#gret van fleet fic

[cal-a-bungaa]

The Realm

The Realm Part Six - Prince!Jake Kiszka

Synopsis: Both so close to getting what was wanted from one another, but yet again, another trial has separated the two.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: Violence, weapons, mentions/descriptions of death, slightly steamy

Enjoy! Sorry this took me so long!!! And huge thank you to @capturethechaos and @writingcold for your help on this!

__________

Months ago you would have ran straight into his arms, greeting him with nothing but love. Now, you stand before him with your palms sweating and nails piercing into your skin. Jake was unmoving too, keeping to the saddle of his stallion. From a distance he still looks like your Jake, the prince who stole your heart with nothing more than his eyes. To know that those eyes now stare at you with such darkness and hatred, broke you. 

_____

His heart still raced with her in sight. It still beat for her and only her. Her blue dress reminded him of the bright sky that painted the world around them and how the sun made its presence known in the heat of its beams. It had Jake submitting to the warmth, feeling his twin reside within him. 

Jake let her soak in his presence for more than he’d like to admit. He didn’t do it for her, but for himself to get one good look at her before she hates him forever. He was selfish with her and the love she gave. He wanted her to continue looking at him in such a light rather than the distaste that is to come once he climbs off the black stallion he’s seated upon. She was his, always would be but this needed to happen in Jake’s eyes; there was no other option now that Josh had met his end by the hands of those who wore the Werian crest. 

It wasn’t your fault, he knew that much. But you were an accomplice with your father being the cruel warrior that the tales told. Whilst he was a good king and father, he was nothing less than brutal to his enemies on the battlefield. He trained his men that same way; the loss of morality when holding a blade or bow. The only one the old king did not raise to be ruthless was his sweet princess. He showed her how to be a good ruler without the need for bloodshed but nonetheless he was hypocritical in his ways. He spilt the blood of another king, not once but twice and took no blame for it. 

Even though she stood before him, adoration still rested in her irises. But she looked like a total stranger; this was not the princess he left behind all those agonizing months ago. She was never one to care for modesty and now is covered head to toe in clothing, not a sliver of skin seen. Even the jewels she once donned and admired took no residence upon her skin except a crown which she’d never done before, opting to stay far away from that part of herself until necessary. There was a drastic difference in the person before him and he could not pin what it was. Possibly the heartbreak he had the both of them go through, but even then it didn’t seem right. 

Jake could see that his cherished was not herself, she is embodying a persona. Observing the changes within her had him momentarily forget why he was even at the doorstep of her home. Now was not the time to notice how his darling princess was a stranger. 

Unsheathing his sword, the king of Strainad descended his stallion. He could hear the clatter of metal from behind him as he gathered back his lost courage to approach her. Walking out from behind the dark horse, his bloodied armor is revealed and how dirtied he was from wrestling Werian soldiers from killing him or others. The guards surrounding her pointed their own swords at him, raising their shields high. Jake can no longer see her beauty, blocked by the Werian symbol. He can hear a faint whisper with each step he takes up the stone stairs and soon she reappears before him, closer but still so distant. 

          As he reaches the top step, the guards take formation behind her rather than in front. “You put trust in me that much?” He promptly asks, thumb caressing the handle of the weapon he wields. 

          “Trust?” Her voice… Jake can feel the muscles relax, soothing at the sound of her speaking to him. “It’s not trust, it’s a firm belief I have.” 

          “I’ve not come for you so your belief may step aside.”

          The princess does not stand down, taking more steps to be almost flush against him. Jake can feel his heart pounding and his face heating up at their close proximity. “The one you seek is not here.” He watches how her eyes flash him with sadness. 

          “I will not play this game,” Jake tightens his grip on his sword. Her eyes break away from his own to glance down at the steel he holds. She looks uneasy, almost afraid of such a blade. “Move.” 

          When she meets his gaze again, it is stone cold. No trace of any emotion is left behind. “No.” 

          “I do not wish to hurt you, but if I must,” the king goes to raise his sword towards her, “then I will.”

          The guards behind her all take a stance, ready to attack if he makes any threatening move. But she is quicker, lifting her own blade to Jake's throat as his comes to rest beside hers. He eyes the dagger, trying to place a finger on why it looks familiar. The sharp point digs into the skin just below his jaw, ready to be painted crimson. Jake can’t help but smirk as he observes the blade she holds against him, admiring her fierceness that had never presented itself before him. She truly was a different person now than she was when they were to be wed. No longer innocent and afraid of her own shadow, but a strong princess that was ready to take the throne as her own. 

          “Where’d you learn that quick trick, dear?” Jake grins, finding it all so amusing. Her frown deepens, pushing the dagger further into his dirtied tan skin. No response to his commentary comes from the princess, just flared nostrils and heated eyes. “Just tell me where he is and this will be over.” 

          Her stance falters for a moment, giving Jake the perfect opportunity to bring his free hand up and knock the dagger from her grip. He winces at the sting it brings as it slices him. The small blade clatters to the ground and he now holds her wrist tightly. His nostrils flare, letting the anger he’s felt take over. Jake was tired of the games, even if she was the one playing them. He needed the old king dead. Her guards all take a step towards the two of them, one goes as far to say, “on your command, your majesty.” Your majesty. 

          The crown, the title…. It all made sense now. The king had perished and he was not informed. His love was now the queen to a great kingdom. He shed the blood of his beloved's men… she had her men kill his brother. It started with the late king and continued on with her. Jake’s grip tightened around her wrist, bruising already taking form along her skin. He watches as her lips move, but cannot hear anything besides the ringing in his ears and his own cries he made less than a day ago. Without Jake taking notice, the Werian guards all stand down, taking residence behind the now closed wooden doors. He hadn’t even realized that he was pushing her backwards until her back met a wall. 

If there was no king then he would have to take the queen, but how could he? Even in his clouded mind, he still saw her. 

_____

Your head was the first to collide with the brick wall, sending jolts of pain throughout your body. Jake was so lost in thought, ready to fall off the edge. His nostrils flared and his breathing had picked up drastically. He still held your wrist, but now above your head. 

“Do you realize what you have done?” Jake doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, rather looking at his muddy boots. “Do you even care that you killed him?” Jake spits out at you.  

Jake drops his sword to the cold floor, listening intently to the clanking metal before taking your throat in his grip too. He held you in place, trying to not be rough with you unless necessary. You try to fight his strength, pushing yourself away from the wall into him. Jake pushes you back into place, harder than before, your head throbbing from being slammed into the stone. His thumb caresses the skin of your neck softly, getting scarily closer to the scabbed over wound that was given to you in the night. 

His eyes are glossed over and stone cold. “Do you feel strong? Brave even?” Jake leans in close, letting his breath trace your cheekbone. “Knowing you killed a king. You killed a king seeking to make amends.” 

He could hear your breathing shake with his words. He’d broken a piece of your wall you’d put up upon his arrival. Jake wasn’t stupid, he knew you loved Josh as he did- he knew it would pain you to relive the knowledge of his untimely death. You had blamed yourself and your father for all that had happened. You were not able to find the real perpetrator in time to prevent anymore bloodshed and your father died before he could ever send his remorseful letter to the late king of the sun. Jake was king now, even if he’d been thrown into it and you’d be damned if anyone dared harm him in the way you let a soldier pierce his brother's heart. 

The sarcasm and taunting that oozed past his lips made your knees want to melt, but you stood tall in the controlled position he’d put you in. You were aware that he could feel your racing pulse in your wrist in his grip and hear the shakiness of your breathing. 

Gathering whatever courage you forced yourself to have, you look into his darkened eyes. You hold his hard stare. A king and a queen that should’ve been ruling together staring one another down, waiting to see who will strike first. Jake knew you and you knew him, there was no secrecy between your gazes. He was letting all of his thoughts and emotions out with his stare; sharing his grief, sadness, and anger with you. You were letting him know of your love, your guilt, your fear. But your words said otherwise. 

“You killed him too- We killed a king, Jake.” Your voice is strained from the weight of his hand. 

Jake did not respond well to you speaking the truth. He knew better than anyone it was his fault more than anything, but to hear it slip past your soft lips didn’t help. He could have stopped Josh from leaving with him. He could have stayed by his side during battle. He could have let the kings hash it out rather than take matters into his own two hands. It was his fault. 

The king's body squishes your own between his and the stone wall, his forehead centimeters away from connecting yours. His lips- those soft, blush colored plush lips of his that you craved to be upon yours, brush against your own. Your breaths mingled, hot and heavy. 

“There is no we. I might have grabbed the sword, but you pierced his heart.” Jake's eyes turned red, tears pooling along his lash line.

_____

Jake loosened his grip, letting his head fall forward to hers. There is no we. That is the last thing he wanted right now. He was so enraged with himself, with her father and with Josh. Two of which he could not take his anger out on, so he piled it onto himself and her. Jake could see the bruising that was already beginning to form around her neck and wrist. He wishes in the moment that he could feel guilt- he’d take her and make sure she knew of his love, but he needs to make her understand her part in Josh’s death. 

His hands fall away from her body, instead taking residence on the wall she’d been back in to. Her lips are tight in a fine line, every so often he can see her chin quiver as if she is holding back her own tears. Jake wanted to kiss them away, but he’d also like to see more bruises on her skin. She takes this moment of weakness to bring a gentle hand to his cheek. Jake tenses, having been touch starved for so long he can no longer recall what it’s like to be in a position like this. He finds himself falling for her again, nuzzling himself into her palm right where she wants him to be. 

Jake closes his eyes, taking in the affection she is allowing him. When she starts to brush her thumb over his cheek, he decides that’s enough, pulling himself away from her. He’d been so absorbed in the feeling that is his light and love that he failed to notice she’d recovered his sword. The tip of the blade grazed the skin below his chin, titling his head upwards so it wouldn’t impale him. 

He let out a humorless laugh, looking back into her eyes that held nothing but rage now. His own blade stared him down, threatening his life. Everything that was Jake’s was a threat to his well being. 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t let your guard down, my king.”

Her lips tilt up into a smirk- one that made Jake want to erase it from her face, make her grovel for forgiveness at his feet. In this very hall, he wanted her bare and on her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as she chokes. The way she wields his sword has his pants growing tight.  

“And perhaps you are brave, my queen,” He smirks back at her, fueling the fire within her and himself. “But what’s your plan here, love? If my eyes aren't deceiving me, you’re the one backed against a wall.”

She drags to blade down the length of his throat, teasing him with the thrill of her taking charge. Maybe this whole thing wasn’t to harm anyone- well, it was at first, but now Jake would rather teach his pretty queen quite the lesson. He now knew what it felt like to be her, put into a position where the other had all control. But Jake wasn’t yet sure if he liked her to be the one wielding the power. She may have the position to rule a kingdom but to rule over him, that’s not something he is going to allow. If there was one thing about Jake, he never loosened his hold over her.

His queen brought the blade back under his chin, forcing his head up. “And I’m not the one with a blade pointed at me,” She peels herself away from him, taking steps back to put distance between the two of them. He admires her in the way she pretends to be such a person- one that threatens and edges danger. She circles around him, dragging the tip of the steel blade along with her. “You should suffer. You should feel the pain through the pain I have felt since your absence. It would be fulfilling.”

“How it warms my heart to know you’ve missed me so.” Jakes back arches slightly as she presses the blade a little too far. Shivers rack through him. 

The quiet click of her heels flood his senses. He listens to the way she walks, her rhythm, the way she is paying such close attention to his body at that moment. “Would you prefer I hadn’t?” At his side, she stands on the tips of her toes to whisper into his ear. 

Jake didn’t feel the cold steel of his sword anymore, taking the moment to assess her thoughts. He knew she wouldn’t- couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. He was all she had left, hatred and all. He feels that there is no threat present as she circles back into his field of vision. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes darkened with something Jake had never seen in them before- something that pushes his need. 

To his surprise, he is not the one to act first. His control is slipping, the thread is tearing and straining against her fight for it. She’d dropped the sword and took his face in her hands before he could even register the clanking of metal and stone colliding. Jake's hands instinctively grab at her waist, pulling her into his chest and letting their bodies speak for them. Her hands were still as warm and soft as he remembered them to be, but her lips were rougher- she’d bitten them raw. They push and pull, both trying to fight for dominance they both desire. Jake couldn’t recall a time where they have shared a kiss like this one- hot, fast, teeth clashing in a fit of flooding need. He was always gentle with her, letting her know of the love he held for her. In the moment, he could sense she had changed. How the months had molded and shifted her. He could only hope that she could sense the same within him. 

Her hands slip into his hair, tugging at his roots as hard as she can. Jake breaks their kiss to let out a groan. She is relentless in her aim for power, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and pulling it. This isn’t what Jake came here for, he came for revenge but some part of his mind dared to hope for this. As she releases his lips from her teeth, Jake looks into her eyes and sees the lust and love they emblazoned within them. He inches his hands upwards, memorizing every divot of her body before taking the control he needed back. Jake takes a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck to him. 

Knocking Jake from his lustful daze, a scabbing wound rests under her chin still red around the edges- fresh and painful. She’s not brave nor has she changed, his queen is scared. She demanded the control that had been taken from her in recent events. Jake does not know the story of how she got her skin sliced, but he is sure it wasn’t from him. Not wanting to ask, Jake simply leans in and presses a feathery light kiss over the wound. She swallows hard and shivers under his touch. Bringing his eyes back to hers, he sees that they have softened, but a touch of fear looms dangerously in the back of her mind. 

_____

Jake releases his hold on you, allowing your body to slouch before him. Your mind hadn’t even caught up to what had just conspired between the two of you, it was like nothing you’d ever known before. He’d never been so rough yet so… Jake towards you. The fighter that rests inside of him has presented itself in full force, never allowing you to let your guard down regardless of how you wished for him.

His hands on you and in your hair set your body ablaze, striking a fire in you that another could never dare to replicate. All of the resentment and desolation had poured over. It boiled over too far and now here you were- panting and flushed before the king you wanted more than life itself. Jake was in a state similar to yours, but stared at you with such pity that made you want to collapse in on yourself. You knew the moment he saw that cut under your chin, he would see you  as a feeble little girl. As a queen that couldn’t defend even herself, how were you to defend your people and your home? You fully allowed someone to cause you to falter- to bring shame to the crown you inherited. The cut was a reminder that you were not, safe nor were you in power of anything. You were a mere damsel in distress and Jake could clearly see that. 

Jake steps back away from you as if he’d harmed you in some way. His pupils have long since dilated, having not retreated back to their natural deep brown color since you’d pressed your lips to his. No longer having his hands on you reminds you of the first time he’d left you alone to grieve his presence and love. He may not have been gentle with you as you were not with him, but to feel that radiating off of him again was liberating. To feel the reverberating beat of his heart beneath his chest plate. You remembered the way his heart would lull you to sleep as the moon rested high in the nights sky. It beat so steadily, but whenever you’d be in his presence it would pick up its pace, drumming from under your touch. 

Even as you looked over his face his eyes never connected with yours, only looking down at the barely visible soon-to-be scar under your chin. Jake’s stare was blank, the pity gone like he had nothing more to feel towards you. 

“Who?” he whispers, lowering his voice.

You blink, surprised by his words. His hand lifts to drag the collar of your dress down, getting a better glimpse of the wound you donned. 

“I asked you who did this.”

Jake tightens his grip on the fabric of your dress. “Last night… he came in and I-I wasn’t aware-”

“I didn’t fucking ask you when,” He balls his fist in your collar, pulling you towards him. “I asked who did this to you.”

The tone of his voice has you shaking, afraid of what will come if you tell him the truth. “In my chambers… it was dark, I couldn’t see-” You scramble to find the words. You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t recognize the voice nor see the perpetrators face. 

“Your chambers?” Jake asks dangerously low. “They were in your damn chambers? Where the fuck were your guards?”

His lips were pulled to a fine line, letting his anger be known. His eyes were darkened by the rage that swarmed within them. Jake seemed to have a new enemy and it was no longer your late father, it was whomever dared lay a single finger on you. You, in a state of less than decent, Jake couldn’t take that and walk away- he needed to find who was responsible for letting this happen under their watch. His knuckles began to turn white from how hard he was gripping the fabric of your dress. He could so easily tear it from you at this moment and that was partially what you wanted at this time. You knew Jake was livid, coming to your aid even after everything, but it showed you that he still held you in his heart. He still cared and to you that is all that matters, more than what guards failed to protect you and your modesty. 

Your dainty fingers reach up to trace the small scar on his cheek. “Jacob.”

Jake's eyes tore away from the small cut to look into your own, seeing the fear you held on to. He pulls you further into his chest, flicking his gaze between your eyes, lips and the wound. He couldn’t sort his head, you could see the millions of thoughts rushing through his brain. You swipe your thumb over the scar again, letting him know that you’re still with him. 

“I want to know who.” he’s close enough to you again where you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

You look down at the stained armor he wore, “I don’t know…”

Jake scoffs, “I don’t know who attacked me says the queen. How the fuck do you not know?” The look in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. How worked up he is over your safety is making you dress become unbearably uncomfortable, you want to be bare before him, letting him in on everything secret you held. 

He goes to tear away from you, letting the rage take over and the desperate need to hunt down whoever did this. You grab his hand as it comes back down towards your hip. “Please, Jake… Don’t leave me a second time.” you beg him. 

Jake's fist slams into the wall beside your head, splitting the skin on his knuckles. You involuntarily flinch at his show of aggression. He wouldn’t dare hit you like that, but after being threatened and harmed the night previous, there was no way of knowing who would hurt you next. Jake saw the way you curled in on yourself as his fist connected with the cold stone wall, making him wish he had never done it to begin with. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and anger that he forgot to think about how you felt in this situation. You both were so close to getting what you wanted from one another, but yet again, another trial has separated the two of you. Jake’s body relaxes, lowering his fist from the stone to the curve of your waist and places his forehead to yours. You scanned his face, seeing the pain that racked through him physically and emotionally. You’re aware that even if he says he doesn’t, he needs you to be safe and if he can't be the one to provide that security then someone else should.

“They could have taken everything...” Jake mutters. His eyes were screwed shut and lips downturned in disgust at the mere thought. 

Your other hand comes up to cup his cheek. The young king leans in to the touch, reveling in the warmth that your skin brings him. “It feels like they have, my love.” You whisper to him. “But there’s still you.” 

Jake’s eyelids flick open in confusion, “What do you mean feels like they have?”

Your lungs constrict, making it hard to breathe. The memory of your attack speaking to you about the horrific acts that have been committed towards your loved ones haunts you. You found it almost impossible, but there’s no other explanation for what’s happened. For why your father suddenly died and why Josh had been almost killed in the room just down the hall. 

“Josh, my father… It was someone I’d never heard of. I still don’t know who, but it was purposeful. Their deaths weren’t coincidental or accidental.”

Jake’s brows furrow, trying to piece together the information he’s been told. His mouth opens and closes, the words not quite forming. 

“Someone’s trying to kill us, Jake.”

__________

taglist: @allieisacrybaby @writingcold @gardensgatedaisy @hayley1623 @gretasmokerising @josh-iamyour-mama @ageofsinners @capturethechaos @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasbuttsweat

[allieisacrybaby]

I saw that you posted and stopped doing my laundry to read this INCREDIBLE! omg omg omg!

Kiss Me

Danny Wagner X Fem reader

18+ only, minors DNI

Warnings: unprotected sex, choking, dirty talk, teasing, oral (f rec), fingering, squirting, cockwarming, dacryphilia mentioned, I think thats it! As always please let me know if I missed anything!

You stood looking at the beautiful view in front of you. The window nearly reached the high ceilings. Outside there was a big deck with a hot tub, but beyond that was mountains. The sun was setting and the colors in the sky were mesmerizing.

"Dont move," You heard softly from behind you,

"Why?" You turned your head towards him, smiling when you realized he was taking a picture of you,

"You look so perfect with the sunset behind you," He said, looking down at his phone and grinning before turning it off and putting it on the small coffee table. He walked over to you, he was wearing some short swim trunks and had his hair in a bun on top of his head.

"Well thank you baby," You said as he walked up and placed his hands on your hips. You looked up to him, "Going for a dip in the hot tub?"

"Mhmm" He hummed as you put your hands on his chest. His nose nudged against yours as he mumbled against your lips, "Join me?"

"Sure, I'll be out in a second" You replied quietly, turning your head when he tried to kiss you.

The smallest of frustrated sighs came out of his nose as he pulled away and walked out towards the deck. You had been denying him kisses all day. You weren't upset with him, in fact it was the opposite. He was amazing, he had brought you out to this secluded cabin as an early valentines day gift. He knew he'd be gone playing some show on the actual day, so he had planned this little weekend trip. You wanted to really spoil him, so you'd been holding out all day.

You had noticed it before you two had even gotten together. The nail biting, the chewing on his cheek when he was deep in thought, the way he moved his lips and jaw when he played in a show, that sinful tongue of his. Your Daniel had an oral fixation like no other.

When the two of you had finally gotten together you had realized JUST how right you were. You had quickly picked up on how much more intense it got when he was feeling especially needy. That was why you'd been holding out, because now, he'd be in that state when you finally gave him what he wanted. You knew if you didn't give in soon, you'd miss your window with this version of him. Wait too long and he'd be throwing you over his shoulder and taking what he wanted.

You made your way into the giant bathroom and stripped out of your clothes. You didn't bother putting on a swimsuit, knowing it wouldn't be on for more than 5 minutes anyways....plus you were dying to see Danny's reaction. You put your hair up, not wanting it in the way when things heated up. You grabbed a towel, wrapped it around you, and then made your way back through the cabin. On your way through you grabbed 2 beers from the kitchen and then walked past the burning fireplace on your way outside.

Stepping onto the deck you realized that it was even more breathtaking at night. With the minimal lights you could see so many stars in the sky. Your eyes drifted to Daniel who was sitting in the hot tub with his head laid back against the side. When he heard you shut the door he slowly lifted his head and looked to you,

"I brought you a beer babe" You said as you made your way over, handing it to him and placing yours on the side.

"Thanks angel," He said as he brought the bottle to his lips and took a sip.

You took this opportunity to drop your towel, the cold winter air sending chills over your skin, pebbling your nipples immediately. As Danny lowered his beer he looked to you, his mouth falling open and his brows rising. He watched your every move as you climbed into the water, shifting in his spot and reaching down to adjust himself in his trunks.

"Like what you see Wagner?" you asked with a smirk as you moved towards him.

He nodded, licking over his bottom lip as he reached his hand out for yours, leading you over to him. Once you were positioned between his legs he ran his hands up and down your sides, eyes raking over you.

"I think you're a little over dressed." You hinted to him, slipping a finger under the waistband of his swim trunks. The corner of his mouth twitched up and his eyes got dark as he looked up to you,

"Yeah?" He asked softly as he started to shimmy his trunks down his legs, "These keeping you from something you want?" he teased, holding up the soaked clothing before tossing them to the deck.

"I think they're keeping you from something you want." You jested back as you brought his hand down to your core, standing just far enough away that he couldn't get his mouth on you. He groaned as his fingers moved through your slit. "But if I'm mistaken I can go-"

You were cut off by him pulling you towards him,

"No, you're right" He admitted quickly, kissing at your abdomen as his fingers circled your clit. "I want it-want you, so bad"

You could see through the movement of the water that he was hard, and the more he worked his fingers against you the more your core started aching to have him inside you.

You moved to straddle him, his kisses ceasing only long enough to let you sink down on his length. Relieved groans passed both of your lips, his fingertips digging into your hips, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as you bottomed out.

"god baby, you-fuck you always feel so good" He stuttered, attempting to lean forward and capture your lips in a kiss. You parted your lips as if ready to accept the kiss, but right as his lips barely brushed yours you raised off of him, just out of his kisses reach.

A small gasp sounded out of him. You weren't sure if it was in protest to your teasing, or if it was from the sensation of you almost raising completely off of his cock. You had stopped with a little more than his tip still nestled inside you.

"Kiss me" He whined, looking up at you with his best puppy dog eyes, his hands still on your hips as he relaxed back against the side of the hot tub. You placed your hands on his shoulders, sinking down again. He moaned as you sunk to the hilt, but as soon as he moved to kiss you, so close his breath was hot on your lips, you raised up again.

A pained noise came out of him and his forehead fell to your abdomen. He decided then, that he'd have to settle for what he could get. His hands moved up your back as he pulled you closer to him, attaching his mouth to you in any way he could.

His hands slid up your back to your shoulders, pulling you back down on his length. You allowed it knowing that he was now aware of this unvoiced boundary you had set: no kiss on the lips until you said.

As he pulled you down he licked a strip up your sternum and then up your neck. Your head fell back as he put his hand on the back of your neck, holding it to his mouth as he sucked at the sensitive skin.

Daniel had a thing for marking you up, and you knew thats what he was doing. He'd nibble at your skin, just enough to make you squirm and clench around him, then he'd suck it into his mouth, usually accompanied by a moan rumbling against you. Once he was pleased with the mark he'd left, he licked over it with his tongue, soothing it before moving on to the next spot.

He continued this, leaving purple marks all over your neck and chest with is cock still buried inside you. Every time you'd moan or shiver under his lips you felt him twitch inside you. It had you desperate for more, considering giving in.

"Please," He murmured between kisses, "Please,"

You grabbed his face, squeezing it so that he puckered his lips and let his eyes focus on you,

"Please what?" You asked,

"I- I don't know" He mumbled, brows upturned in the middle, eyes pleading with you, "Fuck me, let me kiss you, anything-more I just need more"

He bucked his hips so subtly you doubted he even realized he did it. You loosened your grip on his face, and he kissed your palm, his eyes staying on yours as he then moved to suck two of your fingers in his mouth.

His hands on your hips started to rock them back and forth, grinding you down on him. You couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your throat, the feeling of him inside you and the way he was looking at you as he sucked your fingers, tongue moving between them...just like if he....

"You have been very good," You conceded, "And this needy mouth of yours has been very sweet to me, hasn't it?"

"Mhmm" He hummed around your fingers. He reached up, wrapping his hand around your wrist and pulling your hand from his mouth. He leaned forward and kissed your jaw, "Come on, let me take you inside and show you how sweet my mouth can be to your swollen little clit."

You groaned and once again clenched around him,

"Yeah, doesn't that sound nice?" his lips brushed against your jaw, his hand traveling up and wrapping lightly around your neck, "Cumming with my lips wrapped around that little bundle of nerves and my fingers tucked in your tight little cunt?"

"Uh huh-" You breathed out. You were fully aware of the shift, that now he had you wrapped around his finger.

"All you have to do is kiss me" he pulled back far enough to look at you, but his eyes were on your lips. "Kiss me and I'll carry you inside right now and make you cum on my face angel,"

You wasted no time, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him to you, crashing your lips into his.

His grip on your neck tightened a little as he moaned into your mouth, his tongue pressing into it and dancing with yours as you continued to rock your hips. He kissed you like it was the first and last time he'd ever get to, with such hunger and passion it made your head spin. Your lungs burned, telling you it was time to come up for air, but you didn't want to.

He released his grip on your neck, moving his arms to secure you to his body. You felt his legs and abdomen tense as he stood up, his lips never leaving yours. If it had been anyone else you'd have been a little uneasy, worried they'd drop you, but never with Danny. He was a wall of solid muscle, the way his body moved as he held you was intoxicating. You could feel his muscles shifting effortlessly, his cock still in its favorite place deep inside you as he carefully made his way into the cabin.

With your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck he walked into the living room. There was already a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor next to the fireplace from where you had been reading a book earlier.

He sunk to his knees, cradling your head with his hand as he laid you back onto the plush faux fur rug, rocking his hips into yours so that he pressed in so deep you saw stars,

You moaned loudly, hands roaming his back and nails raking over his skin. He broke the kiss, growling against your neck as he repeated the movement before pulling out slowly,

"Danny," you whimpered at the loss of him inside you,

"Shhh y/n" He hushed you soothingly, reaching over and grabbing a pillow. "You'll get it back in a minute, right now I want to taste you" He placed the pillow under your hips, kissing up the top of your thighs as he got closer to your core, "And with the way you were squeezing me just now.... I don't think it will take very long to have you cumming for me"

He positioned himself on his stomach between your legs, looking up at you with the smug half smile that made you melt. He hooked your legs over his shoulders and dove in,

You arched your back off the rug, Dannys strong hands grabbing the outside of your thighs and holding you in place as he sucked and lapped at your sensitive clit,

"Oh god, oh-" You groaned, fingers gripping the material under you as his tongue moved lower, slipping into your entrance with his nose nudging your clit. "Fuck, fuck, fuck"

The curses flew past your lips when his tongue pulled away at the same moment his fingers slid into you,

"Such filthy words coming from my angel's mouth" He pressed a kiss to your clit as he pumped and curled his fingers, "It just feels too good doesn't it? You can't help yourself"

"Uh huh" You whined as you moved your hips, trying and failing to get his mouth on you

"Look at you, trying to get my mouth on you while I fuck you with my fingers," his tongue flattening against you as he shook his head, "Who's needy now?" He teased,

"Me, I am-" you pouted, reaching down and attempting to tug his head towards your heat,

His soft laugh vibrated against you, and then he decided to show you some mercy. His mouth and fingers working you together had you quickly approaching your orgasm, that coil deep in your stomach tightening so quickly you knew that you were going to cum hard.

"I-Danny, I-" You rushed out, the feeling intensifying. He nodded, moaning into you as he rutted his hips into the floor,

It crashed over you, lewd noises filling the room as you felt the warmth running down your thighs, your legs shaking on either side of Danny's head as he worked you through it.

Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath,

"Mmm" He hummed, pulling his mouth away, "I fucking love when you do that for me," his eyes moved down to his hand, and your eyes caught what he was looking at. Their was a small pool of your release cupped in his palm. He licked over his lips, and then turned his gaze to your body,

Holding his hand out in front of him and over your body, he slowly tilted his hand, letting the liquid drip from his palm and onto your torso. His pupils were blown wide as he watched it land on your skin.

You were silent, entranced by his antics as he licked his palm and then started to slowly make his way up your body, kissing and licking where each drop had landed.

You caressed his face as his tongue traveled over you, savored you.

"You taste like-" He paused as he took your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over it before pulling off with a pop, "I don't know what it is, I just know it's my favorite thing"

"Really?" You asked as he moved to the other side of your chest, giving that nipple attention as well,

"Really." he replied as his lips peppered kisses along your neck now, his cock brushing against your core, "Love the taste of you on my tongue baby, think about it all the time"

You felt him lining up with you,

"If you didn't want my cock so bad I'd have you sitting on my face right now, riding my tongue until you were cumming down my throat"

"Jesus-" You sighed breathily as he pushed into you,

"I'd drink you down and then do it again, y/n" He took both your hands, interlacing your fingers and pinning them above your head, "Over and over until you couldn't take it anymore...."

His hips started to move and a moan shuddered out of you at his obscene words flowing into your ear,

"And then, I'd do it again," He sucked the spot behind your ear, panting against your skin, "Because I love when you cry for me just like your pretty cunt does,"

Your hands squeezed his tighter, head tilted back as far as you could manage so he had the expanse of your neck at his mercy,

His hips moved faster, the pillow under you giving him a heavenly angle inside you.

"You want that?" he mumbled against the crook of your neck, lightly dragging his teeth over a mark he'd left earlier,

"Want you to cum" you whispered, cheeks blushing at the thought of him catching onto what you really wanted,

"Sweet girl wants me to fill her up- ah- and then-" His hips started to falter as he spoke, "And then- fuck- I'm gonna cum"

His voice cracked and then he was biting into your shoulder as he spilled inside you, hips shuddering against you.

He slowly lifted his head, licking over the teeth marks in your reddened skin. He let go of your hands and started kissing over all the small bruises that adorned your skin.

"Danny," You breathed through a laugh,

"Hmm?" He asked, not willing to stop what he was doing,

"Kiss me" You said, pulling his lips from your skin and up to your mouth. He happily obliged, kissing you deeply before flipping so that now you were on top of him.

He slid his hands down to your ass, lifting you off of his length with a hiss through his teeth. You thought he was going to stop there, but he started moving you up his body,

You put your hands on his chest

"What are you doing," You asked, giggling at the look of annoyance he gave when you stopped his movements

"Told you, I'm not through with you yet," the glimmer in his eye told you that his was going to be a long night.

[dharma-divine]

DIOSKOUROI

(dee-aw-skoo-ree)

COMING 2022

Welcome to my newest writing project — a sultry, satanic slow burn, inspired by Greek mythology and witchcraft.

Pairing: Kiszka Twins x (Female) Reader

DISCLAIMER: THIS SERIES WILL FEATURE 18+, NSFW CONTENT

taglist: @garbagevanfleet @gardenvanfleet @alwayzthere @jakekiszska @sammygvfslut @gretavanhoney @prettyxvenomx @maverick-rose @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw @aureummel @joshysgf @obetrolncocktails @capturethechaos

Here's a sneak peak of what's to come (+ thank you @godlygreta for being my beta for this ♡) —

☽ ✩ ☾

FLECTERE SI NEQUEO SUPEROS, ACHERONTA MOVEBO.

The words echo in your mind in a deep, thunderous voice as your vision manifests into a thicket of evergreens. You look up to see an orange glow beyond the treetops, specks of ember rising to melt with the stars. Tendrils of rich foliage loom above you, their sunken arms dusting you with crystalline dewdrops as you maneuver through them. You’re winded — you don’t recall running, but your lungs burn as they gulp in the frigid air, your chest heaving staggered breaths as they try to recover.

You’re getting closer.

You look down at your feet as they continue to guide you towards the entrancing voice; they’re bare, but numb to the nettles and other debris of the forest floor. You curl your stiffened fingertips into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms once you know you’ve reached the last row of trees. You hesitate to reach forward, to push through the remaining branches and step into the clearing before you, a massive beacon of fire blazing in its center.

He’s sitting at the base of the inferno, his legs crossed neatly in front of him, his fingers splayed over his knees as the flames cast dancing shadows across his face. A mess of curls sit atop his head like a crown of thorns, coils of amber lit in the fiery glow. You realize as you approach that his eyes are shut, his eyelids fluttering frantically as his lips move to match the same booming voice, though you know it’s entirely too powerful to be coming from his small frame alone.

FACTUM FIERI INFECTUM NON POTEST. VENI AD ME, TE ARCESSO.

You don’t know what the words mean exactly, but you can feel their intention — they’re a plea for help.

“I’m here,” you answer, your voice meek and distant from where it escapes from your lips.

Suddenly, his eyes open, irises blazing with the same fire that begins to magnify behind him, as if someone just doused it with gasoline.

“Please,” he begs, now in a tongue you understand, and in a voice much more fitting for the boy who speaks it. “Save him.”

As he breathes the last word, a figure appears within the flames. Though casted completely black, you can tell by his broadened silhouette that he’s also a boy — his frame a direct shadow of the one who sits before him.

You suddenly feel yourself being pulled forward by a ghostly force, as if your motile limbs have disconnected from your consciousness entirely. You walk past the boy sitting in the grass and up to the edge of the flames, swells of orange and white filling your sight once you’re stopped at the charred edge of the grass. You think that’s as far as you’ll go, but you gasp as your foot steps directly onto the glowing embers. You clamp your eyes shut, preparing yourself for blistering pain, but to your surprise, there’s no pain at all.

Your eyes blink open to watch as you become completely engulfed in the fire. The flames lap up your legs and kiss your fingertips as you venture further, but it only feels as though you’ve dipped your body into a warm bath – it’s almost comforting. You look up at the dark figure you’re now approaching to see that he has an arm extended towards you, palm facing upwards. You reach out and grab his hand with your own, and you’re shocked to feel the sensation of calloused fingertips and a plush palm, even though he only appears to be a shadowy void in front of you. You squeeze it as he leads you deeper into the fire.

You’re finally starting to see his features as you get closer – dark eyes, full lips, wisps of hair that lay gently on his shoulders. He’s a beautiful boy, just like his brother – you haven’t even fully discerned them yet, but something tells you that they share blood. He stops when you’re only centimeters from his frame, keeping his hand gripped in yours as you continue to stare back at him. His presence has the same enigma as the sheath of flames around you — he feels dangerous, threatening even, but there’s comfort in the way he gazes upon you. A shadow of indigence lies in his features, like soot stained in the crests of his brow and the corners of his mouth. You can tell he’s been suffering for longer than you can even begin to imagine, but his features have suddenly shifted as he’s caught sight of hope— of you. He looks at you like you’re his salvation, like you’re his only promise of freedom from whatever hell he’s been facing.

His lips perk into a smile, tears of sorrow and misery draining from his eyes as you reach with your other hand to caress his cheek.

Your motion, however, is interrupted just before contact by a dull, heavy pressure that starts to gather in your chest. You gasp, clutching at the area, but to your dismay, nothing is there. You start to panic as the sensation quickly grows into a sharp, piercing pain, and you begin struggling for breath, frantically grabbing at your chest in desperation for it to stop. You cry with frustration when it doesn’t, and you look up at the boy to see that he is now equally as horrified. You want to beg for his help —you honestly just want to scream— but just as you’re opening your mouth, another force suddenly yanks away from him, and from out of the fire entirely.

You’re dragged and swallowed into the night, stifling sobs once your eyes meet the expanse of the eerie woods once again.

You feel tired, and hopelessly alone, stuck inside this dreadful time loop. You want nothing more than to collapse onto the forest floor, to decay and become one with the earth, your soul seeping into the dirt so that you never have to relive this nightmare ever again.

But your skin pricks at a rush of cold wind, another menacing voice carried with its blow that causes you to scramble to your feet.

RUN.

☽ ✩ ☾

Synopsis —

Twins POV —

After committing a heinous crime in the eyes of his coven, Josh Kiszka has been banished from the Infernal Church and forced to reside within the realms of mortal reality. This wouldn’t be a terrible fate for the delinquent warlock, however Josh did not act alone in his maleficence —his twin half-brother Jake had been his proud accomplice, but Jake was tragically slain in the process of their illicit act. During his judgment, Josh successfully persuaded the church council to give him two options: either accept his brother’s death as punishment, or give up part of his immortality to Jake, under the conditions that the twins would remain separated for eternity, with Jake residing in the hellscape fields of Elysium, and Josh among the land above. Stubbornly determined to reunite with his brother, Josh chose the latter, and has since used the remnants of his warlock abilities to scour the relics of his former coven’s archives, desperately in search of how to rescue Jake from hell and continue their partial immortality together on Earth.

After centuries of research, Josh has caught wind of hope —a baby girl, gifted by her unholy creators to a mortal woman with the promise that she will remain safe from the corruption of the underworld. She has the power to bring Jake back, but her ignorance to her magical abilities becomes apparent as he watches her grow, blooming into the promising, beautiful young woman she was fated to be, all while remaining shielded from her perilous potential within the depths of the forest. It isn’t until her 7,777th day on mortal earth that Josh is able to conjure her, appearing in a series of vivid dreams, before the two ultimately meet within the lecture halls of a fine arts academy he’s followed her to— the sanguine, starry-eyed girl seemingly unaware of the course of forbidden arts that the fated warlock is about to bestow upon her.

Reader POV —

Having been orphaned as an infant and smothered by your savvy, but painfully overbearing Aunt Edith for your first 21 years of life, you aren’t too familiar with what it's like to exist beyond the thresholds of the cottage you share with her and her irksome cat, Lazlo. You’ve been rather deprived of adolescence, as well as any sense of individuality, your free time spent helping her mend to her garden, sweeping the foyer, and whatever frivolous chores she wishes to assign to you. That’s why, when you receive an acceptance letter from a prestigious fine arts academy she had reluctantly let you apply for— only after you threatened your life if she didn’t—you’re brimming with excitement for the newfound freedom. Friends, parties, romance, everything you could ever dream of was just in reach, even if it means you have to continue living at home instead of a dormitory for the sake of your worrisome aunt.

The academy is where you meet Josh; the curly-haired, smiley boy who sits next to you on the first day of your Art of Ancient Greece class. Josh is a dreamboat: charming, intelligent, and incredibly distracting when it comes to your studies. Josh feels oddly familiar to you, but it isn’t until you’re shaken by a bout of haunting dreams that you realize where you’ve seen him before. You come to find that the seemingly sinless boy is actually an occulted warlock, and that he needs your help to release his equally sinister, yet equally enchanting brother from the depths of hell, but only after you’ve mastered your mystic abilities and learned of the tragic truths of your lineage.

[dharma-divine]

Turning Page

For Liv xx

Summary: Stuck with a seemingly monotonous book as the subject for a final project, you quickly find that the prolific tale of two unlikely lovers is just what you need to pursue your romantic interest in your longtime classmate and beloved friend.

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Word Count: ~ 9,000

Warnings: 18+!!! Explicit sexual content

Notes: Thank you again @jakekiszska for helping me edit <3

“Ah, Mr. Kiszka,” your professor's booming voice echoes through the lecture hall, just as you hear the door behind you creaking open. “Nice of you to finally join us on this fine Monday morning.”

You’re seated front and center of the large classroom, so you have to fully turn around to see the piteous, wide-eyed boy standing in the entryway, the door closing behind him with a loud clammer.

“My apologies Dr. Howard,” Sam smiles meekly, his backpack slung over one of his shoulders. “I had some… car troubles.”

You glance up at the clock above him, reading that class started fifteen minutes ago.

The professor sighs, his mouth slanted in a frown.

“I’ll excuse it today,” he nods, motioning for Sam to sit in his usual spot, in the empty seat to your left. “But just this once.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sam accepts graciously, his hands folding in gratitude before he shuffles through the aisle.

He sets his backpack on the floor with a quiet thud, slumping into the chair. You try to stifle an amused giggle at his grand entrance, and he shoots you a facetious glare.

You and Sam have been friends since freshman year, meeting at the orientation for your shared literacy majors. You immediately bonded over your love of music during one of those dumb icebreaker games, and you’ve been the perfect duo since, taking almost every class you can together.

While you’re both excellent writers, Sam certainly has more of an eye for lyricism; he has a minor in music studies, and he wants to be a songwriter someday, working now as an assistant writer at a studio downtown. With his talent, you know he will end up exactly where he wants to be in the industry, and you can’t wait to see what he makes of his career.

You have your own plans laid out for your future, and while they’re not as perfectly aligned as Sam’s, you’re satisfied with your ventures thus far. You occasionally TA for Dr. Howard, having earned his favoritism with your exceptional grades in his classes, and you help tutor high school students in your free time. Your passion for writing is undeniable, and you know you’re bound to end up in a job that fulfills you just as well as Sam’s.

Even with your irrefutable love for writing though, you don’t think you would be as devoted to your work as you are if it wasn't for him being by your side through nearly all of it.

“Anyway,” your professor continues with a clearing of his throat, pointing back to the slideshow he was projecting onto the screen behind him. “For your final project, you will be analyzing and writing a report on a novel from the Romanticism movement - anywhere between 1790 and 1850.”

Your ears perk at the mention of romanticism — it’s your favorite. The sultry drama, the awe of nature, everything written in that time period is unlike any other. You wish you could simply step into the world of their incredible poems and stories and live in them forever.

“Now, this period covers a lot of ground, so I wanted to make this a bit fun,” Dr. Howard adds as he reaches under his desk and retrieves a small wicker basket, shuffling it around so you see the small slips of paper inside of it. “I’ve written the names of all of the novels I wish for you to cover, and placed them in here.”

He crouches back down, lugging up a larger cardboard box from under the desk. “The department has some copies of these novels that you may borrow. You are to pair up, blindly choose a slip at the end of class, and check out the corresponding book.”

You look over at Sam and make the nonverbal agreement that you will be partners, as if you had any other willing options.

You can hardly stay still for the rest of class, anxious to see what you will choose. You’re hoping for something especially dark and dramatic, like The Scarlet Letter or The Fall of the House of Usher.

When the time comes, you spring up from your chair, scurrying over to be the first in line. You eagerly stick your hand in the basket and shuffle around the strips for a moment before gripping one between your fingertips. You pull it out, smiling as you unravel it, though your expression quickly falls once you read its contents:

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

“What is this, high school English class?” you scoff to yourself, flipping the paper between your fingers as if there was a second choice written elsewhere.

It isn’t that you don’t like Jane Austen, she’s a brilliant romantic author— an author of true romance, of unrequited love stories that you adored reading in grade school— but it just feels a bit underwhelming compared to the countless other options you have.

“Can I choose another?” you ask Dr. Howard, who sits scrolling through the computer on his desk.

“No, ma’am, you get what you get,” he smiles politely, tilting his head down to glance over at you over his thickly lensed glasses. “That’s the fun of it!”

You puff a sigh, sulking up to the box of books. You stick your hand in and shuffle them around in search of yours, your heart lurching every time you see a title you would much rather be reaching for.

You finally find it. This copy must be at least half a century old, its spine worn and delicate. You step away from the box to let the next person search, flipping through its yellowed pages as you make your way back to your seat. Many of them are dogeared, with illegible annotations scribbled in black ink throughout.

Sam is still seated, scrolling through his phone. He looks up once he notices you approaching, his brows furrowing at the sight of your disappointed face.

“What’d we get?”

“Fucking Pride and Prejudice,” you scorn, flicking the slip of paper onto the desk in front of him. “Should that even be able to count? It’s satire.”

“I guess since it’s so renowned,” Sam shrugs as he leans forward to study the slip himself. “It’s not the worst choice. At least we didn’t get, like, Frankenstein or something.”

“Sam, I would’ve much preferred Frankenstein over this,” you inform, stuffing the book in your bag.

He contorts his face in clear disagreement, which causes you to giggle.

“Come on,” you say, snagging your bag from your chair. “Let’s get this over with.”

With this being the last project of the semester, you want it done as quickly as possible, especially with the assumption that the work won’t be very enjoyable.

“Meet at West Oak?” you ask Sam as you wait for him to gather his things, suddenly craving a warm cup of tea and a pastry from your favorite café.

With your nearly perfectly aligned schedules, neither of you have any other classes for the day, so you’ve made it a habit to hang at the library or café to study and catch up on whatever you’ve missed from each other over the weekend.

“I don’t have my car,” Sam reminds you as falls into step at your side.

“Oh, I thought that was just an excuse,” you laugh, filing in line towards the door.

“No, well, I wasn’t having mechanical troubles,” he explains, stepping past you to hold the door open, letting you walk through first from underneath his extended arm. “My problem is Josh. He took it to go visit our parents, without telling me, of course.”

You throw your head back in a laugh. Sam has two older twin brothers, Josh and Jake. They both graduated a few years back, Jake in sound engineering, and Josh in performance arts. Josh is now working as head of your university’s theater department, and Jake is an audio tech at the same studio as Sam, so the twins live together just up the road from you. You have hung out with them multiple times since befriending Sam, and you’ve come to learn that they are both just as talented and intelligent as him, but perhaps a bit spastic — Josh especially. You recall a few months ago when Sam told you that Josh had wrecked and totaled the Jeep he had gotten as a graduation present from their parents. Luckily he wasn’t injured, but they’ve been hesitant to get him another car since. You suppose the issue still stands.

“He stole it right out of the parking garage. I called and he said Jake dropped him off after refusing to let him take his. His excuse for not telling me was he was ‘running late’,” Sam rolls his eyes, air-quoting the last part. “I should have the bastard arrested for theft, I had to walk here.”

You can’t help but laugh at his theatrics. The brothers are always having some sort of conflict, though it never amounts to anything serious, and it goes as nothing but entertainment for you.

“All that trouble, I would’ve just skipped,” you say as you skip through the foyer and out into the chilly winter air.

Holiday break is rapidly approaching, and the treetops and roofs of the buildings around you are dusted lightly with the first fall of snow.

“I could have,” Sam replies, and you notice his pace slows a bit, so you turn around to glance over at him. “But it’s my favorite class, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

He’s giving you this look that he does sometimes, and it never fails to catch you off guard. It’s something about how his usual deep brown eyes suddenly brighten to a warm honey, and how the crescent lines on the sides of his mouth deepen with his lips curved into the softest smile. It gives you an indiscernible feeling deep in the pit of your stomach, like he’s just flattered you.

You don’t let your thoughts wander, and you hope you haven't been staring too long when you clear your throat, motioning to your car parked in the lot across the courtyard.

“Well, don’t worry about it. I can drive.”

~

The drive there is filled with your usual nonsense chatter, with your music playing softly in the background. You ask about Sam’s holiday plans, and if he’s started Christmas shopping yet.

“Not yet,” he laughs from the passenger seat. “I’m not the best gift giver. But we’re renting a cabin with my grandparents for a week, and I’m really excited. It’s gorgeous, deep in the Huron mountains. Have you been?”

“No, I haven’t,” you smile as you pull into the parking lot of West Oak. “But that sounds lovely.”

“Well, maybe we can go sometime,” Sam offers, and you freeze, even with his nonchalant tone. “It’s beautiful year round.”

“Yeah,” you reply a bit too quickly, and you cringe at how your voice goes up a few octaves. “That would be fun.”

You try to not let yourself deliberate your overzealous reply too much as you twist the steering wheel into the first parking spot, switching off the engine and gathering your things.

“I’m gonna go find us a spot,” you say over your shoulder as you enter the café, leaving Sam to stand in the order line. “Get me usual?”

“Earl grey and danish,” Sam answers, shooting his finger at you to verify.

“You got it,” you point back with a smile. “Whatever flavor they have today.”

You walk through the array of tables, scanning for anything available. It’s a bit busy, but you get lucky and snag one by the window in the far back room, just as a sweet looking elderly couple is leaving it.

You settle down in the chair and pull the needed contents out of your bag: your laptop, a notebook and pens, and…the book.

You sigh as you stare at it, examining it more attentively than when you first laid eyes on it earlier. It’s cover is printed with a marbled design that looks as if someone dipped a paintbrush in a mixture of blues and reds and twirled it across the buckram. The name of the novel is printed in silver, against a ruby red square in its center, with delicate embellishments etched along the edges.

You turn the book in your hands to look at its spine: the same ruby red and dainty adornments, with three navy blue squares, one highlighting the name of its renowned author, the second its printing company, and the last acknowledging its illustrator.

Illustrator? You don’t remember seeing pictures. You flip the book open again, shuffling through its fragile pages until you come across a few that have a firmer, glossy texture, their pastel colors standing out immediately.

You study the delicate prints. One shows Elizabeth, the sharp- witted main character of the story. She’s wearing a pale yellow dress, with frilly lace trimmings and feathered, sumptuous bonnet tied to her head, its pink ribbon streaming down her shoulders. Her expression is wistful, her doe eyes staring longingly into the distance as a letter hangs loosely from her delicate hands.

You remember reading about the letters, her unrequited lover spilling his heart to her through the ink. The idea of only being able to communicate through the chance of a letter strikes you as incredibly romantic. You wish more people wrote them nowadays.

The next page is of the man himself — Mr. Darcy. He looks stoic and noble, a cane tucked under the arm of his tailcoat that skirts along his white breeches, his top hat crowning a head of thick, dark curls. His face is handsome and earnest, his body and gaze facing to the side. You don’t know what scene in particular the illustration comes from, but his legs are extended as though he’s apprehensive to go somewhere. You imagine he’s on his way to Elizabeth.

You forgot how much you actually love this book. You chalked it up to you being a lovelorn teenager when you thought back to how much you enjoyed it in high school, but the story starts coming back to you as you look though the rest of the pictures. You’re admiring another handsome illustration of Darcy when you see a figure approaching from your peripherals.

“Here you go,” Sam chimes as he sets down a travel coffee cup with its paper sleeve, a foil wrapped danish balancing on its lid. “One steaming cup of earl grey, and one raspberry danish.”

He places the danish on the table once everything is set, and slides into the chair across from you.

“Thank you,” you smile, setting down the book and eagerly grabbing the tea, taking a careful sip of the steaming liquid.

“What’d you get?” you ask as you eye his cup, unwrapping your warm pastry.

“I asked the barista what her favorite drink is,” he says, picking it up and examining the label scribbled on its side.. “Caramel, praline, something. I don’t know, but it sounded good.”

He lifts the cup to his lips with both hands, his fingers lacing together to cradle it gently. It always amuses you how strangely he drinks things, almost like a child.

“Tastes good too,” he smiles. “Wanna try?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you giggle, breaking off the first piece of danish and stuffing it in your mouth. “But let’s get started on this.”

You tap the book, frowning when you suddenly realize you probably should’ve gotten two copies.

“I guess, let’s just take turns reading it?” Sam says, seeming to have the same thought as you. “We can just run through it real quick. I remember the story vaguely, but I definitely need a refresher.”

“That works,” you nod.

Coming from two literacy majors, you both can get through a book in just a few hours, so this one should be a breeze.

“Then I’ll start,” Sam offers, taking the fragile book in his hand and flipping to the first page

He clears his throat, furrowing his brow and placing a hand regally to his chest.

“Chapter One; It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

He speaks in an awful attempt at a posh English accent, and it makes you laugh. You quickly redact your regret of not getting two copies; instead of having your face buried in the text as you follow along, you’re able to watch Sam as he acts out the words. He has the book extended to his left, his free hand making dramatic gestures as he reads just loud enough to not disrupt any of the other café patrons.

Since the chapters are rather short, you decide to switch off after every two. You’re surprisingly nervous once you reach the third, wanting to keep the same theatrical energy as Sam.

“The girls grieved along over such a number of ladies,” you read along, entering the scene of the Bennett sisters meeting Mr. Bingley and company. “But were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve, he had brought only six with him from London, his five sisters and a cousin.”

You try to mimic the same accent Sam was using, but it eventually falls apart after an attempt to stifle a laugh from hearing him snort with amusement.

“And when the party entered the assembly room, it consisted of only five altogether, Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.”

You swoon at the first mention of Mr. Darcy, smiling through your words as you continue the scene of recounts about his pompous ego, and how the Bennett family dismisses him and his arrogance. Your heart flutters at what’s to come of their relationship.

The two of you spend the next few hours going back and forth, jotting down significant parts that can be used in your report. You’re about twenty chapters deep, right at the part where Elizabeth denies marriage to Mr. Collins, the unimpressive clergyman and distant cousin to Darcy.

“I think this is a good place to stop,” you say, slapping the book shut.

Your head feels a bit hazy after concentrating so hard for so long, and you look out the window to see the sun beginning to set over the snow-dusted buildings across the street.

“Wanna meet here tomorrow to continue?” Sam asks, starting to gather your empty cups and wrappers. “You know, once I get my car back.”

“Yeah sure, and I think I have a copy of this somewhere at home,” you answer as you slide the copy over to him, thinking back to the collector's series of classics your parents gave you for Christmas one year. “It’s definitely being used as decoration on one of my shelves somewhere. So here, you take this one.”

Sam happily accepts the book, sliding into the front pocket of his book bag.

You’re pondering his idea of coming back to the café tomorrow to finish reading as you’re both putting the rest of your stuff away. You glance around at the people lingering in the café, the crowd much more sparse as closing time nears.

“Actually, how about my place tomorrow?” you ask as you’re both heading back to your car outside. “My analytics class gets out at four, you can come over after? We can get a pizza?”

Your heart picks up pace, suddenly nervous that what you’re asking sounds like you’re insinuating something that oversteps your boundaries as friends, even though the invitation is nothing new.

Sam smiles at you from across the hood of the car, gently pulling the passenger door open once you unlock it.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

~

It’s the next day, and you’ve just spent the three hours aggressively cleaning your apartment in anticipation for Sam coming over. You’re not sure why you feel the need to clean, he’s been over multiple times before when you’ve had your laundry strewn over the couch, and dishes in the sink, but something compelled you to today. It started by just sweeping the floor, but led to you wiping the counters, vacuuming the rugs, and replacing every air freshener and candle around your place. The space now smelt like the perfectly sweet mix of brown sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon.

You fall to the couch, sighing loudly as you wipe your brow from the labor you just endured, when you hear a knock at the door.

You freeze.

He’s here already? You reach for your phone on the coffee table, freeze at the sight of your clock — 6:15. You had agreed to meet at 6.

“Fuck,” you curse to yourself as you scroll through series of messages and missed calls from him that you had not heard as you were cleaning.

Sam

5:30: Hey, I just got my car back from Josh. I can go ahead and get the pizza. I’ll be over by 6 :)

5:45: Just picked it up! Otw now

5:55: Here

6:05: Hello??

You feel a rush of panic, looking down at your tattered sweatpants and t-shirt. This isn’t a formal occasion by any means, but you are nowhere near presentable to anyone’s standards.

“Just a second!” you call out over your shoulder.

You feel terrible for making Sam wait any longer, but you scramble off the couch and sprint to your room.

You yank off your sweats and reach for the first pair of jeans you can find, hopping into them frantically. You rip off the t-shirt and leave the tank top you have on underneath, pulling a cardigan over your bare arms before racing over to your vanity for a spritz of perfume. You catch a glimpse of your tangled mess of hair, and decide to rake your brush through it a few times before pulling it into a bun.

“Whatever,” you huff with an annoyed click of your tongue, satisfied enough with your improvement in appearance.

You pick off bits of lint and dust from your top as you shuffle over to your door, unlocking it and pulling it open to reveal Sam.

“Oh good, you’re alive,” Sam laughs, his hands gripping either side of a large pizza box. “You weren’t answering your texts, I was getting worried. I was waiting out there for like ten minutes before one of your neighbors let me in the building, said he recognized me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you breathe, your face heating with embarrassment as you gesture at him to come inside. “I was just doing some tidying up, and lost track of time, and I guess my phone was on silent. Thank you for getting the pizza, I totally would have ordered it before if-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he politely interrupts with a dismissing wave, his tone cool and collected following your slew of excuses.

Your blush deepens as you follow him into the kitchen, watching as he peels off his jacket and sets the pizza box down on the counter.

You notice he’s wearing a cozy, white sweater that you had to borrow once, after spilling a glass of cabernet all over your sweater during an outing with him and his brothers last winter. He insisted on letting you change into it because, in his words, the giant splotch of red “made it look like you had been stabbed to death”. He had not brought a jacket though, and spent the rest of the night in just the t-shirt he had on underneath it, which included the 20 minute walk back to his place in the freezing cold. He ended up catching pneumonia the next day, and was bedridden for a week, with you routinely bringing him soup and catching him up with what he missed in class.

You reminisce on the sweet memory, until you notice him turn around to face you.

“Hungry?” Sam asks, and you realize he’s repeated himself, the pizza box flipped open.

“Oh yeah,” you finally say, stepping to look at the glorious sight of it over his shoulder, your mouth watering.

With the rumbling of your stomach, you realize you had accidentally skipped lunch in lieu of your cleaning frenzy. You reach above you to grab two plates from the cabinet, handing one to Sam.

“Starving, actually.”

The both of you split off your respective slices onto the plates and take a seat on the couch in your living room. You turn on your TV and keep it on whatever channel you had left it on, using it as background noise more than anything.

“So, how did getting your car back go?” you ask before taking the first bite from the tip of your slice.

“Oh, god,” Sam rolls his eyes, his mouth already full.

“Josh tried to convince me to let him borrow it until the weekend, but there is no fuckin’ way.”

He shakes his head with the last words, the oil from the pizza making his lips glisten. You can’t help but stare a bit as he wipes them with a napkin, but you quickly bring yourself back to the conversation before he notices.

“Aw,” you finally say, forcing a frown. “I feel bad.”

“Please, don’t,” he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “He’ll survive. Plus, I think our parents are gonna let him have their Oldsmobile, though I didn’t think that clunky thing could even run anymore.”

He gives an amused cackle after that, taking another bite.

“Well, that’s good,” you giggle, your fingers squeezing into the napkin that you have balled in your fist.

Your throat is getting dry from both the pizza and your nerves, and you realize you haven’t gotten anything to wash it down.

“Oh, fuck,” you blurt, hopping off the couch and shuffling back into the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah, whatcha got?” Sam asks over his shoulder.

You pull open the door to your fridge, scanning your mostly barren shelves for what you have.

“Water, Sprite, lemonade…” you start listing off.

You swing open the freezer to make sure you have ice, when your eyes catch sight of a frosted blue bottle on the door.

“…Vodka?”

“Vodka!” Sam exclaims, without hesitation.

You’re usually not much of a liquor drinker, but one of your friends had left the bottle as a pregame for a night out the other week, and they told you to keep it when you tried to give it back. There’s only about a third of it left, and you’ve been meaning to polish it off, but you didn’t really consider tonight to be appropriate for that. Knowing Sam though, you’re foolish to think he would ever turn down the offer.

“Okay, but let’s not get too crazy,” you laugh, grabbing two glasses and popping the lid of the chilled bottle. “We have work to do.”

“It’ll just let us get more into character,” Sam argues, his head peering over the couch to watch you make the drinks.

“I guess you're right,” you answer, thinking back to how much you enjoyed acting the story out yesterday.

You decide to pour a bit of lemonade over the vodka, mixing the drinks with a cocktail spoon and carrying them over to the living room.

“Cheers,” you toast, handing Sam his glass as you settle back on your spot next to him.

“Cheers,” Sam answers in his terrible posh accent, clinking his glass to yours. “To romanticism.”

Of course, one drink turned into two, and two to three, and pretty soon you’re feeling the effects of the liquor. You feel yourself getting more giggly by the second, your heavy head laid against the back of the couch as you watch Sam read. He had picked up the book by his second drink, just after you ensued another reminder about the work you two had to get done.

You had agreed to stop your separate reading last night right at your favorite part in the book, where Darcy confesses his undeniable love for Elizabeth. You could go grab your copy from your room to follow along, but you’re too comfortable to bother getting up. Plus, the drinks definitely are contributing to his grand performance.

He has the book cradled in his left hand, his head bowed and lashes fluttering down at the pages. He’s given up on his accent at this point, seeming much more intrigued by the story than he was prior. You watch intently as his eyes scan over each line, lips carefully articulating each word despite his slight drunkenness. His brow raises occasionally for emphasis, the hand that’s gripping his dwindling glass of liquor moving aimlessly with the eb and flow of each sentence.

“Elizabeth could not think of Darcy’s leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him,” he reads with a rhythmic cadence in his voice. “But Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and agreeable as he was, she did not mean to be unhappy about him.”

He tips the glass to his lips for a sip after he finishes the sentence, and being how excited you are, you take it as a chance to continue the scene yourself. You grab the book from his hand, quickly finding where he left off.

“While settling this point,” you read, your labored breathing discernible, due to either your nerves or the alcohol.

You see Sam sit back into the couch from your peripherals, his fingers lacing together in his lap as he listens.

“She was suddenly roused by the sound of the door-bell, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of it being the Colonel himself, who had once before called late in the evening, and might inquire particularly after her.”

You pull one of your knees to your chest and rest your chin on it, playing with the frayed trim of your jeans as you anxiously approach the climax of the story.

“But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you deliver the momentous line. You give Sam a quick glance just to make sure he’s just as into it as you are, but when you meet eyes, you realize he’s admiring more than just the words that you read. You have to pause for a moment to take in his expression.

He’s giving that look again, except the feeling it gives you now is nearly overwhelming. His eyes look like they’ve filled with a million stars, the whites as wide and bright as ever, especially against the frame of his dark lashes. He studies your flustered face, his supple lips curving in the slightest smile as he gives you a nod to continue. You struggle to break his gaze, but you eventually clear your throat and find where you stopped, your fuzzy mind making it a bit difficult this time.

“In a hurried manner he immediately began an inquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room.”

You feel Sam shift his weight on the couch, but you now have the book purposely blocking his face so he doesn’t further distract you.

“Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in and agitated manner, and thus began—“

Before you can continue, you feel Sam’s hand grasp over yours that’s gripping the book, your knuckles white around its fragile edges with your sudden flux of emotions. You jump slightly at his touch, and you pull the book down to meet his gaze. You realize he wants you to hand it back to him.

You release it from your grip and he takes it from you gingerly, clearing his throat to continue.

“In vain I have struggled,” he reads, his tone sounding much more profound than the last time he spoke.

You see his jaw clench a bit as he prepares for the next line.

“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

His eyes linger on the page for a moment, before traveling up to meet yours. Time seems to stand still as he continues looking at you with those starry eyes, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat, its beat roaring in your eardrums.

You know he didn’t just simply read the line aloud — there was intention held in the words.

“Sam,” is all you’re able to get out, and you’re not even sure what else to say before his body practically falls into you, cupping the side of your jaw once your lips crash together.

You’re completely stunned by the sudden contact, but it doesn’t take long at all for you to melt into his touch. His lips have the gentle burn of the liquor, and they’re pillow soft against yours. You’ve been craving this, all of your presumptuous thoughts and repressed emotions towards him now flooding to the surface. Your hands begin to wander as the kiss deepens, your fingers running along the knitted ribs of his sweater before meeting the warm skin of his neck. They travel through his long strands of hair as he guides you down to lay down along the couch, his nimble legs straddling yours.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathes under your ear, planting soft kisses along your jaw.

You knew those lingering stares he gives you are because he’s felt the same way, but you never knew how to go about being anything more than friends. This turn of events, confessing love through the words of a prolific writer, evidently seems very on brand for the both of you.

“I imagine it’s just as long as I have,” you reply, turning his face so you can kiss his lips again.

Sam’s smiles at your answer, before his lips begin to trail down your neck as you peel off the cardigan you so hastily put on earlier. His fingertips begin lingering at the edge of your tank top, his eyes flicking up to you with hesitance.

“It’s okay,” you beam at him, nodding your approval. “Take off my clothes, Sam.”

He breathes a shallow laugh.

“You don’t have to ask me twice, princess,” he smiles, the pet name making your skin prickle with excitement.

He swiftly yanks up the tank top, and you lift up your arms to pull it off completely, tossing it to the floor below you. His eyes dazzle at your exposed chest, his lips finding your collarbone once you’ve laid back down.

“You’re so beautiful,” he swoons as he begins traveling down to between your breasts.

One of his hands reaches over to gently knead one, his mouth finding your nipple, sucking at its peak as your eyelids flutter at the pleasurable sensation. Your fingertips grip at the nape of his sweater to urge him to sit up and slip it off, yearning to feel his bare skin against yours. His lips lock yours again once it’s discarded, your hands now exploring the new territory of his chest and back.

He pays regards to your opposite breast, before he slides his body further down your frame.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he grips the waist of your jeans.

“Absolutely,” you breathe, your fingers already working to unbutton and unzip them.

You shimmy out of them once they’re loose enough, lifting yourself off the couch a bit to pull them down past your ass. Sam helps you the rest of the way, tossing them onto the floor with the rest once they’re completely off.

He lays down further, with his stomach against the couch cushion so that he’s able to lace his arms around your thighs, his head hovering between them.

You’d be lying if you say you didn’t purposely choose one of your favorite lacy pairs of panties today, just in case this exact situation were to happen. You’re grateful that you did, with the way his eyes hungrily look over the lace that hugs your hips.

He places a kiss right above their hem, his chin brushing against the tiny bow tied to its center. Maybe it’s the change of angle, or how every nerve in your body is now on full throttle, but you’ve suddenly become keenly aware of the patches of stubble that cover his chin and above his lip, the hairs prickling gently at your sensitive skin as his lips move along the thin waistband. You shiver with pleasure, tilting your head back and shutting your eyes to revel in his touch.

Sam takes his time to move his fingertips along the expanse of your tummy and hips, before he laces his fingers around the sides of the panties. He pulls them down painfully slow, the cool air hitting your freshly shaven skin.

You’d also be lying if you said you didn’t shave your entire body the night before—not that you think Sam would mind the hair, but you did it for your own gratification.

You feel Sam’s breath hitting your abdomen as he continues to pull at the lace, and you dare to glance down at him, only to find him already staring up at you. His irises dark with lust, and he keeps eye contact as he places a kiss right on your smooth skin, a moan involuntary escaping your lips at the feeling of his scruff rub against it.

He has the gall to chuckle at your display of pleasure, and it causes your cheeks to heat with frustration.

“Stop teasing me,” you beg, running a hand from the crown of his head, through the strands of his thick hair. “You know what I want.”

“Hmm,” he hums, reaching down to unloop the panties from your ankles and letting them drop to the floor. “I don’t think I do. What is it?”

He then rests his chin against where he just kissed, the hairs of his stubble pricking you almost painfully now. You squirm at the feeling, breathing out a desperate laugh, your eyes clamping shut.

“God, who are you?” you whine, blindly reaching to cup his cheek and lift his chin off of you, your fingertips running against the grain of coarse hair. “What happened to my sweet Sammy?”

“I’m still here,” he assures with a kiss to your jutted hip bone. “I just love hearing your voice.”

You consider his words for a moment.

“Oh, do you?” you smile, feeling him move back to where you want him.

With a glimmer of deviance, you glance over at the book that found its way onto the coffee table, face down on the page you left it on.

You reach over and grab it, Sam not noticing as he continues to kiss up and down your slit.

“Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression,” you begin, your voice wavering as you try to separate your concentration from his efforts. “She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent.”

Your lips curving in a smirk when you feel Sam stop what he’s doing, and you move the book to look down at his beaming face.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he breathes, clearly proud of you for coming up with such an idea.

He quickly bends back down to continue lapping at you, and you try your best to focus back on the book.

“Then he considered sufficient encouragement;” you continue, your breath enveloping each word as his mouth works fervidly against you. “And the avowal of all he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed.”

You only get through a few more lines before his tongue flicks directly onto the bud of your clit, and you suck in a sharp breath. Your voice staggers more and more with each sentence, your fingers shaking as it flips the page.

“In spite of her deeply rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man’s affection–mmm, Sam,” your concentration lapses with a moan when he hits your sweet spot again.

You feel his lips vibrate in a laugh before he lifts himself from you.

“What was that?” he quips with a devious inflection that you’ve never heard from him.

But then again, there’s a lot of firsts happening tonight.

You pull the book away from you once more, just to see him smirking up at you, his swollen lips slick with your wetness.

“Am I a character in this book?”

You blush, running your fingers back through the top of his hair.

“Shut up,” you jest, gently pressing his head back down.

He obeys, but not without a cocky brow raise, his lips reuniting with your heated skin.

You barely make it through the end of the next page before you’re completely tripping over your words, the sentences not making any sense with the amount of whimpers and moans that escape between each syllable.

You finally slap the book closed and toss it over the side of the couch when you feel one of Sam’s slender fingers sink into the depths of your core. He slowly pumps it in and out of you, your moans, mixed with the lewd sounds of his workings, filling the room around you as you feel your core begin to tighten.

He manages to work in another digit after a moment, and your nails reach to dig into the flexed muscles of his shoulders as their rhythm quickly syncs with the pace of his tongue.

“I’m gonna,” you pant, vivid colors painting behind your eyelids.

You can’t even finish your sentence, your body shuddering with the first surge of pleasure.

“Mhmm,” he hums against you, the vibrations sending you further over the edge. “Come for me.”

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head, every muscle in your body lurches with waves of pleasure that course through you. Wisps of light bloom your vision for a moment, until you’re gasping for air with your come down, your body soothing into a blissful trance once your energy levels. You realize once you come to that you managed to get a painful grip at the root of Sam’s hair, and you unhinge your fingers from the tuft that you were tugging at.

“Sorry,” you breathe, your bare chest heaving as you smooth the strands out.

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, placing wet kisses up your body until he’s once again at your lips, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You begin to lift yourself up until you’re in a sitting position, and your hands slide down Sam’s torso. Your fingertips twirl around the hairs of his happy trail, and you let them linger down to the bulge that pressed against the fabric. You push into him as you continue to lean forward, guiding him back so he’s now the one laid out along the couch.

“My turn,” you smirk as you hover over him, planting a kiss along the curve of his neck. You smell his cologne lingering on his skin as you run the kisses down his chest and stomach, right down to where your fingers were playing before.

You help him zip his fly down, and he does the same shimmy you did, the jeans slipping with ease from his slim waist. He kicks off the legs and is left with only his briefs, the outline of his member stretching the cotton it’s strained against. You bend down and kiss him through the fabric, before gripping the stretchy waistband and gently pulling it down. His hard cock springs out, slapping lightly against his abdomen. You eye him zealously, your fingers wrapping gently around his shaft to tip it towards you. Your mouth is already salivating, and you lean forward to let a bead of spit drip from your open mouth.

You flick your eyes up to him, and you're delighted to see that he’s watching you, his mouth agape. You smile at him as your hand begins traveling up and down, slicking him in your saliva. You finally press your lips to his head, your tongue slipping out from your lips and swirling around the tip. Your hands continue to work his shaft as you push him further into your mouth, until you feel him in the back of your throat and you have to brace your hands on his hip bones as you fight your gag reflex. Pulling him back out through hollowed cheeks, you release him from your pursed lips with a lewd pop. You continue the cycle a few more times, your eyes streaming with tears with each plummet. You glance up again and meet the expanse of his neck this time, his head tilted back with the swell of his Adam's apple bobbing as he desperately swallows a moan. His long hair pools around his lean shoulders, beads of sweat glistening on his chest. As soon as you feel him begin to throb inside your mouth, he latches his hand around a section of your hair and swiftly pulls you up from him, the taste of his precum left on your tongue once you release. His hand let go of your hair to grip the back of your neck, guiding you up his body so your legs straddle him, your core against his slickened shaft.

You begin to rock your hips against him as your lips lock once more, the tastes of each other intermingling. You whimper with the sensation, still a bit sensitive from your first come up. His lips latch onto your collarbone as you continue to grind into him, until you feel properly warmed back up.

“Do you want me to put on a condom?” he breathes when your hand reaches down to line him up with your entrance.

“You don’t have to,” you pant, staring to tease yourself with his cock.

You, of course, trust each other to be clean, and you’ve been on birth control since a teenager. If any further anxiety lingers in the next morning, you have some morning after pills stashed in your bathroom cabinet.

“Okay,” he smiles, pulling your lips back to his.

You proceed to ease him in, moaning at how good it feels to finally have him inside of you. You roll yourself up and down his length a few times until you’re acclimated enough to sit down at his base. You continue the motion of grinding yourself against him, feeling him deep inside of you now, your head tipping back with a few escaped moans and whimpers. With your eyes still closed, you feel his fingers snake around your exposed throat and pull you forward. He kisses you deeply, still squeezing at your neck, now having the leverage to gyrate his hips and pull himself in and out of you. Your mouth dips back open when he begins to quicken the pace, and you push yourself fully onto him again, using your folded knees to bounce yourself along his length. You grab at your bouncing breasts, beads of sweat dripping between them and tickling down your stomach. He still has a grip on your neck, his other elbow propped behind him and his abs flexing to hold the position. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing the tendrils of muscles.

You’re suddenly being pushed backwards after a few more sinful moments, with Sam still inside of you and wrapped around your throat, your position seesawing once more so that you land with your back along the cushion. You don’t know how he even managed such a move, but you don’t have much time to ponder it as he thrusts deeply into you. You hike your legs around his waist, and the new angle lets him hit just the right spot. He lets go of your neck only to nurse his fingers into your mouth, pulling them out once your tongue has lapped around them. He lowers his hand, and you feel the slick pads of his fingers swirl against your throbbing clit. He continues the motion as he thrusts harder into you, the sound of your skin slapping together striking your eardrums. The addition of his fingers has your next climax rapidly building again, and you know he must be getting close when his rhythm begins to unravel.

“Come for me again,” he pleads, the veins in his neck protruding, his cheeks and chest rosy and sheened with sweat.

“I’m gonna,” you cry back, just as the first shudder courses through you.

You can tell he does his best to ride you through it, but he can only last a few more thrusts before he pulls out of you, his fingers leaving your clit to grip at the frame of the couch. You quickly reach down to stroke him, until you feel ribbons of warmth lap onto your stomach, a moan of relief escaping his lips.

You both sit there panting for a moment, his hands planted on either side of you so as to not hinder the mess. His hair hangs down and tickles your cheeks as he hovers over you, and you reach up tuck the stands behind his ears.

“That was incredible,” you breathe, turning over to grab your tank top from the floor.

You use it as a makeshift towel, wiping down your stomach and tossing it back into the floor, making a mental note to do some more laundry in the morning.

“It was,” he agrees, planting a kiss on your forehead before letting himself collapse to the side, between you and the back of the couch. “I can’t believe we just did that.

You giggle, hiking your thigh up to rest it against his abdomen.

“We neither.”

There isn’t a lot of room on the couch to lay comfortably together, so you decide to get up, extending a hand to guide him up as well.

“Come on, you might as well spend the night now.”

He nods his agreement with a sweet smile, and you lace your fingers together and take the lead down the hall, opening the door to your freshly cleaned clean room, the smell of sugar cookies wafting in the air with the lit candle you have on your nightstand.

You climb into your freshly made bed with Sam following suit, pulling the covers over the both of you, the fresh fabric feeling heavenly on your smooth skin.

You lean lean and snuff the candle, before crawling deeper into the bed and nestling your face into the cook of Sam’s neck.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” you mumble, the warmth of his body and soft fabric cocooned around you quickly winding you to sleep.

He presses one more kiss on top of your head, his arm cradling you.

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

~

It’s Christmas morning, and your family is gathered around the tree to open presents. You’ve been home for about a week now, climbing the steps of your parents porch a few days after submitting your finals, the last of which being the project you completed with Sam for Dr. Howard.

You were both really proud of how it turned out, and to your delight, you got a notification in your mailbox a day later, informing that you both received an A+.

You got to spend time with Sam before the two of you parted ways for the holidays, and needless to say, you’ve fully established your relationship beyond friends. You spent most of your time lounging in bed with him, watching Christmas movies until you ultimately got distracted with each other to pay any attention.

The night before you left, he took you out to a nice dinner, marking it as the first real outing you had as a couple. You ate and drank to your heart's content, spending the night at his place before he drove you to the airport in the morning.

You had been excited to announce your newfound relationship with Sam to your family, with your mother specifically always raving about how sweet and handsome he is. They’re thrilled for the two of you, and hope they can meet the rest of the Kiszka family sometime soon.

You love the gifts you receive from your family, your favorites being a new set of moleskine notebooks and fountain pens from your parents, that you'll be sure to use up next semester, and a gorgeous amethyst necklace from your sister.

Your dad is commencing his duty as the trash man once everything has been unwrapped, stuffing the leftover wrapping paper into a big trash bag as you excuse yourself to the kitchen.

You make yourself a cup of tea, enjoying how the waves of amber seep into the water as you dunk the bag into your favorite mug. You sip if gently as you pad over to the window in your entryway, and to your delight, you see tiny flakes of snow beginning to dust your front yard. It’s always a toss up on whether or not it’ll be a white Christmas, or if the most snow you’ll get is the patches left from a past storm, so you’re elated to see the former be the outcome for this year.

You’re about to turn to inform your family of the exciting news, when a flash of silver catches your attention from the floor of your porch. You look down to find that it’s a tinsel bow, set atop a package wrapped in red paper.

Your brows furrow with curiosity as you push the front door open, assuming it’s a package for your parents from one of your neighbors. Your eyes widen when you see your name on a tag looped with the bow, etched in a familiar handwriting.

You start tearing into the wrapping as you step back inside, the cool air already nipping at your bare arms and feet.

You gasp when you see the familiar crimson spine and silver letters.

“No way,” you breathe, remembering how secretly upset you were when you put the book back in its box after submitting your project last week, assuming the department wanted to keep such a delicate copy.

You flip through the pages, reminiscing on your newfound love for the story that you once thought you disdained, when a folded piece of paper falls from the bind and flutters to the floor.

You bend down to pick it up, reading the words that are scribbled along the lines in the same endearing handwriting.

I had to beg Howard to let me keep this, and he only let me after I said it was a gift for his most favorite student. I figured you’d like to have it, considering all it’s done for us. Plus, it really is a great story.

What can I say? Austen’s a genius.

Merry Christmas, I ardently love and admire you. - Sam ♡

[dharma-divine]

Recording In Progress

Happy Holidays, besties! I haven't posted in a while (been working on some super exciting projects ;-)), so here's a quick one shot to get me back in the groove!

Thank you @gardenvanfleet for helping me edit, ilysm <3

Pairing: Jake x (Female) Reader

Word Count: ~5,000

WARNINGS: 18+!!! Explicit sexual content

Summary: Joining the boys for a prolonged practice session, your boredom leads you to make a move Jake, sneaking away with him into a vacant recording booth.

“Yeah, that’s good,” you hear Jake murmur to no one in particular, his voice traveling from across the spacious room of the studio.

You flick your eyes from your twiddling thumbs to watch as he leans over in his chair, reaching over the guitar rested in his lap to grab a pencil and jot something down in the notebook in front of him. A freshly lit cigarette hangs from his mouth, his lips pursed around it as he takes a long drag.

Your eyes linger on him for a moment, before glancing over to each of the three other boys scattered across the room. They’ve been practicing for hours, trying to get as much work done as possible before you all head home for holiday break. You happily joined their practice after Jake extended an invite this morning, shooting you a text while you were in line for your morning coffee. You’re always so excited to see them work on their music — to see their amazing talents come to life.

You arrived at the studio around noon with a drink carrier full of coffee cups, dispersing them to each of the boys. They’re alone today, their manager and other co-writers out for the holidays already. It’s just the five of you, sitting around in the live room, various instruments and equipment sprawled out as they work on their own expertise.

You put your coffee cup to your lips and cringe at the cold liquid that hits your tongue. You check the clock on your phone, and it reads a quarter till three. You sigh.

The first few hours were exciting, but you are admittedly getting bored as the afternoon lulls by. You’ve been here longer than you ever have in past visits, long enough to have lunch delivered, the empty pizza boxes now stacked on the ottoman of the couch you're lounged on.

You’re thoroughly impressed by how focused the boys are, even this late in the day, the mixture of instruments and Josh’s vocals still filling the aural space. You know you could leave whenever you’d like, but you don’t want to be rude. Plus, your favorite part of joining their practice sessions is always going out for drinks afterwards, and you do not want to miss the invite for that.

Your eyes go back to Jake, watching as he takes the cigarette from his lips between two fingers, a cloud of smoke promptly billowing from his mouth. They’re not supposed to be smoking in here of course, but they always do when they’re alone. You can still smell the hint of weed lingering in their air from Josh’s joint he had lit much earlier.

Jake places the cigarette back in his mouth and continues working intently at his beloved acoustic. You’ll never get tired of watching him play, entirely enthralled in the way the muscles in his arm flex with every thrum of its strings, and how his fingers curve to press firmly into the fretboard. You love how he licks his lips when he’s super concentrated, his eyes full of thought as he immerses himself in his music. You usually refrain from letting your thoughts wander too far, but with your painful boredom, you can’t help it now.

There’s always been something between you and Jake, but neither of you have had the courage to act on it. Everyone around you has clearly caught on to it though, his brothers constantly making jokes about the two of you being a couple. You admittedly fantasize about being his girlfriend, about following them on tour and experiencing the glamorous side of rockstar life firsthand, but something always stops you from making the commitment. Perhaps you’re scared that it won’t be as exciting as you dream it to be, and that being around Jake for more than just the time that he’s home will make the spark you have with him dim, or worse, you’ll fuck up and lose the friendship that you’ve spent so long building.

Or, maybe it’s because you like the idea of letting this tension simmer for as long as possible, because it isn’t like you’ve never caught on to how his eyes linger on you too, and how his husky voice goes soft and sweet when he speaks to you. He seems just as hesitant to pursue something, if not more so, as you are, which only adds to your nerves. But the tension is bound to spill over eventually, and you see it happening soon.

You didn’t want to hover over him the entire time and be a distraction, so you made yourself comfortable on the couch, a book and a spare notepad that you’re using to doodle beside you, just for when you got tired of scrolling through your phone.

But even the notebook has bored you now. You continue to stare at him, your cheeks growing warm as you watch his thick, calloused fingers work their magic.

You’re so entranced by him, aimlessly chewing at the end of your fingernail as you rake up his body, that you flinch when he suddenly stops playing. You fix your wandering eyes to find him staring right back at you, his eyebrow raised, a smirk curving the side of his full lips. You feel your face flush even warmer at the fact that you’ve been caught.

You bite at your lip to try to hide a flustered smile, but you know it’s not hidden. You pick up the notebook and pencil from your side, flipping it open to draw random doodles as you try your hardest to calm your clambering heartbeat.

You know your attempt at being aloof is making you look even guiltier.

To your relief though, the strumming starts again, and after a while you dare to glance back up at him. His head is down, but you can tell by the way his grin perks up again that he’s watching you from his peripherals.

You consider going back to keeping yourself busy, to ignore the teasing, but you decide to finally gather the courage and do something about your yearning desire for him.

You get up from the couch and quietly pad over to Jake. He lifts his head when he notices you approaching, halting the strings with a spread hand.

“Hey,” he smiles, a playful giggle skirting his voice as he bends down to extinguish his cigarette in his ashtray out of courtesy, though he knows you don’t mind the smell.

“Hi,” you reply sweetly, pulling over a nearby chair and positioning it next to him. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” he breathes, looking down at his fingers as they tap against the hollow curve of the guitar’s body. “We’ll probably be wrapping up soon.”

He seems just as nervous as you feel, but his eyes begin to rake up your frame, eventually meeting your gaze again. A smirk forms his lips, his eyelids low with amusement.

“I saw you watching me over there, I was waiting for you to come over here.”

“Oh, were you?” you smile, tilting your head bashfully.

“Mhm,” he hums.

You’re tired of dancing around your intentions with him. You glance over your shoulder at his brothers and Danny, who are all still working intently at their respective instruments, before leaning in close enough to Jake that you hear him take in a sharp breath.

“I was just watching your hands…” you remark, running one of yours gently up the neck of his guitar, feeling the ribbed texture of the strings glide against your fingers.

He raises his eyebrows, catching on to your deviance, looking past you to give a glance at his bandmates also.

“Yeah, you like that?” he quips when he confirms that they’re preoccupied.

You catch his eyes dart to your mouth for a moment, something he always does when he’s being flirtatious.

His hand meets yours at the base of the guitar’s neck, turning it over as an invitation for you to touch it. You take it into yours, feeling the soft, warm flesh of his palm.

“I do,” you answer, twisting his wrist so you can splay your fingers flat against his and compare sizes.

They extend just past the tips of yours, but the width of them are clearly much fuller, his knuckles peeking from the sides.

“Guitar players amaze me,” you continue playing coy. “How you move so quickly, and precisely…”

You slide your fingers back down his palm, continuing to study its features.

“You must be really good at –”

You only pretend to be surprised by the slip of thought, though you still feel yourself blush when you look up to catch his reaction.

His brows raise again, and he swipes his tongue between his lips. You glance down at them, knowing he’s watching you do so. They’re so full, and plump, and pink. You want to kiss them, but you don’t.

Not here, not yet.

“What was that?” he asks, clearly riveted by your boldness.

“Oh, nothing,” you bluff, suddenly letting go of his hand. “It’s nothing. Anyway, what song were you-”

“No, no,” he prides, and you stifle a giggle when he laces his fingers around the leg of your chair, its feet squeaking against the wood as he pulls you closer to him. “What were you going to say?”

You hold your breath for a moment, trying to decide how you want to pursue.

You decide to grab his hand again from the chair leg, lifting it gingerly and placing it against the expanse of your thigh, his touch warm over the fabric of your leggings.

“I just think those fingers can work more than just a guitar,” you lean in to whisper in his ear as you guide him further up your leg, until he’s gripping the side of your hip. “They’d probably feel so good in between my–”

You’re scared you’ve overstepped your boundaries when Jake suddenly jumps out of his seat, his guitar nearly crashing to the floor if not for the strap looped around his back. The clammer causes his bandmates to look up from their concentration, quizzical expressions on all of their faces.

“I- uh,” Jake stutters, looking down at you as you try to stifle a laugh.

Only you can see the bulge in his jeans, pressed against the back of the guitar that’s still laced around him.

“I left my Les Paul in one of the booths, can- can you help me look for it?” he asks you desperately, his cheeks bright red.

His eyes tell you to go along with it, so you do, even though you know his explanation is far from convincing as the other boys eye you suspiciously.

“Please, like you’d be careless enough to do that,” Sam scoffs, shaking his head from where he’s lounged by the riser.

“About time,” you think you hear Danny mumble from behind the drum kit, followed by both of their cackles.

“I cannot believe you would do something so careless,” Josh scolds facetiously, standing up from his seat on the rug and waving his hand dramatically towards the door. “You two better hurry, I’d hate for something to happen to it.”

“Yeah, actually now that you mention it…” you chime, lifting from your seat and walking towards the studio door. “I think I saw it down the hall…”

“Fuck all of you,” Jake rolls his eyes, being sure to face away from his bandmates as he slides off his guitar and props it against his chair.

He scolds you through gritted teeth once he’s caught up with you, but his eyes dance with excitement.

“Especially you.”

You think you hear Josh say something else, but you don’t catch it as you open the door and pull Jake into the vacant hall, pushing him to the wall once it’s shut.

“You made me look ridiculous,” Jake chides through a blushed smile.

His hands are hesitant to rest at your waist.

“I made you?” you repeat, running your fingers around his wrists and up his forearms. “I didn’t make you do anything. You made it a scene.”

You look up at him through the wispy fan of your lashes, batting them innocently when you can tell he doesn’t have a rebuttal. “But you know, I really like you, Jake.”

He just smiles at you for a moment, seeming relieved to finally hear your confession.

“I like you too,” he answers as he scans your face, and you hear his breath hitch when you lean in closer to him. “I just, I didn’t think you’d be interested in something more…”

“Yeah,” you interrupt as you take a strand of his hair and push it behind his ear. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I think I do.”

Your hand travels down the length of his hair and onto the bare chest that peeks between his open shirt. His skin is warm, and you can feel the thud of his frantic heartbeat. Yours is going just as fast, but you try to suppress your nerves. You’ve obviously taken the reins here, and you want to keep the momentum going.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, your fingers wandering up from his chest to his neck, wrapping around its nape.

“You don’t have to ask me that,” he answers, honey dripping from his voice as he pulls you into him, your lips pressing together.

The kiss starts soft, but quickly grows deep and passionate. You can taste the cigarette on his tongue as it laps against yours, and you moan as he squeezes at your hips. He pulls away.

“If you’re gonna make noise, maybe we should go somewhere to contain it…” he smirks, before grabbing your hand to lead you down the empty hall.

The entire building is empty except for the rest of the boys you just left, but you like his idea anyway. Jake opens the door to one of the recording studios a few doors down, guiding you in with an arm laced around your waist. You pull him in with you, blindly reaching for his face once he closes the door behind him. You backpedal, your lips locked, until your ass runs into the control panel that protrudes from the opposite wall. You accidentally hit one of the buttons when you brace yourself against it, and a sharp ringing comes from the speaker above you, causing you to jump. Jake chuckles, reaching past you to flick a switch, and the noise abruptly stops.

“Sorry,” you say, glancing down at the expanse of knobs and buttons, not knowing what a single one means.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures, his teeth glowing in the soft purple light coming from the panel. “Nothing’s set up in here anyway.”

He lifts you off the board and walks over to the door of the isolation booth, pulling it open and guiding you in.

“But this should be more comfortable.”

You find a large leather loveseat in the center of the booth, a singular mic stand pushed over to the side with some other cases and gear. As your eyes begin to adjust with the darkness, you see that the walls are covered in a plush looking foam.

“Much better,” you grin, and you can tell by the way the reverb of your voice instantly dies that there’s no way anyone will hear you in here.

You pull Jake back into you, your lips locking once again as you begin to fumble with his belt. Once it’s unlooped and you’ve undone his fly, your hand sinks down to rub him through the fabric of his boxers.

“Is this okay?” you ask as you drop to your knees in front of him.

“It’s perfect,” he answers, his words laced with a smile.

He runs his hand through your hair as you finally pull him free, his length rock-hard and throbbing from being constricted since you were in the live room.

“I bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” you remark as you stroke him.

He gives only a moan as a response, his arm reaching back to brace himself against the chair behind him.

“You can sit down, Jakey,” you purr as you push against his hips, letting him fall into the seat. “Relax, let me do the work.”

You hear him chuckle as you continue to stroke him, slicking your hand in your own spit so he glides with ease against the skin of your palm.

His fingers rake deeper through your hair when you lean in closer to him, your lips hovering just over the tip of his head. You bat your eyes up at him for a few moments, reveling in the power trip of having him so vulnerable. You press a gentle kiss against his head, and begin trailing the kisses all along his shaft, your tongue licking a stripe back up his length once you’ve reached the base.

You finally sink him further past your lips, a breathy moan escaping him as he plummets down your throat. You bob along his length a few times, sending him deeper until he threatens your gag reflex. You pause for a moment when your lips manage to touch his base, your eyes pricking with tears, though the discomfort is worth it when you glance up to his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure. You finally slide him out with a lewd slurp, a silver string of saliva left between you. You wipe your lips clean with your thumb, your other hand continuing along his slickend shaft.

“This feels incredible,” he pants through strained breaths.

You decide to give your throat a break for a moment by swirling your tongue around his head, tasting the precum that’s started to dribble from it, before sucking him a few more times just to hear his desperate, pathetic moans.

“Come here, now,” he eventually tries to command as you feel him begin to pulsate in your mouth, but he still sounds so submissive with the way his breaths envelope each word.

“Are you sure?” you enchant, batting your lashes at him. “I haven’t made you come yet.”

“Please,” he implores, and you smile at his desperation, snaking up his body and planting yourself on his bare lap.

He places wet kisses on your neck once he can reach it, hooking his fingers underneath your sweater, your arms lifting over your head so he can swiftly pull it off. His lips move to lock onto your collarbone once it’s discarded onto the floor, and you take no time to reach behind you to unhook your bra, your skin prickling with goosebumps once it’s gone too. You massage your freed breasts, pinching at your perked nipples. Jake’s hands follow suit, cupping them gently. You lace your fingers through his hair as he bends down to kiss one, sucking at your nipple.

“Keep doing that,” you moan softly, the tingly sensation traveling to between your thighs.

You can feel his hard length through your leggings. The chair is wide enough for you to straddle your folded legs on either side of him, your hips grinding against his length. You push down harder when he moans against your skin.

“Please, just take these off,” Jake prides, sliding his fingers under your waistband.

You promptly lift off of him, standing up to push them, along with your soaked panties, down your legs as he works to unbutton the rest of his shirt. You remain standing in front of him, your fully naked body being a surprise once his eyes meet you again.

“You’re stunning,” he blushes, reaching out to grab your hand once his shirt hits the floor.

You expect to fall back into his lap, but you’re caught off guard when he stands too, pushing you into the chair instead.

He’s the one to crouch in front of you now, your mouth agape as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs open and kneeling between them.

“You wanted to see what else my fingers can do, didn’t you?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

He reaches forward to laces his hand around the side of your neck to pull you forward, using his middle and ring fingers of his opposite hand to coax your lips apart.

“Open up.”

You moan as he slips his fingers into your mouth, the lingering metallic taste of guitar strings hitting your tongue.

He pulls them from your pursed lips once they’re coated, keeping your gaze as his hand lingers down to your heat. He just barely brushes against you at first, making you shiver. You buck your hips towards him, desperate for more, but he pulls his hand away.

“Two can play at this game, princess,” he teases, the pet name warming your cheeks.

You have to stifle a whine, stubborn to keep the dominance, but you melt when he finally does touch you again. His fingertips twirl against your swollen clit, massaging the bud between two of them as your chest heaves.

You fall back into the seat, and he follows, lifting himself off the floor so he can kiss you and give his wrist the right angle to finally push a finger into your entrance. You moan into his mouth, glancing down as the digit pumps in and out of you. He uses his free hand to pull your hips to the edge of the cushion before working another one in, your legs draped over his shoulders as he picks up pace. Your wetness squelches against him in the otherwise silent space, your body folded into him in a way that would be uncomfortable if his fingers weren’t fucking you senseless.

You let out another hopeless moan as you feel your core tightening, gripping the arms of the chair as you brace yourself for your climax. It crashes into you, every muscle in your body clenching in a series of shudders as you cry out, your nails digging into the leather. You go limp as the waves die, practically sliding out of the seat, but Jake catches before you can hit the floor.

He maneuvers your body so he can sit back down into the chair, with you once again in his lap.

“Are you ready for more?” he asks as your breathing steadies, and you smirk, turning so you can face him.

“Absolutely, I am.”

“I don’t have a condom,” he adds as you begin to make yourself comfortable again. “I clearly wasn’t expecting to be doing this here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you whisper into his ear, placing a gentle kiss just underneath it. “I want to feel all of you.”

You continue where you left off with him, your now bare, throbbing heat grinding against him. You reach down and guide him through your slit, sliding him along to tease yourself. Your skin tingles with the craving for another orgasm, and your teeth sink down into his bottom lip and you finally push his head into your entrance. You slowly lower yourself onto him, your legs folded, knees pressed against his hips. You place your hand against the back of the seat to steady yourself as you begin riding yourself along his length, your breasts bouncing as the motion picks up speed, the skin of your thighs slapping lewdly against his. Your moans stagger each time you land, and he bends forward to kiss at your breasts, squeezing at the other. You lift your hands from the chair to use his shoulders to brace yourself instead, your nails pressing into his skin. You savor the feeling of having your bodies connected, reveling in the release of all tension that was built between the two of you for so long.

Sweat is dripping down your body as you feel your core tightening again, and you struggle to maintain your rhythm, a string of expletives escaping your mouth as it falls apart. Jake pulls you towards him, your face falling into the crook of his neck as he takes the lead, sending deep thrusts into you.

“I’m gonna come again,” you announce, clamping your eyes together as the pressure continues to build, your forehead pressed into his shoulder.

“Me too,” you hear him breathe. “Should I-?”

“No,” you cut, promptly lifting your head to face him.

You appreciate his willingness to pull out, but you don’t want to kill the momentum. Your hand laces around the side of his jaw, tipping his chin back so his ravishing eyes are forced to look at you, his mouth slated open as he continues his thrusts.

“Don’t.”

It hits you just as you get the word out, jolts of pleasure coursing through your every muscle. Jake’s thrusts halt entirely a moment later as he reaches his peak, and you feel him fill you up, wetness seeping down your thighs. You rock your hips into him to savor the moment, riding out your highs before lifting off of him and slumping back into his lap.

“This chair is fucked,” you joke once your desperate breaths have steadied, feeling how wet the cushion is against your thighs.

“Yeah,” Jake breathes, running a hand through his hair as he cradles you with his other. “We should go find a towel or something.”

You agree, though you don’t think just a towel will save it, your shaky legs struggling to balance your weight as you climb off of him. You search for your clothes in the dark, pulling each garment back on as Jake looks for his.

He’s the first one to leave the isolation booth, padding over to the door to the hallway. The bright light casts a glow into the dark room as he gently pulls it open and walks through, but he pauses under its frame.

“What?” you ask nervously as you quickly pull on your sweater and catch up to him, scared that perhaps his manager just showed up and caught the two of you.

“Was that on the whole time?” he asks as he points up to the ceiling above the door.

You look up to see the ‘RECORDING’ sign lit in its red glow.

“No, I don’t think so. What does that mean, though?” you ask as Jake walks back over to the sound panel inside, sitting in the office chair that’s pushed in front of it. “I thought the mic wasn’t set up.”

He doesn’t say anything back, but when he switches on one of the buttons on the panel, you’re given all the answers you need.

It’s a bit muffled and distant, but you hear the familiar sounds of your own moans and screams, relayed from just a few moments ago through the speaker above you.

“No fucking way,” you breathe, your cheeks burning hot as you cup a hand over your mouth.

You quickly shut the door behind you, flicking a switch beside it that turns on the dim overhead light, Jake getting comfortable as he continues messing with the buttons. A few clicks later, the sounds come from the opposite speaker, this time much clearer, and much louder.

Jake spins around in his chair to face you, his expression beaming.

“It was on,” he grins. “It was fucking on. You must’ve switched it on when you bumped into it earlier, and I didn’t notice. I only heard the reverb from the amp.”

You blush at the fateful mishap, the moans still spilling from the speakers. You trust him enough to know he wouldn’t knowingly record you without your permission, but you can see the impish glimmer in his eyes as he continues listening to it.

“Are you gonna delete it?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

“No,” he says, but his eyes widen when he quickly decides to correct himself. “I mean, not unless you want me to.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure, though you slit your eyes at him suspiciously. “What are you going to do with it, though?”

He pauses, his cheeks turning pink.

“I mean, I can distort it a bit,” he explains. “And make it not so obvious that it’s, you know, sex sounds…”

He swivels back to face the panel, turning a knob that makes the sound go down several octaves, the deep tone making your chest vibrate. He turns another which adds a raspiness to it, your moans sounding more like a garish guitar riff than anything now.

You grin as he continues playing with it, quickly accepting the fact that you won’t be meeting the rest of the boys for drinks tonight. You make a mental note to have dinner delivered here for the two of you eventually — and to perhaps stop by the pharmacy on the way home, feeling the contingent wetness between your legs threaten to spill as you remain standing.

“Well, be sure to add me to the credits of your next album then,” you jest, pulling the door open to go search for something to clean up the mess still left in the booth.

“I’m excited to hear my musical debut.”

[dharma-divine]

Off Limits (Series?)

Part One

Welcome to my debut writing project! I wasn't planning for this to be a series when I started, but it definitely has the potential to be at least a few parts. Let me know if you guys would like more, and if you want to be added to the taglist! :)

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Summary: Working at a golf course, you struggle to keep the harmony between you and a vexing coworker, until a turn of events leads you to an unexpected friendship (or maybe something more?).

WARNINGS: Harassment/groping from creepy old men!!! Not too vulgar, but it leaves the reader feeling helpless and fearful so it definitely may be triggering to some. Also cursing, cigarette smoking, and the mentioning of drug use.

Shoutout @garbagevanfleet for helping me! <3

The afternoon sun shines bright as you pull into the golf course, the parking lot bustling with carts and guests with their clubs in tow. It’s expected to be busy today, the tee times almost completely booked the last time you had looked at the schedule. You check yourself in your rearview mirror, putting on a fresh coat of lip balm and a spritz of perfume, before stepping out of your car and into the heat.

Once inside, you realize that the clubhouse is even more packed than the parking lot, and you do a quick turn down a hallway and into the office before you have a chance to get stopped by any guests asking about cart rentals or where to order beer. The office is a quiet relief from the main lobby, and there you find Danny sitting at his desk, sporting his usual golf attire with his curly, long hair half tied up. He’s facing away from you, but you can tell that he is intently focused as he scrolls though an email that’s pulled up on the computer in front of him, the mouse clicking beneath his fingertips.

Danny is the sales manager at the course, and you can tell that he really loves his job. He’s always eager to show any newcomers around, and everyone there knows and adores him. He has a lively, bright personality that you could never get enough of, and not to mention he’s an excellent golfer. You can catch him hitting balls on the range any time of the day, and he often participates in local tournaments. You aren’t an excellent golfer yourself, but Danny is always down to play a round on his off days with you and teach you any tips and tricks that he can.

“Good afternoon, Daniel,” you chime, and the boy immediately swivels in his chair, possibly a bit startled by your sudden presence, but meets your gaze with a sweet smile.

“Y/N, hello!” he greets. “Ready for today? We’re booked, you should make great tips.”

“Let’s hope so,” you reply, walking to a closet at the far side of the room to retrieve your money bag and tablet.

“Have you seen Sam by chance? I need to ask him about this group that’s coming in at 2…” Danny asks as he continues to face the computer monitor. You tense at the mention of his name. Sam.

You fucking hate Sam. You don’t know why, but ever since Danny hired him on a few months ago, you two do nothing but bicker at each other. You’re normally not the type of person to hate someone, hate is such a strong word and rarely used in your vocabulary, but it really is how you feel about Sam. Anytime you ask him for a favor, usually something painless like getting you a roll of quarters from the register, or his keys to the storage room, Sam acts like it’s the end of the world. He always just rolls his eyes, tossing the requested items at you carelessly. He works in the pro shop, the main store where guests go to check-in and buy their necessary golf gear, which can be anything from clubs, to ball tees, to sportswear. When you question him about a new wedge they are selling, or the price of a shirt, he replies with such an attitude that it makes you feel stupid for even asking. He makes your blood boil, and you hate to admit it but he’d even nearly brought you to tears a few times. You just don’t know why he was so mean to you.

Danny doesn’t understand the dissonance between the two of you either; him and Sam are best friends, they apparently have been since they were little, which isn’t surprising by how they act together. After hours, you can catch them racing carts across the fairway, or using their golf clubs like baseball bats to hit empty beer cans back and forth. You remember how excited Danny was when he first told you that he had hired Sam and how that, in turn, made you excited, because you were sure that any friend of Danny’s was a friend of yours. Oh, how wrong you were.

You also remember the first day Sam came to work, and how the other cart girls giggled and whispered about him in the back of the kitchen because they thought he was cute.

Sure, you can agree that Sam is attractive. He has a tall, slender stature, and long brown hair that he sometimes pulls back into a bun or headband when it’s especially hot out. His hair frames his face nicely, complimenting his high cheekbones and rigid jawline that usually remains clenched, or at least it is whenever you’re around. His eyes are warm and kind when he helps guests, especially when the course hosts children’s lessons and he gives them free stickers, or helps them swing a club for the first time, but they harden to a cold glare whenever he sees you.

You have no idea why you elicit such a cruel response from Sam, but just the mention of his name can ruin your day. You don’t want to let that happen today, though. You really want to start trying to ignore him and his bullshit, since other than putting up with him, you genuinely enjoy this job.

“I haven’t, but I can let him know if I do,” you reply to Danny after a brief pause to reflect on your grievances. You raise your voice a few octaves to disguise your attitude.

“Great, thanks so much!” Danny returns, buying your facade, even though he definitely knows that you’re less than pleased. You sigh, immediately regretting offering to speak to Sam once you did ultimately see him.

You grab your things and say goodbye to Danny before heading outside toward the cart barn across the lot, unsure if you’ll be seeing him for the rest of the busy day.

Once you retrieve your cart and stock it up with plenty of beer, liquor and snacks for the guests, you make your way back to the clubhouse to fill the coolers up with ice. As you’re putting the cart in park, you look up to see a painfully familiar face walking out of the back kitchen door. It’s Sam, a cigarette already dangling from his mouth as he makes his way to the side of the building for his routine smoke break. It’s not long before he notices you as well, his face falling to a dull grimace before he looks back down to light the end of the cigarette.

“Danny needs to ask you about something, he’s in the office,” you inform him as you pass, a cloud of smoke puffing in your face. You waft it away.

“About what?” he asks flatly, another puff escaping his lips.

“Something about a group coming in at 2 o’clock,” you repeat Danny’s words, yanking open the heavy door to the kitchen.

“What the hell does that have to do with me?” he asks, still not sounding too bothered, but the question annoys you nonetheless. You pause before letting the door slam back shut, turning around to face him again.

“I don’t know? Maybe you should see Danny to find out,” you snap back, noticeably irritated.

Sam stares at you for a second, before letting out a defeated sigh. He shakes his head as he drops his barely lit cigarette to the ground and extinguishes it with his shoe. He begins to follow you back inside, and to your surprise, he reaches past you to open the door this time, letting you go first underneath his extended arm. It was quite the considerate act coming from him, and you almost saw it as a subtle apology for being so snappy with you. That couldn’t be though, you thought. He would never.

Sam walks out of the kitchen and presumably to the office as you fill up a few plastic buckets with ice for your cart, his small but kind gesture lingering in your mind for longer than you care to admit.

~

You make 2 rounds around the course before you have to head back to restock your coolers, the beer and liquor selling even quicker than you had anticipated. You pull into the cart barn and park, rummaging through your things to find the keys to the refrigerator where extra stock was held. As you’re opening the lock, you hear someone pull up beside you.

“Hey there,” a man’s voice calls out.

You turn around to find that it’s Robert, one of the marshals that drive around to monitor the flow of traffic throughout the course. You kindly greet him, even though you are confused as to why he is hanging around the barn during peak business. You don’t know Robert too well, only waving to him on the occasion you passed him on the cart paths, but you knew he was buddies with plenty of the other guys that worked there. He was an older gentleman, probably around 70, which seemed to be about the age of most of the other marshals you had met.

“Makin’ good money?” he asks, and you can’t help but notice him eyeing you a bit too excessively, leaning out of his cart towards you.

You did recall hearing about Robert being a little too friendly with the girls on the course before, but after getting scolded about it by previous management quite a few years ago, you didn’t expect to ever experience it firsthand.

“Yeah, not too bad” you reply, trying to ignore his looks, but your smile falters a bit as you begin to feel uncomfortable.

Your work uniform is by no means risqué: a grey golf shirt with a white skirt, that you admittedly pull up a little higher to show off your legs, but it still fully covered everything it needed to. Even so, the way Robert’s eyes rake you up and down makes you feel like you’re naked. To your dismay, Robert steps out of his cart and closer to you. You hold your breath.

“Your name tag is crooked,” he informs as he approaches you. “Here, I can fix it.”

Before you can decline, he reaches out to adjust the silver rectangle attached to your top. You can feel him pressing against your chest much firmer than necessary, fumbling with the pin on the back of the tag. You’re certain that it wasn’t even crooked to begin with, remembering that you had put it on in the mirror before leaving your apartment earlier. You want to tell him to back away and to stop touching you, but you realize no one else is around you, and you’re scared to do anything to upset him.

Your anxiety and need to please people is one of your least favorite traits about yourself. You obviously know that your personal space should be respected, especially by a man, but after hearing so many horror stories about men lashing out after being scolded or rejected by a woman, you are now terrified by the smallest possibility of causing conflict. This is ironic considering your issues with Sam, conflict proving to be unavoidable despite your utmost efforts with him. But you suppose that Sam not liking you in the first place avoids the possibility of him ever getting angry by your rejection, so you conclude that you don’t have much to worry about with him.

You freeze as the back of Robert’s hand lingers on your chest, and eventually falls to trail down your arm.

“You’re a beautiful girl, you know that?” he whispers, entirely too close to you. You could throw up.

Your heart is racing, and you’re so on edge that you jump when you hear the sound of something heavy smack against the concrete floor back towards the entrance of the barn. You turn around to see Sam standing where the noise sounded, stepping over the case of beer he had just dropped.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking perturbed as he makes his way towards you and Robert. The question is obviously rhetorical, you can tell he already knew exactly what was happening.

“Hey there Sammy, how are ya?” Robert greets anyway, nervously extending a handshake in an attempt to disregard what he was just doing.

Except Sam doesn’t accept his greeting, and instead shoves his forearm into the man’s chest, making him back against the glass door of the refrigerator. Robert grunts at the impact, immediately putting his hands up in surrender.

“Hey man, I wasn’t doing anything. I was just fixing her name tag,” he pleads, but his excuse sounds less than convincing.

“Don’t touch her,” Sam orders without even considering his explanation, his arm still firmly pressed against him. “You touch her again and I’ll fucking snap your neck, alright?”

Robert frantically nods his head in agreement.

“Say it, tell me you won’t touch her,” Sam demands louder, grabbing Robert by the collar of his shirt and shoving him even harder against the fridge.

“I won’t, I-I promise,” Robert stutters, eyes wide. “Just let go of me, please.”

After a moment Sam does let him go, and the man stumbles back to his cart, slamming his foot on the gas and careening back onto the course without another word.

You’re frozen in the same position that Robert had first touched you in, and you’re sure you look completely bewildered. Your ears are ringing, and your heart is still racing when you turn towards Sam who remains by the fridge to your right, though you’re too scared to look at him just yet.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” he asks after a moment, speaking in the softest and kindest voice he’s ever spoken to you in. You swallow hard.

“I’m okay, I think,” you whisper, finally looking up to meet his gaze. His expression is just as solemn as his voice, his eyes the warm honey you’ve only caught glimpses of before.

Something overcomes all of your senses, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you lunge towards Sam and embrace him, lacing your arms under his and squeezing his slender torso.

You feel him tense up at first, obviously shocked by the sudden contact, but you eventually feel his hands on your back. Your head rests against his chest, and you can hear that his heartbeat is going just as fast as yours. His hands begin to make small circular motions against you, and the comforting gesture eventually causes your eyes to well up with hot tears. You stand there for a moment, quietly sobbing into Sam’s chest. You’re so grateful that he happened to be there, and helped despite his own animosity towards you. You shudder at the thought of what the man might’ve done to you if he hadn’t. You realize after a moment that your tears are beginning to bleed onto Sam’s shirt.

“Fuck, my bad,” you choke out a laugh, lifting yourself from him and doing your best to rub them away.

“No, don’t worry about it,” he insists. “Do you want to go back to the office? I can drive your cart,” he suggests.

You quietly nod in agreement, sniffling as you follow him. You hop into the passengers side as Sam hits the gas to unlock the breaks, and the two of you head back to the clubhouse. The thought of Danny’s impending presence instantly makes you feel better.

~

“I’m calling HR, and he’s being fired immediately,” Danny states, his reaction to the event being exactly what you had expected. He’s a very calm person, sure to not ever cause a scene, but you recall his sternness when he first told you and the other cart girls about his zero tolerance policy when it came to harassment and any form of sexual misconduct. You knew he would stick to his word, and you are grateful for that.

“Thank you, Danny,” you croak as you sit in one of the office chairs, squeezing the clump of tissues that you had used to clean the streaks of black mascara from your tear soaked face. Your voice is still a little hoarse from crying.

“Of course, and thank you Sam for defending her. I’m sure Y/N could’ve beat his ass herself, but I’m glad you were there to help,” he replies, earning a laugh from the both of you. Judging by your lack of self defense in the situation, you aren’t confident in your ability to beat anyone’s ass anymore, but you still appreciate Danny’s support.

You look over at Sam and he meets your gaze, his expression still soft and genuine. You both exchange polite smiles. This had changed things between the two of you, you thought. You know it did.

“Well,” Danny sighs, finally standing up from his chair. “You guys can go home for the day if you would like, I got you both covered.”

You’re relieved to hear this, unsure of how you would manage going about working the rest of the day with your ruined makeup and killed spirit. All you want is to crawl into bed and sleep this day into a distant memory.

As you’re leaving, you hear Danny call out to Sam.

“Hey, I’ll be over when I’m off later. Jake and Josh want to go out tonight if you want to join,” he offers, exiting the office with him.

“Yeah man, you know I’m always down,” Sam replies cheerfully, the both of them turning the corner back to pro shop. You smile at the thought of what the two of them possibly get into after a few drinks.

~

After cashing out your tips, you make your way back to your car and you notice that Sam happens to be walking to his also. You think for a moment about whether or not you want to speak to him, to perhaps have a bit of a followup on the past hour the both of you have endured. You are still so surprised by how quick he was to get physical with Robert, and the thought of him doing all of that for you gave you a funny pit in your stomach. You aren’t sure how to feel about him anymore.

“Hey,” you eventually call out, and he turns around. You pause, suddenly a little nervous. “Can we talk?”

“Sure, hop in,” he replies without hesitation, nodding to his front seat. Your heart skips a beat, but you oblige, making your way to the passenger side.

The inside of his car smells like cigarettes and leather. He gets into the driver’s side and turns on the engine, immediately blasting the A/C and plugging in his phone to an aux cord. You get excited when you hear a Clapton song begin to play quietly.

“Thank you for helping me,” you start after settling in, your fingers nervously twiddling in your lap. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there. I was so scared, I was frozen still.” You meet his eyes before he drops his gaze to the steering wheel, giving a small smile.

“Of course, I’m glad I was there to stop him,” he replies. He then pauses for a moment, taking in a long breath. “And I’m sorry.”

“Sam, that wasn’t your fault, he’s just a creepy old-“ you start, but he politely puts up a hand to interject.

“I’m sorry about that too, of course, but that’s not what I meant.” He looks up at you and you can’t really read his expression. Sad? Or maybe nervous, but what could he be nervous about? He always acted so cocky and uptight around you, you had never seen him like this before. But then again, he’s been an entirely different person to you since confronting Robert. His eyebrows furrow slightly before continuing.

“I meant that I’m sorry for being such an asshole to you. I know I’ve given you a hard time since I’ve worked here, and that’s shitty of me. You don’t deserve it.”

You’re shocked by his words. Sam Kiszka, apologizing to you? You can’t believe it, and you’re sure your reaction is readable because Sam lets out a light cackle, another thing you had rarely witnessed him do around you. Your mouth is agape, but no words are coming out.

“Come on now, don’t act so struck. You’re really making me feel like a dick here,” he laughs, and this makes you roll your eyes.

“I mean, yeah, you are a dick to me. Like holy shit, do you know how many times you’ve almost made me cry?” you finally say, which causes Sam to stop laughing.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry,” he responds, his demeanor immediately changing. For some reason, it amuses you.

You shrug before shoving his shoulder playfully.

“I never let you get to me, though. I just wrote you off as being jealous,” you laugh.

“Jealous of what, looking good in a skirt?” he asks, his cheeky smile returning. Your eyebrows raise at his comment.

“You think I look good in my skirt?” you repeat, your heart fluttering.

“Sure you do, my legs could never compare,” he laughs. You feel your cheeks getting hot, the thought of him in a skirt entirely too much.

“Well, you can look all you want, but don’t go touching me like that other bastard,” you warn, though you are obviously joking. You’ve always been the type to use humor as a coping mechanism.

“Oh, I would never,” Sam assures, and you can tell he really means it. “Absolutely fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him” you agree, sighing as you slump into the seat. Neither of you say anything for a moment.

“Did you ever finish that cigarette?” you eventually ask, lifting your head towards him.

“No actually, Danny never let me get the chance,” he sighs. “And I was going to after running a few beer cases to the coolers for him, but I obviously became preoccupied.” The sound of the large case smacking against the floor earlier echoes back into your mind.

“Well, wanna split one?” you suggest, and his eyes light up.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he replies, promptly lifting from his seat to pull out the pack from his back pocket.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Kiszka,” you assure him.

“Oh, is that so?” he teases, lighting the cigarette and handing it to you, before opening a window to air out the smoke. You respond with a laugh.

You admittedly only smoke cigarettes when you’re drinking, but with the day you just had, you’re craving a relief. He hands the cigarette to you and you take a long drag, enjoying the slight burning sensation that it makes in your lungs. You also roll down your window, before releasing the smoke into the air.

You both sit quietly in the car for a few minutes as the cigarette begins to dwindle, enjoying each other’s presence for once as the music continues to play. You’re surprised at how similar your music tastes are, the sound of Jimi Hendrix’s weeping guitar sending you into a state of bliss. For a moment you wish the cigarette was a joint, knowing very well that Sam also partook by his cackle laugh and often heavy eyelids, but that obviously would not be smart to do in the parking lot of your workplace. You still can’t believe you’re sitting in his car.

“Hey, would you maybe want to come out with me and Danny tonight?” Sam asks after the song ends, his words once again taking you by utter surprise.

“Really?” you ask, maybe a little too excitedly.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun. My brothers will be there too,” he adds, and you recall him and Danny discussing their plans for the night earlier. You had met Josh and Jake a few times when they had joined the other two for golf. You remember them being quite pleasant, though one time Josh nearly sent their cart into a creek after having a few too many tequila shots. You simply can’t pass up the opportunity to witness whatever was about to go down tonight.

“I would love to,” you reply through a blushed smile.

“Great,” Sam seems to mirror your excitement, informing you of the time and place to be. It’s a dive bar conveniently just a few blocks from your place, and you plan to meet them there at 8 o’clock.

Tossing the now dead cigarette butt out of the window, you open the door to Sam’s car.

“Well, thanks for the cig. See you at 8,” you call out, turning around to peer at him through the still open window as you walk away.

“See you,” he calls back, and your heart flutters once more.

You head towards your car across the lot, entranced in thought. You had really gone from hating Sam’s existence, to agreeing to go drinking with him, all in the span of a day. You laugh to yourself at the strange series of events, looking forward to whatever the night had to bring.

Next Chapter

[dharma-divine]

Off Limits

Part Two

Thank you for all of the support on part one! I think this fic is coming together nicely, I'm excited to see where it goes. :) Feel free to message me if you would like to be added to the taglist! xx

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Summary: Working at a golf course, you struggle to keep the harmony between you and a vexing coworker, until a turn of events leads you to an unexpected friendship (or maybe something more?).

WARNINGS: Kissing, drinking, smoking, cursing. Nothing too crazy, stay tuned for part three for when things get ~steamy~

And once again, thank you @garbagevanfleet for helping me with suggestions and editing ily <3

Taglist: @jazminewitch @myownparadise96

Having plenty of time after work to get ready for your evening plans, you decide to relay the recent turn of events to your friends over lunch, all of whom are well versed in your complicated relationship with Sam after hearing you rant about him multiple times before.

“So you’re basically lovers now,” one of them jokes, and you scoff.

“Not quite, but we’re better than we were before.”

You all discuss the direction of your newfound alliance, as well as catch up with the rest of their weekly gossip and news, until you realize lunchtime is far gone and that the dinner rush has begun trickling in.

Once you say your goodbyes to your friends, you hurry back home to shower and change. You have no idea what to wear, scattering the contents of your closet throughout your bedroom. You eventually settle for something simple — a blank tank top, denim jeans, and your black and white high-tops. You accessorize to your liking and redo your hair and makeup before checking the time, and you realize you should have left 10 minutes ago. You curse to yourself, grabbing your keys and bag to rush out the door, down the elevator of your apartment building, and ascending into the cool, evening air.

As you found out earlier, the bar is conveniently only a few blocks away, so it did not take long for you to arrive at your brisk pace. By the time you are walking through the door and into the small dive bar, it’s 8:15. You anxiously survey the inside of the dim room for any familiar faces, guests with pitchers of beer shuffling by you.

“You’re late,” you hear a voice call out from behind you, and you turn around to see Sam approaching you. It’s funny seeing him outside of work attire, and he dresses exactly how you’d expect him to; a white, half buttoned shirt, navy chinos, and a pair of very worn leather loafers. The chord of a crystal necklace lays against his bare chest, pulling the whole look into a hippie, borderline cult leader aesthetic. It’s an eclectic look, but you can’t deny that he pulls it off well.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry, lost track of time,” you admit honestly, having to half-shout over the loud voices and blaring music.

Sam laughs, then motions for you to follow him deeper into the bar. “We got a booth over here.”

You both maneuver through the crowd until you get to a row of green leather booths at the very back of the room, the middle one seating Danny on one side, and Jake and Josh on the other. Danny immediately spots you, waving enthusiastically while the other two smile politely.

“Glad you could make it, ” Danny says as you shuffle into the booth, Sam squeezing in next to Josh on the other side.

“Yeah, from what I’ve heard I’m surprised you willingly showed up,” Jake adds, earning a glare from Sam. You blush.

You often wondered what Jake and Josh think about you. You figure Danny and Sam have two very differing opinions, or at least they did at one point, and mixed with the brief interactions the twins have had with you on the golf course, you had no idea what they concluded. Now with Jake’s bold interjection, you now know are also very aware of the circumstances.

“What would you like to drink?” Sam asks you, quickly changing the subject before anyone can pry in another joke.

“Jack and coke please,” you request. Sam nods, lifting out of the booth and making his way to the bar.

You sit back, getting yourself comfortable in the cushioned seat.

“You doing alright?” Danny asks you, looking over you carefully. You aren’t sure if he means alright after the turn of events earlier, or alright with being out with them. You’re feeling decent about both situations, but you realize your body language is probably a bit aloof due to your nerves.

“Yeah, I’m doing just fine,” you reply, giving an assuring smile.

“We heard about what happened, I’m very sorry about that,” Josh says, and Jake gives a similar condolence. You don’t mind that the information has been shared with them, though you’re curious how Sam and Danny relayed it to them. You appreciate their sincerity.

“Thank you guys,” you say, your face once again hot.

There’s a bit of an awkward silence between the four of you for a moment.

“You know, Sam actually really-“ Josh starts, but is quickly interrupted by a mass of drinks being slammed onto the table, a few of them spilling over a bit as Sam shuffles back into his seat next to you.

“Beers for the boys,” he exclaims, sliding the 4 glass pints he was somehow carrying by himself across the table to the others.

“And Jack and coke for the lady,” he adds, holding the drink up and bowing his head as if he is presenting you with some prestigious gift. His words are a bit more slurred, and movements more spastic than they were when you first met him at the door.

“How are you significantly more wasted than us already?” Danny asks through a laugh, also catching his change in demeanor.

“I've been sneaking shots with the bartender,” Sam admits with a sly grin. "They all just hit me at once."

Danny gives Sam a disapproving, but amused look, shaking his head. Sam cackles, lifting his pint to the middle of the table.

“Cheers to good drinks and good company,” he shouts a little too loudly.

The rest of you follow suit, exclaiming various cheers and clinking your glasses together. The boys then precede to chug their beers, the foamy liquid going down most of their faces and drenching the collars of their shirts. You watch in amusement before doing your best to chug your own drink. You hear them begin to rally you on once they notice your attempt, the ice in your glass making gulping the drink down a challenge. You finally get the last of it, with only a small dribble going down the side of your face, and you slam the empty glass to the table. They cheer in celebration for your completion, and you beam a smile, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You feel unexplainably elated in this moment, their high spirits easing any anxiety you had before.

Man, do these boys know how to drink. You all eventually get up from the booth to go stand right by the bar, which provided closer access to the liquor and any action that was going on, the place even more packed than when you had arrived. Before you know it, you have downed 2 more Jack and cokes, as well as quite a few other shots that have been pushed into your hands by one of the guys. You don’t even know what they were shots of, but they made you feel warm and tingly as you downed each one.

Not before long, you are thoroughly drunk, and you suddenly have the feeling that you need to break the seal. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, which was just a singular, closet-sized room at the far end of the bar. To your relief there is no line for it, and you stumble in, locking the door behind you. It takes way too much effort to unbutton your jeans, and when you’re sitting down on the toilet your body begins to sway, your head hanging back as you look up at the dingy ceiling. You drunkenly giggle to yourself. You hadn’t been this wasted in a long time, and you are balancing on that fine line between being just the right amount of drunk and being sick. After you finish, you wash your hands and look at yourself in the mirror, gripping the edges of the sink to steady yourself. You look and feel so pretty, even though your makeup is smudged at the corners your eyes, and your flattened hair is stuck to the sides of your face with sweat, and your gut is definitely sticking out a bit from all of the carbonated drinks. You feel fantastic, and you shoot finger guns at yourself in the mirror, tipping your head back in another laugh before unlocking the door.

As you pull the door open, a tall, lanky body comes barreling in with it. They crash into you, causing you to let go of the door and take several steps back into the restroom to catch you both. They steady themselves by gripping at both of your arms, their head resting on your shoulder for a second. It doesn't take long at all before you realize that it's Sam, the wisps of his long hair tickling the side of your face.

“Fuck, my bad,” he laughs, his polite tone indicating that he didn’t yet recognize you. When he does lift his head and steps back, his whole face lights up, as if he was seeing you for the first time all night.

“Y/N, there you are!” he exclaims, wrapping you into a tight hug and rocking you back and forth. This is the second time you had embraced Sam today, but this instance is far more pleasant, even though he smells strongly of beer and whiskey.

“I thought you ditched me.”

You let out a muffled laugh against his chest.

“No Sam, I’m still very much here,” you assure.

“Good, I’m glad you're here,” he says, easing his hold on you. You lightly push his chest back with your palm so you can look at his face, and his eyes are glossy with drunkenness, a grin peaking at the sides of his mouth.

You both just stare at each other, his hands still around your sides. After a moment they begin to slide down to your waist, his hold on you gentle and movements hesitant, as if he's expecting you to stop him. You don't though, the sensation making your chest flutter. You can’t help but glance down at his lips, which are pink and full with a wet sheen. He purses them together for a moment, and his expression changes to something more alluring, almost lustful. When you look up at his eyes, they’re studying your features fervently. Your hand is still placed against his soft, bare chest and you can feel his heart beating against it, and you swear it’s going faster than it was just a few moments ago. At this point yours is racing, and your breath catches in your throat when he starts to lean into you. Your mind begins to fill with a million thoughts that you can’t even fully fabricate at the moment, but you know that you don’t want him to stop.

Your faces are centimeters away from each other when the door to the bathroom swings open, and you instinctively shove Sam away from you.

“Fuck you Jake, I’m going first,” Josh is yelling over his shoulder as he stumbles in.

He halts at the sight of you and Sam. Raising his eyebrows in surprise, he bows his head and holds his hands up in apology.

“Pardon me, lady and gentleman,” he says in a funny accent you can’t pinpoint the dialect of. “Excuse my interruption. Please, carry on.”

“Dumbass,” Sam laughs to his brother, walking forward and pushing past him. He turns around and motions for you to follow.

“Dumbass?” Josh repeats, sounding dramatically offended. “You left the door unlocked! I had to piss.”

You shake your head in amusement, following behind Sam. You were disappointed by the interruption, but it was forgotten once you rejoined the chaotic function that was going on outside of the bathroom door.

Danny and Jake were on the small stage by the front windows of the bar, arm in arm as they belted a Neil Young song on a karaoke system. The lyrics rhythmically scrawl across the neon screen behind them as they sway back and forth, taking sips of beer in between verses from pitchers they were each gripping. You, along with Sam and eventually Josh after his restroom break, cheer them on with the rest of the crowd until the last note. They hop off stage and make their way back to you, Sam and Josh.

“Come on,” Sam calls to you once you all reunite. You shake your head, already knowing what he was asking of you, but he grabs your hand and drags you to the direction of the stage anyway. He does his best to help you onto the small, elevated platform, though he ends up being the one that needs assistance, his clumsy frame crashing into one of the speakers. Once situated, he fumbles through the selection of songs before he chooses one.

“It’ll be fun,” he keeps assuring, and eventually the first notes of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”, a duet of course, begins to play. You admittedly love this song, and you let out a sigh of defeat before joining him at the single microphone. You two sing together, rather off-key even though no one seems to mind, your bodies turned inward towards each other with the mic stand between you.

♫ Don’t go breakin’ my heart

I couldn’t if i tried ♫

You exchange amused glances at each other as you switch lines, but when you come together at the end of every chorus, he sings the words to you with a sort of full intention that strikes you somewhere deep. It’s almost like he’s giving you a warning.

You’re too drunk to really think deep into it, but the selection seems intentional.

Nevertheless, you two sing every word to your fullest potential. When it’s over, the drunken crowd is too loud and chaotic to really even notice, only a few claps are heard outside of the overzealous applause coming from the three boys at the front. Sam grabs your hand and motions for you to bow, thanking the inattentive crowd as if you just performed something legendary.

~

It isn’t until 2am that you file out of the bar with the boys, drunk and happy as can be. Once outside, Sam immediately pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a slow drag and exhaling it into the cool air. You extend two fingers to him to signal that you want a puff, but instead of handing you his, he pulls another fresh one out of the pack just for you. He carefully cups his hand in front of your face to light it for you as you inhale.

“Thanks,” you say, giving him a wide smile as the smoke escapes between your teeth. He laughs.

“No problem.”

“Hey Sammy, we’re gonna head home. I think we’re playing a round at the course in the morning,” Danny calls out from behind you, the twins at his side.

“You know, if we’re not all too hungover.”

He looks between the two of you, dancing around the question of whether or not Sam would be ending the night with them. Sam glances at you.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he asks.

“Sure if you want, I’m just a few blocks away,” you say, considering that you’d hate to bring up the opportunity to have another predatory encounter. Walking alone at night makes you especially nervous.

“Alright, I’ll meet you guys later,” Sam calls back to Danny. He seems to have anticipated that response, nodding his head.

You exchange goodbyes with the other boys before turning in the direction of your apartment, Sam falling in step next to you.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” you say after a few moments of walking. “You guys are really fun.”

“Yeah, I was a bit anxious to see how they’d be,” Sam says with a laugh. “But they didn’t seem to give you too hard of a time.”

“No, they were perfect gentlemen,” you assure. “A little loud and excitable, but gentlemen nonetheless.”

He nods his head in agreement, taking another drag of his cig. You spend most of the walk not speaking, the only sound coming from your boots grazing the concrete and the occasional shout or siren in the distance. You’re happy to find that it’s not awkward at all, silently enjoying each other's presence like you had in his car earlier. You’re only a block away from your apartment when you do speak again.

“I have a question,” you say, your voice cutting the silence and traveling down the empty city street. You can feel a tension suddenly build between the two of you.

“Sure, go ahead,” Sam says, glancing at you. The inflection in his voice sounds curious.

You’re hesitant to continue, trying to formulate how to initiate a discussion with him that was long overdue. But you realize the question is simple.

“Why?” is all you ask, and you look back at him and see confusion painted across his face, his eyes shifting back and forth.

“Why…what?” he questions, a nervous laugh following.

It’s like you finally unhinged the lock to all of your thoughts and feelings about Sam, and they’re finally pouring out.

“Why were you so mean to me before today? Why did it take such a jarring situation for you to begin treating me like more than just an inconvenience?” you continue, and your words and tone sound much more desperate than you had intended. “I don’t understand what I even did for you to treat me like that in the first place.”

His pace had slowed at the first question, and by the time you’ve finished, he’s come to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk. You stop too, watching him closely as you hold your breath in anticipation. He runs the side of forefinger against his jaw in contemplation, seeming like it’s taking him a moment to come up with the right words. His gaze drops down at the sidewalk in front of him before speaking.

“I just don’t know how to act when I’m around you,” he finally admits, his voice sounding much smaller compared to yours.

His eyes flick up at you when you don’t reply. You just look at him puzzled, silently urging him to continue.

He lets out a deep sigh, and you catch him rolling his eyes briefly, that familiar attitude he’s always had with you peaking through. But with the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek, he looks less annoyed and more like he’s nervous, maybe even embarrassed. He bites at his bottom lip, then opens his mouth to continue.

“Y/N, you just do something to me that I can’t even begin to explain. It’s something so profound and overwhelming, that I think I just used anger to materialize it into something manageable,” he confesses, his features mirroring his repentant tone.

You nod your head, even though his words are a lot to process.

“I like being in control, but when I’m around you, it feels like all control escapes me. You just walk into the room and I panic,” he continues, and your heart skips a beat.

You furrow your brows in apprehension, forgetting for a moment the malice that he had used to hide these newly exposed emotions. Sober you would be cynical by his sudden change in character, but in your current inebriated state, you’re eating this up.

“Then after everything that happened today, I think it all finally just clicked. Seeing you so scared and hurt, and then holding onto me for comfort made me never want to let go of you, and I felt so guilty for ever possibly making you feel a similar way,” he carries on his admission to you, and your face begins to feel warm.

“You’re a light to be around, and I’m sorry I ever tried to block you out.”

You can’t help but to feel flustered, his words mixing up a million different emotions in you at once. You shake your head in disbelief, and you can’t help but break into a smile. He had looked genuinely solemn while telling his confession, but his expression lightens when he sees yours. He breathes out a laugh.

“God, please say something,” he begs, and his desperation amuses you. You reach a hand to squeeze his arm assuringly.

“It’s okay, Sam. You’re forgiven,” you state. “I had no idea what was going on either, I just genuinely thought you hated me for whatever reason.”

You begin to resume your trek down the sidewalk.

“You know, analyzing and fully feeling my emotions has never been my strong suit,” he calls out from behind you, and you hear him quicken his pace.

“That’s okay,” you reply as he once again falls into step next to you. “We can work on that.”

~

Not before long, you’re standing in front of your apartment complex.

“This is me,” you say as you stop in front of it, staring up at the high-rise building.

“Glad we made it safe and sound,” Sam says, lightly bumping into your side as he stops next to you.

You both stand there for a few tense moments, and you’re unsure of what to do or say next. You eventually sigh, shrugging your shoulders.

“Well, goodnight Sam,” you say, beginning to walk away towards the front lobby doors. You smirk to yourself, knowing he’s probably going to protest the abrupt end in some fashion, but you expect it to be verbal.

That’s why you gasp when you feel a hand snake around your waist, and it swiftly spins you around. Before you know it, your lips are pressed against Sam’s. The kiss is deep and passionate, his lips just as soft and supple as they had looked when you were admiring them before. His hand gently wraps around the nape of your neck and into your hair, and remains there when you pull away.

“Come on, I just poured my heart out to you,” he says in a silvery sweet voice. “You’re not gonna invite me up?”

You toss your head back in a laugh, lightly slapping your hand against his chest.

“Were you only playing nice just now so you could sleep with me?” you question with a suspicious tilt of your head, taking fake offense. “Because if so, that was a very convincing performance.”

He laughs, shaking his head.

“Of course not,” he affirms, his eyes brimming with desire.

“I just thought we needed to at least finish where we left off earlier. You know, before our rude interruption,” he recalls, and your mind flashes back to the electric moment you had with him in the bar bathroom, only before his brother’s intrusion ultimately killed the mood.

You beam up at him, pondering what to do. You honestly want nothing more than to bring him upstairs with you, but you also love the idea of making him beg for it. His comment about liking control lingers in your mind, and something wicked in you tempts you to challenge that.

He tries to bring you in for another kiss, but you don’t let him. His grip on you loosens as you pull away, wagging a finger in front of his face teasingly.

“I literally just forgave you for months of patronizing me,” you counter playfully.

You lean forward briefly to give him one last peck, and you can tell he’s aching for more by the way his lips firmly press against you, his hand reaching for yours as you begin to step out of his reach.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” you call out, dropping his hand and once again making your way to the lobby entrance.

You look over your shoulder to see him one more time. To your satisfaction, he’s shaking his head, his tongue poking in his cheek in lighthearted defeat. He waves, and you return the gesture before walking through the sliding glass doors and up the elevator, back to your apartment that is still disheveled from when you got ready for the night. You clean up as best as you care to, washing off your makeup and stripping down to your underwear to sleep, not bothering to find your pajama set in the mess of clothes on your bedroom floor. You flick off the lights and crawl under the covers, more than ready to sleep.

Right before you doze off, your phone buzzes from your nightstand. You lazily reach for it, eyes blinking open to adjust to the bright light. The name above the message reads “Dickhead (work)”, which is what you had respectfully typed into your contact list after having to retrieve Sam’s phone number for a work instance once. The name is an amusing reminder of what Sam meant to you at just the beginning of this long, eventful day.

You click open the message, and you smile sheepishly at the screen once you read its contents;

“Meet me at the course early tomorrow. I want to show you something.”

Next Chapter

[dharma-divine]

DIOSKOUROI

Chapter II

Pairing: Twins x (Female) Reader, endgame TBD

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

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

WARNINGS: Mild suggestive content

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

“Help him. Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What’s on your mind?

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

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

How about over coffee?

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

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I copy yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Josh you know I-”

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

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

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

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

You sigh, worrying your lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in, would you like a drink?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers.”

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

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

Josh hums at your comment, clearly amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m warm bodied, I guess.”

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

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

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

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

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

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

Call me when you wake up, his text says.

Everything is okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks cheerier than normal, her round face glowy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☽ ✩ ☾

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dharma-divine]

Adult Swim (smut)

Word Count: ~6600

Pairing: Sam x (Mature Female) Reader

Summary: After a difficult divorce, you have been spending some quality time at your local pool to ease the stress of everyday life. It's a slice of paradise - getting to let yourself escape reality a bit, and with your irksome children and cheating ex husband off your mind, the only thing of interest to you is the gorgeous, suave lifeguard you've had your eye on all summer.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! Sexual content, minors DNI

“Okay guys, I’ll be home later,” you call up the stairs as you step into your entryway, looping your wicker tote bag around your shoulder and slipping on your flip flops.

You hear the muffled, flat sound of your kids’ voices coming from above you, both of them having locked themselves in their rooms since this morning.

“Libby, you’re in charge today,” you continue, hoping they’re at least partially listening. “Make sure you guys eat your lunch that I put in the fridge. I should be back by dinner, but if not there’s a twenty on the counter and the number for the pizza place. Call me if you need anything.”

“Whatever,” your daughter mumbles as she opens her bedroom door and descends down the stairs, aimlessly scrolling through her phone until she reaches the bottom and looks up at you.

“Why are you wearing makeup? she asks, the glow from her phone illuminating her leery expression. “I thought you were going to swim.”

You frown, trying to hide your sudden nerves with offense.

“What, I can’t look cute at the pool?” you counter, grabbing your sunglasses from the top of your head and sliding them over your eyes so she can’t study you any further.

“I mean, I guess,” she utters, giving you a single look up and down before continuing to walk into the kitchen.

You do one more run through of your things — sunscreen, lipstick, a towel — when you hear Libby slam the fridge door, storming by you and back up the stairs.

“Conner, I told you to not touch my fucking lemonade!” she screams, and you hear the door to your son’s room crashing open, then some rustling and more yelling, before a sharp smack and the sound of your son’s cries.

You freeze, squeezing your eyes closed for a moment to try to tune out the sound of the chaos.

You have given up on trying to intervene at this point. Your attorney told you this would happen — divorce makes children act up. Even though Libby is 18 and Conner nearly 13, they fight like they are still little kids. You’ve tried your best to make the transition as easy as possible, having won the house and a portion of your now ex-husband’s income as compensation. You consider it an adequate deal for having caught him cheating on you with his assistant. Still, it’s been a hard change, especially with the kids having to learn how to split their time between the both of you. 

You hear Libby storm out of her brother’s room and slam the door to her own, signaling that the fight is over. You exhale the breath you were holding, grabbing the keys from their hook and heading out the door.

It’s probably the hottest day of the year so far,  and you immediately crave the cool water of the pool as you step into your car, the short skirt of your swimsuit coverup lifting so that your thighs touch directly to the scalding hot black leather of your seat. You wince, fixing the fabric to cover your skin before pressing the ignition and blasting the A/C.

You crank up the radio on your way, Aerosmith blaring as you pull into its busy parking lot. You find the closest spot and pull in, letting your A/C blow for a few more seconds as you flip down the sun visor above your head and give one last check of your makeup. You grab your lipstick from your bag, applying a second coat and touching up the corners with your fingertip, before tousling your hair and spritzing a bit of the perfume you keep in your center console. Once you feel ready, you flip the car off and grab your things, stepping out into the sunshine.

“Hey!” You hear a familiar voice call once you reach the entrance to the pool, and you look over to see that it’s Susan, the mother of one of Conner’s friends that you have taken a liking to since joining PTA at your kids’ school together. 

Susan wasn’t uptight like most of the parents who you volunteered with, and you loved gossiping with her. You two eventually started going out for drinks after every meeting, which has transitioned to chatting by the pool now that school is out for the summer. 

You smile, waving at her as you approach. 

“Don’t you look fabulous, is that a new coverup?”

“It is,” you beam, looking down at the bright blue fabric, just sheer enough that you can see the outline of your swimsuit underneath. “I got it on sale last week - it was a steal.”

You two chat as you make your way through the brief line that has formed at the check in desk, before making your way to your favorite spot to lay out.

You drop your bag on the ground next to you and unroll your towel, placing it neatly along the lounge chair. You bend down to grab your sunscreen tube from your bag, listening to Susan go on about how Chuck, her husband, wants to go to their lake house soon and how you’re invited. You pull off your coverup and begin lathering in the thick, white lotion, enjoying the feeling of it melting into your hot skin, the sweet smell of coconut wafting over you. You prop your foot onto the edge of your chair as you begin massaging from your legs, to your thighs, then up to your stomach and chest. You started doing a pilates class a few months back, and you’re pleased to notice how toned your body already looks and feels, your fingers pressing into your firm muscles.

You’re done with the other side of your body and about to attempt your back when you sense someone approaching you from behind, their shadow shifting in your peripherals.

“Need help with that?” a husky voice asks, and you spin around to see who it’s coming from.

To your delight, it’s exactly who you wanted it to be. You have yet to catch his name, but he’s been here nearly every day you come, his slender frame perched on the wooden highchair at the edge of the pool, his whistle dangling from his mouth and safety tube resting in his lap. He’s a young man, as most of the lifeguards here are, and you’re almost positive he went to the same school as your kids, perhaps having graduated a little before Libby since you hadn’t seen him at any of their assemblies in at least a few years.

He’s definitely handsome, and though you’d never admit it, you have stopped to admire him a few times when he’s on duty while you’re here, becoming especially enamored with the way he pulls his long, brown hair up and away from his eyes and into a ponytail or bun, the muscles in his slender arms flexed as he meticulously works to loop the tie around his hair.

“That would be great,” you blush at him, handing him the tube and giving a brief look up and down his frame, hoping he doesn’t notice behind your dark sunglasses.

He always has on the shortest pair of red swim trunks out of all the staff here, his tanned, slender= thighs on full display. 

He squirts a bit into the palm of his hand and you turn around facing Susan as you feel his hand caress your back. Susan lowers her sunglasses, raising her eyebrows in a cheeky look before beginning to spray herself with her own sunscreen. 

“I feel like I see you ladies here pretty often,” the boy says, and you feel his fingertips brush your hair to the side as he rubs into the back of your shoulders. “But I don’t believe I’ve ever introduced myself.”

He adjusts to the side of your frame, just enough so he can meet his eye with a turn over your head. He reaches out his hand.

“I’m Sam.”

“Hello, Sam,” you smile, grasping his hand with a gentle shake.

You introduce yourself, as well as Susan, who gives him a polite smile.

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks from the snack bar, I’ll be right back,” she promptly says to you, and you barely catch her giving you a teasing look over her shades as she walks away.

Your heartbeat quickens once you’re alone and Sam gets back to work, maneuvering around the strap of your swimsuit to get the middle of your back.

“So SPF 50, huh?” he says, clearly trying to strike a conversation. 

You give him a funny, amused look when he peers over at your face again.

“Yep.”

“Excellent choice, you don’t want those sunrays melting you away,” he says, rubbing in a white streak on your side. “We have some regulars here that, to be honest, look like leather couches. It would be such a shame for you to waste your beauty like that.”

You can’t help but giggle at his comment, because it’s true. Just a few feet away sits a group of younger ladies you see here frequently, their skin bronzed from laying out for what you assume is hours a day. While you admit it looks good now, you always make comments to Susan about how they’ll regret that in a few years.

But wait — did he say your beauty?

Was this his way of flirting with you?

No, you tell yourself. You’re old enough to be his mother. He’s only being friendly with you.

You’ve been dolling yourself up in the hopes he would maybe notice you, the thought of him even saying hello seeming like only a daydream. Now, you feel him run his hand along the small of your back, pressing in a few light circles with his fingertips, and you’re convinced that you’re living your wildest fantasy. The touch is so delicate it sends a chill through your body, even in this heat. There’s no way it can get better than this.

“That should be good,” he finally says, and you hear the cap of the sunscreen lid click closed.

“Thank you,” you smile, quickly turning around to face him again, and realize it may have been a bit too quickly.

To your regret, you didn’t realize he had sat on the edge of your chair at some point to apply the rest of the sunscreen – he’s quite taller than you, and likely had to use it for leverage to get the entirety of your back – until he nearly collides with your chest when he stands back up, the sudden movement leading him to grab your waist in order to steady the both of you. 

“Oh,” you gasp, squeezing his arms as you regain your balance. “I am so sorry-“

“No, no,” he laughs, releasing his hands from you promptly. “I startled you, that’s my fault.”

You giggle, cupping your hands over your mouth to hide your embarrassment. You can tell the encounter has him blushing too, but his genuine laugh makes you feel a bit less mortified.

“It’s alright,” you blush, grabbing the sunscreen tube from his hand.

“You know, I think I went to school with your daughter, Libby is it?” he asks, and you’ve never been so happy to change the subject.

“Yes!” you exclaim, stuffing the sunscreen back in your bag. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“She must’ve just graduated, right? I believe she was a sophomore when I was a senior.”

“She did,” you beam, the butterflies in your stomach ceasing to let up.

“Well, congratulations to her. Anyway, I’ll let you get to your sunbathing, I’m on duty in five. I’ll see you around, Mrs.-“

“Oh-“ you cut him off, feeling some mix of continual embarrassment and pride before making the correction. “I’m now Ms., actually. My husband and I recently split.”

“Oh,” Sam heeds with a raise of his brow, and to your surprise, you see his lips quirk up in an apparent attempt to suppress a smirk.  “My apologies, miss. I hope things are going alright.”

“They are,” you assure, flashing a toothy smile back at him.

“Great. I’ll see you around then,” he grins, before turning around towards the lifeguard station on the opposite side of the pool.

You watch as he switches spots with a curly haired boy who promptly pulls off his rescue tube and hands it to him. Sam climbs up the ladder, plopping down in the seat and adjusting the umbrella above him to his liking.

You almost don’t catch it, but he gives you a small wave once he’s settled, and you smile at the fact that he still notices you from afar. You wave back, before scooting onto your own chair and comfortably situating yourself, your legs sprawled out in front of you. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of the sun hitting your skin.

After a few minutes, you open your eyes to see Susan coming back from the snack bar.

“Piña colada?” she offers, extending a plastic cup filled with creamy frozen cocktail mix, a maraschino cherry sat atop and a pineapple slice on the rim.

“Yes please,” you beam, gladly taking it from her.

Your first gulp tastes almost entirely of rum, and you wince at the sting in your throat. 

“God,” you gag, mixing around the slush with your straw. “Did you get an extra shot?”

“Maybe,” Susan smiles, happily sipping hers. “Maybe two.”

“Listen -  I wasn’t planning to get wasted today,” you laugh before taking another sip. “I told the kids I’d be home by dinner.”

“I just wanted to loosen you up a bit,” she says with another devious smile. “So you can finally make a move on Sammy over there.”

You nearly choke on your drink, giving her a bewildered look. 

“That is absolutely not happening,” you state, setting down your drink on the ground next to you.”

“Oh, come on,” she teases, reaching over to lightly shove at your shoulder. “He is gorgeous, and with the shit you have been through lately you deserve something fun.”

“Susan,” you whine. “He’s half my age, and barely older than Libby- they went to school together! He just told me he remembers her.”

“I think it’s sexy,” she grins, clearly not being convinced. “And don’t act like I haven’t seen you eye fucking him every time we come here.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head to try to deny her, but you know it’s no use.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom,” you say, taking a cheap route to avoid any further meddling from her.

You hear her snicker as you lift yourself off of your chair, leaving so quickly that you don’t even think to grab your towel or coverup, or flip flops for that matter.

The concrete is hot from the sun, so you walk around the tiled perimeter of the pool, the water splashing over your feet as the children playing inside jump and splash around.

You’re about halfway across the length of the pool when you look up at the large lifeguard chair, Sam still perched atop it.

“Come to join me?” he jests when you’re in earshot of him.

“I’m afraid I’m not CPR certified,” you joke, stopping once you hit the very corner of the pool.

You look out in front of you, at the large expanse of white hot ground between you and the women’s restroom. You brace yourself to scurry across, when Sam's voice once again calls from above you.

“That’s gonna burn. Here, borrow mine.”

He motions below him, to a pair of black flip flops that sit beside his chair.

You gladly walk over, stepping into the plush foam, the backs of the sandals sticking out at least an inch or two beyond your heels.

“You got some big feet,” you joke, and you hear him chuckle a reply as you trek over to the restroom, the oversized sandals squeaking with each step and making it a bit hard to walk.

After you’ve relieved yourself, you step over to the dingy mirror, checking yourself over once more before having enough of the humid, sticky feeling you get in every public pool restroom.

You’re exiting the restroom when you hear the voices of two young girls gossiping in what must be the lifeguard’s office.

“I was gonna try to ask him out myself, but I think he’s into older women,” one says, causing you to stop in the tiny corridor that separates the restroom exit and office, holding your breath so you can hear better. “Have you not seen how he flirts with Mrs. Nelson? And not to mention that one lady that’s here today…”

You blush hard, assuming that she’s referring to you, but you also feel a hint of jealousy knowing that you’re not the only woman Sam gives attention to. The other girl giggles, but you step away before you can hear her response, hoping they both notice you as you walk past the office and back into the sunlight.

Sam says something to you once you approach his chair, but you choose to ignore him, sliding off his shoes and placing them back where you found them before turning around and walking to your seat.

You hear him call once more but again you refuse to acknowledge it, pattering along the wet edges until you reach your seat again.

“What happened?” Susan asks as you slump back into your seat.

“I’m an idiot,” you groan, grabbing your piña colada that’s already started to melt and taking a big gulp. “He apparently gets it on with a million other women, it's ridiculous to think he takes any special interest in me.”

“Of course he’s a little player, that’s not surprising,” she says, grabbing a magazine from her bag. “All men are, no matter their age.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoff under your breath, rolling your eyes at the thought of your ex.

“But that still doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun,” Susan argues, but you dismiss her idea with a wave of your hand, wanting to forget about him, and every other man, for a moment.

You lay back in your chair, letting the heat wash over you, and you finally begin to relax.

A few hours later the sun is beginning to set. You glance at the clock on the wall to your right and read that it’s five till seven, which also means it’s five till your favorite time of the day - adult swim.

For two hours, from seven til nine, all the kids are forced out of the water and you get to enjoy it alone — well, save for the maybe five other adults that use the time to get their laps in.

“Are you not staying?” you ask Susan when you notice her begin to pack her bag.

“Not tonight, Chuck wants me home early to help get the kids to bed. He’s gotta be up at six tomorrow morning to fly out for a business trip.”

“Oh,” you frown. “Well alright then, goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” she smiles, lifting her bag to her shoulder and slipping on her sandals. “Let me know if there’s any updates with Mr. Pool Boy.”

You blush as she begins to walk away. 

“Don’t worry about that, there won’t be.”

You hear her give a teasing laugh, tossing her head back as she walks away, and you avert your eyes back over to the lifeguard chair. You hadn’t paid any attention in hours, but you hate to admit that you’re slightly disappointed to notice that the person occupying the seat is no longer Sam, but rather a slender blonde girl.

You sigh, silently cursing at yourself for caring at all, as you make your way to the tiny metal ladder at the edge of the pool. You turn around and carefully step down, until your body weight is lifted by the water and you push away, wading in it for a few moments as your body adjusts. The water is a bit cool, but pleasantly so, especially after how hot today has been. You push your body so that you’re floating on your back, shivering at the feeling of the water seeping through your hair and to your scalp. 

After relaxing for a few moments, you kick off of the wall and begin swimming down the length of the pool, pushing the water past you with brisk strokes. You allow your mind to clear as you do this, letting the current that rushes past your ears take with it all the worry and stress you’ve been feeling recently. Swimming has become an escape for you, a moment of zen amongst all the chaos that has ensued in your life. You yearn to go back to your days of being young and single, of not having to worry about children or to be tethered to a dejected relationship. 

A euphoric sense of freedom drowns any negative thoughts away when you swim, carrying your mind to a blank, liminal space, empty of any emotions or feelings. It’s therapy, getting to unwind like this and forget things for a moment, and you yearn for your next moment of peace each time the whistle blows and those galling children come hurling back into the pool.

You begin to slow down when you’ve reached the 4 foot mark, your working limbs slowing to a halt, your feet finding the solid bottom of the pool.

You’re panting lightly, running your fingers through your soaked hair, when you hear the water splash quietly behind you. You whip your head around, a bit startled since you hadn’t noticed anyone on this side of the pool, to see a figure emerging from under the water right in front of you.

With his hands pushing his soaked, dark hair away from his face, you quickly realize that it’s Sam.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he smiles cheekily, his eyelashes flitting away crystal droplets.

He runs the curve between his thumb and forefinger against the scuff under his nose and past his chin, giving you a quick look up and down as he does so.

“I thought you left,” is all you can think to say, and you blush at how flattered he looks.

“You were missing me?” he quips, and in that moment you remember that you’re supposed to be upset with him.

“I thought you had ran off with Mrs. Nelson, or another lady twice your age,” you snap back, running your fingers along the surface of the water absently.

You see Sam freeze, clearly caught off guard by your accusation.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he derides, his eyebrows furrowed. “What? Where did you hear about that? Nothing is happening with me and Mrs. Nelson. How-do you even know who that is?”

You shrug coolly, trying to fight the smirk that creeps onto your lips. “Just heard some gossip by the bathrooms earlier.” 

“Well, believe me,” Sam assures, and you jump when he reaches out to your hand that is still gliding along the water. “There is not a single person here that I am interested in more than you.”

You do a poor job of hiding your blush, flattered by his genuine tone.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you dismiss, pulling your hand from him.

Before you even try to move away, Sam reaches for you again, a little more assertively this time, though his touch remains gentle.

He pauses a moment before pulling you toward him, and you can’t help but oblige. Within a moment you’re inches from his face, close enough to see the specks of dark honey in his irises.

“You don’t think I can handle you?” he asks, his eyebrow quirked.

His eyes dance with mischief, and you feel a nervous flutter in your chest. You glance over at the lifeguard chair that’s now only a few feet away from you, just to find the girl perched atop it absently scrolling through her phone. 

“Don’t worry about her,” Sam whispers, turning your chin back towards him with the tip of his finger.

He keeps it there for a second, his eyes training on your mouth. You can’t help but do the same to him, watching his pink lips spread into a crooked smirk. You’re still so close to him that you can see every droplet on his face, his puffs of breath brushing against your cheeks.

“Meet me in the parking lot in ten,” he orders when you don't answer, his hand dipping below the water and finding your waist. “I’ll have my lights on - it’s a dark blue Camaro. Okay?”

He gives your hip a squeeze before releasing you, and you nod up at him submissively.

“Okay.”

He turns around and reaches for the edge of the pool, the muscles on his back flexing to lift himself out of the water.

“Hey Julie,” you hear him call to the girl in the chair, just as you begin swimming back to your own spot in hopes to avoid any judgy looks from her or anyone else around you. “I’m gonna take my break - be back in a bit. Don’t miss me too much.”

~

It took you all of three minutes to gather your things and book it to your car. You slide into the driver's seat, not bothering to even turn the engine on as you once again pull down your visor and touch up your hair and makeup. You wish you hadn’t even gone in the pool now that your eyeliner has smudged a bit under your lashes, but with a bit of buffing out with your ring finger you manage to still look presentable, especially since the sun has finally dipped below the horizon and everything around you has a fallen into a deep, dark shade of blue.

You let out a sigh, butterflies dancing around your stomach. You felt like a teenager, sneaking off with a boy your parents didn’t know about. You never did anything mischievous like that when you were younger, and you hope this occasion isn’t the start to some sort of crazed mid-life crisis. If you heard of any other woman fooling around with a boy half her age, you’d find it ridiculous, but you can’t help but find it exhilarating. 

You mutter some words of affirmation to yourself before stepping back out of the car, leaving your things behind in the passenger seat. You had put your coverup on before leaving the pool, but a shiver still runs up your spine when a cool breeze wisps by you, penetrating your still wet swimsuit from underneath the thin fabric.

You’re not exactly sure which direction you’re supposed to be going, and you hope you don’t look too suspicious as you glance around the parking lot, eyeing every dark colored car. A few other people are leaving the pool, so several headlights are illuminated within the lot, and you begin to panic that you won’t be able to find Sam - or worse, that this was all a big joke he’s pulling, and he‘s actually still back in the lifeguard’s office, gloating about how easy you are.

Just when you think you should turn and go back to your car, the brights of a car to your left flick on and off. You jump, your head swiveling to see what car it’s coming from. Sure enough, it’s a Camaro, and when the lights turn off you see Sam in the driver’s seat, arm wrapped around its thin steering wheel as he peers out at you with a slick smile.

You blush, hurrying to the passenger side.

“What kind of gentleman are you, not opening the door for me?” You quip as you pull yourself into the leather seat and shut the door. 

Instantly, the smell of cigarettes and weed hits your nose, with hints of a woody cologne and chlorine lingering behind it.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous,” he grins, sitting back in his seat as you get comfortable, his eyes heavy as they rake along your body. “I figured you wanted to keep this inconspicuous. Let me take you out on a proper date one day, and you’ll get all of my chivalry.”

You shake your head at him, a smirk quirking your lips as you nervously play with the hem of your coverup.

At least he had the decency to also get a little dressed before leaving the pool - an oversized white t-shirt with lifeguard and a bold red cross printed across it hangs loosely from his frame, its sleeves cut to the point that the armholes nearly reach his hips, his entire side still fully exposed.

“So how are the kids?” he asks so casually, it’s as if you’re longtime friends, a bigger, sleazy smile spreading his lips. “All tucked in, ready for bed?”

“Hopefully,” you reply, deciding to play along with his game. "I left Libby in charge."

The mention of them makes you remember your plans for dinner, and you glance over at his radio to see that the time reads 7:35. You’re not exactly sure how long this will take — you’re not even sure what this is — but you hope the kids have taken it upon themselves to order the pizza, considering you most likely will not be home in the next hour.

Sam nods, following your look to the radio and flipping it on, turning the knob to a soft volume. "I Want To Know What Love Is" by Foreigner is playing, conveniently fitting the tension building between you.

“I’m sorry about what happened…” he says says, soft and genuine now, his hand smoothly reaching from the radio to grip your thigh. 

His touch sends a chill through you, your skin prickling in goosebumps that he can surely feel under his fingertips.

“It’s alright,” you reply, your hand resting over his. “I’m a lot happier now.”

“I’m sure you are,” he hums, leaning in closer as his hand travels further up your thigh. “You deserved so much better than that.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, but you lean into his touch, until you’re once again inches from his face. You run your own hand against the soft skin of his exposed side, your fingers caressing the narrow ridges of his ribs. His eyes flick to your lips, before scanning up the rest of your face.

“You deserve to be fucking worshipped.”

You can’t wait any longer — his words make you melt. You pull him into you, your lips crashing together. The kiss becomes heated almost instantly, your tongues taking no time to intertwine, his arm slinking around your waist to pull you even closer to him. 

He releases his lips and plants kisses down your neck, gripping at the flesh of your hips through your coverup.

“Take this off,” he orders, tugging at its hem, briefly before lifting himself off his seat and over the middle console.

He falls back into his backseat, sitting back and spreading his lap open, inviting you to follow. 

You do as he says, lifting yourself up so you can swiftly pull it off of you, tossing it to the side and climbing over to him as smoothly as you can, your knee pressing against the console to stable yourself.

He meets you halfway, leaning forward to grab your hips and pull you into his lap so that you’re straddling him, his lips once again finding yours.

You continue making out as his hands find the tie to your bikini top, pulling it loose with one swift move. It hangs loosely from your shoulders, and you hesitate before letting the straps dip from your shoulders, the dainty garment falling into your lap.

Sam’s eyes gleam once he takes in the sight of your bare breasts. He massages one in his palm, his hand warm against the cool skin that’s still damp from your swimsuit. He leans towards the opposite one, looking up at you with wide doe eyes before pressing his lips against your hard nipple. He swirls the bud with his tongue, the sensation sending tingles through your entire body. You let out a whimper when he gently nips at it, before soothing it with a kiss. 

You run your hand up the nape of his neck, gripping at his hair that’s also still a bit wet from earlier. You begin grinding your hips against him as his mouth pays respect to your other breast, and to your pleasure you feel him harden underneath you. His hand travels from your breast down your stomach, until his fingertips brush against one of the frilly ties on the side of your bottoms. Before you can think, he pulls you off of his lap and to the seat beside him, his arm guiding you down gently. You shiver when your bare back hits the cold leather. 

He adjusts himself so he’s sitting up, still between your legs, his hands once again finding the strings laced at your hips. The knots loosen easily, and he takes no time to pull the fabric away, the cool air hitting your soft, sensitive skin. He leans back over your body, one hand sinking into the seat at your side, the other one still lingering between your legs. He presses a gentle kiss to your collarbone, his eyes flicking up to you.

You can’t see what he’s doing, but you gasp when you feel his fingers press flat against your heat, gliding against it with ease.

“You’re so wet,” he hums, pressing another kiss on your neck and sucking gently.

You let out a soft moan, your hips gyrating to increase the pressure. He runs his fingers up and down your slit, just barely brushing against your clit. The teasing has your head spinning, and you decide you want to play with him too, your hand running over the crotch of his tiny shorts. You can feel him straining against the fabric, and you hear his breath hitch when you run your palm against it. The tie of the shorts brushes against your hand, and you pull it loose before lowering your fingers down to your own heat, briefly moving Sam’s hand aside so you can rub against yourself. When your fingers are coated in your own wetness, you hold Sam’s eye contact as you reach your other hand to pull at his waistband, dipping your slickened fingers past it and finding his length.

His eyelids flutter shut as you begin pumping him, the prettiest sounding whimper escaping his lips.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” You hum, and his lips perk in a blissful grin. 

His fingers go back to pleasuring you, his thumb honing in on your clit before letting another finger dip into your entrance. His synchronized rhythm feels heavenly, and pretty soon you begin to feel the pressure building deep within you.

He slips in another finger after a few moments, the sound of your wetness and heavy breaths filling the humid air of the car. Trying to fight the urge to let the sensation overwhelm you, you hook a thumb on his waistband and pull down his shorts, his length springing out and slapping gently against his abdomen. He takes this moment to adjust his position, pulling his soaked fingers out of you and stroking himself. 

“Can I fuck you?” he asks softly as he hovers over you.

“Please,” you beg, your fingers finding your clit to further stimulate yourself.

He falls forward so you’re chest to chest, his forearm looping under your neck to not fully crush you with his weight. He uses his other hand tie guide his head to your entrance, sliding it along your slit a few times to get you used to the added pressure. He presses a deep kiss to your lips before finally thrusting into you, and you let out a crying moan into his mouth.

“You alright?” he asks, pulling out of you.

“Yeah,” you giggle, a bit embarrassed by your expressive reaction. “I’m just not…used to your size.”

You know his pride swells at the comment, but it’s true. Your ex doesn’t hold a candle to him.

“Alright, I’ll go slow,” he says, before kissing your forehead softly.

The action is so sweet and genuine, you nearly get emotional at the thought that you haven’t been cared for this much in ages. The sentiment quickly escapes you though, as Sam plummets back into you and pleasure courses through your body.

Somewhere amongst the thrusts and moans and intertwining of limbs, you get the chance to switch positions, with your weight now rested on top of him. Though you have to duck your head to prevent yourself from hitting the ceiling, you sit up, his length buried deep inside now that you’re fully acclimated to the intense stretch. You begin rocking yourself back and forth, up and down, pressing a hand against the door behind him to give yourself more leverage as your breasts bounce with each movement. You fall back into him when your legs begin to grow tired, letting him continue to thrust up and into you as the warm pressure once again blooms inside you. 

Sam reaches his fingers to rub vigorously at your clit, the intense sensation building more and more inside of you. You feel his own rhythm begin to deteriorate, his thrusts more shallow as you’re sure he’s about to reach his peak too.

“Come inside of me,” you tell him, to which he gives you a bewildered look.

“Really?”

You can only nod your assurance, reaching your peak with one last thrust. The waves of pleasure wash over you, your vision blurring into stars. A moment later and Sam is following your lead, and you feel him fill you up completely, warmth dripping down your thighs. You guide him through it, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as you both twitch and jolt with shared pleasure.

“Oh my-,” he pants once he’s come down. "God."

He pulls out of you, and you do your best to make room for him to lay along the expanse of the seat with you. “That was amazing, really. The best I’ve ever had.”

You both take a minute to calm your heart rate, then Sam sits up and m inspects the mess you two have made.

“Should we go get you a-?”

“Oh,” you laugh, immediately knowing what he’s referring to. “Babe I had my tubes tied years ago, I will not be welcoming any more children in this lifetime.”

“Well, that’s fun,” he breathes, earning another genuine laugh from you.

“Yeah, I guess now it is,” you quip, and he gives you a playful wink before bending down and pressing a kiss on your knee.

He bends further to the floor below to retrieve a beach towel, which uses it to clean the both of you up.

“So you’re planning on being a regular this summer, right?” he asks once you’re both just about redressed.

“I do, I think swimming has become a favorite hobby of mine,” you say genuinely, still working to tie one side of your bottoms even though you suppose it doesn’t matter now that you’re going right back to your car.

Sam smiles at your answer.

“Then I hope to see you again soon, and perhaps do this again?” he offers, the inflection of his voice hinting that he partially expects you to reject the offer.

You bite at your lip for a moment in contemplation.

“We’ll see,” you grin. “Be a good boy and I’ll think about taking you up on that date. I have to say though, it makes me nervous, you know with the age gap and all...”

He smiles bigger, pulling you into him for one last kiss.

“Age is just a number, mama. I’m up for the challenge.”

[dharma-divine]

Fright Night (smut)

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

Pairing: Sam x (Female) Reader

Word Count: ~8,000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blush at his compliment.

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

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

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

“Is this real?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your turn,” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, so this isn’t Sam’s room?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Samuel Francis Kiszka

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In the attic,” he answers casually.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

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

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

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

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

You nod your head stiffly.

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

He laughs, and you attempt to laugh back.

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

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

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

BODY OF MISSING UNIVERSITY STUDENT FOUND IN FRATERNITY ATTIC

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

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

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

“Very cool. Thanks for this, Austin.”

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

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

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

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

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

He never needed a sheet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look up at the attic window.

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

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

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

“I found him.”