#it's hiding a desire for me to write a film or something

[fakeoldmanfucker]

The desire for me to write fic with leftist overtones is growing by the day.

[favvn]

You know what else drives me crazy about The Naked Time? This exchange:

It isn't just because of Spock saying, "Jim, when I feel friendship for you, I am ashamed" or "Understand, Jim. I've spent a whole lifetime learning to hide my feelings." Although, that absolutely is part of it, the fact that Spock is locked into his regret over not telling his mother he loved her and his shame at realizing that, despite all his work to adhere to Vulcan principles, he still feels love. It's that gap between duty versus desire, between expectations versus wants, and what remains in spite of the pressure. (I realize his words parallel a love confession in any other context, between any heterosexual couple, and that fandom looks to his shame as a confirmation of internalized homophobia, but the biggest issue for Spock is that love, sorrow, shame--all powerful emotions--still exist for him. He is not a Vulcan if he feels these emotions and gives into them. He is only a half-Vulcan and half-Human, caught between worlds and the judgments and expectations of two very different societies.)

It's because Kirk changes his phrasing of "We've got to risk a full-power start!" to, "We've got to risk implosion!" Implosion, like many words, holds multiple meanings. The intended meaning is "a violent collapsing inwards," the opposite of explosion. But implosion can mean integration, a coming together towards a single center point. We've got to risk coming together. We've got to risk integration. And Spock responds, "It's never been done." They repeat these lines twice. Repetition is a device to call attention in writing. Why have Kirk say they have to risk a full-power start twice before only to change it to implosion and repeat it twice? The two phrases mean something different, but it's important enough to bear repeating. (One could argue it is sloppy writing, or perhaps a case of actors failing to remember their lines, but what are the odds it was either of those, especially with someone as thoughtful as Leonard Nimoy. Either a writer is a professional who understands the power of words, or everything is somehow coincidental, holds no actual meaning, and writers don't think carefully about word choice and meaning, especially in an era where nuance can make or break a story on the screen.)

In the 1960s, during the time of the Hays Code, of course, two men couldn't be together as a couple on TV or in film, not even in space, in a time set centuries beyond our present. But damn if the dialogue can not hint at it, dance around it in plain sight. Again, Kirk and Spock's relationship must exist in the margins, between the lines, encased in nuance and multiple meanings, because to use explicitly clear phrasing would mean it all gets cut.

Hence, this bit of dialogue. The slaps become Spock catching Kirk's hand and holding it steady--direct sustained contact, a coming together, implosion. Spock is torn between regret and shame and love, while Kirk shouts about the ship being destroyed and ending the lives of the crew, their shared duty to the ship. The dialogue is Spock's turmoil writ large--do what must be done, accept two separate halves becoming a whole (is it Spock's two halves or Kirk and Spock? I'll leave that up to you), or remain apart and give into despair. But Kirk tells him their only chance is to risk implosion, to come together, and they have to take that chance.

[hippiegoth97]

Eddie Munson One-Shots Master List

Collage by me :)

Banner by @cafekitsune

Current Posts

Be Kind, Rewind (Female Reader)

Any Way You Want It (Female Reader)

Cum On Feel the Noize (Female Reader)

Dr. Feelgood (Female Reader)

Last Christmas (Female Reader) Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Girl On Film (Female Reader)

She-Bop (Female Reader)

Smalltown Boy (Male Reader)

Girls, Girls, Girls (Female Reader, M/F/F Threesome)

Relax (Male Reader)

Wild and Untamed Things (Steddie x Female Reader) Pt. 1 Pt.2 Pt.3

Love Bites (Female Reader)

Sweet Dreams are Made of This (Female Reader)

Heat of the Moment (Female Reader)

Master of Puppets (Female Reader)

You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried (Female Reader)

Roam Pt.1 Pt.2 (Female Reader)

Where Is My Mind? (Female Reader)

I Want to Know What Love Is (Female Reader)

Ballcrusher (Female Reader)

Divider by @strangergraphics

Upcoming Posts

Thriller (Female Reader)

Time of The Season (Female Reader)

The Killing Moon (Female Reader)

Rainbow in the Dark (Male Reader)

Object of My Desire (Female Reader)

I Melt With You (Female Reader)

I Wanna Be Your Lover (Female Reader)

Beautiful Boy, Darling Boy (Trans FTM Reader)

Renegade (Female Reader)

Future Request Prompts

These are some leftover ideas from my wattpad days, and ones I may write someday. Feel free to send a request in my inbox, and I'll do my best to finish it in a decent timeframe. I'll do any preferences you like, just follow my request rules that can be found here. I'll do any gender, pairing, etc., though obviously I have some preferences of my own in the descriptions. Also, please feel free to use these ideas for yourself, there's plenty to go around. If you do, don't forget to tag me so I can read your amazing work!

•Graduation Day/Party: You and Eddie graduate together in '86, and have some fun at a graduation party hosted at your house. (I envisioned cheerleader!reader for this, but it's up to you. And preferably the party would be at their house, and they're rich or something.)

•Sub!Reader/Dom!Eddie: Eddie tortures you with toys and edging, very kinky BDSM type stuff.

•Criminal!Reader: You're a runaway dropout who is honestly up to no good. Eddie encounters you when you start cutting in on his business, and you get into all sorts of illegal hijinks together.

•Punk!Dom!Steve Threesome: You and Eddie go to a rock show together, and you happen upon none other than former King Steve Harrington! He's dressed to the nines in punk attire, dyed/buzzed hair, piercings, tattoos, DIY clothes. You and Eddie are very taken with him, and bring him home for a good time (preferably this would be an MLM story, I haven't written queer content as much as I'd like.).

•Vamp!Eddie: Eddie nearly dies in the upside-down, but the bat bites turn him into a vampire. You hide him in your house, feed him, things get bitey, yada yada. (I know it's been done to death, but not by me. Well, not like this, anyway.)

•Truth or Dare: You and the grown teens of the Main Party have a gathering at your house. There's drinking, smoking, teasing games, the like. Everything is going great, until Eddie suggests you play 'truth or dare'. He knows you've been crushing on him for months, and he knows exactly what to do to get you to fess up.

•Canon (but also not) Steddie Threesome: You stay at Steve's with Eddie when you lose your home in the earthquake. You can overhear them having sex at night, which excites you. You try to ignore it, give them their privacy, until you hear the boys talking in bed about how much they want you, what they'd do to you. Eventually, the cat comes crashing out of the bag when you let it slip that you've been hearing them. This was all part of their elaborate plan, of course, much to your delight. (Again, preferably MLM on this one.)

•Wet Dreams: Eddie has a wet dream about you. Any dream you like.

•High School Reunion: It's 2006, the 20-year reunion for Hawkins High Class of '86. Eddie is a megastar, and you haven't even bothered to leave town. You hooked up once back in the day, and you always regretted letting him leave for LA to kickstart his career. Well, without you tagging along, at least. He shows up, much to your surprise, and you swear it's like he never even left.

•Hostile Uterus: You're in an all-girl rock band (named Hostile Uterus, if you couldn't tell), and Eddie sees you perform in a local festival-type event. He falls head over heels almost instantly when he watches you, needing to get to know you. You don't let him in so easily, and you're definitely not one to relinquish control. (Sub!Eddie and Bitchy!Dom!Reader preferred for this, but I'd take suggestions.)

•Oh, Eddie...You're So Fine: You work at a convenience store, which Eddie frequents on a regular basis. You often fantasize about him, your mind traveling to very nasty places while on the clock. One day, Eddie asks you out on a date, making all your wishes come true.

•Tattoos: You get a brand new/your first tattoo and are excited to show it to Eddie. He loves it, and goes crazy on you. (There's so many tattoo possibilities, so I'm leaving that open.)

•Brat!Reader and Dom!Eddie: Eddie is busy working on a new campaign, but you want his attention NOW. You start knocking things over, throwing a little bit of a fit, huffing and puffing. Eddie tries to ignore you, and the teasing you employ, and finish his work. He warns you many times to cut it out, but you don't listen. So, you earn yourself a very big punishment.

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams

@slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals

@eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30

@jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson

@sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne

@ohmeg @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever @ahoyyharrington @micheledawn1975

@costellation-hunter @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @yourdailymemedelivery @spacedoutdaydreamer

[absolutebl]

I Cannot Reach You - Kimi ni wa Todokanai REVIEWED

This image perfectly captures how I feel about this show. You ready? I wasn't.

I Cannot Reach You

AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan 2023 - 8 eps 20 ea approx 2.5 hours

Themes, main tropes & archetypes: friends to lovers, tsundere/sunshine, self acceptance, self worth, high school BL, live action yaoi, soft romance, kindness

Rating? 10/10

Yeah, it happened again in 2023.

Adapted from a manga.

The moment I finished binging this show I was thinking about writing about it and re-watching it. This is a sure sign that I adored a piece of media. 

This is a wonderful BL.

Truly well executed, with smooth filming and lovely acting, both of a simplistic style that felt slightly more Korean than it did Japanese. It reminded me a little bit of Seven Days and a little bit of Takara and Amagi, and since these are my two favorite high school JBLs obviously I was bound to adore ICRY.

But what it reminded me of more than anything was Cherry Blossoms After Winter.

Odd for JBL and KBL to be so closely linked. 

Like CBAW show, ICRY is classic live action yaoi.

Like the MOST classic of CLASSIC.

All the JBL tropes. I mean look at that image above? It's rooftop assignation, kabedon, and a handhold ALL AT ONCE.

There was also multiple runnings of the gays, surprise kisses (one on a bridge), and shoulder leans.

There is even a “seme looses control to desire” scene which leads to dub con. There is an abject apology after but still - you’ve been warned. 

The premise is: smart sporty hot (and hella gay) Yamato has a long standing crush on his silly sunshine sweetheart bestie, Kakeru. Yamato is also stiff, self isolated, shy, and has only ever really managed to get along with Kakeru. I love this kind of pining seme so damn much, it probably biased me. 

Unlike most uke, Kakeru starts to slowly figure out that his best friend is in love with him by ep 2 (let the chaos bisexual identity crisis commence).

So do some of the friends around them.

The story thus revolves around Yamato trying to unsuccessfully suppress his desire, and Kakeru trying to figure out if he can return Yamato‘s affection.

This biggest barrier is actually Kakeru's feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness (when compared to Yamato). But this is tempered by his genuine kindness which forces him into act with integrity around his dear friend's love and strive to fix everything (even himself) to prove worthy of it - whether he can ultimately return it or not.

Kakeru's struggles are pitted against Yamato‘s repressed need that keeps bubbling over and figuratively (sometimes literally) attacking Kakeru with romantic, emotional, and physical intensity. 

Quick pitch:

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

I’m not gonna lie, I dithered over whether to give this a 10/10 and nearly didn’t. But there is nothing wrong with it AS A BL.

And it's so GOOD to ALL of its characters and they are so good to each other. It's quiet, and because of that and its goodness, it will get overlooked, but I LOVED IT.

It's not one of those that BL outsiders will get and you must like Japan's style to enjoy it. But I'm in it. It's for me.

What am I hung up over? Even the kisses are good.

10/10

I CAN'T RECOMMEND IT HIGHLY ENOUGH

Welcome to a very elite club. I gotta change all my best of lists now.

I am sorry to tell you how difficult this show is to get hold of. It deserves a much wider distribution. As of Nov 2023 I do not know where to legally find it internationally with eng subs. Please check the comments for updates.

It's on Netflix in some countries!

Try to find it, you won't regret it.

(source)

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 3

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

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, mentions of sexually explicit scene on film being shot, anxiety/stress, stressing about college grades, worries/anxiety about failing, test anxiety, over-indulgence of alcohol (drunkenness lol), spook/haunted houses, people in scary clown makeup, mentions of jumps scares, *consensual* relations where people put their mouths in *certain places*(not full smut. yet.), ambulances, someone being wheeled out on a gurney (with a lifeless-looking body), JEALOUSLY. lots of jealousy.

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

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

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

You’d been scared. 

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

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

But, something happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the way Jake looked at them…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And admire you he absolutely did. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But,

Jake. 

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

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

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

Then, he went right back to his asshole ways. 

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

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

But fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…that was a fucking blow to the heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

“That good, huh?” Nat questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At last, the final novel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

No. Please don’t say that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just as you’re about to…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

The only issue with this class: Jake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s no fucking use. 

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

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

No. You need to focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Humiliated doesn’t even crack the surface. 

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of fucking course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Oklahoma is showing, y/n.

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, to find the right top. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you more, y/n.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And fuck, does he look sexy as hell. 

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

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

But then you realize… he’s not alone.

And she’s pretty. Really fucking pretty. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is Stacy. Of course she is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why do you have to care so much?

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

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

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

She smells fucking incredible. Like fresh cherries and oranges. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck is his problem now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a vain, fucking asshole.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only now, it’s much worse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. She’d never suspect it.

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

He was probably just looking at them. Not you.

Never you.

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

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

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

Nat: “So, about tonight…”

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

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

You: “A date?? With?? SPILL IT!”

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

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

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

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

Then, it hits you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You: “You’re such a shit. Love you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need something, hun?” Sam asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Glass of wine, maybe?”

“Dry? Sweet? Sour?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peering at the screen, you wrinkle a brow. 

“What’s–?”

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

Your eyes twinkle. He’s adorable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ironic. 

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

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

God, he’s easy to talk to. 

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

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

It’s simple.

“Me too.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This better be worth it.

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

And apparently Sam’s, too. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alright?” Jake asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serves her fucking right.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why was that so fucking hot?

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

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

I don’t deserve him.

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

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

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

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

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

“I will, Sam. I promise.” 

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

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

Don’t stay, don’t stay, d-

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

Jakey?

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

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

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

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

Fuck you, Jake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope he fucking heard that. 

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

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

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

Even though it may not be for the right reasons…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You weren’t ready for that yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck am I doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The disappointment in yourself is ripping your soul in two. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing. 

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

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

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

This isn’t happening…

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

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

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

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, please no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry to inconvenience you so goddamn much. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you no longer have a choice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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

Lights. Flashing of blinding red and blue. 

In the parking lot of your complex.

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

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

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

Your worst fear. 

You shouldn’t have fucking left her.

“Jake. Pull over. Now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The floor your apartment rests on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes become wet at the mere sight of him. 

He’s still here. 

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

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

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

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

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️

sending all my love!

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface  @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @styles-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27 @hippievanfleet @jazzyfigz @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @smoking-jakelane @hernameis-heaven

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

[thefugitivesaint]

Sasha Weiss, in a recent piece in the New York Times Magazine, offers an account of Ezra Edelman’s nine-hour documentary about Prince and how unexpected conflicts with the controlling interests of the Prince estate (who switched executors well into the process of making the documentary and those new executors took issue with the project) might mean that said documentary might never reach a viewing audience. Weiss' overview of the project inspired in me a strong desire to give it a watch. She writes that Edelman's work, "...offers one answer to a question that has agonized the culture at large for the last decade. How should we think about artists whose moral failings are exposed? Edelman manages to present a deeply flawed person while still granting him his greatness — and his dignity."

It's an engaging read and whether you're a fan of Prince or not. How do you explore the life of a man who resisted being known and who spent much of his life crafting a public persona that was always shifting and changing? Does exposing the flaws of an artist diminish that artist or does it help humanize them, giving them a deeper context, and, perhaps, allowing the public a better understanding of their art in the process? "As Edelman completed his interviews — more than 70 of them — he realized there wasn’t some big secret that people were hiding. Instead, what he found were the defining traumas of Prince’s childhood and his constant recapitulating of them. The story unfolds slowly, hauntingly, over the course of the film." ............. As a quick aside (and possibly unnecessary digression): buried in the piece is a brief discussion about the erosion of quality in the content being produced by Netflix, particularly in the field of documentaries, "Netflix, which is still the biggest platform for documentaries, has, in recent years, moved away from the kind of prestigious, provocative films that helped make the company’s reputation, toward content that is inexpensive to make and appeals to a global audience. Many people pointed to the platform’s increased appetite for gauzy, entertaining celebrity documentaries — of, for example, Beyoncé, David Beckham, Taylor Swift, Jennifer Lopez, all of whom were intimately involved in their creation." Of course, this "move away" from "prestigious, provocative films" for more superficially pleasing documentaries is about money. Whenever you see something getting worse, no matter what it is, usually the foundation for that degradation is avarice, greed, the chasing after profit above all things. It's the fundamental problem with the media (and the billionaires who own it), with the economy, it's the engine of the housing crisis, it's why the internet sucks (see Cory Doctorow's 'Enshittification' for an exploration on this particular topic). The list is potentially endless. The new executors of the Prince estate, so speculation goes, are resistant to the films release because they think that it will hurt the public image of Prince, get him "cancelled" posthumously, and "devalue the estate’s bottom line" (i.e. make them less money).

[otomes-world]

Trail

i. Small Key, Portal, Detective It's not full fic, really not, just another idea I thought but never write a post. Also... I forgot I have my own prompts as well...Something like a general prologue and lore for possible works for this AU. You can skip next bunch of text, it's just my thought. There are no triggers yet, except barelly edited text. I haven't decided yet whether this will be a yandere AU or a regular one. I tried to think about possible conflicts in the story and realized that it directly depends on the character. Therefore, here is only the general part, which telling the state of affairs. How the reader even got to such a life, haha. As for plans, I can say that for some reason I thought about Jade. Don't ask me why. As if he would fit into this au better than anyone. I dragged out the introduction a bit… enjoy reading! Let me know your ideas as well, I`ll read and answer them later.

What is the best profession? Probably, every child asked this question at least once. There were always many proposals, but there was one that everyone thought about. Detective. Do they even exist? Or have they always been an idea embodied in books and films?

Are there schools that produce qualified specialists? Is it possible to became one? What is the principle of selecting candidates?

Calm down, hands on the table. You also did not know the answers. It’s trivial, but the profession found you itself. Moreover, if someone found out about your “Detective” badge, they would think that it was a high-quality craft. Seriously, aren’t detectives just an invention of film directors?

In the company of friends and their acquaintances, over a cup of tea or another drink, you would also laugh at the joke, adding your own to the general vat of barbs. Nevertheless, the rushing carriage harnessed by black horses was as real as the mantle of a prestigious college on you. Luckily, the hood was long enough to hide part of your face, so you could look around the room with a bored expression and no sense of professionalism.

A huge mirror in the middle and flying coffins. Crowds of students and a director late for the ceremony.

Never in your life could you imagine that your job would take you to a haven for magicians. Yes, magic existed and was the envy of many, even you, but nothing more. If that's how a mouse felt when cats were swarming around its hole, then be it. However this mouse was very well prepared. It had a hidden artifact that allowed cast simple spells. Nothing more. After all, your task was to gather the material and leave unnoticed. In no case would you become the best student among the stream of first years, heaven forbid.

You only hoped that the bribed principal and the Mirror would not throw you to the predators. Exactly. The kind teacher knew about everything, and the inside pocket of his jacket sank under the weight of money. Naturally, after convincing him that you had no desire to harm the college's reputation. The struggle between schools was not in your competence, let them squabble over talented applicants as much as they wanted. Your task was the simplest.

Just make sure that the representatives of influential families were not planning anything… interesting. The version for the director was to collect information about the college, for further writing of the article on behalf of the "student".

You had already received half of your payment, and the customer signed a contract in which you received your other half in any outcome. Plus, you could always earn extra money by publishing an article to the delight of Crowley, but that's it. Possible options after completing the job.

Finally, the director appeared, and you would have sighed with relief if not for the student who appeared behind him. It seemed that no one knew who it was, however, this was only to your advantage. Any information was important to the customer.

"Any information was important to the customer." This thought was worthy of a hit to the head with any heavy object. They were just students, what could possibly go wrong? The contract details did not include feeding flamingos in pink and painting roses from white to red and back. Why, of all the dorms, the Mirror decided to send you to Heartslabyul… that question should have been asked to Crowley. Only for him magically disappear every time, "and do not to interfere with a professional's work."

A professional could not work in such conditions.

Luckily, a pair of first years significantly attracted the attention of the head. All you had to do was secure their friendship and the article "headache" of Rosehearts. The collar on your neck in most cases explained why you did not use magic regularly.

However, in other dorms it was hardly easier. Whether this thought was self-consolation or acceptance of the harsh truth, you didn't care. Or it could be a simple complaint from chewing his lunch Ace.

If you had come here at an earlier age, when you yourself were a scholar, you would have been overjoyed. Of course, what child would refuse to learn magic? To travel between colleges using portals? The one who was now in the body of an tired of everything adult obviously.

It was much harder to study seriously when you needed to be in several places at once, and for missing classes the head "cut off your head". In your time, being a hooligan sounded easier.

Bless the existence of Internet storage, otherwise attempts to hide the notes of real work would have finally driven you to the grave. The promised payment was not worth it.

Fortunately, or vice versa, there was plenty of information. Filtering rumors, looking for the truth - that's another task. At least the soil for this was fertile. News of growing tension in a dorm. A rumor about a student who grants any wish. Possible conflict between two celebrities.

How true were the rumors about the strained relationship between the second prince of the Sunset Savanna and the crown prince of Briar Valley?

Everything was carefully written and saved for later editing. When did you have time to do this? The answer was simple. You sacrificed your time for sleep. All paper records were burned and destroyed after being transferred to the cloud. You didn't need any extra problems.

It felt like you had a kind of key in your hands that could unlock a box to nowhere. Your readiness to face everything that awaited you at the bottom was unimportant. A minimum of feelings and a maximum of facts were required from you.

[david-talks-sw]

Why do a lot of SW fans dislike the Prequel Jedi?

This was going to be the conclusion to this answer about "why a lot of people dislike Mace"... but it's just too long, so I decided to make it a post in its own right.

So why is Mace-- scratch that, why are the Prequel Jedi considered to be "unlikable" by a big chunk of the fandom? Especially when compared to Anakin "I killed a group of children twice" Skywalker.

Overall... I'd say it's three things.

1) Some fans had different expectations.

I touched on this in a recent post: older fans, who are now at least in their 40s, grew up seeing Luke as the ultimate Jedi.

He's Campbell's Hero With A Thousand Faces, up there with King Arthur and Superman. He's, for lack of a better term, the chosen one.

So when the Prequels were announced and they knew they'd get to see the Jedi Knights in their heyday, they expected to see something like the Knights of the Round Table.

A collective of errant warriors who go on exciting adventures, providing aid from place to place. Like Luke Skywalker.

Instead, they got this:

"A bunch of monk/diplomats who sit around talking about taxations and trading routes and measure the Force based on cell organisms."

"They're nothing like Luke Skywalker! What the hell?" (I address why this is inaccurate here)

Then the second film comes out:

"Wait, Jedi can't get married now? So were all those EU books about Luke and Mara Jade bullshit?" (also addressed in above link)

Then the third film comes out:

"Palpatine is right there, why can't they sense him or read his mind? They're Jedi!" (explanation why here)

Also Luke is no longer the Chosen One apparently? Anakin is? How does that work?

Plus, the way they speak, their jargon, is waaaaay too formal, gone are the OT characters talking informal English with American accents and quips. Even the way these new characters speak - and not just the Jedi, the Queen too - seems detached from reality and makes them harder to relate to. (but we're talking about diplomats and royalty, so how else would they be talking?)

2) How adult audiences perceive "morally pure" characters.

Even if one didn't have the pre-concieved notions about the Jedi... they don't seem to impact the adult viewers the right way.

Then again... neither does Barney the Dinosaur.

Many are the conspiracy theories and negative discourse surrounding him (there's even an upcoming documentary about it). You know why? Because he's not meant to be a character for adults, who have outgrown morally black or white characters and are unable to relate to them... his target demographic is children.

They see him and go "I love you, you love me". We see him and go "What the fuck is this guy hiding? What darkness lies beneath that mask of optimism and joy?"

Same goes for the Jedi.

So I'd say what we have, here, is a similar situation as the one in the recent Rick and Morty episode, "Juricksic Mort".

In the episode, a bunch of dinosaurs return to Earth and it turns out they're incredibly selfless, diplomatic, moral and spiritually advanced (kinda like the Jedi!)

Rick's reaction is - you guessed it - "what the fuck are they hiding?"

The dinosaurs turn Earth into a utopia, ending all wars, removing all conflict, bringing about world peace and giving everyone the chance to go on vacation... and everybody hates them for it and eventually wants to see them fail and step down from their pedestal.

The writing emphasizes their superior virtue so much that they actually come across as uptight and patronizing. This is done intentionally, so that it's difficult to find them likeable out-of-universe, and we relate to the earthlings in-universe who react the same way.

Why do the audience and the characters react this way to characters who - again - are good and moral?

Because as Moriarty says in Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows... hidden within the unconscious is an insatiable desire for conflict.

It's why the presence of conflict is so crucial in storytelling.

It's why every scene in good movies presents some form of internal, external or philosophical conflict.

It's why protagonists need flaws to be interesting and relatable. Because we're flawed as well.

Also, the protagonist will eventually have overcome their flaws through an arc.

More importantly, the basis of all conflict, in storytelling, comes from something being out of balance.

And the Jedi are trained to not be that :D !

So on the one hand we have Anakin, a flawed, conflicted character who struggles with his inner balance, and on the other we have the Jedi, who are essentially presented as flawless and balanced.

What will a chunk of the audience do? They:

Won't like the Jedi.

Will project a flaw onto them (more on that in the next section).

Side with Anakin, the one that's as imperfect as the audience is.

Sometimes all of the above.

But the thing is, though... the Jedi we see in the Prequels are not flawless or perfect.

They are, for the most part, characters who have already completed their character arcs, characters who have already confronted their own inner flaws and overcome them.

And whenever these flaws resurface? Well, they've conquered them once, and they have the training, so they do it again.

Example, here's Yoda confronting and overcoming his hubris and inner fears:

Has he done it before, in his almost 900 years? Probably, yeah. But it's not a one-and-done sort of thing.

But the Prequels are not their movies. They're about Anakin.

He's meant to be the more interesting character. And they're meant to be the ones with less flaws, because they're mentor archetypes and the Prequels show an interesting situation wherein the protagonist fails to listen to the mentors and fails to overcome his own flaws, which leads him to - instead - be doomed by them.

3) Issues with the writing.

So, for the people who didn't like the changes but want to like the Prequels, there's a headcanon that seemingly fixes everything:

"The Prequel Jedi... are intentionally written as arrogant, hypocritical moralists. They are meant to come across as dispassionate. I mean, isn’t that what being a Jedi is, apparently? You purge yourself of attachments aka emotions, and act only logically (which was typically-encouraged behavior for a long time, in the US). They've become too systemic and lost their way." And guess what? With this interpretation, "Luke is special again! He's like Qui-Gon in that he found a middle ground between the unfeeling Jedi and the Sith, who have become slaves to their emotions. Like, sure, Anakin can be THE Chosen One, whatever, but Luke? Luke has found the balance, he succeeded where Obi-Wan, Yoda (who wanted Vader dead instead of believing he could be redeemed) and the other Jedi failed. So that's what the Prequels are about: the Jedi's failure."

The issue is, though... it doesn't align with what George intended. (as explained here and here).

But it does use most of the ingredients the films give us. Which - short of unleashing a barrage of George Lucas quotes, interviews and videos - makes it hard to disprove.

Because - seeing as the films aren't about the Jedi, they're about Anakin and his own inner demons - we don't see enough of the Jedi's culture and lifestyle and day-to-day unless it directly relates to Anakin.

So George's very clear idea of how awesome the Jedi are is never truly conveyed or fleshed out and as a result they feel like a group of people who always say "no" to the protagonist. The flawed, passionate and more relatable (by contrast) protagonist.

We get glimpses of it in The Clone Wars, but then it's tarnished by the fact that the Jedi are at war.

Then there's the reads that could easily be disproved... had George been more explicit about what he was going for.

"The Jedi Council bully a 9-year-old." This read could've been avoided had the scene ended with the Jedi telling Anakin that being afraid is normal, but his fear must be conquered otherwise it'll lead to the Dark Side. Which, they do, but in a vague way rather one with a kind empathetic smile.

"Obi-Wan is always berating Anakin, their relationship is tense." The whole movie partially features an arc where their relationship is on the rocks, so removing the tension isn't an option. However, the interpretation that it's been like this for a decade (rather than recently because Anakin reunited with Padmé) could've been avoided if, instead of just a minute-long elevator scene, we maybe saw a set-piece of them on a mission, maybe showing them working in tandem and joking as they escape that nest of gundarks.

More could've been done to frame the Jedi in the positive light thy were meant to be seen under. But again: the movies aren't meant to be about the Jedi.

Though it seems that a lot of people wanted them to be. And maybe that explains the hate re: the Jedi.

Older audiences wanted to see Campbell's Hero they grew up with again, they had a preconceived notion that the Jedi would be wandering, exciting adventurers... instead they got a bunch of "stale" diplomats whose whole job is to avoid conflict and adventure.

So instead of taking the story for what it was - a movie for kids - they projected a "morally gray" narrative that said these characters were flawed and weren't how they were supposed to be in-universe, when the truth is they weren't happy with the characters they witnessed out-of-universe.

[f1-giuki]

one of your girls by troye sivan for landoscar?? you decide if its fluff or angst or smut!!! xx ellie <3

ELLIE OH MY GOD THIS CONSUMED ME!!!!! and made me want to write a 50k fic about drag queen Oscar....................

I made it fluffy!!! Hope you like it!!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

one of your girls - prompt post

When Lando saw his face smashed against a bright orange jumping ball in Silverstone, a few years back, he knew that marketing-and-PR-approved activities were a scam, but now, sitting in a random living room with pink walls next to a guy named Brian, while Oscar is getting initiated to the art of drag, he thinks they’re downright torture.

He should explain himself better. He’s in Los Angeles, with Oscar, waiting for the Las Vegas GP, and doing fun promotional activities, one of them consisting of going to a drag queen’s house and filming some kind of YouTube video where one of them gets into drag and the other plays the teasing idiot part, which isn’t very far from their usual dynamic. But there’s something absolutely toying with Lando’s brain, a stupid childlike desire to touch and look in awe. It’s not something he can show on camera.

The problem is not the Brian on the couch, or the other Brian currently securing a wig on Oscar’s head, the problem is Oscar’s cute face with make-up on, with pink cheeks and lips. That he gets to observe that is wild to him. He should pay for a ticket to see it, like for a museum. Maybe Mclaren is already paying for the two Brians. Oscar looks at him amused in the mirror and Lando realises whatever money the team is paying isn’t enough.

“Oscar you’re a diva, you could give Courtney Act a run for her money!” Make-up Brian is saying to the camera.

Oscar tilts his head and looks at the wig, copper and full of soft curls. It’s different, but not in a bad way. The make-up is fairly natural, nothing too crazy, but he knows that if Lando were at the club and saw him like this he’d buy her a drink and suggest somewhere to go later. Lando’s discombobulated face in the mirror as Oscar winks confirms it.

“It looks exactly like in that music video! Lando, you should get shirtless,” couch Brian suggests and Lando remembers the camera filming him.

He rolls his eyes, ready to burst out with his best actually! and put his cap backwards on his head. He has a reputation to keep up. He thinks he can be a simp with some dignity left.

They wrap up the shooting after Lando is well-roasted with insults and his cheeks are on the verge of turning permanently red after looking at Gracinda Outback, Oscar Piastri for her friends.

Some behind-the-scenes content is filmed again and then the Mclaren people leave the room. The two Brians look at Oscar and Lando and laugh, leaving them some space. Lando is grateful for the privacy during his mental breakdown.

Oscar gets down from the make-up chair, a bit wobbly on his feet. He’s still wearing his skinny jeans and sneakers, but make-up Brian gave him a soft pink blouse, flowy and plum-coloured. He’s a sight. Lando looks at him and groans, making Oscar roll his eyes fondly.

“You like this, I’d reckon…” Oscar mumbles and Lando scoffs.

Oscar smiles and Lando takes his hands.

“You should trademark your face,” Lando mumbles, taking Oscar’s hand in his.

“Should I?” He asks, as Lando softly embraces him.

Lando hums and looks at Oscar in the mirror again. He’s lucky Oscar is already his.

“Pop culture iconography is fucking standing in front of me!” Lando states and he hides his face in the crook of his neck.

“You’re weird,” Oscar mumbles as Lando leaves soft kisses along his jaw.

“You like it,” Lando says, looking at Oscar and nearly fainting when he sees how the flowy blouse accentuates the soft curves of Oscar’s body.

“I do…” Oscar grins, before leaving a soft kiss on Lando’s lips, making him taste the strawberry-scented lip gloss.

[halsteadlover]

Always a Family

*Gif not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested: yes by anon.

• Warnings: talking about infertility and bad writing.

• Word count: 3498.

• A/N: bye I’m so bad at giving titles 💀. I know that’s not good, I’m sorry for how this turned out. Let me know what do you think about this one and if I wasn’t accurate dealing with this topic, I tried my best and I apologize for any mistake. Reblog, like and comment please, I’d love to know your opinions ❤️ my inbox is always open if you want to just talk. Love you, and thank you for your support.

Ever since you were a teenager, you had the desire to become a mother, to find a prince charming with whom to start a family and live happily ever after in a house of your own.

You found your prince charming, the best you could ever ask for, you found the house in which to live happily ever after, but no family, however.

Due to some health problems, when you were just a little girl you were told you’d never be able to conceive and for you the possibility of becoming a mother and having a family would unfortunately have been only and forever a dream.

That part of your life was a part you never told anyone, not even your husband even if he was your rock, your lifeline, your everything, but still the crippling fear he might leave you if he had found out was superior to anything else and prevented you from telling him the whole truth.

When you and Jay met you were going through a period where you didn't have any expectations but he managed to change your mind. You never imagined you’d fall so much in love with that man that you’d end up marrying him, you never thought you wanted to share your life with someone as much as you wished with him. Telling him about your infertility had never been a problem, since initially, as already mentioned, you had no expectations. But as time went by, keeping this part of you inside became more and more difficult and the guilt for hiding such a big thing began to slowly eat you from inside.

For better or for worse, though, things always came to light.

One evening, after dinner, you and Jay were on the sofa cuddling, a bowl of popcorn on your lap while watching a movie. Your head rested on his chest as his arm wrapped around your shoulder, squeezing you warmly against him.

You actually didn't even like the movie, being an action movie, but Jay seemed to thrill and he was so cute and handsome as he was watching tv with so much concentration you didn't have the heart to change channel. You didn't particularly like those kind of movies, perhaps because you spent so much of your time immersed in murders, criminals, drugs and kidnappings, the last thing you wanted was to see something that reminded you of them.

“Baby?” you heard Jay's voice waking you up from the state of sleep you were falling into.

“Mmh?” you answered, opening your eyes and bringing them back to the TV as if you had followed the film step by step. To your surprise – and delight – it was over and you found yourself mentally breathing a sigh of relief.

“Did you miss the ending?” he asked you amused.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you think about it? Did you like it?”.

“Definitely an unprecedented film, a completely unexpected ending and one twist after another, ten out of ten.”

He burst out laughing, holding you closer and filling your cheeks with kisses. “My sleeping beauty. You could’ve told me you didn't like the movie baby.”

“No baby, I enjoyed the movie, it's just that I'm a little bit tired after today.”

Jay planted a kiss on your temple, chuckling after realizing it was obviously a little lie. “I love you so much baby, but now let's go to bed come on.”

“Y/N can I talk to you about something?” Jay asked suddenly, after you settled under the covers, cuddling.

“Of course, spit it out.”

“First of all I want to tell you I don't want to scare you off or anything, it's just something I've been thinking about for a while now and… well… I wanted to tell you about it.”

“Do I have to worry?” you asked amused.

“No, no, of course not,” he spoke, taking your hand in his, his eyes locked in yours. “So… Obviously I'm not talking immediately, like something that's going to happen tomorrow but… Well… What do you think about starting a family? We haven't talked about it much, but do you want to have a baby one day?”.

Your stomach dropped at hearing those words, your heart nearly skipped a beat. Anxiety immediately kicked in though you tried as hard as possible not to show a reaction, to remain neutral.

You reluctantly knew this day would come sooner or later, but you hoped with all your heart it’d delay as long as possible. For an instant all thoughts rushed out of your mind, not having the slightest idea where to begin to tell him his wish would never be granted, at least not with you.

“S-sure baby, I'd be so happy to have a baby with you,” you replied, trying to put on a fake smile and feeling your heart break when you instead saw the radiant smile that appeared on his face, the way his eyes sparkled.

“Are you serious? Do you really want it?”

You tried with every fiber of your being to keep your composure but you couldn't stop your eyes from filling with tears, which however Jay, seized with happiness, thought were tears of joy.

“Yes Jay, there is nothing else in the world I want than to have a family with you,” you replied, telling the sincerest truth. That was true, having a family with your husband was really what you wanted with all your heart.

In a fit of joy he hugged you, squeezing you so hard he took your breath away. But you felt so dirty, hypocritical, a shitty person to prevent him from fulfilling his desire. The tears threatened more and more to escape from your eyes but you managed to find the strength to hold back, not to burst into tears.

You couldn't sleep that night.

The guilt was eating you up from inside, you couldn't drive away that feeling of betrayal.

You felt guilty for hiding something so important from your husband, the person you had to trust most in the world, you felt guilty because you’d never be able to give him something he wanted so much, you felt bad about yourself for not being able to accept you’d never become a mother, you’d never have a baby bump to caress, you’d never experience childbirth, watching your baby grow up.

This sense of guilt coexisted with the disabling fear of losing everything you had built with so much effort. You were fucking afraid of losing the love of your life, that once he found out he’d run away.

You couldn't lie in that bed much longer, feeling an overwhelming feeling of suffocation taking over you. So you got out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible to try not to wake Jay, who was sleeping peacefully next to you.

But it wasn't long before he noticed your absence.

Jay stretched out his arm to his left, in an attempt to hug you but he immediately realized your absence and this made him wake up suddenly. He propped himself up on his elbows, rubbing his sleep-filled eyes as he tried to adjust his vision to the dark room.

“Y/N? baby?” he called you and after receiving no answer, he moved the covers from over his body and stood up, heading towards the living room. Fear took over him when, seeing you sitting on the couch, he realized you were crying.

“Baby, oh my god are you okay? What is going on? Are you hurt?” he rushed to you, bending down in front of you. You sat with your elbows resting on your knees, your hands covering your face as you sobbed.

“Y/N please talk to me, tell me what's wrong, is something hurting you?” he persisted, his heart pounding, anxiety gripping his stomach. You shook your head, through tears, unable to speak.

“My love, look at me please. You're scaring the shit out of me, please,” he kept asking as his hands caressed your arms. You stood up, wiping away your tears at the same time, but still keeping your face covered. You didn't want him to see you, not like that.

“Baby...” he murmured, then sitting down next to you, starting to caress your back, “I'm here, I won't leave you. Just take a deep breath, I'm here next to you.”

A few moments passed before you to began to calm down a bit.

“Look at me baby,” Jay said, almost in a whisper and when you didn't, he placed two fingers on your chin and turned your head towards him, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were still red and swollen from the tears, your cheeks wet from them. “It breaks my heart seeing you like this and not being able to help you... My love please talk to me, whatever it is we can solve it, I'm here with you.”

Oh darling, I wish this could be fixed.

You shook your head, the urge to cry threatening to overwhelm you again.

“Y-you'll leave me if I tell you…” you stammered, struggling to maintain eye contact.

A bewildered expression came over Jay's face and in that moment he wondered if you had hit your head somewhere. “What? I hope you're joking, for what kind of reason would I leave you?” he blurted out, dumbfounded “You are my wife, the love of my life, unless you've slept with someone else, there's no way I'm ever going to leave you, just get it out of your mind.”

“What? Absolutely not, it's not that,” you replied immediately.

“I know baby I know, I was just kidding. But you have to tell me what makes you feel like this, I want to help you but I can't do it if you don't talk t-… Oh no, no, no, don't please cry, my love...” he hugged you, squeezing you like never before, one arm around your shoulders while the other hand stroked your hair, “I'm here, I'm here and I will never leave you, I’d die rather and I'm not kidding, whatever happened will never make me walk away from you.”

You continued to cry in his arms, until he pulled away slightly and gently grabbed your face, wiping away the tears streaming down your cheeks with his thumbs.

“You trust me right?”.

“Blindly, with my own life,” you answered without hesitation.

“Then you must have no doubts when I tell you nothing and no one can ever separate me from you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, grow old with you, I won’t leave you not even in a parallel universe.”

“I'm so scared Jay,” you whispered.

“For what baby?”.

“That you will no longer trust me, that you’ll hate me and look at me differently.”

At that point panic began to take hold of him again.

“Baby you're really worrying me now, did something bad happen? Please tell me.”

Now or never.

“About h-having… Well, having a family…”

Jay breathed a sigh of relief at you, his mind having already planned the worst-case scenarios he could think of. “You don’t want to have kids? It’s okay baby, why didn't you tell me? It's an important thing, don't-...”

“No, no,” you interrupted him “It's just that… God… I really want to start a family too, my love.”

At that point the panic was replaced by confusion. “Baby I really don't understand.”

“I would love a family but the thing is…” you sighed, trying not to cry again “I can't.”

“What do you mean?”.

“Physically, I… I can't have children, I'm completely infertile.”

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to last an eternity. You couldn't read Jay's expression well, you couldn't tell if he was angry, disappointed, scared or whatever.

“Now you're going to leave me right?” you asked in a whisper, your eyes filled with tears again as you looked at him, scared stiff at the answer you’d receive.

“What? Absolutely not my love,” he replied quickly, looking at you as if you were crazy “I'm actually relieved, I thought something really bad had happened.”

“Relieved?”.

“Oh, no, no, sorry baby I didn't mean that, I just really thought the worst for a second,” he explained, feeling guilty at his choice of words. He continued to caress your face while you looked at him carefully as if waiting for a rant from him.

“Do you hate me?”.

“Baby come here,” he said pulling you into a hug. It broke his heart to see you like that, to know you had been so afraid of losing him you preferred to torment yourself rather than tell him about it, and he wasn't angry, he never could be, not about something so delicate you weren't responsible for. God, how could you even think he could hate you? He could leave you? “I love you so damn much, more than anyone else on this planet, I'm so sorry you had to go through this alone, I could never hate you how can you even think about that?”.

“I was so scared to tell you, I thought…” you cried “I thought you were going to leave me.”

Jay broke away from the hug, pointing his green eyes straight into yours. “Baby it's not your fault, I understand why you were so afraid to tell me and I'm so sorry, because I would’ve reassured you that I love you to death, that I will never let go of the best thing that ever happened to me, you don't have to never be afraid to talk to me and express your fears because I will always be by your side, I will support you no matter what happens, you must never doubt this.”

Those words from him threw you even further into an abyss of guilt and despair.

“My baby, God I hate to see you like this,” he whispered, hugging you again.

“I feel awful.”

“Why? You absolutely don't have to.”

“Because you are so amazing and understanding and… And I don't know what I did to deserve you after I kept such an important thing from you…” You stopped for a second due to a sob “I feel like shit because I'm wrong and I can't give you what you most desire, because of me we won't have a family, a child of our own, and… Shit, you'd better leave me… You deserve to…-”

“Okay Y/N now I have to stop you,” Jay interrupted, not even wanting to hear another word of your nonsensical speech. He pulled away from the hug and put his hands on your shoulders, “I don’t want this bullshit to come out of your mouth again, okay? You're not wrong...”

“Can I ask you something?” you asked him, interrupting him in your turn.

“Sure, anything you want.”

“But please tell me the truth. If I told you sooner, would you have changed your mind about me? Would you have continued our relationship?”. For an instant you were terrified of hearing his answer, your heart pounding.

“No love that wouldn't have changed anything and it wouldn't have affected our relationship because I loved you, I love you and I will always love you dearly with all my heart and even now that you told me it doesn't change how my eyes see you. In sickness and in health remember? Through thick and thin,” he answered without hesitation. He took your hand with his, intertwining your fingers, “Y/N, baby, listen to me alright? You're not wrong, it's not your fault and I'm not mad at you, I won't leave you understand? I understand why you didn't tell me sooner and I don't blame you. You know, sometimes our body betrays us, not everything goes the way we want but we don't have to blame ourselves for this. What matters to me is that we are together, there are so many other ways to have a family, there are so many kids out there who are alone and need lots of love. We’re always gonna be a family.”

You nodded, still crying.

“Love it's not your fault, I know that's easy for me to say and hard for you to accept. You make me so happy, you have no idea how much, you really are the best thing that ever happened to me and that won't change my mind.”

“It's not right for you…” you whispered..

“What's not right?”

“To stay with me, you want a baby and I can't have one, it's not fair for you to have to give it up.”

“But we won't give up, as I have already told you there are many children waiting to have a family, that need love and affection. Honestly, there's no other person in the world I'd want to do this with, just you,” he spoke “We can have kids but there’s no one else like you baby.”

“I know…”

“Darling,” he murmured, giving you a kiss on the forehead before continuing to speak “I'm always with you, you know that right? I will always help you, we will face every obstacle together and together we’ll be able to overcome this guilt you feel. One day you’ll be able to understand it's not your fault, that there is no need to feel this way, you’ll be able to truly understand unfortunately life can be bad even with people like you who don't deserve it at all, that you shouldn't let yourself be discouraged and find your strength even in the bad things that happen to you. You’ll be able to forgive yourself one day for feeling wrong, I know, it will take some time, but I know you will because you’re one of the strongest people I have ever known and I will always be with you, at every step you take.”

And that’s it. This was the reason why you married that man, because he understood you, he read you like no one else did, because before you even spoke he was able to understand what was tormenting you.

“I love you so much Jay,” you cried out and that time it was you hugging him, “Thank you for everything, for being so amazing, God I don't know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you so much too, thank you for trusting me.”

You stayed on that sofa for an indefinite amount of time, hugging each other and talking, until the sun started to rise outside. You felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you thanked the universe for having a man like Jay next to you, not everyone would’ve reacted the way he did, and you felt like the luckiest person on earth to have chosen a gem as rare as him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked you. You were lying on the sofa, your head resting on his lap as he played with a strand of your hair.

You brought your gaze to him. “About what?”.

“How did you find out?” he asked, “But I don't want you to feel obligated to do this, I know it's delicate for you.”

“No, of course I want to tell you,” you replied “When I was about fifteen I had a uterine fibroid discovered, nothing too serious, it's a benign tumor that could be surgically removed without a hitch but during surgery the surgeons had found the situation was worse than expected and there was a complication, a massive hemorrhage that forced them to remove the uterus.”

“I'm so sorry baby,” he whispered, stroking your hair “Have you ever told anyone about this?”

You shook your head. “If you mean professionally no, my parents continually suggested I had to talk to a psychologist but I always refused, I was just a little girl, you know, I didn't think I needed it and I kept it to myself. I've always pretended nothing happened but, growing up, I realized that maybe I should’ve done it instead. It's traumatic for a 15-year-old to be told she’d never be able to have children and now I'm still bearing the consequences.”

“I'm sorry you had to go through all this alone, especially when you were still too young to even understand what was going on,” he spoke. “But now you are no longer alone, I will always be there at every step you take and above all it is never too late to ask for help if you need it.”

“I know love,” you smiled weakly. “I already feel so much better now that I've told you about it, I'm just sorry I haven't done it sooner, but now I feel like I'm not alone in going through this anymore. Don't get me wrong, I've accepted it by now, but I know that when we’ll expand our family, I have to solve some 'issues’ first.”

Jay smiled at the word when. “When?”

“Of course baby. As someone very important to me told me, there are so many children out there in need of love and a family.”

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[munson-blurbs]

BUGS!!!! Idk when you’ll get this but it’s me Sav (munsonology) 👾

What if Eddie catches you in the adult section at family video and you’re caught with the kinkiest tape they have 🤤 Eddie’s shocked because this is beyond the beginners level y’all are at but intrigued that his perfect girl is actually freakier than him 🥵

Savvvvv I adore you and your smutty brain 💚 I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: smutttttt (18+ only, minors GO AWAY), adult films, bondage, piv, some crying, slight breeding kink (?) idk, language

WC: 2.1k

--

Eddie thought he knew you pretty well. You'd only been a couple for a few months, but you'd been friends for years prior to getting together. If someone asked him what your favorite pizza topping was, he could confidently say it was mushroom. You were definitely more of a night owl than an early bird. You wanted to travel the world; Eddie wanted more than anything to take you on an African safari like you'd always dreamed.

And up until the moment he caught you in Family Video, he would've sworn up and down that your guilty pleasure was cheesy romantic comedies.

You'd had to cancel your date with him to finish up a paper for the class you were taking at Hawkins Community College, so Eddie trekked over to visit Robin and Steve and find something to occupy his unexpectedly empty night.

"Hey, Munson!" Steve greets him cheerily. "How's it been?"

Eddie shrugs his shoulders. "Can't complain. Y/N has to get some work done tonight. Figured I'd see if you guys had any new releases I could check out."

Robin crinkles her nose. "Y/N?" she questions. "She's right over there." She points over to the curtained-off section of the store and glances at Eddie knowingly.

Eddie's jaw could've hit the floor. You watched porn? Sure, you were amazing in bed, always knowing how to touch him and turning him into putty. Was it because you had done extensive research in the adult section of Family Video?

He quietly shuffles over to where you're standing, browsing the various titles. You're not interested in the same-old generic "plumber fixes lonely housewife's pipes" or "pizza boy delivers extra-large sausage pizza to sorority girls." You want something different, something to relax you from your stressful midterms, something kinky.

A title jumps out at you: Bonded Babes. The cover shows a woman clad in barely-there lingerie, tied to the bed with a ball gag wedged between her crimson lips. Perfect.

"Holy shit." The sound of a man's voice startles you, and you let out a little yelp. You look up to see your boyfriend, his eyes glued to the VHS you'd just selected. You hide it behind your back, feeling your whole body blushing.

Eddie steps towards you. "Whatcha got there, sweetheart?" he prods, cocking his head to the side. "Because that doesn't look like a John Hughes flick to me."

"'S nothing," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through you. "Just wanted to decompress after writing this stupid paper."

"Mmm," Eddie says knowingly, "so let me see what helps you relax, baby girl."

You shake your head wordlessly.

Eddie laughs. "C'mon, you really think you're gonna scare me off?" he protests. "You don't even wanna know what I watch."

You raise an eyebrow and decide to explore that comment further at another time. "I-I should probably get home. Back to my essay." But he blocks your escape, placing a strong hand on your stomach.

"Hand it over," he orders, and you reluctantly oblige.

"Don't judge me," you plead. What if he sees what you chose and is freaked out? He wouldn't be the first guy who couldn't handle your kinks and desires.

"Hmm," Eddie says, looking carefully, "haven't seen this one yet." He gives you a mischievous grin. "Wanna watch it together?"

You clear your throat, caught off-guard by the suggestion. "It, uh, might not be your thing," you offer lamely.

"Well, I guess there's just one way to find out, sweetheart."

~

Your roommate is out for the night, drinking away her midterm week nerves, so you bring Eddie back to your place. He's all too eager to pop the video in the player, practically breaking down the door to the apartment.

"Okay," he says, plopping down next to you on the sofa and pressing play, "let's see what gets my girl going, hmm?"

As with most porn, there's no real plot. This one gives the smallest backstory about a woman who keeps talking back to her boyfriend. The boyfriend--a buff dude with a perfectly waxed chest--decides to punish her and shut her up while he has his way with her. He uses handcuffs on her wrists and ropes tied tight around her ankles. The pièce de résistance, of course, is the gag that allows for moans and whimpers and nothing else.

You bury your head in your hands. "I warned you," you whine, "it's, like, a lot."

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson is speechless. He finally says, "Do you...want me to do this to you?"

"It's a lot, Eds," you repeat shyly. "We don't have to."

"What if I want to try it?" he asks, and you gawp incredulously, bringing a laugh to his lips. "I have all kinds of fantasies about you, baby. Don't be too surprised."

You maneuver yourself so you're straddling his lap, grinding your aching cunt across the crotch of his jeans. The friction from both of your clothes only makes you wetter. You kiss down his neck as he grabs your ass, squeezing and pulling you even closer to him.

"Let's try it," you whisper in his ear, biting his lobe. You hear the people on screen groaning and grunting exaggeratedly.

With that, Eddie lifts you, hands never leaving your ass. He brings you to your bedroom, dropping you on the bed and raking through your drawers for T-shirts, grabbing two of them.

"I got the cuffs," he says, patting the accessory on his belt, "but no ropes. Gotta improvise."

"So innovative," you tease, beckoning him back to you with a flutter of your eyelashes. His lips crash into yours, pushing you down onto the bed as he climbs on top of you. The weight of his body pressing into yours always gets you so hot; you try and cope by slipping your hand down into your jeans, beneath your panties.

Eddie breaks the kiss and hums disapprovingly. "Baby," he chastises, "you're not gonna get yourself off when I can do that for you." He removes your hand from your clit and pulls off your shirt, exposing a lacy white bra. He sucks on the exposed part of your breasts as he fiddles with the clasp, and you moan softly when he unhooks your bra and runs his fingers over your hardening nipples.

"You're not denying me this," he growls, tearing off your jeans. His thumb grazes your panties, and he throws his head back when he feels how wet you are. He gets on his knees and kisses your cunt through the thin fabric, loving each twitch of your legs.

Eddie hooks a finger into the waistband and yanks them down, shoving them in his back pocket. "Gonna need these later," he tells you, sending a shiver down your spine. "Lay back on the pillow for me, sweetheart."

You do as you're told, hearing the click of the handcuffs unlatching. Eddie snaps one on to your left wrist, loops the chain around one of the backboard spindles, and brings the other cuff around your right wrist. "Pull for me," he says, and when you demonstrate that you're stuck, he smiles wickedly.

He grabs the shirts--old concert tees, you realize gratefully, nothing expensive or fancy--and ties one around each ankle, then to the spindles on the footboard, legs spread widely. "Wriggle around for me, baby. Let me see how good I've got you." Sure enough, you kick your legs with incredibly restricted movement. "Perfect," he muses.

"Eddie," you whimper, "need you to touch me. Need your fingers or your tongue or your cock. Something, please."

He laughs at this, reaching back into his pocket. "Thanks for reminding me," he says roughly. You feel a piece of cloth between your lips as your soaked panties are shoved in your mouth. "Don't wanna hear a word from you; just those pretty little moans."

"Mhm," you manage.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters. “Safe words. Uh, just say peanut butter if you need me to stop.” You nod in response.

With that, he brings his lips to your torso, trailing kisses across your tits and down your stomach. The contrast between your completely naked body and his fully clothed one turns you on even more, if that’s possible.

You let out a whine as he licks a stripe along your folds, slick coating his chin. “Taste s’good,” he groans before finding your clit and sucking on it. A guttural sound escapes your throat at the sudden stimulation.

“Already overwhelmed, baby?” he teases, words vibrating into you. “Good.” He focuses his attention back to your sensitive bundle, caressing it with his tongue. You buck your hips as one finger enters your pussy, limited by the makeshift ties.

You’re waiting for him to place another digit inside you, like he normally does, but now is not the time to expect anything. Instead, he withdraws his finger and his mouth from your sex, undoing his pants button and pulling out his hard cock. He brings it to your lips, removing the gag, but stops you before you can suck it.

“Spit on it,” he demands, and you spit on his dick. He uses it as lube as he fucks his fist right in front of you, stuffing the panties back in your mouth.

“You see what you do to me? he snarls, “I want you to use your hands, but since you’re being punished, I have to do it myself.”

You want to tell him that he can fuck your face; or better yet, your pussy, but the gag prevents you from articulating this. You writhe against the handcuffs, craving touch.

Eddie uses his free hand to grip the wrist closest to him. “Nice try,” he smirks, “but you’re not gonna cum until I say you can. Got it?”

“Mhm,” you croak out. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as your frustration mounts. He wipes one away with a smile.

“Poor thing,” he taunts, “wants my dick so badly that she’s fuckin’ crying for it, huh?” He pumps himself until he’s so hard it hurts, precum beading at the slit. “‘S your lucky day, sweetheart. If I don’t fuck you now, I’m gonna cum all over my hand. And why would I do that when your pretty pussy is right there?”

He places himself between your legs again, tapping on your outer thigh. “Lift these hips a little for me.” You lift them obediently. “That’s a good girl.” You whimper at the praise.

He uses the combination of your slick and his precum to push into you, stretching you and mixing pain with pleasure. “Can you say my name with your mouth full like that?”

“Eddie,” you groan. It comes out muffled but neither of you care. “Eddie, s’good.”

He thrusts into you harder, yelling out your name as he does. His voice is gravelly and intense. “Gonna cum inside of you. Gonna mark my fuckin’ territory.” You’ve been on the pill, and he knows this, but he’s never finished in you before without a condom, always pulling out and spilling onto your tits.

“Yes, Eddie,” you chant over and over as he rubs circles on your clit while fucking you. 

“Be a good girl and cum for me. Show me how good I make you feel.” As soon as he says it, you release all over his cock, clenching around him as you hit your peak.

“You feel amazing,” he praises. “Can’t hold back anymore. Y’feel too good.” He empties inside you, long hot spurts coating your walls. When he’s done, a sweating and panting mess, you’re too sore to move. Still, you miss him in you as soon as he withdraws.

Eddie immediately removes the panties from your mouth, unlocks the cuffs, and unties the shirts. “Baby,” he purrs, “that was hot as shit.”

You nod in agreement. “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

He plants a long, gentle kiss on your mouth and runs to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth. “Let me clean you up.” He wipes down your inner thighs, kissing them when he’s done. “I know this wasn’t in the movie,” he says with a small smile, “but I wasn’t about to leave my girl a mess.”

You return the smile gratefully. “Thank you, Eds.”

He crawls back into bed facing you, pecking kisses on your nose. “I love you, my freaky girl.” He sighs dramatically. “I mean, I already knew you were the one for me, but this just sealed the fuckin’ deal!”

You giggle at his theatrics. “I love you, too,” you say, kissing his forehead. “And next time, you can pick the movie. I can’t be the only freak in this relationship.”

--

[charlidos]

I keep writing Viggorli fanfiction in my head, sometimes with a little help from Viggo's poetry. I think Viggo uses his art and poetry to express himself, but of course no one but him can know what he was thinking when writing it. But I can imagine. And I wish to imagine he wrote some of them thinking of Orlando. I'm sure my imaginations and theories are only new to me.

As with the O+H painting, the poems which are dated from the time frame of filming LotR (1999-2002) can reasonably be considered to be quite influenced by everything Viggo experienced while in New Zealand. He spent 18 months+ there, after all. For this reason, I read his poem Communion imagining he was also under the heavy influence of love for his elf boy. And to me, it reads like a very romantic but also very wistful poem. So this story would be labeled "friends to lovers, angst".

In my view, at least two sort of objective facts, support my not-very objective theory that Orlando is the unamed object of desire, namely Viggo's choice of words:

"Bloom of compassion" - the most obvious (too obvious even? - or hiding in plain sight?) - it's a common enough word, sure, but in this context, during this period of Viggo's life, is it really a coincidence? It seems to stand out like a neon sign: BLOOM. It's difficult to unsee.

"Anglican doorway" - "Anglican" mostly refers to "Church of England" or the Anglican communion as a whole. But it can also be another way of saying that something is English. And so it can be read as "English doorway", if you wish. Regardless, it certainly leads your thoughts towards England. Furthermore, Orlando was brought up in the Church of England (and born in Canterbury, the place of origin for the church, no less), while Viggo has no known connection to any religion really. It's perhaps not as obvious as bloom, but it's still quite a significant choice of word. Again, in this context, at this time, when we know Viggo spent so much of his time with Orlando.

Here's my interpretation of Viggo's Communion:

we've left shore somehow become the friends of early theory close enough to speak desire and pain of absence of mistakes we'd make given the chance.

The two are described as friends, who have become closer, intimate in words and thoughts. Sharing secrets, fears, feelings. Bordering on something more.

each smile returned makes harder avoiding dreams that see us lying in the early evening curtain shadows, skin safe against skin. bloom of compassion respect for moments eyes lock turns forever into one more veil that falls away

He seems to be having thoughts of them becoming lovers, the veil of "just friends" falling away. But it seems to be still just a dream, a hope. It's such a beautiful image: the two of them, together, intimate, safe. And that "bloom of compassion", maybe V just wanted to get the word in...

this after seeing you last night, first time smelling you with permission: shoulders to wonder openly at as carefully kissed as those arms waited impossibly on. they've held me now and your breath down my back sent away the night air that had me shaking in the unlit anglican doorway.

But seems they've already been intimate, maybe just a first kiss, a lingering touch, holding each other. The "smelling you with permission" implies he's smelled O without permission before. Sneaking a little sniff when in close contact. Inhaling the sweet scent of a beloved friend. If we accept "anglican" as a reference to O, then what is this unlit doorway? Is it just an image of being allowed inside O's private space? And why is it unlit? As in Orlando being from that church, but not believing in its god? Or an opening into this other person which is difficult to find, maybe not fully opened to him.

are we ruined for finding our faces fit and want to know more about morning? is friendship cancelled if we can't call each other anymore in amnesia, invite ourselves to last glances under suspicious clocks telling us when we've had enough?

A worry that sex will ruin their friendship, implying it's not clear what their relationship should be, even after crossing that line. I love that phrase "finding our faces fit", it's both funny and beautiful; finding that when they kiss, they felt a sense of belonging. And that they probably don't want to stop. I'm not sure if he also worries about other people seeing, finding out, being in the public eye. And he worries that they won't be able to talk like they did before, as friends.

your steady hands cradling my grateful skull: were you taking in my face to save an image you've rarely allowed yourself after leaving that cold alcove? am i a photograph you gaze at in moments of weakness?

Again, he seems to feel this relationship only exists in private, in bed. Maybe implying that O regards it as a weakness, these feelings. This part could also be read as if it's him looking back, when the relationship is over, or changed, distanced, wondering if O thinks of him.

you ordered me off my knees into your arms. wasn't to beg that i knelt; only to see you once from below.

The image of V on his knees could both be a sexual thing, but it could also be about worship; that he wants to be on his knees to adore O. But it's also a part of the poem's religious theme; you usually kneel while taking the communion. You kneel to pray.

tried to say something that filled my mouth and longed to rest in your ear. don't dare write it down for fear it'll become words, just words.

The relationship seems fragile, filled with fear of loss. Like he can't say everything he wants to, afraid it'll lead to it ending. There's so much desire and longing, but also so much despair of the relationship being so brittle, that it can fall apart at any time.

Once I read it this way, like with that painting, I can't see anything else. Maybe it's just coincidences, maybe it's just something from inside Viggo's brain (and not connected to reality), maybe it can be read in many other ways. But since my brain is warped, I can only read it like this.

[dropthedemiurge]

My first impression for GMMTV 2024 projects:

Ossan's Love Thailand: Let's just say, first one is instant skip for me, though I am still excited to watch Earth and Mix in something I'll enjoy. I probably should go and watch Cupid's Last Wish instead xD Japanese comedy that is transferred in a Thailand comedy make me fear for my life, to be honest (my tolerance for physical comedy is unfortunately very low). But good luck to EarthMix though, they'll get to play some funky roles, hope they'll have fun!

Leap Day: Woah! It looks very intense and very interesting already. Pond and Dew (who I dearly love since High School series) in a very dark and mystical thriller(?). It's not BL but I love unique plots with darker vibes. Also Gun playing autistic guy (who also gives off creepy vibes because the entire trailer is creepy)? Sign me up twice! I'm going to be checking it out for sure.

The Heart Killers: First and Khaotung wanted to play a cute sweet romcom after all the depressing and dark and difficult characters and tears, right? Well, they also wanted to play mafia or gang roles so I guess that gave Jojo the right to make a ASSASSINS ROM-COM, why not!xD This man is the only one I go for when I want something very refreshing, unusual, gritty, that has flawed and underground characters, weapons and high stakes. It'll probably fumble the ending but I'm definitely going to be here for my Assassin x Tattoo Artist Firstkhao. Also it'll be my introduction to JoongDunk. Second to the top of series I'm excited about!

Friendshit Forever: I actually had to double take because GMM surely loves puns in their titles, right? xD I thought this would be GL but it seems like a very intense friendship-betrayal story, seems like girl actors are able to pull it off and New is going to get caught up between them, sounds interesting but again, not my type of story. Still, points for the shit in the title lol

Perfect10Liners: I literally have 3 couples that I am familiar with because I saw them in other shows, and they all play Thai engineers, and I still have no desire to watch this show? Somehow?! I don't know why but I feel like the writing is not solid at all. Or the premise. I'm not sure what's this show is even about, beside a silly university romcom. I am already craving something more interesting, I'm sorry guys.

Us: I ONLY HAD EMI AND BONNIE FOR ONE MINUTE AND I DON'T WANT TO LET THEM GO! I mean, new discoveries?! This trailer is filmed beautifully, first of all. The acting is already great (also hello, Sing, my beloved!) and the girls have chemistry (I might have a little crush on Emi already). Anyway. I am still waiting for GL that'll be my cup of tea, I hope this will be one.

Hide & Sis: I really enjoy the vibes, the three sisters look badass (and I adore Piploy and Lookjun and Jan), it's very unusual to see Chimon in this role, Gawin continues his police officer streak, but THAT NAME! Who decided on a name for this series and why?xD Probably not going to watch but I give it a stamp of approval.

ThamePo (Heart that skips a beat): Oh! I enjoy idol stories, though I haven't seen many, but I'm always intrigued how shows like this could display the backstage and the complications that come with different positions and spotlight. And thank god GMMTV used their actual boygroup to play idols! And didn't just try to teach actors to dance. I don't know main two actors but they seem to have good chemistry as well?! I'm intrigued.

Break Up Service: I'm all for Off in a very sketchy role (Midnight Motel type of sketchy, only with even higher stakes?xD) but the overall genre is probably not my thing.

Revamp The Undead: I'm sorry but all I know about BounPrem is that these are guys from another agency who desperately wanted to have vampire BL for years or something xD Glad to see the wish being fulfilled! I love how the teaser was filmed, and the plot has a big potential. Don't know the cast but might tune it to check out! Also my guy Kay is here being bad!! (I am collecting my HS gang over all lakorns)

Sweet Tooth Good Dentist: Sorry but I'm going to be mourning Mark Pakin's talent being wasted on series like that x) I don't know the other guy Ohm, sorry, but such romantic comedy where Mark's character is a weirdo and simply falls in love with the client (how was he not fired on the spot) doesn't really intrigue me... But at least it's a step up from his (amazing) side roles.

The Dark Dice: Ooh! I love psychological thrillers and this honestly reminded me of Cube, I just didn't expect Gemini to be the main lead. As someone who watched Gifted, High School and similar shows, this is right up my alley. Very curious to check out and I hope they'll do something deep with it beside a simple mystery.

The Ex Morning: I might be biased but I just knew they would be the last one, what everyone's been waiting for. It's hilarious to think that the plot is based on Krist and Singto's actual lives but I trust P'Aof to write compelling characters and relationships. Also I probably will sigh with relief already because he's one of the very few writers that actually write a complete story with a nice and believable (and not hurried) ending. And I really want KS to come back with a bang, just like TayNew did with Cherry Magic. GMM going exes back to lovers will be very interesting to watch, and Krist Singto grew as actors so much. I'm very excited!

Overall, I'm happy to see GMMTV choosing to try a lot more mystical or dark stories than before, way less school students and also most of these BL stories are about adults! Woah! Finally! The audience is mostly grown up as well, thankfully they realized it. And their announced project about accepting stories and plot from the fans, as well as Interactive Game project by GMM, I wonder how that'll look like.

It's funny how last year I was thinking about making my webcomics and visual novel games with GMM actors and I didn't push through because I had health problems and not enough time, and it's like in 2024 GMM tells me THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT WE WANT. Maybe I should actually make some dating otome novel game or some interesting AU webcomic based on GMM BL pairings, and then show it to all fans and then GMM would notice it xD Who knows? Go kick me so I'd work on one of those projects in my mind.

Anyway, in Part 1 I barely liked any trailers or stories, and I like almost everything in Part 2. I am very very excited.

[haptureratch]

Bitch, You Need Therapy

Pairing: Johnny Knoxville x Reader (afab)

Others: Chris Pontius, Steve-O

Word count: approx. 4.5k

Synopsis: You’re part of the crew, temporarily filling in and enjoying it immensely. You are filming something overseas. Knoxville finds out you have a crush on him and decides to fuck with your stressed little self until he gets carried away in the moment.

WARNINGS/tags: NC-17, minors DNI, adult language, alcohol (technical lack of consent), soft allusions to hard drugs, oral sex, genital penetration, THE DOUBLE MEANING OF LIPS, kinks galore (praise, rough, petnames, things I don’t have a word for)

Notes from the author: Yeah idk he just seems like a playful bastard that might be hiding a kinky streak. Not tied to any specific period of Jackass filming so reader can take some creative liberties (the least I can do when I am dictating reader’s entire personality lmao). Knoxville is single in this world; it’s all fun & fantasy. This work has not been officially reviewed apart from one of my best friends giving enthusiastic approval early on. But I’ve read over it a hundred times while writing it SO DAMN SLOWLY, so hopefully it is okay. There are purposeful tense changes and I hope they hit the way I'm intending. Is the whole thing cringe? Maybe; maybe not. Pls let loose & enjoy! I am a long time reader and I’ve had ideas here and there; finally decided it was time to fuck around and find out myself. It’s been way harder than I thought and I have even more respect for my fave fic authors out there. If you know me irl, no you don’t. WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU~~

Night has been falling earlier and earlier as weeks peel away from Autumn toward the year’s end. It is 7 o’clock in the evening but feels more like 11. Outside the darkness is interrupted by numerous streetlamps along the sidewalk. The lights glow a golden orange, reminding you of the crackling fire in the pub, and you dig your hands into your coat pockets seeking warmth.

“HEY ASSHOLE, why did we leave that cozy fucking place?!” you shout over the wind at one of your walking companions with some frustration. Only some. You’ve had a couple drinks and your speech seems to come out in demanding exclamations regardless of any real anger at that point. And you’re fairly certain any frustration stems from unmet desires directed toward this man and his stupid glinty purple-tinted sunglasses. Sunglasses, which he wore inside the intimately lit pub and which he is still wearing outside at night. What a jackass.

A different, unsunglasses’d man answered. “Because adventure calls! Sure, it’s cold out. But not cold enough to get frostbite. The call to adventure must be heeded even in the face of Ice Queen Mother Nature. Like the Russian Police, she’s stern. Stern…but fair,” he announced with omnipotence. Everyone in the group seemed dead set on committing crimes this evening. This one was guilty of venturing out in 20-some degree weather without a coat or sweater or torso cover of any kind. Just a fluffy scarf and a Santa hat. Another jackass, you thought. But that’s why you jumped at the chance to work with these people. It was an invigorating break from the mundane. And the group oozed fun; to be in the same room as any of them was to know friendship and laughter.

You smiled genuinely at him. Despite the cold and questionable decisions, he still inspired affection. “Thanks, as always, Pontius, for the exceptional pep talk but I think I was asking—”

“DUDE WHERE IS MY SKATEBOARD?!?!!” screeched a third man’s voice. He’d definitely had the most to drink out of the group so far this evening and crime was written all over him. Good ol’ Steve-O. Nothing more to be said about him.

Sunglasses finally spoke up. “I decided against anything with wheels for this and threw it in the back of the van, Steve-O. We can come back in the daytime tomorrow for skate shots. There are a lot less lights the farther in the park we go.”

“Knox, you IDIOT, I’m planning on being so fucking hungover tomorrow! I’m on my GAME now, man, you shoulda brought it!” He bent down to gather up two fists of snow, mash them together, and hurl the mass toward Johnny.

“If you want it so bad, go back an’ get it!” He grinned while dodging the poorly aimed snowball and jumped over to rap Steve-O on the ass with the back of his hand. This garnered a slow, deep, huffy giggling from Pontius. It was less of a giggle, more of a devious huh-huh-huh. It sounded like something you’d hear in the boys’ locker room but if it came from the throat of a grown man.

The little spanking sparked a quick scuffle between Steve-O and Johnny. After nearly slipping and falling, he gave up on trying to fuck with the taller man and hardened his resolve to skate in the snow. “UGH! I’ll be back…” After a beat of wily consideration he added, “Or not!” Steve-O then darted off in the direction of the pub, almost slipped again, and slowed his stumbling gait. If he was headed toward booze he was probably going to get another round. A round of…something.

Chris and Johnny shared a look and the Santa-hatted one asked, “Who’s going with him? It’s law that we use the buddy system in all foreign lands, especially when we don’t want to get arrested. More arrested than we get when the cameras are rolling. Those times are okay.”

Johnny spoke first. “I’ll stay to map out where Jeff thinks we can get the money shots. Y/N probably needs to mess with the camera settings.”

“Actually, yeah,” you uttered, reviving from a slight stupor of quiet observation and remembering your role in all of this. “This would be our first night footage of the trip and I haven’t experimented with the exposure or what type of flash I can—”

“Okay nerd on, genius, I’ll go,” Chris interrupted. He smiled and bowed himself out in the direction of Steve-O and the pub.

“Better hurry, Pontius! Something tells me the board ain’t the priority now,” Johnny called out. You watched as the smoke from his breath dissipated into the cold and the two of you continued away from what seemed like the rest of civilization.

********

The other men gone from sight, your physical awareness of Johnny dialed up. Though he was lean, he seemed to exude heat through his black peacoat. Maybe you were imagining things. But you dared to draw a couple inches closer to assess. He slowed his gait and you veered right back over and even sped up a little. You thought you heard a quiet laugh come from his side of the path.

‘Dammit, Y/N, fucking stay focused,’ you thought to yourself. You can’t give them anything to get you on; it was more important to you than any legal trouble. You were here to relieve Lance after one too many trips involving vomit-on-the-camera incidents. You had a job to do, you had creative input to offer, and you didn’t have to let on that you found one of the guys so hot you couldn’t stand it. That fact could be kept firmly TO YOURSELF. The need to keep it a secret almost hyped it up to an obsession. You found yourself stealing photos during planning sessions, when you were 95% certain that no one would notice. Since you were such a dedicated crew member, the team assumed you were experimenting with angles or compiling a look-book or something.

Sure, you took candids of everyone. But the most recurring subject by far was Johnny Knoxville. There were the obvious features that caught your eye, mostly when he laughed, all white teeth and crow’s feet. After a while you noticed how he stood kind of funny, whether that was from past back injuries, weak glutes, or a touch of valgus knee deformity you weren’t sure. It didn’t at all detract from the beauty of those long legs or the defined torso they led up to. Certainly didn’t ruin his painfully (for you) deep iliac furrows smack dab in the middle of it all. And you weren’t going to get started on his arms or shoulders or jawline. He really took your love for anatomy and smacked you upside the head with it. He was art and you were insane.

Your stupid little fangirl crush even had you calling him ‘Johnny Knoxville’ in your head instead of PJ. It was like how you still called your teachers ‘Mr/Ms/Mx’ after graduating from school, even though they gave you permission to be on a first-name basis. It was hard to get comfortable with others like that. Another reason why you wanted this chance at a different work environment even if it was just temporary. You sorely needed to relax, Y/N. Unclench your jaw, take a breath, stop the shoulders from migrating upwards, and just keep walking. Sometimes the set of Jackass was not the ideal setting to work on those goals—all of those damn pranks—but…

“Lost in thought, puddin’?” you heard in your ear. You didn’t so much hear them as felt the words slap your skin from behind, the shock of wet heat in the cold air startling you. The streetlamps brightened in your peripheral vision.

You spun around and couldn’t help the nervous fake-laugh that escaped. “Oh, uh, yeah, you could say that. Just handling a lot of little things right now. Like the jet-lag, that European alcohol hitting a little stronger, the cold being colder here somehow, filming schedule, the list goes on, man." You hoped adding 'man’ would lend the illusion of you being chill, cool, totally not in fight-or-flight mode a moment ago.

It didn’t. There was an awkward silence as he stood facing you. Behind the shades you couldn’t see the mischief in his eyes as he planned out where he was going to take this. To you it just looked like staring. ‘Fucking dammit,’ you swore at yourself, ‘I don’t know if he KNOWS knows but he knows something is up. Agh, focus on work, FOCUS ON WORK.’

You cleared your throat, pulled namaste out of your ass, and shifted the power of the interaction back on your side with, “Hey, why don’t you stand over by that statue and help me with shot composition.”

“Yes, boss, on the double!” His tone was playfully condescending as he headed over to the metal figure, an unknown man outlined in snow. “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He let the last word drag out lower and slower than the rest. You had to fight your dead brain to let you breathe again. He was going to fuck with you, alright, and it was going to happen tonight. But for his own fun, no cameras in sight other than yours. There was always a chance of one of those goofy assholes hiding in a bush, but your gut told you there were none. No one else was going to be around for this, but you weren’t sure how thankful you were. You were flooded with several thoughts at once. How far would he go? How far did you want him to go? Did Jackass have HR? What was their policy on a creator/actor doing unspeakable things to a camera person with his mouth? Could the van be moved for about 90 minutes tonight without anyone knowing? Was he all dom or a switch? How easy would it be to get him to giggle during a blowjob?

Fuck. Focus.

‘FUCK,’ you thought as, for some ungodly reason, Knox put his tongue to the statue’s ear. The side of your neck began to tingle where his breath had been several minutes ago; memory is a powerful thing. You shook your head to regroup.

“Better pray you don’t end up like that kid in A Christmas Story,” you deadpanned.

He looked away and called out toward the woods at the edge of the park, “Nah, I’m too wet for that. That…that’s the secret.” You saw his back shuddering slightly, probably with laughter, and tried to see deeper into the trees. Not a soul was detected.

“You’ll be wetter when that statue comes to life and throws you in the river.”

He turned back toward you. “Naw, I think he likes it,” he grinned as wedged his body even closer to the metal and began to run a hand slowly down its torso. For the first time he made eye contact with you over his glasses and you dared not break it while his hand migrated further and further south. “And I think he’s not the only one, darlin’,” he drawled, his tone growing deeper and darker by the second. Two fingers began to lazily graze between the statue’s legs. And, as if that wasn’t enough, his hips ground into what had to be extremely cold and extremely hard metal. He let out a low sigh into the winter air.

This probably lasted just a moment but it felt like an eternity as you stood watching him, unable to do anything else, not quite believing what you were seeing. Your eyes were glued to where you thought his dick was, where you thought you saw an outline begin to show. He kept at it, grinding and sighing and caressing against that fucking statue, only averting his gaze to let his eyes roll back into his head and flutter shut. Which he made sure you could see with the shades slid all the way down the bridge of his nose. The whole thing was insane but you could not stop the cascade of heat and desire from building inside you. It’s like the more it shouldn’t be happening, the more you were into it. You wanted to look around and check for the crew for the umpteenth time but couldn’t tear your eyes from him. Johnny Knoxville was getting freaky on a statue to tease you and you were simmering in your own juices.

Like.

What the actual fuck?

Okay, case closed, he definitely knew.

Uhh… Just try to own it now?

“You know what, you whore?! It’s gonna be really fucking awkward when my underwear freezes out here!”

He finally broke, fell away from the statue, and dissolved into laughter on the ground. You hoped your boldness would recuperate a bit of your cred and he’d back off. (You hoped he wouldn’t back off.)

“The working conditions, here, honestly…” you said as your hands came to your hips.

His maniacal glee, normally adorable when it wasn’t tied up in such a stressful and sexy situation, died out and he regained upright footing. He didn’t bother to brush the snow off his coat or shake out what had peppered his hair. He took off his sunglasses and folded them into the inner pocket of his coat. He smiled down at you and you felt him gently grab your shoulders. “You’re so wound up, Y/N,” he remarked with genuine care in his voice.

The touch and proximity made you stiffen; your arms dropped to your sides. His breath smelled like booze and you wanted to drown in it.

His fingers laced together behind your shoulders and slid down to rest at the small of your back; you instinctively grabbed at his forearms. “Gotta learn how to relax, baby.” He jerked your lower half into him and you could feel that you had not, in fact, been imagining that dick. With that, you felt the last of your good sense rocket away, leaving a long-imprisoned whine in its wake.

He dipped his head down to your ear and growled, “How loud does that kitty purr?”

No words.

No thoughts.

Your head threatened to crack off of your spine but he caught the back of it with one hand, the other snaked firmly around the rest of you, as his lips made contact with your neck. Soft kisses were syncopated with nibbles, the heat of his mouth searing your skin in contrast to the chilly air. His tongue was so wet and so warm against your flesh. You all but dripped for him.

“Van,” you demand.

He takes your hand, grins, and leads you out of the park toward the town.

The two of you make it to the van and he takes space in the driver’s seat. The engine comes to life relatively quietly—thank god for hybrids—and he maneuvers it onto a darkened side street several blocks down. You seem to be surrounded by a bunch of businesses closed down for the night but you also don’t have a single fuck to give now. You slide a hand over the rod in his pants and his lips part with a groan.

Hunger takes hold and you lunge over the console to catch his mouth in a voracious kiss. Tongue and teeth everywhere. Even the smallest hints of pleasure out of this man are going to drive you wild tonight. But you want—you NEED—to savor the experience. The movements of your jaw slow and the space between your lips closes as you center yourself. His lips come together but his breath continues hard and deep through his nose. His eyes are shut tight as if he's exercising control as well. You pepper kisses across his cheek, down his neck, and back up to his ear where you sigh your contentment.

“Mmm, sweetheart, I’m gonna need to hear more of that,” he says low in your ear. Your belly flutters up into your chest and you think you might fall in love, like an idiot.

He kisses you deeply and pulls you with him into the back of the van. The heat of the exchange melts off both your coats. A sleeping bag is found, unzipped, and laid down. Not that the two of you notice the cold all that much, it just seems like the right thing to do in a van that carts around the Jackass crew. He is a bit more discerning than some of his co-stars.

He unzips your pants and slides them down your legs. You sit up to help kick them off along with your shoes. He takes off your shirt, leaving you just in your bra, socks, and panties. You love how exposed you must look and how vulnerable you feel. He looks you in the eye, smirks, looks down at your hips, licks his lips. Your thighs squeeze together with anticipation and your moan spells out your need.

He lowers himself down, still clothed, onto your nearly naked body and lays his lips all over your skin. He slides across you lazily and you can’t stand how good his clothes feel against you. You can’t wait for that dick to be out and in your mouth. It’s how you want to show him how good he’s making you feel. The way he takes the fabric of your panties in his fingertips tells you he has his own priorities.

“May I?”

“May you what?”

He smiles and toys with the bows stitched to the elastic around your hips. He takes the band in his teeth and looks you in the eye as he lets it snap against you.

“Eat out that pretty pussy of yours, doll. It’s all wrapped up for me like a present under the tree.”

You’re not able to make a joke about stealing Chris’s Santa hat. You can only reach down and start to wiggle the remaining cotton off, with which Knox happily helps. The bra and socks follow suit and a cheeky kiss to your foot garners a giggle.

Things get very serious again when he positions his face in front of your heat. He hugs your hips to him and rests his large hands down on you. You can’t help but buck up into the contact when his lips meet yours. His soft, wet tongue feels so fucking good. Your hands find his hair and you rake your nails through it. Every time you look down he’s either got his eyes closed, lids fluttering in the prettiest way, or he’s looking right back at you. Each moan from your mouth elicits self-assured hums from his and it drives you to desperately need more.

“Need you in me, Knox,” you demand.

He looks up at you again with those deep brown eyes and doesn’t say a word.

“Want you in my mouth first. I want to taste that dick.”

He pulls himself up and you all but tear the black and white KNOXVILLE belt through the loops of his Dickies. He frees his hard cock and you pause to take it in with your eyes first.

“It may not be the biggest but right now you got me harder than—aaughh..” The whole rest of him stiffens up and he bites into his knuckles as you take in the tip. He relaxes with a deep sigh as you try to swallow the shaft down and gag when your lips meet his hilt.

‘That’ll do just fine,’ you think to yourself.

You keep it slow to draw it out, slow but deliberate with licking and sucking. You work his cock with your mouth until you lose yourself in the act. You love every single sound this man is making and commit them to memory. And his taste, how the pre-cum doesn’t stop oozing. The way his head is thrown back with his mouth wide open, gasping. How he can’t touch you enough right now. Every few moments you turn your attention to his balls and thighs and that delicious V leading down to it all. The feel and scent of his skin is intoxicating and you’re biting light marks into his flesh. You get so far gone you stop murmuring his name and start to call him Daddy. His cock twitches every time.

He takes a deep, clarifying breath before taking your chin in his hand and speaking, “I’m so ready to slide right in, baby. Will you let Daddy fill you up?”

“Fuck me.”

The van space is tight but you lie down and he holds himself over you, cock at your entrance. You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

Finally.

He drives the head of his cock slowly into your pussy and the feeling is so warm and sweet and intimate. Birth control be damned; you’ll get emergency contraception in the morning. Your arms and legs wrap around him possessively as he works into a rhythm. You rock your hips with his to catch his cock at the right angle. He finds your mouth in the dark and moans into you as he thrusts. He’s downright fucking you into the floor of the van and strangely you haven’t felt this whole and alive in a long time. Your orgasm is building and building but you want even more of him before you come.

“I wanna ride you, Johnny,” you gasp.

“Thought you’d never ask. Be my guest, doll,” he answers as he pulls out of you and arranges the sleeping bag across the van’s bench. He takes a seat and slaps his thighs with a grin, erection bobbing around invitingly.

You climb on top of him, legs quivering with eagerness, and take just a moment to pause before sinking slowly down onto his cock.

His answering groan draws you against his chest, sighing into him, as you get to work riding. It’s your turn to fuck him into the van.

You both wrap your arms around each other, but no one can get close enough. Thrusting, humping, clawing, kissing, biting, sucking, moaning—the two of you going at each other like animals. (His glutes are NOT, in fact, weak.) Your legs are tiring but you push yourself to keep going. Closer and closer your end nears. He knows it because his teeth are clenching as your pussy is tightening around him. He’s fighting to not cum before you.

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop. Keep on riding me. Keep grinding that sweet little thing on my cock.”

You pick up speed.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

He squeezes your ass tighter.

“Good girl, I can feel it. Come for Daddy…”

That’s it. Your cunt squeezes up inside of you and smashes down around his dick in a primal, undulating frenzy. There’s an explosion of stars behind your eyelids. He’s yelling out your name and digging his fingers deeper into your hips as his orgasm spills hot inside you.

********

After unmeasured moments, breaths began to slow and a contented stillness fell over the van like snow upon the ground. The two of you wrapped each other up in an embrace and held on tight without a word. It wasn’t much longer until your brain woke back up and began to wander. You knew you were going to think back on this night many, many times when you were back home alone. You’d feel the ghost of his breath and his lips on your skin. You’d ache to hear him moan your name again. AND, FUCK, THE PLAN B--

Gentle laughter broke out, as if he could read your mind. He couldn’t, of course. But it was so very easy to tell when you were uneasy. And Knox was an excellent people reader.

“Just don’t think about anything right now, sweetheart,” he assured you.

“Johnny, I…” You began and trailed off, unsure of what to voice first.

“Call me PJ,” he smiled and placed a kiss on your head. “And don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll stop by a pharmacy soon as they open. The guys are gonna need some Tylenol, too, I bet. I’ll get us all sorted.” And he sealed his promise shut with a squeeze of your shoulders. Not a mind reader, but definitely thoughtful and at times very practical. Always aware of what’s going on around him.

You trusted him. Probably more than you should, but you did. And you gave whatever energy you had left over to the effort of not thinking. You had no idea how long it had been since you checked the time, when the sun was coming up, or what the two of you would do next. What this would mean for the rest of the shoot. But, if you’re gonna be dumb….

----------------------------------------------------------------

Several hours post-coupling in the van, after the sun came out for vengeance, you found yourself hanging with Pontius at a near-by café. You felt calmest around him out of all the crew and were happy to listen to his stories for distraction. Distraction from your anxiety and the various aches in your body. What you had really wanted was a diner that served greasy food and heinously strong coffee, but they didn’t have those here. Chris must share the need. He was still sporting the Santa hat and some serious bags under his eyes. There was what appeared to be lipstick smeared down his neck, but it was…stippled? From…the only idea that came to mind was another man’s stubble. But he never asked about the way you weren’t walking right, so you paid the favor forward.

His words drifted away from big cats and other wildlife, and he shifted conversation topics. “Crazy night last night, huh,” he said.

“Lord. You bet,” you answered. Oh, here we go.

“What time did you turn in last night? Or this morning?” He batted his lashes and played with the cotton puff at the end of his hat before flipping it to the other side. It invoked the atmosphere of girlies at a sleepover sharing the latest gossip.

“Oh, you know…” Your face reddened a little and you looked down into your steaming coffee mug.

He brought his up to his mouth for a sip and stared you down over it. “Do you happen to know where—"

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket and you pulled it out automatically.

“Hey, doll, where did you run off to?” Your heartbeat quickened and you smirked despite yourself. You didn’t need to look up at the sender to know who it was from.

“Know where what,” you offered with no doubt a dazed look in your eyes.

You were definitely going to need a therapist after this job was through.

[serialkilluh1996]

☆The star's rabbit☆

Writer-Billy Loomis x actress- @yourgraveisnothere

Warnings➛: Nothing in particular. It's pretty appropriate besides a few mentions of death and murder/Written in third person

Author's note: this is specifically written for the tagged blogger above, but feel free to read it anyway. This is only a bit of a drabble as I'm having a slight break down. That being said, this may go somewhere further with a part two depending on what my mental state does.

"This script is fucking ridiculous." Ray slams the stack of paper on the coffee table, folding her arms and leaning back into the rolling office chair, sassily letting it spin the other way.

"Ray, darlin', you CANNOT keep throwin' hissy fits every time ya see somethin' in the writing you don't like," her manager, Keith, explains, scratching his goatee as he speaks in a flamboyant Australian accent.

"Well, I can't necessarily focus if he keeps rewriting it." She rolls her eyes. "Listen, honey, you are an ACT-O-RESS. You don't write. You act. Miller makes the characters, you just play them." "Keith, they don't care about Miller or his stupid movies. His last good film was 'WEREWOLF', and he didn't even put in the effort to give it a meaningful name. The only reason people even watch the shit he makes is to see ME." She spins back around, her brown-eyed gaze locking onto Keith.

"Let's just be honest. The people don't want Miller. They want me. My face is on all of the movie cases. I'm the one that brings in all the cash in this establishment, and I expect to be treated as such." She pouts, prompting Keith to release an exaggerated sigh of annoyance.

Every day, he asked himself how much more of her bullshit he could take, and everyday, he took more.

"What. What do you want." He throws his hand up, the question coming out flat like old soda. "I want Miller to use at least a penny of his brain and think of something a little more creative. My brain cannot handle another thousand rewrites before he settles on the same stupid damsel story. Why do I always have to play some needlessly ignorant stuck up bitch who spends half the movie screaming?"

"Ray, you know the gimmick. They're not going to give someone with a face like yours a meaningful story or personality." "That's because people keep letting all these old and disgusting perverts become successful writers." Ray takes another spin in her chair, giving Keith attitude he was already too irritated to deal with.

"On the contrary, Ray. I'm a very desirable and young pervert." Both Ray and Keith turn towards the direction of the shady voice, eyes landing on the beholder standing in the doorway of the lounge. He was definitely desirable. There was something mysterious about him.

He looked about 6'0" with dark eagle eyes complimented by his sharp brows. He had thin, perfectly shaped lips, almost like a doll, hiding a set of killer teeth that could ruin self esteem with even the laziest smile.

He looks like the type of guy your parents tell you to avoid, but you don't because you're simply too drawn in by his crow-like beauty to do so.

"Ah, Forgive me for my vulgar behavior. I'm William Loomis, Co-director and writer. But, please, call me Billy." He circles in on them, hands behind his back as he stares Ray down with his manic, sleepy eyes like a vulture. They look big, almost excited, if not for the dark edges underneath that gave him an eerie glare.

Without breaking eye contact, he smirks, letting that smirk turn into a devilish grin as his eyebrows raised. He leans in on her.

"You must be Ray. I've seen your movies before. Astonishing, really." He reaches out to shake her hand, in which she squints and complies, giving him her freshly manicured hand as a sign of low hostility, even though her heart was beating out of her chest.

"And your hands. They're remarkable." He compliments, to which she snatches her hand away.

"So, you're also responsible for this stupid fifth rewrite of 'STAB'? How the hell are we gonna get this damn movie out there if a group of idiots can't even finish writing it?" She yammers, now visibly maddened by the mere sight of his handsome face. Now Ray was finally face to face with one of her tormentors.

"Fifth rewrite? What? You still think we're doing that mess of a movie?" He yanks the 'STAB' script of the table, carefully ripping it to shreds in front of them, Keith looking absolutely leveled by this new turn of events.

"The fuck are you doing?" Keith asks with audible frustration. " 'STAB' is out of the picture. It was a trash movie and now it's finally going where it belongs?" Billy throws it in the garbage bin.

"After a bit of persuasion, Miller has decided to let me take matters into my own hands. We're making a new movie," Billy leans in uncomfortably close to Ray, his eyes bouncing between her and Keith. "A better movie." He chuckles, pulling back.

Ray and Keith shoot each other a look, both undeniably confused by everything.

"You're sick and tired of being the same basic ass damsel in distress. Sick of being the frightened little girl they make you pretend you are. Don't you want change, Ray? Don't you want... a twist?" He gestures with his hands, knuckles clenching with excitement, Ray raising an eyebrow at the question.

"What if, for once, you get to fight? You're a strong woman, arent you? Playing in all these movies can only make you crave a certain... violence. You start to imagine yourself in the eyes of your attacker." He walks behind her chair, tucking her black and blonde split hair behind her ear before grabbing a handful.

"You see, when you imagine this...you see yourself when you're in your attackers eyes...." he lets go of her hair, crouching down," You imagine what all these fake killers see when they chase you....." He pokes her nose. "A rabbit. A fast bunny with a cute face and quick feet.... You see the appeal. You want to feel what they feel. You want a bunny to chase, don't you? You're sick of being the prey." He pulls out a hunting knife, placing it in her hand before pressing her knuckles down to ensure she gripped it.

"You want to be a predator....don't you, Ray?" Billy asked, looking Ray dead in the eyes as he holds dearly onto her hands, making sure she can't reject the weapon that was quite obviously not one of the props. Her face heats, eyes struggling to focus on his.

Keith looks between them, standing up in a ready stance to break up anything that happens.

"That's enough." Keith says firmly. "No, no. It's fine, Keith. Tell me more about the rabbit. About my rabbit. " Ray is enamored by the look of chaos in his eyes. She knows simply by his anxious glare that shes in for some wild ideas. He gives a hearty chuckle, flashing her with his perfect set of ivory chompers.

"Let me tell you about a woman by the name of Sidney Prescott."

Thanks for reading!

You can support me by liking, reblogging, or cashapping me @ $Fundsbrownie

[thorchickmotorchick]

This is my first time writing a post or something online.. (Not counting the failed attempt 10 minutes ago.) I'll just be posting my THOUGHTS AND CANON THINGS about Thor/Loki. Some people will be interested, some will not...

Anyway.. The current topic is about the Dark World. You know, it seemed like Thor's attitude towards Loki was a little harsh, but justified by Loki's actions and Thor's character. But I still had the feeling that we had missed something.

And yes, maybe I was right.. Quite a long time ago I found an official manga about the events after the first Avengers film. The plot itself is about infection with the Chitauri virus, but that’s not what we’re talking about now. Thor became infected. And he had a nightmare.

Guess who was in this nightmare?

Certainly. Loki. (Zombie Assemble. 2017, manga)

The point is that Thor CONSTANTLY has dreams where he tries to save Loki, but gets a knife in.. Oh, sorry, nope, he got the scepter right through😮.. (Joke, joke, heh..)

Why did I say constantly?

"Avengers Assemble" season 2 episode 21. (Let's ignore the fact that the animated series is a different universe..😊)

Context: Thor is hit by a villain's beam and his guilt is released from his mind.

It hurts me to look at Thor.. He really suffered because of this..

My conclusion: Thor literally blamed himself for Loki becoming a villain. He believed that he was responsible for this, he had to be stern, hiding the wounds from the inside. The movies... They didn't show us what was going on in Thor's head. Imagine how desperate Thor was seeing these dreams over and over again? He stored up anger inside himself. I dread to imagine what he dreamed about the day Loki first “died.” I dream that Thor will have his own series or animated series.

Next topic: Also about the Dark Wold, about the Desire of the heart. (Haha, yes, intrigue. I forgot to say, sorry about English. I use a translator.)

I don't care how you take it, romantically or brotherly. It doesn't matter to me. Maybe I should have said it more gently... But anyway, I'm wondering if anyone is interested.