#jakedown

[jakesguitarsolo]

He did it 🥹

[wildbluesorbit]

I might actually need a lobotomy👁️👁️

insta - @daydreamingdiana9 @sophiechoosestheroad

[devilat-thedoor]

it’s giving brat tamer and i’m fucking SAT, bruv🥴

[jakesleftankle]

X

[do-it-jakey-baby]

Imagine Jake whispering into your ear how fucking hard he is for you, how he gets himself off on the mere thought of you, how much he wants to tear your clothes off and fuck you so hard until you’re trembling beneath him.

Imagine the beautiful sounds of his moans echoing off the walls as you clench around his pretty little cock, the way he chants fuck fuck fuck as he cums and fills you to the brim, the way he balls the bedsheets up into his fists and bites down onto your shoulder as you rake your nails down his back.

[chouxsardine]

Amabo Te---Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: When jealousy and insecurity get the best of you, when he wants to teach you a lesson. Will you give him a chance?

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 5002

Warnings: 18+! Minors DNI, established BDSM relationship, dom!jake/sub!reader, brat! reader, the infamous Jake snap, caning, alcohol, language, jealousy, insecurity, self-esteem issue, self-deprecation, unprotected p in v sex, crying, a mix of soft and mean Jake (?), nerdy Latin sh*t,

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort (with fluffy ending?)

Author's note: Sorry for the wait! inspired by this idea from @hearts-hunger. I've been wanting to write about this since the first day I've seen it, so I kind of took the idea and run with it. It turns out a lot softer than I expected (oops). A new attempt for me to toy around with power dynamics. Every single one of you is deserving of love. I love you a lot. Enjoy!

🎧: How Many More Times by Led Zeppelin; Sorceress by Jess Williamson; When Anger Turns to Honey by Chelsea Wolfe; Hey Now (When I Give You All My Lovin')" by Romare

You know damn well what you’re doing. The thumping of the drum aligns with your heartbeat, melting into your veins along with the few martinis that you’ve downed consecutively. The air is a mix of ostentatious colognes, sweat, and smoke that wafts off dancing and heaving bodies. The floors feel sticky under your feet, and the label of the dress you are wearing has irritated you all night. You can feel it digging into your sides, the two almost invisible row of plastic nubs cutting into your skin with each exhale and rubbing against it with every movement. Isn’t it amazing that such a trivial and hidden matters can make such a fuss? You know damn well what you’re going to do—bratting to get Jake’s attention—but you don’t know why you’re doing it. At this point, the anxiety and the alcohol in your system have managed to form itself into a vicious ouroboros, and you can’t tell which one is the cause.

Have you and Jake been spending less time together recently because he was busy? Yes. Have you been honest when Jake asked if you want to go to this party with him? No. You have also had a rough week, and you just want to cuddle with him on the sofa, watching some silly rom com while languidly poking at a bowl of Mac and cheese with generous amount ketchup squirted on top. However, you are afraid to say no because you don’t want him to think that you are a spoiled and needy brat. Welp, you guess this is where lying about your feelings leads to: uncomfortably standing in a night club, being a brat in another way. In the back of your mind, you know that if you’d only be honest and tell the truth, Jake will get you out of here in a heartbeat with no judgement. But the alcohol is messing with you, and it doesn’t help that a girl has been hitting on Jake this whole time.

She was also wearing a tight minidress—a searing red one with spaghetti strap, hugging her body in all the right places while also showing it off just enough skin to leave space for imagination—one that makes the one on your body eclipse. She puts her elbows on the bar counter while leaning purposefully so that all it takes is one careless movement while reaching for one’s drink to touch her breasts. Jake wasn’t paying attention to her, or at least not now, not yet. You feel jealousy shoot up your veins. Having left Jake’s side when he met an old acquittance and their conversation was getting too long , then being blocked by the crowd rushing into the dance floor when you plan to stride back, you are now standing on the other side of the room, anxiously tapping your feet, waiting for the hideous song to end.

You take another sip of your drink, and as you raised your eyelids, you saw the girl getting off the bar stool. She should’ve known better than standing up holding a full shot glass in her hands or perhaps she shouldn’t have done that silly little hop trying to impress. Of course, her heels got hung on the footrest a second too long, and she fell forward, throwing herself on Jake. He caught her, his hand on her shoulder to restore her balance. His action was neat and brief, his complexion barely changes. It is clear as day a spontaneous and innocent response, but for you, that’s the last straw.

You didn’t even care continue watching for their further exchange—or whether there was one. You down your drink and slam the empty glass on the counter a bit too harsh before stepping onto the dance floor. You make eye contact with the nearest guy. “Would you like to dance?” The music is loud and it is dark. You lean in closer and ask again when he doesn’t hear you.

Now you are sure that Jake has seen it. When he catches your eyes, a pang of guilt and shame zips through you, you feel like a child being caught red-handedly cheating on a test. You know what you are doing is wrong and petty, you are doing it to get his attention. But in the heat of the moment, with your emotions tangled up, jealousy gets the best of you. You try to look away, and that’s when you see the snap.

It is something that he has conditioned into you. Whenever you’re acting up in public, Jake’s snap is his warning to you. And when it’s quiet around, it’s a gentle but firm squeeze a little above your knee under the table. You got three strikes, but you usually get back in hand just with his warning glance or him simply raising his hands a little.

Jake was leaning back against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter. It is a quick snap between his fingers with a flick of his wrist. There was no way that you would hear it above the music, but in your brain, it rolls loud like thunder.

Out of the reflexive response, your body acts before your mind catches up. You freeze for a second, and you feel a phantom touch like a subtle current rolling over the area above your knee. You try your best to feign your indifference, peeling your glance away. He started it, you lie to yourself.

As the song comes to an end, the guy you were dancing with asks to buy you a drink. You accept and follow him to the bar. Before you even sot down, you feel Jake coming over and standing behind you. His hand is on your waist. A gentle squeeze. Subtle but possessive.

“Hey, what—” The poor guy is confused.

“Would you please excuse us?” Jake’s voice is calm and smooth. You don’t have to turn back to know that he is smiling politely. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

The man cocks his eyebrows. You don’t dare to read his expression. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” Before he can respond, you turn on your heels and let Jake lead you out of the bar. Jake isn’t even gripping hard on you, but by now, every nerve in your body has learned to be attentive and obedient to his touch. It is only when the cold air outside hits you that you try to break away from him.

You knew you have gone to the point of no return. You have achieved nothing with your childish act, and to continue a tantrum is your only way to save face.

“Let—”

“Shut it,” Jake cuts you off, rage boiling behind those two words.

“I’ve got three strikes! That was only one!” You retort.

Jake narrows his eyes. “Then consider this your strike two.”

“Fuck you!” You blurt out, instantly regretting as the words left you lips. You see a moment of confusion and incredulous flash through Jake’s eyes before anger takes over. He lets out a dry laugh. You shiver.

“That’s it.” Jake releases your hand, taking off his jacket, flings it over your shoulder with a push at the small of your back. He walks the two of you to where the car was parked. He still opens the door for you and puts his hand up to protect you from hitting your head before circling to his side.

In the few seconds of silence between your side of the car door closing and his side of the car door opening, you sag like a bounce house with a puncture, all the furiousness has left your body, replaced by the bone-deep regret and exhaustion. You want to go back to a few hours ago, where you would say, “I don’t feel like going out tonight. Can we stay in and watch a movie?”, where you would say, “I don’t want to be here anymore. Can we go home?”, where you would straight up look into his eyes and tell him, “I miss you so much, I just want to spend time with you, alone.”

The broody silence stretches through the whole way home. You almost hop he would just leave you in the car. You feel ashamed when he yanks your side of the door open with his hand up on the frame.

Once you are in the house, Jake walks directly to the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and pouring himself a glass. He stands in front of the French window, his thumb hooked in his belt, the left side of his jacket riding up.

There is no sign of the rage you expected. You are still wearing his jacket, your fingers curled up in the leather. The shame that was burning inside you clashes with the icy feeling down your spine.

You expect him to push you against the wall, or spit out “strip”, or at least a “go upstairs”. You know that you will drop down on your knees the second the first syllable of any those words parts his lips. Or something through his eyes, a silent scowl, a stern look. Even when Jake is silent, his eyes always convey something—-or at least you can always read something from them.

But he is not even looking at you now.

Please don’t ignore me.

“The silent treatment now, really?” It can’t be any clearer that you are fighting a lost battle. Your voice bounces off the silence and stabs you like a boomerang.

Jake finally turns around. He lowers his head and smirks. The next words he says make you icy cold. It’s like you are standing on a frozen lake and have misjudged the thickness of the ice beneath you feet; with a misstep, it cracks, and you fall into the piercing cold water.

“Do you think you deserve ‘treatment’,” he accentuates the word, “of any kind, my dear?”

The nickname is stripped off all its concomitant affection, only adding to the insult with biting irony. You’d rather he didn’t use it at all. The tears threaten to spill. You clench your fist.

“That’s your way of talking, huh?” Jake paces towards you, each step slow and steady like a confident predator cornering his prey, “some yaps and some whines, but my little brat just loves running her mouth.”

Brat. That word punches you like a left hook. A brat. That’s exactly what you have been tonight.

You know for sure you are finally going to submit, and once you reached that stage, it’s going to be pure bliss; it will be the closest you’ll ever felt to him. And that’s all you want, to be close to him. Sure, a beeline from point A to point B is straight and clear, but where’s the fun in that? Being a brat feels like an elongated foreplay. Just as you are ashamed of the amount of swearwords and moans you let out when being edged, you can’t deny that you love it. Love it so much that you are doing it to yourself. You wanted it so much, but you refuse to accept it without some struggle. You feel unworthy when things land on your lap easily. The emotions you will experience after winning the lottery probably would be fear and suspicion, as you contemplate “now that I’m hit on the head with pennies from heaven, what will I lose in exchange? You are plagued by the fairy tale in which the king is ravished with joy when he finds a precious jewel but then proceeds to lose his beloved once as the backfire. After all, life never gives anything for nothing, a price is always exacted for what fate bestows.* You believe the same goes for love. Jake came into your life so suddenly, sweeping in like a whirlwind, with such velocity and intensity that you are afraid one day he will exit like one, leaving your heart in the ruins. You have to earn his love, you will be his good girl.

“Have I been ignoring my princess? Attention, is that what you want? Jealousy, is that what got into you tonight, um?” His finger grips your chin.

You both love and detest how Jake has always been able to strip you bare with such ease, your body and your desire. To see through the “yes” behind the “no” when your pride and stubbornness get the best of you, and the “no” behind the “yes” when you overexert yourself and try to please while ignoring your limits. It does takes quite some effort to reach this almost telepathic stage, a bumpy trail full of frustration and trial and errors, but it’s worth the effort. When the voice inside your head gets loud and your body is aching with unsoothable desire, the wrong punishment will immediately send you crying in a non sexy way.

You have no choice but to look into his eyes. One simple stare from him dissects your thought like a scalpel. With one clean, cold cut, he slices you open. Exposed, vulnerable.

You are already playing a dangerous game, walking the tight rope, teetering on the edge. Now, you are pulled off balance by his eyes drilling into you, demanding complete honesty and obedience.

“Please.” You mumble, lowering your eyes.

“Please, what?” He tilts your chin right up.

Your voice is meek, barely audible, but legible enough for Jake. “Please punish me, Sir.”

He lets go of you. Immediately you miss his touch.

“Upstairs. You know what to do.”

You are on autopilot as you remove your clothing, leaving them in a pile on the floor and nudging them into the closet with your feet. Out of sight. The sequins on your dress shine like a flamboyant humiliation.

It can’t be more than five minutes until Jake comes into the room, but every single second feels like purgatory to you. You let out a long sigh of relief as you heard his footsteps. You hear him shuffle behind you, and then the sound of him rummaging through the drawer, collecting the things he needs. Finally, you see his feet in your lowered sight as he steps in front of you. You keep your head down, knowing better than looking up to see what he has in his hands. But you can’t escape the shadow that was projected onto the floor. Something long and thin.

“Please don’t tie me up.” You blurt out before immediately biting down on your lip.

“I’m afraid you’re not in the position to bargain, dear, ” He’s right. “This is a punishment; it’s not supposed to be what you want. You take. Is that understood?” His voice looms over your bare skin, giving you goosebumps.

“Yes, Sir.”

Then something hard touches your thigh. You look down and see the end of a cane. The cane. A blessing and a curse. It isn’t very often that Jake uses a cane on you. To you, it hurts more than a paddle but turns you on more as well. The cane draws a wiggly line down your legs, stopping at that area above your knee with three taps. Your kneeling frame perches up in response, your body instantly connecting the touch with Jake’s warning squeeze.

Then, a clear and crisp snap break through the quiet room. Your head shots up spontaneously and you crash into Jake’s eyes. His dominance is dialed up to the fullest from this angle. His long eyelashes cast shadows under the eyes, deepening his brown pupils. His lips are lightly parted, his eyebrows relaxed. He looks appreciative, like admiring an art piece of his own creation.

“Ah, so you do remember.” He makes a statement, but it sounds like a reprimand in your ears.

“I…”

“You will have plenty of chance to speak tonight, but not now.” Honestly, you are secretly glad that he stops you because you don’t trust your voice not to break. The apology lodges and throbs in your throat.

“We put a lot of time and effort into our warnings. It doesn’t come easy, I think you know that,” Jake continues, “you chose, deliberately, to ignore and violate them tonight. So I’m sure you have good reasons to do so.”

The cane nudges the inner side of your thigh, signalling you to stand up. And then a goad with the tip on the back of your sacrum, making you topple forward, with your hands gripping on the end of the mattress.

The whoosh sound of the cane as it comes down startles you even more than the stinging, closely followed by Jake’s gruff demand: “Enlighten me. Why?”

The delayed pain is now blooming over your skin. Why? All the previous shame resurfaces, forcing you to recall every detail. You drag your teeth over your bottom lip.

The next hit comes down harder, moving up slightly from where the last one lands.

Still silence. You close your eyes tightly, tears burning behind your eyelids. You want nothing more than being honest with Jake, but somehow you just can’t squeeze the words out of you. Thinking back now, it is so not worthy to act up something so trivial. Everything would have been fine if you just be honest right from the start, if you communicate your feelings directly. But why can’t you?

Whack.

The next one hits an inch to the left. The cane is worse because it gathers the sensations. If the paddle feels like putting your hands into a basin of hot water, the cane feels like splashes of hot oil. Obviously, you are still an independent grown-up with full control of your body autonomy, but at the moment, you so desperately need to transfer that control. Even if it’s temporary, so that your brain would stop lying to you. And Jake is demanding exactly that.

Why? Why can’t you be honest with him? Time has proved that this man has been nothing but respectful, understanding, and non-judgemental. What are you afraid of? What more can you ask for?

Whack.

“What’s your color?”

“G..green, Sir.”

You press your lips together hard. An involuntary tear escaping from the corner of your eyes. Your brain is determined to play a tug of war with the help of your stubbornness, but your body revolts. The pain is numbing your volition.

Whack.

Now that you’ve known each strike is calculated. Jake never hits the same place. They are always placed from each other with some space so that the pain spreads and connects like drops of paint on paper, spreading into a watercolour in different shades of pink. Your muscle contract. You are absurdly wet; it feels almost purely physiological, even though you know the agony is only a calling. Deep down there’s the yearning— craving to be touched, to be soothed and caressed. But are you worth it?

Whack.

“I am an ungrateful, attention-seeking brat.” You cry, your forehead dropping down on your laced fingers.

Jake is grateful that you can’t see his expression. And maybe that’s a good thing for you too. Because if you see the heartache in his eyes, your pretense of strength will fall apart in an instant. It rips his heart to hear you degrading yourself. It tortures him when you can’t see how worthy, beautiful, and precious you are the way he does. It hurts him to know that he fails to earn your trust, to earn your complete honesty. He knows your body; he has learned your threshold of pain and pleasure, and has the skill of a pharmacist when it comes to mixing the two to give you euphoria. However, he is an unarmed man facing the voices inside your head, he is clueless standing in front of the thorny-hedged gate of your heart. And it confounds him too when sometimes hurting you is the only way he can show you love. If you would only let me, princess, if you would only let me love you.

This time, there is only a gentle tap on the fleshiest part of your butt.

“Nice try. That’s not the answer I asked for.” It takes everything in Jake to maintain his domineering facade. Bullshit. You’re a loving, gentle, poetic, sensible soul that just happens to be too good at feeding yourself deprecative lies.

By now, all the fight left in you is a poorly-crafted sandcastle swilled over and over by waves of pain. The good pain. Cathartic. Liberating. Hypnotizing, almost. They converge into the mysterious song of the siren, whispering in your ear: “Stop fighting. Give it up to me.”

The voice sounds warm, assuring, familiar: “Let me in.”

That busts you right open.

“I know there was nothing, I only did it to get your attention.” Once the hardest part was out, you find yourself unable to stop. The box-ed up feelings cascade out of you. “I..I don’t want to be there! I d-didn’t tell you because…I don’t want to look n-needy. You’re too good for me. You’re one of countless good things that have happened to me, w-what if you leave?”

Ugly sobs ripple through your body. Your legs threatening to give out as you shake your head in guilt. Tears burn you blotched skin and gone cold way too quickly, leaving damp trails on your cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I’m sorry.”

Between your whimper, you hear another swoosh of the cane coming down. You tense up subconsciously. There is the sound of the cane hitting flesh, but the anticipated pain never came. Before you could think further, your were pulled up and sat in Jake’s lap. His woodsy musk envelops you as he tucks your head under his chin. Pangs of guilt shoot through your body, hurting way worse than your behind. Slowly but surely, Jake’s warm and strong hands find the nape of your neck, pulling you towards his chest where you bury your face, your shoulder shudders, and you cry. Jake's heart contracts painfully along with each of your sob. He closes his eyes tightly.

“You silly, silly little fool.” He sighs, rocking you back and forth, “it would be so much easier if you just say so from the start. But my little kitten just won’t go down without a fight, will she?” His finger combs through your sweaty strands.

“Is that how you love, little flame?” Jake murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple, “always so fierce, so effusive, like a supernova?”

You keen on that word. You think you’ve never loved a a nickname more. Jake’s steady heartbeat against your chest grounds you and slowly restores all your senses like books being put back onto the shelf after being swept down to the floor in a storm. Slot by slot, mise en place.

Feeling that you’ve calmed down, Jake takes your face in his hands. “Let me show you.” He leaves kisses all over your face, pausing between each one to speak.

“This. Is. How. I. Love.”

He touches his forehead to yours. It is impossible to look away, impossible to feel anything else other than him.

“Allow me to love you.”

The sentence is like a curse, one that undid some wicked spell, one that wilts all the thorns on your heart, one that undid you completely.

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel the butterfly in your stomach. You know it was triggered by the long-caged bird in your heart flexing its wings. Soar. Soar head-on into love. Take the fearless flight and never regret thy fall.

The slightly weird sensation on the left side of your face makes something click in your brain. You hurriedly pull Jake’s hand down and see a swollen mark welt across his left palm.*

That’s where the last hit lands. He takes it for you.

“See? equal.” He holds up his palm.

“Jake…” Your lips quiver. You hold his hand in yours, desperately kissing it. Jake hardly seem to mind at all, using his other hand to wipe away your tears. His eyes infinitely gentle.

“Do not feel guilty, that’s not my point. I am sorry for not letting you trust me enough. I love you, it is my fault to not make it known to you it all the while.* We’re even now, clean slate. Only trust from now on, okay?”

Nothing reassures you more than a clean slate; that means you are not completely fucked up, that means you still have the opportunity to redeem yourself, to do better, and this time you know that you have a better chance because you are not doing it alone, you have Jake by your side, and he has managed to make you believe that he will always be by your side.

You press your lips against his. His tongue dips into your mouth. You roll your hips on his thighs. The need rekindles inside you.

“Tell me what you want, princess. Anything for you.”

“I want you. Jake. Please make love to me.”

With that, he lifts you up and flips you over. You land on the bed, letting out a chuckle as you watch him get rid of his shirt and pants. Your limbs go warm when his body covers yours. The pendant of his necklace drags down your sternum and dipping into your navel as his kisses your breasts. His mouth finds your nipple, his tongue circling around your areola, feeling it grow harder and perk up even more. You let out a squeal, arching your back, your clit meeting his pelvis for a futile relief. You feel him, hard and determined, flush against your entrance. Your muscles tense up, clenching around the emptiness. The silky desire flows down through your veins, gathering downward.

You lie open like a book, allowing his velvet tongue to explore every letter and punctuation. You are completely at his disposal. Jake’s movements are slow and skilled, tentalizing and hypnotic

“Please.”

“Please, what?” He repeats the question with a cheeky grin.

“Please, fuck me already.” The verb sounds so vulgar, yet you’ve never said it with so much love and tenderness. Fuck. You love the plosive in the end. Explosive, fervent, triumphant.

“Please,” Jake mused. His hand snakes between your bodies, his finger plunging into your wetness.

“Do you know,” his fingers curls and scraps, collecting your slickness and stroking them up and down your labia, “how do they say ��please’ in classical Latin?”

“Poetic nerd.” You quipped, followed by a vindictive press of his finger against your tissue that makes you mewl.

“Amabo te.” He whispers as he holds his cock in his hand, his tip tapping on your entrance along with each syllable, each of them dripping onto your skin like honey. Knock, knock.

“Amabo te.” You mindlessly repeat after him. The sound is magical and mesmerizing, rumbling off your tongue with such gracefulness.

“And it just happens to also literally mean,” he pushes his hip forward, making every inch pronounced. The double suspense makes your breath hitch.

“I will love you.”

He bottoms out in one long, silky thrust. Every sensory system in your body fires up. Air is whipped out of your lungs and restored by his kiss. Your hands map his back, hugging him tighter, nailing him into you even deeper. Jake only pulls back slightly before pumping right back, cherishing the silky heat of yours as if there’s no tomorrow. His sharp pants fall all over your neck and your collarbone. The pleasure is building up at a scary pace.

Jake’s face is so close to yours, you see yourself in his eyes, fused with nothing but bliss and desire that danced through his blown-out pupils. At this moment, you are love. The realization sends a tremor through you. For the first time tonight, your body and brain and in sync. No more fighting.

“Can feel you, love,” Jake grunts, the vein visible on his sweat-coated forehead. You buck up your hips, spurring him on.

“Take me with you.”

For a few heartbeats, the world went silent. Never has an orgasm felt so good. Zings of fire sparkles and spreads. Your mouth hangs open; the pleasure robbed your voice, pinning you down as a time stamp. You are preserved in the moment like a butterfly specimen. It makes you want to exist like that forever.

Your leg jerks, urging him to stay as he rolls off you. In your peripheral vision, you saw you were still holding hands, his fingers laced and lodged with yours like a promise.

Jake’s lips graze your ears, a strand of his curls falls across your lips. His voice is raspy and low, with an easily detected tenderness. “Did I do it? Will you let me love you?”

You know it takes a lot of energy out of him as well. And now, a faint trance of postpositive guilt and the languid afterglow mixed with the subspace are catching up with you. Every inch of you is uncurled and loosened, but in the back of your mind still remains some sanity the size of a laundry basket where you have a heart to be strong, be strong for him; he takes such good care of you. You pull Jake’s welted palm against your bare chest, close to your heart. You squeeze his hand, followed with three gentle pats on its back. Just like the way he tells you that you are safe and he’s not leaving when you are blindfolded and tied up.

You know you will talk more about it in the morning over plates of French toast or blueberry pancakes, but for now, everything is good…..and that conversation doesn’t sound scary to you at all. You know that the man lying next to you will dote on you with nothing but pure love and acceptance. And that doesn’t sound half bad at all.

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*1: adapted from Stefan Zweig, Marie Antoinette: The Portrait of an Average Woman

*2: inspired by Three-Line Whip: A First Time Maledom BDSM Novella by James Hardcourt

*3: adapted from The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

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Yay! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

my other works: Permission to Fall || Mariner's Complex || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones || Coming back to me || Warm Honey || He Would || Hold Me (1) (2) || blurb: Chin Tattoo, Ribbon Bow 🎀, post-show

[kissingsun]

SPELL ON YOU, I

WARNINGS: soft jake! x femme reader (no mention of gender.) rough kissing, f receiving oral, m receiving oral, mirror sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex (WRAP IT GUYS!!), face fucking, edging, orgasm denial, slight cockwarming (if you squint??), choking, Jake’s old blue jeans

“I put a spell on you, cause you’re mine.”

The whole rest of the night started with his hands on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, ragged breaths and shallow breathing being the only noise in the room other than the occasional creak of the mattress. You didn’t really remember how this happened, drunk on a few too many glasses of wine that was way too expensive for you to even guess the price of.

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” he tilts his head, chestnut hair cascading down his perfectly sculpted face, he slurs slightly, tipsy as ever. “Look at me, c’mon now.” he grabs your chin, turning it to him, his lips pursed.

Your eyes hit his in the dark of the bedroom, the party downstairs still roaring on. His chocolatey brown eyes looking almost black in the mooonlight, you shift your eyes down, and his grip goes from your jaw to your throat. He squeezes in warning, puffing out a breath of air. “I said look at me.” he practically whines.

You chuckle at his neediness, never meeting a man in one night who whines to get his way. It’s cute, soft, you think to yourself. “Please?” he begs sweetly, his hands traveling down your thighs, he huffs again, frustrated at the feeling of fabric. “Please, please?”

“Fuck! Fine, you’re whiny,” you spit out, immediately feeling bad as he pulls away slightly, his gaze lowering. “No, no, no.” you cup his cheeks, pulling him in to kiss him sweetly. He parts his mouth, opening it kindly as you lick into it. He groans slightly, his hand going down to palm himself through his shitty blue jeans you’ve seen at every party, doesn’t he even have another pair? You shake that thought out of your head as he lifts your shirt up, his hands squeezing at your sides.

He breaks the kiss, picking you up lazily and dropping you onto the bed, you chuckle slightly, wincing at his roughness. He winks stupidly, making you roll your eyes as he slots his knee in between your thighs, returning his lips to yours. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling his chest to yours, the chains around his neck cooling your burning skin.

He lifts himself up, sitting on his knees. “You want them off?” he gestures to his necklaces and you shake your head, chuckling.

“No, your shirt- can you take that off?” you ask him quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed asking as his eyes burn into yours.

“Only if I can take off your pants,” he winks, smirking just enough for you to notice.

You nod your head, lifting your hips, he takes his time, humming an old blues tune while he unclasps every button, zipping down the zipper. His thumbs dip under your underwear, rubbing circles into your smooth skin. “Soft.” he murmurs, lowering his head to kiss just below your stomach.

You reach your hand down to his hair, twisting at his strands. You blush at his comment, turning your head away. But, just as it started, his touch stops. “Pretty baby, I said look at me.” he says more sternly than the last time. “I don’t wanna beg, jus’ need ya to look at me.”

You oblige, looking at him as he pulls your jeans down, throwing them to the side of the room, licking his lips as he looks at you. “God, ‘m so lucky.” he hums. “Can I give ‘er a kiss? Just a tiny one?” he asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes. His hand reaches to palm you, clothed just enough for him to feel frustrated.

When you stay still, he rubs his hand up your sides. “‘S okay, pretty thing. Just wanna kiss her hello.” he says, a sly grin forming on his face, your eyes go to the ever growing dimple on his face, sighing.

“Need a yes.” he tuts as you buck your hips up.

“Yes- please do.” you whine, wiggling your hips, inching them closer to his pretty lips.

He chuckles at this, pulling the rubber band at his middle finger, wrapping his hair into a low bun as he looks again for confirmation. His lips part ever so slightly as he presses a kiss to your clothed clit, humming softly. “So pretty.”

He pauses, tilting his head up. “More?” he tilts his head like a lost puppy, if he had a tail it’d be wagging. You nod, grabbing his low bun and pushing him closer. He takes the hint and licks you through your underwear, your body jolting up as the tip of his tongue catches your clit. He chuckles again, hands places firmly on the insides of your thighs, thumbs burning circles into your skin.

“Like honey.” he comments. “Can I take them off? Please?” he looks back up at you, bottom lip tucked behind his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, please.” you sigh breathily, nodding your head frantically.

He hooks his index finger under the hem, pulling them down while kissing down your thigh, once they’re fully off he folds them and shoves them into his back pocket, smirking. You know you’ll never get those back. His thumb reaches up back to the inside of your thigh, firmly gripping to keep you parted. “Fingers too? Just my tongue?”

“Anything- fuck- anything please.” you whine, hands balling at the sheets below you, knuckles white.

“Mhmm.” he hums, darting his tongue back and taking a slow, drawn out lick from the bottom of your pussy to the top of your clit, he breaks away, licking his lips to savor the taste. “Fuck, have you ever tasted yourself?” he asks curiously.

You shake your head at his question, in response he runs the tips of his ring and middle finger through your folds, standing up and brining them to your mouth. “C’mon, taste it.” he taunts, you shakily wrap your lips around his fingers and suck, humming at the salty-sweet taste.

“So good for me.” he hums, his thumb going down to rub at your cheek. He pecks your temple, descending down again.

His thumb finds your clit and rubs tight circles, eliciting a strangled moan from your lips, you snap your mouth shut and he stops. “Wanna hear you.” he says, licking into your entrance.

You buck your hips, rocking them, but he puts a stop to that, grip firm on your thighs. You whine slightly, his tongue fucking into you as his thumb rubs at your clit. He groans softly, adding to the sensation as his tongue vibrates inside you, your dominant hand moves from the sheets to his hair, pulling at his bun, accidentally undoing his rubber band. He doesn’t mind, too focused on you to even focus on his hair that’s starting to cling to his neck. You push him closer, he chuckles into you, making you yelp and buck your hips up.

He releases you, thumb still circling your clit as he licks his lips as clean as he can, leaning down to kiss you, his tongue licking into your mouth and playing with your tongue. “Sound so pretty.” he mutters between kisses, making you blush.

“Baby,” you sigh, pulling his face closer, arms around his neck. “What about you?” you ask him, his lips still kissing you, muffling your words.

“I like it,” he chuckles, nipping and sucking at your throat, his tongue licking and soothing the wounds. “Fuck- you’re perfect, just perfect.” he purrs, his non dominant hand running up your stomach. You fight the urge to sit up and shove his face back down, the burning between your legs not soothed but teased by the slow circles around your clit.

“Please- please- just fucking-“ you rock your hips, frustrated at his slow, yet painful circles around your growing need.

“Shhh, baby, calm down- I’ll take care of ya, promise.” he hums, nipping at your collarbone with a cheeky grin, his thumb moving even slower.

“No, no, no, no!” you kick your feet, spreading your legs farther, hands balling into fists before banging against the mattress.

He grows frustrated at your small tantrum, pulling his hand away to wrap around your throat, squeezing tighter. “Fuckin’ brat.” he spits. “You’re gonna take what I’m givin’ you, and like it.” he demands, eyes boring into yours. You have the nerve to roll your eyes at him, making him groan and squeeze your throat again.

“Nuh-uh, honey.” he tuts. “You’re not five, I’m not gonna give you what you want if you throw a fuckin’ fit, baby. Gonna shut you up with my cock if you’re unhappy with what I’m givin’ you.”

Your eyes widen, not being used to being refused in this way, you open your mouth to speak but he shoves two of his fingers into your mouth, resting them on top of your tongue. “Mh, no.” he hums, smiling devilishly.

“Please?” you beg, almost choking on his fingers as he shoves them further down your throat, gagging.

“Fine.” he sighs, pulling his fingers out of you, you sigh with relief. “I’ll give ya what you want, mkay?” you nod your head immediately, feeling slightly embarrassed at your desperate nature. But, you’ll do something, anything, for him to place his hands back where they were.

He pecks your lips, settling himself on his knees, he teases a finger inside, curling it. You gasp, arching your body off the bed, he lays his arm around your stomach in response, pinning you down. You grab at something, anything, your hands yet again going to his hair. He groans as you tug at his strands, sticking his tongue out to lick you.

He pulls away yet again, you wince. “C’mon, fuck yourself on my tongue, you gotta work for it.” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling, he fucking enjoys this.

You groan. “Please, just-“ you plead, pushing himself down, but, he doesn’t move, firm on his stance.

“You want it, you gotta pursue it.” he tuts, pulling his hand off your stomach, sticking his tongue back out. “Come on, ‘m waiting like a fuckin’ dog.”

You blush, cheeks rosy from arousal and embarrassment. You scoot yourself closer down the bed, your ass nearly hanging off, you pull his head down onto your pussy, freezing for a moment. His eyes dart to yours, checking to see if you’re okay. You nod, placing your other hand into his shoulder. You rut your lips on his tongue, he doesn’t even move it, making you more frustrated.

“Baby, please.” you pull his head back then push it forward, encouraging him to move his tongue. But, he doesn’t, and you rut your hips faster, feeling like a fucking dog. “Give me something, Anything.”

He relents, wiggling his face, his nose rubbing onto your clit. You moan in satisfaction, feeling the pit in your stomach bubble. “Yes, thankyou thankyou.” you rush out, your tone whiny.

He laughs, he fucking laughs at you. You whine, feeling yourself closer and closer. You tug at his hair, throwing your head back, your eyes rolling into your head. Right when you’re about to feel the band snap, your orgasm teetering on the ledge, he pulls himself away.

“No!” you cry, tears brimming your eyes. “No! Please! I wasn’t complaining- I was- I was-“

“Save the tears,” he sighs, rubbing the teardrops off of your cheekbones. “Whining like a dog, I’ll give you what you want.” he tuts. “But you’re gonna have to get it.”

You nod eagerly, raising yourself to your knees, you crawl to him, hands immediately fiddling with the button on his jeans. “Easy now.” he pets your head, craning his neck down to kiss the top of your head.

“Pretty baby, so so so pretty.” he coos, pulling the rest of his jeans down, stepping out of them and kicking the other side off.

Your eyes immediately beat down to his boxers, American Eagle navy blue boxers, his pretty pink tip resting just above the hem of his boxers. You lick your lips, eyes going to his. “Can I?” you ask him sweetly.

“Course, pretty, bet your lips would look so pretty wrapped around my cock? You want it?” he teases, his thumbs pulling the waistband down just enough for you to see an inch more.

You tug the rest of him down, his underwear resting on his thighs. Hands clammy with sweat, you wrap one around him, gasping at the girth. He chuckles, his hand going to the top of your head, rubbing circles with his thumb to encourage you.

“C’mon baby, I’m hurting here,” he groans, tugging at your hair.

You oblige, pressing a small peck onto his leaking tip, stroking him with your dominant hand, the other holding onto his thigh, anchoring yourself. You sink down onto him, remembering to breathe through your nose. He laid a soothing hand on your white knuckled left hand, rubbing it to let off pressure. You slowly relent, knowing that they’ll be crescent shaped indents left on his tan flesh. Deep and slow, you bobbed your head down onto his heavy flesh, in response he let out a deep, guttural sigh. “Just like that, ffuuuuuuck.” he pushes your head farther down, you gag, immediately he softens his grip.

“Mhm, mhm, yes, just like that.” he groans, throwing his head back, you can feel him twitch inside you, he gulps, pulling at the roots of your hair.

He pulls you off of him, your mouth making on obscene pop. “No more, I don’t wanna cum in your mouth, too pretty for that.” he slurs, lust drunk on you. He taps your cheek. “Up, up.”

He craws on top of you, spreading your legs while he works the rest of his half buttoned down black button up. Coins rattling while his fingers shakily work down his shirt. He pulls it off, letting it fall from his arms down to the floor. Then, he pulls your shirt off, pushing you down to kiss along your stomach, pecking up your stomach, he murmured sweet nothings.

“God you’re gorgeous.”

“You smell pretty.”

“So soft.”

“Sweet thing.”

He reaches your collarbones, sucking at the tender skin he already bit, darting his tongue out to lick the wounds and soothe them. “You ready?” he asks sweetly.

“Yes, fuck, please.” you nod eagerly, bucking your hips up, sighing when you don’t get any friction.

Placing his hands on your hips, he flips you over onto your stomach, tapping your thighs. “Look at that.” he grabs your chin, callused hand pointing you towards the vanity mirror on the other side of the room. Your eyes dart down, blushing stupidly. He shakes his head, “Look.” he demands, softly at first “Look!” he says again, sharper this time.

You raise your eyes up, his hands at your sides, rubbing up and down your body, feeling your stomach, squeezing your thighs. “Want you to watch, see what I’m doing to you.” he sighs, bending his body in half to rest his chest on your back, nipping the shell of your ear. You shudder, nodding your head in agreement.

He cranes your face closer to his, pecking the corner of your lips before meeting you on the middle, giving you a sweet yet sloppy kiss. “Gonna fuck you, how do you want it?” he slurs, eyes half lidded, a dopey smile playing at his lips.

“Just- give it to me.” you demand, whining.

He chuckles, kissing your shoulder. “M’kay, I’ll take it slow.” he coos. “Gonna be rough, ‘s that okay?”

“Mhm.” you hum, wiggling your hips. His hands knead the flesh of your hips, letting go of one hand, he places it between his legs, pushing himself into you.

He watches you shudder, holding himself as still as possible. He caresses one hand around your stomach, holding you in place, kissing all over your shoulder. Thumb rubbing under your bellybutton, he whispers, “Can I move?”

Nodding, you chuckle somewhat. “Yeah, thanks.” you blush, a small smile playing on your lips at his care.

He pulls your back to his chest, chains of his necklaces dangling and clinking with each other. He slowly pulls out almost all the way, making you wince, but he slowly slides himself back in. “You feel incredible.” he sighs, pecking at your temple, hand wrapped around your throat. “Jus’ look at you, fuckin’ goddess.” His thumb swipes just above your jawline, craning your face to the mirror. Your hair a mess, eyeliner smudged down your face, panting like a dog.

You meet his eyes in the mirror, taking him in, his lips parted, eyes half lidded, tan skin damp and shiny with sweat. He picks up his pace, hand wrapped tighter around your throat, left hand still soothing circles into your stomach. “C’mon, baby, tell me you’re pretty.” he whispers into your ear, lips grazing the shell.

When you don’t respond, he pounds into you more forcefully. “I said, tell me you’re pretty.” he groans, letting his head fall back onto your shoulder.

“I’m pretty.” you pant out, one hand going to the back of his thigh and the other over his hand on your stomach, trying to keep balance.

“Fuck, you’re so good, so sweet.” he hums, kissing along your shoulder, sucking and biting. “Play with you clit, ‘m so close, so sorry.” he whines, brows furrowed, sweat beading and falling from his forehead.

You chuckle at his apology, tilting your head to the side to catch his lips. He hums in delight, kissing you deeply, tongue melding with yours. Your hand reaches down and rubs feverish circles into your clit, feeling yourself coming closer and closer to the edge, and you know the same is true for him with the way he’s twitching inside you, rhythm faltering.

you grab at the hair on the back of his head, pulling it, he groans gutturally, biting his lip to soothe the pain. “Fuck- fuckingshit.” he tries his best to continue his rhythm, wanting to get you there first.

You come undone, but he holds you still, guiding you through it, hands still firmly around you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Shit.” you sigh out, eyes rolling back in pure ecstacy.

You wince when he pulls out, his hand immediately going to finish himself off, spilling onto you back in ropes. Catching his breath, he kisses your shoulder, lifting himself off of you. “Gonna get a towel.” he explains, rushing over to the connected bathroom, the water running.

He returns with a black washcloth, wiping himself off you, handing you another clean cloth to wipe the sweat off your body as he uses the same wash cloth to clean off his dick, slowly softening.

“Thank you,” you flip over to look at him, wiping yourself off, shuddering at the sudden coldness of the room.

He pulls his pants and boxers back up, fastening the button. “You see my shirt?” he chuckles, looking around the room until you find it half tucked under the bed, throwing it his direction. “Thanks.” he smiles softly, pulling the sleeves over his arms.

He helps put your pants back on, then your shirt, kissing your forehead. “I’ll be back, you rest here.” he says softly.

“Wait.” you grip his wrist. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“It’s Jake.” Jake winks, walking out the bedroom door.

Tags: @edgingthedarkness @bbygiirrlllxo @lyndz2names @ivorysworld22 @tripthelightfatality @blueskysthickthighs @beingextraisfun @wetkleenex-gvf @kiszka-enthusiast @writingcold @scoreofinfantryvines

[jakesguitarsolo]

BEAUTY LIVES IN EVERY SOUL

[wildbluesorbit]

GET THIS AWAY FROM ME 🫣😵‍💫

📸jakeforsakeher

[devilat-thedoor]

jake kiszka aka the human bendy straw

[stardustwhoreds]

totally slay no biggie rare sighting of jakey poo pie’s left arm scar 🙂‍↔️🫶🏻

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 5 (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

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

You thought you were prepared for everything.

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

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

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Word Count: (for part 1) 29.2k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering. MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating (including food restriction & calorie counting), strong feelings of inadequacy, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, mentions of a hospital stay, anxiety/stress/depression, jealousy, severe emotional/verbal abuse from a parent, heavy sadness regarding deceased parents, cemetery visit

SMUT-18+ ONLY: unprotected sex, fingering, (f rec) oral, (f & m rec) road head, nipple play, spanking, slight choking, a bit of biting, tiny bit of cockwarming, possessiveness, edging, guided masterbation, overstimulation, hickies, use of colors, praise, a little degradation, sweet m!dom/bratty f!sub dynamics, heavy use of sir/doll pet names

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a/n: i know i’ve said it so many times, but i truly am sorry for the delay on this chapter. i hope this story is worth the wait, & i hope the contents of this chapter (hehe) make up for it. 🤍

i also would like to thank my readers for always being so patient with me & understanding that this story takes a bit of time to create. endlessly grateful for all of you. 🤍

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

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist, Series Playlist

! SMUT DIRECTLY UNDER THE CUT !

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With his fingers still tucked inside of you, stilled almost completely, Jake shifts his body so his face is right above yours. His thigh, holding one of yours down to keep your legs open for him. He puts the pointer finger of his other hand to your mouth, holding it against your lips. 

You’re stunned silent, mind racing at the fact that Josh is right outside the fucking door.

“We’re just fine, Josh. We’ll be out soon, just getting a few things sorted out,” Jake responds, his eyes staying connected with yours, voice completely manipulated so as to not let on what’s happening behind his door.

He winks at you as he begins teasing you with his fingers, testing how quiet you can truly be as he curls them inside of you, slowly and intentionally. His thumb of the same hand draws circles around your clit, beckoning you to scream his name. 

“Jake,” you whisper, only to be met with his finger gently gliding into your mouth. You accept it without hesitation, practically biting down on it to conceal your pleasure as you’re about to succumb to him. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, needing to feel even closer to him.

“We heard you guys yelling and then it just got eerily quiet, are you sure you’re okay?” Josh inquires. Your eyes, widening at the realization that Jake has not seized the curling of his fingers at Josh’s suspicions. He’s only increasing their speed inside of you. And it’s clear he isn’t planning on relenting any time soon. Josh’s voice floated through the door again. “Y/n? You’re still in there, right?”

“Tell him, y/n,” he leans down, whispering raspily against the shell of your ear. “Tell him you’re okay.” He continues through a dark chuckle, knowing damn well you’re not fully capable of answering. His fingers, inside of your aching center and your mouth, made you quite incapable of saying a damned thing.

He pulls his finger from your mouth, slowing his fingers inside your needy core to a delicious pace that has the pads of them brushing slowly against your most sacred spot. The changes in pace are only pulling you closer to your end, and he absolutely knows that by the way you're squeezing him tightly. 

“Y/n?” Josh asks once again. Panic sets in as Jake persists, teasing you to the point of near madness as breath is stolen from your lungs with every movement, making it nearly impossible to utter a single coherent word. 

“Better say something before he opens the door and sees you like this. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?” He steals a kiss from your parted lips, a grin on his lust blown features that you can’t help but imitate. 

“Ye-yeah, I’m totally fine, Josh.” The words manage to flow from your lips with ease, your voice only slightly shaky, but hopefully not enough to compel Josh to inquire about your state even more. 

Your hands find Jake’s long hair, running your hands through it, you reach his scalp to trace your nails over it. He shivers at your touch, his eyes darkening even further. His dick, hardening even more and twitching against your hip. 

Hm. He likes that.

“Okay. Well, take your time, guys. But,” he pauses for dramatic effect. You're about to go mad. “We have to finish this scene tonight, okay? The deadline in my class is approaching, and I know yours is, too.”

You’re thanking god when you start hearing Josh’s footsteps, their sound becoming more distant as he’s walking away from the other side of Jake’s door. 

“Good girl,” Jake mutters with rasp in his sex-ridden voice. “So good for me, doll.”

His words, mixed with the risk of almost being caught by his twin, his fingers continuing to work themselves inside of you, and feeling him rock fucking hard against you… 

It has you finally careening towards bliss. Your toes curl, your body buzzing with need. 

Jake’s lips instantly attach to yours, keeping you from your need to scream his name while he eagerly swallows your each and every muffled moan. You feel yourself let go, painting his fingers with all you have to give.

Stars. You’re seeing so many stars…

He keeps his mouth locked tight with yours until he feels your body begin to relax, your breathing slowing, your tense grip on his shoulders loosening before your hands become weightless as they fall to the bed. He’s languid in his movements, strong fingers easily riding it out with you as you finish against his hand.

You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls his hand from you, holding it up between your faces before he licks and laps at your release, flattening his tongue against his glistening fingers. 

But then, to your shock (and dismay), he winks at you before getting off the bed. He smoothes out the wrinkles in his pants, reaching down for the chainmail top that was hurriedly thrown on the floor next to the bed. 

He’s done?

“Jake wha–what are you doing?” You question, slowly sitting your weakened body up to a seated position on the bed, your head feeling fuzzy and light from the intense pleasure he’s just pulled from you.

“You heard him,” he says, putting his arms through the metal shirt, wincing at the cool metal as it touches his warm, sweaty skin. “We need to finish the scene tonight. And they’ll start to get suspicious if we stay in here all night.” 

“But Jake I–” 

Your thought is cut short by him tossing the bag full of Josh’s stage makeup on the bed, landing next to you. 

“I know,” he says, then taking his hair brush sitting on his dresser and diligently running it through his messy locks to smooth them out a little. He chuckles while looking in the mirror, seeing traces of your red lipstick smeared all over his mouth as he begins to wipe it away. “I’d keep you in here all night with me if I could, but alas, duty calls.”

With wobbly legs, you manage to stand up from your spot on the now rumpled bed. You understand why this needs to come to an end tonight, but it doesn’t mean you’re happy with it. You’ve hardly gotten to touch him, and you want so badly to show him just how much you need him, all of him.

And as though he can hear the thoughts whirling throughout your mind, you feel the warmth of his body against yours as he comes to stand near you. “This isn’t over,” he says, lifting his hand to gently brush his fingers along your cheek. “I’m not done with you yet. But at least now…” He pulls you into a soft, feather light kiss with his warm and swollen lips, breaking away almost as quickly as he began. “...now you know the profound feelings I hold for you.”

Even after everything the two of you have just shared together, you can’t help the shy blush warming your face at his words. And all it’s doing is making you want him more. 

“I want to touch you, Jake.” The words fall from your mouth almost as viscerally as your hand finds his hip, slowly falling towards his cock behind the black satin. 

He sucks in a deep breath, his eyes lazily falling closed at your touch as he leans in to kiss you once again.

“Soon, doll,” he utters, his lips still touching yours gently. “I told you, I’m not done with you yet.”

He turns to the mirror to wipe away the last remaining remnants of your little rendezvous from his face while you begin the grueling process of trying to cover up the many love marks he’s left on your exposed skin with the stage makeup, and your tattoo that he so wonderfully uncovered. 

“Sorry about that,” he huffs through a sly giggle, watching you struggle to conceal a particularly dark one right above your left breast. “I couldn’t resist covering your pretty skin with marks that remind you.”

“Remind me. . .?” You breathe in question.

He walks up to you, lifting your chin, clutching it between his pointer finger and thumb. Right as he’s let his lips touch yours, he sighs in resolution to his thought. A knowing smirk tugs at his lips, tempting you to lean forward and complete the action that he’s teasing you with.

“Remind you that my mouth can treat you so much better than anyone else’s,” he says, voice laced with want as he turns your face to look in his line of sight, showing you as he points to the same picture you’d eyed earlier of him and his brothers. 

You know exactly who he’s talking about. The blush overtakes your skin, just as he leaves you, walking with slow purpose to his bedroom door. You can’t help but watch his shoulders, paying attention to the muscles that flex under the skin of his back. He turns to you once more as his hand slides over the door handle.

“Remind you how good my mouth feels on that irresistible fucking body of yours,” his eyes slide up and down your body. He bites his lip and your skin feels as if he left trails of white hot heat on your flushed skin. “Do me a favor.”

“Anything,” you utter much too quickly. Fuck. He made you so damn weak. 

“Next time you touch yourself,” he starts, dark eyes burning into yours. “Think about me and those marks I left while you fell apart – while I made the prettiest sounds fall from your lips. Hm?”

You bite your lip as you nod your head in agreement, feeling the flutters in your body at the thought. 

“Oh, and promise me one more thing,” he mutters. 

“Of course,” you respond, your breath catching in your chest.

“Tell me all about it as soon as you finish.”

Somehow, his gaze darkens even more and the secret smile that stretches across his lips makes your heart race a million beats per minute. 

“Yes sir,” you whisper, the words completely out of your control. 

He liked that name. You can tell, with the curl of his lips as soon as it fell from your mouth. 

“Good girl.” 

You are barely breathing as he opens the door. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else, so you  turn to the mirror to begin covering up the marks you know for a damn well fact you’ll be uncovering later to keep your promise to him. 

“Hey.”

You jump, surprised he hasn’t left yet. 

“Yeah?” You turn to look over your shoulder to find his hungry eyes. 

“Feeling inspired for that scene?”

Swallowing thickly, you nod without hesitation. 

“Don’t have too much fun with him, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you reply eagerly, dumbfounded. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

He bites his lip as he leans his head back a little, appreciating you for a minute before he’s gone. 

And, at once, the room feels too big—much bigger than any other time you’ve been inside of it for costumes and makeup cover up. 

You aren’t sure if you should admit it, but Jake’s presence suddenly seems a necessity if you’re in the space…you’re longing to have him near as soon as he’s left you. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The weight of today is finally lifting off of your shoulders as you turn on the hot water to fill your bathtub.

All you’ve wanted to do today is come home and wash away your troubles in a nice, hot bath. But, your mom made that a mere pipe dream. She bombarded you with a list of things she needed you to do as soon as you walked in the apartment after a particularly long day of classes and work.

The laundry, the dishes, the clog in the kitchen sink that seems to keep coming back despite your endless efforts to get rid of it. Her bed sheets needed switched, her bedroom needed vacuuming, the refrigerator needed cleaned out. Not to mention the grocery run you need to make on an almost daily basis, for silly things that you don’t need. 

You find it rather odd how things seem to magically accumulate at home the way they do, the things that you have to do that she insists she can’t. The things you do every single day. 

It’s almost as though she’s adding to your chores on purpose for the intention to keep you busy.

As if you’re not fucking busy enough. 

You’re fucking tired. You’re tired of her creating things for you to do that prohibit you from doing your homework, filming, having your alone time that you desperately need in order to keep a semblance of your sanity. 

You feel as though you haven’t had the chance to breathe lately. Ever since she came home from the hospital, your workload has more than tripled. 

It’s not her fault. 

You know that. She’s sick. She can’t help it. It’s a proven fact that she’s not much longer for this world. 

But, once you found out that she hadn't been taking her medications like she’s supposed to, the medications that will keep her alive and breathing properly, you’re finding it hard to be as sympathetic as you once were. It’s not that you don’t care any longer. In fact, it’s because you do care that you’re so upset about it. It just makes you wonder what the reason is that she won’t help herself, why it feels like she’s doing it purposefully to keep you with her. 

It’s a spiraling, uncomfortable thought. And the truth of the matter is you don’t know her reasoning. And you won’t until you ask her. That is a feat for another day. 

Right now, your time to relax has finally come. 

Everything has been checked off her list and then some, including a (mediocre, according to her) salmon bake for dinner. 

She’s fed and she’s sleeping peacefully in her newly washed sheets in her freshly made bed. 

And now, it’s time for that much needed bath you’ve been longing for since the moment you opened your eyes this morning.

The heavy weight of your burdens begin to lift with every piece of clothing you remove from your worn body. You just don’t have the energy to wash your hair tonight, opting instead to throw it up in a claw clip to keep it from getting wet.

Though you’re usually intentional about not looking at your naked form in the bathroom mirror, you decide to give yourself a bit of grace tonight as you glance toward your reflection before you. And this time, instead of only seeing the endless number of things you don’t like, your eyes begin to follow the trail of marks left by Jake. The ones that serve as a lovely reminder of his mouth being all over you. 

You continue to stare at the marks that decorate your skin, noting how their shape perfectly mimics the shape of Jake's lips. Then, your mind begins swirling with why your skin is so beautifully blemished, and how fucking incredible it felt when he gave them to you— when he laid his claim on you. 

Fuck.

You want him—need him—so intensely. The craving your body has developed has only grown stronger by every minute that has passed since that night. The feeling of him, of his lips, his tongue, his fingers...and how he satisfied you in brand new ways with only those things.

And his hard, massive cock under the touch of your hand that you can’t stop imagining being tucked away inside of you. 

Inside your mouth, inside your…

Jesus. You’ve never wanted somebody so bad. 

But, imagining is all you can do tonight. 

You begin tracing your fingers over the fading purple marks, dragging them down their path. Traveling over your breasts, sucking in a deep breath when you graze your nipples, following them down the column of your chest, your tummy…

Then, you remember what you promised him you’d do. And right now feels like the perfect time for it. 

You can’t have him right now, but you can follow his orders. And for that, your imagination is all you need to ease the throbbing ache felt in your core. 

The tub is finally full, and the steam is flowing off the top of the water. You dim the overhead lights before taking your lighter and setting flame to your mint and eucalyptus candles you’ve placed on the edge of the tub. 

One foot in the water has you wincing from the heat, but it doesn’t take long before you’re used to it. Slowly, you step the other foot in, leaning down and fully immersing yourself in the water. Goosebumps instantly cover your now wet skin as you let yourself relax against the bottom of the tub. A deep sigh releases from your lungs before you breathe in the steam, your eyelids feeling far too heavy to keep all the way open. 

Out of memory, your hand begins tracing the path of the marks yet again, with a bit more intent this time as you’re remembering how soft and warm his lips felt against you.

Your fingers stop just as they reach your aching clit, the tiniest moan escaping your mouth. With a gentle glide of your middle finger, you trace long and slow circles around the sensitive bud. Even with the slightest touch, your mind reeling with the images of Jake between your legs burned in your memory, you’re already beginning to feel the fierce effect he has on you. 

With your eyes still closed, the only thing you can see is Jake. And that very image of him doing the incredible things he did to you the other night, along with your fingers quickening their pace against your pulsing clit, you feel the beginnings of a pleasure that only he can draw from you. Even if only the memory of him, he’s the only one that’s ever made you feel this way, the only one that has left you yearning in this way. 

You reach your other hand up your body to grab hold of your breast, massaging the flesh just as he did a few nights ago. It’s your hand, but you’re imagining that it’s his instead.

And that very imagination, aided by the now relentless circling of your fingers beneath the streaming water, your body begins to tremble and shake. Jake’s name falls from your lips in a nearly silent whisper as you succumb to the intense pleasure brought forth by a mere memory. 

You let yourself relax in the tub a bit, finally finding the strength to get out of the water as you’re fighting the urge to fall asleep against the ceramic surface. 

After lazily drying off, you wrap yourself up in your fluffy purple robe. After brushing your teeth and running your Wet Brush through the tangles in your hair, you’re at last ready to lay your tired body in your freshly washed linens. 

But, a sudden memory runs through your sleepy mind as soon as your head hits the pillow. A memory of Jake, of him telling you to let him know when you touch yourself to the thought of him, to tell him all about it once you finish. 

Fuck. 

You’re far too tired to fulfill his wish, though you want to so badly. The heaviness in your lids feel like fifty pound weights against your eyes. 

I’ll just tell him tomorrow, your very last thought as sleep finally overtakes you. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Tonight, your mom had gone to bed much earlier than normal and as if sensing it, Natalia had texted you asking if you wanted to hang out as soon as you’d sat down. And having felt suddenly super lonely, you’d agreed to it instantly. 

You felt a bit guilty leaving her, but you figured a few hours out of the house wouldn’t do any harm. And with her being asleep, odds are she’d never know you were gone in the first place. 

Some time out of the house is exactly what you’ve needed. You’ve been desperate to escape the walls of the apartment that have felt like they’ve been creeping closer and closer to closing in on you lately. 

She’d come and picked you up, but had let you know that Josh needed her help before you could do anything. 

“It’s Chi’s birthday in a few weeks, and it’s a tradition for Josh to take him to this place they’ve been going since they were kids,” she explained, driving worse than just about anyone you’d ever been a passenger to, through Ann Arbor’s poor streets. The streets, sure to be covered in the tracks of her tires. Goddamn.

At this point, you’re holding on for dear life. But, you just wondered something and you wanted to know the answer to it. So, you responded carefully, trying to not hurl. 

“I—I, uh, didn’t know—damn, Nat!” You gasped, right as she almost slmammed into the back of a car that she’d stopped behind at a stop light. 

“What?!” She asked, curls springing all around her face, caramel colored skin practically glowing under the street lights. As she scooted forward, going with the green light and pushing the person in front of her to go, too, you decided to say anything. “Come on, buddy! Move your slow ass! We’ve got places to be and a Josh to bother the hell out of!”

Deciding to not bother her with another thing, you decide to just let her focus on driving. You wanted to arrive alive, after all. Distracting her further may result in you not making it to your destination.

“What were you saying?” She asked again

“Don’t worry, Nat,” you shake your head, your voice surely communicating your rattled nerves. 

“Tell me when we get there,” she encouraged. “I wanna talk about whatever, but I can’t focus on anything other than the road when I’m driving.”

“You got it, dude,” you mutter, in complete silent agreement with her. Holy shit.

Thankfully, within minutes, she’d taken the last turn to get to the Kiszkas’ apartment in a back way you’d never gone before. A faster, learned way that you’re instantly noting in the back of your mind for the future.

And, suddenly, you were there. Parked next to Jake’s black Range Rover. Your tummy, somersaulting ridiculously at the thought that he could be home. You instinctively pull down the visor for the mirror, checking for any imperfections on your mostly bare face. Of course, you spot them immediately. Nothing you can do about it now, though you still ask Nat if you can borrow her lip gloss to add something to your face. 

Stop, y/n. You’re hanging out with your friend. Give her your full attention. 

The voice in your head sounded just like your mom correcting you, and it sort of pissed you off, but you took the bait. You tried so hard to ignore how your skin is vibrating as you walk your way through the parking lot to their apartment. 

“What were you sayin’ earlier?” She asks, as you take the elevator to reach their place. “When I almost crashed?”

You burst with a cough of laughter. “You noticed that?”

“Of course, babe,” she giggles. “I’m a horrendous driver. But I always get where I’m goin’ in one piece, so I just keep livin’ life on the edge.”

“I’m already one tap away from falling off the edge as it is,” you chuckle. “So if you could stray away from that when I am with you, that’d be super awesome.”

As you step out of the elevator, you’re still sharing a laugh over her crazy behavior. 

You’re waiting on Josh to answer the locked door after a text sent from Natalia and a rather abrasive knock. She’s probably the funniest, most bright person you’ve ever met. 

“I was just going to say,” you started, finally answering her and finishing your earlier thought. “When’s Malachi’s birthday?” 

“It’s exactly two weeks from today,” she answers, her brow wrinkling in curiosity. “Why? Wondering if we’re gonna have a party? We always do, don’t you worry. You’re invited for sure. The boys and I would have it no other way,” she winks, not winded at all from talking at the speed of lightning. 

“Oh, cool. Yeah, hopefully my Mom doesn’t need me,” you say, trying to play off your obligation to your mom. You did not want to feel torn between a party and the responsibility of your mom. But, that would just have to wait. “It’s funny, though, Chi and I actually share a birthday.”

“No way!” She exclaims, adjusting her headband to sit even more perfectly in her curls. “We’ll have to celebrate—.”

“Oh, no no,” you shake your head. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Don’t need to,” she replies with a wink just as you hear the handle to the door turn. “But I want to. We all want to, guarantee it.”

You don’t get to argue with her as Josh is quickly ushering the two of you back to his room. But…you’re conflicted as you sit on his soft white bed, you want to celebrate with your friends… you just feel like you’re not worthy of it. 

Normally, you blamed the new feelings of inadequacy on your dad. Though, you’re slowly starting to realize they may come from your mom also—. No. You don’t even finish the thought when Josh grabs your full attention with two different jumpsuits, holding them out for Nat (and you, apparently) to judge. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Oh come on now, Josh,” Natalia bumps Josh with her elbow. “Just tell me what you got him! I’m dying, I’m so curious.”

You’re sitting in Josh’s room, with Nat, as he patted down his white jumpsuit, adjusting the collar just right in his full-body mirror. His room, decked out in all white and gold fixtures, plants littering every surface, is the complete opposite his twin’s.

It’s fun being here, not having to worry about a thing. Just hanging with friends. Not wondering where the twin with the long hair is…if he’s home.

“You, Natty, are not dying,” Josh commented back, smoothing his mustache over his lips as he made a face in his tall mirror to try out his look. Seeming satisfied, he gives himself a smile, filled with all of his teeth. Then, turns to Nat, placing both hands on her shoulders. “You’re just dramatic,” he winks.

“Funny coming from the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” she rolls her eyes, shoving his hands off her shoulders. She comes to sit next to you on the bed as he fluffs his curly hair, front first then the sides of it. 

“Oh, you know Jake is just as dramatic as me,” he insists, turning around to her with his hands on his hips. “Just doesn’t show it the same way.”

“You are correct; you two are quite the set of twins,” she shakes her shoulders, as if reliving memories of their chaotic energy. “God bless.”

“You love us,” Josh blows a kiss her way before grabbing his phone from the dresser next to the door. He stands next to the light switch, waiting for you two. “Let’s go ladies. I’ve got a partner to treat to a lovely dinner tonight.”

“Oh, speaking of,” Nat begins. “I bet you’ll never guess who shares a birthday with my brother.” 

You snap your head her way, silently requesting for her to not say anything. It’s a lot of unwanted attention that you’re not sure you’re ready for. But, she either doesn’t catch on to your look of pleading, or, more likely, she just doesn’t care. 

“Who?” Josh asks, totally oblivious to your sudden discomfort as he’s holding up his hunter green suit in front of the sun coming in through the window. 

“Our very own y/n!” She exclaims, playfully shaking your shoulders. 

Josh lets out a very audible gasp, grinning practically ear to ear as he hangs the jumpsuit up on the back of his closet door. “A double celebration, how lovely!”

“You really don’t need to do anything for me” you insist, but given the look on Josh’s face, he’ll never allow for such a thing. 

He shakes his head, going back to the green jumpsuit to straighten out the few wrinkles in the canvas fabric. “It’s already settled, my dear. You’re part of this crazy clan now. And that means,” he pads across the floor to you, patting your back and leaving a quick kiss to the top of your head. “You’ll be celebrated just like the rest of us.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“It’s just perfect,” Josh remarks as the three of you descend down the stairs to the living room. “Like us meeting you was written across the stars.” 

Once you walk off the last step of the staircase, you see the twin you had decided to not worry about is in the kitchen, treating himself to a few Oreo cookies as his thumb mindlessly scrolls through his phone. 

“What was written across the stars?” He mockingly asks his twin, tuning in suddenly. He throws you a wink once he looks up to see the three of you. 

It absolutely catches you off guard.

You’re shocked that he’s acknowledging you; you would have assumed his mindless scrolling had his full attention. But, it suddenly seemed as though he had already been paying very close attention to your presence. The phone, seeming to be a cover. It was obvious, with him dramatically imitating Josh, that his attention was actually focused on the conversation happening feet away from him.

But now, you’re right in front of him. And the way his eyes are piercing into your own… damn. You feel every single flutter of your adoring heart at those whiskey eyes that never fail to make you weak in the knees.

“Chi and y/n both adore plants as much as I do, which is wonderful because that’s just what I had planned for his birthday party decor,” he says as he makes his way to the front door, reaching for his white high tops that are sitting in the corner of the foyer. 

“What does y/n liking plants have to do with anything?” Jake asks, unaware as he stuffs another Oreo in his mouth, chewing it rather sloppily with his mouth wide open. (Which should gross you out…but it doesn’t. How can he make obnoxious chewing look…good?)

“Because, Jacob.” From his arched eyebrows and increasingly short tone of voice, you can tell that Josh is beginning to get a bit irate at his twin's complete lack of observation. “Y/n and Malachi share a birthday. And that means we’ll be celebrating both of them at his party we already have planned the week before. Jesus, keep up.”

Nat and Josh weren’t aware of your upcoming birthday, meaning Jake was also unaware. And he looks just as surprised as you would’ve expected. 

“Wait, you and Malachi have the same birthday?” Jake asks, almost intelligibly with a mouth full of chocolate cookies. “Meaning it’s…soon?”

You nod, already dreading the attention it's attracting, fully aware that the birthday party will be far worse.

You had half-expected him to be angry about this, about you forgetting—or rather, avoiding—telling him. You wouldn't be surprised if he turned it into a pointless argument.

But, to your complete and utter shock, he smiles– a full grin, with bits of Oreo still stuck in his usually pearly white teeth. 

“That’s great!” He says, easing any worry you had about him being angry. “We’ll have to make it extra special for you,” he winks, causing your heart to flutter and a grin to grace your lips. 

“Oh, one more thing.” Josh says as he’s one foot out the door, now running quite late for his date with Chi. (To no one’s surprise.) “If you had to choose a favorite plant, or flower, what would it be?”

This is an easy one for you. One flower has remained the most significant your entire life, and for so many reasons. “White gerbera daisies, for sure,” you answer, recalling every little thing you love about them with a nostalgic, bittersweet fondness. “Why’d you ask?”

“Educational purposes,” he shouts, grinning at you before he blows a kiss to the room and hurries his way through the door. “Love to you all!”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“What are you ladies up to on this hellish evening?” Jake asks as he saunters his way into the living room to join you and Natalia. 

“No plans, really. Just wanted to get this poor child out of her enclosure for a bit while she had the chance to escape,” Nat laughs, nudging your shoulder.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to hang here if you’d like,” Jake offers. “It’s Sammy boy’s night to man the office, so I’m free to host if you’d like to have a few drinks and watch a movie or two.”

He’s speaking to both you and Nat, but he’s looking directly at you as he offers. You’re trying so hard to conceal your smile and your blushing cheeks, but it’s not working. And it’s obvious that Jake has taken note of this, evidenced by the mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Smug ass.

“That sounds good to me. Y/n? Any objections?” Nat asks, though your focus remains ensnared by the intensity behind Jake’s stare.

“Fine with me,” you answer, turning your attention back to Nat who already knew your answer long before you voiced it. You swear she knows everything. This girl doesn’t miss a damn beat. 

Though you weren’t prepared to see him tonight, you’re glad for the chance to. You just wish you would’ve made yourself look a bit more presentable for the evening. You always feel the innate desire to look your absolute best when you’re around him. 

But, it seems as though he doesn’t mind what you’re wearing or your lack of makeup, given the number of times his eyes have trailed your body in the short time you’ve been standing here.

“What’s our Daniel doing this evening?” Jake asks Nat. “Should we call him over? Make it a proper gathering?”

“A proper gathering?” Nat quips, smiling ear to ear at what you’re sure is the mention of Danny. “Sounds more like a double date, Jacob.”

A warm hue envelops your cheeks when she says the word ‘date,’ and the way Jake averts his gaze from you as soon as she made the comment, he must be feeling the same tension you are.

You know she said it on purpose, too. Her desperate attempts at getting you and Jake to do something with your relationship have thus far proved useless. Yet, she continues to try. If not for anything else, she knows how badly you want it, and she’s doing all she can to put the bug in his ear to take things a step– a few steps– further.

Nat takes it upon herself to invite Danny over, and to neither your nor Jake’s shock, he was in his car before she even got off the phone with him. He’d commit murder for her if she asked, you have no doubt. She has him wrapped tight around her finger. As it should be. 

She’s a fucking catch. Gorgeous, smart, and one of the most loving people you’ve come across in the span of your existence. And Danny, being the absolute sweetheart and gentle giant that he is, would do just about anything for anyone. He’s more soft-spoken, whereas Natalia is born to make a statement everywhere she goes, making them the absolute perfect balance for each other. You’re left in awe when you think of their beautifully aligned romance.

They are the definition of the perfect couple. Both such beautiful humans who bring out the best in eachother. 

What you wouldn’t give…

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

With Josh being absent tonight, the movie choice is truly up to everyone’s discretion this time. (Not that you’ve ever thought Josh had poor taste, being practically the same as yours.)

Though, it soon becomes clear that having a designated person pick the movie might be the best option, as no one can seem to agree on anything tonight.

“That one is a disgrace to the film world,” Jake huffs at Nat's suggestion to watch the first Twilight. “I vote we watch The Princess Bride.” He confidently offers, a bit more of a command rather than a recommendation. 

“I love that one!” You chime in, only to be met with Nat interjecting. 

“No,” she asserts, holding her freshly manicured hand up to your face. “I am not watching that damn movie again.”

“A New Hope is always a safe bet,” Danny tries while the rest of you grumble in unison at the ‘safe,” yet overdone notion. 

Only a few moments of this back and forth has you ready to rip your hair out. That is until you remember a staple of your childhood that you love, though it has always garnered mixed reactions. But, regardless of that fact, it’s unconventional enough that it may spark some inspiration from the rest of the crew. It’s worth a shot if it means you’ll be closer to finally agreeing on something.

“What about Labyrinth?” You propose, crossing your fingers that someone will agree to this one, or at least use it to broaden their suggestions. 

“Oh! That’s the one with Bowie, right?” Danny comments, walking out of the kitchen and cracking open his first can of Bud Light. “That’s a great one!”

“That sounds like a Josh idea,” scoffs Jake. “I thought we were rid of him for the night.”

“That,” Nat starts, following Danny’s lead in helping herself to a beer from the fridge, then walking back to the living room to sit next to Danny on the couch. “Sounds like the one we should watch. I haven’t seen it in years. I’m game.”

With a defeated, resigned chuckle and a roll of his eyes, Jake takes the remote and searches for the film on Netflix. “I suppose majority rules, then.”

“Jim Henson was a visionary,” you remark, strategically positioning yourself on the end of the couch to leave ample space between you and Nat, leaving plenty of room for Jake to sit next to you. “Labyrinth was decades ahead of its time—a true cinematic masterpiece.”

“If you insist, Josh,” Jake jokingly chides, clicking the Roku to officially start the movie. “Whatever you say.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The movie is nearly halfway over, and hardly a word has been said thus far. (Which is something you’re not used to with Josh normally being here.)

Things have been a bit awkward since Jake started the movie, in part due to him not sitting by you like you had intended. Instead, choosing to ignore the wide, open space right beside you, he opted to sit in his usual spot on the beige Nova Lounge, leaving you on the corner of the couch alone.

You’d hoped that he would’ve gotten the hint and sat next to you for the movie, but, no. He chose to sit in the chair across from you, making you look (and feel) like an utter idiot while you're seated alone, eyeing the perfect spot on the cushion next to you that he should be in.

So, you’ve decided to give him the cold shoulder. Anytime he’s tried to acknowledge you, you’ve acted like he’s not there. Every wink he’s tried to throw your way has been met with an indifferent shrug of your shoulders, every poor attempt to get your attention has left him snubbed.

Judging by the way he’s sighed and rolled his eyes each time you’ve ignored him, it’s clear that your distance is beginning to get under his skin. 

Good.

But then, as you’re trying to focus your attention on the film, you see out of the corner of your eye that he’s roughly pulling his phone from his pocket. Almost immediately, your phone vibrates. Then it vibrates again. And again.

Jesus. Chill the hell out.

You turn your sights toward him, watching as he’s aggressively typing away at his phone, presumably yet another text to you. He’s looking up at you every few taps of his thumbs to see if you’ve picked up your phone yet. 

Until he stops, glaring at you so hard his eyes are practically burning holes into your own. He’s silently demanding that you look at your phone. But, you’re not giving in. Not yet. Whatever it is, he can just tell you in person instead of playing whatever game this is. Not having the patience for it, you roll your eyes and continue watching David Bowie’s master performance. 

That is until Jake clears his throat rather forcefully, startling you to look back at him. And, as you suspected, he’s still eying you, clearly pissed that you’ve yet to check your phone. 

You’re altogether annoyed and turned on all at once when he mouths out, through gritted teeth, “Check your phone. Now.”

Something about it makes you want to respond with “yes, sir.” And that is the very effect this man has on you. 

As much as you’d love to keep this going, you can’t fight curiosity of whatever he deems is so important that you must check your phone. 

Jake: What’s wrong? Why are you ignoring me?

Jake: Tell me, y/n. Don’t do this. 

Jake: Why are you acting like this? 

Seriously, Jake?

You: No reason. I’m fine. 

There’s no use in telling him. You’re not in the mood to try and spell it out, and it’s not your fault that he hasn’t picked up on it. 

But then, he texts you again. 

Jake: You’re not being very good, are you?

…fuck. You’re almost sure you can hear a raspy giggle coming from as it’s probable that your face is saying exactly what you’re thinking.

That message lit a fire in the pit of your tummy. Just imagining his voice saying that to you…

You’ll act annoyed about it, but only for the sake of hiding what it’s actually doing to you. 

You: Excuse me??

He’s glaring at you again after reading your message, full smirk on his lips. Though you’re trying to hide what you’re feeling, you’re pretty sure he can see right through it.

You: I’m not doing anything wrong, Jake.

Before you can even finish writing your next message, you see the three bubbles pop up as he’s typing. And just before you can press send…

Jake: Bet you didn’t even do as I asked. 

…I absolutely did. 

You weren’t prepared in the least for him to bring that up. You instantly knew what he was referring to, how you promised him you’d touch yourself to the thought of him, and tell him… 

How the fuck do you respond to that?

He’s caught you so completely off guard, you’re at a loss for words. (And horny as hell.)

Just as you’re trying to think of something— anything— to say, avoiding any and all eye contact with him, you see the bubbles once again appearing above your keyboard. 

Jake: Don’t ignore me, doll. You didn’t do as I asked, did you? Didn’t get your pretty self off from the marks I left on you, huh?

Oh. 

Before you can register the text, he’s sending yet another one. 

Jake: It’s a damn shame if you didn’t. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. How pretty you sound when you cum, how you’d make yourself feel so good that you can’t stand it any longer. The mess you’d make, all over your pretty fingers.

Oh my god. 

Your eyes briefly meet his, watching you as you’re on the verge of falling apart. He bites his lip, smirking as you cross your legs after reading his text, knowing he’s responsible for the ever growing ache between them. 

And then, he starts typing again. 

Jesus. 

Jake: You certainly look wonderful tonight, darling. Good enough to eat. 

Jake: And I know you taste divine. 

The grip on your phone has suddenly loosened as it begins to slip from your hands. You make a desperate yet failed attempt at catching it before it slams loudly against the hardwood floor next to your feet. 

Nat and Danny both snap their heads in your direction, watching you clumsily try to pick your phone back up. “Dammit, y/n!” Nat shrieks, having been startled by the sudden noise. “Are you good?”

“Y-yeah, sorry. Just dropped it.”

Fuck. 

When Nat and Danny turn their attention back to the film, you look at Jake who’s not even trying to hide his laughter. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Nat and Danny's snores are almost in unison. The way they’ve got themselves tangled up together on the couch looks entirely uncomfortable, a bit of a pretzel situation. But, they must be at least a bit cozy given how easily they fell asleep. 

With the ending credits beginning and the time being much later than you’d initially planned on being out, well after midnight, you’ve decided it’s probably best to head home. 

There’s only one problem; Nat is absolutely passed the hell out. And you know better than to try and wake her. For one, it’s no easy feat as she’s one of the heaviest sleepers you know. And two, if you can manage to wake her, hell will be unleashed. You’re not exactly sure you want a cranky, sleepy Nat to drive you home. (Her driving is bad enough when she’s happy.) At least your life won’t be at risk for the drive home. So, that left only one option for getting there; Jake. Who, of course, agreed to do so with no problem. 

You’re torn. You want to be angry with him for being so awkward with you earlier, but your ability to maintain your facade is breaking. He’s got you completely worked up, your body on fire from the risky messages he kept sending you. (And it’s that very reason you’re kind of glad he has to take you home.)

But, you’re still pissed that he couldn’t just be affectionate with you like Danny and Nat were. It’s only Danny and Natalia, for christ’s sake. They already know of the fling going on between the two of you, so there’s not any valid reason to try and hide it from them.

It certainly wasn’t much of a double date with him sitting across the damn room from you, only texting you to have a conversation going. And as much as you enjoyed the texts, you wish he’d just shut the fuck up and do something already. 

“What’s the matter with you?” He asks after several moments of pure silence in his car. 

“Nothing,” you answer, keeping your face turned away from him as you stare blankly out of the passenger window. 

You’re beginning to wonder if he can sense the way your body is nearly vibrating as it’s battling with you to give into him, because you hear the faint sound of a snicker coming from the driver's seat.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing,” he says. “But sure. I’ll buy it.” 

What the fuck?

That’s all it takes as your head snaps in his direction, arms crossed firmly over your chest. “You can’t just send me shit like that and not do anything about it, Jake.” You’re desperately trying to sound mad, though your shaky voice is probably a good indication of your true current state of mind. “It’s kind of fucked up, actually.” 

He looks at you before his Rover comes to a screeching halt at the red light in front of you, nearly tossing you out of your seat with the force of his brakes. 

“Yeah?” His left eyebrow is cocked, his lips pursed and his hands have a white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “And who the fuck says I wasn’t going to?” 

Oh.

Your arms slowly drop from your chest as your defenses begin to crumble. Your eyes widen, and your lips part involuntarily. You can’t control it much longer, and you never expected those words to come out of his mouth.

“There she is,” he says, patronizing you. “You never answered my question. So, did you?”

Words don’t feel feasible at the moment. If you open your mouth, you’re not sure you’ll be able to control what comes out of it. 

You simply nod your head to state that you did in fact follow part of his orders, (nodding a bit too eagerly) though you’re doing it nervously because you know you didn’t do everything he asked of you. 

“Well, I’m glad to see you can follow some direction,” he sneers while pressing his foot a little harder against the gas pedal. “But you certainly didn’t do everything I asked, isn’t that right?”

Shit. 

You feel like you can hardly breathe as the Rover is crawling through the intersection, letting his words hang in the air as you desperately search for a valid explanation as to why you didn’t tell him like you promised you would. You know damn well that telling him you forgot won’t suffice. 

The Rover slows a bit, and in your peripheral you can see his head turned towards you. You’re keeping your eyes fixed on the road, pretending as though you can’t tell he’s staring at you. 

But he’s making it so hard to ignore. 

“Isn’t that right?” He asserts his question yet again, growing impatient as he awaits your answer. Though you’re still not fully looking his way, you can see the grin he’s wearing on his lips, and it forces a matching one from you. 

“Sure didn’t,” you say, pompous and arrogant as you keep your attention in front of you instead of on him. 

He shakes his head, letting out a snide giggle. “Rather audacious tonight,” he says, his hand reaching to grip your thigh. Your whole body shivers at the sudden contact that you’ve been incessantly craving all night. 

He knows. He knows how bad you want him, and that very fact is the reason he’s keeping you going like this. 

“They’ve faded, haven’t they?” He continues, more matter of fact than question.  “Should we do something about that, hm?”

You’re getting sick of this back and forth as his driving has seemed to slow even more in the last few minutes. You can’t take it any longer, can’t stand to wait another moment to put your hands all over him.  

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you adjust the center console back as far as it’ll go, leaning over it and meeting his lips halfway. 

Finally getting to taste him again feels better than any dream or imagination. Fuck, you’d forgotton how good he tastes. You don’t even care that he’s still driving, both hands on the wheel, but kissing you as though he’s wanted it as bad as you have. He’s driving slow enough, almost to a complete stop. If there’s anyone behind you, they can just move the fuck out of the way. You’re not stopping. 

He pulls away just long enough to see that there’s a red light in front of him, finally coming to a complete stop. (Thank god.)

He smiles against your lips as he continues, his kisses becoming more aggressive and his fingers weaving tightly in your hair, nearly pulling at the locks. 

When he adjusts himself in his seat, you reach down for the top of his faded black jeans, successfully unbuttoning them with one hand and undoing the zipper with the same grace. 

“My turn,” you whisper against his lips.

“Be my guest, doll.” He scoots himself forward in his seat, giving you the best advantage. “Take your shirt off first, though. Let me see you.” 

Your impatience is weighing on you, so you pull your sweatshirt off by the collar and toss it somewhere in the backseat, suddenly remembering you had decided to forgo a bra tonight when the chill hits your bare breasts, perking your nipples. 

“Fuck, doll.” He grabs your left breast, tweaking your hardened bud before slapping the supple skin, sending flutters to your core and a moan from your throat. “No bra just for me, huh?”

“Shut up,” you growl, leaning forward again to finish what you started.  

He pulls your hair back in a ponytail, tugging tight at your roots to lift your face to him. “Better watch what you say,  doll.” He smirks, biting his lip, knowing how much you fucking loved that by the sounds your making. 

“Yes, sir.”  

“Fuck yes, baby,” he whispers, keeping is grip on your hair.  

He lifts up just enough that you can pull his pants and underwear down to his thighs, at last freeing what you’re craving. 

Jesus Christ. 

God, you knew he’d be big, solely based on how he felt against your palm the first time anything happened between the two of you. You thought you’d properly prepared yourself, but you were absolutely not prepared in the least. 

He’s rock fucking solid, sitting against his flexed stomach. He’s massive, the girth alone has you practically salivating. You’re almost intimidated by it. Almost. But, that makes you want it even fucking more. 

You look up to him, nearly in awe as he’s glowing in red from the stop light ahead of you. 

“Is it up to your standards?” He asks, cocky as fucking ever. 

The red glow suddenly turns to a green one, and when he doesn’t start driving right away, you look back up to him in question. 

“Not ‘til you get started, doll.” 

 Fucking hell. 

You decide to tease him a little, licking the tip lightly, fighting the urge to take all of him all at once. 

You giggle when you hear him suck in a deep breath, gripping your hair even tighter before reaching his hand down to slap your ass. You’ve decided to take full advantage of having to lean over the console, sticking your ass up high, which he seems to very much enjoy. 

You take him in your hand, fully wrapping your lips around the tip this time, swirling your tongue around before sucking and letting go with a pop. 

With a drawn out sigh, he finally lets his foot off the brake to slowly crawl through the now yellow light. He’s got one hand on the wheel, and the other planted firmly on your ass. 

“Perfect. Just like that,” he groans as you wrap your mouth as far down his shaft as you can, tasting the salty skin on your tongue, licking along every protruded vein. You hold him there until you begin to feel it in your gag reflex. You quickly pull back, feeling slightly embarrassed about it. That is, until he says the very thing you need to hear. “Don’t stop because of that. Let me hear it, sweet doll.”

Fuck.

You take him in your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down a few times before lowering as far as you can, removing your hand from the bottom of the shaft, letting your mouth do all the work. 

And this time, when you feel it against the back of your throat, you don’t let go right away. The most beautiful moans come his mouth as you gag around his length, feeling it throughout your whole body, your core tingling with pure need. 

Instead of pulling away quickly, you slowly lift your head, sucking until you reach the tip. You swirl your tongue around it again as you lift away, tasting the precum as it begins to leak from him, strings of saliva still connecting you to him. 

You’re jolted forward with a hard crack to your ass again, moaning as you run your tongue along his tip. “Jesus, fuck—,” he blurts, his hand gliding up your back, griping your shoulder, fingers then weaving in the roots of your hair again as he guides your mouth back down to his pulsing cock.“So good, doll.”

You begin bobbing your head again, only this time, with his hand gripped tight in your hair, he begins moving your head up and down for you. You chose to give him the reins, letting him move you however he pleases. 

And it feels so fucking good. The ache in your pussy is nearly unbearable. A gutteral sound escapes his throat when your hand skims down to your still clothed core, in desperate search of any kind of relief. “Yeah, take care of that sweet cunt for me. I know she’s starved, isn’t she?” 

Fuck, Jake.

He moves your head slowly up and down the length of his throbbing shaft, then picks up speed as his breathing becomes more and more labored, pressing you down even further with every push. 

Your fingers are hastily circling around your clit, pulling you almost immediately to a release with only a few seconds of touching yourself. 

Your breathing picks up, faint moans from your throat, your arms shaking. “Goddamn, y/n. You fucking love this, huh? Nasty little thing, aren’t you?”

The words are strained as they come off his tongue, though you know he’s attempting to sound composed. But given the way his cock is twitching against your tongue, he’s nearing his end, too. You decide to take advantage of it, sucking harder each time he presses your head down.  

“F-fuck, stay right there for me, doll.” He pulls into the lot of your complex, quickly stopping in a parking spot and throwing the gear shift in park. The hand that has been tangled in your hair now rests on the headrest of the passenger's seat. “Gonna let me give it to you?”

You hum in confirmation, taking him as far as you can. You feel his warm cum shooting to the back of your throat, and you keep him there until he’s completely finished, swallowing everything he gives you. 

He sighs, mumbling a plethora of vulgarities. His voice is so breathy, the pitch higher than normal. He sounds fucking beautiful. 

You’ve hardly had a chance to sit up before he’s grabbing your face, pulling you in a deep kiss. “It’s my turn now,” he mutters, breathless while his lips brush against yours. “Get back there.” His finger dips into the waistband of your leggings, pulling and letting the band snap against your hip. “And take these off.”

He’s following close behind as you’re crawling over the console to the middle row, the seams of your leggings tearing as you rip them off your body. 

“Give them to me,” he demands, staring at your baby pink cotton thong, helping you situate your body just as he wants you so you’re sitting comfortably against the inside of the door. 

You carefully pull them all the way down your thighs while he gets down on his knees on the floorboard, his hungry, dark eyes locked on your exposed form. When you hand them to him, you’re equally shocked and turned on when he reaches up to the glove box, opening it with one hand and placing them safely inside. “My little souvenir,” he winks. 

He then begins teasing you, licking long and slow from your knee to the top of your inner thigh, his dark orbs fixed on yours as he does it. 

Keeping true to his promise, he sucks hard on your thigh, menacingly close to your pussy. When he’s happy with his mark, he seals it with a kiss, leaning up to leave his marks along your hips, your lower tummy, kissing each one as he finishes. 

“Mine,” he grumbles against your skin. “This perfect body is mine.”

Perfect body…god. You don’t know how he does it, but he makes you feel so beautiful, so sexy. Feelings you’ve never thought fathomable until he helped you feel them. 

You begin pleading with him to taste you, begging him. He doesn’t listen, his tongue reaching every part of you except where you need him. 

You can’t bear it any longer; you’re utterly fed up with waiting. You slide your fingers down your body, reaching for your core, carefully circling the pad over your middle finger over your throbbing clit. 

Jake leans himself back, gaining a better view of what you’re doing before him. “Certainly not very patient, are we?” He quietly hums, biting his botom lip as he keeps his gaze fixed on your wet, quivering pussy. “God, you’re gorgeous like this. Keep going. And don’t stop until I say so.” 

You become more eager, more fervent in your motions. It’s almost too much, your clit already quite sensitive from just a few moments ago, bordering overstimulation. 

But fuck. You can’t disappoint him, you want to adhere to his command. Him watching you, guiding you, is only serving to add to the pleasure. 

“There you go, doll. Rub it just how you like,” he mutters, leaning closer, teeth grazing the inside of your thigh before he softly bites the flesh. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you sigh.

“Stop.” He takes hold of your wrist, pulling your shaking hand from your clit, glaring at you with a mocking sympathy when you whimper at the loss. “Yes what, my little doll?”

“Yes s-sir.” 

“Good girl.” You gasp when he nips at your thigh again, a little harder this time, soothing the sting with a kiss. He then lets go of your hand, letting you regain your control. “Now, bury your pretty finger inside to feel the mess you’re making.” 

You’d obey his every command at this point, bend to his every will without question. No one has ever held this kind of power over you. 

Your fingers glide through your folds, your middle proding your entrance before you thrust it inside to the knuckle. Your eyes roll back at the warm, wet feeling. Your thrusting becomes quicker, sloppier. You should feel embarrassment from the noises you're making, both your incessant whimpering and the wet sounds of your pleasure. But shame is the last thing on your mind. 

“Yeah, baby. You know what you like, huh?” His raspy, breathy voice is pulling you closer to a blissful end. 

But you’re finding yourself longing for his touch in place of yours. You so desperately want his fingers, his tongue, to bring you through. “Please, I’m–I’m so close…I need you.” 

He hums, sneering as he pulls your hand away again. He brings it close to his face, wrapping his tongue around your glistening finger. He laps away at your juices, closing his mouth around it, sucking until he’s caught every drop and pulling it out with a loud pop of his lips.

“Don’t worry, my doll.” His hands roughly grab at your hips, pulling you down the seat until your thighs are positioned over his shoulders. “I intend for you to cum on my tongue.” 

A moaned breath of relief leaves your lungs when his warm tongue grazes your swollen, pulsing clit. His brows knit, his breathing becoming heavier as he ravenously devours you. 

There’s no suppressing your sobs of pure ecstasy, and the louder you become, the more he gives you. 

His fingers of one hand dig into your hip, the other reaching up to your breast, tweaking and pinching your nipple. 

Just as you’re beginning to fall apart, his lips pull your clit into his mouth, the tip of his tonuge drawing hard and long circles around it. With a wail of his name from your lips, every inch of your body begins to tingle and shiver, uncontrollably shaking. 

You feel like you’re floating, the only thing keeping you grounded being Jake’s hands holding you still. Every star in the universe falls before your vision, every nerve in your body flaming with a fire so intense and hot. 

He keeps his tongue against you, offering slow and soothing licks to ease you down gently from what he knows is the most vigorous orgasm you’ve yet to experience. And he’s responsible for not one, but two within a rather short period of time. 

 “I–I’ve never ha–,” you start, though you’re finding you’re a bit incapable of proper words right now. 

He softly giggles as he shushes you, helping you lift your legs off his shoulders, kissing every expanse of skin he can reach while doing so. 

He then helps you sit up, letting your back rest against the seat. Once you're comfortable, he leans in to kiss your lips, the taste of you still lingering on his mouth, his face still wet and sticky from your pleasure. 

But then, he stops. Suddenly, as if he never truly intended to do it in the first place. 

When he pulls away, the look on his face is one that can’t be sure about. The lampposts in the parking lot illuminate the worry present in his eyes, the sudden reservation he’s having about taking this any further. 

“Jake?” 

He looks to you, pecking your lips before leaning over to grab your clothes laying in the seat next to him. When he hands them to you, it all begins to become rather clear; he doesn’t want sex. He never wanted sex. 

You can’t force him to do something he obviously doesn’t want to do. You huff as you quickly take the clothes out of his hands, sure you’re putting everything on backwards with as fast as you’re covering yourself. 

“Hey, don’t be like that,” he calmly says as your frustrations (sexual frustrations) are very evident in your body language. “It’s just— not here, okay?”

You’re remembering where your panties are when you pull your leggings up your thighs, feeling like you have every right to ask for them back, but deciding to just let him have them. “If not here, then where, Jake? If you don’t want to just tell me—“

“Don’t you dare let yourself think that I don’t want to.” 

He shuts you up with a hard kiss against your lips. If he wants to do bad, then why is he…? Is it Stacy?

Before you can let your thoughts run rampant, you hear your phone vibrating from the front seat. You break away from him to grab it, already know who it is before looking at the screen. 

When you answer, you don’t even need to hold it up to your ear to hear your mom angrily yelling at you to get your ass home. “Sorry, mom. I’m outside, I’m coming,” you say before hanging up. 

“Looks like you got your wish,” you say as you open the door, being sure you have all of your things. When you close it, thinking that’s the last you’ll see of him tonight, you hear him opening the door on the other side and quickly prancing around the car to meet you. 

“It’ll happen, doll. Patience is not your virtue, is it?” He quips, the grin on his face telling you he’s thinking of your impatient spell from earlier. 

Goddamnit. You can only stay mad at those lips for so long. 

“Guess not,” you snide as he pulls you in for a hug. The softest, sweetest hug he’s ever given you. You can feel the beating of his heart quicken against your chest as you squeeze him a little tighter. As angry as you are, you just don’t want to let go, to let him go. 

It’s just not in the cards for tonight…again. You have to be okay with that. 

It doesn’t mean you’re happy about it, though. He told you it’ll happen. You have no choice but to take him for his word.

“Goodnight, doll,” he tells you as you break the hug, knowing if you don’t now, you may never.

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A couple days later sees you at home with your mom, busting your ass to get shit done that you wish you didn’t have to do, as per your usual evening routine. You still keep finding yourself very much longing for the times when your mother could do household chores as well… but anytime you think those thoughts, you immediately feel guilty for ever wishing that. The lists just seem to get longer and longer each day.

Your mom is sick. Very sick. But, it doesn’t stop her from grating on your last fucking nerve. Like she has been doing all evening.

“Is dinner almost ready?” Her voice carries across the entire apartment, marking at least the fifth time she’s asked in the last twenty or so minutes. Your patience is wearing more and more thin each time she shouts for you.

"Almost, mom," you call out, your voice surely conveying the irritation you're feeling. You just can't muster the energy to conceal your annoyance any longer. By now, she has to be aware of how it's fraying your nerves, and it's painfully evident that she couldn't care less.

It’s been like this for a while now, and today has been especially horrible. Her demands have been increasing lately, and her dependence on you has taken new form. Ever since she was in the hospital, and when you found yourself falling down the rabbit hole of events from that night, things have just been…different. 

And anytime you’ve been gone lately, she makes sure to lay the guilt on as strong as she possibly can. The guilt has every potential to eat away at you, but since the discovery of her not taking her medications, since you caught her in an enormous lie about who called the ambulance, (who is Dodger?) you’ve found it a little easier to not let it consume you the way it used to.

Still yet, you’re a people pleaser to your core, and she knows that. She’s been using that to her advantage, keenly aware of the effect it has on you.

And she doesn’t care. No, as long as you’re dropping everything for her, she doesn’t care how you feel about it. Even something as necessary as going to work has her questioning your loyalty to her. You’ve explained time and time again that you have to work, because she very obviously can’t. Doesn’t matter to her, though. Seems she’d rather go without than have you gone for any extended period of time. 

Nat isn't oblivious to the way your mom treats you, and she hasn't been shy about expressing her distaste over your situation. Yet, you feel completely ensnared in your circumstances. You can't simply walk away from your mom; she depends on you. She still needs you. The mere thought of leaving her catapultes you into a whirlwind of shame, and you doubt it would truly be any better for your mental wellbeing.

You're caught in a bind with no apparent way out. 

So, once again, here you are. In the same place you are nearly every night, preparing dinner for her while you listen to her endlessly complain about how long it’s taking you. 

She’s calling for you yet again while you’re putting the final touches on her plate of baked chicken and broccoli. A new recipe you decided to give a try, at Jake’s suggestion via text as you’d mulled over what to make for dinner to him that afternoon. 

With a deeply rooted sigh, calming your nerves before you approach her, you take her plate to her bedroom where she’s been all day. She’s in the very same spot she’s been in since she woke up this morning, in her fortress of nearly every pillow and blanket in the apartment that she’s created on her bed. Aside from a few trips to the bathroom, she’s hardly moved at all. According to the doctor, the best thing for her is to move, keep her blood flowing. But, she won’t do it. Not that you’re surprised in the least.

“What on earth took you so long?” She asks with an arrogant, fake smile. 

“Wanted to try something new tonight,” you counter, handing her the very warm paper plate that she’s nowrefusing to take. “Just took me a little bit to figure it out.”

“Nope,” she says, holding up her hand in refusal and shaking her head as she motions for you to place it on the bedside table. “Too hot.” 

Frustrated disbelief begins to overtake you for a moment, but you manage to find the strength to compose yourself. No sense in arguing and upsetting her. “Do you need anything else right now?” You ask while you set the plate down beside her ice water. “If not, I think I’ll go finish up some homework, if that’s okay.”

If that’s okay? Of fucking course it’s okay. But she’s made you feel that lately it’s not okay to take a few moments to yourself. Even for homework. 

“I’m fine for now,” she says, keeping her eyes locked on the television in front of her bed. “I’ll let you know, sweetie.”

Still not looking at you, and without even so much as a simple ‘thank you,’ you decide to just leave her room. She’s right, she’ll let you know when she needs something. She always does. 

“Love you, mom.” 

“Love ya,” she says, blankly and distant, as you’re nearly out the door.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You had decided to put The Princess Diaries on tonight for some background noise to do your homework to. Though, you’re realizing that choice may have been a mistake. You can’t keep your eyes off of the screen. This movie brings you so much happy nostalgia. God, what you’d give to have those days back. The days you’d come home from school, pick out your favorite snack and sit on the blue couch with little yellow flowers stitched in the fabric, watching whatever movie your tiny heart desired. 

Those days were so much easier. Even when things were hard back then, and they most definitely were, it was never the end of the world. At least, it never felt like it. Certainly not like it does now. 

Nothing is the same anymore. Not a single thing. So much has changed, and so quickly, too. 

But right now, as you’re watching Mia discover that she’s the reigning princess of the beautiful Genovia, with Julie Andrews to help her grow into the woman she’s destined to be, you feel the same sense of wonder you’d feel when you’d watch this as a child. That child that still held so much innocence and curiosity in her little body. That child that still had both of her parents, and even though they didn’t always love each other, she still had them. 

You feel the single, warm tear fall down your cheek, landing on top of the closed lip smile you’re wearing. 

You’re sad, but it’s a happy sad. The kind of sad that pulls you right back to a simpler time, begging you to remember something you’ve started to forget.

You’re a bit startled when you feel your phone vibrating against your leg, taking your attention away from the big reveal of Mia’s royal makeover. 

Your heart jumps up into your throat when you see that it’s Jake calling you. You wait just a moment to hit the green button, letting it ring a few more times so it doesn’t seem as though you’re too eager to answer. But, you can’t allow yourself to wait much longer.

“Hi, Jake,” you finally answer, cringing at your voice and the sudden very high pitch you’ve acquired. God, the way he makes you feel.  

“Hey,” he says with a deep, stifled voice. “What are you up to tonight?”

He sounds…different. Solemn. This tone isn’t familiar to you. Not at all. You don’t recognize it.

“Are you okay?” You ask, feeling as though your question just might be more important than his. 

“Just fine, doll. Can I come pick you up soon?”

He still sounds off, and when you take your phone away from your ear to look at the time, you’re even more perplexed when you realize it’s nearly midnight. 

“Jake it’s pretty late, I don’t think I can leave my mo— “

“Yes you can,” he cuts you off before you can finish, knowing just what your next words would’ve been. “I need you right now. I’m on my way.”

He hangs up the phone before you can try and argue it. And as much as you feel like you shouldn’t leave her, you know that it truly is fine if you do. What he said before the call was cut off, that he needs you… You haven’t the slightest clue what that could possibly mean, but you don’t want to question it. He said he needs you, and that’s more than enough to convince you out of the apartment. 

He’s on his way, so you need to hurry and get ready as quickly as you can. Surely, you’re not going anywhere fancy in the middle of the night, so a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt seem appropriate enough for your attire. It's not cute, but it’s practical. 

Now, your mom.

She’s not exactly been the biggest fan of you being out of the apartment as of late, and it’s not lost to you that she won’t be happy with you leaving right now. 

But, when you peek through the cracked door of her bedroom, you see that she’s fast asleep. She’s usually a pretty heavy sleeper, and with the constant humming of her oxygen machine, it’s rare that any noise penetrates her slumber. 

There’s a good chance that she’ll never even know you were gone. You’ve decided it’s best to let her sleep; what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. 

Jake must’ve been driving awfully fast. It’s just over a twenty minute drive from his place to yours, and it’s only been about ten since your phone call. But, he’s just sent the text that he’s here. You don’t want to keep him waiting, so you grab your black puffer and head out the door without giving your mom much of a second thought. 

She’ll be fine.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

He’s silent as you climb into the passenger's seat. The only sounds being the thrumming engine of his Rover and Tom Petty’s voice over the speakers. 

“Learning to fly…” You acknowledge the tune as you buckle yourself in. “One of his best.”

“Yeah,” he quietly starts as he backs out of the parking spot. “Was my dads favorite.” 

There’s a heaviness in the car as he drives away to the unknown destination. A sad, sorrowful weight that you can almost see sitting atop his burdened shoulders.

It’s not often that he’s slumped over when he drives; this body language is one that you’ve not yet seen from him. Is it the song bringing back loaded memories? You know that feeling all too well. 

“Jake…are you alright?” You ask, timidly. But you can’t stand not knowing what’s wrong. Out of instinct, you place a hand on his knee and squeeze just enough so that he knows you’re here, in whatever way he needs you right now. 

“Just didn’t want to go alone,” he answers, keeping his eyes on the road but placing his hand over top of your own, weaving his fingers with yours.

Once the song ends, the very same one begins playing again, as though he’s got in on a continuous loop. There’s something going on, something that’s making him miss his parents a little more tonight. 

“Are you okay with a little road trip?” He asks, keeping his hand held tight to yours. “Frankenmuth is only about an hour away. I just need to be there, and my brothers are asleep and I–” 

“Of course I’m okay with it,” you say, assuring him when you begin to hear a slight crack in his voice, his emotions making it almost too difficult for him to speak. 

His grip on your hand lets up a little while he clears his throat. “Thank you, y/n.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You began to nod off a little on the drive up, but made sure to keep your hand on him, laying your head on the padded part of the center console when your eyelids started to become too heavy to keep open. 

You never fully fell asleep, just wanted to rest your eyes. So, that means you were able to feel each time Jake brushed your hair out of the way when it’d fall over your face every so often. Or when his hand found its place on your shoulder, his fingers gently playing with the fabric of your puffer coat.

Though you weren’t completely asleep, you pretended as though you were. You didn’t want him to stop, and you feared letting him know you were mostly awake would make him want to. 

The same song played the entire time, and you found an odd comfort in it. And it’s clear he found immense comfort in it, as well. He started out humming along, then after a while began quietly singing a few of the lyrics.

“Some say life will beat you down, break your heart, steal your crown…”

Just as you’re about to finally drift away, the car comes to a complete stop and he turns the ignition off. 

You lift your head, and through hazy eyes, you see the little wooden sign in front of you that says you’re at the Riverside Cemetery. 

“We’re here,” he says softly, helping you sit up all the way. 

He gets out of the car, quickly walking over to your side and opening your door before you have the chance to. He reaches to the back seat, grabbing a heavy bunch of flowers that were laying on top of a towel. 

It’s pitch black, no lighting at all in the entire place save for the flashlight on Jake’s phone. 

With his hand in yours, he leads you through the unstable grounds, going slowly to be sure you’re steady on your feet. It’s cold, but the wind is still and calm, making it bearable. 

The sounds of chirping from the early morning insects are all around you, the distant hooting of an owl can be heard somewhere beyond the graves. It smells like freshly collected dew against the grass and trees. There’s a quiet peace all around you, the cemetery carrying a sense of rest and remembrance. 

It’s beautiful, really. A beautiful, peaceful sorrow. 

You’re about halfway through the grounds when Jake stops in front of a headstone, the one that sits alone underneath a bare cherry blossom tree. 

Your heart aches as you read the names engraved on top of the black marble, tears almost instantly welling in the back of your throat. 

Kelly & Karen Kiszka. 

His parents. 

And if it wasn’t harrowing enough, you see their death date. At the stroke of midnight, right before he called you, it became the anniversary of their passing. He carefully lays the flowers on top of the grass, then kisses his hand before placing it over top of their carved names.

That’s why he needed to come here. And he needed someone with him, he needed you with him. 

He’s usually devoid of heavy emotions, but you hear faint sniffles coming from him as he kneels before the quiet tomb that holds both of his parents.

You kneel down next to him, letting him know that you’re still here with him while he silently mourns. While there aren’t many tears falling from his eyes, the few that cascade down his cheeks glisten in the moonlight as it illuminates his face. You feel it with him, you feel all of it. His grief radiates through to you, sitting atop your chest as though you knew them, too. He loved them. He loved them so much. 

There are so many things you want to say right now, yet the words are lost to you. Sometimes, words just aren’t necessary. Sometimes, a person's presence is more than enough. And right now, as Jake reaches for your hand, his fingers weaving with yours, you know that you needn’t utter a single word. He just needs you here.

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The sun is just beginning to peak over the distant horizon. You’ve been on the road back to Ann Arbor for about thirty minutes now, and though not much has been said, it feels nice. His presence is nice, and you can feel his gratitude for yours. 

You feel yourself becoming more and more drawn to him, to who he truly is beyond the gruff exterior he’s tried to conceal himself behind. 

As you’re starting to see it break, you’re realizing that he may have never been as cruel as you thought. The recent past with him feels incredibly faraway, especially in this very moment with him. He’s at last let himself be vulnerable with you, let himself be real. You can’t be certain, but you’ve a good feeling that doesn’t happen often with him. It’s just how he chooses to present himself, and you feel awfully grateful that he’s allowed you to see this version of him that he’s decided to keep mostly hidden. 

“Can I treat you to some breakfast?” He asks, merging left on the highway that’ll lead you home. “I just feel bad for having you out so late…or, early, I suppose.”

You giggle as you take him up on his offer, knowing that it means you’ll get a little extra time with him. “What’s even open at this hour?” You ask, noting the 5:02am time displayed on the screen of his stereo. 

“The Fleetwood Diner,” he answers. “Used to go there all the time with my grandpa. You’ll love it.” 

“Sounds wonderful,” you say with a smile, but it quickly fades as you come to a horrid realization; your mom. You’ve already been gone for far too long, and you know that her alarm is set to wake her around half past five. If you go to breakfast with Jake, she’ll wake up to an empty apartment. She’d be absolutely livid if she were to realize you’ve been gone all this time. “Shit, Jake. We may have to raincheck.” 

“Your mom, right?” He asks, knowing all too well the myriad of guilty feelings you had the last time you left her for an extended period of time. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say. 

“Don’t be,” he smiles, his hand gripping your knee. “I understand.”

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“Where the hell have you been?” She screams before you fully step inside the threshold. “I’ve been calling you and calling you! Why haven’t you answered me?” 

“I guess I didn’t hear my phone—” You reach in the pockets of your puffer, stumbling all over yourself as you’re trying to get inside, only to realize that you didn’t even grab your phone before you left. It’s still sitting right when you left it after Jake called you hours ago. “Shit. I forgot my phone, I’m sorry mom.” 

She’s pissed, visibly pissed. Her features are cold and hard, her lips tightly held together. This version of her…you’ve only seen a few times, and it’s not pleasant. It’s not who you’ve known your mom to be your whole life. That’s what you’ve thought, at least. 

“You think it’s okay to leave me, huh? What if something were to happen? What if I collapsed again and you weren’t here again to help me? Remember that, y/n? Remember how bad you felt that night?” Her voice is vibrating off the walls, penetrating you deeply. You flinch with every word she yells, feeling yourself crumble and wither away as her voice becomes louder, her tone becoming more and more demeaning. “You said you’d never do it again. But, you left.” She shrugs, letting her arms fall to her sides. “Left me here without even bothering to tell me.” She pauses, sardonically chuckling and shaking her head as she sits herself on the corner seat of the couch.“You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t care about me. How do you like that? My own daughter, my very own flesh and blood. The one I gave birth to, couldn’t be bothered to care about me.” 

You’ve been accustomed to taking a lot from people. Taking their anger, their sadness, their grief. It’s part of who you are; you’re everyone’s favorite punching bag. 

But this…this isn’t something you’ll take lying down. Everything she’s just spit your way is wrong. For her to think for a second that you don’t care about her…when you’ve given her everything you have is just…

No. No more letting her take control of every facet of your life. She’s made it impossible to be your own fucking person at this point. No more shame, no more guilt trips.

No more. You’re fighting back this time.

“Are you fucking serious, mom?” Her face instantly drops, as though she wasn’t expecting much of a response from you at all, let alone this. “I do everything for you! Everything, mom! I hardly have a life because I’m here taking care of you!” You practically rip your coat off and toss it to the floor, not caring enough to put it in the coat closet. She’s stunned, staring at you with blank eyes. “And not once have I complained. I’m the only one that works, the only one who cooks, cleans, and you have the nerve to tell me I don’t care? I have begged you to take your medications and you fucking refuse. I can only do so much when you won’t do a damn thing!” 

You hate the words coming out of your mouth. They sting, they hurt. They taste like pure poison. But you’re done being taken advantage of. Normally you’d let her words slide under the table, move on and forget about them. But now, she’s accusing you of something that isn’t true. 

“That’s why you collapsed that night, isn’t it? Because you wouldn’t take your meds.”

She gasps as she jumps up from the couch, her body jolting away from the cushions as she rips her oxygen tube from her nose. She stomps towards you, hoping you’ll back down out of fear. 

But you’re not done. You’re not giving in. 

“The doctor tried to tell me and I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself, and I still gave you the benefit of the doubt. I defended you, mom. And you lied to me.” 

“I never lied to you,” she insists, her index finger inches away from your face. Her teeth are clamped, her face shiny with sweat. 

“Okay,” you say, holding your ground as she’s attempting to intimidate you, but you won’t let it work. “Then care to tell me who the hell Dodger is? Because I’m pretty sure Dodger is the one who called the ambu–” 

“You disgusting, ugly little bitch.” Drops of spit spray your face, making you take a step back out of utter shock. “You are the reason my husband left, you know that?” Her finger makes contact with your chest, poking you hard with her overgrown, red polished nail. “He left because he couldn’t stand having you as a daughter. He told me so! And you know what? I don’t blame him. Don’t blame him one bit. He was smart to leave. Wish I would’ve a long fucking time ago. He beat me to it!”

You almost lose your balance, her finger digging deeper into your chest. But as you take a step back, she pulls away, seeming to suddenly realize the pure venom she just spewed at you. The evident hatred that she’s harbored for you, that she’s apparently always harbored for you.

After everything you’ve done…

“Oh Jesus, y/n! I didn’t mean to say—” She grabs your hand, but you pull away from her as soon as she makes contact with you. “I don’t know what I was thinking…I just…Y/n, please forgive me.” She begins coughing, though, they sound fake. Like she’s trying to regain your sympathy. As much as you hate it, you still find the need to reach down for her oxygn tube and help her put it back on. She still needs it. Regardless of whether she’s faking this coughing fit, she still needs it. 

You’re in shock. Pure, hazy shock. You feel the silent tears falling from your eyes, silent only because you don’t feel like you’re crying. The tears are instinct; purely uncontrolled. No sobbing, just tears. Quiet, distant tears.

It felt as though this was a long time coming, like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to say it. As you’re standing here, letting your thoughts amass in your suddenly aching head, you’re feeling no surprise over what’s just happened. 

You won’t even look at her as she’s pleading with you, begging that you’ll forget this whole thing. But her cries sound more and more muted as you stand here, feeling the ultimate betrayal from the person you thought you could trust the most. Feeling betrayal from both of your parents. Both of them who apparently have never loved you.

Shocking, but not surprising. 

“You okay for now?” You ask, monotone and barren of any emotion. “Because I–I think I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”

You hear her begging for you to stay in the living room with her, but you’ve chosen to not listen as you begin walking towards your bedroom door. 

The pounding in your head is almost debilitating as you lie down on your bed. 

You just want to sleep. You don’t want to let your mind race, let your thoughts take control. Sleep will keep that from happening. Sleep will drown out the sounds of her crying for you in the living room. Sleep will take you away from it. From all of it. Even if only for a few hours, before your day is set to truly begin, sleep is what you need the most right now.

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Your head has been so spacy this morning. The drive to school felt almost robotic, hardly any thoughts passing through your mind as you drove down your favorite, hidden road with where trees seem to reach the clouds. Usually, your morning drives allow you some peace and serenity. That just wasn’t the case today. When you arrived on campus, it felt like the drive didn’t even happen altogether, like you just transported yourself to your designated employee parking spot. 

Your mind just feels empty, clouded. Like nothing is real, yet everything is all too real at the same time. You debated on skipping class and work today, staying home, locked away in your room to let yourself sleep it all away some more. 

But ultimately, you realized that being home is, truthfully, the last place you want to be today. And if anything is going to force you to feel something, it’s school and your beloved library. You can fill your vacant mind by keeping yourself busy with the things you feel you have some control over.

You’ll still have to run home before work to check on your mom, just like you do every single day. Though, she’s convinced you that it’s not enough. That nothing you do for her is ever enough. Never has been, according to her. 

Stop. Don’t think about it. 

You’re here pretty early, so there’s not much else to do besides sit alone in your old clunker of a car and wait for the coffee shop to open. You’re in desperate need of some caffeine. Perhaps an extra espresso shot is in the cards for you today. Whatever it takes to get through, to put on a happy face and pretend nothing is wrong.

As usual. 

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“There’s only a few more weeks of the semester, which means your projects will be due very soon,” Dr. Movack announces as soon as class begins, shutting the lecture hall doors as he speaks. “It’s crunch time, folks. Your work should be nearing completion, and if it’s not, you should reconsider where your priorities lie.” 

His booming voice is one that you’ll never get used to, the way his tone bounces off the walls, as if he’s holding a powerful microphone in his hands. Which, of course, he’s not. But he sure sounds that way. It intimidated you at the beginning, but now, you find a weird sense of comfort in it. And you actually think you’ll miss it once the semester is completed. 

While he’s giving his usual several announcements, your attention is taken away from him when you feel Jake’s warm hand meet your upper thigh. His fingers begin tracing along the inner seam of your leggings, and it’s sending a wave of goosebumps throughout your whole body. 

God, you needed this today. Needed some kind of affectionate touch, some reassurance. You needed him. And it’s almost as if he knew you needed him, too. 

Safe to say, you’re not really listening to Dr. Movack anymore. You’re far too consumed with Jake at the moment, and as much as you hate being distracted from your class work, he’s probably the best distraction you could ask for. 

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“You working tonight?” Jake asks as the two of you waltz through the courtyard through the center of campus. 

It’s still so wonderful to you, even though the blossoms aren't as lively as they were a few months ago. With the early winter beginning its rein, the cold and crisp wind flowing through the now lifeless blooms, it’s a different kind of beauty. Still beautiful, though. And it still calms you, still grounds you. 

“Yep,” you answer, emotionless. 

“Are you going home first?” He continues. 

That question sends a wave of nausea to your tummy. You don’t want to go home, risk more confrontation with your mom. Having to still take care of her even after what happened... The mere thought makes you feel physically sick. Faint, almost, at the memory of last night. And as though it just happened, the sting on your heart from her words suddenly reappears. 

Without thinking, you reach your hand up to your chest to hold your necklace from your dad that you’ve not taken off in days.

“Mhm.” 

He blows a bit of air through his nostrils, stopping where his feet land and grabbing your hand to stop with him. “Somethings wrong,” he says, taking his sunglasses off as he looks at you, his tone conveying his genuine sense of worry. “Did something happen?”

Of course he can tell. He can see right through you; he reads you better than any book. 

And he’s right. Something is very much wrong, and it’s causing your mind to be awfully distant. But you’re nervous to tell him what is wrong. Feels embarrassing to you, a bit shameful. What if she’s right? About everything?

You’d wondered it more than once after he left, if you were the reason he couldn’t bring himself to stick around. 

She wouldn't have said it had you not been so mouthy to begin with, had you not asked so many questions. (What's worse, they were questions you’re not entirely sure you want the answer to.) You know you’re not completely responsible for her choice in words. But you can’t shake the thought that everything that has gone wrong in your life has been because of you, right down to your dad leaving. 

“Kind of,” you admit, feeling incredibly weird at the thought of talking about early this morning. “Just a really big fight with my mom,” you sigh, reaching up to touch your necklace once more. 

“Did you make amends?” He asks. 

“No, not really.” 

You feel the urge to cry, to shed real tears for the first time since it all happened. But you swallow it down. Crying about it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do, doesn’t seem like it would do any good. The only thing it’ll do is force you to feel it, and you’re not ready for that just yet. 

“Hey,” he says gently, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. He must notice your mind drifting away again, or the tears that are trying to fall from your eyes that you’re holding back. “Do you want to tell me about it?” 

“I don’t know, kind of.” 

“Well, I’m all ears if you want to tell me,” he assures you. “But no pressure if you’re not ready to.”

You want to tell him, right now just isn’t the time. You’ve not even made sense of it in your brain yet, and that’ll make it even harder to articulate it all. 

“It’s just…” You sigh, thinking of how to carefully place your next words. “She’s not herself lately. Or, maybe she is herself, I just haven’t noticed it until now.” 

Your fingers rub over your initial on the gold plate. A source of comfort for you, though it’s suddenly not nearly as comforting. 

“What did she say, y/n…” He gently takes your hand from the jewelry, gripping your fingers tight within his. “Tell me what she told you.”

How do you even begin? Do you tell him you’re pretty sure that you’re the reason your dad ditched? That your mom all but confirmed one of your biggest fears last night? 

Deep down, you know there’s a chance she only said it out of anger, that she didn’t truly mean it. But, regardless, the words were still said. You may never forget them, no matter what she says or does to try and rectify. What’s done is done. 

“Just…,” you sigh, fingers reaching for your head to rub away the tension there. “She just said some pretty harsh shit about me that I’ve already thought to be true. And hearing it from my mom was…I really just want to forget about it.”

“I don’t know what she said, and I’m not going to make you tell me if you’re not ready,” he assures while softly pulling you into a sweet and gentle embrace. “But whatever she said, it’s not true. I know it’s not.”

It might be, though. She could be right…

“Thank you, Jake.”

He holds you a little tighter, closer to his chest as you’re basking in his distinct sandalwood and vanilla scent. “I’m going to get you out of there,” he whispers, his hand coming to gently hold the back of your neck as he kisses the top of your head. “I promise.” 

Why is she keeping Dodger from me? 

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You hardly spoke to her when you were home to make dinner before your shift. She did, though. Tried starting multiple conversations, as though nothing was wrong. 

It invalidated you a bit, that she seemed to have let herself get over it so quickly. It’s just not as big of a deal to her, you gathered. As long as you’re there to make her food and coddle her, even after what happened, she couldn’t care less about the way she’s treated you. 

Perhaps it’s water under the bridge at this point. It happened, there’s nothing that can be done about it now. No sense in dwelling on it further, though your emotions still feel a bit stunted.

It just makes you wonder— if your dad were here, would any of this be happening? Would he let her act this way? 

You want so desperately to think he wouldn’t let any of this happen. And, perhaps that’s somewhat true. 

But, he still left. He surely knew the responsibilities he’d be leaving you with, and that didn’t stop him. 

That makes you believe that while he knew, he just didn’t care. 

But fuck. You miss him so bad right now. And you’re angry that you miss him. You can’t even be sure that things would be much different had he not left, but you’re holding on to the chance they may have been. 

In the wake of every fond memory you’re having of him lately, your resentment for him grows stronger and stronger because of that. 

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“You’re not actually planning on wearing that, are you?” Nat spouts from your bedroom closet, watching as you take a clean sweater off its hanger, one of your tried and true black fluffy ones that you wear at least once a week. 

“Damn, didn’t know the chief of the fashion police was my best friend,” you joke, holding the sweater up to your body as you stand in front of your vanity mirror. “What's wrong with it? I think it’s really flattering on me.” 

Flattering may be a bit of an overstatement. Something with such an exaggerated, oversized fit can only be so flattering on your body. 

You don’t know why you’re still so nervous to let go of this fixation on big clothing, especially around your friends who’ve seen you in some incredibly revealing costumes. 

But, the urge to hide is still ever present, even after everything. You want to have a good time tonight, to not be so consumed with insecurities because you chose to wear something that fits your frame a bit more snug than normal.

Aside from that, you can feel every bit of that turkey and swiss you ate for lunch earlier, sitting right in the lower part of your stomach, in your arms, your thighs…

You had been feeling faint today, and as much as you tried to ignore the ceaseless rumbling of hunger in your tummy, you gave in. That familiar feeling of your blood sugar dropping also set your nerves alight, and when you start feeling like that, you know it’s time to give your body something to tide yourself over for a while. 

Your brain didn’t want you to, but your body has begun to feel the effects of your restrictions as of late. And as much as your thoughts are overbearing, the ones that tell you not to eat for a multitude of reasons, you're fearful of the effects of malnutrition. 

And you know that is a big part of recovery, to be scared of what will happen to you when you go so long without any substantial food. 

So, half a turkey on rye was just what you needed. Though, you had to fight with yourself to not go for a bag of baked Lay’s chips, too. 

The sandwich was enough. Plenty, actually.

But you knew as soon as you ate it that the feelings of guilt would make their appearance. And, just as you suspected, here they are. Right on queue as you’re trying to figure out what to wear tonight that Nat won’t disapprove of.

“Babe, to be flattering,” she shuffles toward you, taking the sweater from your hands and tossing it out of sight. “You can’t be hidden behind something that can fit two of you.” 

Hidden. 

She crosses the threshold of your closet in search of something she deems appropriate for tonight. But she drops her arms to her sides, letting out a dissatisfied sigh as she discovers how limited your wardrobe options truly are. 

“What about that outfit you wore the night we went to the haunted hou—” 

“No,” you interrupt, stopping her before she can say much more about that evening. “Anything but that.” 

It’s not that you didn’t like that outfit, you actually quite loved it. But, since that night, those pieces of clothing now hold a negative connotation. The events of that night have become intertwined into the stitching.You have it in your right mind to rid your closet of those pieces once and for all. 

“Okay then. So, what do you normally wear to your birthday parties?” She asks while pulling out a few sweaters and crewnecks, weighing her options for styling you for tonight. “Like, what did you wear last year? Because surely you didn’t wear one of these tired things.” She holds up a particularly large sweater, one that you wear often enough that you know she recognizes it. 

She’s right; these pieces are worn out, their threads are tattered and tired. Very tired. Nearly as tired as you are that you feel the unabating need to wear only them every single day. 

“Well,” you start, preparing yourself to tell her the incredibly sad reality of your entire life. “I didn’t have one last year. Actually, I’ve never had one.” 

She sets the sweater down on the shelf sitting below the hanging clothes, turning her body to fully face you, a sorrowful look present in her usually happy eyes. 

“You’ve…you’ve never had a birthday party? Even as a kid?” She asks, shocked. 

“Never.” 

She scratches her head, a loose curl falling over the faint freckles on forehead that she brushes away. “That’s sad as fuck, y/n,” she admits, sitting on the floor as you follow suit in sitting across from her. “Why haven’t you? Does your family just not celebrate birthdays or—?”

You bring your knees up to your chin, wrapping your arms around your legs as you silently contemplate it all for a moment. Something that has never been a big deal to you or anyone around you, is suddenly very sad to someone else. You’d always been a little sad about it, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you. It’s been your ‘normal’ for a long ass time. 

“My mom always told me that celebrating my birthday wasn’t necessary, that I should be “celebrated every day,” not just one day of the year,” you say, adding air quotes to emphasize your moms words. “But, I don’t know—  it’s not like she really held true to that. I wasn’t even allowed to go to birthday parties, let alone have any friends. My dad always tried to change her mind but—” 

You feel so strange talking about this, talking about your mom like this. As if she’s suddenly the villain in your life, not your dad. It’s a tough realization that you’re not sure you’re ready to confront just yet. But given everything with your mom as of late, the other night…fuck. It’s a hard thing to grasp, to think that you’ve been manipulated so badly that you’ve gotten it all wrong. 

But the more you think about your childhood, about the move to Michigan, about the strange inconsistencies with her illness and her refusing to take her medications as prescribed, the horrid words she used and still uses against you…

It’s becoming impossible to leave it at the back of your mind any longer. It’s taking up a lot of space in your psyche these days. 

“I think she meant well, Nat. I mean, she is right about one thing,” you stand up again, wanting to remove yourself from this suddenly far too vulnerable position. “We shouldn’t only feel love on our birthdays. We should feel celebrated all the time.”

“Y/n.” Her voice is assertive as she stands up to meet you. “You don’t need to try and defend her, especially if it hurts you that she never gave you a fucking birthday party.” She shakes her head in utter confusion, and you can feel the irritation from her over how you still manage to find it necessary to defend your mom. It’s ingrained in you to do that, though. A trait you’re slowly unlearning as things come to light. “I can’t make sense of a lot of things your mom does to you, but especially that.”

“I know, it’s just…” You’re keeping your voice as quiet as you can. She’s asleep, on the opposite end of the apartment, but still. You can’t risk her hearing what the two of you are talking about. “I’ve gotten used to it, I guess. It’s been my whole life, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for me.”

“Just because you’re used to it,” she says, thankfully matching your low volume, placing a loving hand on your shoulder. “Doesn’t mean it doesn't hurt.”

She’s right. Fuck. She’s always right.

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Nat successfully convinced you to make a quick run to the mall to find something nice to wear tonight. 

“You deserve to feel pretty for your first ever birthday party,” she told you. 

So, here you are, galavanting across Briarwood Mall in Ann Arbor, searching for a store that strikes your fancy. The only one so far being Alter’d State. You’re almost sure there isn’t one of these within a hundred miles of your childhood home, so this is the first time you’ve seen this renowned clothing store in person. 

But once you look at the price tag of the first top you see, you’re tempted to get the hell out. A bit out of your price range, to say the very least. 

“Keep looking,” Nat insists, clearly picking up on your (apparently very obvious) hesitations. “Don’t let one price scare you. There’s a lot to look at.”

You spend a good amount of time shuffling through the racks, convincing yourself that none of these things could possibly work for you. 

But the hard truth of the matter; you’re just buying time so you don’t have to do the scary inevitable— trying something on.

Everything that Nat has shown you, you’ve found some reason to not want to try it on. 

The fabric is too scratchy, you can’t afford it, it’s not your ‘vibe.’ Basically, you’ve been searching for any excuse you possibly can to avoid the ever daunting dressing rooms. 

And now, as you’re turning down the probably tenth item she’s shown you, you can sense her frustrations with you. Though, in true Natalia fashion, she handles it with pure grace and care. 

“Tell me what you are looking for, what you’ll feel good in.” She puts the dress she found back on the rack she pulled it from. “Give me an idea of what you want and I’ll help you the best I can. But you’ve got to give me something to go off of, because you’ve hated everything I’ve shown you.”

If you’re honest, you have no clue what you’re looking for. Well, aside from something you can hide your body beneath, but Nat won’t allow for that. 

So, as you’re glancing around the store, you finally see something that catches your eye. A lovely corset tank top, reminiscent of the corset in your red Guiniverre dress. But, this top is a pretty periwinkle color, and it’s nearly full lace. (Which makes you think of your other Guiniverre costume.) 

It’s not something you’d ever be able to picture yourself in, but you’re drawn to it, nonetheless. 

“I think I like this,” you say to Nat as you walk over to take it from the rack. And to your amazment, your size is the one hanging closest to you. A sign? 

Nat gasps when you take it, speed walking to you. “This is so fucking cute, y/n! Do you want to try it on?” 

Fuck no. 

“Yeah, guess I should,” you say, deciding it’s probably best to answer that way instead of the way your brain wants you to.

“You know what would look good with this?” 

Someone with a better body? 

“What are you thinking?” You inquire. 

“A good ass pair of dark wash jeans. Maybe even black jeans, with a mom fit.” 

Fucking jeans. Dear Jesus. 

She drags you around the store to find her exact vision until she stumbles upon the very jeans she had pictured in her mind. You feel like you could puke when she asks you what size you wear. 

But instead of telling her, you lightly nudge her aside to look for yourself. And just like the tank top, your size is the very first one on the rack. Weird. 

As much as you despise jeans, you’re somehow feeling the same attraction to these faded black ones that you felt towards the periwinkle top. They’re really fucking cute, and the baggier ‘mom’ fit is far more appealing than the horrid skinny jeans you used to wear in high school. Gag. 

“These are perfect. Get over there and try these bitches on,” Nat tells you, pointing to the wooden dressing room door directly behind you.

The attendant lets you in, and when you shut the door behind you, your every fear of these damned things are becoming realized. 

And a big reason why you hate them so much— the giant ass mirror that you’re forced to face your reflection in. 

Why can’t you just be confident all the fucking time? It’s not like you completely lack it; it just presents itself at the most random times. Or, when you’re with Jake, when whatever powers he possesses over you force the confidence out of you, allowing you to do what you did to him the other night when he took you home. (That you have not stopped thinking about since.)

But, right now, you’re having one of those other moments, the ones that are full of loud thoughts of self doubt, of self destruction. And while Nat’s intentions are good, you’re finding it hard to allow someone else to help make these kinds of decisions for you. Especially someone as perfectly and beautifully built as Natalia Delores.

The thoughts are keeping you frozen solid before this huge mirror under the most invasive, bright fluorescent lighting. (Why can’t they use more forgiving lighting in these things?)

Get out of your head, y/n.

A knock on the door lulls you out of your fearful stiffness. “Have you tried them on yet?” Nat says, her sweet voice beckoning you to get over this massive bout of anxiety. “Come out and let me see!” She continues. 

“One sec,” you tell her, taking a deep breath in order to muster the inner courage necessary to face this (ridiculous) fear. 

You can’t even remember the last time you were inside of a dressing room, trying on something new, something so far out of your comfort zone. 

But, if you can be on film in a number as revealing as your little black lace ensemble, you can certainly do this. You feel so silly that this is so ridiculously hard for you, when you’ve done much more in front of a group of people and a camera.

Thankfully, the corset top is equipped with padding in the chest, so a bra isn’t necessary with it. Once you remove your crewneck and bra, you take the corset and as quickly as you can, (so you can’t over fucking think this anymore) you unlace the back and pull it on over your head. 

Yet again, you’re frozen in your fear. You’ve not even laced the back yet, not even so much as looked in the damn mirror. You’re terrified to look and find yourself hating it. 

In fact, you’ve already made it up in your mind that it’s going to look horrible, so what’s the point in looking? Why even bother with it when…

“Y/n! Get your cute ass out here and let me see!”

Ugh.    

You want to see yourself before she sees you, so with a silent three, two, one countdown, you look up and face the formidable mirror.

The first thing you notice isn’t your body… It's the color of the shirt. You instantly note how flattering this shade is against your skin, how it compliments your hair. It looks good…?

You half-assedly tighten the laces in the back, not bothering to perfect it at the moment. 

Then, your focus switches to your arms, one of your least favorite parts about yourself. While they’re on full display, something you try not to allow for, you have to admit to yourself that they don’t look too bad. And, with as chilly as the weather has been these days, there’s nothing saying you can’t throw on your pleather jacket for warmth and security. 

But, you don’t hate the way your arms look.

That’s a first. 

With one item officially out of the way, you’re feeling a little better about the whole thing, a bit more confident to try on the jeans that are undoubtedly a lot scarier for you. But with the top being a pretty decent success, trying on the jeans suddenly feels less intimidating.

You remove your leggings, one leg at a time, before taking the jeans and undoing the button and zipper. 

When you put the first leg in, you let out a sigh of relief when you find how easy it is to slip your leg through. The next leg is just as easy, too. 

But now, it’s the moment of absolute truth. 

Sucking in as hard as you possibly can, (though you quickly discover that isn’t entirely necessary, you still do it. Force of habit.) you attach the loop to the button, then slowly pull the zipper up. They fit. And they fit really well. This is the first pair of jeans you’ve tried on if god knows how long. 

As you examine the way they look on your body, being sure to check every angle of yourself that you can, you’re shocked at how good they look on you. The legs are a comfortable, loose fit, but they fit snugly (not too snug) around your hips and ass. And they make your ass look incredible. 

You hadn’t realized how long you’ve been standing here until Nat very loudly clears her throat, your reminder to show her the completed look she helped you pick out. 

“Coming!” You announce as you get one final glance in before letting her see.

Her jaw drops the moment you step out of the tiny room, her eyes scanning up and down your body as you walk through the door. 

She still hasn’t said a word. You haven’t a clue what the fuck that means, because you’ve yet to witness a silent Natalia since the day you met her. 

Does she hate it? Does she love it? You feel awkward as hell standing before her with her completely quiet like this. It’s making you wonder if the whole thing truly looks like shit on you, or if you’re just not meant for clothes like this.

“Well? What do you thi–”

“Why the fuck don’t you wear things like this more often?” She interrupts, garnering the attention from the rest of the damn store as she does so with a vibrant voice, your embarrassment is palpable in your anxious laughter. 

She silently apologizes to each passerby with a timid wave of her hand before she (a little more calmly) continues. 

“You look hot as fuck babe,” she says, walking closer to you to get a better look. “Seriously, why don’t you wear things like this?” She asks again.

The blush rises to your cheeks at her compliments. You’ve never had real friends, let alone a friend to build you up like this. Your own mother doesn’t even bother to lift you up the way Nat does, and you’ve only known her for a mere few months, versus your whole life with your mom.. 

“I’m just having a hard time with—” Feeling out of control, letting myself eat, hating my body, wishing I looked like you. “Just a bit insecure, I guess. But I love this outfit. Do you think it’s okay for the party?”

She knows you, and she can tell you’re not saying what you truly want to say. How do you even articulate what you’ve been feeling as of late? That you’ve suddenly relapsed and reverted back to your old eating habits? Or, lack thereof, rather….It’s like it never left. It’s been dormant within you, waiting for the perfect trigger to wake it back up.

Though, you can’t figure out what triggered it. Your dad leaving? Your mom? The move? The film project? Stacy and her perfect, gorgeous frame that caught Jake’s attention long before you did? God, you want to forget about her. But you can’t. She won’t stop coming around and if you want to keep whatever the fuck it is you have with Jake, you need to look your best. 

“It’s perfect,” you hear Nat say amidst your swirling mind. “And you better fucking wear it. No giant ass sweater that swallows up all of this.” She playfully taps your ass, acting as if it’s so hot that it burnt her fingertips. 

“I promise I’ll wear it,” you chuckle. “No giant ass sweaters.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The last chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ has at last come to an exuberant end, with Josh throwing a few dramatically loud vocal runs on the last note to be sure his is the last voice heard at the end of the classic tune.  

Thank goodness you share a birthday with Malachi, so you’re not standing in front of everyone by yourself as they serenade you, this being the first time you’ve ever been serenaded on your birthday. (You’re kind of glad you’ve not had to experience this torture every year; it’s awkward as hell.)

It seemed Malachi could sense your discomfort throughout the whole thing, so he kept his arm wrapped around your shoulder until the song ended, squeezing you every so often so you knew he was there with you. 

And Jake could sense it, too. He smiled at you the entire time, winking when they vehemently sang your name after Malachi’s and you could feel the warm blush painting your cheeks. 

The party has been far more than you could’ve ever imagined. Josh, being the master designer he is, spared no cost when decorating their apartment for yours and Malachi’s shared birthday bash. 

It’s truly so beautiful, not that you expected anything less from Josh. You and Malachi both have an adoration for plants, and this being something Josh also loves, there’s no shortage of greenery flowing throughout the space. (More than usual, that is.) He’s even put together little potted succulents for everyone to take home. 

Aside from the vines and ivy splayed throughout the apartment, there are balloons galore of white and green floating freely, along with a few clear ones complete with wildflowers inside them. 

And, your favorite part; your very own birthday cake, decorated in sage and white with “Happy birthday, y/n!” in off white buttercream, written in perfect calligraphy on the top. 

It's so incredibly sweet that you and Malachi both have your own, personal birthday cakes, that Josh made sure you both feel special tonight. It’s all so much more than you could’ve ever asked for, right down to the gorgeous spread of sushi along the bar in the kitchen. 

Though, as if they can pick and choose when to weave their way in, the thoughts are yelling at you to not partake in the incredible dinner that’s been provided for the night once Josh invites everyone to the kitchen to come eat. 

You want to eat. God knows you do. But, the voice telling you not to is nearly overpowering the hunger you’re feeling. You’d spent all day convincing yourself that the turkey sandwich from earlier was more than enough to sustain you for the day. (Though, you know that isn’t true.)

You’ll feel guilty if you eat, you’ll feel guilty if you don’t eat…but choosing to not eat would perhaps raise a few questions that you’re not in any place to answer right now. 

So, what the fuck do you do? You’ll be miserable no matter what, but what will make you the least miserable? 

Your silent contemplation seems to have garnered a bit of attention from Josh, his gentle touch to your forearm dragging you away from your thoughts. 

“You okay, darling?” His sweet voice, quiet and unassuming, is just what you needed to help make up your mind.

You’ll eat, but only a little. Not enough that your stomach will feel full and bloated, but enough that you can show Josh the gratitude he deserves for putting all of this together for Malachi and you. 

“Just fine, Josh,” you confirm with a genuine, sincere smile. “Thank you so much for all of this. I feel like I don’t deserve any of it.” 

He cloaks his arm around your shoulder, similarly to the way Malachi did just moments ago, melting a sense of comfort into your body. “You’re deserving of all of it and then some, my dear.” 

And with that, he leads you arm in arm to the kitchen, as though he could hear the burgeoning thoughts you were struggling with, knowing you needed someone to go with you. 

“Nat told me, by the way,” he says, handing you a plate as he begins filling his own with a few spider and rainbow rolls.

“Told you what?” You unknowingly ask as you scour the spread for the California. 

“That this is the first birthday party you’ve ever been thrown,” he admits through a warm, tender smile. “We really wanted to make this special for you, my brothers and I. And Natalia, of course. I certainly hope it’s met your expectations,” he winks, nudging you softly with his shoulder. 

“It’s beyond my expectations, Josh.” The words are a little choked, your throat becoming tightened due to the tears welling in your ducts. It does feel special. So special. The fact that they would go through so much, simply to make sure you felt included. After a lifetime of feeling utterly invisible, this whole thing is wildly new to you— new in the most wonderful way. 

The emotions are rising, though you’re able to swallow them down. But, Josh can tell it means a lot to you. He simply smiles, planting a sweet kiss to your temple as he finishes filling his plate.

“But, I must admit,” you begin, sniffing away the last of the tears that tried to form. “A giant ass sushi bar is a bit cliche, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah, right you are,” he says. “This is not the meal fit for a queen, is it?”

You both break out in a fit of giggles together, and you’ve finally found the damned California rolls. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re one of those people,” he scoffs, watching as you put a few on your plate. 

“What do you mean, one of those people?” You ask, chuckling. 

“Those who only eat that fake sushi,”  he jests. “If you can even call it that.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The drinks have been flowing freely for the better half of the evening, lively chatter now filling the air after a few intense rounds of charades. 

Something you weren’t prepared for (though you absolutely should’ve been) was the sheer amount of competitiveness between the twins. And that was very apparent when they both got more than a little carried away during the last round, nearly getting physical with each other. 

But, things have since quieted down, and now it’s almost as if nothing had happened in the first place. They’re right back to joking around with each other, laughing almost as loud as they were yelling only moments ago. 

You're always left in sheer awe by the way these two can fight as though they wish the other dead, then seemingly forget about it a few minutes later when they’re completely back to normal. 

“How about a little game of never have I ever?” Josh questions. “I’m up for some revealing truths tonight,” he chuckles while positioning himself on Malachi’s lap, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Only if you and Jake behave your-fucking-selves,” Danny answers, laughter sounding throughout the room at his quick wit. 

“We always do, Daniel,” Jake remarks, walking back into the living room with his freshly topped off drink. “Couldn't imagine what you’d be talking about,” he finishes, sarcastically.

He takes his seat in the Nova Lounge chair, while you’re nestled in the plush cushions in the corner of their sectional next to Danny and Natalia. The way Jake is sitting, he’s directly across from you, perfectly within your view and you in his. (This certainly feels familiar…)

He’s hardly spoken to you tonight, save for a quick peck to your cheek when you walked in and when he told you you’ll receive your gift from him on your actual birthday. (It’s pure torture to have to wait an entire week to know what he got you.)

You’re learning to not take his distance too personally when you’re around everyone, though it does sting a bit. At least Stacy isn’t here tonight to take up all of his attention like last time. (Thank god for that.)

“We’ll behave. Won’t we, Jacob?” Josh insists, lifting his glass in a dramatic ‘cheers’ to his twin, who does the very same thing. “So, who’s the brave soul willing to go first?” 

Everyone is exchanging glances around the room, waiting for someone to volunteer, and you breathe a sigh of relief when Sam offers to be the first one. 

But the relief suddenly dissipates when you and Jake make eye contact, and you can tell by the way he’s rubbing his chin with his pointer finger that he has something to say. 

“No, I believe y/n should go first,” he claims, his attention entirely on you by this point. “What do ya say? Up for the challenge?” He continues, a self-satisfied grin on his lips. 

You’re most definitely not too keen on going first but, you’re also not willing to make yourself look bad by turning him down. So, you’ll do it. Get it over with.

“Sure am,” you respond to Jake, mirroring the same smug look he’s wearing on his face. “Are we doing the classic put a finger down if you have, taking a drink instead?”

“Definitely taking a drink,” Sam says through one of his notable giggles. 

“Got it,” you say, switching your attention back to Jake as he stares your way. “And, um, just how personal are we getting with these prompts?” 

Jake nearly chokes on his drink after you ask your question, and while you manage to contain your laughter, Josh and Sam most definitely do not. 

“Whoa there, Jakey!” Josh exclaims, eyes wide and mocking as he brings his hand up to his mouth. “I thought you could handle your whiskey a little better than that!” 

“Yeah,” Sam joins in, hardly able to speak through his incessant chuckling. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to drink it, not inhale it.”

But even amidst his brother’s joking antics, Jake’s devilish eyes haven’t left you, and the only ones who seem to notice this (aside from you, of course) are Natalia and Danny. 

His brothers remain oblivious, and Jake doesn’t seem to care too much about them making fun of him, which is quite out of his character. Clearly, what you said has struck some kind of nerve within him. And you’re absolutely relishing in this power you’re holding. 

“Uh, as personal as you want, I guess,” Danny interjects, breaking the tension he and Nat are sensing and effectively lulling Jake from his silent glares.

“That’s right,” Jake continues Danny’s thought, flipping a middle finger at his brothers, but aside from that choosing to mostly ignore them. “You set the stage, doll.” 

Doll. 

Fuck. You can’t deny what that little pet name does to you. And he knows that. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s trying to regain his control over you, (doing a pretty good fucking job at it) but you have an idea of what you can do to get it back.

Two can play at that game, Jake. 

You won’t get too intimate, but just enough that it’ll force a reaction out of Jake.

“Okay,” you begin, pretending to be deep in thought about the first prompt, though you know just how to start this whole thing. “Never have I ever given someone a lot of hickies.” 

Keeping your eyes fixed on Jake, he winks at you as he takes a big drink. You don’t even bother looking around the room to watch anyone else take a sip, though you’re sure at least a few of them are. It may not be the most revealing prompt, although that wasn’t entirely your goal. You knew asking this would ignite a specific memory in Jake, and it appears it worked just how you intended.

“Ah, what a lovely start,” Josh inserts, unaware of the growing tension occurring between you and his twin. “Who’s nex–”

“My turn,” Jake interrupts, cutting his brother off. “Never have I ever received a lot of hickies.” The prompt flies out of his mouth seemingly without a second thought.

Touché, Jacob. Touché. 

You snicker to yourself while you make sure to take a sip of your drink. His eyes have become a little heavier, darker… like they were both nights he decorated your body with the very same hickies you’re referencing. 

And now, as the two of you have your eyes set on eachother, the rest of the room is finally catching on to whatever you have going on between you. You hear Josh clear his throat, attempting to move on from this (sexually) tense air you two have brought in the room. 

“Uh… next?” Josh hesitantly asks, exchanging a few confused looks with Sam. 

“I’ll go!” Nat offers after a bit of delicate silence in the room, bringing everyone’s attention back to the game. 

Well, almost everyone. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The night has finally begun to calm down, and Josh proposed the wonderful idea to prepare some hot chocolate and relax with a movie. This is his favorite way to end any night, and you couldn’t love that more about him.

As everyone knows, Josh is perpetually in charge of choosing the movie you’ll watch when he’s here, so no one says much of anything when he asks for requests. 

“Anyone in opposition to a little hair-raising thriller this lovely eve?” he asks, using the Roku to pan over to their shared Prime account. When no one voices any objections, he clicks through their purchased movies, stopping at The Shining. 

Being the Kubrick fan you’ve discovered him to be, you’re not shocked in the least. More often than not, movie nights at the Kiszka’s almost always result in a film under his direction.  

Not that you’ve felt the need to complain; you’re quite the fan yourself. And of this movie, especially.

“Ah! Splendid choice,” Sam shouts from the kitchen, pouring himself yet another glass of Camarena, choosing that instead of the hot cocoa you’ve all opted for. “This one should make y/n happy.” 

Oh fuck. 

Suddenly, a flood of anxiety ripples through you, tightening your lower stomach into hundreds of tiny knots when you realize what he’s referring to…

Sam knows about your tattoo. Your Shining tattoo. And Jake knows about your tattoo, as well.

But Jake doesn’t know that Sam knows. In fact, you’re the one who told him as much. You are the one who lied to him.

You're hoping to god that Jake, by the grace of the entire universe, didn’t hear what he said. And if he did, that he won’t put the pieces of this insane puzzle together.

But, given the instant flare of his nostrils and the sudden clench of his jaw, it’s all but confirmed. 

He heard. And his mind is going exactly where you were hoping it wouldn’t. 

“And what makes you say that, Sammy boy?” He asks with a stern, knowing tone. His body is facing Sam, but his eyes, hard and dark, are fixed on you. His glaring stare is piercing through your being, and it is not a happy one.

“This has got to be one of y/n’s favorite movies,” Sam proclaims, the alcohol in his system keeping him from reading the tense, irate tone in Jake’s voice. (Or, maybe he’s just used to it by now, doesn’t think to bat an eye at it anymore.)

“Uh huh,” Jake huffs, keeping his eyes on you while running his tongue angrily over his bottom lip. “Am I to presume that’s what she told you?” 

He knows. He fucking knows.

“Well, not exactly,” Sam answers, his features encompassed in his innocent smile, taking a big swig of the honey toned liquid in his glass and spitting out the ice cube that passes his lips. 

You’re almost sure Jake can hear the erratic beat of your heart. You’re holding your breath, keeping it locked tight in your lungs, afraid that letting it go will result in Sam revealing your secret. 

But it’s not working. Not one bit.

Sam takes a breath as he begins to speak, and you’re mentally pleading with him to keep quiet, hoping that he’ll somehow hear the voice in your mind that’s begging him to not say it.

“She’s got that Redrum tattoo on her chest, so I assume that means she’s a pretty big fan. Am I right, y/n?”

Jesus Christ. 

Jake hasn’t stopped glaring at you, only becoming heavier in his vexed stare. His anger is very much evident by the change in his breathing, the sharp air inhaling and exhaling through his flexed nose. 

“No way!” Josh interjects, obviously blind at the sudden tension between you and his twin. “I would love to see it!”

“Don’t you dare,” Jake mutters through gritted teeth, silent enough that it’s hardly legible, but you heard it as it was only meant for your ears.

There’s no fucking way in hell that you’re about to show them all your biggest secret. It’s bad enough that Sam had to announce it the way he did, especially after you swore to Jake that no one, specifically Sam, knew about it. 

You’ve been horribly caught in your lie. A lie that you didn’t even mean to lie about; it just happened, as if you had no control over the response you gave him. You can’t be blamed. It was in the heat of a moment that you had waited for for so long. You didn’t want to risk fucking it all up.

If he were to ask you any other time, you wouldn’t have lied the way you did. It just felt like the right thing to say in that specific moment.

But you’ve a feeling the tattoo isn’t what Jake is thinking about; it’s the fact that he now probably thinks you lied about way more than just that. 

���︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“It’s not what you think, Jake.” The words fall from your mouth before you can even close his bedroom door behind you.

“Yeah?” He challenges, throwing his phone on his bed, but with such force that it bounces off the mattress completely and lands screen first against the floor. But that is very clearly the least of his worries right now, as it seems he didn’t even notice his phone taking a tumble. “Tell me what I’m fucking thinking, then. Since you know so well what’s going through my mind.” 

He’s not yelling. But you almost wish he was. 

The deep grovel in his voice is coming from a place of pure anger, perhaps even hurt?

God, you hope not.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” you insist, maintaining your innocence with your stern tone and eye contact. 

“Then explain how he knows.” He quickly paces across the room back toward his bed, kicking his phone out of his way. “And I would like to know why you felt the need to lie to me.”

“I didn’t mean to, I just…” How do you even begin to explain your thought process? That you wanted to fuck Sam to get to him? That the only reason his brother is privy of your tattoo is because you were willing to go to the ultimate length with him, all for the purpose of making Jake jealous? 

No. He can’t know about that. 

Although…

You hate to admit, but you’re kind of enjoying this jealous streak from him. How his cheeks have become flushed in a bright red, the way his nose is twitching, his hard and stern features that carry the weight of a man deprived… 

You didn’t sleep with Sam. You and Sam both know that. 

But Jake…

He thinks you did. 

And instead of tripping all over yourself in an attempt to tell him the pathetic story of what actually happened, you may as well keep him on this jealous leash for a bit longer. See how far you can take it, how far he’ll let you take it. 

Perhaps he’ll take his little envious, self loathing party out on you. 

He doesn’t own you. You’re nothing “exclusive.” What you choose to do (or not to do) with your body is none of his fucking business. He isn’t allowed a say. And his pissy fucking attitude is absolutely unwarranted. 

But however unwarranted, you can’t deny what his angry demeanor does to you… 

It turns you on in ways you can’t explain. His body language is always sexy to you. But when he’s mad…

“He just saw it. Simple as that,” you spout, keeping your tone cold and composed, your arms crossed tight over your chest. “The night of the spookhou—sorry, haunted house, before you had to take me home. Sam just wasn’t in any condition to drive that night, that’s why you had to.” 

It’s not a lie. 

But perhaps what it implies is. There are a few tiny details you’ve purposely opted to leave out, a few you’ve chosen to embellish…but you’re not lying. 

“That so?” You can see the gears turning in his mind as he’s staring blankly at his bed in front of him, keeping his arms closely held against his sides. “Care to tell me how he saw it?” He continues, looking back over to you as you’re still standing near the closed door. “And you have yet to tell me why you fucking lied to me about it.”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you carefully contemplate your next words, knowing that what you’re planning to say could potentially set him off. (But in the best way.)

“Guess I didn’t see the need in telling you what really happened, you know, since I’m not yours to claim.” 

Even you tense up at your statement, and the way his body has suddenly stiffened tells you that your words did exactly what you intended them to do. 

True as it is, that you aren’t his, (although you desperately wish you were) you only said it to get even more of a rise out of him, to test him in brand new ways, see how far he’ll let you take it.

You’re not lying, so there’s no actual validity in his accusations, but fuck…the veins in his arms are making your pussy ache with pure fucking need for him. 

And his jealousy is clearly backed with a need for you, or else he wouldn’t give a fuck about Sam seeing your hidden ink.

“How do you think he saw it, Jacob? Seriously, I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” 

He aggressively pushes his hair out of his face, dampened with irate sweat, before glaring at you with a vexed expression. His eyes are almost as dark and heavy as they were that night, the first time his fingers made home inside of you. And fuck, the things it’s making you feel…for him to look at you like this again. Like the night in his Rover…

“Fuck you, y/n,” he spits through the beginings of a smirk that he’s attempting to hide.

You should be fucking pissed at the disgusting words he dares to speak to you, but the feelings they elicit throughout your being only cause your need for him to grow even stronger.  

He’s being an asshole. But all it’s doing is lighting the flames of your desire ten fucking fold. 

You’ve come to learn that the shit that comes out of his mouth, the rude shit he says to you, comes from a place of pure lust, of absolute need.

You can see it in his eyes— the way he’s breathing through his nose, the very obvious tension in his body that clearly needs relief in some way. 

And it’s as though he’s not even trying to hide it. His body is speaking the words his mouth refuses to. You can tell by the way his eyes scan over your body, and how he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth each time he does. 

There’s a chance he’s in need of it as badly as you are. It’s built up inside of him; it’s been built up. 

The way he talks to you, it just…

It doesn’t piss you off the way it used to, doesn’t make you feel worthless anymore. 

It does something different to you now. After that night with him, after filming when he got so upset over your scene with Sam, it changed everything for you. 

Now, when he’s angry like this, you know there’s something different behind it.

So, the only thing you can confidently think of to respond…

“Fuck me? Seriously, Jake?” You assert, crossing your arms across your chest, pushing your breasts up in the process. His eyes follow. You take a few steps towards him, the room silent as your next words leave your lips. “I wish you fucking would.” 

You’re not sure where this rush of confidence came from, or what it is about Jake that brings it out of you. But you really love this version of yourself, and it seems that he enjoys it, too. 

The look on his face is one that you’ll keep burned in your memory for as long as you live. The heaviness encompassing his eyes, the kind that is derived from a deep, animalistic desire, and the complete shock mixed with eagerness present in his features at your brash statement.

You opt to remain silent, standing resolute before him, unwavering and silently daring him to accept your challenge.

And when a smug grin teases the surface of your lips, he can’t help but mirror the same expression. But, his smile is fleeting, only lasting long enough for you to see the adoration he carries for you beneath his gruff sur. 

“On the bed,” he demands, snapping his pointer finger toward the black, satin covered mattress. Your knees become weakened at his command, at the way his arm flexes as he gestures to the bed. And all you desire is to obey his every order but, what’s the fun in giving in right away? You’ve tested him thus far, single handedly forced him to vocalize his need for you. Who says you can’t test him a smidge further? You want him nice and (very) worked up. 

You stop yourself from fully submitting yourself (as bad as you desperately want to. God, the things he makes you feel), choosing to keep yourself in a firm stance, arms still crossed over your chest, being sure your boobs are peaking above your arms. 

He’s most definitely privy to your (very much fake) resistance, and just as you knew it would, it’s only provoking him further. 

Yet another knowing smirk splays across your lips as he does the same, knowing exactly what you’re doing. 

“I said on the bed,” he gestures once more to the bed, keeping his haughty eyes on your now incessantly trembling body. “Now.” 

As much as you’d like to keep this little game going, you can’t deny it any longer. Your body is beginning to betray your facade, and you just can’t keep looking at him and not feel the unmeasurable urge to let him ravish you the way you’ve needed for a long ass fucking time now. 

With an almost embarrassing speed, your body falling apart at the deep whispered rasp in his voice, you at last give into his delicious order. 

He watches in satisfaction as you practically throw yourself against the mattress, laying your body down in a way that shows off your curves that you’ve always hated, but somehow you’re finding the urge to display yourself before him. 

And you can tell he fucking loves it.

“Lying is punishable, don’t you agree?” He saunters toward the bed, slow and purposful steps in your direction as your heart begins pounding inside your chest. “But punishable to what extent is the question, I suppose.” 

“Very punishable,” you confirm, gripping your breast and letting your legs slowly fall open. “And I think the extent is up to your discretion, sir.” 

There’s something new in his eyes, something dark and hungry. He comes to the edge of the bed, grabbing hold of you by the ankles and roughly pulling you closer so that your legs are dangling off the mattress. “You just might regret that, little doll.” 

He runs his hands up your legs, squeezing your thighs, trailing up them until they find the button fly of your jeans. He undoes the button then the zipper, taking his time, then pulling them off of you at a speed that you nearly can’t comprehend. 

Throwing them somewhere across the room, he sits next to you, feet planted on the floor. “Come here,” he says, patting his thighs. 

The pulsing need in your cunt, along with the sexy, demanding tone he’s using against you has you moving to straddle him without hesitation. 

“Nope.” He takes your arm, stopping you before you can get settled.“I want you over my knee.”

He snickers at you when you suck in a sharp breath at his demand, fighting against the urge to completely submit to him. You have to find it in you to keep testing him, because you’ve loved where it’s gotten you thus far. Pushing your limits with him…it’ll only get you exactly what you most desire. 

So, as much as you want to position yourself over him right away, you chose to stall a little. And when you see the dark glisten in his eyes, you know your little scheme is working out just as you intended. 

“What’s the wait, my pretty doll?” His thumb and index grab hold of your chin, pulling your lips closer to his only to tease you with the promise of a kiss. “Can’t take a little reprimand?”

“I can take it,” you retort, chasing his lips only for him to back away completely, his eyes suddenly not so dark and heavy.

“I want to establish something first,” he starts, taking the ends of your hair laying over your shoulder, twisting them between his fingers. There’s a bit of a change in his deameanor, something softer. Almost as though he’s removed the mask he’s been wearing since you stepped foot in his bedroom. “I need to be sure you’re okay with everything. If at any point it’s too much, you must tell me, okay?” You nod your head as he lets go of your hair, brushing his knuckles along your arm. “I’ll ask you for your color. Green means keep going, red means stop. Use yellow if we need to slow down. I need your word that you’ll do this for me, doll. I don’t want you to be uncomfort-”

“I promise, Jake,” you interject, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly in yours. Your heart swells at his sentiment, though you know that he could never truly hurt you or put you in any position that you wouldn’t like. 

He smiles at you, warming your spirit. But then, as quickly as his disposition softened, the mask is back on and his eyes are craving something darker once again. “You promise, who?” He asks, cupping his hand over his ear, awaiting the correct way you’re meant to address him. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now. As you were, my doll.” He pats his legs again, and this time, you can’t find the strength to wait any longer for your punishment.

You lean down diagonally over his thighs, holding yourself up on your elbows and knees, ass held high in the air. 

“These are pretty,” he hums, smoothing his palm gently over your ass still clothed in your cheeky, sheer black panties. “I’ll sure miss them.”

“What do you me–” Before you can finish, he’s easily ripped them clean down the middle, leaving the pathetic reminemts on your body as most of your ass is now fully exposed. 

“You told me it was up to my discretion.” His palm gently collides with the uncovered surface of your ass, rubbing soft circles where it landed. “I just hope you know what lies ahead,” he whispers, leaning down so his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“I’m ready to find out, sir.”

You turn your head to look at him, seeing the satisfied smirk along his plump, pink lips. “There’s a tradition for birthdays, and I know it’s not quite yours just yet, but…” He lifts his hand, cracking down on your ass with a bit more force this time, jolting your forward. “I think you’re more than deserving of a little early, celebratory custom.” 

You do your best to suppress your grin, biting your lower lip to hide just how much you truly love this. But, you’re not surpised in the least when Jake catches on. “I don’t think you’re supossed to enjoy your punishment,” he jests with a devious smile. “Should’ve known better with you, doll.” 

He pulls his hand back once again as you brace yourself for another. But he waits an excruciatingly long period of time, building anticipation, making you squirm as his hand hovers over you. “Just when I think you can’t get any prettier…” 

He slaps your ass much harder this time, the sting left from his palm radiating throughout your entire body. “Color?” He asks, soothing where his hand landed. 

“Green, sir.” Your voice is shaky, but full of pure need. “Please, more.” 

“My naughty doll,” he sneers, lifting his hand to give you another. “Count them.”

You confirm that you understand, and after you suck in a sharp breath in eager suspense, his hand slaps your cheek again, just as piercing and deliberate as the last time. His other hand gathers your hair to hold in a tight ponytail, holding your head up in his steadfast clutch. 

“One…two…three…” 

He switches back and forth, slapping the left, then the right, yet still being intentional in soothing the tender flesh after each one to ensure you’re okay. 

“Four…five…six…”

He stops, delicately rubbing where your skin is sure to be bright red. “Color?”

“Gr-green, sir, green,” you stammer, arching your back the best you can to be on display for him. “I-I think I need a few more, just to be fair.” You turn over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him once again, to see his reaction to your near desperation for him to have his way.

“So filthy, doll.” 

“Seven…”

“You really shouldn’t like this as much as you do.” 

“Eight…”

You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs as he keeps going, getting to ten before he decides you’ve had enough. (Though you know you can handle more, you’re ready for whatever else he’s going to give you.) 

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” He inquires, cocky, rubbing his hand over the sore skin. “Because the pretty pink color on your ass would certainly say you have.” His fingers then graze over your dripping pussy, causing you to tremble and whine beneath his light touch. You hear him tsk when he runs his hand along your inner thigh, feeling exactly how much you enjoyed his discipline. “You are a needy little thing, aren’t you?” 

With a slow, torturous glide, his middle finger enters you. His grip on your hair from his other hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you still as he thrusts his digit slowly, in and out. 

“F-fuck,” you sigh. 

It’s such a deliciuous, yet tortorous feeling when he stops, though he only stops long enough to add his ring finger alongside. Without much warning, he begins quickly pumping them in and out of you, the upward position of his hand allowing him to reach the very place that craves him. 

The hand holding your neck briskly moves to cover your mouth, as the sounds you're making are most definitely far too loud given there’s still a living room full of people just feet away. While you’re sure the music Josh is playing is enough to drown out most of the lewd sounds coming from behind Jake's door, you’re certain the wails coming from you would penetrate the volume in an instant if he wasn’t helping to muffle you. 

But just as you’re beginning to feel the onset of your relief, Jake stops, pulling out his fingers and slapping your ass so much harder than anytime before. 

“Jake!” You shriek, not from the sting, but from the absence of him inside of you. “No! Why the fuck did yo–” 

“Watch your mouth. You can wait,” he says, sharply. “You’ll get what you want. You always do.” 

He helps you up to sit on the edge of the bed, ripping off the rest of your tattered panties while he moves to stand in front of you. “And right now,” he utters, bending down so that he’s eye level with you, grabbing hold of your chin and swiping the pad of his thumb over your lips. “I have a better use for this back-talking mouth.” He pushes his thumb past your lips, sticking it in as far as he can as you make a show of sucking on it. When he pulls it out, dragging your lower lip, he replaces it with his tongue before deeply kissing you.

He leans back up to begin unbuttoning his dark gray linen pants, but you’re becoming frustrated with how slow he’s doing so. And judging by the pompous look on his face, he’s doing it on purpose.

Cheeky fucker. 

“Jesus,” you scoff, reaching out to help him finish the damn job. “Just let me do it.”

He moves his hands, holding them palm up at shoulder length as he allows you to take over. “My, my. Rather zealous, are we?” He clicks his tongue, his voice deep and gruff. “Don’t get used to this upper hand, doll.” 

You roll your eyes while you finish what he so obviously wanted you to finish, letting the linen material fall to his ankles. You scoot yourself up to the very edge of the bed, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him even closer to you. 

He accused you of being over zealous, and as much as you’d like to tease the fuck out of him right now in the same ways he did you, he’s absolutely correct. There’s no sense in waiting to give him what he wants, what you want. The way he’s straining so hard against the tight fabric of his black boxer briefs…your mouth is nearly watering at what lies beneath the thin material. 

You dip your fingers in the waistband and pull them down in one single, brisk motion. And though you recall his size from the night in his Range Rover, you’re still in utter disbelief. 

“Open for me,” he orders, dragging your lip down again with his thumb. “Remember your colors,” he says, teasing the tip against your tongue. “I’ll keep asking you, but if you can’t speak, pat my thighs.”

You nod your head, reaching up to take his length in your hand, but he smacks it away. “No, my doll. Only your mouth, just like last time,” he quietly utters, slipping himself in as far as he can until he’s pushing gently against the back of your throat as you softly gag. “What’s your color?” He questions, slowly pulling out all the way so that you can answer him. 

“Green, sir.” 

Looking down at you, those heavy, whiskey colored eyes staring into yours, he smiles sweetly before pulling your hair back. “Good.” Without him even having to ask, you eagerly open your mouth for him again. With an amused smirk, he thrusts himself back inside. He’s going slow, letting you taste him while you can feel every pulsing vein gliding on your tongue. 

He pulls away again, then begins thrusting in and out at a much quicker pace, stimulating your gag reflex each time he reaches the back of your throat. 

“Color?” He asks, pulling out quickly so that you can speak. 

“Green, green,” you hurriedly answer, wiping away the string of spit falling from your lips. “Please, keep going.” You hold your mouth open for him, looking up to him with pleading eyes. 

“Needy and greedy,” he sneers, holding your hair back even tighter as he slips back inside your mouth. “I like this version of you, doll.”

He fucks your mouth at a fierce pace, holding your head in place while he does so. “Keep looking at me with those pretty eyes, baby,” he tells you, slowing a bit to allow you to catch your breath. “Get it nice and wet, okay?”

He keeps going, and fuck, as hard as it is to keep your eyes open, you don’t want to miss the way he looks above you. His knitted eyebrows, the little praises he’s mouthing, how his eyes will close only for a moment out of pure pleasure before he looks back down at you. 

You feel him twitch inside of your mouth, pulsing and begging to be relieved. “F-fuck,” he stammers, pulling himself away from you before he lets himself finish. “Color?” He asks again, winded, sweat forming at his hairline.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath as you wipe away the saliva sticking to your face. “Green.”

His fucked out state, his half-closed, lidded eyes as he’s struggling to regain his composure… Jesus. It has to be one of the most stunning visions you’ve ever seen. He’s so fucking sexy all the time, but see him like this is your favorite look on him so far. As if your need for him wasn’t already deeply profound enough, it’s only increasing by the second. “Jake,” you mutter, lifting yourself up on your knees on the mattress, beckoning him closer to you. “Please, please fuck me. Don’t make me wai—“

“Hush,” he interrupts, leaving you to sit himself on the bed against the headboard. “Get over here, doll.” 

You decide to crawl yourself across the bed, making a slow show of it with your ass high up in the air. He’s layed out before you, one arm behind his head while the hand of the other is slowly stroking his hard cock, glistening wet from your mouth. “Gorgeous, doll.” He reaches for you as you get closer, pulling you on top so that you’re straddling his lap. The way he’s placed you has your clit catching the shaft of his cock, so warm and sturdy against you. It’s clear he’s intentional about his placement, not letting you have it all just yet, only the tiniest taste. 

Your eyes roll while you sigh at the sensation, wanting more than anything for him to be inside of you. His name leaves your mouth in a faint whisper, to which he only smirks as he reaches behind you to unlace the corset you're still wearing. “This is so lovely on you,” he mutters, pulling it off of you and mindlessly tossing it out of sight. His hands immediately grab both of your breasts, his thumbs grazing lightly over each perked nipple. “But I can’t stand not having my hands on these.” 

You can’t keep your body from grinding against him, chasing the feeling of him against your pulsing clit while he’s tweaking and pinching at your nipples. He tangles a hand in your hair, pulling you closer into him as his mouth reaches for your neck. You throw your head back, leaving the skin exposed for him as he licks and sucks hard, undoubtedly leaving behind the traces of him once again.  

“Mark me, sir,” you utter in a low voice, grinding harder and harder against him. “Mark me so everyone knows who I belong to.” 

“Yeah?” He hums into you, sucking on one spot rather fiercely, practically biting the skin before leaning back to marvel at his work. He lazily grins before licking from the base of your neck, along your jawline, stopping at your parted lips. “Sweet girl,” he whispers, kissing your mouth deeply. “Little doll needs everyone to know who owns her.”

“Sir, please,” you plead with him yet again. You’re feeling so frustrated, so desperate for him to fill you that you just don’t care how pathetic you sound at this point. “Please fuck me-“

“You want it so bad, huh?” He asks, his interruption a familiar, patronizing tone. “Show me, then.” He wraps his arms all the way around you, taking a fistful of your hair in one hand.  “Ride me.” 

Fucking hell, Jacob.

“Y-yes, s-ir,” you pathetically whisper, your trembling body and pure need for him making it difficult to form proper words.

He helps lift you up on your knees, just enough so that he can line himself up with your soaking entrance. “Look at me,” he says as you begin to lower yourself, gasping as you start to sink down, already feeling the stinging stretch from just the tip. “Go slow, doll. Take your time.” He takes hold of your face with both hands, keeping his eyes locked tight with yours as the two of you finally connect in the ways you’ve been craving since the first time your eyes caught sight of him. “There you go, doll. There you go. All the way down for me.” 

A myriad of choked whimpers fall from your lips when he’s finally inside of you, filling you, your walls cleaning and fluttering around him. After needing just a moment to adjust to him, you begin following his orders, carefully rolling and circling your hips, showing him just how badly you’ve needed this. 

It isn’t long before you find the perfect momentum, the most delicious pace that has him reaching so deep inside of you. Your body is shivering and vibrating, your skin heated with a fire that can only be lit by Jake. 

You feel him absolutely everywhere. 

“Fuck, y/n…goddamnit.” He grits his teeth, his cheeks flushed and hot.“You feel even better than I imagined.” He moves his hands to your hips, gripping them tight and helping you fuck yourself against him. Your pace quickens, your body instinctively moving in perfect rhythm with his as you let his hands guide you just where he needs you. 

“This,” he says, licking his thumb and swiping a slick line over your tattoo. “Is for my eyes only from now on. Got it?” He pulls your head back, leaning down to lick along the ink, gliding his tongue slowly along the curve of your breast. His lips pull at your nipple, tenderly kissing the sensitive bud. 

“Yes, sir,” you moan through a hitched breath. “Only you.” 

“Faster, doll. Harder,” he grunts, leading your bodies into a brutal pace. “Fuck me like you mean it, like you’ve waited so long to do.” He reaches around to slap you ass, then slapping and grabbing your breast with the same hand. “Show me just how fucking needy you are.”

He brings his index finger up to your mouth, pushing past your lips and onto your tongue as you suck on it. He then pulls it from you, reaching between your bodies and circling his wet finger around your clit. “Right there, sir…r-right there–” Your voice is stifled by his other hand covering your mouth, hushing your cries as your relief at last overtakes you. 

“All over my cock, doll. Just like that,” he mumbles, helping you slow your body still while you feel yourself making a mess on top of him. Your body jolts and shakes with each flutter of your pussy around him— it’s all the more heightened with him tucked inside of you as you reach utter bliss. 

He waits a moment to be sure you’re ready before carefully helping you up, the both of you hissing at the loss of contact when he lifts you off his cock. But, it’s a loss you won’t have to suffer for much longer. “On your knees, doll.” Though his voice is demanding, he’s still very intentional about helping you down to the floor, tenderly caressing your skin with every touch as he leads you where he wants. “Gonna let me cum in your sweet mouth?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, eagerly waiting for him to give you a taste. 

“So good for me.” He thrusts himself in your open and waiting mouth, but instead of taking it slow as he did before, he picks up to a quick pace almost immediately. He grips your hair, holding it back for you as you obey his no hands rule, letting him fuck himself into you as he pleases. He tastes like him, but mixed with you this time.

Just like earlier, he begins to twitch and pulse against your tongue, that look once again appearing on his features as he’s reaching his end. “God,” he mumbles. “Perfect cunt, perfect mou—fuck.” He begins to crumble when you gag around him, pulling back just a bit before you feel his warm release coating and sliding down your throat. “Take it for me, doll,” he gently commands, holding himself in your mouth until he’s given you all he’s got as you graciously recieve every drop. He’s caressing your face, giving your praise after praise for being such a good girl for him. 

When he pulls out, you hold out your tongue to show him that you’ve taken it all, just as he said. “You’re too fucking good for me,” he commends, bending down to help you up and on to the bed. He lays down beside you on his back, reaching for you and pulling you on top of him. 

Your hearts are racing in near perfect time with each other, your deep breaths in unison as you each bask in the embrace of your sweaty, heaving bodies. 

He’s holding you so tight, as though you’d somehow try and get away if he let go. Of course, that is the very last thing you’d want to do. If you could stay like this forever, the two of you laying stark naked in the soft embrace of the other, you would.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: ...thoughts? 🫣 i know- that was a lot. & we still have the next half of this chapter to go. there's so much yet to come. this is just the very beginning. i fear there's much more in store.

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you)

sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat t @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara a @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul27

[do-it-jakey-baby]

If anyone wants to know where I’m at right now 🙃

[chouxsardine]

Warm Honey---Jake Kiszka x reader

A short blurb where me imagining getting high with Jake and listening to classical music ended up turning into some jake-playing-guitar worship and stream of consciousness smut. I just feel it's so sexy when your partner can feel the effect they have on you, and I'd like to think Jake loves that. 18+ content below cut. Enjoy!

Warning: 18+! Minors DNI, Drug use (marijuana), sexual content, body worship (kind of)

🎧: Scriabin Sonata No.4 in F sharp major, Op.30

--------------------------------

He is all that you can think of, all that you feel.

Whenever you smoke joint with Jake, you always like to describe your mind as being “in a stake of Jake”. He is not occupying the space as the subject. Instead, he wraps around it in an all-encompassing way. He exists as the warmth of a blanket, a scene from the rear view mirror, the tingling on your skin as the wetness from an open-mouthed kiss evaporates.

Jake is sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, you are lying down with your head on his lap. The air is damp, saturated with the earthy smell. Jake just lets out a puff of smoke. You look up and blink. The light of the floor lamp is hazy through the smoke like the moon halo. Rachmaninoff is playing at a low volume in the background. The title of the melody escapes you. It could be Symphony No.2 or something like that. You are too far gone to put any effort into trying to recall it. Life feels really good at this moment, and that’s all you want to focus on.

Jake’s hand is resting in your hair, occasionally scratching your scalp or swirling the soft strands near your hairline around his finger, sending buzzing shivers under your skin. You squirm a bit, reaching above to grab his hand in yours. The sensation of being in touch with human flesh clashes with your stupefying illusion. Suddenly, Jake’s hands become the most interesting thing in the world.

If Jake is sober enough to look down, he will find you staring at his hand intensely with dilated pupils. The skin around your eyes is tinted with a fluffy shade of pink. And you are staring with the fervent passion of a child looking into a kaleidoscope for the first time, stunned and in awe. His hands are warm. Nails always blunt and well-trimmed, receded tamely behind the finger tips. Veins visible under his skin, knuckles strong and sturdy. You hold up his hand higher to the ceiling, looking at the light seeping through the slits between his fingers as if he has magical powers.

His hands truly are magical. The way he makes his guitar whine and moan on stage. You close your eyes briefly, recalling the way his right hand firmly grasping the neck while the palm of his left hand resting on its rear body. Sometimes he does that devious thing where he pushes the guitar back and forth as if shaking someone’s shoulder, the intensity of it cushioned by their connection through the strap, thereby creating a tensile and magnetic stretch between them. Once, you asked him why he would do that; “it helps with the trills and echoes,” he said, flashing you a smirk. You don’t believe him for one bit. When his fingers slide across the fretboard in an elegantly frantic speed, you wonder why there aren’t sparks bursting out because it surely looks like swiftly striking the head of a match against the side of the box. And you love the way he does tremolo, oh, the dazzling movement of his fingers on the higher end of the fretboard, his ring finger and pinky curved, alternating so smoothly that it looks like he is tickling someone. Well, it surely tickles your heart. And your pussy, if you are being honest. That’s when you feel it. The wetness sneaks up on you slowly. Jake always turns you on at the flip of a switch, the blink of an eye. Normally, you are already soaked as your mind is preoccupied with the yearning for his mouth, his fingers, and his cock. However, the weed amplifies all senses. This time, you can almost feel the titillation trickling down your spine, like morning dew collected on rose petals.

Without much thought (not that you can form any coherent ones now anyway), you hold up his fingers, make them spider-walk across your belly before lowering them down into your panties.

Jake lets out an amusing humph. With all the sensory stimulation stealing his words, he’s not much of a talker when he’s high. Your communication during times like these are almost telepathic—you could tell from just a simple raise of his fingers that he wants another handful of chips, and he could tell just by the slightest turn of your head that you want another hit. He always jokes that you read each other between the lines. The reassuring silence weaves a velvet blanket that falls and lands on both of you in a floating manner.

You look up and find him looking down on you with a lopsided smile. So lackadaisical that it’s almost goofy but smug nonetheless. He quirks his eyebrows, and you put up a finger against your lips.

“Shh.”

You’ve always known that Jake loves to watch. He gets so hard just by watching you getting yourself off, using all of his willpower not to come in his pants while somehow managed to take mental notes of your preference. He always looks down the moment your bodies connect, whether that’s him entering you or you sinking down on him. His mind is always blown by the way he disappears into you bit by bit and your malleability to adjust him. It’s almost like you were made for each other. The combination of the visual image and the physical sensation short-circuits his brain. The sigh and moans that escape him drive you crazy. Jake loves the process as much as he enjoys the maddening pleasure. And this time, with the weed delaying the need to fuck each other, you would like to let him experience that.

At first, it’s just his dry and warm palm covering your lower belly, his finger slotted between your fold, with his finger pad resting against your hood and finger tip grazing your clit. You feel he move, instinctively wanting to rub it.

“Nuh uh,” you tightens your grip, “I want you to feel it, babe.”

You are certain you are getting there. You can almost picture it, like honey slowly descending down the wall of a glass tube. It’s an agonizingly slow process, like a golden snake with malicious intent, twisting and turning its body; its expected sweetness drawing out the moisture of the mouth, causing one to salivate.

Ah. Here it comes.

Without meeting his gaze, you know that Jake feels it too. His fingers have long familiarized themselves as the hierarch of the territory which is your pussy. He has learned, through time and experience, the prelude of your arousal. Every respond is picked up by the tactile receptors on his finger pad and his muscle memory. Much like with his guitars, Jake is always caught in an affectionate paradox when it comes to your pussy—he walks this ground with confidence and pride over the possessiveness he has over it, albeit constantly carrying a veneration for its beauty and the sincere humbleness to learn and explore.

The previous friction has now transformed into a gentle rise of temperature and the coated slickness provided by your discharge. Your clit presses more firmly against his finger tips now that it starts to swell and throb.

“Damn, love, can almost feel your heartbeat.” Jake grunts, his words a bit slurred.

“That’s the point,” you arch your back, feeling vainglorious about your little trick, “my tell-tale heart. Feel what you do to me by simply existing?”

“Gosh, you’re gonna end me one day,” Jake tilts his head backwards, his eyes rolling back too, “but I wouldn’t want it any other way. And the epitaph would say, ‘gone doing what he loves’.”

You laugh, knowing that the filter between his brain and mouth has melted away now. Meanwhile, you are getting silkier and warmer by the second. Jake feels like he dips his finger into a jar of honey, the snugness of your walls trapped him there. He’s an insect preserved in a sea of saccharin, captivated by the moment as the waves wash over him again and again, reminding him that he is the reason why his girl is so turned on, he is the reason why this body lying against him coordinates all its nerves and cells to produce such an amazing response to his touch.

You can hear the clarinet playing in the symphony. If your memory serves you right, it won’t be long until the allegro vivace of the last movement kicks in. You look up at Jake’s face again. He swallows, his Adam’s Apple trembles in a way that makes you want to take a bite. With his eyes closed, his eyebrows pulling together, and his lips pursed, that man looks like he could be having an orgasm right there. It’s almost whimsical, given that he is the one who has his hand in your pants. You let out a low chuckle.

“What?” He cracks open an eye.

“You know they said weed slows people’s movement?” You quip, tapping your fingers provocatively over his, a sultry tone in your voice.

“Oh,” Jake’s eyes darkens, the familiar devious smile shine through his relaxed features.

“Now, those are fighting words, doll. You wanna test them out?”

--------------------------------

[jakesguitarsolo]

That’s not jake…… it’s Jacob Thomas Kiszka SIR

[wildbluesorbit]

This is getting BRUTAL 🫣

@joshskittytickler