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angelremnants · 11 days ago

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A TALES OF.. l Jasmins and Prayers

OR.. Still seething with frustration from what had transpired in the cave, Loki storms into his room while cursing your damned dress that lingered in his mind. The tension inside him grows as he struggles to maintain control, and the white jasmin petals floating in his bath only heighten the ache. Caught in a whirlwind of temptation and self-loathing, he finds himself confronted by the dangerous path his thoughts have taken—and, more urgently, by the overwhelming need to act on them.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), Loki-centric, emotional turmoil, graphic sexual content, gratification (male masturbation), twisted fantasies running wild, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), themes of norse lore and worship, edging, degradation & praise kink, choking kink, power play, dom!Loki/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15.1k

author's notes : Trust me when I say that I was biting my nail the whole time I was writing this—then again, I was also listening to Kiss Land on loop. The man is too hot for my well-being, Your Honor.

This is a continuation of A Tales Of Tides and Mishaps—you can also read this separately, but I'd recommend reading the first part to understand the context. This is the first time I've ever written something NSFW, so please do let me know how I did.

(ao3 version)

The torches lining the grand corridors of the palace flickered and hissed against the weight of the evening air, their golden glow casting restless shadows on the towering marble walls. The echo of footsteps—a sharp, deliberate rhythm—carried through the vast halls, announcing his approach. Loki moved swiftly, his cape billowing behind him like the rippling edge of a storm cloud, the emerald and black of his attire catching the light with each stride.

The palace was quieter at this hour, subdued under the veil of twilight, yet it was far from peaceful. Whispers of court intrigue hung in the air like smoke, weaving through every corner of Asgard’s opulent halls. It was a place that thrived on appearances, on masks as intricate as the golden carvings that adorned the throne room doors. Loki was no stranger to this game. He played it better than most—deftly, effortlessly, and always with an edge that dared others to challenge him.

Tonight, however, something gnawed at the edges of his mind, unsettling his usual composure. The weight of unspoken words lingered on his tongue, and the echo of a gaze—not his own—followed him like a shadow. He had faced gods and monsters, chaos and ruin, yet there was something about the quiet tension of that earlier encounter that refused to let him go.

The grand corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence amplifying every subtle sound—the faint rustle of his cape, the barely perceptible sigh of the wind brushing against the windows, and the distant murmur of voices from somewhere deeper within the palace. Loki barely registered any of it. His focus remained inward, on the fire still simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.

It had been a fleeting moment, no more than a handful of exchanged words, but it had been enough to unearth something he had long buried—a vulnerability he could not afford, not now, not ever. And yet, there it was, clawing at him with an unrelenting persistence.

The throne room loomed ahead, its doors partially ajar, spilling warm light into the corridor. A faint hum of voices drifted out, the low cadence of his parents and their guest among them. Loki slowed his pace, his expression hardening as his gaze lingered on the doors.

He could walk in. His presence would be noticed, his words sharp enough to cut through whatever discussion you were undoubtedly steering with your usual reckless charm. He could force himself into the center of it all, just as he always did—commanding attention, manipulating the narrative, and ensuring that no one, not even his mother, could look past him.

And yet, Loki hesitated.

The previous fire burned hotter now, threatening to consume him if he did not retreat. He turned on his heel, his movements swift and precise, and strode away from the throne room. Whatever tension awaited him within those gilded walls would have to wait. Right now, he needed to be anywhere else.

The corridors seemed darker now, the torchlight dimmer as he navigated the familiar path to his chambers. Each step brought him closer to the solace of solitude, to the space where he could strip away the mask he wore so effortlessly and face the tempest within.

His mind raced, the unease gnawing at him with increasing intensity. He had tried to ease the tension—an impromptu training session in the palace's sparring chambers had seemed like the perfect solution. The clash of blades and the heavy exertion of physical combat usually grounded him, soothed the simmering anger that had no outlet. But tonight, even the sharp sting of combat had failed to settle the fire within him. His movements had been fluid and practiced, and yet, the burning frustration lingered—nothing had worked.

As he reached his room, Loki paused for a fraction of a second, his hand resting on the cold metal of the door handle. The thoughts he had tried to suppress surged again, sharper this time, cutting through his defenses like a blade. With a sharp exhale, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the heavy wood creaking as it swung shut behind him.

The silence of his chambers was a stark contrast to the noise in his head. The air was still, undisturbed, save for the faint scent of cedar and leather that always lingered here. Yet, even in this sanctuary, he could not escape the weight of your presence, the echo of your voice, and the pull you had over him.

Tonight, Loki realized, no amount of distance would be enough to silence the chaos your had left in your wake.

⠀⠀

The door shut behind him with a finality that seemed to press against his chest. Loki’s chambers were dimly lit, the golden light of a single lantern on his desk flickering faintly against the polished surfaces of dark wood and stone. The quiet hum of Asgard beyond his walls was muted here, but the storm inside his mind was deafening.

He took a step forward, shrugging off his cape and letting it fall onto the back of a chair. The fabric slid noiselessly to the floor, but he didn’t bother retrieving it. His boots echoed softly on the smooth stone floor as he crossed the room, every movement deliberate yet restless.

He paused near the tall windows, the view of the city below sprawling in shimmering lights. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare out at it, his sharp features etched in the pale glow of the moon. The beauty of Asgard, timeless and magnificent, failed to reach him tonight.

Instead, his mind lingered on the moment he had fled from. Your gaze, steady and unrelenting, had burned through the walls he had spent centuries perfecting. The way you had spoken to him, your tone laced with something he couldn’t quite place, had stirred something dangerous within him—something he had tried to bury beneath layers of wit and cruelty.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He could still hear your voice, the faintest trace of challenge, or perhaps curiosity, woven through it. You had looked at him in a way that made his thoughts crumble, and for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he hadn’t hated it. No, what he hated was how much he had wanted more of it.

It made no sense. He didn’t crave closeness, didn’t long for understanding—those were weaknesses he had abandoned long ago. But this? This was different. This was something he couldn’t name, and it terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

The tension that coiled in his chest now was almost suffocating. His body betrayed him, heat pooling low in his abdomen as he fought to chase the thought away. He let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair as if the act could dispel the intrusive images crowding his mind. He could still see you in his mind’s eye, the way your lips had curved, the way your hands had moved as you spoke. Would your hands feel as soft as they appeared? Would your lips taste as sweet as they seemed?

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, but the images only became more vivid, more intrusive. Your laughter, light and warm, played on repeat in his memory, tugging at him in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in ages. And your touch—he could almost imagine it now, your fingers grazing his skin, your breath mingling with his. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, one he couldn’t suppress.

“Foolish,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. “Utterly foolish.”

But even as he berated himself, his body betrayed him. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow as the ache beneath his skin grew harder to ignore. He felt you everywhere—in the warm air that wrapped around him, in the faint flicker of the lantern’s light, in the silence that hung heavy in his chambers. You weren’t there, but it felt as though you had seeped into the very fabric of his being, your presence undeniable and inescapable.

Loki began to pace, his steps measured but restless, like a predator stalking the confines of a cage. His movements were sharp, the tension in his frame radiating with every step he took. His hands itched with the need to do something, anything, to dispel the storm inside him. They brushed against the buttons of his tunic, and with a frustrated sigh, he began unfastening them. His movements were quick and almost angry, as though shedding the layers of fabric could rid him of the thoughts that clung to his mind.

The cool air of his chambers kissed his skin as he pulled the tunic from his body, but it did little to extinguish the fire raging within. He tossed the garment aside carelessly, his breath coming faster now. His eyes darted back to the window, to the city below, but the view offered no solace. All he could see was you, all he could feel was the pull of you, and it was maddening.

Loki leaned heavily against the windowsill, his palms pressed against the cool stone as he stared out into the night. The lights of Asgard below shimmered in a haunting dance, indifferent to the turmoil within him.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though seeking some answer from the vast, indifferent universe.

The question hung in the air, unanswered, like a bitter curse, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the surge of emotions threatening to drown him. The need to control was a constant in his life, but now, it was slipping through his fingers like sand. He couldn't make sense of any of this. Why you? Why was his mind consumed by someone so... insignificant? Someone who could never understand the weight of the worlds he carried or the gods he had to contend with.

His frustration surged again, building like a pressure that had nowhere to go. He slammed his fist into the nearest table, but it wasn’t enough. The magic thrummed beneath his skin, begging for release, demanding action. And in a moment of unbridled rage, his hands flared with green energy, bright and violent, slicing through the room like a storm tearing through the air. A flash of blinding light erupted, and before he could even register what was happening, his magic shattered the nearby mirror, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor in a chaotic spray.

The sharp sound of cracking glass filled the room, and for a long moment, Loki stood frozen, chest heaving as he stared at the destruction. He had lost control. Again. The realization hit him like a wave of cold water. You’ve let it consume you. A mortal. And this is what it leads to.

A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the situation began to sink in. He was not a man to let his emotions dictate his actions. But there it was, the undeniable truth—your effect on him was far more than it should have been. The intensity of his feelings, his desire, his frustration—they were more than he could stand. And here he was, a god, destroying things that held no real importance in the grand scheme of things.

His hands trembled, not with weakness but with the uncontrollable surge of magic. He closed his eyes, his breath shaky as he reached out with his magic again, this time not in destruction but in self-repair. With a wave of his hand, the pieces of shattered glass began to float back together, the cracks mending themselves, the mirror reassembling as if it had never been broken at all.

Once the room was quiet again, Loki stood still for a long moment, his fingers flexing as he allowed the tension to drain out of him, though it was impossible to completely erase it. The ache still gnawed at his insides, relentless and unforgiving. His breath came out in a slow exhale as he straightened his posture, fixing the collar of his tunic and wiping the last traces of anger from his expression.

He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by the evidence of his volatile nature. I need to cool off. He needed to distance himself from the fire that raged inside him. And perhaps a bath would do that—remove the tension from his body, quell the heat that seemed to pulse beneath his skin.

With a final exasperated sigh, Loki turned toward the door, his movements purposeful, though his mind still felt like a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and desires. This will pass, he thought, trying to convince himself. It’s only a fleeting distraction.

But deep down, Loki knew that you were no fleeting distraction. He had already allowed you to slip too far into his thoughts. And he hated himself for it. Yet, the ache remained, and all he could do was seek solace in the solitude of a hot bath, hoping that somehow, the water would cleanse him—if only for a moment—from the chaos you had stirred within him.

⠀⠀

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the bathing room, a cool breeze greeted him, the scent of lavender and cedarwood drifting through the air, mingling with the faint scent of stone and ancient marble.

The room before him was a sanctuary, a perfect reflection of Asgardian elegance—spacious, luxurious, and imbued with a sense of tranquility that seemed to pulse from the very walls. The floor was polished white marble, veins of gold tracing through the stone like lightning trapped within, glowing faintly in the low light. Tall, arched windows lined one side, offering a view of the vast garden outside, though the curtains were drawn, leaving only the soft glow of magical lanterns to illuminate the space.

At the center of the room sat a large, circular bathing tub, crafted from gleaming obsidian stone. It was deep, large enough to engulf him entirely, a perfect retreat for someone of his status. The water within was an inviting shade of blue, shimmering with an ethereal glow that suggested it had been heated by some unseen magic, its surface smooth and still, reflecting the light above.

Loki paused for a moment in the doorway, letting the serenity of the room wash over him. The tension that had gripped him so tightly seemed to ease just slightly, though the ache in his chest remained. His thoughts swirled back to you—your eyes, your voice, the way you had looked at him. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t shake it, and it gnawed at him with every breath.

With a sharp exhale, Loki closed the door behind him and turned to face the room fully. He flicked his fingers, a subtle wave of magic rippling through the air, and the lanterns brightened, their light now casting soft pools of warmth across the marble floor. A gentle mist filled the room, adding an element of tranquility, as though the very atmosphere was designed to soothe his frazzled nerves.

His gaze moved to the mirror above a stone counter, where his reflection stared back at him, eyes intense, troubled. A god, reduced to this. His hands moved to the fastening of his tunic, slow and methodical, as though the very act of undressing held some measure of control.

Loki's movements radiated a sensual confidence, each action steeped in an intoxicating blend of precision and allure. He took his time, weaving an intimate dance with the fabric of his clothing, each piece falling to the floor like a whispered secret—soft, intentional, and laden with significance. He navigated the dimly lit room, the soft glow of flickering candles casting playful shadows that danced along the walls. He wasn’t in a rush; there was an artistry to his undressing, each piece of clothing becoming a symbol of the facade he wore, now being shed in this private sanctum.

As the fabric of his shirt slipped off his shoulders, it fell to the floor with a whisper, a soft thud against the wooden planks, almost reverent in its descent. The air was thick with a tension that mirrored the slow cadence of his movements, as though he was peeling away layers not just of cloth, but of burden. The shirt landed, joining a delicate mosaic of who he could be—each article holding memories, masks, realities.

Next came his trousers, the fabric snaking down his legs, revealing the sculpted lines of his body illuminated in the dancing candlelight. Muscles taut beneath pale skin, he moved in a way that was both sensuous and fierce, the shadows playing across his form, creating images of both beauty and danger. As the heat of the moment surged through him, he became acutely aware of his body’s response, the way his muscles tensed with anticipation, each sinew straining beneath the surface. A flicker of arousal sparked within him, causing his hardness to awaken, a subtle yet undeniable shift that added to the intoxicating energy swirling around him.

Yet, amid this heady mix of sensations, a sliver of disappointment crept in, gnawing at him like an unwelcome specter. He felt almost ashamed of his reaction, wondering how he could be so easily swayed when he prided himself on his control. It was merely the stress and the biting cold that wrapped around him, he assured himself, drawing deep and steadying breaths to dispel the tumult within. He paused for a fleeting moment, taking in the reflection of his body, the duality of godhood and vulnerability coiling within him, a tension rippling just beneath the surface, a potent mix of the primal and the divine swirling together in the glow of the flickering light.

In a final, almost reluctant motion, he let the last vestiges of his clothing fall away, relinquishing that last act of defiance. Standing there in the barely-there illumination, he felt the cool air wrap around him like a lover’s embrace, tender yet precise—inviting yet cautious. His skin prickled at the contrast, the air a stark reminder of both exposure and freedom.

With his gaze drawn to the tub—water rippling softly, steam curling sensuously into the air—he felt an anticipation unfurl within him. The promise of warmth beckoned, a siren’s call for solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Yet, there lingered in his heart a feral tug, an instinctive hesitation, a wildness that resisted the notion of surrendering to something so simple as water. It was a battle within, between the aching need for release and the primal urge to remain untamed, unsurrendered. There was a beauty in this struggle, the rawness of his being laid bare in the stillness, poised on the precipice of either yielding to warmth or holding fast to the tempest that raged just beneath his skin.

But he was a god of control, and this was necessary. Just a moment of peace.

His magic swirled around him again, a green glow radiating from his hands as he guided the water to shift, the surface rippling softly before calming once more. He wove intricate spells, adjusting the temperature, ensuring that the water was just the right warmth—neither too hot nor too cold, but perfectly comfortable, a balm for his strained muscles and his mind.

Loki’s fingers hovered just above the water, watching the gentle ripples his magic created, feeling the subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. With a final, sharp flick of his wrist, the water settled into perfect stillness, the surface smooth as glass once again.

A slow, almost imperceptible sigh left his lips, and he stepped forward. His body, tense from the moment before, finally released its last vestiges of resistance as he lowered himself into the tub, the cool water meeting his skin with a comforting embrace. The water rose around him, enveloping him with its warmth, soothing the ache that had burned within him for far too long.

Loki leaned back, his head resting against the edge of the tub, eyes closed for a moment as he let the water cradle him. The tension in his shoulders, his chest, and his legs seemed to dissolve as the heat seeped into his muscles, coaxing them to relax. The water, now lapping gently at the sides of the tub, seemed to hum with its own energy, resonating with his magic.

But still, the thought of you lingered, persistent as the heat in his body. He couldn’t escape it—not even in the quiet solitude of the bath. His fingers, tracing the surface of the water, clenched for a brief moment, his nails scraping softly against the ceramic of the tub. The conflicting feelings of anger, frustration, and desire—they all bubbled within him, mixing in a stew he could neither ignore nor understand.

For now, he would let the water soothe him. But deep down, Loki knew that the tension, the ache—it was only temporarily quelled. Like the magic that swirled through his veins, the thoughts of you would return, relentless as ever.

He tried to focus on the soothing embrace of the bath, the gentle ripples caressing his skin. His breath slowed as he let the water hold him, but even then, in this sanctuary of water and solitude, the thought of you crept back into his mind.

Your face, so close to his in the cave, flashed before his eyes. The way your breath had quickened, the flicker of something more than just a shared moment of tension between them. The warmth of your body, the steady pulse beneath your skin, the way your gaze had lingered on him. The hunger, the unspoken invitation. It haunted him.

Loki’s eyes snapped open, and his hands clenched around the edge of the tub, his pulse quickening as an image of you lingered—your lips so close to his, the soft touch of your hand against his chest. The thought of you in such proximity, your scent mingling with his own, sent a shiver down his spine.

No.

The word was a bitter hiss in his mind, the sharpest of rebukes. She’s mortal, he reminded himself, though it did little to quell the heat that surged within him.

His breath grew shallow, his pulse drumming in his ears as the desire swelled, thick and unyielding. It filled his chest, squeezing, suffocating. He couldn't control it—not when all he could see, all he could feel, was you.

Loki's eyes clenched shut as the thought of you intensified. His stomach twisted with frustration, his body aching with need he had no desire to acknowledge. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let this consume him—not now, not in this moment of fragile peace.

With a sharp, exasperated breath, Loki plunged himself beneath the water, his magic swirling in the depths as he submerged his entire form, letting the cool embrace of the liquid swallow him whole. The world above disappeared, and for a moment, he was weightless, suspended in the depths of the tub.

The coldness of the water stung against his skin, sharp and refreshing, but it did nothing to wash away the images of you. They clung to him, persistent and relentless, like shadows in the depths of his mind.

Foolish.

The word echoed in his mind as he held himself underwater, his breath held tight as the world remained muffled, distorted by the pressure around him. The steady rhythm of his heart was the only sound, the only constant as he lingered in the dark stillness. Time stretched on, but he could not escape it. The ache in his chest burned, the tension in his body still there despite the cold water.

He remained submerged for what felt like an eternity, the minutes slipping away in the quiet abyss. The longer he stayed, the more he realized that the thoughts would not leave—not just like this, not with any amount of magic or water.

Reluctantly, with a slow, frustrated exhale, Loki pushed himself back to the surface, breaking through the water with a gasp, his hair plastered to his face, droplets clinging to his skin like a reminder of his defeat. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, his breath ragged as he lay there, floating in the stillness of the room.

The lingering warmth of the water against his skin did nothing to soothe the fire that still simmered inside him. As much as he tried to push it away, he could still feel the imprint of you—the way you had looked at him, the way your voice had tangled with his thoughts. And for the first time in centuries, Loki found himself unable to control the ache that pulsed through him, unable to banish the thoughts of you from his mind.

His mind began to drift again—against his will, like a tide pulling him back to the same, dangerous shore. The silence of the room felt too heavy now, too quiet, and the very stillness of the water seemed to echo with your presence. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, as though you were standing there beside him, watching him in this private moment, your eyes lingering on him in ways he couldn’t dismiss.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, but the thought of you wouldn’t fade. It surged forward, unstoppable. The way you had leaned in close to him in the cave, how your breath had ghosted over his skin. How close you had been.

Loki clenched his jaw, his muscles tightening involuntarily. He had wanted to pull you closer, to feel your body against his, to lose himself in the heat of it. The thought of it was maddening, and yet it brought an odd thrill that he couldn’t explain.

The way you had been perched so close to him—the soft heat of your breath against his neck—had made his entire body hum with something unfamiliar, something raw. And your touch... the way your fingertips had traced the contours of his skin, leaving behind a trail of fire that burned long after you had pulled away. The memory of that touch tormented him now, echoing through his mind with unbearable clarity.

His pulse quickened as a flash of that moment surged through him once more. Why couldn’t he let it go?

Without thinking, his hand reached out to the small table beside the bath, fingers brushing against a bottle of scented oil—cinnamon and citrus, a soothing blend he usually used after a long day of training. He didn’t even register what he was doing, lost in the spiral of his thoughts.

He uncapped the bottle, the faint scent of lavender and citrus filling the air, and without hesitation, he poured a small amount onto the length of his torso. The droplets were cool and soft against his skin, but as his hand moved lower, his thoughts drifted again—back to you.

Your skin... soft, delicate. How would it feel to touch you like that? To press his fingertips into you, to feel your body respond to him in ways he had only dreamed of?

The oil dripped onto his abdomen, the cool droplets traveling from the perch of his pectorals down to the navel of his hips. Loki’s eyes squeezed shut, but the memory of your touch was impossible to push away. Your touch could be like that. Your fingers, warm and slow against my skin.

A shiver ran down his spine as the cool oil continued to trickle down his abdomen. His breath hitched when the thought came unbidden, If she had done that...

He imagined you, perched on the edge of the tub just as you had been in the cave—your body so close to his, your breath mingling with his. Your fingers, trailing over his skin, leaving a burning path in their wake. The thought was so vivid, so intoxicating, that he didn’t realize he was still rubbing the oil into his skin, his movements becoming more deliberate, more sensual, as if he were trying to mimic the sensation he had felt in that moment with you.

His fingers, almost without thinking, moved—mirroring the sensation in his mind, tracing a path down his own body just as he had imagined you doing. The movement was slow, deliberate as if he were trying to imitate your touch, to feel it against his own skin. His fingertips brushed lightly down the length of his torso, where the oil had left a trail that seemed to burn even in its coolness.

The more he thought about it, the more the tension inside him grew. His chest tightened, and his body, betraying him, responded to the fantasies that plagued his mind. Loki’s hand faltered for a moment, his thumb hovering near his navel as the reality of what he was doing settled over him.

What am I doing?

But the thought of you—the memory of how you had looked at him, how close you had been, how you had made him feel—was too powerful to resist. His chest heaved slightly, his fingers tracing the curve of his abdomen, the droplets of oil now warm against his skin as they mixed with the heat of his body. He was unaware that his movements had become more purposeful, as if trying to recreate the sensations of that moment, that touch, over and over again. His breath became shallow as the oil slid across his skin, and the fantasy, once small, bloomed into something more dangerous, more tangible.

His fingers pressed against the base of his navel, his thoughts spiraling further into the fantasy. He imagined you again, your hands on him, your body close—too close. It was like a fever, impossible to escape, a longing that twisted deep inside of him. The oil, cool at first, was now nothing but a reminder of that same burn, that same ache in his chest, the ache that he hadn’t asked for, that he couldn’t ignore.

Loki’s heart raced, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the taut skin of his lower abdomen. His eyes shot open then, as if a switch had been flipped. The realization that he was doing this—falling deeper into a dream, into a desire that should not be his—hit him like a thunderclap.

“No,” he hissed, clenching his jaw tightly, the word coming out sharp and furious.

He abruptly pulled his hand away from his skin, the sudden action leaving him breathless. He quickly closed the bottle of oil, the small sound of the cap snapping into place echoing in the stillness of the room. But even as he tried to stop, to force his thoughts to turn elsewhere, his body refused to listen. The desire was still there, simmering just below the surface, igniting something deep inside him that he wasn’t prepared to face.

Loki sank back into the water, burying his face in his hands, as if trying to rid himself of the images, of the fantasies that had invaded his mind so effortlessly. But no matter how much he willed it away, no matter how much he tried to drown the thoughts with water, with cold, with magic—it was there, clawing at him, persistent and unrelenting.

The ache in his chest had not dulled, and despite his efforts to push it aside, the restless tension lingered, coiling in his gut. His body was on the edge of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and it only grew more intense the more he tried to deny it.

His eyes flickered over to the small decorative jar at the edge of the bath. Inside, delicate jasmine petals rested in an elegant arrangement, their white blossoms giving off the scent of calming sweetness. He reached for it, his fingers brushing over the petals with a gentleness that contrasted with the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed to relax. He needed something to distract him, to ground him. He closed his eyes as he sprinkled the jasmine petals into the water, watching them float gently, their fragrance filling the room.

The scent was intoxicating, subtle yet powerful, and it seemed to settle the storm in his chest, if only for a moment. He inhaled deeply, the calming effect of the jasmine wrapping around him like a soft, invisible embrace.

But even in this moment of tranquility, his mind refused to be still. The petals floated serenely on the surface of the water, their white silk-like texture reminding him of something else—someone else.

You.

He couldn’t help it. His thoughts wandered back to you, back to the way you had looked in that cave, bathed in the dim, flickering light. The way your robe had clung to your skin, almost like a second layer, leaving little to the imagination. The soft, translucent fabric—white, like the petals—had clung to your curves in a way that made his pulse quicken. He could remember how the fabric had shimmered, catching the light as it molded to the shape of your body.

Loki's breath hitched, his gaze unfocused as the image of you lingered in his mind, vivid and undeniable. The robe, almost too delicate, seemed to shimmer like gossamer threads in the soft light, so sheer that it practically beckoned to him, enticing and inviting. He had found himself frozen for a brief moment, utterly mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of you. Your silhouette was barely concealed, each curve and contour tantalizingly revealed, igniting a fire of desire deep within him that was both exhilarating and maddening.

He could still see how the fabric draped over your body, caressing your every curve, accentuating your femininity with an intimate familiarity that sent his heart racing. The translucent material clung lovingly to your skin, almost teasing him, whispering promises of warmth and intimacy beneath its sheer veil. He had almost been envious of the way it clung to you, as if the robe shared an intimate secret with you, a bond that left him yearning to touch, to discover the warmth of your flesh nestled against that delicate barrier.

The jasmine petals scattered about like whispers against the deep water only amplified the sensuality of the memory, their pure white softness echoing the ethereal glow of your robe. It seemed as though the petals mirrored those intimate moments, each delicate blossom a reflection of the way the fabric clung to your body, effortlessly sculpting your form in a dance of elegance and allure. He imagined you gliding toward him, your skin bathed in the silvery embrace of moonlight, each step orchestrating a balletic shift of the fabric that clung seductively to you, igniting every sense within him.

Loki’s fingers tightened against the edge of the tub, the cool stone under his grip grounding him in the heat of the moment. The pull of his desire was intoxicating, an unquenchable thirst he could feel consuming him. He could almost feel the weight of your presence beside him, the heady warmth of you, the intoxicating scent of your essence wrapping around him like a fragrant embrace. He could hear the soft rustle of your robe brushing against your skin, each sound a silky promise, hear the delicate rhythm of your breathing—soft, steady, a symphony of desire that drew him in deeper.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of you to disappear. But instead, it grew stronger, more vivid.He imagined reaching out, the tips of his fingers grazing the fabric of your robe, feeling its divine softness beneath his touch, the warmth of your skin simmering just beneath it. He envisioned how it would feel to press himself closer, to let his lips trail along the graceful curve of your neck, to slip beneath that fragile seam where fabric and flesh met, to taste the sweetness that awaited him—his body aching with the promise of connection, longing to bridge the distance that separated them. To raise you out of that damned pool and let the thin fabric slide off on the stone, to—

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly felt a sharp, urgent pressure building within him. With a frustrated growl, he plunged his hand into the water, scattering the jasmine petals as his fingers clawed at the surface in an attempt to break the chain of thoughts that had consumed him. But it was no use. The image of you lingered, relentless.

“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He leaned back against the edge of the tub, his eyes burning with frustration as he tried to steady his breathing. The jasmine scent, now stronger than before, filled his senses, but it only seemed to heighten the memory of you. He could almost feel you there with him, your soft skin, the way the fabric of your robe had clung to your body most invitingly.

Loki forced himself to close his eyes again, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain control. But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the image of you, the memory of that translucent robe, haunted him. The petals, the scent, the softness—it all became intertwined with his hunger. He could still feel your fingers trailing over his skin, the heat of your body against his.

His body trembled with desire as he succumbed to the memories and fantasies that had been consuming him. He could no longer deny himself the pleasure that he so desperately craved.

With a low groan, he allowed his hand to wander back down his abdomen, feeling the defined muscles ripple beneath his fingers. His other hand was still clenched in the water, sending jasmine petals drifting to the surface. He trailed his fingers lower and lower, feeling the heat emanating from his body.

He closed his eyes, imagining your hands on him instead, your digits tracing patterns over his skin. With a sharp intake of breath, he slipped his hand beneath the matter, feeling the soft trimmed hairs on his lower abdomen.

Loki's breathing grew ragged as he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, his mind filled with newfound scenes of him, of you, of an 'us together'.

⠀⠀

He envisioned himself entering a temple with quiet confidence, his footsteps reverberating against the cold stone walls as he moved toward the inner sanctum. His attire was nothing short of magnificent: garments woven with iridescent threads, shifting in color with every step, embodying the very essence of his trickster nature. His cloak, a masterpiece of fine silk, cascaded gracefully around him, embroidered with intricate patterns and symbols that spoke to his divine status.

As he crossed the threshold, his gaze was drawn to you. You sat within a large stone basin, the water steaming gently around you, its surface dotted with fragrant petals that seemed to float in harmony with the light filtering through the stained-glass windows. The sight of you struck him like a physical blow; you were even more captivating than he had envisioned.

Your infamous robe still clung to you like a second skin, damp from the water, accentuating the delicate curves of your body. The radiant Wyrmscale artifact resting against your neck glowed with soft golden light, its power pulsing through the room, almost as if in tune with your very being. Your long, damp hair was swept back, revealing the delicate lines of your face, and your eyes—those damned eyes—met his with a mixture of trepidation and something far more potent: desire.

He circled the tub slowly, his gaze never leaving you. Each step was measured, deliberate, his mind consumed by the sight of you—your beauty, your vulnerability, your submission. His pulse quickened, a quiet flutter deep within his chest that echoed through his veins. The heat of the room wrapped around you both, intensifying the weight of the moment, but still, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from you. You were a vision, an offering he couldn’t resist.

“I’ve seen you in many visions,” Loki’s voice was low, almost a purr as he spoke, his words laced with something darker, more thrilling. “I’ve spent nights wondering what it would feel like to have you here. To see you like this—vulnerable, willing to give everything, your body and your soul laid bare. And now... here you are, offering yourself so freely, so openly. Tell me, priestess, are you sure you understand what this means?”

His fingers brushed your collarbone, the lightest touch, but it felt as though it was searing your skin. The warmth of your skin under the damp fabric sent a jolt through him, stirring something primal deep inside. His breath caught as he trailed a finger down the curve of your neck, feeling the soft pulse beneath your skin, steady and inviting. You were trembling just slightly—whether from fear or desire, he couldn’t be sure. But it only made the air between you more charged, more delicious.

You met his gaze, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable, even as your fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the tub. “I don’t know,” you replied, your voice steady but with an underlying edge, “But I’m sure you’ll be eager to show me.”

Loki’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with both amusement and something far more dangerous. “Such confidence. But you know as well as I do, the gods take no mercy when they’re pleased,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer. “When I fuck you, it will be more than a mere battle of wills. It will be your surrender, your desire, your need that I feed. And when it’s all over, you’ll know exactly who owns you.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. The weight of them, the intensity of his gaze—it felt like you were standing on the edge of something profound, something that could consume you entirely. But somehow, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to give in to him, to the promise of pleasure and power he dangled before you like an impossible temptation.

Loki pulled back slightly, his finger resting on your chin, lifting your gaze back to his. He gazed deeply into your eyes and lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “I’m certain you’ve imagined it, priestess. But the difference is that I make your fantasies real. What I offer you is beyond anything you could possibly have dreamt. Tell me, are you ready to be taken, to be claimed—body and soul?”

Your body tensed, but your gaze never wavered from his. “We’ll see, won’t we? Then I’ll simply make sure it’s not you who has the final say.” The defiance lingered in your voice, soft yet insistent, despite the way your breath betrayed you.

Loki’s eyes darkened, his smile widening as he stepped back, eyes alight with an undeniable hunger. “You think you have control in this game? You’ve already surrendered more than you realize.”

He ran his finger along your chin, tilting your head back slightly, his voice a dangerous whisper. “It’s time for you to do your due diligence.”

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as Loki rose from his crouched position, striding with almost sensual slowness to his dedicated altar on which he took place. The sight of him, poised and confident, filled you with an intoxicating mix of desire and fear, emotions that tangled together in a heady rush. His dark eyes never left you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing, burning into your skin. Your breath hitched as he ascended, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room, the shadows falling just right to highlight the chiseled perfection of his form.

The air between you thickened with vibrating tension, as if the very space you occupied pulsed with the energy of your closeness. Your pulse quickened in your neck, your heartbeat erratic, and the anticipation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach. You could feel his power—dark and alluring—drawing you toward him, a magnetic pull you couldn’t escape. You were trembling, your skin sensitive under the damp fabric of your robe, which clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating the curves of your breasts and hips. Every inch of you seemed to be on fire as your body responded to his presence, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation thrumming through your veins.

Loki’s voice sliced through the air, a low, beckoning command. “Come along, priestess. Join me.”

His words were soft yet laced with an unmistakable power, a challenge, an invitation, and something darker—a promise. The tension between you grew almost unbearable, and despite the trepidation swirling in your gut, you found yourself obeying, rising from the water as though compelled by some unseen force. Your body was stiff with both reluctance and yearning, your knees weak as you took your first step toward him. Your skin, slick with water, glistened under the light, and the weight of the robe clinging to you only heightened the sensitivity of every nerve in your body. Each movement felt slower, more deliberate, as you crossed the distance between you, your every step trembling.

Loki watched you intently, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his features, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice like velvet wrapping around you. “Come closer. Show me that you can follow through, priestess.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you fought to steady yourself as you made your way toward the altar. Your legs felt like they might give way under the weight of his gaze, but you continued forward, each step echoing your growing need, your pulse racing as you neared him. Your hands, trembling slightly, reached out instinctively, grasping the cold stone of the altar’s edge for support.

Standing before him now, you felt small, fragile even, in contrast to his towering presence. Loki’s eyes roamed over you, their gaze calculating yet filled with an unmistakable hunger. The intensity of his stare made you feel exposed, as if he were unraveling your very soul with nothing but a look.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice a whisper, yet every word felt like a brand against your skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your trembling hand where it rested on the altar. The simple touch sent a jolt of heat racing through your body, an electrifying sensation that made you want to both pull away and draw him closer.

“I can feel it,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not as composed as you’d like to pretend. But do not worry, I’ll teach you how to surrender.”

Loki’s smile deepened, an expression of quiet satisfaction that made your heart race. “Don’t be shy,” he breathed, as his hands moved to undo the golden tie of your robe, fingers brushing the fabric slowly, deliberately. “Come worship your god.”

The anticipation was unbearable now, every motion seeming to stretch time, prolonging the moment between you as he loosened the knot. The robe, heavy with water, fell slightly from your body, revealing more of your curves, the soft, enticing shape of your figure exposed to his hungry gaze.

Your breath quickened, your body trembling with anticipation, but you did not pull away. Instead, you stood still, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, waiting for him to make the next move. There was a strange mix of defiance and longing in your eyes, the embers of resistance still glowing, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to him—compelled by something darker, something you couldn’t name, and that terrified you more than anything else. You felt his presence wash over you like a tidal wave, filling your senses and drowning out any other thoughts. You were trembling, not just from fear, but from something deeper—something you couldn’t control. And with every passing second, you realized that you had already given yourself to him, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it yet.

Loki's fingers traced the curves of your hips, the delicate touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. You couldn’t help but react to his every movement, your body trembling under his touch, as though every inch of your skin was attuned to him. His presence enveloped you, warm and overwhelming, stirring emotions you were both eager and afraid to face.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck, tasting the remnants of the water that clung to you. The sensation of his lips, warm and demanding, sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched, the tension in your body rising as his hands roamed upward, gently parting the collar of your wet robe, exposing the smoothness of your shoulder. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your shoulder blades, making you shiver as a thrill of sensation coursed through you.

His lips followed the path of his hands, soft at first, exploring the skin of your shoulders with slow, languorous kisses. The warmth of his mouth, combined with the sensation of his hands on your skin, made you lightheaded with want. You tilted your head back instinctively, surrendering to the sensation, offering him more of your neck, and Loki took full advantage of the invitation. His tongue traced a path up to your ear, the action sending a tremor through you as a soft gasp escaped your lips.

Loki’s breath was hot against your skin, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You can feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his hands moving down your arms in teasing strokes, the light touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His fingertips skimmed over your skin as though savoring every inch of you, his touch light yet laden with intent.

Your pulse raced, your body betraying you, drawn to him in ways you couldn’t fully understand. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but the tension between you was palpable, thickening the air with every passing moment.

“Please,” you let out in a shaking voice, the defiance still lingering within you even as your body reacted to him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his frame pressing against yours, but it was the hunger in his kiss, the way he seized your lips as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, that set you completely aflame.

His mouth was urgent, claiming, and yet his hands remained gentle, pulling you closer, as if he were testing the boundaries between you. His lips moved against yours with a growing intensity, a hunger you couldn’t ignore. Your hands now timidly fisted the front of his tunic, pressing your body more firmly against his. Your heart beat erratically, a rhythm of need and desire you were now powerless to deny.

Loki’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, everything around you faded away. There was only the feel of him—his warmth, his presence, the taste of his kiss—and the undeniable pull between you that neither could escape. Your breath came in quick gasps, your lips parting as you tried to steady yourself, but there was no stopping it now. Not when Loki’s touch was like fire on your skin, lighting every nerve ablaze.

Loki’s fingers traced every curve of your body with a gentle yet possessive touch, as if memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands. His fingers skimmed across your waist, sending waves of sensation through you, before slowly traveling down to your hips. His touch was deliberate, his skin leaving a trail of fire where it met yours. The sensation was intoxicating, and your breath caught in your throat as you fought to keep control, but each brush of his hand made it more difficult to resist. Your body seemed to respond of its own accord, your pulse quickening, your skin flush with anticipation.

You couldn’t help but tremble under his touch as his hands ventured lower, tracing the outline of your thighs, fingers grazing over the soft skin, sparking a flood of warmth that radiated out from your core. With each slow movement, each teasing caress, you felt as if you were being pulled deeper into him, your body writhing, arching under the pressure of his touch, desperate for more.

Loki’s voice was low and husky as he broke your kiss, his hand wrapped around your throat and his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Now, priestess, I want you to undress me. Slowly, deliberately, as if every touch is a worship of my body.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your breath hitching in your throat as you nodded, your hands trembling with anticipation. You reached up, your fingers finding the hem of his tunic, and slowly began to lift it, exposing his toned abs and muscular chest. Your eyes traced every inch of his skin, taking in the defined lines of his muscles, and the smattering of dark hair that peeked out from his Apollo’s belt.

Loki’s voice was smooth and laced with arrogance as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You should consider yourself fortunate, priestess,” he whispered, his tone dripping with confidence. “Not many are allowed to touch a god like me. So take your time. Let every movement be a tribute to what stands before you.”

A surge of boldness and desire filled you as Loki's words of encouragement caressed your ears. Emboldened, your delicate hands slowly slid up the length of his tunic, inching it upwards to reveal more and more of his godly physique inch by tantalizing inch. His skin was unveiled to your hungry gaze—you could feel the heat radiating from his very being, his muscles rippling and tensing beneath your fingertips like coiled steel as they glided across the expanse of his abdominal muscles.

Your tongue explored his heated throat as you pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, taking your time to thoroughly savor the taste of his skin. Your lips moved lower, trailing over his defined collarbone until you reached the hollow at the base of his throat. There, you let your teeth graze the sensitive flesh before soothing the sting with a slow, firm lick.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, a ragged hitch that spoke of barely contained longing. His emerald eyes blazed with smoldering desire as they roamed hungrily over your form, drinking in every dip and curve of your body. Reaching up with a hand that trembled with need, his fingers tangled in your silken tresses, the cool strands slipping through his grasp. Tilting his head back in wanton surrender, he exposed the smooth column of his throat to your questing mouth.

"Yes," he rumbled in a deep growl that sent delicious shivers cascading down your spine. The velvet timbre of his words caressed your heated skin like a physical touch, stoking the flames of your desire higher. "Just like that."

His tone dripped with sin and dark promise, full of tempting subtext that left little room for misinterpretation. Loki's voice painted sinful pictures in your mind, hinting at secrets and pleasures only he could provide. Each low, raw word fell from his lips like a forbidden confession, igniting your blood until it burned through your veins.

Your heart pounded wildly, your breath coming fast and shallow as you leaned into the delicious friction of his fingers in your hair. The light pressure at the back of your skull sent sparks skittering across your scalp and down your nape. Loki's grip held you in place, keeping your mouth pressed to the supple skin of his throat where his pulse fluttered like the wings of a caged bird. The heat of him seeped into you, his quickening heartbeat a counterpoint to your racing rhythm.

He imagined your lips brushing against the corded muscles of his neck, feeling the coiled tension thrumming through his body like a tightly wound spring. As your phantom touch grazed his skin, he found himself arching instinctively into the sensation, craving more of that teasing contact. His thick throat flexed and undulated beneath your mouth as he swallowed hard around the lump that had formed there, fighting to control the intense reaction coursing through him.

Loki's gasps encouraged you to continue your sensual exploration. He felt you apply light suction, pulling at his skin until you could feel his pulse jumping beneath your lips. Reluctant to release him, you transferred your ministrations to the opposite side of his throat. This time, you used your teeth more insistently, worrying the flesh and nipping at his hammering pulse until you could taste the coppery tang of blood on your tongue as it beaded on his skin.

You could practically feel the heat of his breath as you traced the strong column of his neck with your lips and tongue, igniting sparks of sensation with every pass. His skin prickled with goosebumps, drawn taut and hypersensitive, as if your imagined touch had burned away every layer between you until only nerve endings remained. He strained towards the pressure of your mouth, blatant in his need for stimulation, his body an instrument thrumming with tension.

Again and again, you returned to the spot, alternating between deep, open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks and nips until his neck was mapped with darkening love bites. Each mark was a brand, a symbol of your possession, the evidence of your claim on him. You loved seeing the proof of your wanton lust decorating his fair skin.

Releasing your mouth from his throat with a wet pop, you admired your handiwork, trailing your fingers over the tender, reddened flesh. Loki's hands had found your hair, tangling in the silken strands as he held you close. His breaths were shallow, chest heaving with the force of his exhalations. The visible strain of his erection pressed against your belly, but you ignored it for now, lost in your need to taste every inch of him.

In a frenzy of lustful desperation, you wrenched Loki's tunic up and over his head with an almost violent urgency. The flimsy garment was hastily cast aside, fluttering forgotten to the floor as your hungry gaze raked over the newly bared expanse of Loki's sleek, pale skin. You drank in the sight of him with fevered eyes that glittered with unslaked craving, your pupils blown wide with desire.

The air between you felt charged and taut, thick with the promise of what was to come. It crackled with an electric tension that made your very skin prickle, so dense with want that it seemed to pulse and undulate like a living thing. The space seemed to swell, heavy and swollen with the weight of your unspeakable needs.

You began a worshipful descent down the sculpted planes of Loki's torso. You laved your tongue over his cool skin, tracing the elegant sweep of his collarbones and the dip of his sternum. Your lips brushed feather-light over the flat discs of his nipples, drawing a shuddering hiss from between clenched teeth as you suckled and nibbled, determined to wring as much pleasure and praise from him as you could. Your teeth scraped carelessly, leaving crimson blooms on his skin like stigmata.

Loki shivered and flared, his powerful frame surging beneath your ministrations. His fingers clenched in your hair, dragging you inexorably up and molding your curves meltingly flush against the hard, unforgiving lines of his body. Loki's gaze burned into your own, twin flames of liquid emerald fire that seared straight to your soul. "The pants," he commanded, his voice a rough, guttural sound edged with feral hunger. The raw command in his tone sent primal heat licking through your core, urging you onward even as it threatened to undo you utterly.

Your trembling fingers fumbled at the waistband of his breeches, clumsy with desperation. You wanted to tear them from his body, to lay him bare before you, but some distant scrap of coherence kept your movements measured. The air felt too thick to draw a proper breath, the anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in your blood until it was almost painful.

Finally, blessedly, his breeches joined his tunic on the floor. You hummed in satisfaction, drinking in the sight of him laid out before you in all his naked glory. You reached out to trail reverent fingers down the dips and ridges of his abdomen, savoring the way he shuddered and tensed beneath your touch. But you were only allowed a brief moment to admire him before Loki was surging up to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss.

As he broke your deep, passionate kiss, his piercing gaze locked onto yours, smoldering with an intense, almost feral hunger. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips as he made you advance towards him in a slow, deliberate manner, his voice dropping to a low, dark purr.

"Go on, priestess," he rasped, the words dripping with a sinful promise that sent shivers down your spine. "Take what is yours to worship and claim as your own."

You gulped for air, your lungs burning, fervently nodding as much as you could with the firm grip he still maintained in your hair. A needy whimper escaped your parted lips, your body yearning for more of his electric touch.

You redoubled your descent down his chiseled body, pressing small, reverent kisses along the way. Your lips mapped a winding path over the planes of his chest, down his taut stomach, savoring the taste of his skin, the heat of him. Reaching his navel, you dipped your tongue inside, circling the sensitive dip teasingly and drawing a groan from the god and his grip tightened, spurring you on to go further.

Finally, you arrived at the apex of his thighs where his long, hard and imposing member jutted proudly towards you. Its thick length seemed to throb, begging for your worshipful attention. You knelt before him in obedience, gazing up at him with hooded eyes clouded by lust and a hint of trepidation.

As he sat there, watching your crafted image intently with anticipation, you hesitated for a moment. You could feel his intense gaze on you, and you knew what he wanted. Gathering your courage, you slowly reached out a trembling hand towards him. Your fingers inched closer to the hard, rigid length of his cock, and as you made contact, you felt a shiver run through your entire body. The feel of him was intoxicating—hard yet silky smooth, just like the rest of his toned body.

He couldn't help but let out a low groan as you touched him—as he imitated your touch. His hand moved unconsciously to wrap around his member, mirroring your makeshift movements. You would watch in fascination as he began to stroke himself, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of power and arousal at the divine sight that he displayed.

In his mind, you’d marvel at the feel of him, so different from anything you had ever experienced before. Your fingers looked so meager that he doubted they would quite close around his girth. He imagined you, feeling even more turned on by the contrast between your delicate hand and his thick, hard cock like he was to the idea.

"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky with desire.

You nodded, unable to find your voice at that moment. You couldn't believe you were doing this, touching him like this, but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying it.

"Good," he murmured, his eyes darkening with lust. "Because I relish the way your touch sets me alight," he murmured, his voice velvet-soft yet edged with longing, as if the confession itself was both a gift and a weapon.

Fingertips danced along his length, tracing the prominent vein that ran along the underside—he didn’t know if it was your phantom touch or his very real one, he didn’t care for it. He’d pretend that it was yours for now, that he could trade the feeling of the rough palms of his hand for your soft ones.

You watched as his eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in quick gasps as you touched him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. You circled the base, marveling at the size and the heat it emanated from his member. A bead of clear liquid welled from the slit, making his erection jump. Softly, reverently, you swiped your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum and eliciting a strangled groan from above.

Then, another flash: slowly, almost shyly, you leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his inner thigh, right at the root of his shaft. Your lips trailed up the sensitive skin, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses in their wake. A faint whimper escaped you as you tasted him for the first time, the salt, musk, and pure masculine essence of his arousal thick and heady on your taste buds.

He hissed in pleasure, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you closer. You flicked your tongue over the weeping slit in response, lapping up the salty essence. Another kiss was placed right at the crown before you started to slowly circle the flared head with the flat of your tongue. You took your time, mapping every ridge and vein, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.

But he wouldn’t let the exploration go on any longer, or else he’d go mad beyond reason with want. The massive hand gripping your silky damp tresses gave a sharp tug, wrenching your head back and forcing your face upwards. You let out a yelp at the sudden motion, eyes widening in fear and surprise darting up to meet the smoldering gaze pinning you in place. A deep, rumbling growl emanated from above, the sound resonating in your very bones and sending sparks of trepidation skittering down your spine.

Above you, his imposing form loomed, all chiseled planes and rippling muscle. Sweat gleamed on his alabaster skin which heaved with each labored breath. Heavy thighs bracketed your smaller frame as he towered over your kneeling form, his commanding presence seeming to fill the very air around them. Drawing in a shuddering gasp, you tried to give a jerky nod of acquiescence, your delicate throat working nervously under his stern glare.

His calloused palm dragged from the silken coil of your hair to seize your chin, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate curve of your jaw as he forced your gaze upward. "Enough games," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp steeped in authority and promise. A flicker of fear danced along your spine, sharp and electric, under the weight of his piercing glare. "Open," he commanded, the single word carrying the weight of inevitability.

You could only whimper in response, breaths coming in short, precipitated puffs as his other hand guided the thick root of his cock to nudge demandingly at your parted lips. With a final, shallow inhale, you let your jaw fall slack, allowing the heavy weight to rest against your waiting mouth. He slowly thrust forward, pushing into the velvet heat past your lips and over your tongue. You could feel every rigid vein, every throb of his width stretching you open as inch by delicious inch sank into the clutching confines of your mouth and throat.

Tears sprang anew to your eyes at the sudden intrusion, but you held his gaze, giving a tentative suck as he hilted fully. The wet glide of your tongue traced over the bulbing head, dipping into the weeping slit to lap at the salty-sweet essence gathered there. Above you, you could hear the hitch in his breathing, feel the air between them crackle with building tension.

Slowly, he began to rock his hips, sawing in and out with deep but shallow thrusts as he mentally fucked into you face as he did to his enclosed fist. Your lips worked over his length, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder as you brought one small hand up to gently fondle the heavy orbs below. You breathed harshly through your nose, tongue fluttering along the underside as he thrust between your lips.

"Norns' mercy," Loki gasped, his head falling back on a low, wanton moan that echoed through the chambers. "Your mouth is exquisite, a divine temple of pleasure."

Emboldened by his praise, you began to bob your head along his impressive length, hollowing your cheeks to suck hard as you took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You ghosted one hand up the length of his body before lightly scrapped your nails down starting from the navel, teasing the sensitive skin.

Losing yourself in the act of pleasuring him, you consumed yourself in carnal desires that threatened to overwhelm you. You loved tasting him, feeling the hot, hard weight of him sliding between your lips, stretching your mouth. You loved his musky, masculine scent filled your nostrils, making your head spin with lust.

Loki's grip on your hair tightened, fingers tangling and tugging as he began to speed up his thrust into the heat of your mouth, not enough to gag you, but just enough to show he was rapidly losing control. "Just like that, priestess, don't you dare stop," he growled, his voice strained with need. "You look so lovely with your lips wrapped around my cock, worshipping me like the god I am. Such a good girl, so eager to please."

His filthy words inflamed your lust to new, dizzying heights. You redoubled your efforts, taking him to the hilt and swallowing around him, throat working to milk his length. He let out a string of filthy curses in the Old Tongue, hips snapping as he chased his impending release, fucking your face with shallow thrusts.

But just as you felt him start to pulse and swell, he forcefully pulled himself from the slick heat of your mouth with a lewd pop. He pictured strings of saliva connected from your swollen lips to the engorged head of his cock as he squeezed the base hard enough to prevent him from cumming so soon. He didn’t want it to end just yet. Too soon.

He could almost hear you whine at the loss as you gazed up at Loki through heavy-lidded eyes, your plump lips glistening and swollen from his earlier bruising kisses. He imagined your enticing face flushed with pride and deep feminine satisfaction knowing you had thoroughly pleased your god, his divine favor a heady rush of power and approval. Loki's eyes gleamed molten green, his expression one of ravenous, possessive hunger as his heated gaze roved over your naked form kneeling wantonly at his feet.

"Well done, priestess," he’d purr to you, voice a dark, sinful promise. "You've more than earned your reward. I'm going to taste every exquisite inch of you until you're writhing and begging for completion."

Loki prowled forward like a wolf, his powerful body looming over her in dark promise. Calloused fingers trailed scorching paths along your quivering thighs, leaving shimmering trails of magic in their wake. You shivered and arched into his expert touch, dizzy with need.

"Please, my god," you breathed. "I'm aching for you. Make me yours."

Loki's fingers trailed down her forearm, gripping your hand and pulling you up. He pushed you down onto the marble of his altar in a smooth show of strength, admiring the way your breasts bounced from the force. Settling between your splayed thighs, the god inhaled your heady, alluring scent. "So desperate for your god's favor," he growled, pressing hungry kisses up the column of your throat. "I'm going to make you scream my name."

With a wicked grin, he turns to you, his eyes gleaming with desire. "May I?" he asks, indicating the delicate fabric of your robe. At your nod, he rips the flimsy material to shreds, exposing your naked body to his feasting gaze. Loki's gaze lands on a part of untainted skin, and he wastes no time, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. You can't help but gasp at the sensation, your body reacting instinctively.

He continued his path of destruction down your body, licking and nipping every inch of bare skin. Reaching pert breasts, he caught a nipple between his teeth and tugged just shy of pain, to which you answered by unconsciously spreading your legs in wanton invitation, practically begging for his touch.

"Oh, my sweet [Y/N], so desperate and needy for me," he hummed, trailing his fingers down your arm. His touch was cold fire, leaving goosebumps trailing in its wake. Loki's lips curled into a wicked smirk, his voice a silky taunt as he leaned closer. "How utterly delightful. Let us see if you can endure as well as you deliver, shall we?"

He descends upon you like a starving man, licking and sucking at every inch of your damp skin. His lips and teeth marked you with dark bruise shaped like crescent moons and love bites as he made his way down your body. You writhed and moaned helplessly beneath him, your back arching as he teased your sensitive flesh.

"Mmh, perfect. Sing for me," he growls against your hipbone before dipping his head in your mound.

Loki licks a broad stripe up your dripping slit, his skillful tongue circling your aching clit without directly touching it. He parts your folds with his fingers to delve deep, pumping in and out of your fluttering walls while he laps at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs trembled and clenched around his head as he devoured you mercilessly, his silvertongue more than living up to its title.

"Such exquisite nectar you have, my priestess," he’d mumble into your sex, the vibrations making you see stars. He suckled your clit and thrust two fingers knuckle deep, curling them to rub that special spot inside. "I could feast on you on my altar for ages and never have my fill."

You tossed your head back with a loud moan as Loki's skilled mouth worked you over. "Yes, god, just like that!"

He sealed his lips around your throbbing clit, suckling the sensitive bud while his wicked tongue flicked rapidly. Two fingers delved deep, curling just right to stroke that velvety patch along your front wall. "That's it, let me hear all those pretty moans while you fall apart on my face," he urged huskily, hot breath gusting over your drenched folds.

Leaning on your elbows, your gazed down at him with glassy eyes, desperate little pants falling from your lips. Your thighs trembled violently, muscles pulled taut. "Please, please," your babbled incoherently, fisting his inky locks and yanking him impossibly closer. "I need—oh!"

"Need what, pet?" His lips and tongue never ceased their sweet torment, fingers plunging and stroking without mercy. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"I need—ah! I need to come!" Tremors wracked your frame as you ground yourself wantonly on his face. "Make me come, please Loki!"

"What pretty begging." He doubled down, sucking your clit greedily as you bucked and thrashed. Lips and fingers worked you into a frenzy, wringing out your pleasure with devastating intent. Pressure climbed, tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

You threw back your head with a choked scream, core clamping down rhythmically. "I'm coming, mmh—fuck!" Your back arched sharply, juices gushing to coat his cheeks and chin as ecstasy overtook you.

His hips thrust upwards as he imagined the expression you would make when reaching climax, writhing in the water as he desperately tried to hold back, not ready for the end just yet. The ripples of the water surrounding him served as a reminder of the feeling of being blessed with your sweet release, droplets splashing onto his face.

With a final thrust, he slowed down, gasping uncontrollably. He gentled his touch, mimicking how he would with you, licking broad and slow to keep you suspended in bliss. "That's it, that’s it. Ride it out on my tongue. You taste divine when you let go."

He knew all too well the effect he had on you; even your casual, teasing banter left you unraveling. His words and actions now, deliberate and charged, were designed to push you to the brink—to drive you wild in ways only he could. He made a low, hungry noise, never stopping until the last aftershock shivered through you and you collapsed back against the altar, spent.

"Good girl, you took it so well. Such a pretty picture you make in your pleasure," he praises, giving your sensitive clit a final kiss before rising to cover your body with his own. "You please me greatly, my priestess. I knew you'd be the perfect consort."

He couldn’t endure the torment he was inflicting upon himself any longer; it was unbearable, a relentless ache that clawed at his sanity. He had to put an end to it—one way or another. Loki's lips curved in a wicked smirk as he visualized him pulling back to admire his artwork, hands gripping your hips possessively.

"Turn over," he’d command, voice rough with need. You scrambled to obey, rolling onto your stomach and lifting your hips in the air. The position left you completely vulnerable, your dripping core exposed and ready. Loki groaned at the sight, his cock throbbing. "Hands behind your back," he growled, giving your rear a sharp smack.

You gasped and complied, crossing your forearms at the base of your spine. Loki manhandled you, using his strength to pull your arms higher until they were pinned tight against the curve of your lower back, your wrists crossing one another. He nestled your chest down against the altar, leaving you arched and spread open. "Such a good little offering," he purred, running a hand over your naked form. His fingers dug into your hips as he notched the flared head of his cock against your entrance.

"I will ravish you to the point of forgetting everything but my name." Loki declared with a salacious smirk. His eyes gleamed with determination as he charged forward, impaling you with a single, ruthless thrust. The force of his entry elicited a startled cry from you, your back arching as Loki filled you to the hilt. The exquisite stretch of his length was unprecedented, breaching depths no other had ever reached.

"There we go," he praised, starting to move. His strokes were deep and powerful, pulling nearly out before slamming back in. "Take it. Take every ounce of pleasure your god deigns to bestow upon you." You sobbed brokenly, overwhelmed by the sensations. The altar bit into your breasts as Loki used you, pounding into your pliant body. Lewd squelches filled the air, mixing with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Loki hauled you up by fastening his free hand to your throat, squeezing lightly as he constricted his grip on your wrists. "Look at you," he crooned while sending another mind-blowing thrust that made you almost shout. "A perfect little slut, born to be bred and used. You relish this, don't you? The sensation of being utterly filled and ravished by your god?" You had no choice but to dumbly nod with parted lips and hazy eyes, his words igniting something primal in you. Loki's hand tightened around your neck, further restricting your airflow. Simultaneously, his thrusts grew fiercer, pummeling you with relentless intensity.

"You were made for this, pet. Made to serve. I will ruin you for all others. You will adore only me, and my name will be your mantra." He accentuated each word with punishing thrusts. You convulsed, his degrading words and ruthless pace pushing you to the brink. Your cunt clenched desperately around him, trying to hold him deep. You were so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion that all it would take was a slight pressure in the right place, and you would shatter completely.

Sensing your readiness, Loki slid a hand down, zeroing in on your swollen clit. He circled the sensitive nub with a knowing touch, keeping you vacillating on the cusp of release. "Come for me, priestess," he ordered with a gasp, voice a sinful purr. "Come apart on my cock, my little whore. Let me feel your pleasure." You couldn’t do nothing except obey, your body seizing up as your climax crashed through you. A guttering scream ripped from your throat as you came violently, cunt clenching down on Loki's pistoning cock.

⠀⠀

As he allowed his mind to wander, lost in the picture of you falling in the throes of ecstasy, his eyes flew open with a start. He hadn’t realized how deeply he had slipped into it until he felt a sudden jolt back to reality. His hips were moving rhythmically, thrusting as if he were actually buried deep inside of you.

His breath came in gasps, the air stolen from his throat as he imagined the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hips were gyrating wildly, thrusting up and down in his grasp, like a ship caught in a stormy sea. How deep had he been lost in his fantasy for his state to go unnoticed, even to himself?

The pleasure was all-consuming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown him in its depths. His blood rushed through his veins like a raging river, surging downward to pool in his aching cock and upwards to flood his face with a burning heat. Stray and thin tears streamed down his cheeks, unbidden and fierce, as he gasped and writhed for oxygen, his thrusts growing wilder and more desperate with each passing moment.

“Oh, fuck—fuck!” With a final, desperate cry, he came violently in his hands, shouting his muse’s name in a reiterative and frenzied manner, as if it was a prayer made to the gods. Spurt after spurt of his release shot forth, hitting the water with a soft plink and splattering the few jasmine petals that had survived the violent waves. It seemed as if the pleasure would never end, each wave of release only serving to build the tension higher and higher until it threatened to consume him entirely.

But eventually, the storm subsided, leaving him spent and shivering in its wake. He laid there, his breath slowing as he came back down to earth. The fantasy had been so vivid, so real, that it took him a moment to remember where he truly was. The sensation was intense, a violent explosion that seemed to rock his entire body, leaving him utterly shaking from the intensity.

Loki collapsed against the smooth, cold marble steps of the grand tub, his body spent, a haze of exhaustion clouding his senses. His breath was ragged, still trying to catch up with the frantic, overwhelming rush that had just passed through him. For a moment, he was weightless, floating on the remnants of the high he had just experienced, the delicate hum of release thrumming under his skin. The contrast of the warm water around him and the cold air against his exposed skin sent shivers racing up his spine, but it was not the chill that made him tremble.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his head tipping back to rest against the edge of the tub. The silence in the chamber felt deafening after the storm that had ravaged through him. The heat of the moment still lingered, but now, it felt oppressive. He was left with a deep, gnawing emptiness, as though a part of him had been drained away with the surge of release. But that empty feeling was nothing compared to what came next.

As the steam clouding his mind began to clear, the aftermath of his actions came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His breath caught in his throat, and for a brief second, he felt like the room was spinning, his body still reeling from the aftershocks of the desire he had just indulged. His chest tightened, a knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn’t just given in to the pleasure of the moment. No, that would’ve been easier to accept. What had really shaken him was who—or rather, what—he had let himself desire.

He dragged a trembling hand through his damp hair, his lips pressed into a hard line as the remnants of his thoughts taunted him. A mortal, really? The thought of desiring you—so mortal, so beneath him—made him feel physically sick. His heart pounded in his chest, but not from desire this time. The heat in his veins was no longer a heady rush; it had morphed into something darker, something that made him feel dirty. He had let himself be ruled by a fleeting impulse, a mortal who—by all rights—shouldn’t have mattered to him. You weren't worthy of his attention, let alone the attention of his body. And yet, he couldn’t shake the memory of the way your presence had consumed him.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked any humor. How could you? he asked himself, gripping the edge of the tub as if it could ground him. A sharp pang of disgust sliced through him, his jaw clenching tightly. How could I stoop so low? he thought bitterly, his disdain for his weakness growing with each passing second. The heat of his actions still lingered, clinging to him like a second skin, and he hated it. He hated himself.

As Loki's breath slowed and the weight of his actions pressed down on him, his gaze drifted to the scattered jasmine petals that floated lazily in the water. Their delicate fragrance filled the air, and for a brief moment, it was almost suffocating. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the pale petals, their soft white against the dark water mocking him with their innocence. They reminded him of that damned robe, the mortal woman who had worn it—you.

He scowled, a wave of irritation rising in him as he cursed them for being the catalyst, the one thing that had led to this moment of weakness. It wasn’t their fault, of course; it never was. But in his mind, they were the symbol of everything that had gone wrong. If only she hadn’t worn it, he thought bitterly. If only I hadn’t noticed her at all...

With a sharp wave of his hand, he dispelled the jasmine petals and the evidence of his indulgence, watching as they disappeared into nothingness, as if they had never been there to begin with. But the disquiet that followed lingered, refusing to vanish as easily as the evidence of his lapse.

Another gesture and the steaming bath turned icy cold, the sudden shock making him shudder. The chill was a reprieve—a way to snap himself back to reality, to wash away the lingering tremors still trembling his resolve.

“This means nothing,” he muttered under his breath, the words more of a command than a truth. He busied himself scrubbing away the remnants of his lapse in control, desperate to rid himself of the memory. His movements were quick, almost frantic, as if staying in the tub any longer would trap him in the thoughts he wanted to escape.

Nothing. He forced himself to believe that. He had allowed himself to be overwhelmed by his body’s basic urges, by the frustration of months of mounting stress—the endless manipulations of his “parents,” the suffocating chains of his conditional freedom, the constant reminder that his every action was watched and judged. And then, you—this mortal who had somehow wormed her way into his thoughts. You were simply an enticing distraction, an irritation that had lodged itself under his skin, and nothing more. He had no time for such trivial mortal attachments.

He exhaled sharply, dispelling the shame that clung to him like an uncomfortable cloak. It was just stress. A temporary lapse. The heat of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.

He turned his attention to the water, an escape of sorts, as he manipulated the temperature. His magic flowed effortlessly, and the warm bath transformed into an icy, biting chill. He let the cold seep into him, willing it to numb the stirring emotions that had begun to surge. But the cold only made him feel sharper, more exposed, the shock of it heightening his awareness of every thought, every tremor within him.

He couldn’t stay in the water any longer. The longer he lingered, the more the memory of what had just transpired would settle into his mind. And he couldn’t bear that. He didn’t want to acknowledge how badly the moment had shaken him.

His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. His fingers were stiff as he dried off, each movement seeming mechanical, as though he was trying to force himself back into control, back into the careful, calculated Loki that he prided himself on being.

But even as he dressed, the thoughts didn’t fade. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself that it meant nothing. But even as he stepped away from the tub, a small, nagging voice echoed in his mind. Unless?

He stopped, mid-step, his chest tightening again. Could it be that simple? Could he dismiss it so easily? His gaze flicked to the empty tub, and a deep, unsettling feeling curled in his gut. The space seemed too quiet now, too still, and he could almost hear your voice again in the silence. Loki quickly turned away, his mind racing. No. He refused to entertain it. It was stress. Nothing more. You were nothing more. Still, as he left the bathing chamber, his steps quick and unsteady, that seed of doubt lingered. He could feel it in the way his heart beat a little faster, the way his breath caught for a fraction of a second longer than it should have. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, there it was: Unless...

ending notes :

The way I was acting like that for the entire writing is SHAMEFUL. Lord have mercy on me.

Also, I'm not sorry for the length. I hope you enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless. And get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about the fic, not Loki. :p

⠀⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @arminsumi .

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katiekatdragon27 · 1 month ago

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Dandy's World Roleplay servers are so wild and unhinged that it makes me come up with AUs. And yes, it's shinyshrimp. I'm so cringe <333

So, while in the roleplay server, I got into an argument with a Shrimpo as Glisten about not being able to see proper reflections though Glisten's face. Then a Goob showed up (my sibling) and asked if Shrimpo was a vampire. Then they asked if Glisten (me) was a vampire. Then we asked the Goob if he was a vampire, and he turned emo. And then I shared this experience with my friends, and they egged me on to make an AU about it lol.

Glisten: So. Is this the part where we make out, orrr-?? Shrimpo: WHAT??!

Dandy: No cuz it's genius! If they hate each other, that's two less annoying people to deal with! (He underestimated the power of enemies to lovers)

The general plot is Glisten is a monster hunter and Shrimpo is a human turned vampire-werewolf (he has no memory of how that happened btw). Glisten is specifically hired by Dandicus to hunt down and kill Shrimpo. Glisten manages to hunt Shrimpo down, but since Shimpo hasn't been non-human for that long, he puts up a kinda pathetic fight. Glisten puts Shimpo's arrogant ass in place and refuses to kill him so they can fight honorably. Shrimpo takes this personally lol and strives to get better at fighting so he can show up Glisten.

Badabing badaboom, enemies to lovers setup.

Dandy did not see that coming and it pisses him off lol.

Shrimpo: I HATE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO- Astro (to himself): WTF is up with this guy?

This was a doodle recommended by an awesome artist in a server I'm in (dunno if they wanna be tagged lol). Astro being a moon moth thing causes Shrimpo to howl at him lol. Also part of the reason Dandy dislikes Shrimpo lol. Also also, Astro is a witch.

Also also also, here's the emo Goob my sibling became when discussing vampires. He unemos when he becomes a weredog lol.

Below is a buncha doodles all about Glisten (and his failing mental health).

TW FOR UNINTENTIONAL S.H. PROCCED WITH CAUTION:

You guys know Wiggle from Bugsnax? You guys know Millie from Helluva Boss? Yeah. They were the main inspos for this design hc lol (the buck teeth part not the insecurity part).

I have this goofy hc that Glisten's og design never intended to give him buck teeth. When being made, the ichor messed up and gave it to him. Learning about this is his first instance of feeling insecure about himself, and he develops the mannerism of covering his mouth when laughing (bc it makes his teeth really obvious lol)

And since Glisten now has buck teeth, that means Shimmer also gets buck teeth! However, her reaction to them was completely different to how her dad reacted to his.

I have this hc that Glisten can't handle backlash that well. With the machine messing up with his face (his teeth), and his general vibe being disliked by many people of the time of Gardenview (prob bc the 90s and very queer-coded kids' character didn't exactly mix well), he feels this crippling pressure to be the "perfect" version of himself.

If he deems you lower than him, your words don't matter. He doesn't care what you think about him

However, if he views you as an equal or higher, any kind of negative opinion said to him will be taken personally, and will either be repressed into self-hatred, or actively worked upon in order to be "better" (which ends up hurting him more depending on the situation.) His need for perfecting also makes him a workaholic when in a spiral, leading him to self-isolate and just kinda hide away from everyone for a couple days, and sometimes injure himself trying to get better on his own (he has a tendency to scratch his arms and face too, only fueling his need for isolation).

He refuses to open the door and get food outside, so ppl will slide him snacks and things under the door. People still care about him, but he'll never them see him cry.

Glisten has such horrid insecurity that he will never let anyone see. However, not everything is bleak for the guy.

Shimmer: Hey Dad! Guess what!? My teeth grew in! Now I look like you! Isn't that cool?!

She was not born with them unlike Glisten. Instead, they grew in near her "10th" birthday. She was very happy to have them. I like to think that seeing Shimmer be so happy to have a very sensitive trait of Glisten and loving every second of it helps him heal a bit of his insecurity.

After all, how can he hate a part of himself that his kid adores?

Kids don't fix everything, but they can aid in healing lol

Have a good one dudes^^

#the monsters and hunters au is still a heavy wip lol #i am open to ideas and questions about it #also i love putting my favs though horrible stuff it's so freeing in a therapeutic way #overworking glisten i love how relatable you are #also i think when glisten is stressed he gets work paralysis which only stresses him out more #i hope i ended this on a light enough note #tooooooooooootally not projecting #not at all #dark topics #tw self destructive behavior #tw unintentional selfh4rm #tw scratching #tw self isolation #dandy's world #dandys world #dandy's world fanart #dandy's world oc #roblox dandys world #dandy's world glisten #dandy's world shrimpo #dandy's world dandy #dandy's world astro #dandy's world goob #dandy's world ships #glisten x shrimpo #shrimpo x glisten #glisten the mirror #shrimpo the shrimp #dandicus dancifer #astro the moon

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 3 months ago

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Pretend You're Mine

This is my first entry on my 2024 @jacklesversebingo card. It will fill the "I don't like people touching what's mine." square. The quote will be bolded in the fic.

Summary: Y/N knows the person standing in her bedroom isn't really Dean, but it's hard to keep that in mind when he's so close.

Pairing/Characters: Demon!dean x Y/N

Warnings: Mostly all smut. Oral (f. receiving). Overstimulation. Light bondage. Use of a belt (no spanking). Brief, light choking. Edging. Rough, unprotected PinV sex. Slight breeding kink. Slightly Dom demon!dean. Slight dub-con. (Warning out of an abundance of caution.) Angst.

Word Count: 3,673

A/N: This is my first entry for jacklesversebingo 2024! I'm so excited to participate again this year. So much fun last year. Hope you guys enjoy my naughty little demon!dean offering. 🥰

A/N 2: Edit: I'm a doofus, cause I also meant to mention that this fic was filling this request I got from the lovely @viviwatchestv I hope you feel like this fic captures the feeling in that song of the inescapable pull of the bull towards the Matador, even when you know it's no good for you.

These lines especially inspired me for the beginning:

Your stare is steely and your tongue is sharpened Can carve me like a steak knife

Hope you like it, hon! ❤️

Y/N walked through the door to her bedroom in the dark, tossing her sweater onto the chair in the corner as she flicked on the light. As the room lit up, a movement across the room caught her attention and she gasped and cut off a scream as she realized who it was.

But then her heart started beating triple time as that realization sank in.

Dean stood just in front of her open window, the curtain blowing lightly behind him in the soft October breeze that blew through. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt over his gray t-shirt, and well-worn, dark blue jeans.

He looked so cozy and soft and so much like himself that Y/N almost ran into his arms immediately, but she stopped herself. No matter what he wore, or whatever he looked like, this was not Dean. His eyes were green and shining at her from across the room, but she knew they could blink black in an instant.

This was not Dean.

As she stood silhouetted by her doorway with her hand on her chest, still breathing heavily, Dean smiled lazily.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Scaring the shit out of you wasn’t really how I’d planned on making you gasp and pant tonight.” His expression was warm and teasing, and his voice had butterflies pirouetting in her stomach.

Y/N forced the feelings of elation and desire down where they belonged, and dropped her hand from her chest, closing it into a fist at her side. Her voice was still breathless, though, as she spoke.

“What are you doing here? Get out.”

“I missed you.”

Y/N shook her head. “No you didn’t.”

Dean tilted his head. “Sure I did. Haven’t you missed me?”

Y/N gritted her teeth against the pain that shot through her when she thought about how much she missed him. No, how much she missed Dean.

Dean stepped towards her a bit and she took a step back before realizing that retreating was pointless. There was nowhere she could go to escape him, nowhere he couldn’t follow. So, she looked him in the eye and let her anger show.

“No, I haven’t missed you.” Her voice was still weaker than she’d like. “Get out.” She repeated.

He drew closer, barely three feet separating them, and shook his head slowly. “I know that isn’t true. I’m the love of your life. You told me the last time, remember?”

Y/N’s chest tightened further as she remembered the last time she’d seen Dean, how she’d begged him to come back to himself, kissed him desperately as though true love’s kiss could somehow wake him up, or force him to shed the monster of his twisted soul. But the demon had just laughed as she told him how much she loved him.

That had been almost a month ago, and every day since had been torture; she did miss him, so much. She spent her empty days remembering him and her empty nights aching for him. She craved him like water in a desert. Looking at him now, all long limbs and tall, solid strength, the pull towards him was magnetic and irresistible.

She shook her head again, trying to gather her scattered wits. This is not Dean. She reminded herself. She nodded slightly.

“I do miss Dean, every day. But you aren’t him.”

He tilted his head slightly, an action so reminiscent of her Dean that it felt like he was reaching inside her and crushing her heart in his fist.

“Like I told you before, sweetheart, it’s still me.” He shrugged. “Or mostly anyway.”

Y/N closed her eyes. “You’re a demon. You’re not Dean.”

He chuckled softly and her eyes popped open again to watch him. He shrugged one shoulder. “Actually, I’m both.”

He moved to stand right in front of her, and she dropped her eyes to his chest; looking at his beautiful face so close up was just too much. But he wouldn’t let her look away, tipping her chin up with his knuckle as he spoke soft and silky.

“The Dean in me misses the way I could make you smile, and the demon in me misses the way I could make you scream.” Y/N’s eyes bulged as another seductive smile slid onto his face. “I came here for both.”

Dean slipped his hand up to cup her cheek, pressing his thumb against her lips and then slipping the tip of it into her mouth. She gasped and turned her head away, closing her eyes, desperately hoping against hope that he would leave, while deep down her soul was begging him to stay.

When she turned away from him, Dean let out a questioning hum. “Hmm, interesting.” He said quietly. “Maybe you don’t miss me anymore. Maybe good ol’ what’s-his-name is taking care of you these days.”

Y/N snapped her head back to face him, fear filling her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Dean’s expression turned calculating. “I’m talking about you and loverboy out and about earlier.” His voice dipped to a sinister whisper. “I saw you.”

Y/N felt a drop of dread slip down her spine when she thought of the sweet guy from work, who’d taken her to coffee this afternoon. Her voice wavered as she asked the question that terrified her. “What did you do to him?”

Dean’s expression shifted, becoming slightly mocking. “Nothing permanent.” He shrugged. “I don’t need to draw more of that kind of attention.”

Quick as a flash he had her by the throat and twisted them both so he could drive her back into the wall. His grip was not tight, but it was binding, ensuring she couldn’t move as he bent his head, skimming his lips up her neck and then nuzzling his nose behind her ear and making her tremble.

He pulled back slightly so he could look her in the eye, his gaze unwavering and scarily focused as he warned her.

“But I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her throat as he continued to stare at her and in spite of her fear and heartache, she could feel her stomach tighten, and her panties get damp.

She shook her head slightly. “I don’t belong to you.”

His gaze hardened. “Yeah, you do.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but he slammed his lips down on hers, immediately thrusting his tongue into her mouth and swallowing her protests. She brought her hands up to grab at his forearm, trying to pull it away from her, but he let her throat go, so he could grab both her wrists in a vice-like grip and slam them against the wall on either side of her head.

He shoved his knee between her legs and rubbed against her soaked center. She couldn’t stop the whimper that slithered its way out of her mouth, making Dean chuckle. His voice was knowing and triumphant as he spoke against her lips.

“You want me to go, baby? Just tell me. Want me to stop?”

He let go of her wrist to slip his hand under her t-shirt and cup her breast in his big hand, squeezing hard enough to send a pulse of need straight to her cunt. He smiled wickedly as though he felt it too.

“Just tell me to stop then, sweetheart. That’s all it’ll take.” He taunted her in deep, silky tones.

He let go of her other wrist and she dropped both hands onto his broad shoulders. With his free hand he flicked open the button at her waistband and lowered her zipper. Y/N was shaking her head back and forth, trying to convince herself that she wanted him to stop.

He was moving incredibly slowly, giving her ample opportunity to refuse, to push him away, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t put a stop to the pleasure coursing through her veins as his hand slid down her pants and into her panties to find her clit and swirl around it softly.

Instead, her head fell back against the wall with a hard thump as she tried to press down harder against his gently probing finger. But he wouldn’t let her, pulling his hand away whenever she tried, and making her whimper some more. He laughed outright at her neediness, licking her lips open to claim her mouth again.

After a few minutes, he pulled both of his hands off her body and braced his palms against the wall, one on either side of her shoulders, trapping her within his solid, unbending frame. He breathed against her lips, and she chased them as he pulled away from her. He shook his head.

“Uh uh. Stay or go, baby, what’s it gonna be?”

She stared into his burning green gaze and tears filled her eyes as she capitulated. “Stay.” She whispered.

It wasn’t Dean. But it felt like him, smelled like him; he kissed her the same, his touch hadn’t changed, and she missed him so much. Her body never stopped aching for him, her heart never stopped breaking over his loss. But now he was here, and her body didn’t care about what was different, and her heart could pretend for a night.

So she nodded and repeated herself as she frantically pushed the shirt off his shoulders. “Stay. Don’t leave me.”

Dean growled at her surrender and as she slipped his t-shirt over his head, he ripped hers off her body, followed quickly by her bra. In one smooth motion he grabbed her by the waist, twisted to face the bed, and then tossed her onto it. He reached her in two strides and grabbed her jeans by the cuffs, yanking them down and off of her.

She trembled under his gaze, with only her panties still on. She watched him unhook his belt with his right hand as his left reached out to rub against the wet silk of her panties. They completely flooded as he slowly pulled his belt off; the leather made a soft whoosh over the denim as it slid through the loops. He dropped it to the ground and Y/N jumped at the sound of the metal buckle hitting the floor with a loud thud.

He rubbed harder along her slit, causing her to moan loudly and throw her head back, pressing it into the mattress. She looked up again as she felt the bed dip as he climbed on, kneeling between her legs. His torso was bare and beautiful as he towered above her and she reached up to run her hands across his wide, broadly muscled chest and down over his flat stomach.

He lifted her further up the bed and then bent her in half as he pushed her knees into her chest, sinking down slowly and kissing a path down her leg as he pulled her panties off.

Almost as soon as they were off, he was on his belly with his mouth buried in her cunt. He wasn’t gentle; he wasn’t teasing. He sucked her clit into his mouth and drew on it deeply. Her knees locked against his ears, and she screamed out her immediate climax.

He let her legs stay clamped around his head as he continued to fuck her with his mouth - through that climax and into another, and then several more.

Each subsequent climax was more drawn out than the last. Every time she came, he slowed everything down even further so that he could tease and torment her for longer, even as her nerves became more and more shredded with pleasure. So that by the end, all he was doing was kitten licking her over-stimulated clit, but she was so sensitive that it felt like white hot fire licking her, and it made her scream and beg for him to end the torturous pleasure.

Eventually he pulled away, and Y/N was almost too woozy to notice that he was shedding his jeans and underwear. He came back to her and flipped her onto her hands and knees without effort, but her muscles were exhausted, and she was wobbly on all fours.

Dean reached over her to grab a pillow from the head of the bed. “Put your face in the pillow.” He instructed roughly as he tucked it into her arms.

Y/N pulled it to her gratefully and sank her upper body down onto the bed, laying her flushed cheek against the cool pillowcase, and pushing her hips back towards him so he could claim her body.

But instead he stood up. Her blood started pumping hard and fast when she saw him pick up his belt and walk back to the side of the bed. He climbed back up and got in position behind her again. The belt was folded in half and he slid the cold leather slowly up and down her pussy making her shiver.

“Dean.” She whimpered. “Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart? What are you begging for so prettily?” He asked.

She felt her cheeks flame brighter, but she was beyond trying to be demure or coy. “Please, fuck me.”

Dean chuckled lightly. “You sure about that, baby? You didn’t seem too happy to see me earlier.” He set the belt down beside her and started to move off the bed.

”Maybe I should go like you told me to.”

Y/N sat up quickly and grabbed his hand as he stepped onto the floor. “No, I told you to stay.”

Dean shrugged. “But first you told me to get out. That was practically the first thing you said to me. Hurt my feelings. I should go.”

“No, don’t!” Y/N cried out and she was humiliated by her desperation. But still she sat on the side of the bed, clinging to his wrist and shaking her head. “Don’t leave, please.”

Dean leaned down and kissed her softly, sweetly. “Okay, I won’t go if you tell me that you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Only me.”

“Yes, only you.”

“Tell me what you want me to do to you, Y/N?”

Dean’s voice was soft and seductive as he reached out his big hand to squeeze her breast. Y/N bit her lip against the pleasure spike as he pinched her right nipple and she quickly breathed out her answer.

“I want you to fuck me.” She admitted again.

“Do you want my cock, Y/N? Do you need me to fill you up with it? Pound into you endlessly till I prove I fucking own you?”

Y/N nodded, but Dean shook his head. “No, baby. Tell me.” He picked up her hand and wrapped it around his dick. “Pump me fast and tell me what you want me to do.”

She began pumping, but he tapped her fingers. “Use your slick to slide better.” She reached down to scoop up the wetness that coated her pussy, and began pumping him again with her wet hand.

Dean grunted. “Fucking yes. Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want…I want you to fuck me with your cock, fill up my pussy.”

“And pound you till I fucking own you?” He reiterated.

Y/N nodded. “Yes.” Shame burned in her heart as she begged him. This wasn’t Dean. She should be letting him leave, telling him to go. But it felt like she’d explode into a million pieces if he walked away now.

Dean nodded and immediately manhandled her onto her hands and knees again, facing away from him, but this time he stayed standing, at the side of the bed behind her.

Directly across from her was a large standup mirror and she could see them reflected in it. Dean smiled wickedly and she knew he’d manoeuvred her into this position on purpose, so she could watch him fuck her senseless.

He pushed the pillow over to her and she laid her head back down on it. Then he picked up his belt and pulled her arms behind her back, wrapping the leather around her wrists so they were bound at the small of her back.

He stepped up close behind her and she felt the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. He slid into her excruciatingly slowly. When the head of his cock was notched inside her he stayed like that, without moving for what felt like forever to Y/N.

She was whining at him, desperate for him to push further, but every time she tried to push back against him, he'd pull back out a little.

“Dean!” She cried out, frustrated and needy

But he just laughed and landed a swat to her hip. “Don't be greedy, sweetheart. Take what I'm giving you. If you want more, ask me nicely.”

Y/N shook her head even as she whimpered. “Please, Dean, give me more. I need more of you, all of you.”

He gave her another teasing half inch and then another as she begged him.

Finally when she was weeping with need and achingly tense muscles, he fisted his hand in her hair and yanked her head up so she was watching in the mirror. With one hand in her hair and the other on her belted hands, he slammed himself to the hilt inside her clenching walls.

Y/N screamed in pleasure at the sudden invasion, even though it stretched her to the limit. Dean pulled back until he was almost out of her body before wrenching her back against him as he thrust deep and rough.

He continued to fuck her, pound into her as she'd begged him to, pushing her through countless more orgasms. He angled his cock in such a way that every single, brutal thrust, hit her g-spot perfectly.

“Dean.” Y/N's voice was weak with exhaustion. “Please, I can't take anymore.”

Dean's answer was a particularly deep, hard thrust and a growl. “You're gonna take everything I give you baby. I told you, you're mine.”

He pulled out and slammed back in again, making her scream out another moan as she came on his cock again, having completely lost count of how many orgasms he'd fucked out of her.

As he slammed into her again, he bent over her to grunt into her ear. “I'm gonna come, sweetheart. Want me to come inside you? Fill you up, make a little demon baby?”

Fear exploded in Y/N’s brain as some of the fog of want and need lifted and she shook her head.

“No, please don't do that.” She whispered.

Dean just laughed again and rutted into her deeper than ever.

She was shaking her head. “Please, don't.”

But before she'd even got the plea out, Dean was pulling out of her and pumping his cock fast. Thirty seconds later he threw his head back with a ragged roar and spurted his cum onto her ass and up her back. She watched him in the mirror and her cunt was clenching again as she saw his muscles tense and go rigid as he thrust into his hand.

As she watched, his eyes popped open - slick like oil and bottomless black. The sight made her start to cry, partly because of the reminder that this wasn't really Dean, but also because, in spite of that, she knew she wanted him again, still; she knew she didn’t need him any less.

There was still a part of her heart that clenched pleasantly at the idea of carrying Dean's child, even if she knew it would be a monster.

I'm sick. She thought, and as Dean let go of her hair, she laid her head on the pillow to weep quietly.

Dean was shuddering with the end of his climax, groaning deeply. He let go of her arms too and she sort of sank onto her side. Reality and realization was beginning to flood back into her mind and with it came regret and shame.

This wasn't Dean.

She looked over at him as he pulled his boxer briefs and jeans up over his hips. He buttoned and zipped them up before reaching behind her and unwinding his belt from her wrists.

He grinned at her as he slid the belt though its loops and buckled it.

“Looks like I followed through on my promise.” His voice became hard. “You won’t forget who you belong to now, will you?”

He leaned down and squeezed her cheeks lightly as he sank his tongue deep into her mouth, making want and need begin to stir once again, starting to tighten that coil in her lower belly.

He pulled back, his expression triumphant and smug. “So, who do you belong to, sweetheart?”

Y/N looked up at his beautiful face, black eyes receded back to shining green and felt her chest tighten; she thought of the way she'd begged him, the way she was coated in his cum, the way her body still responded to his simple touch, and she could only answer truthfully.

“You. I belong to you.”

His eyes widened slightly, as though he didn’t think she'd actually give him the answer he was looking for.

“Fuck yeah you do.”

He kissed her again, and it was slow and gentle and it was playing tricks with her mind, making her think that it was her Dean kissing her so sweetly.

He pulled away and his gaze was more intense than smug as he studied her. “Maybe I should come by more often to remind you. What do ya think?”

Something stirred in Y/N's stomach. Was it possible, or was she only deluding herself again? If she was with him more often, could she coax her Dean back to her, at least enough that the demon would agree to the blood cure?

Fuck it, she thought. Delusion is where I'm living now; it's worth trying.

So she nodded. “Yes, Dean.” She smiled at him lazily. “I think that's a very good idea. But next time, use my door.”

The grin that crossed his face was all Dean and almost no demon.

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

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#demon!dean x reader #demon!dean #demon!dean smut #demon!dean angst #jacklesversebingo24 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic

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ebonyslasher · 10 months ago

Note

Can you do more yandere slashers part 2 please.

Hopefully, I'm getting better at writing yandere characters! There are some possible triggering themes ahead so read with caution.

Roses are red, violets are blue

Here's

Yandere!Slashers Pt. 2!

A strained sob bounced against the dingy walls that you were held captive in. Your existence, normally happy and calm, turned desperate and miserable. You looked around with teary eyes, taking in your unfortunate new home. The air was littered with specks of dust, paint torn from the walls, and all the windows crudely covered and broken. It was a scene taken from a horror movie that you desperately did not want to be in. The tears silently flow down your face before the raggedy door flings open.

A shadowy, foreboding figure stood tall at the door frame. You recognized that figure, it was the one who kidnapped you to this horrid place.

“Please ... .please let me go…,” you whimpered out, your sobbing revitalizing before this monster. He stepped forward and you shrunk back. He stops. The next movement he made your heart stop. Michael flings a body beside you. The patch of light coming from the mostly covered window showed the gouged out eyes of your crush. They lay lifeless and their once beautiful face was now covered with blood.

The image of a dead body, especially of someone you knew, caused you to hyperventilate. Feeling an extreme urge to flee, you stand up and attempt to run towards the door. Michael grabs your arm painfully and throws you down.

“Let me go, let me go! You monster!” you screamed. You attempt to stand again when Michael kicks at your legs. He quickly places his dirty boot on your right leg, right on the tibia. Stomping down, Michael relishes in your painful cry after the sickening snap of your bone. You could not run from him and he could not be happier.

—--

Michael knew everyone who lived in Haddonfield. Most by their identifiable features and home addresses.

Michael stalked all his victims, but only for a short time as their existence would not last long.

However, if he becomes obsessed, not only will he stalk them every single day. He will keep them alive for an undecided amount of time.

As you place your existence in Haddonfield, Michael becomes hooked.

He paid attention to your needs, placing toiletries that you ran out of/low on in various places in your house. It escalates into leisure items that you spoke about with your friends. Things that he knew that you knew you did not purchase

Making himself known, he begins to appear and reappear in different places, from a distance. Toying with you.

Anyone who will get in the way will be removed, permanently. Especially any love interest.

He is not above harming you to make you submit, stay, and be quiet. He knew what was best for you.

Injuries looked especially good on you anyway

“Kitten ... .how disappointing,” Asa remarks, seeing the piss-poor excuse of a Valentine's Day present on his bed. It was made haphazardly, the paper mache butterfly looked tattered with paint, some sort of adhesive, and drenched paper.

Asa had shown you how to do the technique weeks ago, disguising the activity as a fun bonding moment. He made an off-handed comment that a paper mache insect would be a great gift for Valentine’s Day. Of course, his smart little kitty caught the hint. But, it was obvious that you did not practice enough.

You sat upon the bed, head down in embarrassment at the state of your gift. “Asa, I tried! I really did! You know I’m not that good at-” You started to explain. Asa put his hand up and you stopped talking immediately.

“You had ample time to practice, y/n. But, you did not. Therefore, you will be punished. Get on all fours on top of your disaster,” Asa instructed coldly. You did so, feeling humiliated at the action. You desperately wanted to make this up to him while also feeling apprehension at the punishment.

Asa starts to hit your back and ass with his hands. You endure, but the force of his hits ends up making you fall on top of your gift. The burn of his hits combined with the uncomfortable feeling of wet paper and glue slathering your stomach. It made you cry out, strengthening the boner Asa had.

---

Anyone who’s moving, living, or even traveling through the town gets observed by Asa. When you arrive, you capture his interest in ways he never thought possible.

He searched your name, address (and floor plan if available), and knew all your family members. He breaks in to look at everything you have.

He had notes dedicated to what you like to eat, what size of clothes you wear, etc.

Once he captures you, he doesn’t make you a part of his collection. Instead, you'll be his personal pet. A little kitty he can enjoy.

Life was starting to get a little boring. Your existence changed his life. He just needed to train you so you would not be useless to him.

His training includes the way you react (in the way that he likes), enduring physical punishment and sexual sensory overloads, how to care for him correctly, etc.

Any spouse, family, or friends that were living with you are now part of his collection. They would be a distraction to your duties.

If you perform extremely poorly, he will drag you across the floor to see any loved ones in the collection. Digging his fingers into your eyelids to force you to look at their display.

“Dr. Lecter?,” You asked as you knocked lightly on his office door. You let yourself into his practice, as was normal for your appointments.

“Y/N, please come in,” he said smoothly so as to not betray his excitement at your arrival.

You plop down on the sofa across from him and your weekly sessions begin. You’d had them for a month now. It was last week when you noticed that you were getting weirdly attached and attracted to Dr. Hannibal. It wasn’t right with the power dynamics in your current relationship. Also, all the blaring issues he knew about your life. This did not dissuade your budding feelings, with the unintentional help of Hannibal. He did not know that your conflicted romantic feelings were about him. It was like he always knew the right thing to say. He spurred your mind to think outside the box or his perspective. Everything he said, he seemed to always be right about.

“.....I feel a romantic connection to this person, but I know I shouldn’t,” You say.

“And why not?” He questioned

“Our relationship right now…it would be inappropriate to say the least.”

Hannibal leaned forward, his face schooled in its perfect neutral expression. Internally, he was fighting a smirk to bless his sharp features. “And what is love without risk?”

“....I…”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t know, y/n. I am merely throwing out a different perspective. You like this person right? What makes it inappropriate?”

“His…status and title do. The power dynamics would be unequal,” you say, trying to be as vague as possible.

“It will always be unequal. You possess powers that he would not have. And vice versa. Titles mean nothing. You see, I am your psychiatrist. I know who you are, I can see the power that you have. A relationship between you and me would be risky, in the eyes of others. But, only our eyes matter in the end.”

“A relationship between us two…?”

“Just as an example, Y/n. To help you see the big picture.”

You were his patient. He fell in love, becoming obsessed with you. You looked like the perfect partner, one to parade around at the envy of others.

He would make sure to format your mind to see how perfect you two would be. That he would be the only one for you.

Hannibal being Hannibal does this covertly, planting seeds into your head every session. He even stops taking payment for your appointments, to ensure you would still come.

The medication he would prescribe you was a level of biochemical control over your emotions. He knew the side effects and how the medication would affect your mood after you took them.

He acts like the perfect gentleman. He has perused your home, making sure to have items that you need or want coincidentally at appointments.

Anyone who is a threat to you or the budding relationship will be removed.

You will see them for the last time, served as a decadent meal. He will feed them to you, without your knowledge

“Taylor Layknn’s party is in two days, I’ve taken the liberty of picking out your look for you,” Patrick says dismissively. He thrust the outfit into your arms as he checked his phone. You stood flabbergasted at his gall.

“Patrick, I already had an outfit planned out,” you explain. You look over the outfit, trying to imagine how it would look on you.

“Yes I know, but I saw this while shopping and thought about you immediately. I knew it would be flattering on you. It goes with what I’m wearing. We’ll look great together.” Patrick looks straight into your eyes, watching your reaction.

You felt annoyed, a little offended, but flattered that he thought of you. “That’s sweet, but I don’t think that’s exactly my style.” You began to hand the outfit back to him. He thrusts the outfit back against your chest.

“It is your style and you don’t even know it. Here, look at how the color compliments your skin. How it’ll hug your figure in the right places. You know, most of these bitches don’t even know how to dress. You’ll be the talk of the night if you just listen to me.”

He tries to shelter your interactions from others, feeding you lies and pretending like he is giving you inside information to gain your trust

He purposefully talks bad and compassionate about others to uplift himself in your presence, disguising it as competition.

He is always extra with his appearance but was even more so when he knew you were going to be there.

He even wears the cologne that you love. He sends you flowers, your favorite ones, to show how much attention he paid to you

Once he has you wrapped around his finger, He tells you what to say and how to act. He needs you to be the perfect partner that even Paul Allen would be jealous of.

The desperate yuppie that he is needs you to look and act a certain way to fit in with the 'in-group'.

He buys you clothing and expects you to wear it for him. He will send you makeup tutorial videos that he likes.

Patrick will also send photos and videos of people with what he thinks is the ultimate body type. He will do whatever to shape and mold you into his perfect partner.

Patrick has a doll that looks like you in his office drawer. He dresses up in what he would want you to wear. He has another at home where he acts out fantasies of your eventual marriage.

He constantly questions where you are or slyly questions others. He gets mad if he isn’t invited anywhere, especially to his favorite place.

If he could, he dreams of hiring you as his personal assistant (if that was your profession). He has thought many times about firing his current assistant just to have you perched there, sitting pretty.

#slasher x reader #michael myers #asa emory #hannibal lecter #patrick bateman #black reader #michael myers x reader #asa emory x reader #hannibal lector x reader #patrick bateman x reader #yandere

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tenjikufag · 4 months ago

Note

Silly ask but, is it alright to request to see a Laios x male Reader story, where the reader is a transman? Maybe to how Laios would react to that information or how the reader would go about/could bring that up to Laios, esp for how scary it is to bring it up to a loved one. …and possibly for it to be fluffy/smut (stupidly sweet kind…?), fluff (maybe angst if you wanna throw in some tussle XD) will do just as good :}

Thank you if you see this! I enjoy what you make!! :D

No Problem.

Laios Touden x Trans!Male Reader

-fluff, light angst, comfort, ftm!reader, afab anatomy mentions, coming out, pre-op reader (no top/bottom surgery), hrt characteristics (T-Dick), fluffy smut

-(please proceed with caution if you are uncomfortable with said topics x.)

-thank you for the request, sorry it took so long to get around to. This man would be the most supportive and loving partner.

Listen, in a world where there are a thousand or more different races, anthropomorphic beings, monsters, magic, cults and guilds- being trans really isn’t that big of a deal or even something to blink twice at.

That doesn’t make it any easier though, coming out, even with all the “diversity” an ever present looming prejudice and bigotry was held among the heads of said margins- the ones who have managed to fall through the cracks of what had been somehow deemed ‘normal’ in this world..

It’s scary.

Especially when it comes to your relationship with Laios.

No, you doubt he’d hold any form of hatred or even really.. care about someone coming out to him. But that was just the problem, it almost felt like an unpredictability in his ways of emoting or showing how he reacts.

What if he didn’t accept it? What if he really did care about you not having “the right parts”…

You weren’t sure, really.

And that’s why you’d put it off for so long.

You’d been with Laios for some time now, but most of it was spent in dungeon and when you’d resurface neither of you had any of the energy to actually get physical aside from hugs and brief cuddling before he overheated and moved away in his sleep.

He hadn’t felt the layers you wore to conceal what you deemed a “secret”, neither him or the party ever seeing you without a shirt or even naked despite all the shared baths and such. Never once had they’d managed to catch you in a “slip up” of revealing yourself.

Also, why the hell would you drop such a comment and come out in the middle of the dungeon?! Who does that? Definitely not you, if it were to go sideways who’s to say they wouldn’t tie you up in vines and leave you to the giant frogs to eat?

None of them would be that cruel, you knew that. It was still hard, though.

Everyone knew you as a guy, you are a guy, your secondary characteristics prominent from the lapsed time on testosterone. It was easy to “pass” and you were worried.. really. It ate at you, even if in reality you didn’t exactly owe non-intimate partners your bodies explanation, Laios was the outlier.

An intimate partner, a boyfriend.. you’d wanted more and you knew he did too.

It felt all too difficult to do, dozens upon dozens of scenarios playing out in your hypothetical coming out but you wouldn’t know the true outcome until you actually.. told him.

—

Picking at the hem of your shirt, Laios came into your bedroom changed into his freshly washed sleep wear. His eyes scanned you, a soft smile on his lips as he slid into the bed- laying himself beside you.

You knew his next move was to wrap his arms around your waist but you needed some space to tell him. It hurt your heart a fair bit when Laios looked up at you like a whining puppy when you moved away from him..

“Are you okay?”

He asked, eyebrows crossed in concern.

“Yeah.. I just.. there’s something I need to tell you.”

The blonde sat up, crossing his legs and leaning forward towards you intently.

God, he didn’t make this any easier. His dumb almost dog like demeanour with bright golden eyes boring into you.. it sent a jolt up your spine.

“What is it?”

After all this time, rehearsing it over and over again, memorizing how your body would move and react to emote yourself to him and when he’s sitting here waiting patiently for you to tell him-

The words failed to find themselves on your tongue. Instead your throat felt tight, almost hard to swallow the word vomit that itched instead.

Your fingers continued to play with your shirt hem, trying to distract from the obvious tension.. sighing, your body decided on its own and through an incredibly impulsive action

You now sat on the bed without a shirt, binder on display.

You’d shocked yourself with the move, face burning and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes and catching on your eyelashes. Only flinching when Laios thrummed his finger on the clothing.

“You got hurt? When? Are you alright?”

He got closer, trying to inspect further but eased up at your clear discomfort.

“No. I’m not hurt!”

Unable to control your tone or volume, Laios flinched himself and moved back just a bit.

“Oh. Then what is this?”

Biting your lip, you could’ve guessed Laios wouldn’t have been familiar with these types of undergarments. With a deep, heavy sigh, your hands pushed themselves pressed into your cheeks and your neck dragged your head down to stare straight at the bed.

“I’m trans. That’s it. It’s a binder.”

It was quiet, just barely audible to him. The churning in your stomach twisted and ached, feeling like it was taking him a hundred years to respond..

Having enough with the silence, your head slowly tore itself away from your hands- Laios was still staring at you with the same care and concern he held before you came out with it.

“So? What.. what do you think?”

He blinked, tilting his head quizzically

“That was it? I thought it was something.. more? Not to uh, be mean or dismissive but-“

An amused laugh left your lips, startling your more conscious side of mind- what did he mean expected more? You didn’t want to guess, but the look of relief that washed over him told you all you needed to know.

“Are you okay with it? Okay with.. me?”

His bright eyes widened, realizing what you had actually wanted as a response

“Yeah! Of course, I love you.”

He loved you? You covered your blushing face with your hands, Laios was far too nonchalant with his words but they were sincere.

You hadn’t known why, well you did, but you had for some reason expected an explosive or more emotional response? But again.. it’s Laios. He’s not that kind of person.

“Is that why you never let me hug you for more than a few seconds?”

Pulling away from your hands, Laios sat there pouting. It was a fair question and he was right..

“I thought you didn’t like my hugs..”

The poor man seemed so upset! Sighing out a laugh, your body moved to hug his large frame.

“I love your hugs, it’s just scary.. I wasn’t sure what you’d think.”

His large arms wrapped around your body tightly, a satisfied hum escaping his chest. All this worrying, all this pent up stress.. all for nothing basically. Still, this was a big moment.. Laios knew what he would see when the time came.

You felt fingers inspect your binder, one slipping under and pulling it back- losing grip on it and accidentally letting it snap back onto your skin.

“Hey! That hurt!”

Shoving him away, you rubbed the spot where it snapped back.

“Wow, it’s really tight..”

“That’s the whole point Laios.”

He pursed his lips, hand scratching his chin as he thought for a moment. Eyes glowing at whatever epiphany he had

“Why don’t you take it off? I read somewhere you shouldn’t wear it for too long and I’ve been here all day! Take it off!”

Panicked, he moved and grabbed one of his shirts from your drawer and tossed it to you.

“Someone also said you could asphyxiate yourself! Were you wearing that the whole time in the dungeon?!”

Genuine concern oozed from him, stress in his knitted brows. You motioned for him to calm down, reassuring him you were fine and that you would not get asphyxiated from wearing it- giving him a brief lesson on binders and that you made sure you were absolutely safe the whole time.

It did calm him down, but he still told you to take it off. You agreed, the tightness a tad more noticeable since Laios so rudely pulled it back..

He offered to turn around or leave, but you let him watch. Even if he was turning red the whole time, shifting awkwardly while you changed.. he’d never seen your bare skin before now and it had him feeling hot and bothered.. your skin was smooth, aside from the faint pink outlines of where the seams laid on your skin.

Smiling up at him, you changed into his oversized sleep shirt and took a deep breathe of relief.

Laying back down on the bed, arms stretched out to let the large man cuddle into you. You could feel his attentive gaze on you, and you knew that meant he had a couple questioned festering in that ever-learning mind of his.

“What’s on your mind?”

He flushed, shoving himself further into you before he brought up his courage.

“Can.. can I see? I know you get facial hair and I am curious to see how it effects the rest of your body..”

Ah. Of course. Whispering a small sound of approval, you let him lift the shirt.. feeling yourself heat up again when he started fondling your chest.

“They’re not big, I think you can do without your binder in colder months.”

“Uh.. yeah. Thanks?”

He hummed, large hands exploring your torso and tickling along your skin. The motions he made, how his hands managed to squeeze just right in the more sensitive places had the space between your legs warming up and getting wetter by the second..

Laios was getting excited too, with the way he was cuddled up his hard on brushed against your leg. He shifted upwards, kissing your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. You were quick to grab his face and kiss him fully, slipping your tongue into his mouth- his hands now tightly holding onto the plush flesh of your chest.

Moaning out, you pulled away breathlessly. Laios’ eyes already hazed over, a hungry look you’d only ever seen in dungeon trickled over his features. He moved to cage you between his arms, hovering over you as he caught your lips with his again before leaving wet kisses along the side of your neck.

“Can I go further?”

His words laced with lust reached themselves between your legs, for sure leaving a wet spot in your underwear. An excited arousal festered in your abdomen, nodding at his question of consent.

With a smile, he pecked your lips before throwing off his own shirt and shimmying down to where your boxers peaked out from your pyjama bottoms. Golden eyes looked up to your own, checking to see if you were still okay with what he wanted to do.

You wanted it bad, he knew that. He felt it. Pulling down your bottoms, his eyes widened in delight. Admittedly you felt shy and kind of insecure, never being this exposed to him before but before any of your worries could settle into the pool of your arousal-

He took a long, striped lick between your folds, flicking his tongue when it met your clitoris.

Shuddering at the sensation, your legs instinctively tried to close but he remained steadfast inbetween your legs. Taking experimental licks around your folds, suckling on your tiny dick. It sent electric shocks of pleasure up your body, making the heat in your abdomen burn even more.

The man smiled at the reactions, licking and kissing your inner thighs, up your stomach, lips tracing their own path on your happy trail. He pushed your thighs back, exposing more of you and really dove in.

It was wet, the sound of slick between each lap and suckle from his mouth made blood pool in your cheeks. He had you gasping, stomach rising and falling with each groan and grunt from you.

When he pulled away, a faint sheen on his lips and chin remained. He was happy, satisfied with his warm up on you.

“Can I-“

“Yes. Please.”

You needed him, it was your first time with him and you wanted it all. He could play with you all he wanted after but for now the two of you ached and craved to feel each other whole.

While he slipped off his bottoms, you caught your breathe and ran your fingers through your hair to ease yourself into it.

You knew he was big, above average, and even with how wet you were it was going to be a stretch.

Sighing in content, you hadn’t realized he already had a condom on and was aligned with your heat until it poked just at the entrance.

Startled, you looked down between where your pelvises met.. he looked up at you with a soft smile. With a hitched breathe, he positioned the head of his dick to lay just inside the entrance. His eyes focused on yours, leaning down to kiss you.

Slowly, as he deepened the kiss he slid in. The stretch was tight, making your nose scrunch with the building pressure.

Until you felt yourself finally accommodate for his size, a wave of pleasured relief heating your whole body.

“Fuck..”

Groaning into the kiss, he rocked his hips slowly. You could feel his own muscles tense under your grip and he shared his own grunts of pleasure, letting them pool into your mouth.

The two of you weren’t going to last long, no matter how much control and how slow the pace was.

It was all overwhelming, emotions at a peaked high from what happened before and it being the first shared time.

The coil that sweltered in your pelvis was quickly coming to its end, feeling yourself clench around him and making more slick sounds with every thrust he made.

“Laios, I’m close.”

“Me too..”

It was almost a whimper, his mouth near your ear as he shyly buried his face into your neck, pleading with himself with every rut he made inside.

Your orgasm washed over you without warning, moaning out and gripping the blondes shoulders tightly- with your high almost ending, he came quickly after from every tight pulse you made on him.

Laying there breathlessly, he slumped onto your body. The two of you both smiling like idiots.

“You’re.. so.. handsome..”

His soft dick now pulled out, he caressed your ribs and kissed your cheek.

“I love you no matter what.. thank you.. for telling me..”

His post orgasm clarity made him say what he hesitated or couldn’t find the words for earlier, though it was through soft yawns and slurred sleepy words- it was what you needed to hear.

All your hypotheticals and nightmares fluttered from your mind, you almost had to pinch yourself for ever thinking the man would be anything but loving and accepting. He loved you for you, and you loved him for him. Quirks and all.

#dunmeshi x male reader #delicious in dungeon x male reader #dungeon meshi x male reader #laios x male reader #laios touden x male reader #ftm reader #Laios x ftm reader

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cece693 · 6 months ago

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My Little Dove (Lestat de Lioncourt x M! Reader)

This is something quick I came up with since I feel like Lestat is just a lonely soul who covers it with sarcasm and anger. You can use either Lestat (movie or TV show), but I envisioned it to be from the movie.

Summary: M/N was tired of being a prisoner. He longs to explore the world, but his sire, Lestat, has other ideas. What could be the reason behind this behavior?

tags: typical Lestat, the reader wants to see the world, mentions of Claudia and Louis but they don't impact the story too much, takes place before the duo flee to Paris, happy ending?

"You can't keep me locked up like some type of animal!" M/N screamed, glaring daggers at Lestat's back. It was the same old argument; when Lestat had bestowed the dark gift upon him, M/N believed he had been granted freedom—a chance to transcend the limits of mortality and explore the world. But once his eyes opened to this new life, M/N found himself a prisoner.

The vampire couldn't fathom why his sire forbade him from stepping outside. Louis and Claudia came and went as they pleased, why couldn't M/N do the same? He'd already spent a decade stuck inside the house, his only connection to the outside world being stories told by Louis and Claudia. "I thought you said I was free." M/N continued, his voice trembling. "But this isn't freedom. This is a gilded cage."

Lestat finally turned around, his gaze softened with something akin to regret before morphing into indifference. "The world is not as kind as you imagine. There are dangers you cannot fathom. I only seek to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" M/N shot back. "From living? From feeling the wind on my face and the thrill of the hunt? I would rather face those dangers than rot away in here."

M/N felt himself stiffen when Lestat's eyes turned cold. "Someday you'll understand why I do this, M/N." Lestat hissed, the monster inside him dangerously close to the surface. "But right now, you're led by these ridiculous emotions that cloud your judgment."

"Maybe emotions do cloud my judgment, but they also make me feel alive." M/N defied. "You, Lestat, have clearly forgotten what it means to feel." Turning to the door, M/N was set on spending the remaining night locked in his coffin when Lestat flashed in front of him. His gaze was piercing, maddening.

"You think I don't feel, M/N? You think I'm some heartless creature devoid of emotion?" He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "My emotions toward you are what drives me to be this monster. You, my little dove, are a treasure I cannot risk losing."

M/N's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen Lestat so raw, so exposed. The monster was indeed close to the surface, but so was the man who loved him with a ferocity that bordered on madness. M/N reflected on all of the vampire's actions through a different lens, coming to realize that Lestat indeed loved him—or at least what he perceived to be love. The shared coffins, the piano lessons, the talks under the firelight in the living room.

"I—I didn't know..." M/N stammered, his mind racing. What else could he say? He couldn't confess that he returned Lestat's feelings, fearing it would only intensify the vampire's overbearing nature. "But it doesn't change anything. Lestat, for the first time, I'm begging you to let me see the outside world. Even if you become my shadow, I long to see the town and its delicacies."

Lestat's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, his resolve wavering. The weight of centuries of caution and control clashed with the raw, desperate plea before him. He took a deep breath, the tension in the room thickening.

"You truly want this?"

"Yes. I need this, Lestat. I need to experience life beyond these walls, to feel the world with my own senses." A long silence followed, each second stretching into eternity. Finally, Lestat nodded, a reluctant acceptance in his gaze.

"Very well." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will grant you this freedom, but I will be by your side. No objections."

Not being able to contain himself, M/N smiled before embracing his sire. Lestat stiffened at first, taken aback by the sudden gesture, but then he relaxed, wrapping his arms around the other male.

Lestat felt a torrent of emotions. The warmth of M/N's embrace, the genuine gratitude in his voice—it stirred something deep within him. If granting M/N freedom brought them closer, perhaps it was time to reevaluate his approach. Could he protect M/N while allowing him the autonomy he craved? The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating.

#x male reader #male reader #interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv lestat #amc interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #iwtv amc #claudia #claudia de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #claudia iwtv #lestat x male reader #lestat de lioncourt x male reader

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tin-wufborf · 2 months ago

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Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 19)

Hello, and welcome to part fucking 19 of Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics. Good lord, how the hell have I gotten to 19 of these?? I cannot believe!!!

As always, thank you all so much for all of the love you continue to show this little series of mine. I never really expected any of these posts to get more than a passing notice from anyone, so to see that so many of you have liked and shared this series is honestly kind of mind boggling but also pretty cool. Because I just want everyone to read these stories, ya know? Like, I really love all of these fics that I'm recommending. I wasn't lying or exaggerating when I said that I re-read these fics all the time. I love these stories, and I want others to love them too.

I won't go on some of the crazy tangents that I do IRL, but I fucking love fan fiction. I truly believe that a good chunk of the world's more trivial issues could be solved by people simply getting into the right kind of fanfic for them. Because there's really something out there for everyone so long as you're willing to look for it, and I just think that is the coolest thing, you guys. It's just the bees knees. So to be able to share these lists of my favorite Sterek fics has been such a fun and fulfilling endeavor, and I am glad to have been able to share it with you all.

Okay, enough sap from me! I have admittedly imbibed a bit before writing this up, so I am a little bit in my head right now as well as in my feelings.

I hope you're all having as good a day as you can, if not a great one.

Smoochies and squeezies!

List and links to previous/next part(s) below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Family Day by klutzy_girl (T | 1/1 | 2,447)

Derek and Stiles spend the day with Stiles' (and Scott's) younger sister and come to a few realizations.

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You aren't broken by GreyHaven (G | 1/1 | 4,339)

Derek doesn’t understand sex. Well, no, that makes him sound innocent and sheltered and he isn’t either of those things.

But he doesn’t understand the appeal of sex.

The one in which Derek thinks he's broken and tries to break up with Stiles. Stiles doesn't let him and insists on an open conversation which leads to Derek realising he's not broken, he's asexual. But can Stiles accept that?

(Spoiler alert: of course he can.)

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and the wild things roared their terrible roar by hoars (E | 1/1 | 4,905)

Derek as Khal Drogo (but set in snow beyond the wall) and Stiles as Daenerys Stormborn (although he's a greenseer of the Children rather than a dragon).

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Show Me Your Igloo and I'll Show You Mine by DiscontentedWinter (E | 1/1 | 4,943)

Stiles is finally going to meet the online friend he's had for years.

Instead, the hottest guy in the world walks in.

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that boy is a monster series by hoars (3 works | NR-M | 6,840)

1. monsters steal me away (M | 1/1 | 1,720) There’s a monster in the forest that has taught Stiles to lie and to love. 2. no secret stays secret (NR | 1/1 | 2,558) John follows Stiles into the woods one night. 3. my ghosts approve (NR | 1/1 | 2,562) (optional) Derek loves all his past loves because they all taught him how to love Stiles best.

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Run Wild and Free by greenleaf (T | 1/1 | 6,991)

Derek is a police officer, just recently moved to Beacon Hills, and possibly nursing a crush on the really hot, really powerful doctor with the twin sons.

(Or a story that was almost titled, 'I'm Quite Fawn'd of You, My Deer' but I stopped myself and I don't know why.)

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Do It For The Vine by crossroadswrite (G | 1/1 | 7,108)

“Tammy,” he calls her to attention and his baby daughter turns her sweet hazel eyes to him. “Do you want to go to the skate park tomorrow?”

Autumn gasps and twists until her bony knees are digging into his thighs.

“Daddy,” she says very seriously, placing both hands on his cheeks and looking him in the eye. “Don’t play with my emotions, daddy.” . (OR: in which Derek's daughter gets a skateboard and a cute guy teaching her tricks and Derek just gets the cute guy.)

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The Jackass in the Camaro by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (G | 1/1 | 7,237)

To the guy I splashed with water on First and Crown on Thursday, February 27th around seven at night: I am an a**hole. I’m sorry. I was being an impatient driver, and I just wanted to get home, and I cut off the bus to get there faster. I didn’t mean to soak you with rainwater, and I am truly sorry for doing so. That was a total d*ck move of me. With regrets, The Jackass in the Camaro.

Stiles had to re-read the notice four times before he honestly believed he was seeing it with his own two eyes. He’d gotten splashed by rainwater on First and Crown on Thursday around seven while waiting at a bus stop because of an impatient Camaro driver cutting off a bus.

Like, that was actually a thing that had happened. This was a real thing.

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The Plan for Healthy Eating in the Stilinski-Hale Household by inhystereks (G | 1/1 | 8,100)

Melanie burst into tears, screaming about how she didn’t want their daddy to die while Greg tried to comfort her, sending his own anxious glances Stiles’ way. Elena grilled Addie and Clary about whether they knew for sure. The twins started listing examples from their textbook. Ian turned to Derek asking if food could really hurt humans while Kevin turned to Stiles and begged him not to kill himself by eating too many curly fries.

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children of the bad revolution by hoars (NR | 1/1 | 9,506)

Far away and long ago, the only companion Derek has, the only friend and enemy he's known since he was young, is the chain.

Then Stiles happens.

Then the crows.

Then the end of the world.

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to build a home by elisela (T | 1/1 | 13,021)

“You realize you’re at least ten grand over budget on Stiles’ house, don’t you,” Allison says, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s a question or not. “You better hope this works out because we can’t afford to build an entire house for everyone you want to date.”

He doesn’t bother denying it. “I’m going to do a lot of the demo and installation myself,” he says, leaning over her to cross off some of the numbers she’d written down. “It’ll work out.”

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A Crooked Way to Fly by andavs (G | 1/1 | 14,980)

“We can’t just leave him here to die.”

“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

“Then we should stay with him.”

Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.

It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.

“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”

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This Kind of Luxe by sugarybowl, weathervaanes, wishingonalightningbolt (E | 1/1 | 15,113)

As they have for almost every US President since the 1910s, the Prime Minister and the royal head of their country pay a visit to the United States after inauguration. Which is why, when President Jonathan Stilinski is elected into office, Queen Talia Hale of Norland plans their trip.

-0-

Prince Derek and First Son Stiles. Gooey, ridiculous romance ensues.

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Good for you by lilysaid (E | 1/1 | 16,768)

Completely by chance, I saw a "human boyfriend for werewolf roleplay" ASMR video on YouTube and thought 1. Stiles would totally do something as reckless as making an ASMR channel for werewolves 2. He would be really good at it and 3. It would definitely blow up in his face.

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No Other Love by Idday (T | 1/1 | 18,745)

And maybe it’s irony, or the universe at work, or maybe it’s just Derek Hale’s shitty luck, but that’s when, at that exact moment (as Stiles will swear later), there’s a knock on the door. “Laura?” Derek breathes in disbelief, and Stiles feels his own face fall into confused slackness. Because the girl standing in the doorway? The last time Stiles had seen her—or, well, half of her—she’d been very naked, and very, very dead. “Hey, baby bro,” she says with a grin. ... OR: The one where Laura comes back from the dead, and it turns out to be bad for Stiles, because he’s suddenly spending a lot of quality time with one of the coolest people he’s ever met, and her brother. The guy that he might be just a little in love with. He's not okay.

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Nothing Short Of Perfect by GotTheSilver (E | 1/1 | 27,019)

In which Derek and Stiles are made aware of their potential and have to make a choice about what their relationship will be.

“Let me get this straight,” his dad says. “You’re telling me a witch told Derek and yourself that you could be destined to be together and now Derek will be going to college with you?”

Stiles shrugs, resting his hands on his legs to stop himself from fidgeting. “That’s about it, yep.”

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The Weight of an Enchanted Heart by PalenDrome (nerdherderette), 1jet2unknown (E | 1/1 | 31,590)

Marriage to the shape-shifting Alpha King of Lunansholt wasn't on Stiles' bingo card. His magic had other plans.

[excerpt]: Stiles entered Derek’s chambers, slamming the door behind him. “What did you do with my things?”

“These things?” Derek asked, waving his hand with an arched brow.

Stiles gaped when he saw his books lined neatly on Derek’s shelves. His trunk was in the corner, many of his clothes were visible in the partly open wardrobe, and the cloak he’d brought from home hung neatly on a hook.

“It would have been nice if you asked first.” A quick sweep around the room found only one bed. “Where am I supposed to sleep?” he asked, frowning.

“We are married now, Stiles,” Derek said after a moment. “We sleep together.”

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No Mercy by Gia279 (M | 24/24 | 24,743)

The story of the Boy King was this: when he was sixteen, the Stilinski kingdom was at war with the Novak kingdom. King John was on the front lines with his soldiers when his teenage heir came to check in with him. The king was struck down in a nighttime attack, in front of the boy. The boy took up the king’s dropped sword, mounted his war steed, and slaughtered the enemy forces.

When the remaining soldiers surrendered, he cut them down with his father’s sword and returned home a boy king with a bloodstained reputation.

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Salty Sweet by secondstar (E | 11/11 | 46,478)

Derek works at a porn store. One day, Stiles comes in asking all sorts of TMI questions about different toys. That's where it all starts.

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Call Me (Cliché) by orphan_account (M | 18/18 | 84,649)

When the sheriff's sister ends up in a wheelchair for the duration of summer, Stiles' dreams of three months full of pack bonding, late-night video games and bro-time with Scott come crashing down. He's temporarily relocated to Redford, a three hour drive away, and he can already tell he won't be getting many visitors.

Sure the pack will forget about him while he's gone, Stiles is determined to make the most of his summer of isolation, training his body and mind - and his magic - so he can come back with a bang, and maybe catch a certain Sourwolf's eye.

Then Derek shows up at his window one night with a flimsy excuse about needing research done. Suddenly, his summer away is looking a whole lot more interesting.

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#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fic rec list #sterek fic rec #fic rec list #rec list #fic rec #tin's rec lists

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vnti-vnxiety-recs · 1 year ago

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Destruction In My Mind 2 (M)

★ PAIRING: Toxic! Stalker! Jaemin, Switch! Jaemin x Reader/Mentions of Reader x Mark

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): smut, thriller, angst,

☆ SUMMARY: When your relationship spirals out of control with Jaemin, he resorts to kidnapping to keep you all to himself. It's been months since you've been held captive, and Mark is the only one who may be able to uncover the truth of what happened to you.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Toxic relationship, manipulation, swearing, various acts of sexual intercourse, hate sex,unprotected sex, DEATH, GUNS, DARK THEMES, YANDERE, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, KIDNAPPING. STALKING, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, CAUTION MFER IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY

☆★ NOTES: (Part 1) I wasn't originally planning on writing a part two to this, but a few people requested it, so I challenged myself to see where I could take the story. Honestly, I don't really enjoy writing about dark themes or angst, but it was interesting. I hope you guys enjoy this, because I'll probably only be sticking to one shot after this.

Today was like every other day for the past few months: dull and unremarkable. It's been months since you last had contact with the outside world. Jaemin would attempt to casually strike up a conversation, like he didn't lock you away in a room away from the rest of the world like an evil stepmother in a fairy tale, except that the very prince who was supposed to save you was the one who locked you away. Ever since Jaemin told you that Mark had stopped by to look for you, you had hoped that maybe someday he would find you, but as the months went on, you began to doubt his efforts. Part of you had actually hoped he would stop searching; you knew it could be dangerous if he got too close.

You would soon learn to trade your silence for forced smiles and fake laughter. Jaemin had promised to leave Mark alone if you entertained his conversations. You hated him. You despised the false compassion he displayed, doting over you when you rejected his meals and insisting you eat something. You hated how he acted sulky when you turned down his offers to watch movies together. You especially hated him for bringing back designer clothes whenever he upset you. What's the point of a designer if there's no one to show them off to?

You think If he wasn't a raging sociopath, he would make a good boyfriend. You could be living your best life if he wasn't easily overtaken by jealousy over the smallest things. Sometimes you indulge yourself in fantasies where he's your sweet boyfriend rather than the monster that imprisoned you.. Reality always hits hard when you find yourself staring at the locked door that keeps you imprisoned.

Some days you hated him to death, and others you found your heart warming up too quickly at the thought of him. It's when he returns from long business trips. Those are the days when your heart is most vulnerable and craves him the most. The day before those long nights away, he would bring you food, filling up your fridge with at least two days worth of food. He bought you every book you had circled from a catalog he brought to you. bringing you anything you requested.

The first time he left you, he even got you a cat to keep you company. When he was away, you would use that time to find an escape, but after hours of prying at your door and window, you would give up. You always end up playing with Luna instead.

After days of being alone with nothing but your thoughts and Luna to keep you company, you would practically crave human contact. On one of those many lonely nights, the thought crept up on you. Maybe this was also a part of his plan; was this a way to break down your defenses as well? If it was, it was working because when you heard the automatic lock to the front door opening and the heavy thud of his bags on the hardwood floor of his highrise condo, you couldn't help but call out to him.

You didn't care about the mind games as you leapt from wherever you were in your room and made your way to your door. He can barely even get it open before you throw yourself into his arms. His smell, his warmth, and his voice all amplified during the time he was away. Those days are the days you melt into him. Those days are the ones you let yourself forget. Those days you let your hands wander. And those days are the same days you go to sleep the most satisfied and wake up the most tormented.

After three days away, Jaemin had returned. You practically threw yourself at him the moment he stepped into your room to check on you. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately, before jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You're too preoccupied with pressing yourself against him to notice the cunning smile that kisses your lips. When he doesn't immediately kiss back, you whine into his mouth, and it draws Jaemin back into the moment.

Whatever he was holding clatters loudly against the floor as he drops it in favor of gripping your hips before lowering them to grip your ass. He has you pinned up against the same door he entered as you both hurriedly pull off each other's clothes, laying hot kisses in their wake. You're too impatient to wait any longer, so you haphazardly push his slacks past his hips enough to pull him out of his briefs before you tug your panties to the side. Catching the memo, Jaemin takes over, ripping the crotch of your panties for easier access. You position him at your entrance, and Jaemin thrusts in shallowly. You open your mouth to complain, but Jaemin quickly snaps his hips again. re-entering deeply, effectively shutting you up.

Not a single word has been exchanged since he walked through the door; the only thing filling the room was the harsh slapping of skin and heavy panting as his hips picked up pace. The door soon joined the cacophony of noise as it creaked against its hinges ruthlessly. You came over his length again and again; it was like he was making up for all the days he had left you alone. He didn't stop until he felt your slick heat push him out as you squirted.

The things that happen on the nights you spend with him cause war between the part of you that loves him and that part of you that wants nothing to do with him

You couldn't help but give in to your needs, even though you hated yourself for it. You could never quite reach your peak; your fingers could only take you so far. It didn't help that he would always come to you on those nights in his best suit and sporting his most expensive cologne. He would always tease you, cooing at your wandering eyes as they undressed him. On those nights, he would let you use him until you wore yourself out, leaving him to clean you up. He never stayed the night in your room because he knew that would only make it harder for you in the morning. He knew you hated him for it, but that just made him want you even more.

It felt like a never-ending cycle for you, but lately, even when he wasn't gone, you craved him. He noticed the cracks forming in your hard exterior. He was overjoyed when you started striking up conversations with him, asking him to read a book with you or to play a board game. He hadn't had to beg for your attention lately; he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Or that's what he thought.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Jaemin had entered your room early one morning and gently shook your shoulder to wake you up. You thought he was about to tell you he was leaving on another trip, but instead he sat beside you, petting Luna, while you dragged yourself out of your sheets to sit up properly.

“You've been so sweet to me lately; it got me thinking,” he said. When he stops petting Luna, she leaps from the bed. Your tired eyes follow her as she exits the room through the door.

The open door

Jaemin was never one to leave the door open. He always locked it behind him as he came and went. Jaemin was never one to take chances. Until now, it appears. Your gaze returns to him in anticipation.

"I think you've been locked up in here for too long. You need fresh air…sunlight," he finishes.

He doesn't go on, watching your reaction and testing you with just his words. He waits for you to say something, but you don't. You think you made the right choice because he's smiling now as he continues.

“The house is too big, and it feels lonely sometimes. I was thinking about leaving your door open now so you can roam freely. This house is your home too. I trust you.”

Freely

Being locked in a multimillion-dollar condo above the clouds isn't exactly liberating. You control your reaction. Of course he wasn't going to let you go free; he was probably waiting on you to ask him if he would. You try not to look disappointed in his proposal and return his smile.

“That means a lot, Jaem," is all you can manage as you lean in for a hug, your smile fading the moment he can't see your face.

By free, Jaemin meant limited, which was probably better than what you had. Jaemin's condo was enclosed in large glass windows that let in plenty of light. He also had a sprawling terrace that wrapped around the perimeter of his condo. You were only allowed to spend a maximum of two hours on the terrace with his supervision. You convinced him to buy a hammock and beanbags for you so you could read out there during the summer. You had more room to play with Luna as well. You would run up and down the halls with her toy wand as she chased after you.

This must have been part of his plan to delude you because you almost forgot you were being held captive. You even had access to Jaemin’s room and used his shower from time to time, as it was bigger than the one in your room. It wasn't until he plopped down next to you on the living room couch one evening that you realized how far his trust in you had gone.

He let you know he was going to be gone for the night because he had an overnight business convention he had to attend; he wouldn't be back till morning. It would be his first night away since you were given access to the entire house. He told you the same rules applied and gave you a kiss on the forehead before walking to the front door, where his bags were already waiting, and like always, he leaves without another word.

Just like that, he was gone. You stayed glued to your spot on the couch. He's joking, right? Is this a test? What if he comes back early? A thousand questions are running through your head. YYou do the only thing that comes to mind: you wait. For the first hour, nothing appears out of the ordinary. Another hour passes, and the house remains silent, exactly as he left it. You get up from your seat in the third hour and search the house. You dash for the kitchen; you need a weapon—anything that will give you an advantage.

You searched every cabinet and every drawer, but there was not a knife in sight. You couldn't even find a butter knife. You notice something else is missing just as you close the last drawer. There were no forks either, not even a chopstick. Anything with a sharp point had vanished without a trace. It wasn't until now that you realized that every meal that you were served was pre-cut and prepared. You never even questioned the lack of silverware because you never needed one.

You almost trip over yourself as you hastily make your way to the balcony. You try the handle but realize it's locked. It seemed to have an automatic lock that could only be controlled remotely. Without wasting time, you rush to his office but not a pencil or pen in sight. The bathroom was next, but there was no floss.

You try to calm yourself down, but your frustration with your shortcomings grows. Luna notices your condition and begins to whine and rub herself against your legs in an attempt to comfort you. You don't even notice as tears well up in your eyes and you begin to cry. Luna is gently picked up and cradled in your arms.

“Your daddy is a liar; he doesn't trust me." As you kiss her soft fur, you chuckle bitterly.

In defeat, you make your way back to the living room. You shift your weight to get comfortable on the couch. You're about to re-start the TV when you notice a paper weight on the TV stand beneath it. It's almost hidden among the other trinkets that adorn the surface, but the light from the TV reflects off of it, drawing your attention slightly. You reach for it, and the cool glass warms against your skin. It's a good size and fits comfortably in the palm of your hand. It's a clear glass ball with an angry blue wave frozen in the center, as if captured just before the wave crashed. The wave was at its peak, frozen in time, waiting to crash down, but it never would. In a way, you were just like the angry wave trapped in the glass. You decided this would have to be your weapon. You amble to your room and stuff your makeshift weapon under your pillow. Your spirits were lifted by the minor victory. There was one more thing you wanted to double-check.

There was only one way out of here, technically two, but you don't think Jaemin has enough bedsheets to make a rope that could scale 20 stories. You quickly arrive at the front door and begin to inspect the lock. The lock was identical to that on the balcony door. There was no physical lock to turn to open the door; everything was internal and automatic. The only way to unlock the door was either by the pin code on the outside or, as you guessed, by a phone remotely. He didn't have these locks when you first came to his house.

You take a step back from the door and laugh hysterically as it all begins to make sense. You laugh all the way to your room, where you find the paperweight under your pillow. It was pointless hiding it because he saw.

It was a test.

No sharp items in the house, not even a pencil? All the locks have been changed, and he just so happens to let you out of your room out of the kindness of his heart? Jaemin is not kind, and he's definitely no fool. You were naive to believe that the man who had isolated you in a single room for months and denied you all human contact could possibly trust you. He had to be watching you, and you notice it as you trudge back into the living room. The faint blinking of a red light perched on the high ceiling of Jaemin's highrise. He really was watching you the entire time.

There was no meeting, or maybe there was; at this point, you couldn't trust his word. This was all a test to see if your “good behavior” would last. And just like the naive fool you were, you fell right into his trap.

“I know you're watching me, Jaemin! I'll kill you! I fucking hate you. Do you hear me? I fucking hate you!” You scream and scream at the blinking light until your voice is raw, but the camera doesn't respond; it just blinks mockingly at you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

You awaken to sunlight hitting your face as you stir awake. You must have screamed yourself to exhaustion last night and fallen asleep on the couch. You move to sit up when the cool glass of the paper weight knocks against your skin. You were clutching onto your “weapon” all night, waiting for Jaemin to show up. From your vantage point on the couch, you looked around the apartment, but there was no sign of him The house was as silent as ever. Just as you're about to get up and search the rest of the house, you hear the mechanical gears of the locks on the front door unlocking. You perk up and grab your paper weight, arming yourself as best you can. You wait for Jaemin to walk through the door, but he doesn't.

In your confusion, you slowly make your way off the couch and towards the door. You approach it with caution, expecting him on the other side. You raise your weapon into the air, ready to swing down and strike whoever is on the other side. You swung open the door, but no one was there. In fact, the corridor was unusually quiet. You shuffle out into the hallway, your hair sticking up in all directions, armed only with a paper weight. Real intimidating.

“Jaemin?” You call hesitantly. No response.

You don't care if it's a test, and you don't care if he's watching. This was the closest you have ever gotten to escaping the 3000 square feet you've been confined to. You're booking it down the hall until you reach the next door, and you beat your first against it, calling for help. You're making all the noise you possibly can with whatever voice you have left from screaming all night. No answer, so you move on to the next door. You pound on every door in the corridor, but no one answers. You scream for help as you reach the final door on your floor. You pound on the door mercilessly until you hear a noise from the other side..

“Yes! hello!? Please open the door! I've been kidnapped and i-” you begin, but your begging stops as the door opens, revealing the owner of the condo.

“You’ve been kidnapped? No sweety, what you've been is naughty” Jaemin coos from his spot in the open door.

“Wha-what?” You can't breathe.

So much is happening, Too much is happening, and None of it makes sense as your head spins.

“You silly thing," Jaemin says, casually leaning against the doorframe, ”you know they told me when I had these built that the walls were too thin. I didn't think it would come back to bite me in the ass though,” Jaemin mockingly knocks on the wall closest to you. The hollowness mockingly echoes back at you.

“I don't understand,” you manage.

“I own this building, princess. Everyone on this floor,” he says, taking a step closer.

“the floor below us,” one step closer

“and the floor above us has been relocated.” He stares down at you coolly. “I didn't know how much of a fight you were going to put up, so I moved everyone out a month after I locked you up,” he whispers tauntingly.

"Funny enough, the only screaming you did up until now was when I was-” you turn away before he can finish, humiliated. This whole time, you played right into his hands.

“No point in running, princess; nowhere to go," he laughs.

You ignore him, swiping at the tears that threaten to run down your face. You storm back to his apartment, knowing he's not far behind you because you can hear his footsteps as he follows. He's right, there is nowhere to go, but right now you need to go anywhere he is not. You slam the door in his face angrily when you make it to the apartment, but he catches it and makes his way in behind you.

“You really want to make this worse on yourself, don't you?” he says before reaching for your arm to turn you towards him. The moment you feel his hand enclose around your elbow, you spin on your heels and strike him with the paper weight.

You drop it the moment you realize what you have done. You were angry, you were scared, and you were frustrated with his mind games, but you had no intention of actually hurting him. You acted out of rage; you weren't thinking clearly. You can only stare in disbelief as blood drips from his brow. His head is still slightly bowed from the blow, and he stumbles a little. Blood continues to drip down onto the floor.

"Jaem, I-I didn't mean to; I just-” You didn't know how to finish your sentence.

He finally lifts his head and looks at you, blood dripping into his eye.

“You want to hurt me?"

"No, Jaem i-”

"That's it, isn't it baby? I give you everything, and this is how you repay me."The way he speaks to you holds no warmth as he wipes at the blood staining his perfect skin.

“I didn't," he says, wrapping his bloodied hand around your throat, gripping harshly as he pushes you into the wall. He leans into you, barely a breath away. You almost expect him to kiss you, but instead he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“You want to kill me? then do it right.” The next thing you know, he's pushing away from you and releasing your neck. He bends down and picks up your paper weight. He takes your hand in his and places the paper weight in your palm once more.

“Do it.” He stares you down patiently, waiting for your next move. You shake your head as tears roll down your face freely.

“DO IT!” he yelled this time. You cry even harder and shakily throw the paper weight at his chest. You look pathetic, trembling in front of him.

“You want to hurt me, right baby? You want to leave me so bad? Well, the only way you're gonna leave is if you kill me, so do it!” Jaemin spits angrily.

“I won't," you cry.

“And why not?” Jaemin waits for your answer.

“Because I'm not like you!” you yell angrily, pushing at his chest. You pound on his firm chest, your cries becoming weaker with each blow. Jaemin waits for you to relax before grabbing your chin. Jaemin waits for you to calm down before he grabs your chin.

“No, that's not why pretty.” jaemin tuts.

He grips the back of your hair and drags you to the living room's floor-length mirror. He forces you to look at yourself in the mirror. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your disheveled hair and tear-stained face stare back. Your eyes rake farther down your face until they reach your neck. You gasp in shock.

Right there, sitting prettily against your neck, was a bloody handprint. His bloody handprint possessively stains the skin of your neck. You can almost still feel the ghost of his touch in its wake. Jaemin's other hand trails up your body until he reaches your neck, fingers barely grazing the marks he left, afraid to ruin his work.

“You don't want to hurt me baby, because you're scared to be without me, hmm?” He teasingly whispers in your ear. “You love me, and you don't want to leave me; I can prove it too. I'll tell you a secret."

He breathes down your neck as he turns you towards him and away from your reflection in the mirror.

“Down the hall on the left; there's an emergency staircase; if you take that down, it will lead you right out of here.” He kisses each fingerprint left on your neck slowly so as not to disturb the mark he's left on you. When he's finished, he takes a step back and looks at you, waiting for you to make a move. Your lips quiver, and more tears fall, but you remain still.

“That's my girl,” Jaemin mumbles to himself before kissing you.

You can't do anything but cry harder, but you return his eagerness because he's right. He's right, and you hate him because, just like the handprint on your neck, he's got you in a chokehold. Your hatred seeps into the way you return his kiss. And grip at his hair as he lifts you onto his hips to carry you back into your room. You bite and tug at his lip, none too gently, as you kiss him. As Jaemin enters the room, he "accidentally" bumps your head against the door frame.

"You did that on purpose, asshole." You groan in pain.

“When have we ever played nice princesses?” he smirks before throwing you down onto the bed, making your head hurt even more as you bounce roughly against the mattress.

He's crawling towards you on the bed. You're not done being a brat, so you kick at his chest and shoulder, pushing him away from you. You refuse to make this easy for him, but he just grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him.

“You wanna brat out?"

“When have I ever played nice?” You use his words against him as you struggle more.

He pecks your lips hesitantly, knowing you like to bite, before kissing you deeply, prying your legs apart to settle between them. Just as he expected, you bite into his lip again, but he suddenly grinds deep into you, and you let out a choked moan. You push at his shoulder and try to close your legs to push him away. You were soaking through your panties already, and you knew he would be able to feel it soon. You were wet the moment you saw how pretty his handprint looked painted against your skin. You try to turn away from him and shake your head away from the kiss.

“I hate you,” you mumble against his teeth.

"I know,” he says, kissing your neck.

“You disgust me.” You try again.

“That right?” He slips a hand between your legs, patting against the seat of your panites.

“Because you're soaking princess,” he states, and you can hear the wet sound his fingers make as they make contact with your core.

You're mortified. You try to push him away again, but he grabs your hands with his free hand and pins them above your head. Resting his forehead against yours, you can feel the blood on his forehead begin to grow cold and sticky as it dries from the initial blow. He shushes you gently as he slips his fingers past your panties and into your core.

“Listen to how wet you are baby; I'm the only one who could make you feel like his,” he coos as he fucks you onto his fingers.

“Your all fucking mine, you hear me?” He kisses you again, swallowing your moans while he curls his fingers up into you.

"My fucking pussy,” he mumbles as he licks into your mouth.

“Fuck…you” you gasp in between moans. He releases you as he pulls off completely.

“I've been too good to you, but I forgot sluts like you need to be taught manners.” He stands at the edge of the bed before grabbing your ankles again and pulling you down the bed, flipping you over onto your stomach. He pulls your hips off of the bed until your feet are planted on the floor and your upper body is still bent over the bed. He pulls your hands behind your back and holds them there as he delivers a harsh slap to your ass.

"I spoil you too much; that's the problem. Think I won't ruin you?” He presses your arms into your back as a signal to keep them there before he lets them go. He pulls your bottoms off along with your panties and slips his fingers back inside your warm cunt.

"Greedy cunt. Swallowing me so easily. Uh-uh baby, you weren't going anywhere,” you can't see, but he has to bite his lip to hold in the moan that threatened to spill out as you practically dripped down fingers.

He pistons his fingers in and out of you quickly until you're a babbling mess and your thighs begin to shake before he's pulling them out and leaving wet slaps against your cunt. He forces you to count them each time he pulls out and lands another hit against your abused core.

"Don't you dare mess up or else your starting over,” he would threaten when you would stumble over your next number.

"12...13...14...15..." you would count each time he meanly slapped your pussy until he would shove his fingers back inside you. He'd fuck you with his fingers until you're shaking all over again. It wasn't until you got to 20 that he let up.

“I'll ask again, who do you belong to?” you pass the point of comprehensible words as tears run down your face again.

“Don't make me repeat myself,” Jaemin says as he yanks your head up from its place buried in the covers.

"You,” you cry as shivers run down your body.

“And who does this pussy belong to?"

“Nana!” you sniffle.

“That's right, baby.” He releases your hair, and you fall back into the sheets.

“Are you ready to be Nana's good girl now?" He mumbles as he kisses the back of your head.

You nod pathetically.

"Are you sorry for hurting Nana?"

You nod pathetically again.

“Get up there then,” Jaemin slaps you ass as he signals for you to climb back into the bed.

You plop down tiredly at the head of the bed and watch as Jaemin strips himself of his clothes. You think he's going to reclaim his position in between your legs as he climbs back into bed, but he chooses to lie beside you instead.

“Show me how good you are,” he says as he throws your leg over his hip and manhandles you until you're sitting on his waist.

“I can't—please, I can't."

He raises a brow at you, and you know better than to argue, so you lift your hips and sink onto him. He slips inside easily, and he's gripping your hips as he helps you ride him.

“There you go-fuck,” he moans as you lean onto his chest for leverage and begin to throw your hips the way you know he likes.

He looks up at you pathetically, chest heaving, as you ride him just like you did all those nights before. In these moments, he knows you need him just as much as he needs you, and it drives him insane. His arms lay uselessly beside him as he gripped the sheets at the rough pace you chose. You look down at him as the power dynamic starts to change. You knew if you rode him hard enough, he'd start begging like a useless slut. It was moments like these in which you had any control over him. You can feel anger begin to bubble up in your chest at the thought. You despise how weak he made you.

Before you know it, you feel your hands travel from his chest up to his neck as you steal the breath from his lungs. You grip tight as you watch as his eyes begin to roll, and if the way he white knuckles your hips isn't sign enough that he's close, his heaving chest and insistent whines are.

“Your so… such a…fuck.” He struggles, “Good girl,my good-”

He can barely complete a full thought. You're so close, and you're just about to finish when suddenly you're on your back looking up at the ceiling. Your mind is still trying to catch up as you feel nothing but deep harsh thrust s as his hips slam into you. The quick pace creates a fog in your mind and all you can do is take it. You finally meet Jaemin’s eyes and he's completely gone. The power dynamic has been switched again and it was right before you could even finish your fun. Jaemins eyes are hazy as he shivers with each thrust. He leans down to place messy kisses into your mouth that end in him panting against your lips. Still upset that he ended your turn so soon, you wrap your legs around his waist as you drive your hips up into his, meeting his thrust.

Jaemin shakes his head as he attempts to pin your hips back down into the mattress. You challenge him with a nod as you tighten your hold, fucking against him harder. It was just fucking; there was no making love anymore. You're both in a fight for control as you feel your high approach. Soon you're both drunk off the other as you grab, push, and tug at each other selfishly in an attempt to get off. Thrusts have grown sloppy and wild as you arch your back into the sheets when the cord in your belly finally snaps. Your legs finally grow weak as they fall pathetically from around his hips. Jaemin groans at the feeling, and after a few more aggressive shoves of his hips, he's spilling into you. He pulls back to watch as his love seeps out of your abused cunt. He pushes it back in,and the last thing you see before sleep takes you is how he licks his fingers clean at your combined taste.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Mark vowed to never give up. People told him how ridiculous he was for trying so hard to find someone he only worked closely with for such a short time. For some reason, Mark still felt indebted to you. You did so much for him when he broke his leg and showed him and everyone that you worked with so much kindness; you didn't deserve this. So he never stopped looking.

When Mark learned you had quit your job, he knew something was wrong. You definitely would have reached out to him about it. Not to mention, when he went to check your social media to see if you had updated or hinted at a new job, he found that they had all been deleted. He even did some digging to find your old apartment complex, but when he inquired about you with your old landlord, he was given the cold shoulder.

It was like you were wiped off the face of the planet. His only lead was Jaemin, but it was almost impossible to get close to the guy. Mark was sure Jaemin had something to do with your disappearance; he just had to prove it. He couldn't do this on his own, and there was only one other person he could ask.

Every day for a week, Mark would press Jaehyun to hear him out. He tried every guilt trip, bribe, and threat in the book, but Jaehyun wouldn't budge. Jaehyun had recently gotten promoted a few months after coming back to the office after his wreck. He would use his hectic schedule as an excuse to blow off Mark.

"Dude, please just talk to me; I just need one thing.” Mark begged early in the morning.

“Keep it down; I'm not talking about this right now." Jaehyun sternly reprimanded him.

Mark looked over his shoulder before pushing Jaehyun into an empty conference room.

“You're the only one who can get close to him; you were literally promoted into his department. I just need you to get in close to find out some information.”

“She’s gone. Let it go, for all we know he could have-” Jaehyun pauses. "Listen, drop it; I've already warned you.” Jaehyun huffs frustratedly.

“We won't know until we dig deeper!” Mark argues, “Look, your department just exceeded the projected goal for the year, right? All you have to do is convince your team to host a party at his place in celebration. I don't know; just get in and see if anything is off.” mark pleads

Jaehyun doesn't reply, but Mark takes his silence as a sign to continue.

“The whole department will be there if you sneak off; no one will notice. Once he becomes CEO, you're next in line to take over that department. It would be weird to exclude you, so you would have to go.”

A few beats pass, and Jaehyun sighs in defeat.

“Fine, I'll see what I can do.” Jaehyun breathes.. Just before Mark can celebrate, he continues, “But if nothing comes up, you drop this, alright?” jaehyun bargains

“I promise, I'll drop it.” Mark raises his hands in surrender.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

For the next two weeks, Jaehyun would slip the idea into casual conversations and subtly mention that the department's hard work deserved a celebration. Every now and then, a coworker would suggest going out to drink, but Jaehyun would decline, instead proposing a private party.

“But I mean, who has enough space for that, right?” Jaehyun would joke before another one of his co-workers jumped in to mention Jaemin’s huge condo.

“We should get Jaemin to host it; I heard he's getting a few floors of his building renovated so we wouldn't have to worry about noise.” Seojun added

"Yeah, he always treats us to drinks; I doubt he would mind taking the party to his house this time,” someone else chimes in.

Jaehyun got the entire department talking about it and even got Jaemin’s grandfather to back the idea. As the CEO, he said it would raise morale and show the employees how important they are to the company. He said that once Jaemin became the CEO, he would understand the importance of showing gratitude to his employees. That's how Jaemin was cornered into hosting a cocktail party the following week.

Jaemin mentioned it casually to you, saying you wouldn't be able to come out that night. He'd block off that side of the house, and the party would be hosted mainly on the highrise terrace. You counted the days until the party. If there was any chance of getting someone's help, it would be then.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was the night of the party, and all you could do was press your ear against the wall and listen in on the conversations. You were curious about who showed up; would Mark be there? It was a company party, according to Jaemin. Did that include every department? As you backed away from the door, you huffed in frustration; the voices were too muffled to make out. You wanted to scream for help, but Jaemin warned you against it before he shut you in your room hours before.

You pace your room anxiously. Even Luna got to attend the party! Jaemin said it was because she was well-behaved, unlike you.

It isn't long before Jaemin comes in to check up on you. He slips into the room quickly before shutting the door behind him. He must not be staying for long, because you notice he doesn't bother to lock it.

“I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some appetizers from the party.” Jaemin smiles as he hands you a plate of assorted sliders.

"Thanks; I was getting a little hungry.” You laugh nervously as you take the plate from him.

“Is everything okay?" He asked curiously.

It's now or never. You only needed a second, and you had to think fast.

"Actually, I was trying to take a shower, but the facets stuck in the bathroom. Could I take a bath in your room?” You pout at him.

“We have company princess; you'll have to wait." he replies

"Then, can you see if you can turn the knob?” You ask, putting your plate down and gesturing for him to follow you to the bathroom.

He makes a sound of acknowledgement as he follows you to the tub. You stand by the door to the bathroom as he walks past you to inspect the shower. When he's not looking, you quietly turn the lock on the bathroom door. You know it would only stop him for a second, but that's all you needed; you just needed to get in earshot of the party and scream for help.

The shower knob turns easily in his hand, and the shower sputters to life. Just as he looks up at you in confusion, you grip the handle to the bathroom door and shut it behind you as you sprint across your room for the door. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear him pull against the door to the bathroom. The lock keeps him locked in for a few seconds before he realizes you locked it. You're already out of the room as the lock on the door clicks open. You run down his long hallway, and you turn the corner into the living room. You can see the terrace from where you stand, and it seems as though everyone is outside as they bustle around a table, chatting and drinking as the night continues. You run into someone before you can take another step, their drink clatters to the ground and you look up.

“JAEHY- '' He covers your mouth before you can continue and pushes you back into the hallways, out of view from the balcony. It isn't until you can't be seen that he uncovers your mouth.

"Jaehyun, please, you have to help me." You continue your rambling; you don't even realize he's still pushing you back towards the way you came. “Jaemin is crazy, and he's keeping me here against my will and-” You hit a familiarly firm chest.

“And?” The voice behind you speaks.

All you could do was look up at Jaehyun with hurt and confusion.

“I'm sorry” was all he said before you slung over Jaemin's shoulders and carried back towards your room as Jaehyun followed. You're too stunned to speak.

Just as quickly as you left, you find yourself locked back in your room along with a new guest.

Once your shock wears off, it doesn't take you too long to put two and two together.

“All along… You're working together.” You don't even question it.

"Well, not all along,” Jaemin points out. “His accident was on purpose, but after seeing how obedient he was afterwards, I thought he might be useful."

“He offered me a promotion, and in exchange, I had to make sure the people in the office didn't get suspicious.” Jaehyun interjected, “It was easy until Mark came back; he really doesn't know how to give up.” Jaehyun finishes.

“What is wrong with you? You were my friend!” You yell incredulously. “You sick freak, I thought I knew you!"

You wanted to cry, but you refused to show any more weakness. You would never forgive him for this, and you would never forgive either of them. You wouldn't allow your heart to falter any longer. You despised Jaemin.

“You've made quite the scene, princess." jaemin tsks “We better be getting back to the party, princess, or our guests will wonder where we went. I'll deal with you later, '' Jaemin smirks. He leads Jaehyun out of your room and closes the door behind him.

You're left with your thoughts once again. Jaehyun's betrayal left a gaping hole in your heart. You would never expect him to do something like this; granted, you would have said the same thing about Jaemin. You can only hope that Mark won't let you down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Mark stops looking. That Monday after the party, Jaehyun told Mark that nothing was out of the ordinary. There was no sign of anyone else living there, and Jaemin acted normally. With no further leads, Mark decided it was probably for the best to let it all go. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe you did just get a new job and quit. Whatever the reason, Mark hoped you were alright wherever you were.

If only he would have kept digging.

If he had kept prying, he would have found out that later that month, Jaemin moved out of his condo and into a small, inconspicuous house on the outskirts of the city. If he had asked around, he would have found out that one of the guests at the party had seen a glimpse of you as you bumped into Jaehyun, but they would later “quit” as well.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It's been a year since you moved into the new house with Jaemin. Jaemin had decided to move you guys out because of Mark's insistent poking. He also wanted to be farther from the city,less people to worry about. You have lost all hope. You had no fight left in you. What was the point when Jaehyun was right? Who would come looking for you at the CEO of the country's largest corporation’s house?

After the move, Jaemin’s grandfather had been riding his ass even harder about preparing to take over the company, and because of that, he's rarely home. It wasn't until recently that the title was officially handed over. You start to wonder why Jaemin even keeps you around anymore. He's grown far too busy for you now. Some nights, the thought keeps you up. What if the only reason you're still here is because he hasn't found the time to get rid of you yet? Jaemin had gotten two more cats to keep you company, hoping that would make up for his absence.

Sometime in passing, Jaemin mentioned that tonight a gala would be held to celebrate his promotion and commemorate the start of a new era for the company. The entire company would be there; it wasn't an event that he could miss. Once again, he dons his finest suit, wears his most expensive cologne, and styles his hair up away from his forehead. Jaemin always looked the best like this, but your heart didn't beat for him the same way anymore. Your anger and frustration towards him outweigh any feelings you have left for him. He leaves again for the umpteenth time this week without bidding you farewell.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

It was Mark's first time attending an event of this caliber. The company had rented out a large convention center for the occasion, and it was decorated beautifully. There was a main room with a walking platform near the front that had a podium and screen. That must be where Jaemin would give a speech later. In the room across from it were the food and refreshments, and there was a clear area for dancing and socializing.

He'd been there an hour and Jaemin still hadn't delivered his speech. He spent the majority of his time conversing with various department heads and socializing with coworkers in his own department. He ate from the refreshments table when he wasn't catching up with someone. He had no idea someone had been watching him all night.

When it came time for Jaemin's speech, the party moved to the main room. The lights had been dimmed, and the screen behind the podium displayed various slides of stocks and other information related to the leadership change. It was the first time he'd seen Jaemin all night. As he climbed onto the stage and took the podium, everyone applauded and cheered. Jaemin started his speech, and he was as charming as ever. While everyone was focused on his speech, Mark felt a buzz in his back pocket. Wanting to remain professional in a business setting, he ignored it. It wasn't until the second buzz came through insistently that he decided to slip his phone out of his pocket and check the notification.

There were two unread messages from a private number.

You can find what you've been searching for 1942

(Address attachment)

Mark's breath caught in his throat. Was this a new lead after a year of silence? His brain was telling him to ignore it, be respectful, and put his phone away, but his instincts were telling him this would lead him right to you. He was curious how you were doing after all this time. He feels like he's done nothing but let you down all this time. Not anymore; he wouldn't do it again. The next thing he knows, he's pushing through the crowd to make his way to the exit. As he rushes out, he attracts the attention of a few people, one of whom is Jaemin.

Jaemin was finishing up his speech when Mark left. He had tried to walk down the stage as swiftly as possible without causing a scene. Once he was down from the stage, he had tried to immediately catch up to Mark; he knew something was up, but he was stopped by his grandfather.

“I'm so proud of you son; you're finally stepping up like I knew you always could,” he praises.

“Thank you sir,” Jaemin says humbly, shaking his grandfather's hand.

“Come on now son, enough of the formalities! I've already given you the title of CEO.” The elder laughs joyfully.

“Right grandpa,sorry. It was nice catching up, but I have to go."Jaemin tries to slip away again but is stopped by his grandfather who claps a proud hand on his shoulder.

“Nonsense! The night has only just begun. I have some business partners I want to introduce you to,” his grandpa says, successfully trapping him. His grandfather leads him away from the exit and back into the crowd. Jaemin can only grit his teeth as he's pulled further and further away from his exit.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Mark speeds through the dead of the night to get to the unknown address; he knows he only has so much time. He didn't know where the address would lead him, but as he pulled into the driveway and spotted Jaemin's car, which looked way out of place, parked in the driveway of a small house in a suburban neighborhood, he knew exactly where he was. This heightened his sense of urgency.

The only conclusion that Mark could draw was that Jaemin must have moved because he was hiding something. After all this time, Mark might finally find you. It's not until he's at the front door that he realizes he has no way in. He looks down at the lock on the door. It's an automatic pin code lock that requires a 4-digit code. Mark quickly pulls his phone from his pocket as he reads the message again.

You can find what you've been searching for 1942

He enters the only numbers he sees on the screen, and the door flashes green as the lock clicks open. He tentatively opens the door, slipping through quietly and closing it behind him. He walks down a corridor, and as he nears the end, he hears the sound of a television. Before turning the corner, he can see the light spilling into the corridor.

“You're here early, what? They realize how crazy you were and that you weren't a good fit for the company."A voice jokes harshly.

There you were, sitting on the couch watching TV in your pajamas, lazily stroking a cat as it purrs in your lap. Mark was relieved you were safe; honestly he had expected you to be in worse shape. He should have known Jaemin would spoil you while in captivity.

"Y/N?” he says hopefully.

You jump at the sound, causing Lucy, one of Jaemin's new cats, to leap from your lap. You slowly turn your head, not believing your ears until your eyes confirm what you've heard.

“M-mark?” you whisper.

When you call his name, all the air in his lungs escapes . It's been over a year since he's heard your voice. Your eyes well up with tears as you leap over the couch to embrace him. You're immediately engulfed in his arms. You take in his comforting scent and cry even harder.

“I looked for you for so long, and the entire time you were right under my nose, I knew I should have never given up.”

“What took you so long? I was waiting for you,” you choke out as you hug him tighter.

“I had a hunch Jaemin might be up to it, and I had someone look into it. They didn't find anything and said I should drop it. I thought maybe you really did just move away.”

“Who told you that?” you ask. Whoever looked didn't do a thorough job, because, alas, here you were.

“Jaehyun,” Mark says, and it all makes sense.

“Jaehyun is a traitor! I was so close to getting out, and he helped Jaemin catch me during a stupid dinner party!” you explain

Mark remains silent for a moment, almost as if he doesn't believe it. He needs to shake it off; there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Catch me up later; we have to leave before Jaemin gets back.” Mark rushes as he goes to grab your hand. You're about to leave when you notice a figure standing in the corridor.

“Too late,” Jaemin says, announcing his presence.

“Let her go Jaem."

Jaemin points a gun at Mark before he can finish his sentence. Stunned, you both take a staggering step back. Mark shields you behind him.

“You're not taking her anywhere,” Jaemin says a little too calmly.

"Jaemin, put down the gun seriously. Let's just talk it out.” You try, but he holds up an irritated hand at you.

“Be quiet. Time and time again, I've forgiven you, but you never learn. I'll deal with you next,” he says. “Right now it's me and him; you stay out of it.”

Mark pushes you away, and you take the hint, stepping back away from the conflict. Jaemin circles Mark, his weapon still drawn as he berates him.

“You just never knew how to give up. You're lucky I'm a man of my word, or else I would have killed you a long time ago." jaemin snarls

Mark stays silent as his eyes track Jaemin's every move. Mark knew he had to be careful; he had trained in weapon disarming, but that was only for a few days. He knew fighting back would greatly increase the odds of losing his life, but he had to do what he could. When Jaemin took a step closer, Mark jumped into action. Mark moves to grab Jaemin at the wrist; he maneuvers the gun so it's pointed away from him as he grabs it and spins it away. Jaemin fights back against the motion and attempts to take control of the gun again. Both fight for the weapon, but in the effort to gain control, the gun slips from their grasp and clatters noisily against the hardwood. You make a move for it, but Mark reprimands you.

“Stay back! It's dangerous!” he warns.

In that split second that he looked away, Jaemin gains the upper hand and gets him in a chokehold. Jaemin is relentless, and Mark is struggling to flee. You can only cry out as you see the fight slowly leave Mark. He's on his last breath before a force pushes them both to the ground. They fall over onto the glass table that sits in the middle of the room and shatters under their weight. They roll in agony attempting to get back up off of the broken glass but stay down. You look up towards the figure that pushed them and you meet face to face with Jaehyun wielding the gun that was discarded earlier. Mark is the first one to notice the new threat. Jaehyun once again has the gun pointed at him.

“Jaehyun please!” you beg

“Jaehyun, do it! Shoot him if you want to keep your position!” Jaemin coughs weakly, still fighting to pull himself up from the glass shards.

All Mark can do is shake his head, pleading silently with his eyes.

“DO IT!” jaemin yells

Jaehyun pulls the trigger, and you close your eyes as the shot rings harshly through the small house. Soon after you hear a thud, your knees feel weak, and you slip down the wall as you cry. You don't bother to raise your head at the footsteps that approach you. You don't care what happens to you at this point. You're ready for it to just be over.

A gentle hand rests on your shoulder, and another caresses your face.. You open your eyes at the touch, and marks equally as teary ones stare back at you. You gasp in shock as your eyes trail to the other set looking at you. Jaehyun stares back apologetically before he lowers his head in shame. You throw yourself into Mark's arms again, and he groans in pain. You release him immediately, and he laughs.

“Its ok. Just a little sore after being thrown into a table is all,” he says sarcastically as he eyes Jaehyun jokingly.

“Sorry man, I didn't know what else to do." jaehyun apologizes

“What's going on, Jae? I thought you were helping Jaemin." You say in disbelief.

“I had a change of heart; Mark was right. I did nothing but turn my back on you when all you did was show me kindness. It kept me up at night. "Jaehyun grimaced in regret.

“Were you the one who sent the text earlier?” mark inquired

“What text?” you ask.

“It's how I found you." mark answers

“I thought you might be able to handle it, but Jaemin was able to slip out of the venue earlier than expected, so I came just in case." jaehyun explains

At the sound of his name, you pull yourself up onto your feet. If the mark is in front of you, that means the one Jaehyun shot was...

As you look over at the shattered glass table, a fresh wave of tears starts up as you inspect the scene. Jaemin's body is bleeding out over the glass shards. They twinkle red in the light of the room, and like always, he looks beautiful. The glass crunches under your feet as you walk closer. You don't even wince at the pain as you kneel next to him. He looks at you silently as ragged breaths wrack his chest. A weak hand raises to reach for you, but it falls. You grab it and interlace your fingers; you despise him. You wanted to despise him, but as he took his last breaths, you couldn't bring yourself to. You did love him in a sick, twisted way. Even when your heart was filled with nothing but rage, hurt, and frustration, a small part of you still loved him. You secretly wished for a normal life with Jaemin. That's what compelled you to lean in and kiss him one last time. You kiss him gently, and when you pull away, his eyes are closed dreamily, as if he was sleeping, but you knew. Jaemin was still and quiet, but above all, he was beautiful as he lay there, and that's how you would always remember him. You were pulled up and away by Jaehyun and Mark. You grabbed a few of your things, and you left.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The police wasted no time investigating the death of the newly appointed CEO. It was initially classified as a break-in, but that was later debunked, given that nothing was stolen. They went on to believe that his death was premeditated, and that someone in the company was jealous of him for his new position, but everyone seemed to adore him, and his grandfather revealed that he would not have chosen anyone else to run the company in his place. The police were also unable to locate the murder weapon, which made their job even more challenging.

After a few months of investigating, the case was closed and dismissed due to insufficient evidence. Jaemin's grandfather was livid and sued the city, but you're not sure what came of that. You started over in a new city. You and Mark started seeing each other and took in Jaemin's three cats. Jaehyun continued his position at the company, and despite the fact that you never heard from him, he seemed to keep in touch with Mark. You believe he was protecting Mark in his own way by telling him to give up on searching for you.

It would take you a very long time to truly heal from what happened, and sometimes your heart would still ache for Jaemin, but you would overcome it. You were sure that with marks by your side, you could overcome anything.

#jaemin smut #jaemin fic #jaemin #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #jaemin x reader #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct smut #nct fic #nct #nct u #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader

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technicallyfriendly · 3 months ago

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I promised a while ago I would make a fanfiction rec list for lucemond, so here we go:

Star-crossed by DominaReginald

I have to say this is my all-time favourite lucemond fic. If you like the Lucerys-gets-kidnapped-instead-of-eaten-at-Storm's-End-trope, then this one is already worth a read, but what I love about this story is that it shows how the conflict really impacts lucemond's relationship, which is the focus of the plot. Much happens, of course, but the story focuses on how the war and Aemond's subsequent participation in it impacts his relationship with Lucerys. It's also very interesting how this story handles the marriage pact with the Baratheons. But really, a short summary will not do this master piece justice, so I urge you to go and read it yourself! For anyone who is hesitant due to the major character death warning: It's not the main couple, though the deaths occurring are tragic and happen to beloved characters.

the beast you've made of me by MotherMaidenCrone

I don't think anyone has walked past this amazing and beautiful fic in this fandom, but it still deserves its mention on this list as well. No other story has ever done a Team Neutral approach this well and nuanced. If you wanna see Lucerys girilboss his way through King's Landing politics and beat everyone at the Game of Thrones in a desperate bid to save his family from self-destruction, this is for you!

the tragic evolution of desire by toraophim

So I debated long and hard before I added this on because, boy, does this one make you feel stuff, and a lot of it is not great. It's an amazingly written story, and since I enjoy dark themes, I did like it a lot. Though, and this is important, the warnings are there for a reason, this dove is deader than dead. Also, none of the characters are having a good time here aside from Aegon for a time, which is why you should not read this if you are an Aegon stan. The author really turned him into a monster. If you are like me and enjoy an emotional rollercoaster with a somewhat happy ending, I say proceed with caution ;).

Set fire to the rain by baby345

This is a collection of a few short stories about lucemond. I really enjoy the writing and its variety!

Blood for Blood by GoddessofRoyalty

The way the author puts it in the summary is actually the best way to describe this fic: Aemond is not cruel, but he is also not kind (and Lucerys has both none of and all the power). And that is also how I like their dynamic. The story is told in snippets of their life together before and after the marriage, and the writing is really enjoyable!

all I had to give by monkkeyslut

This one starts out as one-sided love despite Aemond trying really hard, in his own way of course, but it's not just about their relationship but also about dealing with the aftermath of the war and the current unstable position of Lucerys due to the continued absence of an heir. This fanfiction is not only well written and a great ride, but the author also has an interesting take on Alys before we got even got introduced to her in HotD.

Office Lucemond by Avonne

This is a collection of ModernAU!Lucemond fanfiction about lucemond matching each other's freak told through the eyes of their stunned and slightly terrified coworkers and through the eyes of a very unimpressed Vharga.

Borros and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by lucerysinthesky

This is the funniest lucemond fanfiction I've ever read, which is why it gets a place on this list despite being tragically unfinished, but I have not given up hope quite yet! Maybe one day we'll get the last chapter. Still even unfinished, it is awesome, and it'll make you cry laughing, I promise. The title says it all already, and Borro's does suffer a lot while also having a full character arc and all while trying unsuccessfully not to die.

For now, I'll finish this rec list here, but there are still many more great stories out there that I haven't mentioned. Maybe I'll update it in the future or make another one for the once that I did not include here. For the ones reading this, I wish you a lot of fun reading the stories!

#lucemond #aemond x lucerys #lucerys x aemond #toxic lucemond my beloved

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justwinginglife · 4 months ago

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'Til Death Do Us Part

Okay I never trigger warning cuz I don't like spoiling plot, but this one is about abusive relationships, this one is depressing, and this one does not end well. I wanted to write a fic based off of the song "Lie to Girls" in honor of Sabrina Carpenter's new album, but the song hit too hard, and the depression kicked in too hard hence depressing fic. And of course, I did not think anyone in Kaiju would be destructive and unhealthy enough for this fic so I'm writing about Manjiro Sano from Tokyo Revengers when he's older (in the future). That's all, proceed with caution.

You knew Mikey was a mess.

If anyone asked, you’d deny it over and over. You’d keep denying it until your throat bled, the sting of those same, acidic words clawing their way back up like they’d triggered your gag reflex. You denied it so much, like you hoped it would become the truth, hoped your reality would morph into the falsities that you spewed.

You also knew that loving him was a decision, a conscious choice, an ongoing commitment you’d devoted yourself to time and time again. Yet, when pressed, you still claimed that loving him was unavoidable, that you were simply unable to unlove him, unable to resist.

So, when he’d come home fucked up from his latest fight, blood smeared on his hands, the devil lurking in his eyes, you’d simply welcome him inside, arms spread wide, a warm smile at the ready. You didn’t know whose blood you were cleaning off his knuckles, or if that person was lying dead in some back alley somewhere, but you hummed to yourself and tended to him anyway, swallowing the unpleasant thoughts down.

“How was your day today, baby?” You’d coo to him as though he had just come back from his 9 to 5, just another day in the office.

He’d mumble something incoherent and pull himself off of you, trudging to the kitchen, eager to drown his demons. If your liquor cabinet ever found itself empty, he’d probably down the rubbing alcohol next, just to have something, to have anything to numb his humanity.

You made your best attempts to coax his softer side out, reminiscing about the older days, the sweeter days, the gentler days. But those were days he’d rather not remember. Your greatest treasures, your most cherished memories, they did nothing more than remind him of a time when he was happy, of a time when he was more than the monster he’d become.

You made his favorite meals, put on his favorite shows for him to watch, tried to make him feel comfortable, to make him feel loved. But he didn’t know how to love you anymore. He’d long forgotten emotions like love. He’d rejected emotions like love. And you knew that. But still, you’d convince yourself that your husband would come home one day, that the man who’d smiled so wide when you agreed to marry him that you worried his cheeks might burst, would walk through the doors at any moment, hands clean, eyes lit up, as he said to you, “Sorry for keeping you waiting, love.”

So you told yourself the most sickeningly sweet lies. Drowned yourself in delicious deceit. Got drunk on a version of him that no longer existed.

Sometimes, the delusion was strong enough that you could convince yourself that you even loved the beast that he’d become. That you didn’t mind the steel in his gaze, didn’t mind the ice in his demeanor, didn’t mind the venom in his voice. He pushed you away to protect you. He pushed you away because he loved you. He pushed you away because he couldn’t control the sheer depths of feelings for you. That was it.

He’d never forget your birthday. He’d never forget your anniversary. He was just late. He was just picking up a gift somewhere. It was going to be the most magnificent gift you’d ever seen. He was just stuck in traffic.

The cops that frequented your doorstep didn’t know what they were talking about. Your friends didn’t know what they were talking about. Mikey’s friends didn’t know what they were talking about. No one knew him but you. You knew he was a good guy. You knew he wouldn’t do the things they said he did. You knew he was coming home any minute, just waiting for you to welcome him, just needing you to believe him, just needing you to love him. He’d saved your life so many times, this was the one thing you could do to repay him. You could love him through anything. You would love him through anything. Whatever this was, this was a phase. This was a rough patch. All marriages had them. Yeah. This was normal.

And when he’d forget your name, hurl insults at you, get so drunk he threatened you with a broken glass bottle to get out of his house, you still ignored the aching in your chest. Your heart wasn’t broken, it wasn’t empty, it wasn’t lonely, it was simply on sabbatical. Even as the tears burst from your eyes, even as the bruises on your wrists deepened in color, you swore you loved him. You swore you’d love him until the day you died.

And when the day came sooner than you thought, when the bodies of your friends, of his friends, filled the morgue, the stench of betrayal and rotting flesh ripe in the air, when his cold eyes, his distant eyes, finally found your gaze, finally looked straight at you, for the first time in months, his gun digging itself deep into your forehead, you still swore to yourself that he loved you, swore to yourself that you loved him. And when he hesitated, you swore you saw a glimpse of the old Mikey. You swore you were looking into your husband’s eyes.

Then he pulled the trigger.

#angst #tokyo revengers #manjiro sano #mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #toman mikey #han's library

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joshym · 10 months ago

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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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lyrics feel heavier than they ever have.

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

When will you realize…

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

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

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

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

Your tone is awfully cold. Distant.

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you see her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom I’m–I’m so sorr–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure she did, y/n?”

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

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

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

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

No. He’s wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake: Good. : )

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

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

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

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

“Hi, mom.” You say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could call Mrs. Sweeney…but not me?

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

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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.”

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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.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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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silverskye13 · 5 months ago

Note

I need to ask, though:

*How* long has he been in the water?

The earliest "he is surely in the water now" mention I can see is Etho stepping backwards after the splash - he's stepping through the water that's why it's hard. The Bdubs hug feels like "not yet" cause Etho shouldn't be up to his shoulders then - but it might be the starting to lead in point, 'm unsure? And the singing moment might indicate the start of charming?

Honestly, I love everything about this. I love everything about every your text, the way you manipulate details and atmosphere. When I'm trying to remember my first read, it's. A lot of suspence. I know something will come, it might be Bdubs - it surely is Bdubs, and I expect him to catch Etho unaware. The murder talk, the danger that I anticipate - it's not there yet, but I'm waiting for it, and the tune, the hug, the splash, the buckle - all of them feel like fakeouts to keep the pressure. And the bells are ringing, the hints are all there, but they're so carefully weaved into everything else they might be just words.

And then the question sounds, and the horror hits.

With frantic scrolling up, re-reading, getting even more terrified, and begging for Etho to do something.

It's high mastery, imo.

Oh man, thank you so much for the kind words :D I'm glad you liked the fic, and that the suspense/horror came together so well! I don't write straight horror too terribly often? And I was trying to really stretch some muscles with this one, to see what I could do.

For when exactly Etho gets in the water: I didn't really define that for myself. I wanted him in the water to happen in the space between cues in the story. But I can talk about the things that happen around that.

When Etho sees the stone on the still water, he is getting his first glimpse of the creature. Something is watching him from across the unnatural stillness of the river. When he thinks to himself, "I'm on the dock and I'm safe," the siren song has started and he's been charmed. Up until this point, he's shown some amount of caution [walking quietly on the dock, making sure he isn't wearing anything heavy besides his sword, prioritizing what activities he does first] but when he suddenly and overtly drops caution for "I'm safe on the dock", he's being lied to by something else. And, after emphasizing that nothing can drag him into the water against his will, he reaches over the side of the dock and touches the water willingly.

The rest of the story after that is, to me, the siren justifying sounds and sensations that would break the spell. Etho hears himself shuffling on the dock -- that's just BDubs walking up behind him, nothing to worry about. Etho feels a sense of danger and unease -- well, BDubs is talking about killing Grian. Etho hears the creature moving towards him in the water -- BDubs has his legs over the side of the dock and is kicking around. BDub's eyes are the wrong color -- well, the sunset is reflecting off them, making them red.

Somewhere in these cues, Etho starts shivering, because the water is cold, and he's standing in it.

I also tried to weave in a little bit, the idea that Etho knows he's being charmed? Mostly to do with the end, when he finally gives us the reason why he came to the water in the first place: he wants to see and hear his friend again, and the monster's illusion is the only way he can. But he knows enough to be cautious. He doesn't want BDubs to touch him -- it could be the monster, keep your distance. He feels fear at the idea of deep water, something that nearly scares him out of the illusion, but when he's given the chance to break it [checking his heartbeat to see if it's unnaturally calm], it's knowing he'll stop seeing BDubs that makes him decide not to check.

Etho's flaw in this is he thinks he has more control than he does. He hasn't "come to the water" until he's stepped in. But the truth of the matter is, as soon as he decided he wanted to see BDubs again, he was already willing to be deceived, and someone can't be dragged in against their will.

"How long have I been in the water, BDubs?" [When did I fall for the charm?]

"Does it matter?" [The minute you missed hearing my voice.]

There are other little things I had fun with: the start and end of the illusion both have to do with armor, something that should protect him, but is useless when it isn't worn. Every time Etho makes the mistake of feeling safe, he can see the creature [in the river at the start, when it's trying actively to drown him at the end]. The fact that, when BDubs jumps in the water, Etho shouts "Keep your distance!" and Tango mentioned they would be listening for his scream, to come rescue him. The fact that BDubs straight up says "You're not scared of me, the monster, you're scared of the deep water. But people drown in shallow water all the time."

I dunno! Fun little things that up the stakes a little. This was a really fun one to work on :D

#answering asks #reflingthefox #i had a lot of fun noodling away on that ficlet #i really wanna write more horror its one of my favorite genres #it frustrates me because i often find myself wanting to read horror i cant find #a la: i wanna write what i want to read #but im always insecure about trying #horror is so difficult to me ive seen people fail to do it well so often #it makes me worried i will fail to do it well also #but! this one turned out good! so maybe ill give it another shot in the future :3

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cowgurrrl · 8 months ago

Note

Okayyy bear with me, this for our OFTM! What about a celeb who meets actress!reader at some awards or something or they’ve worked together and the pictures turn out so gorgeous and he uploads it with some cheesy lovey dovey caption and it kinda sets Joel off with jealousy and a bigggg green eyed monster. It doesn’t help that Tommy, Ellie, and Sarah start pulling his leg in their fam group chat saying oh wow look at mom with him or something and y’know tommy would pull his leg more to get a reaction out of Joel. And Joel is just alternating between fighting for his life in the chat and fighting for his wife with actress!reader and just comedy and fluffiness????

(also I have one more inspo that I dreamt of sending you in the next one)

OOOOOHHHH LOVE THIS I haven’t played around with jealous joel in SUCH A LONG TIME also I know you weren’t necessary referring them but I immediately thought of Jessica Chastain and Oscar Isaac because I MEAN

ANYWAYS HERE WE GO

Wildflower & Barley

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: this ask

Warnings: ✨multi-media✨, jealousy, life stuff, literally just them being the sweetest couple

You sigh as you read the text. Joel is normally very comfortable in your relationship, unshaken by the various actors and actresses who’ve played your love interests and partners on screen. He shrugs off silly press comments, sits through love scenes remarkably well, and even goes as far as congratulating your costar on a job well done. “Not that it’s hard to pretend to be in love with her,” he said when asked about it in a red carpet interview a few years ago. But, once in a blue moon, he gets jealous and a little insecure. You figure Spencer’s post didn’t help with the little green monster sitting on his shoulder the past few months.

With all your littles in school now, you’re extremely busy. You’re constantly running around from baseball practices, PTA meetings, recitals, doctor’s appointments, birthday parties, and more. Not to mention making time for all the Miller-Hernandez-Caradonna-Pierce grandkids, Isaac, Cecilia, and JJ. Joel’s working on a new album and getting his record label up and running while you’re not only directing and co-producing a smaller film while acting in a different one and getting ready to go on a (limited) press tour. You and Joel haven’t had the most time to catch up, and it feels like you’re passing ships. It’s temporary. You know it is, but it doesn’t feel good to see your costars more than you get to see your husband. You’re almost positive Joel’s jealousy stems from that.

“Hey, you ready to get back to it?” Your co-producer, Ava, asks, jolting you out of your thoughts, and you nod.

“Let’s do it.” You say as you tuck your phone into your back pocket. The day goes relatively smoothly with only one broken prop and an impromptu refresher session with one of your actors and the armorer. You make it a point to end the day early so you can get home and talk to Joel before one of you can fall asleep on the couch (a bad habit you’ve both developed recently), and thank god you did.

The second you open the door, you can smell the delicious dinner Joel is making in the kitchen and hear the music he’s blasting through the Alexa. “Mom!” Sammy yells as he and the girls run over in a flurry of overlapping stories and demands for hugs and kisses. Even though Sam is nine now and on the cusp of thinking he’s too cool for his parents, he’s still your little love bug.

“Mommy, will you come draw with me?” Violet asks and you smile as you tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Of course, baby. Can I go say hi to Daddy first?”

“Fine but hurry!” Violet whines, making you laugh. You hang up your purse by the front door and toe off your shoes, already feeling better with your heels off, and pad into the kitchen. Joel is wearing the apron you got him for Christmas last year that says “Caution: Hot Dad” and made the older girls groan in embarrassment. You laugh when you see it on him, and he quickly turns down the Bee Gees to hear you.

“You’re home early.” He says as he leans down to peck your lips and wrap an arm around your waist. You chase his lips and kiss him again before pulling away to look at him.

“Wanted to catch you before bedtime,” you say, and he hums. “Plus, we’re making good time on production. We can afford to cut a little early.”

“Well, I‘m glad you did.” He says. You can hear the kids in the other room playing loudly and you know Violet is gonna burst in any moment and order you to draw with her so you savor the semi-private moment with him.

“Are we okay?” You ask quietly and he takes a deep breath.

“We’re okay.”

“It’s okay if we’re not.”

“Baby,” he soothes, slipping a hand in your back pocket. “We’re okay, I promise. I just… had a moment.”

“It’s fine to have a moment. I don’t want you to keep that from me just because we’re busy,” you say. “You don’t actually think I’d trade you in for someone else or whatever the fuck Tommy said, right?” He sighs and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“Just… please tell me this isn’t like a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing.” He says. You would laugh if he didn’t seem as upset as he does just because of how bizarre the idea is. How could anyone ever compare to him? How could he even think that you’d leave him like that?

“This isn’t a Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing. Not even close to it. Spencer has been married to his wife longer than we’ve been married and they’re solid. I promise, he just posted that to get people excited about the movie.”

“You’re not wearing your ring in the picture.” He says. You pull the chain hiding under your collar out and show him.

“I was. You just couldn’t see it.”

“How long have you had that?”

“Since we got engaged. You’ve definitely seen it before.” You say, laughing a little at the surprised look on his face.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know that’s why you wore it. I thought you got it as a wrap gift or somethin’.” He defends. It makes sense why he wouldn’t know. You only take the necklace off when it can’t be hidden under the costume, and even then, it’s normally tucked into your pocket or, at the very least, hidden safely in your trailer. It’s a part of your routine to put your ring back on at the end of a shooting day or between breaks to help you transition back into your real life, which means Joel only sees it after it’s returned to its rightful spot. Even the few times he’s been on set filming something with you, you’ve been so busy that he didn’t have time to notice it.

“Good to know I can still surprise you all these years later,” you say. He only looks a little embarrassed when he reaches around you to turn off the stove. The kids are, thankfully, still occupied, and you take the opportunity before it can slip away. “Joel, I adore you. I am still as helplessly in love with you as I was when we were in New York for the first time. There isn’t anybody else for me, okay? It’s you. It’s always gonna be you. So you don’t need to worry about costars or living Brangelina or whatever because you are it for me.” He works at his jaw as he processes your words, and you wait. Joel’s mind has always been an elusive one, so you like watching his gears turn.

“Okay,” he mumbles finally. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to tell me when you’re feeling this way,” you say, kissing his jaw. “Besides, if you’d said something earlier, I would’ve been able to tell you that you’re a much better kisser than Spencer.”

“I was just gettin’ over the post, and now I have to watch y’all kiss?!” He groans dramatically, and you laugh.

“You’re the one who married an actor.”

“And I’d do it again.” He says as he kisses you, crowding your space so you’re stuck between him and the counter. It’s broken between giggles and kitchen timers beeping but it isn’t until Violet tugs at your shirt do you fully break away from Joel.

“Mommy, you said you would come draw with me.” She pouts, and you immediately drop down to her level.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I did say that. Daddy just had a hard day so I was trying to cheer him up. I can come draw with you now.” You explain, and she gasps, looking between you and Joel.

“Daddy!” She exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having a bad day?”

“Because it’s not your job to fix Daddy’s day.”

“But I want to! Can I give you a kiss?”

“I wanna give Daddy a kiss!” Sophia runs in, launching herself into Joel’s arms. He scoops both girls up and kiss his cheeks simultaneously, making you both laugh.

“Thank you, girls. You always make me feel better.” He says, and they giggle.

“What about Mom?” Sam asks. He’s too big and too tall for you to pick him up anymore, but he snuggles perfectly under your arm and squeezes you tight.

“You’re so sweet, honey. Thank you.” You say, kissing his head.

“Are you better now?”

“So much better.”

“Daddy, are you better?” Violet asks. Joel meets your eyes over the heads of the kids and smiles. It’s sweet and just for you, and you can’t help but smile back.

“I’m perfect.”

#one for the money two for the show #oftm #oftm family #rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader #rockstar!joel miller #tlou au #the last of us au #joel miller fluff #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #tlou fic #tlou fluff #the last of us fluff #joel miller angst #dad!joel miller

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

Text

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 3

chapter three : we're all mad here

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : thank you to everyone who has waited patiently for this ily all. not much to say here other than that this chapter gets a lil buck wild so read the warnings. also this chapter is just a shitty whirlwind of things whoops

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 11.9k

summary : bunny and joel are in a tough spot but hey couple fight, i'm sure everythings super chill and normal

warnings, etc. : angst, language, smut, dubcon (reader and joels relationship is relatively unhealthy and mostly just sex at this point. basically sex is reluctant or angry most of the time), oral m!receiving, crying after sex, toxic relationship, these two aren't doing well, readers mental health isn't in a great place, gaslighting, grave digging, typical oh honey description of corpses, general sense of dread, fear, feelings of despair, violence, gore, body horror, just in general a lot of bad shit happens in this chapter and i definitely missed tags so proceed with caution. this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

“It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Joel, Joel, Joel.

The only thing that consumes your thoughts.

The nightmare that’s still there after you wake up.

Neither one of you moves, he just watches you as your chest heaves, your hands shaking as the dam finally breaks and you crumble entirely. The overwhelming fear that has plagued you for weeks now finally consumes you entirely.

And you cry.

Not just a few stray tears, or some sniffling.

You cry.

Big, salty tears and full body sobs because you are just so fucking afraid.

Afraid of the woods, of the monster, and of Joel.

And despite that fact, you let him hold you because you aren’t just afraid, you’re tired. You stop putting up a fight when he pulls you into his arms, and you let him soothe you because there is no one else.

You don’t have anyone here.

(You don’t really have anyone anywhere else either.)

Except Joel.

So you press your face into his chest and you let him lay down with you.

You let him hold your ear against his sternum until your heartbeat matches his.

You let him kiss your forehead.

And you let him rock you back and forth until you fall asleep once more.

You don’t remember any more dreams that come your way but you know that you don’t sleep well after that, at least two more times you wake with a jolt. And you’re rocked back to sleep every time a fresh flood of tears threatens to rush from your eyes.

“Can we talk about last night?” Your eyes are still shut when you feel the heat of the sunrise against your face, his chest rumbles against your cheek when he whispers. “I know you’re awake.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it Joel.” You mumble, your eyebrows furrow, eyes still shut as he rubs your back.

“Please?” He sits up on his elbows, holding you to his chest still, the blanket sliding down his stomach and you’re suddenly reminded of the lack of clothing between the two of you.

You sit up with a groan, stretching your arms above your head before holding your comforter up to cover yourself, as you stare at the scene before you. The morning light is seeping in through the windows, turning his dark curls almost copper. Your eyes trail across the sheets until they settle on the large rips exposing your mattress.

“I said no.” You grumble.

“Bunny-”

You grab the blanket covering him, yanking it down as you yawn. You crawl between his legs letting your own blanket drop as you take his soft cock in your hand, watching him swell against your palm. He gasps at the suddenness of it all but when he doesn’t push you away you keep going.

“Sugar, I’m beggin’, let’s just take a second to talk.” He puts his hand over yours, trying to slow you but you just slide down onto your stomach, pulling him between your lips, wasting no time to drag your tongue along his tip. A long, unbroken groan falls from his lips. You take him deeper, savoring the way your eyes water and your jaw aches. It keeps you grounded. It keeps you here.

“Mmm.” You moan around him, god, why can’t he just be a normal man? If he was just a man he wouldn’t feel like velvet in your mouth, and he wouldn’t taste like sweet coffee first thing in the morning.

You know that now.

He isn’t just a man.

You don’t actually know what he is, but you have a few theories. A lot of theories that don’t work because the monster you saw in the woods wasn’t Joel.

His hips involuntarily rock forward and you groan as he hits the back of your throat. You smooth your hands over his bare thighs to push him back down as you relax your throat.

“Bunny- ah-” He stammers out as you work yourself back down his length, trying to ease him in at your own pace. “Slow down gorgeous, m’gonna come too fast if you keep this up.” He runs his knuckle across your jaw but you just hollow your cheeks and push on, pulling a strained groan from him.

You swallow around him, it’s on the verge of painful as you struggle a bit to breathe but you have no desire to stop. No amount of fear is going to change the fact that he soothes you. With his cock in your mouth it’s easy to forget about everything that’s happened to you this past week. It’s easy to just drink him in, and taste the warm caramel of his skin. You let one of your hands slip between your own legs, your fingers drag through the slick there before focusing on your aching clit.

You concentrate on syncing up the movements. Running your tongue along the underside of his cock as you swipe your fingers against your bud, practically humping your own hand after a few minutes. You keep it up for a bit until you feel his balls tensing and you pop yourself off of him.

You pull yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh as you wrap your hand around his twitching prick, both of you panting as you grind yourself against him. He grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls your lips to his as you groan into his mouth, he grunts against you until you feel him pulsing against your palm, streaking his stomach with his cum. After another moment you feel yourself clenching around nothing, finishing against your other hand.

You collapse against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you catch your breath. You take a moment to briefly run your fingers through his spend before sucking them into your mouth.

Just like frosting, a sweet vanilla taste coating your tongue.

He watches you like he’s about to pick up where he left off before you distracted him but he shakes it off when you give him a desperate look. He pulls you into an embrace.

“If you won’t let me talk about it, at least let me redress your wounds.” He murmurs before kissing the top of your head. You give him a small nod, too tired, and too afraid to object as he peels back the bloody gauze, carefully cleaning every cut before wrapping them once more.

When he’s finished he goes through and gives each one a small kiss, as if that could erase the terror around their origins.

“I gotta go to work, are you gonna be okay today?” He whispers as he leans forward to give you one last kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be fine.” You give him a weak smile, content to act as if everything really is fine for just a few more moments.

“I’ll stop by for a few minutes after work, then I gotta go get Ellie.” He starts collecting his scattered clothing, dressing himself as you lay back down. “I’ll see you tonight.” He murmurs, giving you one one last sympathetic smile before he’s gone. Just like that.

And you’re alone with your thoughts.

What the fuck are you gonna do?

There’s a monster loose in the woods and Joel is clearly going to be no help. And of course there’s the issue of not being able to break up with him, for several reasons, one of them being that you simply don’t want to. Anything that happened last night doesn’t matter because at the end of the day you really like Joel, but more importantly you don’t think you can break up with Joel. It doesn’t really seem like your body will let you, whatever the invisible, inexplicable force is that drives you two together might not allow such a separation to happen.

So you’ll stay with him.

And you’ll use him to your advantage, it’s clear he knows something about what you saw, why else would he have gotten so defensive about it? He can’t be perfect forever, eventually he’ll slip up. You just have to wait for it.

You can wait.

Turns out you’re not as okay as you thought you were.

You spend the rest of your day cleaning up around the camper, just sort of taking care of things and everything seems fine. Joel texts you a few times, mostly just asking if you’re okay. And he comes to check on you after work, you’re just getting out of the shower when it happens, you had just stepped out of the bathroom in your robe, drying your hair with a towel.

His truck is old, he keeps it in good condition and he takes care of it but the engine is still pretty loud.

That was all it took to send you under the table.

Something about the roar of the engine just as it was turning off set you off. You closed your eyes, just for a moment and all you could see was the thing from the woods and you were curled up in on yourself, tucked away under the table with your hands over your ears. You didn’t hear Joel bust down the door and you screamed when he pulled you out from your hiding spot, thrashing and kicking at him. It took a while but eventually he calmed you down, sitting on the edge of your bed with you wrapped around him, trembling in absolute terror.

When you finally calmed down enough to quiet down he continued to hold you close, humming a song softly as he rubbed your back until you decided to break the silence.

“You have to go get Ellie.” Your voice was raw from screaming and he sighed.

“I can stay.”

“Go get her, I’ll be fine.” It took a lot of insisting but eventually he relented, but not before making sure you ate the take out he had brought you. The two of you sat in silence until he couldn’t stall anymore and had to go.

“Text me before you go to bed.” He mumbled, giving your hand a soft squeeze before he left.

You did as you were told.

That was when you became vaguely aware of just how bad things are right now.

You thought you were up for this, monster hunting, mystery solving business. But you’re terribly afraid, almost to the point of being useless. You can’t just let innocent people die though, no one believes you, so you have to be the one to do this. The thought makes you sick but what else can you do?

So you endure.

You wake up from restless sleeps, haunted by monsters you cannot escape from even in your dreams, and you go to work. You let Joel pick you up each morning and you let him kiss your cheek and put his hand on your thigh as you drive. You work as if everything is normal, and you only work on bodies that have died of natural causes for the rest of the week.

Night time is when things get tricky.

Joel wants to talk.

He wants to ask if you’re okay and he wants to talk about what happened that night you saw the beast but you know that if you do that you’re going to fall apart all over again and you’re starting to worry that one of these times you aren’t going to be able to put yourself back together.

So you do the one thing you know will distract him.

You fuck him.

He comes over after work each night, bringing food as if he knows you won’t eat unless he makes sure of it. He’ll ask you how work is and you’ll tell him the truth. That you’re busy and Maria’s busy with all the funerals.

And every night he tries to talk about it, usually starting by reaching out to you and holding your face in his hands. But you know better than to let him get more than a sentence out, so once he starts you drag him to bed.

The first time you executed this plan you were a little worried about what was going to happen after the sex. You couldn’t fuck him again. (Actually you probably could, but that’s beside the point.) So you needed to formulate a plan for afterwards, but once you’d started you got a little lost in your efforts and by the time you were done you had nothing.

It’s a good thing you solved your own problem when he pulled you against his chest and you suddenly burst into tears.

So yeah, you aren’t really all that okay.

You’ve developed a habit of crying after sex and you haven’t gotten any new information out of Joel. But at least you aren’t getting worse, at least it feels like you aren’t. For a week and a half the routine doesn’t change until finally on Wednesday he comes to pick you up after work.

“Should we go to dinner?” He wraps an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer.

“Let’s just get takeout.” You rest your head against his shoulder as he walks the two of you out to the truck.

“You don’t wanna go out?”

“I just wanna stay in tonight.” He hesitates for a moment, giving you a troubled look as he helps you into the passenger side. Once the engine hums to life you punch the number into your phone, ordering for the both of you, having it delivered to the camper.

And you ride in silence.

For a brief moment you wonder if he’s mad at you.

You can’t really find the will to care, it’s not like he isn’t gonna stay. He’s just as stuck as you are. You aren’t sure you can keep this up for much longer though, he knows what you’re doing at this point and he’s starting to use it against you.

You want him to snap again.

That’s sort of the goal right now.

To have him lift you as if it’s nothing. To tear something to shreds. You’ve been trying to make it happen all week, you’d think that with all the sex he’d lose control at some point.

But he’s careful now.

Somehow you always end up flat on your back and before you can gain any sort of semblance of control over the situation he’s got you coming your brains out. It’s clever really. Fighting sex with sex.

You get him to stop talking by starting it and he keeps you from doing any real investigative work by playing you like a fiddle each and every time.

No one wins. And no one loses.

You know you can’t do this forever but for now it works.

Work, sex, cry, sleep.

You decide you need to search his house, maybe find some evidence. You’re getting nowhere with your investigation and even though there haven’t been any mutilated bodies you know it’s only a matter of time. You need to take preventative measures.

The only problem is you don’t know where it is, you’ve always stayed in the camper and you’re struggling to think of a way to invite yourself over without raising suspicion, after a few days it comes to you.

“Can we talk?” You stammer out the moment you hear him pick up the phone, he doesn’t even bother hiding his sigh of relief.

“Of course we can, right now? Or should I just come over tonight?”

“I was thinking maybe we could go to your house, I’m hoping a change of scenery might help me open up.” It’s a bullshit excuse but you know he’d do anything to have a conversation with you right now.

“That’s more than fine, I’ll pick you up around six? We can have dinner and then we’ll talk.” He sounds so happy you almost wish this was real. That you could give him this thing he wants so desperately but you know that he won’t admit to anything he knows, so you just need to find proof, something he can’t brush off or ignore.

“Sounds perfect, I’ll see you then.” You hang up before he can respond, staring at the wall in silence, barely noticing when the sun sets outside the window. You don’t snap out of it until headlights flood the interior of the camper and you stand, grabbing your bag before rushing out to meet him. He jogs around the front of the truck to wrap an arm around your waist and kiss your forehead before opening the passenger door.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’ve got a little company tonight.” He raises his eyebrows at you, closing the door before you can ask any questions, when he pulls himself up into the driver's seat you open your mouth to ask what he means but he speaks first, turning to stare into the backseat. “Do you know who this is, little monster?” He turns the cab light on and you see Ellie strapped into her car seat. She appraises you for a moment before all of her limbs straighten out as she yells.

“Girlfriend!” She shrieks and you can’t help but smile for the first time in a while as Joel gives you a lopsided grin.

“We worked on that the whole way over, she was supposed to say your name but that’s close enough.” He gives her a mock look of disappointment that has her bursting into a fit of laughter as he turns the light off, pulling away from the camper and back onto the road. Joel turns up the radio, both of you sit quietly as Ellie sings along behind you, making up her own words to a pop song you vaguely recognize. “Hope you don’t mind.” He reaches over, taking your hand while the other stays on the wheel. “I haven’t been able to spend a lot of time with her recently.” He nods towards the back as you smile politely.

“I don’t mind at all.” It’s more than true. You’re rather fond of Ellie. He gives your hand a small squeeze and when you look his dimple is prominently visible on his face.

It’s about a ten minute drive to his house.

It doesn’t even look like he has neighbors. He pulls into a driveway between the trees and tucked away is a small ranch style house. You don’t know what you were expecting. Maybe something a little more sinister? But this is quite lovely, lots of space in an outcropping in the trees, a pretty cream colored house with dark oak accents and a tire swing hanging from a nearby tree.

Secluded.

You step out, staring at the pretty little place as he unbuckles Ellie, who immediately breaks into a sprint when he sets her on the ground, running up onto the porch and jumping to grab at the door knob.

“S’locked, honey.” He yells as he takes your hand, chuckling while he retrieves the key from his pocket. “She’s been excited since I told her we were gonna have you over, she loves showin’ people the house.” You both step up onto the porch as Ellie stares at him impatiently.

“What a lovely house you have, miss Ellie.” You crouch down in front of her as she gives you a grin, she’s clearly much less reserved around her father.

“Thank you.” She smiles proudly, when Joel opens the door she grabs your hand, pulling you inside as he flips on the lights. “We’re home!” She yells into the empty house. You give Joel a nervous look but he just laughs.

“She does that everytime we walk through the door, it’s just us here tonight.” He whispers reassuringly as Ellie immediately drags you deeper into the room.

It’s startlingly average.

It’s simply a house. No claw marks or blood on the wall. Just a surprisingly well kept little place, a well lived in family home. The walls are lined with photos of Ellie and a girl you assume to be Sarah, the fridge is completely covered in drawings similar to the ones you’ve seen Ellie do before. It’s just a house, nothing more.

Ellie pulls you into the living room before tugging your hand and pointing up at the wall until you scoop her up. Joel’s already working in the kitchen on dinner as you walk Ellie around the room. She’s more talkative then you’ve ever heard her be now that she’s got a clear line of sight to Joel, clearly more comfortable as she points out each framed photo, having a seemingly infinite number of things to say about each.

She babbles on endlessly, you don’t understand her well, you can really only make out names in her mess of gibberish but it sounds like she’s telling jokes. She points at each photo, looking at you as she says something incoherent before pausing, when she speaks again it comes off like a punchline, a single short burst of words before a shriek of giggles. You feel truly happy for the first time since that night. You feel normal.

You carry her over to where Joel seems to be putting toppings on a pizza.

“I thought you didn’t know how to cook?” You set Ellie down on the counter.

“I don’t know if buying pre-made dough and putting things on top of it is cooking.” He chuckles, handing her a piece of pepperoni. You feel painfully normal. This feels normal. It feels good, holding Ellie, and sneaking her another piece of pepperoni. It feels good to listen to the music softly filling the kitchen from the radio in the corner as Joel puts the tray in the oven before turning to smile at the two of you. “Did you show her your room yet El’s?” He grins at you and Ellie urgently grabs the sleeve of your sweater.

You pick her back up and she directs you towards the first door on the left once you turn down the hall. You set her down and she runs in, jumping up to turn the lights on as she scrambles to the toybox.

“Oh wow…” You can’t hide your surprise as you look around. The walls and ceiling are painted a navy blue with constellations drawn onto them, each one is outlined and labeled. Her bedframe is a wildly detailed miniature spaceship, hollowed out to hold her mattress. You walk forward, running your hand along its outline. “You have a beautiful room Ellie.” She turns and looks between you and her bed.

“Thanks, daddy did it.”

“Your father did all this?” You tilt your head as you carefully poke the solar system mobile hanging from the ceiling fan.

“Mhmm.” She’s still busy digging through her things until she produces a few plastic dinosaurs, seemingly forgetting your presence entirely as she begins smashing them together, growling and snarling. You watch her until Joel calls you back and she scrambles to her feet, running back out. You take a moment, looking at the other three doors in the hall. You can hear Joel talking to Ellie in the other room so you take the opportunity to look around. You try the door across from Ellies, pushing it open. It's a completely average bathroom, when you check the other two you find them both locked.

You don’t get a chance to make any attempts to get into them before Joel is calling you.

When you walk back into the kitchen they’re already sitting at the table, the seat next to Joel is pulled out and you take a seat.

And you get to be normal for just a few more minutes. This is what you wish it was with Joel. You wish you didn’t have to shut him up with sex every time he came over. You want dinners with Ellie. You want to watch her scramble to pick out a movie and you want to relive the look of content on Joel's face when his daughter chooses to sit between you two instead of just beside him. You want to hear Joel laugh at shitty jokes in a Disney movie and you want to watch Ellie struggle to keep her head up, alternating between leaning against you and leaning against her father.

But you can’t have this.

At least not after tonight.

Ellie yawns, her head slowly tilting to rest in the crook of Joel’s arm as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Joel taps you on the shoulder, nodding down at the sleeping toddler.

“I’m gonna put her to bed.” He mouths before scooping her up and carrying her down the hall. You sit by yourself for a moment, soaking in the quiet ambiance of the movie when you suddenly hear a tiny pair of footprints as Ellie runs up to you. She’s in her pajamas now, a pair of striped pants and what looks to be one of Joel's old shirts. You think for a moment that she might hug you as you give her a soft smile but she just pats your knee a few times.

“Good night.” She mumbles before running back to her room.

“Good night Ellie.” You call after her. After another moment you stand, curiosity getting the better of you as you walk down the hall as quietly as possible, leaning in the cracked open doorway. Ellie is in her bed with Joel sitting on the edge of it, he’s bent down to properly fit into the spaceship as he tucks her blankets in around her.

“What can I get for you tonight, little monster, story or song?” He whispers as he hands her a stuffed dinosaur.

“Song please.” She yawns, rubbing her eyes.

“Comin’ right up.” He reaches outside of her bed, grabbing the guitar you hadn’t paid much attention to earlier, you had been enraptured by everything else at that point. He tunes it for a moment as she gets comfortable, pulling her blankets up to her chin as she stares at him, her eyes already struggling to stay open. “What song do you wanna hear tonight?”

“Hmm… the rabbit song?”

“That’s a very good choice, Eleanor.” He nods as he slowly begins strumming a series of chords.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

Bang bang bang bang goes the farmer's gun.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run run run.

You rest your head on the doorframe as he strums softly, looking up every once in a while to see if she’s sleeping yet, he repeats the song about two times until he finally looks up and her eyes are shut. You rush back to the couch when he stands.

“Took her a while to calm down, sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck as he walks back into the room.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s more than fine.” He sits beside you, your thighs touching as he puts an arm around you.

“You’re really good with ‘er.” He whispers, turning to rest his forehead on your temple.

“She makes it easy.” You run your hand along his thigh, trailing it up until he gently grabs your wrist.

“We gotta talk first, bunny.”

Absolutely not. You didn’t find anything so the next course of action is to fuck or leave.

“Why don’t we go talk in your bedroom?” You roll yourself into his lap, straddling his waist and he frowns.

“Let’s just talk for a few minutes.” You start trying to tug open his shirt as he sighs. You lean forward, kissing him but he doesn’t reciprocate, keeping his hands at his sides, when you pull back he’s scowling.

“Come on…” You whine softly.

“You can’t keep doin’ this.” His southern accent thickens as he starts becoming visibly upset.

“Doing what?” You mumble.

“Shuttin’ yerself away. Pushin’ me away. You can’t keep using sex to end conversations you don’t want to have.” You continue fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as he purses his lips, finally just grabbing your wrists, pinning them down. “Would’ja stop for one damn minute?” You can feel him glaring at you but you just keep staring at the buttons on his flannel, silent.

“I don’t want to talk.” You exhale, pulling your wrists free.

“Bullshit.” He grabs you by your jaw, no forcefulness behind the action but he makes you look at him. “I’m worried about you.” His tone softens immensely as he gives you a pleading look.

“I’m fine.” You push his hand away but maintain eye contact.

“You aren’t. We haven’t had a conversation in weeks, and you cry everytime I see you, I don’t even know why you keep askin’ me to come around, at this point I’m allowed to be worried.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” You start to get out of his lap but he grabs you by your waist and pulls you back down.

“Well I do. I’m serious, somethin’ is wrong with you, this isn’t normal.” When you try to get up again he doesn’t stop you, just putting his head in his hands as he groans. “There’s something seriously wrong with you bunny, we need to get you help.”

“I don’t need ‘help,’ I’m fine, now drop it.” He can’t do this, he can’t just call you crazy when he’s the one who drove you to this point.

“You aren’t fine, you’re the furthest thing from it. You’re a mess, you’ve become a mad woman.” You’re about to just grab your bag and leave when he leans back. “Does it run in the family or something?” He mutters into his hand and you freeze in place.

“Excuse me?” You don’t conceal the hurt or the venom in your tone.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-” He gets to his feet but you put a hand up when he takes a step forward.

“Don’t.”

“Please bunny. I’m just so frustrated I didn’t mean it, please.” His expression is full of desperation but it’s too late, the damage is done.

“Fine Joel, you know what, let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you think I’ve got whatever ‘Ditsy Darlene’ had.” You raise your eyebrows at him, taunting him as you sneer. “Let’s talk about what’s wrong with your batty little bunny.” You hiss the end of the sentence and his eyes grow sad.

He stares at you, silence ringing through the living room for a moment before you finally just grab your bag and make a beeline for the door, unfortunately he beats you to it just as the angry tears start pooling in your eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going home.”

“Like hell you are, it’s miles away, and it’s the middle of the night, I’ll give you a ride.” He grabs his coat but you just shake your head.

“I’m not getting in the truck with you. Besides, Ellie's already asleep.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath once more before reaching into his pocket, scrolling through his phone for a moment, you’re about to just push past him and leave when he brings it to his ear.

“Can you come over? I need a favor.” He grumbles into the phone, you hear a rather irritated voice on the other end until Joel stops them. “You owe me.” There’s a beat of silence before he gets a response that has him nodding and hanging up, looking back at you. “Tommy’l be here in a few minutes, he’ll take you home.” He mumbles before leaning against the counter, you take the opportunity to sit at the table near the door.

Neither one of you so much as moves until headlights illuminate the dim kitchen. When Tommy walks in he’s rather disheveled. His hair is pulled back but most of it still falls around his face, from the looks of it he’s only wearing sweatpants and a jacket.

“This better be important, I haven’t seen Maria in days. So help me god if this is your way of getting back at me for-“ He immediately points an accusatory finger at Joel, sounding extremely irritated.

“She needs a ride home.” Joel interrupts him quickly, nodding over to you before making his way over to Tommy rather quickly, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and yanking him back out the door. “We need a second.” He yells back in your direction and before you can object he slams the front door leaving you alone.

Almost immediately you watch the blinds shudder as something slams against the kitchen window. You don’t hesitate to stand, rushing over and pressing your ear up against the wall, you don’t even have time to feel bad about eavesdropping. You haven’t found anything damning yet and this might be your only chance. They’re a bit hushed but you can hear them pretty clearly.

“She’s perfectly fine, unlike some people I can control myself.”

Tommy.

“Perfectly fine? She’s a fuckin’ mess Tom. You’d have my head if it had been Maria.”

Joel.

“Maria never woulda found herself in that situation because she knows better, maybe it’s time for you to take care of that.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It is. I told Maria on our second date, you know why? Because it doesn’t matter. There isn’t a damn thing you could tell that girl that would make her leave you, I know it, you know it, hell, she probably knows it.”

Does Tommy know what the thing that plagues you is? The thing that keeps you from staying away from Joel?

“She doesn’t know anything and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“She knows enough. You’re doing more harm by keepin’ her in the dark. What happens when you finally lose that famous self control a’yours?” Another slam against the window has you jolting backwards but you quickly lean back in when you hear Joel snarl.

“I would never do anything to hurt her.”

You want so badly to believe that.

“We both know I’m a hundred times more calm than you and Maria doesn’t even let me stay in the house most days. She needs to know so she can protect herself. What’s gonna happen when you don’t get outta town fast enough one of these days? You’ve been getting dangerously close these last couple of times, you’re gonna break her if she doesn’t know.” There’s a moment of silence and you worry they’re about to come back inside when Tommy speaks again, softer now. “What happens when she goes back into those woods? If she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Another beat of silence. “I’ve seen the two of you, you can barely keep your hands off of her as is, what happens when you catch a whiff of her in the forest and can’t help yourself?”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I didn’t say you’d hurt her. I said you’d break her. You can’t keep lying to her and telling her she’s crazy, if she finds out on her own she’ll lose it Joel. You want her to end up like our old man?”

You already feel broken.

“This is different.”

“I think it’s exactly the same.” There’s another beat of silence before Tommy speaks again, angrier than before. “If you don’t tell her I will.”

“You have no right-“

“Would’ja quit shovin’ me. She’s gonna come out here if you don’t stop. She has every right to know. I’ll give you a few more weeks but I won’t leave her in the dark forever.”

Maybe you should just ask Tommy to go get coffee or something. From the sounds of it he’ll sort it all out for you.

“Fine.”

“Fine, I'm gonna have to deal with this?”

“Fine, I’ll deal with this.” You barely have enough time to run back to the table and sit before the door swings open again, only Joel comes back in, his expression goes from furious to apologetic when he looks at you. “Tom’s out in the truck, he’ll get you home safe.” The tone he speaks to his brother with is unrecognizable compared to the tone he uses with you. You nod before grabbing your bag keeping your head down as you rush out the door, he catches your arm as you cross the threshold. “What can I do to fix this?” His voice cracks on the word fix and you turn to stare into those brown eyes that threaten to swallow you whole.

You take a moment just to fight the urge to forgive him all together, to act as if all of this is perfectly fine just so you can stay with him.

“You can stop lying.” You whisper before yanking your arm free and running to the passenger side of the truck. You strap yourself in swiftly, not so much as glancing at Tommy.

“Ready to go?” He sounds chipper as ever as you nod, giving one last look to Joel, standing in the doorway watching you depart.

A soft country love song plays on the radio as he heads back towards your camper, a part of you longs to ask him for answers, wondering if he’d actually give them to you. It sounded like he wanted to, a lot of that conversation left you more confused than ever but also rather worried.

You decide it’s better not to let him know you were listening. At least for now.

“You have fun with the little monster?” He breaks the silence, making you jump a bit.

“Ellie? She’s a delight.”

“She’s the cutest, I’m glad Joel has her. He was pretty broken up when Sarah went to college.”

“She still visits, right?” You do your best to not stare at the trees, focusing on the dashboard instead.

“Oh yeah, on holidays and special occasions, she’s only a state away. But you know how it is when you’re in college. She loves her dad but she needed some space to find herself and Joel just got lonely.” He flips on his blinker, turning down your road. “Ellie’s good for him. She keeps him busy.”

“Do you and Maria get to watch her much?” You’re hoping to catch him in a lie.

“Quite a bit yeah.” Damnit. “Joel’s always busy doing Joel stuff and it’s good practice for us, we haven’t decided on kids yet so we settle on just watching Ellie.”

Well this is going nowhere.

You sit in a mostly comfortable silence for a moment.

“She called me girlfriend today, Joel was trying to teach her my name.” You both laugh a bit until he speaks again.

“I’ve been trying to get her to say ‘Uncle Tommy’ for months now, damn kids not sayin’ it just to spite me. She’ll say ‘Auntie Maria’ clear as day.”

You genuinely like Tommy.

Outside of the fact that he wanted to tell you whatever truth everyone seems hellbent on keeping from you.

He’s easy to be around.

“Then what does she call you?” You say with one last laugh as he pulls up towards the camper.

“Most of the time she just calls me Tío.” He gives you a grin as your mouth goes dry, when he gives you a hug goodbye you’re acutely aware of the fact that he smells like cinnamon.

You feel relatively sick the rest of the night.

Tío.

You had almost laughed; it had shocked you so deeply.

It had been Tommy in the woods that day.

You’re sure of it now. It explains everything and fills in all the gaps. The Miller brothers are both haunting these woods. You’re left to stew with that the rest of the night.

You aren’t crazy.

Joel isn’t just a man.

And according to your book that’s why you can’t get away from him. You’re mates. Something about finally knowing you’re right helps you sleep soundly for the first time in ages. You don’t even dream.

You’ve got several notifications from Joel when you wake, a slew of apologies and missed calls which you ignore as you step into the shower. You manage to keep it together long enough to wash yourself, rinsing your hair out, tugging your fingers through the tangles.

You pat yourself dry, wrapping a towel around yourself as you step out of the bathroom, pouring yourself a glass of water as you take a seat at the table, scrolling through your texts.

[ can i come over tomorrow night? ]

[ i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. ]

[ we can do whatever you wanna do. ]

[ bunny please. ]

You’re already feeling your Joel withdrawal, you should text him, does your body somehow know you plan on depriving it of him? You’ve only been without him for a few hours and you’re exhausted after a full night's sleep. You sit with your head in your hands for a moment, massaging your temples as a headache settles there. After another moment you pinch the bridge of your nose, standing up abruptly.

“Fuck! Ah-” You catch your foot on the uneven board under the table, slicing your heel open on an exposed nail. “Dammit…” You mutter under your breath as you lift your leg, examining the cut. It's small, barely even bleeding but it irritates you wildly, your mood growing more and more sour. You sit on the floor, turning on your phone flashlight as you examine the floor, hoping to fix whatever the problem is, you realize quickly that the entire board is loose. “What the hell?” You pull it back completely, staring confused at the cubby. There’s a small space under the table, when you reach in you find a tote bag in surprisingly good condition. When you free it from its confines your eyes go wide when you see a laptop case.

Darlenes.

Everything’s in the bag, case, laptop, and charger. You set everything on the table, covering the floorboard and making sure nothing sharp is still exposed before taking a seat. You plug the charger in quickly, giving it a moment before opening the laptop and turning it on. You’re delighted when the screen illuminates, a small startup chime playing. Hopefully learning a bit more about your aunt will help you take your mind off things.

Shit.

Password.

You think to yourself for a moment, pondering and trying to come up with a few guesses before you start typing.

Honey

West Virginia

ABC

Darlene Wilson

Ditzy Darlene

You try your own name and your birthday and nothing happens, you stare for a moment, seemingly there’s no limit on guesses so you just keep going. Eventually you just start typing whatever you see, it’s better than nothing.

fridge

shower

laptop

You glance down at your phone.

Joel

Nothing.

You sigh for a moment, running your fingers across your scalp.

Fuck it.

bunny

Your eyes go wide as you stare at her desktop.

Fucking, bunny.

You don’t dwell on that too much, too captivated by the mess of folders in front of you, you start clicking through things, confused by everything you’re seeing until you finally realize what it all is.

It’s everyone in town, and from the looks of it, every adjacent town.

She was keeping profiles on the townsfolk.

It takes a bit of searching but after a few more minutes you find a folder within a folder, within a folder labeled Millers.

Five documents are inside.

Joel M.

Thomas M.

Maria M.

Sarah M.

Eleanor M.

You open Sarah and Ellies first, both are pretty scarce, mostly just schools and such, a few dates in Sarah’s file are highlighted. Maria’s is the same except for a small section noting the increase in unexplained deaths when she officially changed her residence to Honey.

Tommy and Joel are where it gets complicated.

Endless pages of information, enough to fill a book. Most of it seems to be mundane information, more a diary than anything else. Notes on things she found out through the internet, a lot about how they moved around a lot as kids and kept up with that lifestyle up until Sarah, there’s no information on her mother but from the looks of it, the Miller clan settled in Honey six months before Sarah was born.

There’s just too much on them, even simple things like how Darlene saw them in the grocery store, detailed calendars of their whereabouts were being kept by your aunt. You try to skim through a lot of it but there doesn’t seem to be anything highlighted until the last page.

Not to be overlooked.

Did she fucking know?

Darlene may have been ditzy in some ways but this was clearly not one of them. A second highlighted sentence underneath that one catches your eye.

To be investigated in case of my untimely passing.

Your stomach drops.

There’s no way.

You close the files, trying to push away the implications of what you’ve read. But you can’t seem to keep it down.

You never asked anyone how she passed.

Work after the laptop incident is uneventful at best.

With no bodies there isn’t much for you to do.

You clean and you take care of the occasional elderly person you get but that’s about it, you spend a lot of time with Maria, sitting in silence and doing paperwork. It’s as if she knows that you aren’t exactly doing great and just doesn’t want to stir the pot.

You haven’t texted Joel back.

And you feel like shit.

Just in general things haven’t been all that great since you and Joel fought. Being away from him makes you feel shitty and it’s made your mood shitty, you’re irritable and impatient and by the time Maria finally breaks the silence two weeks later you’re ready to explode.

“Are you feeling okay? You seem a little down, you know you can talk to me whenever you want.” It sounds genuine enough but you know better by now than to trust any member of this family.

“I’m fine.” You can’t find it in you to care if it comes off as rude.

“Are you sure?” She’s filing papers on her desk, freezing in place when you speak again.

“Did you do my aunt's service?” You look up at Maria.

It’s a terrible question.

You probably shouldn’t even be asking it but you need to know.

She sits in stunned silence for a moment before clearing her throat.

“I did.”

“How did she die?”

Somehow an even worse question, this is a terrible example of mortician etiquette.

“They told me it was old age.”

“Who told you?”

She swallows loudly.

“The police.”

“Why did the police declare the cause of death? Isn’t that your job?” This might cost you yours but what have you got to lose at this point?

“The police found her.”

“Why were the police even at her house?”

“Christ, I don’t know! You sound just like her, with the questions and the accusations!”

“Accusations? I wasn’t accusing you of anything, what did you think I was accusing you of?”

“I think you should go home, take the rest of the day off.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re acting crazy.”

You aren’t crazy.

Fine. You’ll take the night off. You’ve got some things to take care of anyway. You can’t keep doing nothing, you owe it to Darlene.

“I’ll see you on Monday.” You stand, hastily grabbing your things.

She calls your name as you’re leaving.

“Take care of yourself, please.”

You don’t respond, closing the door as you step into the misty afternoon air.

You aren’t crazy.

And you’re pretty sure Darlene wasn’t either. Something about Maria’s story isn’t adding up, maybe you should have started by interrogating her, she isn’t as good at lying as Tommy and Joel are. Nonetheless, you need to do your own research now.

That’s what you tell yourself to justify what you’re doing as you walk into the police station. It’s tiny, as expected, there’s no secretary so you just let yourself in, approaching a woman with a name plate reading Sheriff.

“Hi, I’m Darlene’s niece.” You don’t bother giving a last name, everyone knows everyone in this damn town.

“Oh! I’ve been meanin’ to stop by and introduce m’self.” She gives you a toothy grin as you nod. “I knew yer aunt pretty well, we used ta joke that I should give er a punch card fer the station.” You thought Joel had a thick southern accent but this woman is on a whole different level.

“She was here often?”

“Nearly twice a week. She would come in ‘ere, poor thing, spewin’ about monsters in the woods. But she was harmless, I didn’t have anything better to do so I’d listen, y’know, ‘take ‘er statement.’” She does air quotes with her fingers and you fight the urge to frown. “Hell of a storyteller that one.”

“Could you help me out with some information regarding her passing?” No sense in being coy about it, seems like this woman will talk for hours if you don’t interrupt. “Maybe I could talk to the officer who found her…” You look around the room at the empty desks before looking back at her, she has a sympathetic look on her face now.

“That would be me. I was first on the scene after we got the call.”

“Call?”

“Well yeah, it was the Miller brothers that found ‘er.”

What the fuck.

“Joel and Tommy?”

“You’ve met ‘em? Who am I kiddin’ of course you’ve met ‘em, they probably knew her better than anyone else, real saints those two.”

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.”

That’s what he had said.

“I didn’t realize they spent so much time together.” How much has Joel lied to you about?

“Oh yeah, they were over there several times a week, Joel even named his daughter after her, Darlene’s middle name was Eleanor.” There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you let that sink in.

“So… Tommy and Joel found her?”

“Unfortunately, they had come over like they normally did on Sundays to help her with any house work and they found her in her camper, said she went in ‘er sleep.”

“Wait, they said she went in her sleep? You never saw the body?”

“I- I couldn’t bring myself to look… I cared a lot for Darlene, I considered her a very good friend. Joel and Tommy wrapped her up for me, I escorted them to the home and Maria took care of the rest. Declared cause of death and all that.”

That’s all you need to hear.

Now you have to check, it’ll eat you up inside until there’s nothing left if you don’t. You mumble a goodbye before making a hasty exit.

Tonight you’re going to the cemetery.

Dig or leave.

You need to make up your mind, you can only stand in a graveyard with a shovel for so long before you’re arrested. It’s already ten at night and you need to start as early as possible.

There’s just a lot going on here.

Darlene Eleanor Wilson

More important than the Eleanor of it all is the fact that you’re faced with two tombstones, Darlene’s clearly being a lot fresher than the one beside it.

Benita Isabella Wilson

Both tombstones are labeled the same, beloved wife, and friend

Wife. You’d been told she’d never married.

There was no indication in the camper of such a thing yet here it is, clear as day. From the looks of it Benita passed nearly eight years ago. When you look closer you can see how well kept her tombstones have been. You make a note to pick up where Darlene left off and come back to clean both.

After you do what needs to be done.

You take a deep breath before finally driving the shovel down into the dirt. There’s no time to be squeamish about this, you know better than anyone how long this is going to realistically take to get done so you need to work fast if you want to be out of here before the sun’s coming up.

So you dig.

And you sweat, and you ache but you don’t dare stop.

You dig, and you dig, and you dig.

Until finally the sun is coming up, the sky is dimly lit when you finally hit something other than dirt. You work as quickly as possible to unearth the top half of the coffin and just as daylight breaks you manage to do it. You’re actually a bit thankful for the sun's rising, because you have no time to hesitate, you have to do it and you have to do it now before someone finds you.

So you grit your teeth and open the coffin.

And you meet Darlene.

Your poor, poor aunt Darlene.

Aunt Darlene, who’s cause of death was deemed ‘multiple organ failure, natural causes.’

She’s only been in the ground a few months. A normal person might blame her state on that fact but this isn’t decomposition. Decomposition doesn’t tear half of a person's face off.

When she died she was missing over half of her face, from the looks of it her nose was torn clean off before she got anywhere near a casket.

You swallow your vomit, not wanting to further desecrate her grave.

Your brain is moving at a million miles an hour yet you’re also struggling to form a single coherent thought as you take in the sight of her until finally something just snaps.

Staring at the corpse makes something shift inside of you. As if you’ve been pulled taut for weeks and you’ve finally split in two. Something deep inside of you that you’d never felt before, you sort of wonder if this is how normal people feel when they see a corpse.

You don’t even laugh.

There isn’t fear, or anger, or hate, threatening to burst from you, forcing that all too familiar laugh from your chest.

There’s nothing.

Just you and a corpse.

A mangled corpse, with no one to mourn her, and no one to realize something was horribly wrong until long after she was dead.

You don’t remember much after that. You don’t remember closing the casket, or covering it with dirt, but you know you did. You don’t remember walking to the hardware store, open surprisingly early, you don’t remember making any purchases, and you don’t remember going home.

Yet you’re there when you come to your senses.

You feel terribly hollow and suddenly you’d give anything to fill the camper with one of your nervous laughs but it never comes. You shake your head a bit, trying to focus.

You’re in the camper.

The sun is up.

And you’ve got two rather heavy plastic bags in front of you. You pour the contents out onto the table before methodically grabbing each one, tucking them into your empty backpack, making yourself a mental list of everything while trying to remember why you bought them in the first place.

Several armfuls of rope, and chain, several rolls of duct tape, a new first aid kit, more padlocks than you could ever possibly need, paper towels, bleach, and a rather gaudy souvenir mug, scribbled on the bottom is some print telling you that it’s microwave and dishwasher safe, and shatterproof, it’s obnoxious and absurdly heavy, a decal on the front says ‘Sweet as Honey, West Virginia!’

You stare at your now full bag, blurry memories of your train of thought coming into focus as you slowly but surely remember your intentions.

You were going to visit Joel.

And sort out this whole mess.

Finally have that talk he’s been wanting to have so badly.

If everyone is gonna keep treating you like you’re gone mad then you’re going to act mad.

You wait two days to go visit Joel.

You’ve started to track your cycle so you know exactly when to go see him. When the day comes you tuck yourself into the trees adjacent to the funeral home. Deep enough in the woods that no one can see you but not so deep that you’re filled with the familiar dread the woods typically give you.

It is tempting though.

The concept of getting to feel something again.

Ever since you saw that corpse you’ve just been empty, there isn’t anything left of you.

Joel's truck pulls in as you tilt your head to the side.

You watch as he lifts Ellie out of her car seat, letting her run the distance to the house where Maria waits for her. They talk for a bit before Joel kisses the top of Ellie’s head, making his way back to the truck. The moment he begins backing out of the driveway you begin your walk towards his home.

It’s about a three hour walk but you don’t get bored.

You’d have to be able to feel something to feel boredom.

So you walk, because there’s nothing else for you to do. You walk until you see the tire swing swaying in the cool night air. You walk around the house to the sliding door in the back, and you peer inside through the blinds to find the living room and kitchen empty, when you push the door it gives way immediately.

No reason to lock a door when you’re the scariest thing in the woods.

When you step in you hear the faint sounds of the shower running and you quietly make your way across the room once the door is closed behind you. You take your bag off one arm so you can reach inside, retrieving the novelty mug before zipping it shut and putting it back on.

You don’t even feel nervous.

Your skin buzzes as if you’re anxious and you tap your foot but the wave of anxiety never comes. You fill the mug with water, sipping slowly until you hear the shower turn off and you dump out the contents, tucking yourself behind the fridge and holding your breath.

He moves around for a bit, you hear him moving throughout the house until finally the sound of his footsteps travel down the hall and into the kitchen, when you peek around he’s leaning against the counter, staring into the living room while drying his hair with a towel, dressed in only flannel pajama bottoms.

It’s now or never.

“Could’a swore I shut those…” He grumbles as he tosses the towel onto the back of a chair, you know he’s about to close the blinds so you step out before he can even get off the tile, standing directly behind him as you inhale sharply.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shutting your eyes tight just as he turns around and you slam the ceramic mug against his temple.

Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

You pray silently to yourself as you finally kneel beside his crumpled form. After the initial strike you’d turned around with a small squeak, terrified of your own actions, hearing the sound of his body hitting the floor. It took you five whole minutes to finally turn and look.

Still breathing.

That’s all that matters.

You throw your backpack down on the counter before crouching down, rolling him onto his back. His chest rises and falls as if he were asleep but a small amount of blood is pooling from where you hit him, the skin split just below his hairline. You brush a curl away from his forehead to look closer, it’s a superficial wound, not too deep but still bleeding profusely. It could be worse, you tell yourself as you stand again, searching through your pack, eventually just grabbing it by the bottom and dumping the contents onto the counter. First things first you need to bandage his wound, this will all be easier if he isn’t bleeding everywhere.

You grab the bandages you bought for this very purpose, along with the paper towels, dabbing up the blood now streaking through his hair.

This is fine.

Everything’s fine.

It takes a bit of effort but once he’s all cleaned up you manage to get him into a chair and it’s easy from there. You know how strong he is so you’re rather generous in your use of each restraint. Using most of everything you’ve got securing him, rope, tape and chain. When you’re finished you take a step back.

He won’t be able to get out of it.

You’re certain.

You aren’t sure what’s next honestly. There isn’t really anything for you to do until he wakes up so you find yourself just staring down the hallway.

He was just in his room, it probably isn’t locked anymore.

Curiosity gets the better of you as you make your way down the hall, Joel’s bedroom door beckoning you. You twist the knob, slowly pushing the door in as your hand fumbles with the wall beside it, trying to find the lightswitch. You stare into the darkness before finally finding it, flinching a bit as a single light fixture hanging in the center of the room flickers on.

Huh.

This is what you were expecting to find the first time you came over. No wonder he always wants to sleep in the camper.

It looks like a room you’d only see in a horror movie. The walls are mostly bare, the wallpaper is torn off in large chunks and against the far wall you can see a few polaroids taped up. The only furniture is a mattress on the floor in the center of the room. Your breath hitches as you walk to the closet, pulling open the door. It looks like he keeps all of his belongings in here, shoved into the small space, clothes, personal items, and boxes fill it entirely. You shut the door, you don’t have nearly enough time to go through all of it so you go to investigate the photos instead.

Five polaroids are pinned up.

One is a photo of Joel holding a tiny baby with a shocking mess of brunette curls atop her head. Her big brown eyes are identical to Joels.

The second is a pretty recent photo of Ellie. A slightly blurry photo of the little girl holding the camera in front of a mirror, Joel is barely visible in the background, you can see his signature dimple as he holds her up.

The third photo is of two people you don’t recognize. A man with a vacant stare sitting in a rocking chair with a woman perched beside him, kissing his cheek. Both look to be in their sixties, the man bares a striking resemblance to Tommy, the woman has the same frenzied curls as Sarah.

The fourth was taken in front of the funeral home, Tommy and Maria are pictured standing underneath a ‘Grand Opening!’ banner.

The fifth, and clearly most recent photo is of you. You have no memory of it being taken, how could you, your eyes are shut. You look peaceful though. Happy. The morning light shimmers against your lashes, you’re tangled in the sheets with your arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, from the angle he’s holding the camera at you can see his head turned down, giving you an infatuated look.

You run a finger along the edge of the photo, lost in thought until you hear him coughing, you turn the light off, rushing back out into the kitchen, his eyes are glued to you immediately.

“Bunny…” His tone is low and cautious.

“Don’t do that, don’t talk to me like I’m crazy.” You make your way across the kitchen, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him.

You know how this looks but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be condescending.

“Of course you aren’t crazy, I know that, I just need you to let me go.” His voice goes soft, as if he were speaking to a cornered animal.

“Stop it.” You frown at him. “I’m completely coherent right now.”

“Okay.” He nods slowly. “Look, I know things haven’t been easy for you recently, just let me go and we can forget any of this ever happened, okay? We can just go to bed and deal with it in the morning.” The funny part is that you know he’s telling the truth, if you untie him right now he’d carry you to bed as if nothing happened and he’d hold you until you forgot about the whole thing. “Please don’t do this.” He speaks softer now. “Think about Ellie. Don’t leave her without a father.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not a monster.” The offense is apparent in your tone.

“Then what’s the plan here, bunny.”

“We’re going to wait.” You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I should be getting my period tomorrow.” You tilt your head to the side a tiny bit as the color leaves his face. “We will wait here for forty eight hours, if nothing happens I’ll untie you.”

His face suddenly turns to an expression of concentration, you’ve got plenty of time to grill him over the next forty eight hours, you decide to let him be for now. Neither one of you says so much as a word for well over an hour when suddenly his hand spasms. A nervous tick of sorts, his fingers flexing outward before his knuckles go white as his hand forms into a fist.

“Let me go.” He whispers.

“In forty eight hours.”

“Now.”

You shake your head no.

Almost simultaneously you watch his jaw twitch in an almost inhuman way.

“Then you need to get out of here.” His voice is strained now as he gives you a look of pure desperation.

“I’m staying right here.” You raise your eyebrows at him definitely but lose any of your bravado when he snarls, his muscles rippling briefly as you watch the tape tear, some of the ropes split in different places as he flexes. You tumble out of your own chair as you recoil.

“Iron?” He growls out, when he looks up at you now his eyes are bloodshot, you’re incapable of doing anything other than staring in horror as you hear the screech of metal as one of the chain links bursts. “Are these- are they iron?” His voice shifts down an octave halfway through the sentence and you shake your head frantically.

How were you supposed to know they needed to be iron? You aren’t exactly experienced in holding eldritch horrors hostage.

“You- fuck, you need to get out of here.” When he stares up at you there’s another groan from the strain against the metal but you can’t move. You’ve fallen flat on your ass as you stare at him with wide confused eyes, your legs splayed out uselessly in front of you while your arms prop you up just enough to watch the nightmare before you unfold. “Now.” You recognize the voice that speaks now as Joel’s, despite the fact that it isn’t his at all, it’s just a low bellowing sound now that shouldn’t be possible for a human to make. Your breath is starting to quicken as you tremble.

You’re nearly hyperventilating when the chains all simultaneously break, the metal shrieking as it rips. But it isn’t anywhere near loud enough to cover up the horrific sound that echoes throughout the house.

Bones, breaking.

A sickening crunching and snapping as Joel's flesh ripples as if the ocean is just beneath his skin. Joel is big, he’s always been broad, sturdy, but this is something completely different. He isn’t just big, he’s hulking. His body twists and tears and it hurts to even look at but you can’t turn away. He’s falling apart, his flesh and bones tear and bleed as they reshape themselves into something beyond your comprehension.

This isn’t what you came across in the woods.

This looks like the kind of thing that eats what you came across in the woods.

His body curls in on itself, crouching down onto all fours and he’s still taller than you. If he had been wearing a shirt you assume it would have torn when his spine realigned itself. Each vertebrae popping itself out, separating and lengthening until his body shudders, the skin pulled taut over his stretched out form. The entire process probably takes less than a minute but it feels like hours pass as you watch, your eyes wide.

Until finally he stills, panting, staring at the ground before tilting his head up a bit.

“Little… rabbit.”

It speaks.

He looks at you like a meal and your breath hitches at the sight, there’s a burning in your abdomen as you stare into his eyes, he’s searching your gaze for something but he doesn’t find it. Almost as if you can read his mind a word comes to mind.

Repulsion.

He’s searching for disgust, or loathing, but he won’t find it, after all this is what you wanted. You don’t hate him for this, you won’t look at him like he’s ugly because he isn’t, even if you’re afraid. There is something horrifyingly gorgeous about him, even if every one of your base instincts tell you to get as far away from him as you possibly can.

He’s beautiful like this.

The deep brown of his eyes takes over the whites as his eyelids pull back, his eyes must be the size of baseballs now. Enormous and dark, sparking with intrigue. The hook of his nose now stretches to fit his new face, halfway down it bends and breaks a bit. His hair looks a little longer, more appropriately framing his face now.

Does it hurt?

Is the question that comes to mind the more you take him in. Despite how large his maw is it still tears a bit at the cheeks, holes where it looks like the skin was pulled too tight, revealing the jagged teeth within.

A growl bubbles in his throat, pouring out and snapping you out of your assessment as he crawls forward a bit until he’s practically hovering above you, his head turns, shifting from side to side as he gives you several small sniffs, almost like a dog assessing a stranger in it’s home.

It makes the hair on your arms stand straight.

Run rabbit, run.

“Bunny.” He rumbles out, almost as if he’s acknowledging recognition.

And you fucking laugh.

With your entire chest.

It’s the first time you’ve felt anything in days, it’s almost a relief. Everything comes bubbling to the surface as you burst into a fit of hysterical, nervous laughter.

You have never been this afraid in your entire life.

He exhales sharply, the force of it has your hair rustling a bit, your senses suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of peppermint. You don’t dare move, freezing in place when he leans down, only a few inches away from you now, his arms pinning you in. God, he smells so fucking good right now and you hate yourself for noticing.

Curiosity killed the rabbit.

Is that a saying? It will be after tonight.

You swallow loudly, and try to close your legs as subtly as possible but his gaze follows the movement immediately and you freeze once more. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your stomach burns so hot it’s painful as you stare up at him.

His head tilts almost knowingly as he inhales deeply and his eyes darken.

Fuck.

Can he smell how turned on you are?

i no longer have a tag list !! if you want updates for this fic follow @lincolndjarinnotifs !!

a/n : have a love hate relationship with this chapter bc i hate that i love it. but like straight up lemmie know if this chapter was a bit scattered bc that's my big worry rn. i jumped around a lot but also these chapters are so long sometime i feel it's best to just expedite some scenes yknow? idk.

#lincolndjarin #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #oh honey #fic : oh honey

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