't going to question it. She was your angel, your lover, your protector, your safe haven.

#fluff #rd0265667 #minji #minji x reader #kim minji x reader #newjeans x reader #newjeans minji #minji fanfic #kim minji fanfic #new jeans kim minji fanfic

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sattlersquarry · 1 year

Text

forget-me-not (steve harrington x gn!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4) Steve Harrington broke your heart almost a year ago. You think it's only right to still hold a grudge, despite how good he seems.

Word Count: ~5.9k

Warnings: Language, alcohol, sex is mentioned and alluded to but not described, angst with a happy ending, this was originally inspired by Little Freak by Harry Styles but it got away from me and now it's a different beast entirely.

A/N: There are a lot of lovely fics out there where y/n gets stood up for a date and best friend Steve comforts them, but I'm evil, so in this one, Steve is the stander-upper 😈

April, 1986

Hawkins is in shambles.

The earthquake ravaged the town, and now ash spews out of large cracks in the ground every few days. The military attempts to contain the strange, almost reptilian animals in the forests, but there are too many to keep up with, and all citizens are encouraged to be in their homes by 6 p.m.

You don’t fully understand how it went down, how the sweet, small town you grew up in became such a nightmare.

You’ve been spending your time volunteering with the relief effort. In doing so, you’ve gotten closer to people you’ve tangentially known all your life but never gotten to know that well. You’re also forced to spend time with people you’d never wanted to see again.

One such person is Steve Harrington: former playboy turned into…you aren’t really sure yet. Despite your grudge, he’s better. Kinder. Softer around the edges than he was during your school days. During the days he broke your heart.

Perhaps that’s melodramatic. You hooked up once last summer, and then he stood you up for an Enzo’s date. You aren’t even sure he remembers doing it, but as you stand side-by-side folding donated clothes, the memory sears through your brain.

Summer, 1985

You try to contain your excitement as you enter Enzo’s. You’ve been on plenty of dates to cheap diners and movies, but this is your first real, official, proper “adult” date.

So what if you’re doing things out of order? Sure, you’ve already slept with Steve. The two of you both worked at Starcourt before it burned down, and you spent all of June flirting on your breaks. You’d visit him at Scoops Ahoy, he’d visit you at Waldenbooks. He’d walk you to your car the nights you both closed, promising to provide free ice cream for you tomorrow.

After a particularly hard day and long shift, you’re easily enticed when Steve asks if you want to come over.

“For pizza,” he says. “And a movie.”

So you eat pizza, and watch a movie, and then you kiss him a little, and then he kisses you a lot, and the next thing you know, the two of you are in his bed.

It isn’t the awkward one-night stand you’re afraid it will be. On the contrary, Steve is genuine and sincere the morning after.

“I really like you,” he says. He brushes a hair out of your face as you lay side-by-side, curled up under the covers. “I want to take you out.”

“To dinner?”

“No, with a sniper,” he says with a snort. “Yes, to dinner!”

So you agree to go to Enzo’s the following Friday night.

After the mall fire, Steve calls and asks to postpone a couple weeks.

“I’m just in a weird place right now,” he says. His voice is a little hoarse.

“Is everything okay?” you ask, concern etched in your tone. “Do you need anything?”

“No, no! I just—listen, can we meet up in two weeks instead?”

You assure him that’s fine, and you spend the next two weeks preparing for the date. Your friends help you pick an outfit. You decide what you’re going to order ahead of time. You even pick a perfume that’s strawberry scented, since you know that’s Steve’s favorite ice cream flavor.

The day of the date, the Enzo’s host leads you to the table Steve reserved. You wait, and wait, and wait, and after thirty-five minutes, the waiter comes around for the fourth time to ask if you’re ready to order.

“My date’s running a little late,” you say. Panic nests in the back of your mind, but you push it down. “Can I have a few more minutes?”

“You must order something to keep the table,” the waiter says snidely.

“Oh, right, sorry,” you say, snatching up your menu. “Um, can I just have two of the house special?”

The waiter gives you a prim nod and retreats.

You beeline to the slew of payphones, hands shaking as you dial Steve’s number. You get his voicemail.

“Hey, Steve,” you say, trying to keep your voice upbeat. “It’s me. Y/N. Um, I’m at Enzo’s and I’m waiting for you. Our table’s in the back, near the potted plants? I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for you. The waiter was about to blow a gasket. Anyway, I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You return to your table. And wait. And wait. And wait.

The waiter brings you two plates of chicken parmesan. You eat yours and wait. Then, you eat Steve’s, and you wait some more.

90 minutes after your arrival at the restaurant, you head to the payphones again. You suck in a shuddery breath and try to keep from tearing up as your fingers fumble over Steve’s number. Voicemail, again.

“Steve, me again. Are you still coming? The wait staff are starting to give me pitying looks. I really, really had a good time with you this summer and want to see where this goes…it’s fine if you don’t feel the same. But, please, come to the restaurant so we can talk. Or, just call the restaurant and they can get the phone to me. Um, okay. Bye.”

A full two-and-a-half hours after your arrival at Enzo’s, you’re a wreck. You’ve ordered five desserts to try and keep your table, on the foolish hope that Steve will arrive.

He doesn’t.

Your waiter has softened somewhat when he brings you the check.

“Whoever they are,” he says in a low voice, “they aren’t worth it.”

Your face burns hot with embarrassment as you hand him your credit card.

After getting a to-go box for the strawberry cheesecake you ordered for Steve, you slink to the payphones once more. This time, you don’t stop the tears from falling, but you compose yourself enough to keep the final voicemail from devolving into a blubbery mess.

“Steve. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving. I waited for you for almost three hours.” You sniffle and add, “If all you wanted from me was a one-night stand, why did you make me think otherwise? Jerk. Have a nice life, Harrington.”

You slam the phone against the cradle and stomp out of the restaurant, waiting until you get behind the wheel of your car to let out a heaving sob.

April, 1986

“Earth to Y/N!”

Steve snaps his fingers in your face and you startle.

“Sorry, what did you say?” you say, shaking yourself out of the memories that makes you hate the boy next to you.

“I asked if you had any plans this weekend?”

You resist the urge to scoff. Fun plans, amidst the disaster? And he’s trying to make small talk with you? That further confirms your theory that he’s forgotten all about you, or that he’s such an arrogant blowhard he doesn’t even realize how much he hurt you.

“I might go to Enzo’s,” you say, trying to jog his memory. “It’s one of the only restaurants still open right now, and I hear the chicken parm is really good.”

You glance at him, but his facial expression remains unchanged: a contented smile as he organizes the clothes he’s folding into boxes for summer and winter.

“Hey, that sounds fun. Oh, you should get the strawberry cheesecake. It’s delicious.”

You scowl, having hit your limit of being nice to him.

“You’re such an ass,” you scoff, shoving a bundle of folded sweatshirts into his arms and storming off.

“Huh? What? Whoa, whoa, Y/N! Wait up!”

You weave through the volunteers, heading toward the doors for a much-needed respite. Steve, however, won’t leave you be.

“Hold on!” he says, catching up to you and stepping in front, blocking your escape. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you kidding?” You bark out a humorless laugh. “Wow, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

Hurt flashes across his face, brow furrowing.

“Excuse me?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” you say. “Last summer? Enzo’s?”

Steve scrunches his face up with confusion. He rubs his eyes.

“Wait, hold on,” he says. “When did we go to Enzo’s?”

“We were supposed to, at the end of July,” you say. You jab a finger in his chest and push just a tad too hard. “But you fucked me and then stood me up, and you never even called me back. Steve, I felt used and I was mortified. And you have the audacity to ask me about my plans and recommend the Enzo’s strawberry cheesecake, as if I didn’t eat three slices waiting for your sorry ass to show up!”

You start to storm off, but Steve grabs a hold of your shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he begs. “Please don’t go. I just—I can’t remember—when did we make the Enzo’s plans?”

“Who cares when? What matters is you didn’t show—”

“Y/N!” Steve says louder, catching the attention of some nearby volunteers. He blushes and drags you to a secluded corner behind some old gym mats. Eyes wide with panic and shame, he repeats, “When did we make the plans?”

You wrench free of his grasp.

“We originally made the plans a few days before the Fourth,” you say, voice cold, “after we slept together. You asked to reschedule. And I never heard from you again.”

About seven different emotions flick across Steve’s face.

“Oh, shit. I think I know what—listen, last summer I started having these gaps in my memory, and I—”

“Save it,” you say tiredly. “I don’t need your excuses, Harrington. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Before he can say anything, you leave him alone with his thoughts and regrets.

🍓🍓🍓

Steve is starting to think the universe hates him.

After his foray into the Russian bunker, he remembered about your date and that he needed to reschedule. He even called Enzo’s and changed the reservation. But the weeks following the drugging and the beating, he started to forget more and more things.

He missed a dentist appointment. He forgot what day his parents were coming back into town, so he set the dinner table for the whole family six nights in a row until they actually returned. He unintentionally skipped a job interview at Bradley’s Big Buy with Robin.

That night you waited for him at Enzo’s, he could tell he’d forgotten something. He assumed it was giving Dustin a ride.

“What are you doing here?” Dustin had asked when Steve parked his BMW outside the Henderson house.

“Don’t you need a ride somewhere?” Steve had said with a frown.

Dustin, not one to turn down a free carpool, had Steve take him to the arcade.

Steve wasn’t home when you called from the restaurant. When he did return home, his mother had already deleted your voicemails, assuming they were all telemarketers.

Steve never got your messages, but he didn’t forget about you. He saw you in town a few weeks later and tried to go talk to you, but when you saw him coming, you glared and darted in the other direction.

He tried not to be too hurt by that. His foggy memory made him wonder if he misread any signals. Maybe you had just been looking for a one-night fling. Maybe the sex hadn’t been good for you. Maybe you had moved on and found a new guy while Steve recovered from the Battle of Starcourt. He didn’t hold it against you if you had.

Now, eight months later, Steve realizes he’s been wrong this whole time.

“I messed up and Y/N hates me!” Steve groans, ferociously spreading peanut butter on bread. Robin works on the jelly sides as they prepare meals for the hungry of Hawkins.

“It’s not your fault that you forgot the date!” Robin says. She drops her voice to a whisper and adds, “We were tortured. You were concussed.”

“But I didn’t even call,” Steve says. He slaps two slices of bread together harshly, angry at himself. “After I saw them looking so upset in town, I should’ve called to check in. To clear the air. If I had, maybe I would’ve realized what happened and could’ve fixed it.”

“You can think about ‘what ifs’ all day,” Robin says. “Or you can try to make things right.”

“I can’t,” Steve says. “They won’t even look at me anymore. I don’t blame them.”

“I don’t get why they’d hold such a grudge,” Robin wonders, neatly packing their newest sandwich into a brown paper bag. “I mean, you missed one date. It’s not like you slept with them and ditched them. Unless…”

Robin narrows her eyes at Steve. Ashamed, he doesn’t look up from sandwich making.

Robin scowls and smacks his shoulder.

“Ouch! Robin!”

“You are the horniest dingus this side of the Mississippi,” Robin says. “Of course they’re so angry! They think you used them for sex! Technically you did, since you never followed up.”

“What happened to the ‘it’s not my fault’ shit!”

“It’s not! But the unfortunate truth is that you look like a total ass. You need to apologize.”

Steve does. He’s fully vulnerable and partially honest, and spins a tale about how a new medication with unfun side effects, such as brain fog, is why he completely forgot the date.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” Steve says, after he’s finished. He’s tempted to ask if you’d be willing to try again, but he resists.

You study him, eyes scanning his face for any indication he’s bullshitting you. You don’t look angry, but you don’t look very forgiving either.

“It’s fine,” you say, after what feels like a millennia. Steve relaxes when you give him a small smile. “Let’s just move on. Hand me those sweatshirts?”

And so you two continue to work together, nothing more than acquaintances at best.

August, 1986

Steve almost dies in the final fight with Vecna.

The battle causes more earthquakes that leave many in town dead or wounded. Eleven is finally able to kill Vecna and destroy the Upside Down once and for all—but not before Steve is severely wounded by Vecna’s army of demodogs.

He doesn’t remember much after the attack. He thinks he remembers Robin and Dustin crying. Someone—Hopper? Jonathan, maybe?—carrying him out of the Upside Down. The paramedics asking him his name, the year, the president, to count backwards from 10.

Then, it’s all a bit fuzzy, until he wakes up a few days later. He’s got a lot more scars than he did, but he’s alive and Vecna is gone, so that’s something.

He doesn’t expect to see you in his hospital room when he comes to.

“Y/N?” he croaks.

You whip around, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Except you aren’t doing anything wrong—you’re adding a stuffed bear to the collection of Get Well Soon gifts on the windowsill.

“Oh, shit,” you say. “Let me get your doctors.”

When you disappear into the hall, he gets a better look at the teddy bear you’ve brought. It’s pink, with a strawberry-shaped nose. The mylar balloon tied to its paw says: Get Well Bear-y Soon! Steve’s heart swells at the realization that you remember his favorite flavor, that you went to the trouble to buy him a gift. He’s not sure he deserves it.

He assumes you’ll come back in, but instead, a swarm of doctors and nurses encroach. Then, it’s Dustin and Robin and Nancy and Jonathan visiting him. Then, Hopper and Joyce and the other kids.

By the end of the day, he’s exhausted from visitors, but he still wants to see you once more.

He does, three days later.

He returns to his hospital room after physical therapy—the demodogs did a number on his shoulder. You’re there again, adding a Feel Better card to his stash. You startle when he walks in.

“Hi!” you say, a bit louder than intended. You clear your throat. “Sorry. I don’t want to disturb you, I’ll just go—”

“You’re not disturbing me,” Steve says. “I could actually really use the company.”

That’s a lie. Robin’s been in his room so much the nurses think she’s his sister. But you don’t have to know that.

You relax and nod.

“Sure, yeah, I can stay for a few minutes.”

Steve sinks onto his hospital bed and you sit in an uncomfortable-looking, plasticky armchair.

Silence stretches between you two. It’s not tense, but it’s charged with something.

The two of you start speaking at the same time.

“Sorry,” you say. “I just—I hope it’s not weird that I’m here.”

“What? No, not weird at all,” Steve says. “We’re friends.”

And that’s true. The past four months, the two of you have become much closer. Still fully platonic, but on the cusp of something more.

“Robin told me that you got hurt in the big quake,” you say, clueless to the true nature of the disasters. “She said—um, she said you almost didn’t—almost didn’t make it. And that made me feel horrible, because I really like you…r friendship. And I couldn’t imagine losing that. So I’m glad you’re going to be okay.”

You hesitate before covering his hand with yours. His hands are calloused and warm. Yours are icy cold. Steve represses a shiver at your touch.

“Thank you for coming,” Steve says. You squeeze his hand and his breath stutters. He recovers just enough to say, “And thank you for the bear. He rocks.”

“You like him?” you say, glancing over at the fluffy teddy on the windowsill. “You should name him Enzo. In honor of the strawberry cheesecake.”

“I was actually thinking of naming him Beartholomew,” Steve says. “Beary, for short.”

“That’s perfect. Or Beart, like Bart?”

He chuckles. The sound of it triggers an incomparable feeling in your chest.

“I like that. Beart Harrington.”

The two of you smile at each other. It feels warm and easy, same as your flirtationship the summer prior.

Your eyes flick to his lips. Is it weird to ask someone on a date in a hospital? you think.

Before you can turn on the charm and see if Steve wants to join you for a cup of Jell-O in the cafeteria, the door swings open and his friends Dustin, Robin, and Erica rush in.

You drop his hand on instinct. Steve misses the feeling of your touch.

“Steve, Max is about to be discharged and she asked—oh, hey Y/N!” Robin says. “Sorry, are we interrupting—”

“I was just leaving,” you say, standing. “I have to head to the soup kitchen. Then I’m back to the high school for more donation work. But I’ll see you around, okay?”

Steve wants to ask you to skip your shifts and stay. But the request dies on his throat. Instead, he just nods and says, “See you around.”

You give a polite nod and smile to his friends before leaving.

“Is that them?” Erica asks once you’re out of earshot. “The one you’re totally crushing on, like a weirdo stalker?”

“He’s not a stalker!” Dustin says. “He’s pursuing his Suzie.”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“They’re not my Suzie,” Steve says, “as much as I want them to be. That ship sailed, ages ago.”

October, 1986

When things in Hawkins are a little better, you’re able to start your second year at Roane County Community College.

Steve and Robin enroll as well, and share an apartment off-campus. For Halloween, they invite you and half the student body to a rager.

You don’t want to go at first. Mainly because you’re afraid alcohol will spur you to do something stupid, like tell Steve that you want him.

You’re not sure why you do. You gave him the benefit of the doubt but still don’t fully believe his story about why he missed your date, and wonder if his recent kindness and friendship is a trap to lure you in and break your heart once more.

But that seems too cruel for him. He’s not like that, you’ve learned in your six months of new friendship.

Plus, he almost died over the summer, and while that kind of thing would’ve made you bitter and angry and terrified of the world, Steve doesn’t let it weigh him down. He’s still kind and empathetic, still loyal and bright.

Fuck, you want him so bad. As a friend? No: as a boyfriend, as a lover, as everything all the time.

You stand in the corner of his and Robin’s living room, nursing a hard lemonade and avoiding eye contact with the object of your affection (currently dressed as Marty McFly).

Marty McSteve dances his way over during “Monster Mash.” You laugh at his chaotic display, trying to mentally murder the butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” Steve says. He adjusts his orange vest. “Wanna dance?”

Friends dance with friends…right?

“I’d love to,” you say with a smile.

The two of you drink, dance, and drink some more. At some point, you and Robin do shots. After that, you stop resisting the urge to throw yourself at Steve. You boldly go up to him and ask, “Hey, you never showed me your new room. Give me a tour?”

The excuse is shoddy but works its magic. Two minutes later, you’re making out with Steve in his room, pulsing beat of the music reverberating through the thin apartment walls.

His kisses are hot and heady, his hands wander your frame and make your skin burn.

“I’ve wanted to do this again,” Steve murmurs between kisses. “For so long.”

“Me too,” you say, breathless, pulling him even closer to you. The two of you drunkenly stumble around until he pushes you onto his bed.

He kisses your neck, and it feels so amazing, you want to live in this moment forever. But then you glance around his room and see Beart Harrington on his dresser shelf, and you’re taken back to that night at Enzo’s, eating strawberry cheesecake and waiting alone.

You don’t think he would do that again. But the tiny part of you that’s unsure panics.

“Steve,” you stutter out.

Unaware of your inner turmoil, he moans your name and continues kissing your neck. One hand grips your waist, the other roams higher up your thigh.

“Steve. Stop.”

At that, he immediately pulls away and off you, concern clouding his features.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. His voice is so tender, you melt a bit.

You’re not sober enough to properly articulate your feelings. To tell him that you like him so much and getting heartbroken by him again would destroy you.

So you simply sit up and say: “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“That’s totally fine,” he says. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” You don’t respond, just stare at your lap. Steve adds, “Do you need anything? Water, or something to eat?”

You flounder, stammering something about how you don’t feel well and want to go home.

Steve nods. If he’s disappointed or upset, he doesn’t show it. “I can walk you home if—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupt. “I’m sorry, again.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Steve says gently. “Seriously, it’s all good.”

You mumble out a goodbye and practically sprint away, leaving Steve alone on his bed.

“I don’t understand,” he says as he and Robin clean up beer cups after the party has ended. “They ran away so fast. Did I do something wrong?”

“People are allowed to change their minds about sex, you know,” Robin says. She tosses an empty cup at Steve. He fumbles and catches it.

“I know! And that’s okay. But if I made them upset, I want to know why. Rob, I like them so much. I don’t know if I can just be their friend anymore. I want more. And sometimes it seems like they do too, but right before we cross that line, they push me away.”

“This is a conversation you need to have with them, not me,” Robin says. She pulls a pillow off the ground and groans. “Great. Molly puked on the carpet. Hand me a sponge.”

🍓🍓🍓

Steve calls you the next day to check on you.

“I’m okay,” you say, fingers twisting in the phone cord. “Just tired.”

That’s not necessarily a lie. But you’re speaking in mistruths by not openly telling Steve how you feel. How you want him but are so terrified of what will happen. What is this effect he has on you?

“That’s good,” Steve says. You can tell he’s nervous by the way his voice cracks. You can practically see him run a hand through his hair over the phone—an anxious habit he can’t seem to break. “Listen, I’m really sorry if I made you upset yesterday when we were about to…you know. I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries or make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you rush to reassure him. “It’s not you…”

You cut yourself off before adding the dreaded it’s me. Instead, you say, “I wanted to do it, but I just panicked.” You suck in a breath. “The truth is, I really, really like you Steve. A lot. Like, I like you way more than a friend should.”

Steve stops breathing for a moment.

“You do?” he asks.

“Yeah. And that terrifies me.”

“What?” Steve says, holding the phone closer to his ear. “I terrify you?”

You laugh, despite the tension you’re feeling.

“No,” you say. “You’re a gem, Steve Harrington. But the thought of getting heartbroken by you again…that’s what scares me.” You drop your voice to a near whisper. “I think it would ruin me.”

Steve gulps. You had been forgiving about the Enzo’s thing when he cleared the air, and the two of you have become such good friends since then. Guilt gnaws at his insides when he realizes how much being stood up affected you.

“I’m so, so sorry Y/N,” he says, after a beat. “I didn’t realize—I mean, I knew what I did hurt you, but I didn’t know—”

“It’s fine, just forget about it—”

“No!” Steve says urgently. “Please. I like you too. I want to make it up to you. To take you out on a real date.”

You pause, chewing your lip and pondering the idea.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” you say cautiously.

“Please. Just trust me.”

Trust. You trusted Steve last summer, and look where that got you.

But you don’t want to be afraid of falling in love with him. Not anymore. So you agree to go on a date with him, hoping for the best.

🍓🍓🍓

Steve doesn’t give you any indication what the date will be. He just tells you to be ready at 7 p.m. sharp.

As the clock ticks closer to 7, you feel your anxiety spike. You’ve convinced yourself he’s not coming, that you’re being stood up again, until—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You stand from the couch so fast you make yourself dizzy.

When you open the front door, Steve is waiting. However, he’s not alone.

“Oh!” you say, recognizing Steve’s friend Dustin from some volunteering shifts. “Uh, hey, guys. What—”

“Good morrow!” Dustin booms in a theatrical voice. Steve sighs and shakes his head.

“Henderson,” Steve hisses. “I told you: no Shakespeare shit!”

He turns to you and beams.

“Hey, you look great!” he says. Steve holds up a bouquet of forget-me-nots, your favorite flower. The irony is not lost on you. “This is for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you say, taking it. “You do too. Uh, and Dustin! Nice hat.”

The hat in question is some sort of computer joke, with lots of 1s and 0s. You don’t understand it. But Dustin preens at your praise.

“Thanks, Y/N!” he says. “Now, are you ready for the date of your life?”

“I’m supposed to be the one to say that,” Steve says. “Henderson, just go wait in the car. In the back seat! BACK. SEAT.”

Dustin clambers into the back of Steve’s BMW.

“Steve,” you say, “did you invite me on a babysitting date?”

“I promise I didn’t,” Steve says. “But I did ask my friends for some assistance. You’ll see. Now, what did Henderson say—are you ready for the date of your life?”

He holds out a hand. You hesitate, but take it and smile.

“I think I am. Rock my world, Steve Harrington.”

He drives you (and Dustin) across town to the nature reserve. Dustin exits the car before Steve’s even fully parked, sprinting ahead into the forest.

“Are we supposed to follow him?” you ask.

“He’s going ahead to set some things up. We’ll follow, just much slower.”

Steve holds out an arm. You link yours in his, a bit flustered at the closeness.

“Sorry if this is weird,” Steve says as the two of you leisurely walk on the reserve’s wooded trails. “I know it’s not your typical dinner date, but we tried that, and I fucked it up.”

“It’s really fine, Steve,” you say. “You were on that medication that made you forget.”

Steve bristles at the reminder of his shitty lie. He wishes he could tell you what really happened. Maybe one day.

“It’s not fine,” Steve says quietly. “I hurt you, and that’s the last thing I want to do. So I hope this will make it up to you.”

You make it to a clearing and you gasp. A picnic table has been decorated with flower petals. Twinkly lights are strung on the tree branches and bushes, and around the nearby park ranger station.

Local rock band Corroded Coffin stands at the edge of the clearing, tuning their instruments. Robin, the new lead singer after Eddie’s passing, notices the two of you enter.

“The lovers are here!” Robin says. “Let’s go, boys! 1, 2, and a 1, 2, 3, 4!”

You’re expecting a heavy metal song, and are pleasantly surprised as they start to perform “Crimson and Clover.”

“Do you like it?” Steve asks. He’s wringing his hands together and looking at you expectantly as you survey the picnic.

“It’s amazing,” you say, eyes shining.

Dustin appears from the ranger’s station with his friend Lucas. They’re in matching bow ties.

“Welcome to Chez Hawkins,” Lucas says. “Table for two?”

The boys lead you and Steve to the picnic table. Dustin hands you two hand drawn menus while Lucas pours red wine into two plastic red cups.

“These are lovely,” you say, fingers lightly tracing over doodles on your menu. “Did you guys draw them?”

“Will Byers did,” Steve says. “He’s, like, an amazing artist.”

“May I recommend the house special: grilled cheese?” Dustin says.

“Mainly because that’s the only thing we know how to make,” Lucas adds sheepishly.

You and Steve “order” grilled cheese sandwiches and the boys disappear back into the ranger station. You can faintly hear them arguing with a third person about how much cheese is too much.

“This is really thoughtful,” you say, gesturing to the decorations and the live band and the wine. “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“I wanted to,” Steve says with a shrug. “I want to show how much you mean to me.”

Your insides turn to jelly. No one has ever shown you this much care or attention before. And to think, you wasted two-thirds of a year hating Steve Harrington when you could’ve been having these kinds of lovely date nights all the time?

You push away your regrets about your grudge to enjoy the date. The grilled cheeses Lucas delivers are delicious and pair surprisingly well with the wine. You and Steve talk about everything and nothing, and you thoroughly enjoy the music and the company. Corroded Coffin plays all love songs for you two, except for one or two Metallica hits.

When it’s time for dessert, Lucas and Dustin return with their friend Max Mayfield. She parks her wheelchair next to the picnic table and plops a tupperware onto the table between you and Steve.

“Sorry for the lame presentation,” she says. “I hope you like them.”

Dustin pulls off the tupperware lid and waves “ta-da” jazz hands, revealing four red cupcakes. Each is adorned with pink frosting and heart-shaped sprinkles.

“Red velvet cupcakes with strawberry frosting!” he says. “A combination of your favorites.”

You stare at the cupcakes, jaw dropped. Steve panics when you don’t say anything. He clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says. “I thought you said once that you liked red velvet, because your grandma always made it for you. You don’t have to eat it! I think I have half a granola bar in my car if—”

“I told you that last summer,” you interrupt.

“Huh?”

“The thing about red velvet cake,” you say. “I told you that last summer. Hell, that was one of the first things we talked about, because I asked if Scoops had a red velvet flavor. And you remembered that? One passing comment from last June?”

Steve swallows hard, nervous under your relentless gaze, and nods.

“Uh, yeah? Is that insanely creepy of me?”

“Kids,” you say, not breaking your gaze from Steve’s adorably flushed face. “Close your eyes.”

Dustin, Lucas, and Max voice their confusion, until you lean across the picnic table, pull Steve up by the collar of his windbreaker, and kiss him fiercely. When the kiss registers, Steve wraps an arm around your waist.

The two of you look ridiculous, each half-sitting, half-standing on your sides of the table. Max snatches the tupperware onto her lap just as you pull a little too hard and Steve falls onto the tabletop. He winces and rubs his elbow, and you apologize profusely—but can’t stop smiling.

“Disgusting,” Lucas says, shaking his head. “You two couldn’t even wait until we were gone.”

“Eat these before you make out,” Max says. “They took all day.”

The trio of teens mumble about “gross adults” before retreating to the ranger station. You join Steve on his side of the table, not wanting to be even two feet apart.

“This is the perfect dessert,” you say, “and this is a perfect date. Thank you, Steve.”

“Of course,” Steve says. “I hope it makes up for last year. I still feel so bad about it—”

You place a hand on top of Steve’s.

“You don’t have to be sorry anymore,” you say softly. “It’s all right, Steve. I fully and wholly forgive you. The past is the past.”

“You’re not just saying that because I gave you wine and cupcakes?”

“Nope. But I like wine and cupcakes, so you should do that again sometime.”

“I think I can swing that.”

He takes a bite of his second cupcake just as you whisper something about a different kind of dessert you want to give him, if he wants to take you home. He almost chokes on sprinkles, face as pink as the strawberry frosting, before he grabs your hand and pulls you down the trail. You giggle as he calls over his shoulder, “Robin! Stay with Vickie tonight!”

“Harrington! You paid us to play!” Gareth, the drummer, shouts after you two. “Not clean up!”

“Oh, let them go,” Robin says. “They’re in love! Besides, we’ll make Dustin clean.”

You and Steve spend a perfect night together. As promised, he rocks your world.

🍓🍓🍓

Your boyfriend Steve is forgetful.

He misses doctor’s appointments. He forgets to pick you up from work sometimes. He gets schedules mixed up, and, yes, sometimes he forgets date night.

But you’re a patient person, now that you know he doesn’t do it intentionally. You love him with your whole heart, and you know he feels the same. And you couldn’t ask for anything more.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #st fic: forget

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rottenpumpkin13 · 5 months

Note

*timidly walks up to the cash register*

Can I… can I plz ask for your fluffiest AGSZ or SZ snippet/headcanon plz? I’ve been lanced in the heart by your wonderfully evil community and it’s what the doctor ordered :,3 ❤️

Innocent Moments No One Sees

• Zack laughing so hard at the way Sephiroth pronounces schedule that milk comes out of his nose. Sephiroth then laughing so hard at the milk coming out of Zack's nose that he is immobile on the ground for several minutes.

• Sephiroth falling asleep in the library, Genesis and Angeal counting how many books they can stack on top of him before he wakes up.

• Zack folding paper daisies that Aerith taught him and placing them in Sephiroth's hair one by one during a meeting.

• Angeal and Sephiroth walking back to the tower after getting milkshakes. They got different flavors, but switch drinks every ten minutes. They're talking about what they would name their hypothetical pet chocobo.

• Genesis giving Zack another ear piercing. Zack is sitting on Genesis' bathroom sink with his feet up, wearing a battered Loveless hoodie he fully plans on stealing from him. They're both talking about the first time they got their ears pierced as Genesis works.

• Angeal and Zack going on a run and jokingly racing each other. Angeal can't catch up to Zack, who has infinite energy. Then Zack trips and faceplants on the ground, getting a bloody nose. Angeal then gives him a piggyback ride back to the tower. They're clowning around on their way there, with Zack pretending that he's a cowboy and Angeal is his horse.

• Zack dragging Sephiroth up to the roof on a rainy day, giving him a fun yellow raincoat and ordering that he jump in all the puddles to heal his inner child. Little did they know that Genesis and Angeal had been hiding behind some ventilation units and would come out with two giant super-soakers.

• Sephiroth and Genesis walking around the Skyview hall at three AM. Neither of them can sleep and are still in pajamas. They're sharing earbuds and laughing at all the cringey music Genesis has on his old MP3.

• Genesis and Angeal sprawled out on Angeal's kitchen floor in the middle of the afternoon looking at an old photo album from their childhood. They're eaten their way through half a box of ice cream sandwiches already.

• The four of them having a sleepover at Sephiroth's apartment. They've already ordered pizza, Genesis has made them all drinks, and they're now playing a boardgame with a movie that they've long abandoned playing in the background.

• The four of them going on a shopping trip to the mall. Zack is trailing behind Genesis at some high-end boutique. He's eating mango ice cream and critiquing every one of Genesis' outfit choices. Meanwhile, Angeal and Sephiroth are laughing their asses off. They found a gothic clown painting at an art store and are now lugging it back to the car. They plan on hanging it in Lazard's office as a prank.

• Sephiroth putting clear tape on his office door at Zack's exact eye level, then texting him "I have cookies in my office if you want some." He then watches as Zack runs into the tape at full speed.

• All of them going on a mission together, something that usually doesn't happen, but even Lazard could agree that they needed a break. The four of them are laying on the grass outside the camp with their heads touching. They're watching the stars and sharing jokes. Nothing bad has happened yet.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #zack fair #ff7r #ff7 crisis core #headcanons

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xoxoavenger · 4 months

Note

ANOTHER STEVE’S PROBLEM PLEASEEEEE

The Holiday Party

summary: Unexpected developments go down at the Party's holiday party.

word count: 1699

warnings: none

previous part next part series masterlist

12 Days of Christmas main masterlist

The holiday party was going much better than Y/N expected.

After Steve had effectively moved in with Y/N, having only had to sneak back in once to grab the rest of his clothes and his few sentimental items, the two had found a sort of routine. Y/N would wake up and make breakfast, getting James ready and beginning some chores. Steve would go to work, coming back in the afternoon to take care of James while Y/N went to work. She's bring dinner home from the diner, and they'd both put James to bed as if they were a domestic family and she hadn't met Steve just a couple months ago.

Steve uses the top sheet to sleep on the couch, folding them every morning and keeping them in the corner of the living room. When he's left alone with James, his favorite thing to do is tell James stories. Very watered-downed versions of what happened in the Upside Down ("Robin and I worked at at an ice cream shop. I know, ice cream is yummy. And underneath the ice cream shop was an evil lair, which is just a fancy word for bad people's homes.") and even about movies. He had read in one of Y/N's parenting books that he had looked at while James napped that it was important to talk as much as possible around babies so they could learn a lot of different words. And he thinks Y/N may have noticed when she complained about the neighbors littering, saying they were"bad people" and James screamed "layin!" She had looked at Steve with squinted eyes. All he could do was laugh.

"How's living with dingus?" Robin asks, walking up to Y/N. They're at Nancy's house, since the kids were also there, and her parents had agreed to take Holly away for the night so they could have a big sleepover. They had promised the kids wouldn't drink, but Y/N was two margaritas in and comfortable enough to only keep one eye on James as he played in the living room with Lucas and Elle.

"It's actually much easier than living alone." She admits, looking over the table of drinks.

"Really?" Robin sounded so genuinely shocked it made Y/N look up.

"Yes? She answers, turning to face her friend. "Why wouldn't it be? We have two sets of income, two pairs of hands to help with James." She leaves out the part where it feels nice to have someone care for her and her son. "And it doesn't hurt to have a man in the house in my neighborhood." She adds quietly, almost ashamed to admit it. Before Steve moved in, she had been so terrified some nights of a break in that she would barely sleep, getting up to check every lock multiple times. Now, she didn't worry as much, knowing that Steve could protect her and James.

"Sounds more like you're married." Robin said offhandedly, and if Y/N was drinking something she would have choked. Instead she just scoffed, trying to school her face as her cheeks heated.

"The society we live in, hey?" Y/N mutters, turning back toward the drinks. She decides on some eggnog that she had seen the kids drink, ladling it into her cup. She brings it to her lips and tries it, noting a unique - but not bad - taste. She's never tried eggnog before, but she likes it.

"You're tellin' me." Robin ladles herself some eggnog, taking a large gulp as they turn to take in the rest of the party. Y/N sees Steve arguing with Dustin in the corner and decides to go out on a limb.

"Does Steve ever," Her confidence fades halfway through the sentence, not sure if Robin would tell her best friend about what she was going to ask.

"Talk about you? He never shuts up, actually. Especially now that you live together." Robin answers, and Y/N tries not to think about the fact that she just implied that Steve talked about her before they were even living together.

She thinks that Steve enjoys their living arrangement as well, even though sometimes she can't help but think about the fact that she had took him away from a life of luxury and basically holed him away in a trailer park. The single time she brought this up, Steve shushed her and told her he liked this life better. He had told her that he wouldn't go back even if his parents offered. That was the night that he had come clean about what his parents had done to him, how they had neglected him his whole life and how they were probably gonna move anyway.

"Like the eggnog?" Robin asks as Y/N takes another sip.

"Yeah. I've never had it before, it's good." She brings it to her lips once more.

"I spiked it." Robin says it so nonchalantly that this time Y/N does choke on her drink, putting it down on the counter as she struggles to breathe.

"That's good." Y/N nods, wiping her mouth. She's glad she brought James' overnight bag, because there's no way she's leaving now. He screams just then, as if her thinking of him somehow made him aware that he had not seen her in an hour.

"I don't know how you dod it." Robin mutters as Y/N rushes over to her baby, who is crying like he's been hurt. It scares her, because usually when he cries like this he has been hurt, but when she gets there it seems, he's most likely tired. She looks over his body while he cries, his little fists holding tight to her shirt.

"I can put him to sleep if you wanna keep talking to Robin." Steve offers, but Y/N shakes her head as she stands with James in her arms. She stumbles, not enough to actually fall, but Steve still grabs her. "Or maybe we should all just go home." She's just going to pretend that him saying that didn't make her want to melt into a puddle on the ground.

"Robin spiked the eggnog." Y/N mutters as they walk away. Steve's eyes widen.

"Henderson!" He yells, scaring James. Dustin chugs the rest of his drink before Steve can yell at him more, but James' cries pull Steve away from the teen and back to Y/N and her son.

"I feel bad you're always leaving your friends to help with James." She admits as she goes to the extra room that everyone had agreed could be theirs. Y/N and Steve hadn't slept in the same bed yet, and she's not sure if Steve's going to leave before they go to bed or if he'd be willing to share a bed. She thinks Steve likes her in the way she likes him, but she has a kid and she's sure that Steve could do better.

"I like helping." He says, putting the pack-n-play they had brought up. James was very fussy tonight however, and the second Y/N put him down he screamed. He usually wasn't this angry about going to bed, so Y/N checked his diaper.

"Maybe he doesn't like being in a new place?" Steve suggests when Y/N leans back against the headboard, James in her arms. He's quieter now, sniffling as he squirms in an effort to stay awake.

"He went to bed so easily at Eddie's a couple months ago." She says, breathing deeply when Steve got up and turned the light off. "He's gonna be awhile if you wanna go back out there." She says quietly, turning her face to see him when he gets on the bed next to her.

"How many time do I have to tell you we're in this together?" He asks, and she's glad he can't see her face in the dark. She puts James between them and lays down, letting James grab onto his own feet and play with them. He'll eventually tire himself out.

"I just don't understand." She's barely speaking, trying to keep the noise down so James goes to sleep soon.

"What's not to understand?" He puts a hand on James' belly to rub it and calm him down.

"I'm not a normal girl. I'm not going to be able to give you what you want. I was barely able to live in the trailer park before you came and helped. I have a baby, and he's never going away." She wasn't sure why she was explaining this as if Steve didn't know, but she couldn't help herself. It was quiet for a minute, the two of them just barely able to look at each other in the darkness.

"I hope not." Steve finally says, scooting closer to her. She scoots close to him, sandwiching James in the middle. "I don't want a normal girl. I don't want you any way that you aren't. I don't like you in spite of you being a mother, I like you because you're a mother. An amazing one." Y/N moves to hide her tears, not wanting to admit that Steve's words have hit her in a place she's never felt before.

Steve, unfortunately, doesn't understand this.

"Shit, was that too much? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He's leaning up, which makes James roll slightly to him. "I'm so sorry, I only-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence because Y/N has pushed herself up, careful of James, before pressing her lips to his. He's shocked for a second, but he quickly puts a hand on her face to angle her into a deeper kiss. She gets into it, forgetting that her baby is right in between them until he screams. Y/N chuckles as she pulls back, laying back down as James giggles before yawning.

"You're tired, love." Y/N tells him, and he scrunches his nose.

"That make two of us." Steve yawns, settling back into the pillows.

"Yeah," Y/N agrees, laying her head down. She's just resting her eyes while James falls asleep, then she'll go out and party with her friends. She's just resting her eyes because James had been up all night teething.

She's just resting her eyes for awhile, and then her and Steve will talk about what that was.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler @sadbitchfangirl @gloryekaterina @alexshaff2002 @m-rae23 @icequeen1371 @mcueveryday @xxhellfirebunnyxxxx @parkershoco @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @peculiarwren @freezaz123 @mads-weasley @johnricharddeacy @sweetdreamsshifter @param8re @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @wish-upon-a-star-1310 @fangisms @alicetweven @damon-loves-pie @gaysludge @l0v3e1i @luvrsbian @zulpix-blog @scarletwitchwhore @taylortheyellowlobster @ash5monster01 @nix-rose @loving-and-dreaming

#steve harrington #steve's problem #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve x reader #steve harrington fanfic

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koorminii · 2 years

Text

WHAT LIES IN THE DARK — bang chan (m)

What was supposed to be a chill night alone turns into a fight for your life; Chan has been watching you, waiting for the best moment to strike, and he’s finally found the right time — but why are you so utterly enticing?

pairing: bang chan x f!reader

genre: enemies to lovers (?)

word count: 3.5k

warnings: CHAN IS A SERIAL KILLER, NO EXPLICIT MURDER SCENES, predator and prey dynamics, mentions of murder/violence, breeding, mating press, degrading, mentions of stalking, morally grey character, dumbification, size kink, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, pussy eating, oh and they have sex outside… on the ground. lmk if i’m missing anything !!!

authors note: I helped my friend sisi write this for her tumblr account, and she was nice enough to let me post my own partially edited version for chan!! so if you like jujutsu kaisen and wanna read this twice then go follow her at @kugokizs !! also holy shit i haven’t posted in almost two months 😭 the amount that i missed you all and missed writing is insane and the never-ending support even throughout my absence and inactivity means so much, i genuinely could never imagine anyone, let alone all of you, could like my writing as much as it seems you do, so thank you! i hope everyone is doing well 🫶

Bang Chan is a very sinister man.

He holds grudges, is very keen on practicing “eye for an eye”, and he holds dear his power over weak, vulnerable, young women. He prowls for the pleasure of it, for the thrill — to hear them beg for mercy, for one more chance. They beg on their knees as if he’s a God, the bringer of all evil, the grim reaper, the devil himself. And, Chan thinks, maybe he is. After all, who else could invoke such fear in people. Who else could cause someone to shiver just at the mention of his name? To run for the hills at any sign of danger. Who else could do what he does? No one, and that’s what makes him enjoy it even more.

Bang Chan is a very sinister man, and right now he has his eyes on you. It’s been months, bumping into you at the grocery store, handing you things that you’ve dropped accidentally, holding the door open for you, dropping food on your doorstep — he’s seen it all. Late nights with friends, early morning at university, skipping lunch to study in the library… Chan has been there. Watching, waiting, prowling. Ever since the first time he saw you he’s wanted you, to add you to his ever growing collection, to keep you, to make you his. You’re his. And the only one between you both who didn’t know that yet, was you.

Drawers upon drawers of lingerie greeted him when he peaked inside — he didn’t think you had it in you. His fingerprints would’ve been all over the place if not for gloves, his face on every camera if he hadn’t known all the blindspots, and thank God you didn’t have cameras inside, because then it’d only make it harder for him, and if you wanted something a little less painful when your time was up, it was best you didn’t piss him off.

Though Chan thinks he might play with you a bit. You’re interesting, just anxious enough to get by yet careless and reckless enough to get caught in a stupid situation. You’re pretty — innocent in the sexiest way possible. You look like you’d go dumb for a taste of his cock and that’s exactly what he likes most about you, but he knows you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and he appreciates that, too.

The moon shines a ghastly glow over his features right as the end credits of the movie start to run, and that’s when he decides it’s time to play. He picks up a smooth, round, pebble — no bigger than a quarter, and throws it so that it hits the window pane. He crouches down just the smallest bit lower, eyes peeking over the blinds, and he trusts the darkness to obscure him. He knows that you won’t ever get close enough to actually look through them, and he’s right. Always so easily frightened, like a little lamb. You freeze where you’re sitting, head whipping around to look at where the sound came from, and you pause for only a few moments, watching and waiting to see if it comes again. At least a minute passes before you turn back to the TV, curling in on yourself and tucking your lip between your teeth.

Chan can barely stifle the chuckle that threatens to leave his lips, it feels like childish glee watching you get so scared from a measly little rock against your window, but he does it again, throwing it harder now, and the sound echoes so loudly that he can hear it bounce back from inside your living room. This time you stand up, looking back towards the window and stepping forward, head tilting downwards as you try to see through the blinds. You squint at the glare from your lights and otherwise stay silent. Chan is sure your heart is beating erratically, your hands starting to shake, and he thanks God that you have so many windows. You don’t sit back down, instead looking around the room and muting the TV. You stay like that for a long time, you’ve always been so overly paranoid, and it fills Chan with immense satisfaction to know that he’s the one doing this to you.

Your footsteps get nearer before they stop, you’re most likely looking through the window of the now closed back door, hands trembling and knees weak in fear. You’re probably on the verge of tears, barely holding in a whimper. He doesn’t hear you step away, but he can see your shadow from under the door. Hmm. You’re trying to be cautious now, are you? Chan already knows this routine. You’ll run to grab your phone, call someone, try to get in your car and drive away. Maybe grab a large kitchen knife just in case, but what are the chances of you actually using it? Chan has practice, he’s skilled, he’s used to this. You, a lone studious girl who’s paranoid but way too careless for her own good, has never stabbed anyone in her life. Has never even imagined it, so what’s the chances of you dropping the knife before it can even plunge into him? Maybe trying to get away with a scratch in the arm or a stab to the leg, but Chan has enough scars for that to not even matter. He’ll keep coming and there’ll be nowhere for you to hide.

But he’s gonna let you try, let you think there’s a chance for you to run for the hills, that maybe you’ll get to some help in time. He’ll let that relieved smile flit itself upon your face before he comes back to rip that hope from your body, just to do it all over again until the fight leaves you completely. Maybe he’ll let you reach someone in time, someone innocent, and then kill them right in front of you. Make sure you realize that this is your fault, you did this, you put this innocent person in danger. You murderer. You killed them. You.

Chan realizes he has a lot to think about.

When you got to the back door it was already shut. You’d ventured on tippy toes to look through the small window and there was nothing there. Yet you couldn’t stop the way your breath left you in heavy gasps, the acrid smell of fear and anxiousness seeping from you in waves. You didn’t forget the closet right in front of the door, but you knew you’d never be able to open the door without shaky limbs. If there was someone in there, you’d let them leave of their own accord. You , however, were leaving immediately. You slowly stepped away, looking up to the ceiling and clutching your lip tightly between your teeth. Sweat formed at the top of your mouth and you felt like you were going to throw up. Your throat ached, your stomach was in knots, and you felt like you could collapse at any second.

Flat tire.

Flat tire !??

You kept driving, desperate for a few more miles between you and home, but your car didn’t appreciate that, and you came to a stop. A fear-mongering, bone-chilling, stop.

You couldn’t afford to waste time. You had to keep moving. You jumped out the car, a tight grip on your knife in one hand and your phone in the other. Your feet splashed in large puddles, the streets lined with thick trees that had never looked so imposing until now. A quick look around told you that you were alone, but you couldn’t be sure. You kept moving, rushing but not moving too fast where the sounds of your splashing would drown any other noises out. Your hand curled tightly on the knife as if it was a lifeline, and your phone was inside your pocket — kept safe from the rain. Streetlights shined down from above, blinding white lights that illuminated the entire area before you, and you were grateful for it but loathed it all at the same time. Bright lights mean you could see everything around you, but it also meant anything around could see you too.

You screamed at the top of your lungs but it was to no use. Every clap of thunder, every downpour against shut windows, every burst of lightning fought for the right to be heard and you were losing. Your legs never stopped moving, you never stopped screaming, but you were reaching a dead end. There was nowhere to go. If you stopped to knock on someone’s door there was no guarantee they’d come open it, and it would allow him to catch up to you way too quickly. You couldn’t hide in any abandoned homes or under any structures because he’d surely see you, and that’d only trap you. Briefly, you contemplated running into the forest, but it was so dark. You didn’t know where you were going, you’d probably get lost and lead yourself right into his arms.

“There you are, little lamb.”

The whimper that leaves your lips has Chan grinning in delight. He surges forward, trapping you between strong arms and a broad chest, pressing against you tightly and dragging you backwards. You claw at his arms, kick your feet, and use the knife to slash at any part of his body that you could. You didn’t make it easy, and you could hear him growl in frustration. He tipped the knife out of your hands and then gripped your arm with a frightening intensity, you bit your lip to stop the cry of pain from leaving your mouth.

“Stop fighting.”

Ugh, get off me!” You cried, and you bit at the skin of his arm, hard, and he pushed you off, allowing you to fall flat on your back. You groaned, rolling over on your side before a dark shadow loomed over you. You winced, your eyes shutting in fear before strong fingers gripped your chin.

“Not so fiesty anymore? We were having lots of fun,” He cooed, a devilish grin forming on his — and you hate to say it — near perfect features. The only blemish on his face was the long scar over his eye, and even that made him look attractive. You lost your breath for a short moment, staring into unforgiving eyes and at pearly white teeth, before you came back to your senses and jerked your knee upwards into a firm abdomen. When the man didn’t even bother to pretend to be hurt you did it again, but this time you used your arms to push him backwards as well. He stumbled just a little, but it was enough for you to jump to your feet and start running back in the direction you came.

“Come on, little lamb, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Your heart kicks up a notch when he slides a warm hand up your shirt. You can feel the way his fingers ghost over your skin with an unnatural intensity, as if his touch is amplified tenfold.

“Look at me,” He growls, your eyes opening at his command against your better judgement. His pupils are dilated, staring down at you with desire. The way he looks at you is an awakening, and with a foreign feeling surging through you, you bury your fingers into the collar of his shirt, bringing him down for a kiss. It’s a little awkward with your apprehension, your fear, your desire to just give up — all teeth and clumsy movements until he takes the lead. He licks into your mouth, coaxing feelings out of you you've never felt before— kissing you into submission.

"I wonder why you're so pretty, hm? Been torturing me for months, sweet thing," He hums, pressing your thighs apart, tongue pushing against yours, his lips cherry red. You want to kiss him again.

Your breath hitches when his hands move to your pants, slipping under the hem and unbuttoning the fabric. When he pulls your pants down slowly, so slowly it feels like time stands still, all that’s on your mind is him. His breathing, his touch, the cold feeling of his fingers. When your pink, lacy panties come into view the chuckle Chan lets out is so deep it feels like a heavy blanket over your mind, soothing you yet igniting something in you that you didn’t know existed. God, you’re in the demon's bed but you feel like you’ve gotten a taste of heaven, and when those soft, cherry red lips ghost over your skin, trailing over your pelvis, leaving light kisses along your skin, all you can do is jerk in his hold.

"Pretty little lambs deserve to know what it feels like to have me right here,” Chan starts, leaning down to press a trail of kisses to your inner thigh. He bites and marks along the fleshiest parts, chuckling at your quiet whimpers and yelps. He slides a hand up between your thighs and rubs between your folds, still covered by your lacy panties. “Aren’t you scared?” Chan murmurs, before splitting them to rub your clit through the fabric. You feel like falling as he circles between your thighs, a gasp hiccupping at the base of your throat before it gets stuck— you can’t make a sound.

You faintly hear the rustle of clothing and the absence of Chan’s touch, opening your eyes to see him pulling his shirt off, biceps flexing as he does. He’s so big, and fuck, his whole body could cover your own if he really wanted. He towers over you, caging you in and surrounding you from all sides. When his shirt is off and thrown somewhere to the floor, he looms over you, his hands pressing into the ground at either side of your head, and all you can do is gasp— your eyes widening at his proximity.

Look at you. His eyes roam over the look on your face, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, bright eyes glazed over and hooded in a bliss that’s otherwise foreign to you, a particular ease directed towards him. Then he shamelessly lets his eyes drop down to your thighs that tremble even harsher under his gaze. The action only forces his mind to run wild. He can’t help but wonder how you do it. God, you don’t know what real pleasure is— and it’s Chan’s job to teach you. Fuck, did he want to be under you, gazing up at you through half lidded eyes, hungrily eating up the sight of you bouncing on his cock like the slut you could be.

He dips his head down, and your hands automatically perch themselves on his shoulders. He grins, moving the finger thrusting into your cunt harsher, faster.

“Oh, god,” You moaned, loud, your grip on his bare shoulders tightening ever so slightly. His skin was warm under your fingers— soft and smooth and fuck if it didn’t feel good.

“Fuck. You’re driving me crazy.”

One hand supports his weight on the ground by your head while the other is preoccupied, curled around his cock as he stares down at you— something akin to a beast in his gaze. Tip reddened and precum oozing from the slit while he groans. The tingly feeling in your groin was coming back, similar to the fluttering you always felt whenever a boy you liked would come bother you. It intensifies when Chan wraps your legs around his waist and pulls you closer to him, your body dragging grass from under you.

“Relax,” Chan murmurs, pressing his mouth to your cheek. “You’re having fun, right?”

Dark eyes are locked intensely on your cunt, Chan watching the slide of his cock as he thrusts inside. His hair is plastered along his forehead, and he sinks back into your inviting walls with another roll of his hips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You moan, high and light, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss while Chan’s chest expands with a satisfied breath. He rolls his hips into yours— sinking his cock into your cunt saying the filthiest words you’ve ever known, before his words break off into a moan, his tone lower and deeper.

Your body jolts with each thrust, pussy clenching around him as Chan moans—every twitch and squeeze of your heat leaving him breathless. “Come on, little lamb,” He groans, and you don’t know what to do. You’re too lost in the haze of pleasure that’s taken over you— you can’t hear past the slap of your skin and his groans in your ear. You know you’re moaning, but you can barely hear yourself. It’s all him. Him all over you, surrounding you, making you feel good.

You feel boneless. You feel when the man gets off you, when he closes your legs after slipping your underwear back on. You hear it when he sighs, something deep and satisfied, and you barely manage to answer when he asks you how you feel. Yet, somehow, it all comes back to you in a flash. You sit up, head throbbing, and stare up at him. Wide-eyed and fearful.

“Please don’t kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel.”

He grins, “I think we can work something out.”

#stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bangchan smut #bang chan x female reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids smut #skz smut

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keepingeahalive · 11 months

Text

Faybelle Thorn Headcanons:

Her full name is Faybelle Arabella Raette Thorn. Her middle names come from the First Dark Fairy and her grandmother respectively.

She shares a very loving relationship with her mother. The Dark Fairy had Faybelle when she was relatively young and devoted almost all of her energy into raising her. In turn, Faybelle looks up to her mom, wants to make her proud, and will curse anyone who says a word against her.

Her father died before she was born. She doesn’t know how, but she knows it wasn’t a natural death.

She and Ginger had known each other since childhood, but they weren’t exactly friends. They only played together because their moms were friends. The one thing Faybelle really liked about Ginger was her baking.

Faybelle hates Raven for being more powerful than her and for going against what she views as a great and powerful legacy. But she also hates the Queens in general for shaming the Dark Fairy Legacy. The Evil Queen had tampered with Sleeping Beauty’s curse, overpowering dark fairy magic and leaving Faybelle’s mom a laughingstock.

Fairies live longer than humans, dark fairies especially. Faybelle’s mother was practically still a teenager when she had her, but it was more out of necessity because of the Evil Queen’s meddling.

She has a huge sweet tooth.

She’s a massive dog lover. She talks to her pet pom-pom Spindle like he’s a baby and absolutely spoils him, even if he’s insanely aggressive to everyone except her.

Faybelle has had a crush on Briar since they were kids. She’d never tell anyone because of her destiny, but it’s the main reason why she teases Briar.

Her wings are extremely sensitive, and she does not allow anyone to touch them.

She has a pair of tree-like horns that grow insanely fast. She loves them, but she clips them and hides them under her hair because they snag on everything. She hopes to grow them out once she can figure out how to slow their growth.

She was roommates with Duchess during her freshman year. It’s how they met. They have a very competitive relationship and trade playful insults with each other, but they will defend one another if someone else goes after them.

She likes watching teen dramas and spell-a-novelas unironically. She’s one of those people who cries over them with ice cream.

She claims she’s the cousin of movie star Spella Thorne. No one is convinced.

In addition to cheerhexing, she also teaches step to spellementary school kids.

Faybelle has been taught to control her magic from a young age. She knows more evil spells than Raven (though Raven is more powerful) and has access to incurable curses. She prefers to cast curses with an escape clause, though. Having no cure takes the fun out of these things.

She doesn’t like physical contact unless she initiates it.

She’s surprisingly good with kids but is a horrible influence. She’s been blacklisted as a babysitter.

Despite building up a reputation as an unapologetic mean girl with a constant need to feel included, she doesn’t know how to make friends any other way. She believes the only way people will notice her is if she makes them notice her, and this almost always backfires.

#eah #ever after high #ever after high headcanons #faybelle thorn #eah faybelle #Faybelle for President #bribelle #briar x faybelle

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