The Love of Jake Kiszka's Life

a/n: i would have been doing this chapter a total disservice if i hadn't included everything i've had outlined for it... and if i didn't give in to the evil voices when they told me to keep going with my evil thoughts... hence why this chapter is now t h r e e (punch me) parts instead of two. (i need to be taken away lmao)

god, i love this chapter...... and it just gets even ~~~better~~~ in pt 3... ;) hehe

aka: methinks the teasing should come to an end for now, hm? ;) (my outline that began two years ago is helping me to stick to this rather than being mean and dragging it out any longer lol -- slowburn is my krypto)

as always, big thank you to @joshym for being the best sister there ever was and supporting me in my writings + pursuits + listening to every time i have anxiety over my writings <3 i love you to the ends of the earth, lis. you're my person. <3

an additional thank u to @builtbybrokenbells and @alwaysonthemend. <3 <3 <3 THANK YOU, my loves, for always having the right words to encourage me amidst ~~A L L~~ of life’s stresses. I love you guys so much - you know I'd be lost w/out you :')

Also, to my friend @gretavangroupie, consider this my belated birthday gift to you, lovely <3

Please enjoy the playlist as you read (there's officially a new cover for the latter part of the story!) 🖤 (fr, i listen to it nonstop when i write this.... all of the songs are pertinent to the story and aid in telling it - either already or eventually.)

Covet Masterlist

"[The] desire of having is the sin of covetousness."

William Shakespeare

Without any hesitation, he was stepping over the ledge of the bathtub, still fully clothed, until his boots were sloshing in the shallow puddle of water that swooshed to the drain. 

His hands found your body soon, igniting a fire under your already-heated skin. He guided you back a bit – until you were pressed against the wall furthest from the shower stream. He was getting drenched, but he’d made sure to get you out of it. He held your waist the best he could with the new addition of the baby bump, but still managed to hold you in such a way that showed you he was in charge. 

The way he held you reminded you that you were nothing more than putty in his strong hands.

Then, he was going to grant your request.

The words "Kiss me, Jake" were ringing on a loop in your head.

Leaning in to you, his grip on you, so firm, steady, sure. . . . You could see every intricate detail of his plush, pink lips as he came closer. Your heart fluttered in your chest. You were ready to feel his lips on yours. 

He was near enough for you to see the stubble coming in above his lip. By the day, he seemed to become less and less concerned about staying completely clean shaven. . . . and you were rejoicing for it.

Though, before you could study any other detail, his hands dropped from around your waist. You studied him in a panic. What was he-? His eyebrows were dipping in with doubt as he pulled away. Fuck. No no no no no please –.

“I–I can’t–,” he shook his head, now drenched from the spray of the shower. You followed his lead, pulling into yourself and away from him - the best you could - to protect yourself. And, even though you wanted to cover yourself, you couldn’t for fear of slipping. You looked away from his face, instead scanning his body as he stood before you, tense and unmoving. 

You noticed, though, that he wasn’t getting out of the shower. He’d only distanced himself. But if he was already regretting this, why wasn’t he moving? Goddammit. Your heart started to split in your chest. . . You were so confused and so vulnerable. He’d just encouraged you to open up completely for him. . . only for him to decide against this – against you.

“Do you not want me?” You asked, voice messy with unshed tears. Your line of sight landed on your own feet, refusing to look at him as your temperature spiked with aggravation. “Because, shit, Jake – I told you! I fucking told you we shouldn’t – but now you have me fucking shaking. And — goddammit! It’s not fair for you to get me to admit those things and then bail as soon as you–!”

“Y/n,” he growled your name, commanding your eyes to land on his. His stare was intense, just as it had been before he’d moved away. There was irritation flaring in his irises, though. Towards you or himself, you couldn’t tell. All that mattered to you was that he stepped closer once more, boot heel clicking. Your heart hammered in your chest. “I’m not going to fucking bail. I told you I wanted to please you and I plan on keeping my damn promise. I want to taste you, feel you so fucking badly. . . I just–,” he shook his head with a growl, messing with his wet hair a bit, pushing it from his forehead.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, your chest hot and your core clenching at nothing watching him pushing his wet hair away from his forehead. . . Drops of water, dripping down his chin. You didn’t know how to respond. In your life, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt this sexually stimulated. It had to be the baby hormones. The way you were feeling at the present moment had you wanting to crawl out of your skin and into his. Your body was on fire, a collection of electric sparks under your skin, begging to light up. You knew pregnancy hormones could make a woman feel crazy, but you hadn’t truly understood. Not until now, completely naked and ready in front of the only man you wanted. 

You were starting to feel as though you would stop at nothing to have him inside of you. Like, murder might even happen to have him, quite frankly. Anyone who might stand in your way was not safe as you continued to buzz with anticipation that wouldn’t dissipate in the dense, humid air of the shower. Doing the only thing you could do, you chose to admire what was in front of you.  His shirt was opened to the middle of his abdomen on what you knew to be a chilly December evening, daring him to catch a damn cold. 

But. . . the sight made you anything but cold–no, seeing his perfectly toned chest heaving and soaking wet. . . it made your entire body flame. You felt red-fucking-hot as you watched each and every breath – inhale, exhale. . . . in and out. . . in and out. . . His shirt was light blue, the water soaking through the material to make it nearly transparent. It gave you a glimpse at everything beneath his shirt. . . You honed in on his pecs, firm muscle underneath waiting to be gripped. You needed to put your hands on him again. You needed to feel the smooth skin of his chest–with your hands, tongue. . . anything. Needed to feel him. So, you did what your body told you to do at that moment. 

Taking one wary (and brave) step forward, you reached your hand out timidly, giving him space to stop you if he needed to. But, he didn’t stop you. When you glanced up at his face to read his reaction, he was watching your hand move, mouth agape at the action. You could finally feel his warm breath on your cheek again as you took one more step towards him. Without any more thought, you placed your delicate hand on the exposed part of his tanned chest. And, daring to feel more, you slipped your palm underneath his button-down shirt to feel the taut muscle on one side of his chest.

His breath caught at the motion. It felt like sweet relief to be touching him like this again. His chest flexed under your hand with the sharp intake of breath. Your breaths were uneven, too, not daring to breathe too harshly to scare him away. This moment felt so eerily similar to a moment so long ago – that first game night. The moment you’d been dared by the stupid ass card game to touch him. But this time–this time felt worlds different than that night at the beginning of summer. There was history now. A baby you’d made together, for God’s sake. So much more between these two people in this moment of time. And this meant you knew how to read his body. . . He wanted this. You knew he did. You knew him.

So, it was no surprise to you when he took a steady step forward, very nearly meeting the front of your body with his. You knew it was going to happen before it did; you knew that his hand would reach up to touch your chest as well. You watched his hand as he followed through on your prediction. Though, he didn’t touch your breast like you expected. No, he balanced his hand above your heart, where it beat furiously for him. Your nipples were impossibly hard, straining at how close he was. They were so tight it almost hurt. The kind of pain that could only be soothed by him.

“Jake,” you begged, his name saying everything you couldn’t say. Your thighs rubbed together of their own accord, desperate. “Please.”

And there it was. His hand immediately went to hold your swollen, sore breast. It seemed the only relief your chest could find was from his touch. You gripped his chest tighter, having to hold on to something. Your other hand, reaching forward to pull at the soaked linen of his shirt at his waist. Every movement he made on you, you traced with your eyes. Memorized every touch. Your legs continued to work at creating friction with every movement of his gentle massage on your breast. His other hand came up to hold your hip, gripping you with a sure hold. Chest heaving, your nipple, so sensitive and taut beneath his palm, your body – pleading for more. Still. You needed more. As his hand moved away from the front of your breast, he went to hold the underside of it. He held it so securely in his grip. 

You noticed how much bigger your tits looked in his hands than before the baby.  They filled his hand completely now, some of your chest even spilled out from the side of his splayed palm. Your chest was officially too big to fully fit in his strong hand. But that didn’t deter him for a second. As his fingers on your hip flexed around your smooth skin, he brought you closer to him by the sensitive flesh of your breast. A whine sprung from your chest at the added pressure to the left side and the severely tight nipple of your other tit connecting with his wet chest. He brought you closer to him, skillfully kneading your flesh in his hand like you’d needed so desperately. Relief. Sweet fucking relief. And suddenly, you were so close to him. Just close enough to feel his dick straining against your hip, in his pants. . . Fucking shit. You almost lost your balance. 

“Jake,” you were whining, outright. It was pitiful as hell. But – you couldn’t give two flying fucks. 

“I–I can’t kiss your lips,” he breathed, voice gravelly and low above you, floating directly to your ear. You finally looked up from watching his hand, waiting for him to continue. There was more he wanted to say, it was obvious. “That’s–I have to keep something that is unique and sacred to my relationship. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did. It made complete sense and you admired his feeble attempt at saving one thing for her. . . but, you couldn’t help that it cracked your heart the slightest bit that you weren’t able to feel his lips against yours. Fuck Maya for that one specifically, honestly. 

The tears were welling in your eyes all on their own–couldn’t stop them if you tried. Although, you couldn’t tell if they were from baby hormones or an honest result of the new crease left in your heart at him so obviously not being yours. He belonged to her – not to you. And the lack of kissing was a painful, blatant reminder of that. Kissing him had been something so normal and familiar only a few months ago, you could have kissed him any time you wanted (well, almost any time. . . but still). And . . . you’d given that up. Given him up. Desperate to feel anything from him, anything he could give you, there was only one question that lingered in your mind, weighing heavily like bricks on your tense shoulders.

“What can you do?” Your voice broke with the wetness in your throat, a tear stupidly trickled down your face. 

His grip on your breast stayed firm, his hand going to cover the expanse of it. You moaned, your eyes fluttering closed a bit at the feeling. The hand from your hip reached to wipe your cheek of a few more stray tears. “Shhh,” he hushed gently. 

Playing it off the best you could, you offered him a half-assed response. “Don’t ask me why the tears are happening –it’s–it’s the baby hormones,” you sniffed again, willing the tears to go away. 

And, thankfully, they did. Once they’d subsided, his fingers carefully trailed to the other breast, your hand still on his chest, nearly clawing at his skin with each measured press of his hands at your aching breasts. Your hand trailed up to hold his neck, around his arms on you. Your thumb smoothed at the flesh behind his ear. God, you’d missed holding him and you really loved that spot behind his ear. . . couldn’t explain it. You sniffled. Despite your sadness, your body sparking, growing goosebumps rapidly at the way he was stimulating you so deliciously. Your thighs worked hard to ease the throb between your legs. 

“How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” you grit out, your hand gripping gently at the roots of his long hair, darkened and soaking wet from the water flowing from the showerhead. “How do you know how to–? They hurt when anyone else holds them. . . but not with you– how?”

“I was determined to find out how to make you feel good,” he replied with a hoarse chuckle before he cleared his throat. “I have been doing research,” he smirked, his eyes connecting with yours. You felt your cheeks warm. His hands began a new pattern lazily and intentionally adding pressure to the areas that needed it most. He was trying his best to give equal treatment to both of them, you could tell. 

And dammit if he wasn’t doing the most impeccable fucking job at it. You gasped at the additional pressure on both sides as he pressed up, around, and over. . . covered every inch of your chest with his skilled hands. His dark eyes found yours as soon as you’d gasped, a small, secret smile on his face. The grin you gave him in response was bashful, cheeks flaring a deep pink in the soft moment.

He continued his words as he worked his hands so intentionally against your swollen, aching chest. “I’ve been reading on how to pleasure pregnant women– what to do to make them feel better. . . since your body’s changing and shit, I know it’s gonna be a little different than before,” he explained. You observed how he seemed to study your chest intently. He was invested in the task, manipulating the supple flesh in his practiced hands. “And you told me that your tits have been sore, so I’ve been reading how to help that specifically. I didn’t think I’d actually get to try it out on you – but, here we are,” he smirked, his eyes connecting with yours once more as he raised a brow. 

Didn’t think he’d ‘get to try it out on you’. 

You blushed, continuing to watch him in awe, the way his brows furrowed, his eyes going back to his hands. You decided to follow his eyes with your own. God bless America. Truly, watching his hands at work was just as bad as surveying his features. Your nerves were on fire and you felt your muscles tighten at your center, needing his touch in a million places at once.

“And, when pregnant women have sore tits, it apparently helps to massage them and apply pressure,” he continued, informing you of his research while doing just as he said. “So, I thought I’d try that.”

He kneaded and pressed against your heavy chest. As he continued with those motions, his thumbs reached to stroke the nipples. All of it, all at once. Every single nerve ending on your body was warm and tingling. Your eyes closed in sweet ecstasy, your head unwittingly going to lay against the shower wall with one particular motion, your back arching into his hands. Your hand dropped from behind his head instead gripping the shower wall. Now you were holding on on both sides. Literally bracing yourself. Shit. It was embarrassing as fuck how pliant your body was to him and his skill. You were completely gone for this man. With another mewl, you bucked your hips in his direction. 

Goddammit. Words, y/n. Words. He’s conversing. “W-what else did you find in your research?” You gasped, opening your eyes to observe his hands move just so, his thumbs tracing the buds of your nipples as he cradled the underside of your tits. He was doing the most incredible job at keeping the heavy feeling off of you. He was literally taking the weight off of you and handling it himself. It was heaven.

You looked up to catch his eyes and saw he was still concentrating on his actions. “For sore tits or overall pleasure?” He pondered, eyebrow raising again as he glanced at you and caught your line of sight. 

“Pleasure,” you breathed, feeling his hands come to a devastating halt on your chest, smoothing over your sides before he dropped them completely. Goddammit, Jake. Don’t stop. “All of it.”

“I know that some pregnant women really like being touched and have a pretty high libido,” he paused, bringing his hands up to push his soaking wet hair back. “But I also found that other pregnant women experience the exact opposite – have an aversion to sex.” He eyed you, squinting with a knowing smirk. “I could probably guess which type you are by how much you loved that just now, but . . . I want you to tell me. High libido or low?”

“Well,” you paused, your legs suddenly feeling like Jell-o. So, not wanting to fall or some shit, when he’d successfully pushed his hair back, you reached both hands up to wrap around the base of his head, your fingers working at their own massage against his scalp. The hum that sounded from his chest, along with the searing hot look he gave you as he gazed down at you, inspired you to work more intentionally. His eyebrows raised at one point, eyes closing briefly at one particular run of your fingernails against his scalp. 

You kept on, his eyes lazily finding yours when you began speaking; he sleepily blinked his heavy lids open. “I–I haven’t really felt a high libido for anyone but you. . . I don’t think I’d want it from anyone else right now. . . So, I don’t know what that makes me. High, maybe?” You pondered aloud, wanting his opinion of your predicament. “. . .Does it count if I only truly want you?”

“Fuck. Are you serious?” You watched one hand reach between you to rub against the strain at his zipper. The other hand came to your hip, pulling you into him further, then moving down to your ass to pay attention to the muscle you’d told him was sore earlier. Your sighs filled the air, your senses overwhelmed by him. He rasped his next question, voice so low between the two of you. “You only want me?”

“Only you,” you confirmed, the honest words brushing against his face as you leaned just a bit closer with your quiet, sighed response. 

Then his face was stern, one brow raised skeptically at you as his jaw set. The muscle in his cheek flexed as his eyes burned holes through you. “What about the noises you were making with Theo?” He implored, not angry, per se. Just serious. He was genuinely wondering. “Seemed pretty into it with him, too.”

“It was fake,” you confessed, looking away from him briefly, your hands halting their movements. Suddenly embarrassed and nervous at the memory. You didn’t want to be thinking of that nimrod. Your hands fell from around his neck as you curled in on yourself in slight shame, instead interlacing to cradle the bottom of your belly. “I took too long for him. He didn’t try at all to get me there. He was shit at everything he tried.” Then, you gained just enough confidence to look back to Jake with your next words. Needed him to understand and believe you. “And he’s not you. I don’t think any other man will ever make me fall apart the way you do.”

Jake seemed to relax at that, another, tiny step towards you, sure of himself all over again. He’d just needed the reassurance, because now he was eyeing you like he fucking owned you. And you weren’t sure if he did or didn’t at this point. You were ashamed to admit that he most likely did in fact own your body. It was his. All his. Honestly, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to you and you would say thank you every damn time. His boots, still on and clicked against the tub. His confidence made your legs shake. Your fingers, wrapped at the bottom of your belly, loosening with your body. Opened up for him with ease as he got closer to you. Your eyes flicked to where you saw movement at his waist and you saw his hand find his dick again, gripping it to relieve himself however he could. Fuckfuckfuck.

“So, if I were to get on my knees right now and fuck you with my tongue. . . you’d say you have a high libido?” 

“So fucking high,” you sighed, desperate. Ready. Aching for it.

“Thank fucking God,” he growled. And with one more push of his hand against himself, he moaned under his breath, and snaked a hand around your waist to reach for your ass. Your body leaned towards him, welcoming the touch. And with one sure grip to your ass, he grasped both of your hips, holding you to him tightly, his dick pressed snugly to the juncture between your hip and belly. Your arms found his neck, wrapping around it to bring him closer. “Well, I’ve found there are countless positions to try, but I think the one I’m going to try is going to feel–.”

“The one? Don’t tell me you’re going to cut it off at all of the other shit, too,” you said, backing away from him, pushing him away a bit. Yes, you were pouting. His hands dropped from you as you let go of his neck. Your arms went to cross under your breasts. “No kissing, so what’s next? What can’t you do? You never answered that.”

He started unbuttoning his sopping wet shirt. And when it was finally completely off, he reached up to drape it across the bar of the shower head before turning a bit to angle the shower head more towards the wall than him. Your eyes tracked every. single. movement. The way his bicep rippled slightly with the stretch, the way his abdomen flexed. . . every muscle, so beautiful in its prominence beneath his soft skin. When he was back from his task and looking at you again, shirtless, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander the tan skin (how was it fair for him to be so damn tan in the winter time?). He cleared his throat, bringing your attention to his face once more. The smirk on his lips and the way his eyebrow was arched pissed you the fuck off. Was this amusing to him?

“You think it’s funny? How turned on I am and you can barely do a damned thing about it? Even though you led me to believe you could?”

“Who the fuck said I couldn’t?”

“You just said you can’t–.”

“You didn’t let me finish, y/n,” he reasoned. “I was going to say I can’t do that right now. I literally just told you I was going to tongue fuck you, babe. I want to focus on you before we get to sex.”

Before we get to sex. . . so he was planning on . . . more? Deciding to ignore that dangerous train of thought for the time being, you huffed, your arms still crossed at the top of your rounded abdomen. “Well, I’m just confused.”

“The only thing I told you I can’t do is kiss your lips,” he reminded you, his thumb coming up to briefly touch your full lips. His eyes followed his action, your lips still pursed in annoyance as you challenged him with your expression and stance. But you were wavering – quickly. Especially any time your eyes followed a drop of water from his shoulder, all the way to the waistband of his dark jeans. And every time you caught sight of the raging imprint in his jeans. . . “Y/n.”

Embarrassed and flushed, you flicked your eyes back to his face. You covered it up with indignance and frustration, your arms tightening in their position. “What, Jake?”

“I will do anything else you need,” he affirmed, taking a tentative step towards you, boots clicking against the floor of the tub. He got close once more, coming near enough that you pressed yourself against the back wall of the shower again. Your body betrayed you, your nipples once again peaking at his proximity. “And right now, I intend on doing what I’ve told you I’m going to do,” his eyes trailed to where your thighs were still pressed to relieve the persistent pulse below your belly. 

“Goddammit, Jacob,” you breathed with a roll of your eyes, arching yourself off of the wall towards him, just in time for him to meet you halfway. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly to him, your belly between you not letting you get quite as close as you used to. “Then fucking do it–please.”

He leaned forward and for a moment you thought he was going to betray his ‘one rule’. But instead, he kissed behind your ear, right where you liked to kiss him. Then, he trailed his mouth down the column of your throat. He alternated pecks and open mouthed kisses, all the way to your shoulders, collarbones. . . You sighed, completely at his mercy. When he found your left breast, he gave it the most attention. 

He licked around the sensitive nipple of your left breast, mirroring it with the right. At which, he elicited a moan that quickly progressed into a very whiny wail from you. “Fuck! Fuck, yes!” You cried, grasping his wet hair, not sure how to stop yourself if you fell – your shaking knees were bound to betray you, you could feel it. “This is so fucking wrong.”

“I. Don’t. Care,” he growled against the wet, supple skin of your breast. Every word, emphasized with a lick around your tender, hardened flesh.

Your train of thought was halted – lost all thought in your brain at him full-on kissing your nipples. He’d begun giving them kisses just like he would your mouth. Soft lips and wet tongue enveloping the entirety of the bud, tilting his head to the side to get the best angle possible. His nose nudged against your swollen breast as he continued lapping at you. He went back and forth, offering the same to both of your tits, several times over. A shaky hand reached out to tangle in his drenched hair as you tried to properly breathe. You were going to finish from this alone if it kept on much longer. You watched him in pure astonishment, his eyebrows knit in concentration. Then, as if things could get any worse (better?) he moaned – the action vibrating against your skin.

Your hips jolted up enough that they collided with his, just barely. But enough that both of you groaned in unison at the contact, his hard dick enticing you as you felt it, only a thin barrier of clothing between you. . . You felt your pussy flex at nothing, your thighs feeling the wet result of your arousal. But–you hadn’t finished yet. . . Not yet. Though, you knew you were so damn close. . .

“Don’t cum yet,” he commanded, mumbling around your nipple. Your nipples, usually so fucking sore, but feeling like they were made of sparklers, electric under his soft mouth. “‘M not done yet.”

“But– I can’t– a-ah-ah!,” you moaned, your body beginning to lose its fight to stand up straight, near to giving out. “I can’t hold on for much longer, Jake. Please. I promise I’ll cum again for you,” you swore, your fingers lacing even tighter into his long, chestnut locks. “Please, baby.”

“Not fucking yet,” he bit out, his dark eyes meeting yours from their place at your full breasts. Then, he winked, making you throb from that gesture alone. Fuck. You weren’t sure you could do as he said. 

He went back to giving your body kisses, this time trailing back up to your face, little pecks covering every expanse of skin on your flushed face. Then, with one gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, he reached a hand up to hold your cheek. His eyes held yours, open and vulnerable under his stare. So soft, he spoke to you with fervor in his tone. “I promise it’ll be better if you just wait, baby.”

Pinching your eyes shut, you laid your head against the wall in frustration. “Fine,” you griped, hands tightening in his hair. 

His mouth worked its way back down your body. He started by giving sloppy kisses to your collarbones, but ended up lowering to his knees as he continued, all the way to your hips – covering each one. Once there, his hands replaced his mouth and started kneading at the flesh at your hips. “Y/n, honey.” 

You heard the smooth velvet of his tone and couldn’t deny him your attention. Blinking your eyes open took a little more effort than you would have liked, but you couldn’t help it with how delirious you felt.

“Mm?” You hummed, your eyes fluttering a little, vision blurry until you looked down and saw his handsome face, loosely grinning, right next to the spot you wanted him most. It made butterflies fly erratically in your tummy. For all intents and purposes, it was a very tranquil, tender moment. Seeing him next to you like that again. 

His eyes said a thousand words, but you got an inside look at his mind when he spoke next. “I have been dreaming of this happening again for a long time,” he softly spoke, almost inaudible with the water behind him if your ears weren’t completely alert and opened for him. 

“Your body has always been the most exquisitely breathtaking sight. . . But it’s infinitely more beautiful now. You rival any other woman that has ever walked this planet, carrying my baby or not – but goddamn,” he sucked in a breath before leaning forward and kissing the bottom of your belly so gently, lovingly. His eyes were still tied up in yours, never leaving as he bared his heart. “If you being this goddess – this picturesque image of pregnancy isn’t haunting my every waking thought. And it’s just going to be even worse now that I’ve seen you naked like this.” One hand slid from your left hip to your ass, gripping the flesh surely in his palm, leaning forward to place one more kiss to your belly, a little wetter than the last. “Deliciously fuller – in every way that might make your body even more perfect to me.”

Before you could say anything in response to that, his mouth kept moving downward. Your eyes were watering at his words and you had to reach a hand to wipe at your eyes with a sniffle. You didn’t think you’d ever heard something so ideally timed in your life. He was fucking perfect – remedying every insecurity a pregnant woman might have. His hands did a stellar job at holding you against the wall to prevent a fall, both of his hands firmly placed, once more, on your hips where his thumbs kneaded circles into the muscle. His hold on you was strong and intent. It was fucking heaven. His thumbs moved and pressed with purpose, working the tired joints. 

“My hips– Jake, god. . . thank you,” you sighed, your eyes closing at the way your body felt weightless under his hands and mouth. 

Suddenly, his mouth was on your thighs, going back and forth between each leg until he reached your knees, stopping there. He was obviously intent on holding you upright as he knelt before you. You opened your eyes, suddenly desiring to see him again, and you watched as he gave your thighs unrelenting attention. You watched in wonder as he very slowly started to work his way to where you needed him most. And once he got there, he gave you a dark look that made your knees nearly buckle. Then, he began on you, wasting absolutely zero time. There was no warning for his mouth meeting your searing hot, wet heat. 

“Oh-oh-oh, J-Jake, f-fuck, yes!” You were nearly incoherent, but who would expect any different when you had Jake Kiszka making out with your wet and waiting pussy. You’d been aching and waiting to have this again for so fucking long. . . The slew of curse words and moans that escaped your lips were useless, as they all came out as jumbled non-words. Utterly unintelligible.

His tongue was inching closer and closer to your opening, not even daring to edge towards your clit yet. You clenched your jaw, a low mewl coming from your lips, unable to do anything but watch him. Your eyes couldn’t dare to leave the sight in front of you. He was taking his time to lap at your folds, soaked and fluttering for him. Your hips jerked forward, not able to stop the way his lips and tongue were setting you on fire near the point of retaliation. You were trembling, your body not working on its own at all to hold you up. You were dependent on his death grip, now back on your hips, steadying you. He was pressing you so hard to the wall – you just fucking hoped that he left bruises in the wake of his fingertips. Wanted—no, needed— to remember this.

He kept on with his work for a bit longer before you felt a few chillier drops of water spring from the shower head, onto your skin. Fuck no. And, of course, as if on cue, Jake backed away, wiping the corners of his mouth with the pad of his right thumb, his left hand still holding you to the wall. 

“I swear to god, Jacob Thomas, if you fucking stop because of some cold wa– oh!” 

And he was back, licking up every bit of early release at your heat. You couldn’t catch a breath to finish what you were saying as he added his fingers to the mix, twirling his pointer and middle fingers through your soaking folds, as his tongue tapped at your over sensitive bundle of nerves. And as his tongue flattened on you, his fingers simultaneously met your entrance. 

But, he stopped there. And you knew why. 

His attention was set and stuck on your comfort first and foremost. And you knew he could tell you were getting cold with the addition of the less-than tepid water. You were shivering, only in the slightest, in spite of your determination to continue — more from the cool temperature of the water (and the apartment), than his mouth and hands. But it could’ve been because of his touch. . . You willed him to not catch on and to just keep going. 

But you knew it wouldn’t work out like that. You already accepted the fact that he knew it wasn’t wholly because of his mouth that you were trembling. Your skin hadn't even grown goosebumps yet from the chill, and still his eyes caught yours in a steady trance. He raised a brow at the openly petulant look painted on your features at his pause. He cracked a smile; he could read you so damn well. You wanted to simply blame it on the connection you had to him by carrying his baby. But, his instincts of your impending reactions had always come incredibly quickly. Before the baby he’d always seen right through you, just the same. 

“Jake, please. Don’t stop,” you ridiculously whined, in spite of your chitter-chattering teeth. 

“You’re cold, y/n,” he clarified, as if you didn’t know. “Literally shaking.”

His observant tone, in true fashion, worked to piss you off. But, you were still hazy from his ongoing touch, so you closed your eyes to center yourself. 

Because, he might’ve moved his mouth, but he’d kept his fingers at your core. His fiery touch worked to warm your body the best it could. His fingers were lodged deep enough that when he went to bend them, the knuckles in the palm of his hand grazed your clit. And, the pads at the base of his two fingers nudged inside of you, just under the skin that housed the nerves. He was nestled so deep, continuing to elicit electric stimulation at your core. And the calluses of his fingertips were the perfect addition of friction to your swollen heat. He wrapped his hand against you, staying situated where he was. His other hand stayed firm on your hip, not letting go for anything. Wanted to keep you balanced.

You bit your lip, your head laying against the shower wall. You could barely concentrate on the fact that he’d spoken at all.  When you leaned off of the wall the best you could, you opened your eyes. Instantly, it felt like you were going to slip with the movement. But, just when your foot dared to lose balance, his hold on your hip tightened further. His fingers began to twirl within you, his palm ghosted over your clit with every purposeful jerk of his fingers. Your walls fluttered at the way he kept you going with one hand, while steadying your body in unison with the other.

He wasn’t saying anything further. Just kept going. Your hope grew that he hadn’t stopped. And the ball in the pit of your belly threatened to unravel with a figure eight movement he’d begun where his palm kept fitting to your tight, tingling nub as his fingers swirled. 

You quickly came to find out how focused he’d still been on your chilliness though. Turning around without you realizing it, fingers still distracting you, tucked between your folds, he switched the shower off. 

“Jake!” You complained for no reason whatsoever. Well. . . you knew why you were complaining. You were worried — didn’t want to lose this. You’d been so close. “Do not let this be the fucking en–.”

“Y/n. You’ve gotta trust me. I’ve kept my fingers where they are to show you — I’m not done,” he responded, tone lacking tolerance for your quip. “Can you just be fucking patient?” “You’re not being patient!” 

“How in the hell am I not being patient?!” 

“Your voice tells me so,” you argued, hearing the way it sounded ridiculous as soon as you said it. You shook your head, body shaking from the cool nip of the bathroom air and your soaking wet body. He was also trembling, his body just as wet as yours. The sight made your heart falter in your chest at the idea of him being cold, too. You’d been too busy worrying about yourself to think of him.

So, when he removed his fingers, yes, it aggravated you. . . but you’d started considering his chilliness enough that you weren’t going to chew him out. And, you couldn’t stay mad for long anyways. Seconds later, he was once again eliciting a dazed moan from you. As soon as he’d removed his fingers from you, he was bringing them up to his mouth, placing them on his waiting tongue before locking his lips around them to suck your arousal off. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow and groaning in the process, his opinion of the way you tasted apparent. Holy fucking hell. 

“Taste good?” You asked, trying to sound snarky, but failing from the way your breath had escaped your lungs. 

When his fingers left his mouth, he slowly started to stand, eyes connecting to and never leaving yours. His grip on your hip not giving up a single bit in the process. Once he was standing at full height again, he slid the shower curtain open, eyes staying hooked on yours. He grabbed the towel hanging on the wall rack, momentarily leaving your gaze. But, as soon as he had the towel in his hands, his eyes snapped back to your waiting stare. 

“Fucking delicious. You taste better than anything – always have. . . No other woman compares. But. . . it’s–it’s even more-so now,” he paused, releasing your hip and motioning for you to come towards his arms with the fluffy, waiting towel. You turned your back to him, holding your arms out a little so he could wrap the towel at your back and handed you the rest to finish wrapping yourself. 

He kept talking as you cinched the white towel around yourself, your breasts not appreciating the way you tucked the material tight around your chest. You groaned at the feeling, pissed with the fact that your body was so sore.

Jake’s eyebrows knitted together in worry. “You okay?”

You nodded grumpily, carefully turning to face him. “Yes,” you grumbled. “It’s my boobs. They just ache all of the time. . . milk has officially started coming in, according to my readings. And I believe it with the way they're hurting right now. My tits have been a lovely focal point of change this entire time, but right now. . ."

"Yeah, I can't imagine how much they must hurt with how they've grown." There was no missing the way he bit his lip, eyes darkening. He licked his lips, smoothing his pointer finger over the bottom one before he responded. “But. . .I’ll help them feel better, baby. Don’t worry.”

The buzzing in your veins was impossible to ignore, and you didn’t trust yourself to give a valid response with how lightheaded he was making you. All you could do was nod, eyes hopefully communicating your excitement. 

“I read about the taste of a woman’s release, too. . . when women are pregnant, they have a tendency to taste sweeter than usual. And I can safely assure you, it’s the motherfucking truth,” his voice was hoarse with the last sentence. He kept on, locking his Amber-brown irises with yours. “And it’s fuckin’ erotic that you taste like the sweetest thing while you’re growing my baby. . . I can’t even explain it, y/n.”

You were positively vibrating with need for him, your body threatening to unravel at any given moment. Now warm from the towel, you knew most of your shivering was still from him. 

“You don’t have to,” you assured, your mouth dry from it hanging open at his words. Swallowing purposefully, you shook your head before stepping out of the shower. And, once you’d towel-dried your body enough, you bent to tie the towel around your hair, turning away from him. As you made your way to the mirror, leaving him. Once you checked yourself, you were in horror as you realized just how red your face was. “Ah! God, Jake, I look like fuckin’ Elmo.”

He belly laughed at that, the sound making your tummy ignite in a swarm of happy butterflies. “No you don’t. Trust me,” he said, still giggling at what you’d said. “. . . ‘look like Elmo’. You’re fucking hilarious,” he paused as you heard his belt clink away from him, along with the pull of his zipper. You tried damn hard not to think about it, just focused on fanning your face. “And what’s with all of the Elmo lately? Josh creeped me the fuck out with that shit.”

Not able to help the laughter bubbling in your chest at the thought of Josh’s horrifying Tickle-Me Elmo, you turned to face him to enjoy the moment together. You first saw all of his soaked clothes, in a neat pile ready for the laundry, next to him. His boots, sitting as a pair beside the clothes. His belt, rolled tight on the toilet seat. 

And, Jake, completely naked. 

Your body reacted immediately, suddenly ready for the most. Your tone was way too eager when an inward ponder was spoken aloud. “Are we going to have sex?” Dear God, y/n.

He smirked, shaking his head as he took a step and leaned past your naked body to get in the cabinet under the sink for the spare towel you kept underneath. His fingers brushed the side of your ass in the process and you didn’t want to discuss how quickly his touch heated your skin. You turned away from him once more, leaning towards the mirror to check out the two pesky spots on your chin that threatened a pimple under the skin. Thankfully not big enough to notice to someone else, but still. 

For some reason, the size of your ass was now all you could think about. How your body had gotten bigger in a few unfortunate areas. . . You couldn’t help feeling insecure. “Was that on purpose?” You shot the other question his way, followed by a statement of your own. “It has increased in size, just like the rest of me, so . . . wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t on purpose and just because it’s huge.”

“It was on purpose. Too nice not to touch — want to grab it or slap it any time I see it. Nice fuckin’ thing,” he replied, causing you to drop your hands and lean back so you could give him your full attention. The response made your cheeks blush crimson red, slightly visible through your slowly lightening skin. When you swiveled his way, you found him towel drying his hair, his dick still fully erect and tempting the fucking hell out of you. You bit your lip, and he continued on, eyes closed as he focused on drying his hair. God, he was so handsome. And the constant scruff above his top lip was just not good for your sanity.  “And I don’t know what you mean by the rest of you increasing in size or being huge. One, you aren’t huge by any standard. And two, all I’ve noticed increase in size are the three things I enjoy watching as they get bigger.”

You flushed, turning away once more to work on towel drying your own hair before you left the steamy room. You’d want the towel to wrap up in the hallway. Suddenly intrigued by the fact that you were talking so openly with him, you kept going. “Do those things happen to be the Three B’s? Boobs, belly, butt?”

Jake was laughing again at that, his little snort unmistakable, even as you were bent the best you could at the waist to towel dry your own hair. “Yes,” he chuckled, lighthearted. “That is correct. Did you make that up?”

Damn, I missed this, your mind absently trailed. “I don’t know,” you smiled, raising from the towel dry to do it standing. Your body was buzzing with all things him. “You didn’t answer my sex question.”

“No sex,” he promptly replied. Your heart fell, but obviously being oblivious to it, he kept on. “I’ve got a job to finish tonight that doesn’t include my dick.”

“What if I want it to include your dick? Aren’t you doing this to please me?”

How had the conversation just picked up like you’d never stopped being the two of you? The awkward air that had persisted, on and off since the wretched day in the kitchen in August, was seeming to float away day by day with his knowledge of the baby in your belly. But, before that line of thought could derail, he was responding to you. 

“Are you saying you weren’t pleased with what I started in there just now?”

“Of course I fucking was, Jake,” you rolled your eyes. “But, still–.”

“You just answered the question yourself.”

“How?”

“Would you just finish drying your fucking hair so I can continue eating you out?”

The way your body temperature rose inexplicably at his words was not something you wanted to admit to, so you went with a simple response to keep you on level ground with him, rather than a quivering mess. 

“Aye aye, captain.”

Another snort, followed by a chuckle. “Shut the fuck up.”

Once you’d gotten yourself completely dry, he was following you to your bedroom, closely. So close that you felt his warmth radiating from behind you, only working to increase your already heated need for everything that was him.  

“Get on the bed and get on your knees for me,” he insisted, lips grazing your ear with the words, once you crossed the threshold of your room. Those words, for me, had you feeling reminiscent of walking on a cloud. This was actually happening. “And spread your legs apart, baby. Need that pretty pussy open for me.”

God. You did not want to give him any argument. Your body was shaking with need from the entire evening. Your heart was beating harshly, rapidly — felt it knocking against your heaving chest. . . 

He undoubtedly knew the effects he was having on you. And planned to lean into them as long as you could. 

“You should know better than to tell me what to do, Jacob,” you jested, walking towards the bed. Clearly your words didn’t mean much since you said them while doing exactly as he told you. In your best attempt at being sexy, you got on the bed. And once you were on the soft comforter, you crawled on your hands and knees to the front of your bed, slowly. You made a show of sticking your ass in the air.  

You then heard that familiar chuckle as you did so, and decided you were slightly offended over the fact. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Relax, baby. I just think you’re cute. That’s all,” he replied as you heard him close your bedroom door. You paused briefly and looked over your shoulder, to see where he stood by the door. “How can one be so equally cute and sexy? I’ve never known someone who does it as flawlessly as you.”

You blushed at his words, giving him a flirty grin with a wrinkle of your nose. But you quickly realized now was not the time for joking. Not for much longer, at least. Not with the way his eyes were set on your body, drinking in the sight before him. You knew he enjoyed his view, his eyes trained solely on your body rather than your face. So much so, he didn’t catch you watching him. He licked his lips before running one finger over them in silent admiration.

The vision of you, naked and wanting for him, pregnant with his baby. . .you knew, most likely, it was unrivaled to anything else he’d ever seen. Even in the dim light of your singular lamp, you could see that look in his dark eyes, one hand going to brush through his hair while the other tightened the towel at waist. His bottom lip, gripped by his teeth. His thick cock, still very erect, tenting the towel hung at his hips. 

“You are beautiful in every way,” he remarked, tone low and throaty as his eyes finally locked on yours. You felt your thighs tremble with need as your body continued to prepare itself for him.

Still on your hands and knees, you looked towards the head of the bed again to get to your pillows. Once there, you turned your body around to fully face him. You tilted your head to the side with a grin that you hoped conveyed at least half of what you felt. Over one shoulder, hair cascaded down your back, and over the other shoulder, your hair laid against a supple breast. 

You then began to shift your weight back slowly, lowering your hips toward your heels, resting the backs of your thighs against them with your knees spread just enough. Your belly and breasts, the main focal point. The palms of your hands found the mattress behind you as you were beginning to lean back against the pillows. Needed the pressure on your  back. But, he stopped you before you leaned too far. 

“Wait,” he said, your eyes silently questioning him as you watched him make his way towards your side of the bed. “Let me help you, baby.”

You watched in adoration as he grabbed the two pillows on the other side of the bed with one hand, situating them behind you, along with the two that always rested there. “I know how your hips and back have been hurting. . . I should’ve done this before you ever got on the bed.”

“It’s okay, Jake,” you smiled, watching as he worked to place them just right to support your sore muscles. “Really.”

“Just wanna take care of you,” he replied, tapping your hip with two fingers. “Now you should have that support behind you, baby. Lean back. Just a bit.”

You did as he said and. . .oh. It felt so nice. When your back formed to the pillow, you could have sung a thousand praises. It was instant appeasement for your aching body. Continuing to make yourself comfortable, you watched him push his hair back as he stood beside you, watching you with intense care.

“Are those pillows enough? I can go get a couple more from my–.”

“It’s perfect,” you truthfully claimed. Yet, even if it wasn’t perfect, you were not about to let him leave your side.

Your mouth watered as his eyes darkened, taking in every inch of your body he could see. You saw his zone in on every movement of your hips, eyes, and heavily swaying tits as you finally, fully situated. Then, with nimble, impatient fingers, your hand reached out to the towel at his hips, and with a singular flick of your wrist, his towel was falling. And your eyes instantly flew to his thick cock that seemed strained to the point of uncomfortability. His tongue met his lips, his dark irises, trained on your face as he lifted one hand to your lips. You knew exactly what he wanted. So, you did just as he silently requested and spit in his palm. 

Hand now wet with your help, he went to languidly stroke his length. His eyes never once leaving yours as you felt your mouth fill with more saliva, might he need it. All you wanted was to help him. 

That wasn’t deemed necessary, though, because he was soon letting his cock go to sit on the edge of the bed, beside your bent knees. His fingers grazed up your thigh, the skin automatically igniting at his touch. Your center fluttered, needy for more attention from his hands. 

It was like he sensed the call of your body, finally scooting back to lay down on the bed. He was moving with intentionality, going to the exact space he’d instructed you to create between your legs. . . for him. 

Finally, he was on his back, head nestling snugly between your thighs. His face was in the direct line of your pussy and ass. And his entire tanned, solid, stunning body was extended in front of you. You watched his stomach flex with each inhale and exhale — as he took in deep, deliberate breaths. And his beautiful dick, in perfect view for you to admire if you wanted. Was he doing this shit on purpose? Was he taunting you with it? Even though he refused to let you have it? 

You were about to get snarky with him about it, but you didn’t have time before your body was sent into euphoria as his hands located your ever-aching breasts, giving them each a firm knead. Each got attention of their own for a bit, his hands placed fairly over their own full breast. 

Before you could get too used to that, he pushed them together. It should’ve hurt, but it felt so impeccable. Your chest was tender, but the soreness of one offset the achiness of the other. You let out a relieved sigh with the work he was doing, pushing them to move against each other in the middle as he paid attention to the swollen sides with a firm massage. You bit your lip to conceal a moan at the sensation. But when you felt a gentle slap against the side of your left breast you couldn’t contain the noise as it slipped easily past your lips. 

“I want to hear you, y/n,” he sternly commanded, your core close enough to his face at this point that you felt every breath with the words. Your thighs shook with each breath he took. “Let me hear you.”

Then, without leaving time for you to bicker, he was back to his previous motions. You respected his work always, but you were learning to really appreciate his new, adjusted focus to parts of your body. Specifically your boobs. Even though they couldn’t fit in the palm of his hand like they once (perfectly) could, he still made sure to cover the expanse of them with intentionality from his long, skilled fingers. 

You threw your head back as the calloused tips of his fingers skimmed over your sensitive nipples. And when he came back, he purposefully rolled them with practiced circles from his thumbs. You were shaking when he finished his work with a final, intentional pinch to both nipples. You shivered as your back arched, body searching for more. 

His arms then went to wrap around your front, palms immediately situating on your belly. He placed one hand at the bottom of your belly to affectionately hold the curve of it. As you leaned into the touch of his hand there, he gave a gentle caress to the front of the bump when you heard a few words slip from his mouth. 

“Thank you, y/n. You will never understand how it feels to watch you grow my baby—our baby,” he breathed, each word’s breath brushing against your vulnerable center. 

You hummed an acknowledgement, not able to fully process his words with the way his breath continued to make your entire body tingle with needy electricity. 

Then the tender moment was abruptly cut off when his focus zeroed in on holding your ass instead. He squeezed a round cheek in each palm. You moaned, your legs spreading even more to grant him additional access to the place you needed him most. Your hands wrapped around the front of your thighs, irritatingly squeezing the supple flesh as you buzzed with need. You wanted to hang onto him, but you didn’t want to spook him. 

Before you could get too used to the new angle and the feeling of his grip on your behind, he was smoothly landing a harsh slap to your right cheek. The action had your head falling back with a sigh, your pussy fluttering. His hands then traveled to your hips and held safely to them, splayed perfectly to grip the muscle there entirely. The pressure was euphoric.

“Jake, please. I need more—.”

Without any warning whatsoever, he brought you down just the slightest bit further to meet his mouth in a tender kiss. Then, his tongue began where he’d left off in the shower. 

Your toes curled deliciously with a loud groan at the feeling of him making home between your thighs with his skilled mouth. You couldn’t help it — you had to touch him. His abdomen was in perfect distance for you to grip, so you did just that. Your legs widened further with your new hand placement, allowing your core to meet his mouth’s ministrations even better than before. 

Your fingers flexed against his belly as you let your tummy rest comfortably on his chest. You smiled softly to yourself at the connection, not planning to move anytime soon. You watched his cock tremble briefly with another brush of your tummy to his chest as your body jolted with a particular flick from his tongue against your aching, throbbing clit. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your body tingled, almost all of your senses being wonderfully assaulted.

For a few moments, he paid special attention to your center with long, purposeful licks of his tongue. Then, you felt one hand drift over your ass to your most intimate spot, two fingers spreading you even further. And, keeping them there to spread you, with practiced precision, he began giving several long, open mouthed kisses to the sensitive flesh. You pulsed with each deliberate slide of his tongue and lips.

The sounds you made were humiliating, at best. Though, it seemed Jake really did like it. He’d even started rewarding you for them. At every noise, he’d intensify his actions – making out with your pussy fervently, his tongue dipping deeper and deeper with every squeak, moan, or sigh. He continued teasing you until he replaced his tongue with two strong fingers. He slipped in, spreading the long, skilled digits inside of you — deliciously stretching you. 

“You are so fucking tight, baby,” he raspily groaned as he intermittently spun and stretched the two fingers inside of you to prepare you. He licked one stripe through your opened folds before you felt a smile against you. “Has it been difficult being a celibate pregnant woman?”

“Only when it comes to you,” you moaned as he pushed the two fingers just deep enough to brush your sensitive cervix. “I’ve needed you so fucking badl— ah!”

You couldn’t finish your thought as his entire tongue, rolled just right to fit snugly in you, thrusted up, finally making home inside of you. Stars erupted behind your eyes — his name, a pathetic whimper on your lips. 

He used his grip on your ass to pull you back just enough that his bottom lip was able to nudge against your clit with each thrust of his tongue inside of you. Your body shook at the new sensation, your hips rocking of their own accord to meet every movement of his mouth. After a few more intentional laps of his tongue within you and his plush lip grazing just right against your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you felt yourself nearing the end. Your entire body was alight and trembling. And the intoxicating, mind-numbing realization that you were about to finish on his tongue for the first time in who even knew how long was what tempted to finally push you over the edge. 

But before you could reach that peak, he was pulling his mouth away and using his firm grip on your ass to lift your tension-filled body off of his face. Fuck. No. You did not attempt to contain the angry grumble of his name, the frustration was ridiculously palpable in your tone. He needed to know your aggravation at his rude teasing behavior. You were actually on the verge of frustrated tears at not being able to finish like you so badly needed. 

“Jacob, if I can’t fucking cum–.”

“Stop it, y/n – I just needed you to know that I want you to let completely fucking loose,” he interrupted you, not letting you get started on a tangent before he was correcting your assumption. He wasn’t stopping – just wanted to talk. Wanted to give you permission. “I need you to show me with your body how badly you’ve needed this. Don’t you dare control it. Let fucking loose. If you move your hands, though, I’ll fucking stop. Make you wait. So you better keep those hands on me. Don’t move and let me work. Do you understand me?”

You felt the stress ease from your body, your body relaxing once more, going once more to rest against his strong hands and the pillows. You could do all of that. Just needed him to keep going. “Yes, Jake,” you sighed, your pussy clenching needily at his warm breaths, the only barrier between you and his mouth. “I promise.”

“Let me take care of you, baby.”

You sighed with an agreement as you let your hands relax on him enough to smooth over to his sides, holding onto his sturdy obliques for better support. 

Then he was back at it. No warning as he went back to exactly what he was doing before. Except this time, he alternated between patterns. He started with the one angle of his lip against you and his tongue inside of you. But after a few skilled uses of that one, he was back to making out with your folds, tongue first every time, then lips meeting to seal the deal with an intimate kiss. God, it made you wish even more that he could kiss your mouth. . . but you’d just have to suck it up.

Your body was shaking against him, still holding on to enjoy the feeling for as long as you could. But you could only hold on for so long – you needed the tight ball of tension in your belly to be unfurled. So, with the rotation of his tongue in you, lip intentionally prodding your clit, to the long lap of his tongue before he’d give a lasting, lazy open mouthed kiss to your cunt. . . You barely registered it approaching, the ball tightening to near obliteration, one precise suck from his mouth making your body tense, desperate for moremoremore. Your hips faltered, almost stilling completely, as your eyes hazily rolled into the back of your head. And with one final, purposeful stroke of his tongue from top to bottom of your oversensitive flesh, you were gone. His name tore from your chest, no mind at all for anyone else besides JakeJakeJake as your fingers sealed to his sides, never daring to leave his skin. Needed all of him around you, in you, on your, with you — forever.

Fuck. You loved him so goddamn much. And as your body hung loosely in the clouds from the work of his tongue, you felt wholly validated that there was nothing on the planet that compared to the way he made you feel. Whether it be in your bed or in your heart, Jake Kiszka was it. Always would be, you were afraid. 

As you tried to come down and recover from the high, you soon realized he wasn’t going to give you time to gain strength. No, he just kept going. His mouth worked like he was devouring his favorite dish. Too desperate for every last bit of you to bother stopping, it seemed. And the next time he went to put his tongue inside of you, his lip had barely brushed against your clit before you were going entirely motionless. Your mind blanked entirely. 

You sobbed his name on a drawn out, strangled whine that turned hastily to a growling moan. Every filthy sound that escaped your lips was loud as fuck. And, really, you would’ve felt incredibly bad for your neighbors – had you given a single fuck about anything. Your hips stuttered in their rhythm, keeping in time with the melody your mind kept producing. akeJakeJakeJakeJake. . . .  Everything worked in time with the long-since-practiced song of his name.

“Fuck, baby,” you whined, eyebrows furrowed as you felt consciousness come back little by little, only faintly, but still. Your fingers let up just a little on his sides, letting his flesh breathe from your vice-like hold. 

The way you let your body settle to accommodate the motions of his tongue was nice. He did all of the work as you relaxed against him, your quivering pussy gave him everything he — and you — needed. Your eyes slid closed in ecstasy before a hum from his lips jolted you, your fingers slipping past his waist line just a bit as you stretched further down his body to give him better access.

Slowly, before you could process anything else, your hips started moving again with some assistance from his persistent hold on your hips. He went to fully grip your ass, assisting you in grinding down, hard against his strong, flattened, and fucking wet tongue. He hadn’t stopped once the entire time. His fucking stamina was otherworldly. And, even though you’d just (kind of) come back to, you were already falling apart again. It hit you suddenly, when you felt his hums switch to a low growl against your labia, right before going back in for a sloppy kiss. You were instantly back in the throes of all things Jake; your body went utterly numb as you sunk as far as you could onto his face. The growls and groans continued from his mouth – you felt every single one against your center as he worked to tilt your body just so, his nose nudging against your aching core briefly. Your toes curled tighter at the contact, amidst the harsh ride of your orgasm on his lips. He wanted you to feel every bit of work he was putting in. Every movement of his mouth was crucial to your enjoyment of the moment and he was making damn sure you knew that.

You made the mistake of looking down as you groggily returned from your second orgasm, to the present time. Because, when you looked down, you were offered the opposite of reprieve. With a slow glance just past your round tummy, you caught sight of the very bottom of his chin and the strong column of his neck below you. And what you beheld was intoxicatingly beautiful.

He was—his tanned skin. . . He was fucking soaked. Had you squir–? The flood of heat that enveloped your belly, washing over your entire body in a rush of glorious overstimulation, was the only sign you’d had of a fourth orgasm. 

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, your body incapable of handling itself as you let out a choked sob, tears flooding down your cheeks at the care you were being shown. Your hands finally slipped further, nestling on the insides of his thighs. You leaned forward just a bit to grasp him better, the want for his dick back with a burning desire as you got closer to it. You could obviously tell that he was beyond ready for you — stretched readily, angrily, and so thick. . . All. For. You.

How did he expect sex to not happen tonight? You needed it. Needed him — all of him. So, so, so desperately.

You felt even more tears touch your cheeks at the heavenly thought. Yes, you were definitely being pushed past your limits. But, with Jake, did you truly have any limits? Your poor pussy was straining, begging for a break. But, all you wanted to think about was Jake. Jake, inside of you. Needed to keep going until you got what you needed most of all. 

You could hardly begin to wrap your mind around how he just kept going through all of it. Though before you could topple into another one at the mere thought of his dick in you, your weak, spent body was being repositioned by strong arms.

Through barely opened eyes, you sort of registered that he’d moved both of you completely from your previous positions. You were definitely still out of it as he balanced your ass on his thighs, one arm around your waist to hold you. And he was the one on his knees now, facing the headboard, your back still facing the pillows he’d set up. 

You wrapped your legs around him, which made your leaking center draw even closer to his tip, throbbing and angrily blushed — all for you. 

Even through blurred vision, you noticed how he seemed to have gotten impossibly harder – at the sole act of devouring you. The precum that glistened at his head distracted you, your mouth watering at the sight with a tiny whine at the intimacy of it all. From your front row seat, you admired how his cock jerked with need as he worked to pull one pillow down to situate behind you. Before you could get used to the sight of his dick for any longer, he was once again repositioning your body. Gently, he used the arm at your back to guide you directly onto a pillow, placed perfectly to cradle your hips. Your head, blissfully meeting the other fluffy pillows at your headboard. 

You could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, exhaustion threatening to take over. But you knew better. Fuck that. You did not want to go to sleep yet. The night was young and you still hadn’t gotten what you truly, initially wanted. And you were determined to convince him. Simply put, you were far from ready to be done with this night. 

His voice was hoarse with want as he leaned over you, giving a wet kiss to your dampened neck before his warm breath brushed against it. “When the pillow supports your back there, it works to elevate your hips,” his fingers gripped your hips, his thumbs melting into the muscle there to release tension. Your head rolled back into your pillows, your eyes slipping closed with an intense, relieved sigh. “And. . . ,” he continued, lips grazing your neck before he delicately kissed the crook underneath your ear. He moved to speak into it, so low. “I get the best angle to make sure you feel satisfied. All I fucking want is for you to feel so good, baby.” 

You used him being closer to your face to your advantage and laced your hands through his hair before bringing him down a bit further, just enough to touch his naked chest to yours. His face tucked even further into your neck to give you a plethora of messy kisses, licking the skin he could reach. 

Your nipples were so tight, still aching for attention. And, you found at that moment, simply pressing your breasts to his chest, skin to skin, gave you some much needed reprieve. Gave you a sensation that felt like sparkles, all the way down to your toes.

Pushing your chest against his once more, he let you use his body as he balanced on his elbows around your head, keeping his chest close enough to graze your tender breasts. With the action, he brought his face up to examine your blushing, pleased features with a smirk. “Your nipples sore, baby?”

“Always,” you sighed with an absentminded giggle. “It’s all your fault.”

“Mine or hers?” He asked with a grin, his hand going down to cup the side of your belly. 

You felt butterflies flutter at the gesture – loved when he touched your tummy. “I feel like blaming you right now,” you grinned, cupping his cheek, running your thumb over his beauty mark. 

“Guilty as charged. I’ll work on those later, hm?”

“Okay,” you sighed, pushing yourself up against him one more time before he was moving, yet again.

As he went to lay on his belly, you laced your fingers through his hair, mostly dry, just a little damp. And, his tongue, once again, met your heated core, only brushing the sensitive place with one measured, precise lick through your overindulged folds. 

A guttural moan formed at the back of your throat, your hands leaving his locks to grip the comforter. Your back, arching from the bed and pillow, body yearning for moremoremore. 

He began languidly kissing your center again, this time focusing his tongue on your clit before each tender press of his lips to the bundle of nerves. When another jolt of electricity shot through every inch of you, you went back to knotting your hands in his hair. And with one gentle kiss to your clit, he worked his way back up your body. 

He tucked his face into your neck, giving listless, hungry kisses to the skin there. With every brush of his tongue, you felt yourself melt into the sheets around you. Heat pooled under your skin at his lips on your supple flesh. You felt it go from your lower back, all the way to the pit of your tummy, simmering at your core. A pleased hum slipped from you at the sensation, your eyes closing at the familiar, precious feeling of pure and unadulterated safety and comfort under his touch. 

You’d missed this.

Fatigued as your body was from the repeated climaxes, you instantly perked with a surprised, needy whine when you felt two fingers deftly swipe — up and down — through your folds to collect any remaining release. You shivered while he collected enough for his liking. As you continued to tremble beneath him, he took the time to swiftly push the same two digits inside of you. He stretched you so exquisitely — all the way to the last knuckle. Your hips bucked into his open palm, needing every bit of support his hand could offer your aching center at the familiar, yet (now) slightly foreign feeling inside of you. 

You’d needed this. Him, inside of you. Somehow, some way. Right there, you decided, if he wouldn’t let you have his cock tonight, you would gratefully accept his fingers as a runner up.

These fingers. They knew your body just like they knew the strings on a guitar. The callouses, from his craft, deliciously traced circles, slow and sure, against your most secret spot, inside. And not too long after, his thumb claimed its rightful spot on your clit, drawing the same circles there as the fingers did on the inside. The two tender places on your body, receiving equal, gentle, deliberate care. 

With a final lazy kiss behind your ear, he let his lips trail from your neck, down your chest. He took special care to wrap his mouth around each of your nipples. You savored the feeling of his tongue flicking expertly at your puckered skin as his fingers worked at your pussy. You writhed under him at the sensual relief for your aching body — your sensitive nipples — fuck. Your chest arched into his mouth as he paid each breast special attention. 

His dark eyes instantly shot to yours as he leisurely released his plush lips from your breast, measuring your reaction at the loss of contact. You only whined a little as you watched him with rapt attention, awaiting his next move. 

He rose to his knees, fingers leaving you at the movement. You whimpered pitifully as he shifted back down towards the foot of the bed. He went slowly — the raging, rock hard problem at his groin, offering an incredible sight. Once he’d made it as far back as he believed reasonable, he was carefully lowering himself onto his belly once again. As he did this, he held his cock in one hand, positioning it so he’d be as comfortable as possible. 

God, you wished to be the one holding it. Whether it be with your hand, your mouth, or your pussy. . . You’d accept anything he granted you at this point.

Once on his stomach and with his dick tucked away and out of your sight, you felt more desperation gather in your chest. You had to tell him. Ask him one more time. 

“Jake,” you started, waiting for his eyes to find you. With the obtrusion of your round tummy, you had to lean up on your forearms to see him better. After a couple beats, he gave you what he wanted. His pretty brown eyes located yours in one fell swoop. Your breath caught shakily in your chest at how he was gazing at you. “Please, let me have you tonight. All of you. Please.” You begged, not giving two flying fucks for how stupidly pathetic you sounded. 

Your eyes gauged his response. Would he say something? For a few moments, he continued to hold you in an intense stare, eyes scanning your face, something akin to awe evident on his face as he observed you. 

Then, the slowest, most heartfelt smile blossomed on his lips, eyes earnest for you to understand. “Tonight is your night, baby.”

“Okay, so – it’s what I want,” you insisted. “Please.” 

Yet, all you got in return was a smirk, followed by a wink before he was settling his face between your thighs. You sighed in resignation, but lifted your hips up to his mouth, greedily as you rested on your back once more. Your head rested against the stack of pillows behind you, giving you little glimpses of him as he worked. After a few careful licks, he let his eyes hone in on yours as he made out with your pussy – just like he would your mouth. His eyes never left yours as he continued. And, the feeling that began to unfurl in your tummy was an old friend at this point in the night. 

You watched as he went down so far — catching every bit of your release. So, momentarily, his face was hidden, blocked by your growing belly. But before you could be too sad, his head came up, and those Amber-brown eyes met your own. They were filled with lust, hooded in your direction with an intense yearning. 

“Jake,” you sighed, smoothing your hands down your belly before you situated a little better on the pillow under your hips and lower back, leaning up on your own elbows to get a better view of him. 

His long hair was fanned across your legs, sweeping against the flesh of your thighs as he leaned forward to kiss your round, taut stomach, so delicately. 

“In every way, you are perfect, y/n,” he affirmed, saying it in a way that left no room for disagreement. 

You flushed a little smile his way, but your core throbbed for more. You needed it. Needed all of him. 

“Jake, please,” you moaned, communicating all you could with the two words. This moment felt more familiar than you could put words to. . . It made your heart thump so hard in your chest, all the way up to your ears. 

And then, he was rising more and more, his tongue peeking out from between his lips, licking them with a sort of cruel intention – never taking his eyes off of you. 

Your eyes tracked every single movement of his mouth and then his body. Because of that, you hastily became aware of him situating himself to balance above you, right where you wanted him. His handsome face, once more hovering above yours as his elbows were, again, placed on either side of your head. There was a sparkle in his eye as your breath caught in your chest at the possibility of what was about to happen. 

As he fully settled, you became very aware of his dick – hot and heavy against your throbbing center. 

“You feel that?” He said with a smirk, eyes soft with his words. “That’s what you do to me. What you’ve always done to me. But. . . damn it, y/n. It’s so much worse now. . . because now when I look at your beautiful body, I see it changing to properly house my baby. . . and that sight of you – god. You instantaneously become so much more alluring and enchanting than one could fucking imagine.”

God. He was everything. You would carry his baby forever if you could. The feminist in you screamed at you to take a second, but you couldn’t hear her through the steady pounding in your chest. Your heart yearned for him. And you found it an honor to do this for the heaven-sent man who continued to cast a sweet, secret grin your way. One you’d seen many times before, but this time it held more than before. . . 

You were sure no one would ever understand the immense, wondrous impact the man had had on your life. He’d helped you in ways that were incomprehensible at the moment. 

And, he was so . . . consistent. For example: those first words he’d just spoken to you. . . they were the same as they’d been all of those months ago; on your bed, heatedly touching each other and matching kisses like your life damn well depended on it. He was safe. So, so safe. Never changing. Steadfast. And you knew that — you weren’t stupid. But you could only sink into that knowledge when the nagging little voice that haunted you stayed fucking silent. 

He continued to measure you with a long gaze, all of his attention on you as he bent to nudge your cheek with his nose. When he planted a little kiss to the apple of your cheek, you felt the tear fall from your eye to meet his lips. At this, he kissed it away. He was quite actually taking your pain away. 

In response, all you could say was, “Jake,” on a breath, your eyes continuing to water at the rush of memories as well as the present moment. Your arms went to lock loosely around his neck, holding him and wishing he never had to go. 

“I can’t look at you without wanting to worship the ground you walk on forever. There is no one that—. I’ve never felt—. You are— you— I – fuck,” his eyes quickly averted to your chest, head bowing the slightest bit to face the supple skin. His words turned to heavy breaths against your soft skin. 

You combed your hands through his hair to ease his mind. He gently closed his eyes at the feeling, sighing with relief at your touch. But after a few seconds, he went back to that pensive look as he eyed your chest. His gaze never faltered from it, scanning every inch of your body that he could from his position before he went to nestle his forehead at the top of your breasts. You felt his nose, tucked in between them. 

Then you felt them. Just a couple, but definitely there as his shoulders shook the slightest bit to accompany them. Tears. You paused your ministrations through his hair, suddenly alarmed at the emotion. It mirrored yours, yes, but you worried, nonetheless. . . Fuck.

Your thoughts trailed off, beginning to wind down a dangerous path. Was he regretting this? It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t. Because, if he was regretting it, you couldn’t be surprised or hurt. This was something you’d willingly decided on with him. And it was so wrong – you knew it. If he regretted it and wanted to stop in an instant, it would be understandable, acceptable. Hell, by most standards, it would be opportune. And you hated that. 

You hated it, but — he had a girlfriend. You weren’t anything to him. Not like her. Your heart cracked at the feeling of wetness on your chest, a couple more hot tears falling to meet your sensitive flesh. Your tender breasts were tingling at the sensation of him between them, your nipples so tight at his nearness. Even as you convinced yourself that he was regretting this, your ready and willing body — it pulled you to him. 

Fuck—had to move. You had to move. Be the first one to escape so he couldn’t hurt you. Removing your hands from his locks, you sniffled once as you felt your own tears gather at the corners of your eyes. Dammit. 

Yet, right as you went to take one scooch up, you felt his strong hands present at your waist. He held the sides of your belly snugly in his steady hands. Four fingers gripping your back, and his thumbs, positioned perfectly on either side of your tummy to hold you in place. Why was he stopping you?

When his eyes finally floated up to yours, your breath hitched at the sight. 

God, his eyes. They revealed his soul so exquisitely. 

And, what you saw in them right now was not regret. Not at all. At least. . . not regret for being with you. No, instead, you saw. . . Longing. Desperation. Fondness. Devotion. . . . . For you. And . . . you felt it wrong to name the final emotion you were witnessing. Besides, you were sure that your eyes were deceiving you. 

“I don’t want to stop, y/n. Stop thinking that,” he rasped, clearing his throat as his eyes searched yours. His eyebrows dipped in, nerves seeming to kick in for him as well. “D-do you?”

“Of course I don’t want to stop, Jake,” you insisted, your eyes boring into his, needing him to feel what you were thinking. “That is the last damn thing I want to do. But you were fucking crying, so I felt it was best to–.”

“Y/n—you were just crying, too,” he responded, a whisper of a laugh on his lips before he shook his head, eyes averting briefly before finding you again. “I—. Y/n—. God. There is so much that I want to tell you and I just can’t and it—. . .” 

He cut himself off with one swoop, pulling you back to where you’d moved from. And when his face was above yours again, you felt the head of his dick nudging at you. It made your vision momentarily blurry as his fingers tucked a bit of hair behind your ear. His pointer and middle finger lingered on your cheek as his eyes searched yours for kinship. And you could only hope he found it because you definitely understood him — especially not being able to say what you wanted. 

On a shaky breath, he leveled you with a dark stare. “I just got caught up in my thoughts while I was looking at you and the emotions took over. It normally happens in my head when I see you, but I was saying it out loud and you were right here and—,” he huffed slightly, shaking his head at himself. “I guess you could say the words came out as tears. I don’t know — kind of stupid, but—.”

“Not stupid,” you reassured, getting on your elbows once more to press your body closer to his and leaned up to kiss his cheek delicately. His lids fluttered closed at the contact. You kept your hand on his cheek and held his gaze once he opened his eyes. Feeling like the moment warranted complete honesty (or as much as you could offer), you explained. “I get the whole ‘not being able to say everything you want to’ thing. I’m right there with you. Our situation is just. . . The way it is. And, as much as I wish it were different, it isn’t and it can’t be,” your voice cracked on the last few words. 

He let his face rest against the palm of your hand, his hair brushing your arm. “I know. And it’s just so fucking difficult.”

You furrowed your brows, letting your hand fall from his face to rest on the part of your belly that wasn’t pressed to his. As much as you didn’t want to say it again, you wanted to give him one more chance. Based on the word difficult and the apprehension to express his emotions. . . The situation itself helped you feel morally sound in speaking the pondering thought into the hot air one more time. (Which, in retrospect, was hilarious since none of what you’d engaged in tonight was morally sound by any means). 

“We really don’t have to do this if it is too difficult for you to do this to he— while you’re in a rela— since you’re with someone el—,” you huffed, closing your eyes to recenter, your throat suddenly tight with tears. You really didn’t want to talk about her.

“That’s not what I meant when I said that.”

Your eyes slowly opened to process his expression with the words. His face was open and vulnerable, but hardened all the same. He was letting you in and you loved it. The situation just made it all more tense than it had to be. And you hated that part.

“I meant that it’s difficult since we are limited — due to outside factors,” he expressed, pressing his lips together before continuing. “You aren’t the one making it difficult, baby. I feel completely resolved and peaceful at the idea of this,” he looked down between your bodies. Your eyes followed, witnessing as he lazily rocked his hips against yours once before you felt the pressure of him resting at your entrance. Your heart was thumping furiously in your chest, cheeks hot as his gaze locked on yours again. “And what makes it difficult is I know I shouldn’t feel like that with everything and with the other people involved. . . But— fuck if I can’t help it. It’s always felt natural and right with you, y/n. Even if we can’t be together, I know that it will always feel like this with us and that is what makes it so damn difficult.”

Your eyes watered. Everything he said rang true to your heart as well. So, you said all you found necessary to let him know you were on the same page where that thought was concerned. 

“I know, baby,” you sighed, at a loss for anything else to say that could fix it. 

“The problem is. . .I don’t care about any outside factor right now,” he rasped, breath fanning over your face as he leaned down to press his lips to your cheek. Then your neck. Then your collarbone. And finally, your forehead before his fiery gaze was back on yours, burning down to the pit of your tummy. “I only care about what I’ve wanted to fucking do with you again for so damn long. Watching you and not being able to have you — my baby in you or not. . . It is torture not being able to be inside of you. And I want to stop feeling so fucking tortured all of the time. I need to feel you around me again, y/n.”

Goddammit, Jake. What did one do with all of that? You didn’t know. All you knew was the way he was looking at you had you questioning why in the fuck you were still talking when his dick was quite literally waiting at your entrance. You ‘needed’ this shit, too. Bad.

“Then let me help you with that,” you encouraged, unwavering in your stare. “Please. I need it, too, baby.” You rolled your hips forward once. Just the slightest bit, teasing him and yourself as you felt him begin to slip in. 

His breath caught at the same time as yours, your hips naturally falling back to where you laid, losing the new contact with him. “You’re sure this is what you want, y/n?”

Well. That felt like a loaded question. At the moment, your mind was too fuzzy to articulate what all that question could imply. But you did know for a fact that whatever you wanted. . . It always included him, one way or another. Whether it hurt you or hurt him, you wanted him. It was selfish, but it was true. 

So, you answered without another thought. 

“Yes. So, so badly,” you replied, not able to help the whine as you watched his hand move to hold the length of his cock. He gave it a few leisurely pumps of his fist, before running the tip through the wetness gathered at your center. 

The way your body threatened to unfurl at that action alone told you all you needed to know.  You wrapped your arms at his shoulders, fingers grazing his warm neck before going to spin through his long hair. It was past time to have him—.

Tinklytinklytinklytinklyting! Tinklytinklytinklytinklyting!

Of course. It was zero surprise to you when the ridiculously harsh shrill of the Blues ringtone cut you off mid thought. Your eyes turned stony at the very unwelcome interruption of your iPhone. Jake’s expression looked the same as yours, his jaw clenching for a millisecond. He stayed above you, pausing his motions. But he didn’t budge; only moved his head to get a better look at the interfering device.

Even as he peered over to the phone, plugged in on the bedside table, you kept your arms laced around his neck. You watched his expression change from one of irritation to care and concern for the caller. 

“It’s Elsie,” he said, looking back at you with a brow raised. 

You rolled your eyes. Shocker. You truly weren’t surprised that she was the one calling you at the exact moment you were about to get laid. Annoying ass sister shit, one might say (because, yes, even if she was your favorite person ever, she would always be your aggravating older sister). 

“She’s fine,” you reassured him, gently running your manicured nails over his back. Goosebumps rose in their wake, a loose grin forming on his features at the feeling before he was settling above you again. “I’ll call her later.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure,” you emphasized before getting an idea. “Can you just go ahead and switch it to vibrate?”

He immediately granted your request, shifting just enough that his chest glided smoothly over the tender skin of your nipples. You gave the slightest moan at the feeling and you felt his dick twitch against your thigh. 

You watched his handsome face as he momentarily concentrated to turn the ringer off from the angle at which he laid. His lips were so pretty and pink, begging to be kissed. But before you could get too sad over it, he was done and adjusting above you once more.

And with that, the moment was back. Determination washed over you both. No more phone. Only Jake. And his beautiful face — freckles that usually stayed hidden on his cheeks, suddenly so noticeable as he leaned down even further. His soft, tempting lips, ghosting over your cheek before they traveled to your ear, teeth grazing your lobe before gently biting down on the flesh. 

You sighed, body melting into his as your back arched off of the bed. Forming together perfectly, you felt him line up with your entrance. 

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he hushed above you, breath dusting your heated cheek. 

“Me too,” you sighed, your hips lifting impatiently to meet his. “Please, Jake. I—.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

And again. The blessed phone. You swore if it was Elsie again. . . 

You groaned, put out at the calls and horny as hell. Why was it always like this for you two? God forbid you get what you fucking want. As you groaned, his face fell into your neck with the same sound from his lips before raising up to check your screen again.  

“Oh,” he said, tone steady and serious; his body went rigid at the name on the screen. It caused enough alarm that you sat up on your forearms, elbows balancing your trembling body. 

“What?” You asked, eyebrows bent to show your worry. 

“It’s your Grandma,” he said, eyes glancing to find yours to gauge your reaction. 

“What?” You faltered, dropping your hands from his shoulders. With a shake of your head, you maneuvered your body the best you could to grab your phone. 

“I’ll unplug it,” Jake insisted, nodding his head at you once to lay back. “You just try to take deep breaths, babe.”

Admittedly, you were glad he volunteered because your back was not having it and your breathing had become short at the possibility of something wrong. You’d been laying on your back for a touch too long, it seemed. And, as the Jake-induced haze cleared, you realized your belly was really not getting along with your spine. It was going to take a bit to situate. You could already tell.

When he stretched to grab it, he continued talking, voice low to calm you down. “Relax, baby. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But she never calls this late,” you explained, body in pain, your mind running in frantic circles. You placed both hands over your face to shut out the mental and physical discomfort. “Jake, if she’s not okay— if Grandpa isn’t okay—.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. That’s dangerous and you know it,” he encouraged with a grunt, the position making it tricky to grab the phone. But then he was sighing with relief as you heard the charger being pulled from the socket. “Got it.”

When he was back, he gave you the phone. But he seemed to notice the stiffness in your body. You knew your expression was not hiding how you felt, your lower back twinging. “Come on, baby. Let’s sit up,” he encouraged as he maneuvered his body to be in a sitting position. Sitting right next to you, now, he held a hand out as an offering to you. He gave a gentle nod in his own direction as a silent direction to you to lean up.

Your heart fell in your chest, gripping your phone tight in your hand as it plummeted, elbows digging into the fabric of your bed covers with a blazing hot, furious intent to not let him go. You’d just gotten him again. . . If you stopped now, when would you get this again? 

“But I—I also don’t want to stop—.”

“It’s okay. We’ll keep going. You just need to talk to your Grandma first,” he reminded with an air of reason that you desperately needed at the moment.  “And this position isn’t working anyhow; you’re in pain. I can tell.”

You eyed him skeptically, hoping he was right and that you would be able to keep going. “Fine,” you conceded, taking his hand as he did the hard work with one steady hand in yours as the other pressed against your back, firmly pushing you up and forward. 

With the aiding gesture, you felt it easier to think for a moment. So, you took the opportunity to answer the phone call as he arranged your pillows behind your back. 

“Hello? Grandma? Are you okay?” You rushed the words out in one breath, fingers edging towards your mouth to chew at your nails. (A very bad habit from your childhood that hardly surfaced anymore.)

After he’d fluffed them to an extent that he seemed pleased with, you settled cozily against the pillows as your brain went haywire. 

“So you can answer for our damn Grandma, but not for me?” Elsie quipped from the other end, a giggle hanging off the end of her words. 

But you were not in the mood for giggling. With a contented sigh at it being Elsie and not your Grandmother in trouble, you breathed a little easier. The upright position helped — no longer feeling gravity working against your body and belly. The sitting position was nice. . . And as long as he didn’t leave your side, things would be okay. You just had to get rid of your sister and things would be fine. 

You looked up at Jake with a roll of your eyes, placing your hand over the bottom speaker. “Elsie,” you mouthed towards him, rolling your eyes once more to emphasize your annoyance. 

All he responded with was a breathy laugh, shaking his head at her antics before he began to carefully study your body with blatant admiration. His eyes feasted on your exposed skin. It made you realize how much you hadn’t cared once that you were casually sitting buck-ass naked, as you talked on the phone. And, well. . . It was still not a concern to you. It felt natural to do so with him.

You rather appreciated the domesticity of the moment, even if your sister was totally cramping your groove. 

“Elsie. What the fuck, dude? You almost put me in full panic attack mode,” you griped, looking down at your nails to avoid the rather inappropriate thoughts that swirled at Jake’s dark gaze covering your skin. “What could have been so important that you use our Grandma’s phone to get me to answer at a moment’s notice?”

“I got to town early!” She excitedly chirped. 

The possibility that she’d been calling previously to tell you the same thing hadn’t even dawned on you before. You felt momentarily guilty for not realizing that sooner before snapping at her. It was great news—one of your favorite things was when she would come to town. But. . . it had just come at the wrong time, this time. 

“Well, for one, obviously, Els. You are using Grandma’s phone,” you snorted at her, crossing your legs the best you could with achy hips and a bigger belly. “And secondly, while I am so overjoyed that you’re finally in town —and moving back, no less — I am very busy right now.”

“What could be more important than me?” She snarked before tacking on one more thing. “Oh. . . I know what it is. I bet it’s Jake related, huh?” 

“Fuck, Elsie!” You gasped. For some reason, you were embarrassed by her saying that. . . Even though you’d literally just had the man’s face buried in your pussy. Whatever. 

When you heard another little laugh from Jake’s direction, you warily glanced up. With a fake glare, your cheeks heated as you quickly turned the sound down. 

“Why do you insist on keeping it so loud?” He whispered, his cheeks still pink with a little laugh. 

You stuck your tongue out at him, flashing a middle finger his way. The action only caused him to chuckle more, and you couldn’t help but smile along. 

“Was that it?” You tried at Elsie, looking down at your toes as they wiggled anxiously. Seriously — you were just hoping she’d say yes and let you hang up. 

“So it is Jake!” She giggled evilly from the other end, something shuffling behind her. “Told you so.”

“Who are you with?” You skeptically asked, knowing already. 

“Joshua Michael, of course,” she chirped, at which you heard him scream ‘helloooo, mama!’ in the background of the call. “We just wanted to tell you that we have three movie tickets for the Whitney Houston movie that just came out and you, my lovely sister, are the lucky recipient of one of them!” 

In spite of yourself, you grinned at their antics. “I would totally say yes, but—.”

Though, just as you began to turn your sister down, there was a tell-tale knock at the front door. Oh, hell no. 

You knew there was only one woman who used that particular knock. You’d heard it enough times that it was permanently seared in your brain. 

Maya. Of-fucking-course.

When she knocked again, your eyes snapped up to his. Your fury wasn’t easy to hide, try as you  might. His eyes took you in as they darkened, jaw tightening. Both of you sat there for a couple of moments, Elsie talking on the other end as another knock sounded at the door. 

But you couldn’t be bothered. You were lost in his irises, and it seemed he was lost in yours, too — gazing at you in a way that caused your brain waves to stutter. 

While he wasn’t rushing to get up and get the door, you knew — he felt the moment ending, too. It was evident in his downcast expression — the way his smile had instantly drooped to a frown at her arrival. This was not what you two had wanted. The night wasn’t supposed to end this way. 

Would you get this back? Now that you’d been dealt the glorious cellular and visitor disturbance? Or was all of this going to jinx the possibility of it arising again? Was seeing her again going to make him second guess it all? 

With a sure hand, he reached forward to drift his fingertips down your cheek. Your lids threatened to close at the caress, but his Amber-brown eyes weren’t letting you. He grasped your chin between his pointer and thumb, keeping you right where he wanted you. You were trapped in the way he studied you. No, not trapped. . .  Captivated. He left you utterly captivated. And, you could tell by looking at him, by this stare you were exchanging, that he was just as aware as you that this night was over. 

Elsie and Josh carried on with their own conversation in your ear, they were easy to ignore when you brought the phone away from your ear and into your lap, a defeated look etched on your features.

“I’ll, um— I’m gonna get the door,” he offered in a whisper, dropping your chin. His eyes offered zero reprieve or reassurance as he looked just as downtrodden as you felt. “I’ll have to get dressed, so.”

“Obviously, Jake,” you whispered, palm covering the speaker once more. You sounded snippier than you intended. But you couldn’t help how upset you were in the moment. This night — it had begun to make all of your dreams come true. . . only to sputter out in a blaze of glory. “Just fucking go to her.”

“Don’t do that,” he hushed back, eyebrows turned in to show his own irritability. “It’s not like I called her and asked her to fucking show up. I don’t even know why she’s—.” As if on cue, he was interrupted by yet another knock. His features stern and stony, he waited for her to be done to continue. “Elsie and Josh want to hang out anyway. Why are you pissed at me when we both—?”

“Because it’s always her, Jake!” You whispered, just a touch too loud for the callers. So, at that, you decided it was time to end the call. Bringing it up to your ear and keeping your eyes firmly on Jake’s, you spoke. “Elsie, Josh. I’ll be ready in thirty.”

“Make it twenty, Mama!” Josh yelled from the other end. 

“In other words: the movie starts soon and Josh was already running late, so he’s now rushing everyone else,” Elsie added, sounding equal parts exasperated and in love with Josh. Must be fucking nice. 

As Josh started on a rant about Julie Andrews’ line about being late in The Princess Diaries, Elsie kept talking. “Okay, Josh. Yes. But you aren’t the Queen of Genovia, sweetie,” she snorted a laugh on the other end. You couldn’t even crack a smile as you stayed lost in Jake’s deep brown eyes. “We’ll be there in like twenty minutes, sis. Plugging in Grandma’s phone as we speak. . . And I want coffee, so try to make it even snappier.”

Before you could respond, she was saying a quick ‘I love you’ and hanging up.

You didn’t bother to delay getting ready, knowing full well what your evening had become. As you slipped off the bed, Jake reached out a hand to help you. You didn’t take it. 

“Y/n.”

Being the emotionally charged pregnant woman in the situation, you had zero problem turning your nose up at it. You were allowed to be pissed and pouty. And you wanted him to know how upset you were. (Like he wasn’t feeling his own frustration. . . You knew he was. But still.)

“Baby,” he tried again. You heard his own feet hit the floor and saw him pick up his towel in your peripheral before wrapping it around his waist. Just lovely.

Still refusing to acknowledge him, you went about the stages of getting dressed. Your sports bra came first and you pulled it on in a way that was a little too rough for your sore chest. Not allowing the pain to show, though, you opened your closet door with a powerful yank. Quickly, you located an oversized black sweater and tugged it on in one go. 

And, just as you heard him shuffling towards the door, you were finally hitching your thong up your legs. 

“Please talk to me,” he tried once more to gain your attention. 

You knew he wasn’t going to leave without you giving him something and if he did leave without you acknowledging him, there was a chance you could lose all of the progress you’d made tonight. He’d think that you’d given up. And even if you felt remorseful over how the evening had played out, you weren’t ready to give up. Not even close. 

At that, you decided to turn to face him. You blatantly checked him out once you did, that being easier than his eyes at the moment. The towel was back to being hung around his hips. 

Gotta love it, you continued to inwardly snark.

“What?” You challenged, flicking your eyes to meet his stare. 

Your breath caught in your throat at how he persisted in appearing just as you felt. Though, you’d be willing to bet at this point, your features weren’t hiding your distaste at all. 

“Don’t pull this shit. Not after tonight,” he begged and ordered you all at once. “Please.”

“I’m just upset,” was all you could mutter, crossing your arms at your chest like a child. You felt slightly silly with your outward display of emotion, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care too much. “I wish the night would’ve ended differently.”

“Me too, y/n. I need you to know that,” he pleaded, eyes searching yours. 

For all of the ‘upset’ you were feeling encompass you, you did believe him. After everything he’d said tonight. The way he’d treated you all night long. . . You knew he wanted you back. That much was clear. 

“I do know,” you relented, shoulders easing as your shoulders sagged the slightest bit at the admittance. Because saying it out loud made you realize how straight up depressing this ‘love story’ had become. If you could even call it that. “I’m just tired.”

“Me too,” he loosely grinned, but the way it hung on his lips showed he wasn’t happy. He was empathetic — right there with you, sitting in the sadness that was y/n and Jake. 

The final knock was quicker—sharper. The way she’d rapped made it seem that she was either nervous for Jake’s safety or angry at him for possibly ignoring her (which he was most definitely doing). 

With a nod towards the door, you began to encourage him to leave you. “You better go—.”

At the same time, he’d thrown a thumb towards the front of the house. “I’ve gotta—.”

The interaction had you two sharing one last smile before he was twisting the doorknob and slipping out the door. 

You could not be judged for the tears that accompanied you as you finished getting ready for the movie.

And you definitely weren’t going to own up to the way you hid your face under your massive hoodie on your way out. There was no way in hell you were going to look at the beauty who you heard, still, in Jake’s room. 

It wasn’t because you felt guilty — no. Not at all. It was for the simple fact that she had him and you didn’t. 

There was absolutely no fucking use in denying you were jealous. Fire was in your chest, steam still coming from your ears, and your teeth continued to clench uncomfortably as you hopped in the backseat of your Grandparents’ car. 

Thank god it wasn’t Josh’s clunker. You couldn’t handle throwing up from exhaust fumes on top of everything else tonight. 

December 23, 2022

The next day, you woke up feeling frustrated. . . various types of frustration. 

You started the day by just laying in bed, staring at the spinning fan on your ceiling. You tried to allow the fan to ease you, but you couldn’t stop thinking about your night with Jake — from start to finish. Many circles were drawn across your chest in contemplation until you realized you needed to get up and start the day and get some shit done. You had a late afternoon shift at the Black and Gold. So, when you glimpsed your phone and saw it was already later than 8:30, you figured it was past time to get the day started.

You checked your reflection in the mirror, brushing through your hair once before throwing it up in a ponytail. Your reflection was not your friend, but. . . It was what it was. 

After the way you’d left things last night, you figured you’d make talking to Jake your first stop after you brushed your teeth. He was leaving for his trip today and you didn’t want to leave things on an awkward note before he left. And. . . you just wanted to see him before he was gone for the next couple of days. You missed him already and he wasn’t even gone yet. 

You hadn’t heard him making breakfast yet, so you assumed he was still sleeping. When you opened the door to your room and peeked down the hallway to see his room closed, your theory was essentially confirmed. His door had been shut when you’d made it home from the movie, too. 

So, you went about your morning routine – hastily as you could. Went pee. Washed your face. Brushed your teeth. Checked your hemoglobin. Fed Stevie. 

After fifteen long minutes of daily tasks, you finally went to knock on his door. But, when you knocked once, it made his door swing open at the touch. . . It hadn’t been closed all of the way? 

And. . . When you opened his door, your heart sank. No.

All you found was his bed. . . empty and made. The only whisper of Jake was an empty, unused duffel bag on the bed. Was he. . . already gone? Had he left? Why hadn’t he told you? 

That last thought hurt most of all. You checked your phone in your hand to double check your texts – maybe he’d texted you and you’d missed it. But, on sight, no unread texts appeared in front of you in your thread with him.

You did your best to push past it before lamenting in it. You had work and shit to get done today on top of focusing on being a joyful home for your baby. What you felt, she sensed and felt in her own little way. And, you’d had enough stress at the end of the night last night for you to cause her any more this morning. 

So, going against all of your normal instincts, you decided to not think much of it. It felt like old times when you’d shove things down, but it was also drastically different. Because this time, you weren’t doing it to be avoidant. You were doing it out of a pure and unadulterated love – aimed solely at your baby. 

The kitchen was your first stop – where you placed your phone on the counter, face down to avoid checking. You then went to make yourself a pomegranate smoothie. After downing that drink like nothing (out of stress, unfortunately), you’d washed your smoothie glass and the BlendJet. But your mind still raced with thoughts of Jake and his whereabouts (again, unfortunately). You thought of how he hadn’t thought to tell you anything before leaving. Well. . . That was if he had left-left,. . . You still weren’t sure.

If that were the case and Jake had left town with Maya, had everything last night meant so little to him that he hadn’t even thought to tell you he was leaving early? It appeared as such since he’d just let you wake up to an empty apartment. He hadn’t worried if you felt alone. All that had mattered to him, as soon as she’d walked through the front door, was Maya. 

You knew you were overthinking the entire scenario. But you couldn’t stop. You’d always been like this — always overthought things. It was a habit. Mentally squeezing the toxins from your worries into nearly every brain cell while forcing yourself to digest the negative. And, eventually, you’d never fail to convince yourself of the worst. 

Most definitely a trauma response, you knew that. But that truth couldn’t magically stop you from doing it. 

Gia’s advice echoed in your brain. . . Out with the negative, reach for the positive.

For Lavender at the very least. It was what you needed to do. 

Find ways to be less stressed, y/n, you encouraged yourself, physically shaking your head to rid yourself of the onslaught of emotions. 

So, that was just what you did. The idea that came to mind was honestly ideal for Christmas Eve-Eve, too. 

The first thing you did was indulge yourself — preheated the oven to make some cookies. They were the cheap, circular, break-apart ones with the little Christmas trees from Walmart. (You’d definitely been lacking impulse control when you’d decided on buying them, as they were more than unhealthy — but you were glad you had now.) 

As the oven did its thing, you decided it was time to execute the next part of the plan. This morning, you’d actually felt cold rather than overheated (for the first time in a hot damn minute), thanks to a sudden temperature drop outside. So, after turning on the heat (by a notch), you went to your room and bundled up in your coziest sweats and a sweatshirt, fuzzy socks completing the attire. 

Your favorite, fluffiest blanket came next, right off the foot of your bed. You threw it over your shoulder with glee, actually looking forward to this impromptu self-care time you’d decided on. When your blanket was officially tossed to wait on the couch – along with your phone (which you still hadn’t checked) – you went to put the cookies on a sheet and in the oven on a timer. 

And, you even got a wild hair while in the kitchen — deciding to make a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Might as well go all out.

Once you had the beverage started, you went to the living room and flipped through streaming services until you found the exact Christmas movie you wanted. As if the Christmas gods were smiling down on you, Love Actually was actually streaming on Netflix. 

Right as you clicked play, the cookie timer went off. You got those out and put a few warm cookies on a Santa plate (that you’d rediscovered a few days ago at the back of your cabinet), then grabbed the hot cocoa and finally snuggled down on the couch. It didn’t take long for Stevie to happily join in on the cozy morning, tucking herself into the crook of your bent knee.  

With your phone close by once again, you decided there was no time like the present to text Elsie and let her know that you wanted to do something with her tonight. Having her in town again was going to be the best damn thing in the world. 

(You were also sort of looking for an excuse to check your phone.) 

At the same time Billy Mack finally got the lyrics right, you pulled out your phone to text her with a smile on your lips at Bill Nighy’s problematic character.

But the smile turned to a face of shock at what greeted you on your screen. The name made your tummy flip. 

Jake. Two texts awaiting you, both delivered about twenty minutes ago. 

Jake, 9:32 a.m.: hey. You were gone when we left and my phone died on the flight, so I didn’t tell you

Jake, 9:32 a.m.: but we had to leave town early for Maya’s dad’s Christmas. Flight got rearranged and shit. Should be home late tomorrow night. I’ll keep you updated :)

You stared at the gray bubble. Your mind was racing and your throat was tight with emotion. Yes, last night had happened — you’d done that shit to yourself. . . You just couldn’t help yourself.  It had been something you’d waited for. . . . Longer for it more than anything. But it’d still been a poor decision – you had to remember this. It was a poor decision that made your head spin. 

No, the head spinning was not on behalf of Maya. Fuck that bitch. This was about you; all it had done was hurt you. But, last night, as soon as he wasn’t with you anymore, all you’d had were your thoughts to sit with. Including this morning, you’d had plenty of time to face the hard truth of the matter. 

You weren’t important like Maya. Yes, he’d been fine forgetting about her for a moment last night. But he’d simply been a victim to temptation and lust. She was the one he chose to be in love with – stay with. Whatever emotions you thought you’d interpreted from him last night were invalid when you broke it all down. A lot of shit could be said in a moment of weakness and passion. . . And who the fuck knew if you could trust it. 

Your trauma advised you not to trust his words from the night prior. People couldn’t be trusted with everything they said. Not even Jake, you were afraid. The ones you were fondest of were the ones who could hurt you the worst. Your past never failed to confirm this for you.

The texts just reinforced all of your overthought. He was out of town already. With his girlfriend. He was not your boyfriend. He wasn’t leaving town to see your family. And he didn’t even care to text until this morning to tell you. Left you to worry about him. And surely his phone hadn’t died right off the bat – he could have said something. Also. . . There was no way they hadn’t landed hours ago. Phone chargers were also a thing one couldn’t forget, and he’d definitely had access to one before 9:30 a.m.. 

Easy, made up excuses stared at you from your phone screen. 

You didn’t matter to him. 

So you’d respond as such. (Even when you loved him so much. . . You had to put up a front to protect yourself.)

You, 9:58 a.m.: No worries. I didn’t even think twice about it. Figured you were with her. You two have fun!

In astonishment, you got chills as you realized what you’d just sent. You were proud of yourself. Even though you were internally keeling over with love and hurt for the man, you were playing it very cool. Things would be okay if you forced them to be. Fake it till you make it. Right? 

Besides, at the end of the day, you only had to ‘force’ the ‘cool’ in a few areas. Your past, your future, Jake. . . You only had to pretend so much. 

There were plenty of other areas of your life that were naturally ‘okay’ and happy and joyful. The sonogram picture filling your screen as you locked your phone was enough to remind you of this. The photo worked magic and calmed your nerves on sight. 

Your baby girl. Your little Lavender — your tiny saving grace. She was a gift — already. 

Another cookie had just popped into our mouth as you snuggled down to distract yourself with more of Kiera Knightley’s storyline. . . . when you felt your phone buzz – not once but twice. You tried to play it off and ignore the way your tummy flipped. Tried not to think about how your text hadn’t warranted a response (on purpose). And still. . . you’d received two.

Then there was a third buzz. The vibrating sensation against your thigh pulled your thoughts to Jake. You thought of how he’d been the one to put your phone on vibrate in the first place. You dreamily recalled just how naked he’d been when he’d done it. . . Fuck. The way you bit your lip was a secret told between you, the TV, and Stevie only.

Your eyes stayed glued to the screen as you tried to downplay images from your escapade the night before; the distraction of Rick Grimes in a romantic comedy only worked so well.

The waiting period lasted roughly ten minutes. By the end of it, you were left with zero self control. You unlocked the phone faster than you would ever like to admit. 

Why were you waiting to read and respond like it was a game? Was that the right way to ‘play it cool’? You didn’t know. You were new to this.

Jake, 10:10 a.m.: how are you this morning?

Jake, 10:11 a.m.: I should have texted you last night. 

Jake, 10:12 a.m.: I had to pack my shit at the last minute and our plane was literally about to depart when we got to the airport. A clusterfuck of sorts, one might say 

The little gray bubble with ellipses kept popping up, just as soon going away. He was trying to think of what to say or something. . . Though, you didn’t have to wonder what he was typing for long. The message showed up as soon as the ellipses disappeared for the fourth time. 

Jake, 10:13 a.m.: oh and we’re in Charleston. South Carolina. 

Jake, 10:13 a.m.: A bit of a ways away… her dad lives here. But if you need me, I’m just a text away. For anything you need

Another glimpsing ellipses. . . .

Jake, 10:16 a.m.: I also wanted to apologize for last night

Jake, 10:16 a.m.: I wish it wouldn’t have turned out that way

At his words, your heart broke into a thousand pieces in your chest. What did he mean by that? Was he apologizing for it happening at all? Did he mean to imply that he was wishing it wouldn’t have ended with the interruptions? Or was it that he wished he hadn’t ended up in your bed?

You sat in contemplation, skeptically eyeing the phone screen. To be safe, you chose to respond vaguely. For one, you didn’t know what he meant, so how could you respond to something that could mean two things? And for two, you didn’t want to reveal too much of your heart. . . might it break more at a less-than desired response from his end.

You, 10:20 a.m.: It ended the way it did for a reason. I ended up having a great time with Josh and Elsie. And, I’m sure you’ve had a wonderful time with your girlfriend. :)

You wrinkled your nose in pure disgust at the smiley face. Texting that shit did not make you feel smiley. The flashing ellipses appeared momentarily from him, but nothing came for a bit. There was a slight lull that made your heart sink. Even if you were trying to be guarded, you did not want to stop talking to him. What you’d pondered earlier was true. You already missed him. 

You were a few scenes ahead in the movie twenty-some minutes later. . . Still waiting. Until you weren’t. His name popping up on the screen barely registered before you were unlocking to see what he’d said.

Jake, 10:45 a.m.: Elsie and Josh always bring a good time with them

Jake, 10:45 a.m.: As do you

Fuck. And what did that mean? Your pulse thrummed under your thumbs as they hovered over the keyboard. What would you say to that? Was there anything more laced in those three words?

Once you’d given that a good two minute stare, you went for a simple, kind response. 

You, 10:48 a.m.: Thanks, Jake. :)

For the first time that morning, you felt completely satisfied with what you’d texted. Two words and a smiley face. A win was a win. 

He didn’t waste time. Even though his read receipts weren’t on, the ellipses gave him away every time. Though, you weren’t sure if he cared too much that you noticed. . .

Jake, 10:50 a.m.: I really mean it, y/n. Last night was fucking incredible

While his words should have made you leap for joy, you weren’t sure how to feel about them. They made you feel sort of. . . Cheap. The way you immediately interpreted it was that he only thought you brought a good time when it came to your body. 

And while, yes, that was a turn on. . . It only made your heart feel halfway full. You loved how he’d viewed your body and treated it, but. . . Last night, for you, had been more about the long stares. The secret smiles. The heartfelt words exchanged (that he might have meant and might not have meant). Yes, his naked body was right at the front of your brain (how could it not be? Look at him). But, he was what mattered most to you. 

Not his appearance. Or his dick. Or his mouth. Or his fingers. (But, god, yes. Of course those really mattered, too).

In fact, in spite of yourself, you were squirming on your couch thinking of those things as you saw another gray ellipses pop up on the screen.

Jake, 10:52 a.m.: I thought about you the entire flight, baby

Jake, 10:52 a.m.: you are so fucking special to me. Your heart is the most beautiful thing about you

Jake, 10:53 a.m.: I have to tell you though. All night, I kept beating myself up over how close I was to finally fucking you again. Haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually 

Okay, then. 

The warm flush in your face traveled all the way down to the pit of your tummy. Your mouth fell open before you were closing it to bite your lip. Your heart thumped in your chest at the words taunting you from your screen. 

What does one say to that? If you were squirming before, you were fucking trembling now. Your movie was a faint noise in the background and what was left of your hot chocolate was bound to turn cold. You stared at that message long enough that the words started morphing together. 

Last night had been both a blessing and a curse. A tease of what you’d been wanting. And you could have gotten it. Had it not been for his stupid ass girlfriend. Elsie had been an issue, too, yes. But, you could’ve easily gotten rid of her. But Maya? Damn that woman. And damn her family for taking him away from you — so. far. away.

When you finally thought of something to say, you weren’t sure if it was truly the best thing to say. For the sake of exposing too much of your heart for eventual brokenness, you chewed on it. But eventually, you decided that you didn’t care. 

You, 11:06 a.m.: It was the worst way the evening could’ve ended. I was pretty fucking angry when she showed up because I knew you’d end up going to her. As always.

So much for not exposing your heart and playing it cool. That text screamed at you that it had all been for nothing. . . because at the end of the day, Jake Kiszka was your biggest weakness. And that was even without being pregnant. So, the hormones did nothing to assist you in the issue. 

Even though your response had taken a while, he didn’t let that get the best of him. His responses were speedy as hell. Maybe he really had been thinking about it. . .

Jake, 11:09 a.m.: I had no choice. I’d made that commitment to her

The words caused crimson red to flash in front of your eyes and your brain didn’t process time as you responded. 

You wanted to pop the fuck off on him. So, you did. 

You, 11:10 a.m.: What about the commitment I’ve made to carry your child? Am I nothing for that? Can’t even tell her to wait? Maybe make some time for me? Just for a quick fuck? I’d hope I’m worth at least that, Jake. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have said it. . . But you also didn’t fully regret saying it. You made a solid point (kind of). (. . .Except for the glaring fact that it hadn’t been his choice for you to make that bodily commitment. . . When it had been his choice to be and stay with her.) Honestly, the part you loved most about the fact was the spitefulness inflicted behind your words. It might have made you a bitch, but you were tired of acting like your feelings were one way when you knew for a damned well fact that they weren’t. 

You knew how much you cared. Hell, you’d made the move to admit to yourself (and him, apparently — way back when) that you loved the man, for crying out loud. The least you could do was show yourself some grace in being fucking honest in your anger. You really were hurt from last night. To hell with sounding petulant and unreasonable and ridiculous. . . You could always blame it on the hormones (which could very well be seriously to blame).

Your palms felt damp as you held your phone in slightly shaky hands. Your vision was still fuzzy and too clear all at once as you awaited his response. This one took a little longer than the others. 

Over your time waiting for him to say something, you tried to decide between two things. First, you weren’t sure if you were totally okay with what you’d said. (You were very angry, but that didn’t necessarily validate a person for snapping like you had.) And secondly, you contemplated if what you said was completely within reason and you were more angry with him for taking so damn long to answer.

Trying to get out of your head, you chose to engage in the movie the best you could. You only made it about twenty minutes before his name was on your screen again. 

Jake, 11:22 a.m.: what happened to you being the one who wanted me to go be with her all the damn time? You’ve been pretty insistent that I keep my sights set on her. What changed?

Your eyes narrowed at that. Yes, he had a point. . . But you didn’t give a fuck. So did you.

You, 11:23 a.m.: What changed???

You, 11:23 a.m.: Well, for one. YOU were pretty damn insistent on me being the center of your attention last night. YOU were fine with forgetting about her until all of that went out the window with one knock.

And, for a bit, it continued like that. Just the two of you, bickering. You, blowing smoke out of your ass and him, testing you right back.

Jake, 11:24 a.m.: I can’t forget about her if she’s literally at the front fucking door

You, 11:24 a.m.: And whose fault was that?

Jake, 11:25 a.m.: um. Not mine?? Why are you acting like I was in charge of the flight getting rescheduled last minute? 

You, 11:25 a.m.: Maybe if you would have kept your phone on you, you would have known that she was on her way. We wouldn’t have had to talk so damn much before. We could’ve gotten right fucking to it. 

Jake, 11:25 a.m.: my phone was the last thing I was thinking about when we left that bathroom

Jake, 11:26 a.m.: also, I have to ask. Is that all you wanted it to be? Just a quick fuck?

You, 11:28 a.m.: No. But I wouldn’t be surprised if YOU were fine with it just being a ‘quick fuck.’ 

Jake, 11: 29 a.m.: why me? Why is it always me who wouldn't want that?

You, 11:29 a.m.: It’s always been like that. Right?

Jake, 11:30 a.m.: you have got to be fucking joking. You know for a fact that’s not true.

You, 11:31 a.m.: Do I?

Jake, 11:32 a.m.: you damn well should know it. I don’t eat pussy like that for girls who are just a quick fuck

Oh. Well, then. You were left with no time to consider those words — or the way they were affecting you — before he was texting right after with his own rebuttal. 

Jake, 11:33 a.m.: is that you telling me that it’s always been like that for you though? I’ve only ever been a quick fuck?

You, 11:35 a.m.: Of course not.

Jake, 11:35 a.m.: okay then. So quit accusing me of it.

You, 11:36 a.m.: When have I ever been the one to sleep with multiple people at once? Wouldn’t you worry about being a quick fuck if roles were reversed?

That one must’ve left him stumped because you waited a few minutes for him to come back. Or, much to your dislike, you knew he could also be busy with Maya. Too busy to text you back. At that thought, a gentle hand drew to your tummy for comfort as your eyes welled with tears that you couldn’t avoid.

Jake, 11:39 a.m.: I don’t know why you are so convinced that I’m some sexual lunatic who has slept with all of these women. There were a few when I moved here, yes

Jake, 11:40 a.m.: but that only lasted for a bit and then it was just you and Maya. I’m not some man whore, y/n. My head was just fucked for a while and I didn’t know what else to fucking do with my emotions. Sex was easy so I used it to cope

You, 11:41 a.m.: It’s always me AND Maya. Isn’t it, Jake? Has it always been both of us? The whole summer, was it both of us? And you picked her, so.

Jake, 11:43 a.m.: we’ve talked about this, y/n

Vaguely, you remembered it. But it was hazy and wrapped around a lot of weed and a night that resulted in a baby. You could only remember things in bits from that night and they came back when they wanted. The details of his Maya explanation (because you knew there had been one — you remembered that much) were fuzzy and jumbled at best.

You, 11:44 a.m.: You know I don’t remember everything from that night, Jake. Definitely don’t remember enough to feel solid in claiming I remember EXACTLY what you told me.

Jake, 11:48 a.m.: well. I told you that I saw her for like a month from the middle of June to the middle of July. You asked if I kept seeing her after the night at baby’s all right and I told you that I had because I didn’t think you wanted me. At the time she was a woman who wanted to have regular sex with me and she was just there for me during a really hard time

Jake, 11:49 a.m.: but when you and I started fucking, I cut her off right away. Barely said a word to her to explain why I was done. Kind of ghosted her, actually. All that mattered to me at that point was that you wanted me. Because all I had wanted since the day I first saw you was you. But you only wanted me to a certain extent and then that day in the kitchen, I found out you didn’t want me at all. At least that was what you told me. 

Jake, 11:50 a.m.: you didn’t give me much of a choice that day, if you remember. I had served my purpose and you didn’t want me anymore

Jake, 11:50 a.m.: so I ran back to someone who was familiar and there she was. Point of the matter is you didn’t want me and it broke me, y/n. She wanted me, so we became more. It just happened like that

Jake, 11:50 a.m.: right now is the first time it’s honestly been both of you at the same time. And I’m not sure what the fuck I’m doing to be honest with you. I just know I want you so fucking badly it hurts me every single day. And she is someone I care about enough that I don’t want to break her heart. It’s just really fucking complicated

You sat in shock as you read the four messages. In all of your time knowing him, you had never seen the man type such long texts. . . and all back to back. He’d been waiting a while to say a lot of this. You were grateful he was being honest with you, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t fucking suck to read all of it. It made you want to shrink into yourself and succumb to all of the tears you could muster. Which, at this moment, were sure to be a hell of a lot if you gave in to the pressure pushing at your tear ducts. The pressure in your chest made the tears seem like nothing, though. You felt a weight fall so fucking heavy at your breastbone, you were positive your heart had become a fifty pound weight.

He had definitely put you on the spot with all of that just now. You were at a loss for words. But you had to say something. But your fight or flight was combatting with your raging hormones and your rambling emotions. So, even if you weren’t totally sure of it, you went ahead and typed out what you felt best in your fucked up head.

You, 11:53 a.m.: It’s really unfair of you to put all of the back and forth over the summer on me. You could have had me sooner had you not been such an asshole to me. I wanted you, too. Even if I shouldn’t have wanted you, I did. I had no fucking clue what to think half of the time, Jake. 

Your thumbs flew across the keyboard on your screen before he had time to respond. You had your own shit to say, and the more you typed, the more you didn’t have to think about it. There was some long overdue shit that you needed to express, too.

You, 11:54 a.m.: I was dealing with my own conflicted emotions when it came to how to approach shit with you because I didn’t want to betray Josh’s trust in our friendship by going against his wishes and seeing you. He didn’t want you seeing people. I knew that and I still saw you. So, I felt like shit over that. 

You, 11:55 a.m.: But since finding out about the baby, he and I have talked about all of that and I wish I would have just fessed up to him because I think it would have helped me be more open to everything. At the same time though, I’ve never wanted another woman to get in the way of you pursuing your dream. I didn’t want to be the reason you put yourself on the backburner again. 

You, 11:57 a.m.: I have cared about you for so long, Jake. Even when you were a prick, I cared about you. Josh once said we are more alike than we think and he is right. In a lot of ways, we are alike. One way we are not alike, though, is I have a really fucked up past that I don’t want you to have to deal with. Period. And I’m not fucking budging on that.

You, 11:58 a.m.: But I do want you, too. I hate it because I don’t want anything between us to ever get in the way of what could make you happiest. I’ve always felt this pull to you that I wish I didn’t because it’s unfair to you. And now that I have this baby inside of me… it is near impossible for me to deny the pull. I don’t WANT to deny it. But, at the same time, you are with someone else and that makes me feel even shittier about myself for possibly destroying it for you. And I’m just not sure what the fuck to do. 

He must have been reading them as they came in because his responses were coming back quickly.

Jake, 12:01 p.m.: don’t let any of what we engaged in last night or before make you feel like shit. That is the last fucking thing I want. Our past is complicated and maybe we will never figure it out. We definitely don’t need to be sorting it all out over text 

Jake, 12:02 p.m.: but I do know that if I don’t give in to this pull that we are both feeling right now, I’m going to regret it forever. No matter who else is involved, I need to have you again. And because of our situation, sex seems to be the only thing we are going to be able to have. It sucks, but it’s what we’ve done to ourselves

There was no way you could disagree with him when it came to regretting it. You would regret it forever, too. You had to have him. But. . . the worst part about all of it was that you knew it couldn’t last. Both of you were destined to be in a constant battle of never being able to fully have each other and that was fucking gut wrenching at best. 

And even if he didn’t want you to feel shitty, you did. Because the fact that it ever ended was your fault. Your fucked up brain from your fucked up childhood that you couldn’t even fully remember. It was the most repulsive and hilarious shit. Hilarious in the sense that it wasn’t funny. At all.

At that moment, you didn’t know what to do. So, you did what you did best and denied what you could to push past the hard emotions. You didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve Eve being down on yourself. As a gift to yourself, you wanted to grant yourself that reprieve. In the way you knew best. Avoidance. 

You, 12:03 p.m.: I know that at the end of the day, Maya is who you’d want anyway. I’m too much, Jake. You haven’t put up with me long enough to understand it. 

You, 12:03 p.m.: I am very thankful that you found Gia for me. So, really. Thank you again, because therapy is how I’m going to get better for Lavender. But SHE is my only goal right now. The baby. 

You, 12:04 p.m.: So I think it’s for the best that we’ve done this to ourselves. Truly. Sex is what we are best at anyway. It’s all we should be doing. When emotions get involved, we fuck it up. And when it’s just sex, it’s easier to cut off.

Jake, 12:05 p.m.: it’s funny. You said the same exact shit last time, but it didn’t make anything any easier for me in the end

You, 12:06 p.m.: So now it’s all about you?

Jake, 12:06 p.m.: jesus, y/n. Cut the shit. It wasn’t easy for you either

You, 12:07 p.m.: Well, I wish it would have been. 

Jake, 12:08 p.m.: I wish it would have been too. But we can’t always get what we fucking want, can we?

In order to avoid an argument, you took that as an opportunity to drop a joke. Again, you were trying to give yourself a gift. And an argument over half-lies with the man you loved was not a gift.

You, 12:09 p.m.: We sure can’t, Mick Jagger. 

After about ten minutes of staring at your screen with no response, you started losing faith in any sort of arrangement working out with Jake. And again, you’d only have yourself to blame for screwing up any progress that you two were making with the emotional explosion, from both of you, over fucking text messages. 

Your screen was becoming your worst enemy. You didn’t want to look at your rejected bright blue text any longer. But you were stuck in a staring contest with it, no matter how hard you didn’t want to be.

The laser focus concentration had you fucking jumping when the phone in your hand started buzzing with a call. But as soon as you calmed down and focused on Elsie’s name, your breath rushed back into your lungs at the fact that it was her. You needed her. 

Sweet relief. Thank you, Els, you thought gratefully as you clicked the green button, carefully sliding out of your texts before putting Elsie on speaker. 

You did not want to accidentally send a voice memo or a weird ass text by staying in your texts with Jake, as a phone got pressed to your heated cheek. 

“Hey El—.”

“Hey bitch, I’m pulling into the parking lot,” Elsie’s energetic voice cut you off. She’d most definitely been up for several hours already, being much more of a morning person than you’d ever been. “If you aren’t ready when I come knock on the door, I’m disowning you.”

“Give me a damn minute!” You grumbled, albeit happily, at her intrusion. You turned off the TV as soon as you could, though. Had to escape the confines of your living room. “You just called me.” After throwing the blanket off of you, you rushed around to throw away your cookies and dumped your cocoa down the sink. After washing all of the dishes you’d used, you went to find some decent clothing for an outing. Comfort was still key today, so some leggings and a sweatshirt were your goal. 

The conversation with her carried on into your bedroom, while you found clothes to wear. She was doing most of the talking as you figured out what to wear. A bigger black sweatshirt, black leggings, and black fuzzy socks. And a maternity bra today. The sports bras were decent, but the maternity bras felt much better, if you were given the choice. 

You took a minute to relieve your ear from Elsie’s rambling. When you pulled the phone away, she was still going on and on about something slightly crotchety your grandmother had said offhandedly that morning.

And when you took a break from her talking, your head cleared enough that you decided to put on a little bit of makeup. 

So, rather than continuing to be rude and ignore her spiel, you ended up telling her to just ‘be patient and wait for a few minutes’  in the car. You made sure to tack on a promise that you’d be down soon.

After she hung up with one last ‘hurry up!,’ you finished your mascara with a final comb over your left lashes. You brushed through your hair a couple of times in front of your full body mirror. And when you were observing your chosen outfit, your eyebrows drew in when you looked better at the dark material of the sweatshirt in the mirror. Bavarian Inn? This didn’t belong to you. . . You didn’t recognize it and it fit slightly bigger than your other sweaters. 

The closer you looked, the more you noticed it gave a specific location for the Inn. . . Frankenmuth, Michigan — the guys’ hometown. Right below the name of the hotel. Did this belong to Jake. . .? It could’ve been Josh’s, Sam’s, or Danny’s. . . . You knew it belonged to one of them, thanks to the Michigan reference. You were almost sure of it. 

But, still, an idea struck in your head.

You snapped a few quick selfies in the bigger sweatshirt. You made sure to angle the camera in a way that helped you feel confident and cute, while also showing the sweater. Your toes wiggled nervously in your white, fuzzy socks. 

You noticed your hair flowed over your shoulder beautifully. It helped you feel a little more confident in your idea.

After taking a few seconds to critique the photos, you chose the best one and sent it to Jake. 

Deep breath in. Why were you even anxious? His face had literally been between your thighs twelve hours ago.  

You, 12:23 p.m.: Yours? 

You, 12:23 p.m.: Or Theo’s? 🤔

For a second, you questioned if it was a good idea to send it. . . You were clearly just starting shit. But, glancing back at your bed, you remembered what had happened on it just a little more than twelve hours ago and how it was cut short by Jake and his girlfriend’s commitment. And, any sort of anxiety over sending it dissipated. 

And the idea that his girlfriend might see your text was fucking thrilling.

You clicked the phone closed, not wanting to watch and wait for a response. As you walked to the living room, you rubbed a hand over your belly before you stopped to give Stevie a few rubbies. She had hopped up on the back of the couch to bid you farewell. With one more twirl to her tail, you gave her back a gentle scratch before telling her you’d see her later.

Then, in no time, your belt bag was slung over your shoulder—almost good to go. As you laced up your trusty white, high-top Chucks, you felt your phone buzz in your belt bag. And simultaneously, you heard Elsie in the back of your head telling you to get your ass to the car. 

So, after slipping on your thicker coat to combat the cooler temperatures, you quickly made your way out of the apartment. 

It felt like old times to, once again, sit in the passenger seat of your Grandma’s old BMW. It was on its way to becoming a family heirloom, at this point. The car, having been new when you and Elsie had been kids. 

“Broke out this old clunker, hm?” You asked with a lilt in your tone. Even though you’d been in the car for a few minutes already, the shivering was nonstop with the shocking drop in temperature outside. Leaning forward a bit, belly tucked in the crook of your thighs, you placed your hands in front of the heat. After a couple beats, you were already feeling slightly better. 

And warm, warm, warm.

Man. While it was undoubtedly the coldest day so far for December of ‘22, the older car’s intense heat worked wonders. And it was quickly making you regret the coat. 

Without another thought, you were throwing off the offensive, heavy coat and throwing it in the pristinely kept backseat. Though, you knew, if Elsie took ownership of this car when she moved back, it wouldn’t stay like that for much longer. She was terrible at keeping a car clean. Unfortunately. Because, in all honesty, the car had been kept in great condition for its age. You’d expect no less from your Grandma, who kept everything sparkly clean. It was hardly a ‘clunker’. But it was still much older than your Jetta. 

“Did you hear nothing I said on the phone?” Elsie accused, but her voice indicated she wasn’t angry. She snorted a laugh before she spoke again. “I swear if Jake was up there with his whore of a girlf—.”

“Elsie!”

“Shut the fuck up,” she responded, rolling out of the lot in the vintage silver car. “You know you don’t like her.”

Rather than agreeing, you gave a bullshit response to save face. “Els, I’m trying to be better about respecting–.”

“Stop. She’s heinous and we don’t like her. It’s okay to say that, babe,” Elsie insisted, driving smoothly through a red light when she definitely shouldn’t have. “You, of all people, hold the right to bitch about the bitch.”

“Okay, Red Light Fuckin’ Special,” you poked at her, pulling down the mirror to swipe your lips with chapstick. “Jesus.”

“Red Light Special. . .,” She hummed, clicking her nails against the stereo as she turned up the Ariana Grande song. “That’s what Josh calls me when I go down at a red li—.”

“Okay, no,” you gagged, pretending to vomit at the thought. “Not this early in the day.”

“It is not early. It’s past noon. Damn, sleepy pants. ‘S like you’re carrying another life or something,” Elsie jested, looking over at you just as you did her, offering you a wink. “And that was no red light special, sis. No, no. California Roll is what I like to call that little move,” she jokingly boasted, tossing her perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. 

After the move, she did a little jig with her shoulders to a key change in the song, belting the lyrics from the top of her lungs. 

You couldn’t help but momentarily join in, letting “Santa Baby” by Ariana and Liz flow past your lips, fresh with Baby Lips chapstick. 

After sharing a giggle, you glanced at her from the corner of your eye after checking your very janky nails. “Can we get a manicure today?”

“Oh yes please,” she begged, sniffing a bit as she turned into the nearest Waffle House. Your favorite, trusted location. Just a few blocks from your apartment. “Christmas nails?”

“Ohhhh yes,” you agreed, placing your Baby Lips back in your belt bag. “But let’s do something subtle since it’s almost Christmas,” you laughed, zipping up your bag. The pocket with your phone buzzed again, reminding you of its earlier notification as you’d tied your Chucks.

Oh, yeah. . .Jake. You’d actually kind of forgotten about him.

You took Elsie’s momentary distraction with her lipstick in her mirror to check your phone. 

When you saw you had five texts from him, your tummy flipped and a sly grin pulled at your lips. You loved the way his name looked on your screen. You really did. And you were really hoping you’d gotten to him with your text. . . if even just a little bit.

Jake, 12:25 p.m.: what the fuck?? 

Jake, 12:25 p.m.: yes, y/n. It’s mine. I’m from Frankenmuth. Why the fuck would he have been to a tiny ass town like my hometown?

Jake, 12:30 p.m.: did you invite that fucker over last night or something? After hanging out with Elsie and Josh? Is that why you’re wondering if it’s his?

Jake, 12:31 p.m.: actually. Never mind that question. It’s not my place to care

Jake, 12:33 p.m.: I just hope the sweatshirt is keeping you warm enough

You couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face or shoo away the butterflies going erratic in your tummy at his several texts in a row. Unbeknownst to you, though, Elsie had caught you, apparently. 

“What did Jake say?” 

What? How did she–? Your phone wasn’t even in her line of sight.

Y/n, the voice in your head said, sounding like Elsie as well. Be so for real. . . She knows you better than anyone.

But still, after opening and closing your mouth like a fish for a solid thirty seconds or more, you asked her. 

“How do you know it’s Jake?”

Fuck! Why didn’t you deny it?

Because there’s no point and you know it, the voice seemed to laugh at you. No point in lying to someone who will catch you in it.

 She didn’t answer you right off the bat, just curled her lips in a knowing grin as she raised a brow at you. You continued looking over at her, feeling stupid and not knowing what else to do. You shrugged, bugging your eyes with a shake of your head as if to say ‘what?!’. She looked like she was about to explode with laughter, with the way her lips shook and her eyes brightened mischievously. 

“How do I know it’s–?” She squeaked, a giggle finally escaping her lips. “Y/n– babe. Sis. Please. Don’t even act like I don’t know you’ve been imagining him in your bed every night since you found out in October. Probably even before you found out, too!” She exclaimed, sneaking a glance over at you as she turned the volume down. “You know I fucking know. It’s me!”

Obviously, you knew she was right. But you weren’t going to just let her get off that easily.

“Did Josh tell you anything?” You asked, suspicious that the activities from your game night had been exposed to your older sister.

“Maybe he spilled some information after your sad ass got out of the car last night. . .,” she smirked, eyebrows scrunched together in faked thought. 

“My ‘sad ass’? I was totally fine last nigh–.”

“Stop lying to me!” She rolled her eyes with a laugh in disbelief, the pitch in her voice raising with exasperation. “I heard Jake during our phone call and Josh put two and two together when we picked you up.”

“What did he–? How did he know anyth–?”

“He saw Maya’s car when we got there, I guess. Didn’t say anything about his little clue until the night was over though. After I brought up how depressed you’d acted all night long.”

“I didn’t act depressed, Elsie. God,” you corrected her, knowing she was most definitely the correct one. 

You knew you’d acted beaten down. Stupid – should’ve used last night to have fun rather than playing your turn of events over and over again in your head. Last night should have been a night of celebration that your sister was finally home (for good). 

You should have enjoyed the movie about Whitney fucking Houston while indulging in delicious food at Nitehawk during the movie. 

The stress eating had been unavoidable – especially when the menu had come out and your favorite dish had practically screamed your name. The root beer float and Charlie Bucket after your meal had been a pure act of self care for your broken heart. But. . . you’d still wound up sobbing during the final scene of the movie over much more than the obviously heartbreaking death of Whitney. Because, as she’d sung those songs, all that had appeared in your head was a reel of you and Jake. 

So, as Elsie and Josh had sung the movie soundtrack from the top of their lungs on the way home, you’d continued to silently sulk in the backseat as you finished the gummies in your Charlie Bucket. Your hood had been up and over your head to conceal your emotions. Said head, having laid dramatically against the car window as they’d had the time of their lives in the front seat. 

Okay. . . . Maybe you had been transparent in your emotions. 

“Yeah. . . You’re remembering, huh? Little Miss Depressed McMopey,” she smirked, although the smile didn’t reach her eyes as she seemed to be feeling your reminiscent melancholy with you. Not ever one to let you sit in your sadness for too long, she was squeezing your arm to bring you back to the moment. Your eyes snapped up to hers, the light in her blue irises brightened your spirits once more. “There she is. . .,” she paused, rubbing your arm until you were giving her the best smile you could manage. It wasn’t hard to put one on — not with Els; she made you feel at peace just by existing. “Now. . . back to Jake’s hands being all up in your no-no square during game night.”

At your open mouthed squeak, reminiscent to Lizzie-fucking-McGuire, she bursted out with a laugh. 

“Ohhh yeah, y/n,” she chuckled knowingly, blinking a few times for emphasis. “Oh. Yeah.”

Your mouth continued to gape, questions spilling past your lips in choppy sentences and barely intelligible words. To be fair, you were in shock at the sudden change in topic — the fact that she knew. 

“Josh told me everything. Well. . . everything he knows at least,” she cut into your sounds, your mouth momentarily clamping shut. “The rest I can piece together because you, sis, are my favorite puzzle to try and solve – always have been, always will be. It’s because you’re a fun puzzle for me. . . I put every piece together every damn time.”

You stared her down. Brows furrowed in contemplation and simmering annoyance. The fire that licked your veins was at Joshua for exposing you to her before you’d gotten the guts to say anything. “What is ‘everything’? What all did he divulge?” You were finally able to spit something out, your tone begging her to give more information. There was no hiding anything from her. No point in hiding anything in the first place – she was always going to figure you out — one way or another. 

She was right. She did solve your puzzle ‘every damn time’. 

She stayed quiet, smirking like a little rat. And curiosity getting the best of you as you squirmed under her knowing look. Like a petulant child, you crossed your arms over your chest, twitching your nose. “And what in the hell happened to my sweet best friend, Josh, who’s never liked exposing other peoples’ shit? He’s just decided that he’s done keeping my business, my business? Now he’s making it his to share–?”

“Oh, babe,” she interrupted you. “You two made it everyone’s business the other night, from what I heard. . . So, no. Josh still keeps shit to himself that isn’t his to share, but. . . he recalled his memory to me. My ears had to hear all of the details that you two exposed everyone to. It is not his fault that he had to witness pornography–.”

“He has got to stop with the porn shit,” you argued back, grasping for something to keep up your end of the conflict. “And it wasn’t ‘us two’. It was Jacob who started shit like that in front of everyone. I was an innocent party – a casualty at the hands of his attack.”

“Oh, yes. Little Miss Innocent. Mhm,” she snorted, turning the volume completely off before pinning you with a stare. “You definitely weren’t spreading your legs for your baby daddy. Right next to his damn girlfriend and everything.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, wimpily facepalming with one hand at her recollection. You didn’t know why you were fighting her on this. She was completely right and you knew it. Josh wouldn’t lie and Elsie wouldn’t bullshit you. The story she was telling sounded like the absolute truth and there was no getting around what she knew.

Besides, you could really use Elsie’s expertise on the situation. 

“He started it,” you moaned, placing both hands on your face to cover yourself a bit more. Even if it was Elsie, your sister who knew you best of all, you’d been caught red handed. And you were embarrassed.  You still couldn’t believe it had happened — in front of everyone. 

But, it had. And you had to own up to it once more. So, you released your face to look her in the eyes. Get it over with. “I couldn’t fucking resist. Because, yes, Elsie. Big ‘ol fucking shocker. You are right and I haven’t stopped wanting Jake in my bed. Not once,” you rambled, eyes widening to emphasize your point as you explained. “Practically since the moment I met him – even when he was acting like a prick. Since the beginning, I’ve wanted him. Yes. And the whole ‘being pregnant with his baby’ thing just makes matters worse, so give me. a fucking. break.”

There you go. You said it and there was no taking it back now. 

Would you look at that? Admitting things to yourself at the same time you were admitting them to your sister. Was it considered growth? Gia would probably say so. 

“Caught ya. But I knew all of that already,” she snickered, turning up the seat warmer on her side, showing her intrigue. “So, what did he say that no one heard? I need the tiny details. I know everything else. Did you two end up fuckin’ or what?”

Well. Not quite. So, you’d deny. As long as you could.

“No! He has a girlfriend, Elsie.” 

Didn’t stop you last night. Come on, y/n. . . 

You shook your head at the inner voice taunting you. “Even if I do want him, I shouldn’t want him,” you mumbled, knowing that was the truth. No matter what had happened, you were wrong for wanting him. “Whether his baby is inside of me or not, I shouldn’t. Morality is a thing, you know.”

Yeah. Morality means so much after last night. You are so right, y/n. Morality Queen. In the flesh. 

Memories and moments from the night prior were bouncing around in your head, playing a game of torture and mockery as you said one thing while re-living another. Your moans as he’d devoured you, everywhere. His naked body, under your hands. Your tits, held so well in his hands. The emotional exchanging of words. His dick, just about to enter you. . . Had it not been for–.

“Mhm,” she replied, lips pursed as she narrowed her eyes at you. “But you do want him. So. . . Fucking take him. I am sure you two have already fucked again anyway. So, the morality bullshit means virtually nothing at this point.”

“We haven’t had sex again, Elsie,” you grumbled, brushing a hand through your hair as your phone buzzed again in your hands. At the feeling against your thigh, you suddenly got terrified that you’d accidentally recorded and sent this entire conversation. Fuck. You hurriedly picked up your phone in shaky hands to check for any accidental recordings. 

When you glanced at your screen, you saw a new text from Jake. But you barely cared until you opened your text thread with him to find out if you’d accidentally sent anything. . .

But, you found no accidental messages when you checked your thread. Thank god. You hadn’t sent anything. All that greeted you were his (now six) texts sitting and awaiting a response. The five from earlier, still glaring at you. 

His most recent one yanked your heart from your chest and shoved it into your throat, though. Your eyes slid down the screen, taking in every word.

Jake, 12:47 p.m.: I’m really sorry for being an ass. I know I shouldn’t ask you about him. But just like you hate thinking about Maya and me, I hate thinking about you and him. But I know I shouldn’t ask you shit. Just know I miss you and I really do hope the sweatshirt has kept you and our baby girl warm in the fuckin frigid weather. I checked Brooklyn’s forecast today and it’s cold for you guys. So please stay warm. You don’t need to be getting sick

You couldn’t read that and not respond to him – especially when you’d been the one to stir shit during a morning already wrought with tense text messages. . . after a night like last night. 

So, even as Elsie cleared her throat in anticipation, you gave her a sideways glance. “Just give me a sec, Els,” you insisted, already typing out your response to him.

“Is it Jake?”

“Fuck, Elsie!” You whined, blinking once at your screen before your eyes flew to glare at her. “Yes, Elsie Mabel. It is Jake,” you sneered, irritable and hungry. And, due to being very much pregnant, those two things were enhanced tenfold, making your blood heat. And, quite frankly, your head was swimming with lovesickness for the man on the other side of the phone – who was way too far away for your fucking liking, thanks to his bitch of a girlfriend. 

“And, if you must know, while we haven’t had sex, it is not for lack of fucking trying. Last night, my dear, dear sister, his face was most definitely between my thighs,” you stated, watching her jaw drop. Both of her dainty hands went to her mouth to cover a giant, shit-eating grin. “Yes, Elsie. You are right. It is exciting. I’d love to smile and celebrate with you,” you feigned glee, sarcasm dripping from your tone when a sneer met your lips with your next words. “However, it can’t be completely exciting. Because, that blissful act had almost turned into sex. His dick was right there—waiting for fucking entry and everything.” You took a moment to consider if you’d said too much. But you didn’t care enough to contemplate it much more than that. “But, Elsie, your interrupting phone calls and Maya’s quite unexpected arrival made that shit impossible for us. His dick, taken away from me and wrapped, yet again, behind a fucking towel.” pausing, you reeled in your dramatics (again, you were pregnant. Emotions were high. . . And, admittedly, you were still very wound up from last night). 

You gave her a moment to let the shock fade however it could before you were looking back at your phone screen. “Now, please, let me finish this fucking text.”

You, 12:54 p.m.: Jake. Stop. I am the one who started it with my texts. So, please, don’t apologize for getting upset. I wanted to make you upset and THAT was wrong of ME. I was the one being an ass. For no reason whatsoever. And I am the one sorry for THAT. It was stupid. Seriously. 

You, 12:55 p.m.: Also, I am staying warm. Your sweatshirt is very comfy and I am wearing my big coat and thick socks. 

And while you really didn’t want to send the next text, you still did. It was what was right. 

You, 12:56 p.m.: Now, please. Spend time with Maya and don’t worry about me. I don’t want to take any more of your time away from her. Put your phone down and focus on her. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine and I will see you when you get back. 

Not wanting to do it at all, you couldn’t deny the validity in the idea that instantly sprung to your mind to keep him away. It was a good idea.

You, 12:56 p.m.: In fact, I’ll put my phone on Do Not Disturb to remind you to not reach out. I would like for you to enjoy your time with her without being bothered by me and my antics.

Doing just what you said you would, you took a moment to switch your phone onto Do Not Disturb and locked your phone before angrily shoving it in your belt bag. You really fucking hated saying all of that shit about Maya. You hated the entire situation. All of it. Every side of your predicament sucked ass. The only thing that didn’t make you want to punch a wall was Lavender. 

You felt tears well in your eyes at the thought of her and let yourself wallow for a minute as you tried to take steady breaths. Your eyes focused on the offensive bright yellow color of the Waffle House in front of you as your mind swirled with thoughts of your future. Your baby.

She was a prize that you continuously didn’t deserve. And, selfishly, you were so ready to just hold her and feel like your pain through all of this was worth something. Because, no matter what, even if your heart broke for Jake every day, this baby was the best thing that could’ve come from what the two of you had always seemed to have. The thing between you and Jake that had never been for his best interest. A ridiculous mess you’d created. . . The night you made her, the one validating part of your selfish ideas that had come to fruition. 

Nothing else had ever worked in favor of you two, most likely due to the fact that you two weren’t supposed to work. And, you were absolutely the sole cause for that. Fuck you and fuck everything that made you so damn screwed up and unworthy of a pure love.

No, y/n. Stop it. Don’t do this, the voice in your head that mimicked Gia insisted. Out with the negative, reach for the positive. 

You put a hand to your tummy, taking a deep breath in and out as you wiped your cheeks. A few stray tears littered the skin. As you came back to, you realized Elsie’s delicate hand on your thigh, giving intermittent squeezes in time with your breathing. You imagined she’d been doing it the entire time you’d sulked. You looked up and to your left, leveling your sister with a look.

She was, surprisingly, patiently waiting. Wasn’t pushing you to say anything. Her own eyes were shining with emotion at your internal battle that you knew she knew all too well.  

Rather than saying anything to continue your conversation, though, you eyed the time on the stereo. And, upon checking it, you realized how you’d wasted your morning. It was gone and afternoon was here and you had to work soon. Fuck it all.

With a defeated sigh and slouch against your seat, you grumbled at your sister with a sideways glance. “I have to be at work in an hour and a half. And I still want to get nails done. Can we just get breakfast at Starbucks or something?”

Without a word, Elsie gave your leg one final grip before she flipped back to the front and put the car in drive. “Absolutely, babe.”

“I’m sorry,” you moaned. “I’m ruining our day together.”

“Get out of your damn head and don’t say sorry. You haven’t ruined anything,” she quipped, coming to her first stoplight before reaching over to hold your hand. With a lone tear in your eye, you looked over to listen as she continued. “We will get Starbs, get our nails done, I’ll take you to work. . . and then, tonight, we can go get something to eat and rot on the couch while we watch a Christmas movie.”

The plan sounded wonderful, actually, so you said as much and thanked her for loving you. She’d waved you off, but you did have a thought that made your heart feel a little fuller as she turned into Starbucks. So, you voiced the thought with a request. “Can Josh join tonight?”

“Do you want him to?”

“Yes please,” you answered with a barely there smile, pulling yourself up from your slumped position the best you could with the added weight at your waist. The task proved a little more difficult than you would have liked, but Elsie was distracted as she was already calling  Josh to ask him. 

You glumly realized as they spoke that if Jake were here, he would have helped you into a sitting position. He would have made sure you were comfortable before doing anything else. He would have then placed his hand over your own, which still laid contentedly on your bump. 

And. . . the tears were tempting your tear ducts once more as Elsie hung up with Josh and moved forward the slightest bit in the long ass line.

You tried your best to conceal your sniffles, but she’d caught onto one and reached to hold your hand once more. At her touch, your skin felt a little warmer and you held tight to her sure hand. Your other palm never left your baby, not letting up on that feeling for a second, either. 

“Josh said you pick where we eat and you pick the movie and that none of us are a fan of Jake being gone so close to the holidays.”

“I never said–.”

“Babe, you don’t have to say it,” Elsie snickered, pulling up behind the car that was ordering at the speaker. “What do you want?”

You were about to answer by telling her to get your usual, but you knew you probably shouldn’t be drinking that much caffeine, so you settled on yet another hot chocolate. You’d never been the biggest fan of hot cocoa. At least, not so much to drink it multiple times in a week like you had this week. But, apparently the baby liked it, as you were suddenly craving it like no other as you eyeballed it on the menu. 

When you told her what you wanted, she raised a brow. She was thinking the same exact thing as you – knew that you only drank the beverage on special occasions, never one to seek it out.

“The baby must like it,” you responded, a shaky smile coming to rest on your lips. 

Even if your eyes were still watering, the thought of Lavender someday asking for hot chocolate at a Starbucks drive thru made your heart happy. 

You cleared your throat and shook your head, starting to feel a lot better already. “I think it’s like the third time I’ve had it this week or something.”

Elsie raised a brow at you as she pulled up to the speaker and gave her order. You gazed out the windshield, watching in awe as the hoards of cars pulled out onto the busy streets. A lot of people were late to Christmas shopping, it seemed. . . 

“So, are you thinking you’re going to end up fucking him again?”

Even though the words were a stark contrast to your thoughts, they didn’t make you jolt a bit. Now that it was out in the open, you were glad to discuss it with her. You’d kind of been waiting to talk to her about it. The thought hadn’t stopped lurking in the back of your mind since last night. It persisted in a way that it felt natural for her to ask, coinciding with your revolving door of Jake-centered thoughts. 

“I don’t know,” you breathed in deeply through your nose, letting it out slowly through your mouth. Your eyes caught sight of a little girl across the way. She couldn’t have been more than three, with long brown hair and a sweet face. Her round little baby face, bright with a grin. In spite of yourself, you grinned at the sight as she walked with her mother. “I hope I get to have that with him again. Just one more time, at the very least. But. . . I know I shouldn’t hope so.”

“Why?” 

“He–.”

“And don’t say it’s because he’s taken,” she cut you off, pointing a finger towards you, inching up in line bit by bit. 

“But that’s the harsh truth, Els.”

“Well, it’s not the only ‘harsh truth’,” she clarified, making you raise a brow. “The other truth is that you are entitled to want the man. I mean, considering you are providing a bodily home for his baby everyday. . . Come on,” she shook her head as if to imply that her point was obvious. 

“Also, his cunt of a girlfriend needs to grow the fuck up. Needs to get it through her damn head that she needs to take a step back. And the next time she says any shit about my niece. . .,” She moved forward in line, huffing a quick breath from her mouth, as if working to relax any oncoming anger. “She doesn’t want to try. Not in front of me, at least. Because, not only is she insulting Lav, she’s insulting you and you are doing something she should fucking respect.”

At her words, you shook your head. . . you agreed — to an extent. But. . . she definitely had the right to not want you to fu—.

“And, what Josh told me. . . He said you and Jake, during that game – when you did each other in front of our friends, that bitch, and the entirety of Brooklyn, New York,” she began. You snorted at her with a roll of your eyes as she kept on. “He said she looked about ready to snap. So, surely that’s why she bit your head off, right? Said that ugly shit the baby?” 

“I’m sure.”

“Did Jake hear her? Josh didn’t tell me.”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell Jake? That she said that?”

“No.”

“And why not?” She asked, sort of accusing and critically. “It’s his prerogative to know that she’s talking like that about his baby.”

“I just don’t think it’s the time to bring it up. . . It wasn’t something so alarming that I feel the need to tell him, either,” you explained, feeling as though you were making excuses for Maya’s actions. Why did you care to defend Maya, of all people? Because you felt guilty? Probably. Goddamn. Your emotions were so back and forth. “She’ll slip up again, surely.”

“So now we just wait?”

“Yep,” you shrugged, not knowing what else to tell her. “I guess.”

“And, even if it meant you’d get to fuck him tomorrow if you told him today, you still wouldn’t?”

“I just don’t think it’s my place, Els,” you reluctantly answered, knowing she had a point. But, still. You had to err on the side of what was right. And it felt right to keep your mouth shut. Didn’t want to tell him she’d been hateful just so you could get him in bed (even though you knew it would be for more than that). “If he’s meant to hear something, he will.”

“You are a better woman than me, sis,” she replied, pulling up to the window with a cheerful greeting before paying and intercepting the drinks with a ‘thank you!’. 

As she pulled out a touch too quickly, you lurched forward in your seat, almost spilling your drink. “Okay, could we maybe take things a little slower, Elsie?”

“Don’t wanna spill on Jake’s sweatshirt?”

“Fuck off. How do you know it’s—?”

“It says Frankenmuth on the front, dumbass. Josh doesn’t own shit like that and I don’t know why Sammy or Danny’s clothes would be at your place.” 

You glared at her, at which she flicked her eyes over to you. When she looked, you said your piece. “Thank you so much for calling me a dumbass.”

“That’s all you heard from that?” 

“Yes. Your stupid ass correcting tone pissed me off, so I stopped listening after that.”

She blew out a breath as she made all of the correct turns to get to your favorite nail salon. “You really need to get some because you’re in desperate need of an attitude adjustment.”

“All because I told you to drive carefully and don’t like being called a dumbass?”

“Well, I just think you should let yourself have him.”

You groaned, exasperated that she was using anything to bring it up. 

Your warm drink was held in between your cupped hands, making you delightfully shiver for more reasons than one. You nestled the cup in your lap, letting the heat radiate all the way up your arms. “It’s not that simple.”

“Well, I happen to think it is,” she encouraged, pulling into the parking lot of the salon. “And you’ve always respected my advice, so. . . consider just giving in to what you want.”

Not able to believe you were yet again giving the idea any sort of weight, you unbuckled your seatbelt as Elsie did hers as well. “Even if people could get hurt?”

“Who the hell is going to get hurt besides Maya, the Massive Cunt?”

“Um,” you wrinkled your brow with a tilt of your head before bringing your drink up to your lips for a tiny sip. “Maybe Jake? Who didn’t ask for any of this and just got it thrown on him? After he went to her? After he chose her over me because I was the bitch who broke his heart? He could ultimately miss out on true happiness because of me giving in to a selfish need — yet again.”

“I’m going to ignore most of that because you know it’s bullshit and that he wants you, too,” Elsie argued, finally taking a drink of her White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha. She hummed in satisfaction at the taste, her eyes closing momentarily. “If you give Jake your coochie-pop, do you really think he’s going to be hurt?”

“Coochie-pop?”

“Your wishing well, honey pot, poontang, dripping delta, whisker box–.”

You couldn’t help but squawk, the hilarious names for a vagina killing you. “Whisker box?!” 

“. . .Because it’s your pussy?. . .” She asked, as if you were completely unaware of what she was implying. “Get it?”

“No, I know exactly what you meant,” you corrected her train of thought, shaking your head before combing a hand through your hair. Blowing out another breath, you couldn’t help the giggle that followed it. 

“Well. Whatever you want to call it, you know I’m right,” she concluded, giving you a satisfied grin before opening her door. “Now, let’s go get our nails done and we can compare how each twin refers to our pus–.”

“Nope!” You answered enthusiastically, awkwardly angling yourself to grab your coat from the backseat. Out of breath at the simple task, you knew you’d still obtained it the best you could with the obtrusion of a belly. And while you loved the baby, — so much — it was still frustrating getting used to the extra addition at your front. In a rush, you put it on before getting out. 

She was already at the shop door when you closed the passenger side, waiting for you. When you met her there, you finished your thought. “That conversation, my dearest sister, is not one I’d like to partake in.”

“Seriously?” 

Your eyes bulged out of your sockets at her, your hands tucking deep into your pockets to warm up from the crisp chill of the wind as it bitterly whipped against your face. Reaching a bit further in your pockets, you tried to grasp for Elsie’s missing sanity. “Yes, Elsie! Seriously!”

“I just want you to know,” she began, walking into the warm shop after you. Both of you shook off the chill from the winter day once you were safe inside. “That whenever you finally give in and do the dirty with him again, I will be selfless and listen to you if you wish to discuss it with anyone.”

You shushed her, looking around at the other occupants of the salon. They were oblivious to her, thankfully, as the shop played Christmas classics to drown out obnoxious people like your sister. 

“Whatever, Elsie. You’re just nosy as hell,” you rolled your eyes with a grin before turning your attention to the cute little lady at the front counter, who you knew to own the studio. 

The tiny woman with inky black locks, tied in a clip at the back of her head, nodded with a smile as she wrote you into the schedule for your nail requests. She told you it would be about ten minutes to get you with a tech, so you decided to take one of the chairs that sat in a row against the windows at the front of the store. Your feet were not in the mood for you to be standing any longer than necessary – especially since you still had to work today.

Elsie grabbed some colors for the two of you to look at on her way to sit beside you. She handed you a Christmas color swatch that you instantly began perusing as she looked through the other palette of winter colors. “Sparkly?” She questioned from your left. 

You pursed your lips in contemplation as you studied the non-sparkly DND colors in your hands. The plainness of the dark Aurora Green and Cherry Mocha appealed to you more than the colors she held, as you glanced over to give the sparkly polishes a chance.

“I think I wanna go with no sparkles,” you decided, bringing your swatch up to show her before pointing to the Aurora Green. “I’m really leaning towards this dark green.”

“Ooh, I love,” she encouraged, leaning over you to toss her colors in the basket next to you. “What’s the number?”

“747,” you recited as she typed it into her phone, before crossing her legs and tucking the device back into the crease she’d made between her thighs. Copying her previous action, you deposited your nail colors into the wicker basket. 

You tucked your hands under your belly and leaned back against the window. All of the women around you, either chatting it up or engrossed in their phones. The sight made a thought come to you. Looking over at your sister, the back of your head still balanced against the cool window, you voiced your realization to gauge her opinion. “Els—I just thought. . . I haven’t posted a picture on any of my socials of my belly or said a damn thing anywhere about being pregnant.”

“Well, do you want to?” She wondered aloud, chewing the inside of her lip (something you both did). 

“You know, now that I’ve thought about it, I feel like I’m not going to stop thinking about it until I do it,” you responded, leaning up from your position to get your phone out of your belt bag that was still slung across your chest. When you saw zero notifications, you remembered your Do Not Disturb idea and quickly checked your call log to see if you’d missed anyone important. 

No one. Wow. You were so damn popular. You left that app to go to Pinterest to look at some pose ideas. And, hard as it was, you avoided going to your texts. Because, you figured if it was important enough, you’d have gotten a call from anyone who might’ve texted you. 

You simply did not want to face the reality of Jake adhering to your ridiculous request. 

When you looked over at Elsie from the corner of your eye, she was already looking at her own Pinterest app. And while you had simply typed ‘maternity announcement poses’, your scheming sister had typed ‘sexy boudoir maternity poses.’

“Elsie Mabel!” You reprimanded her with a laugh, bumping her shoulder with your own. “Why the sexy? And definitely no boudoir. Are you kidding?”

“What?!” She said, giving you a wink. At which, you just shook your head and mouthed a final ‘no’. Growling, you watched as she deleted the ‘boudoir’, but noticed how she kept the ‘sexy’. “And — before you get onto me for keeping the sexy, I will let you know: you get better results if you throw in a word like that.”

You really weren’t so offended by that idea. The boudoir was just too much. Honestly, playing around with some sexy pictures, with the bonus of Elsie’s time and help. . . It might even aid in boosting your mood. And, you had to say. . . your body confidence was definitely better since last night, you could say that much. 

Jake had done a wondrous job at making you feel very appealing and truly attractive. Fuck, you wished you could go back in time and change the night’s turn of events. Ridiculous ass luck.

Squeezing your legs tighter together, you did as she said and typed the same into your search bar. You even tacked on ‘black and white’ because you liked the idea of that, too. . . 

And damn were you happy with the results. 

“Oookay, Els. . . You might be onto something,” you said appreciatively, nudging her shoulder once more as you found one to show her. 

Right off the bat, there was one pose in particular you knew you had to use. When you pointed to it to show her, she stuck her bottom lip out to show respect for the idea. “His shirt, too?” She asked with a sly brow. 

All you did was wink at her before pinning the scandalous picture to your brand new board.  

a/n: i love you all an inexplicable amount. you have no idea. covet is my baby + i think it's time i thank you all, once again, for loving her w me :') i wouldn't be where i am today without your support, my loves :''')

also..... after being asked several times, i gave in to the temptation... i finally took some time today to update the Covet Visualizer i made when covet was just an infant :') lol. you may view it if you'd like. however, you don't NEED TO. i simply am a very visual person, sooo i made it for my fellow visual learners/lovers. (IF YOU DO CHOOSE TO USE IT, PLEASE VIEW IT IN PRINT LAYOUT!! — esp if you’re using the docs app/are on your phone!!)

Taglist (continued in reblog):

@joshym, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf, @alwaysonthemend

@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow, @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf, @itsafullmoon, @gvfmarge, @creadliz98, @mackalah, @lek-gvf, @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini, @welllauragvf, @highway-tuna, @dont-go-home-without-me, @sarah-gvf01, @polemicandcontent, @ageofbajabule, @texas-bbq-pringles, @jennyraye20

a/n: as i said in my warnings, there are some very heavy depictions of what it means to have an ED. i don't want to ignore these moments, as they are so very real. i felt it was only right to include an incredibly vulnerable moment. please, if you're struggling, don't be afraid to seek help. you are always worth it. i love you guys, & i hope you enjoy this chapter. (so far🤭)

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.

Cherry Tree, Oklahoma: A year and a half ago.  

You felt it the moment you woke up. 

The air was different – thick. Thick and melancholy. You didn’t know what it was that had you feeling that way. Intuition? A bad dream that you didn’t remember anything from, only the feelings it left behind? It worsened as you left your room – walking to the kitchen left you breathless. Though, you still didn’t know why.

When you peered out of the living room window, the sky was dark gray, nearly black. You then chalked up the strange feeling to the weather. A change in the barometric pressure, an incoming storm – a big storm, one that would cause destruction everywhere it hovered over. That had to be it. It was Oklahoma, afterall. The most unpredictable, catastrophic weather is born there. It always left you anxiety ridden, sure. But, it was nothing out of the ordinary. 

She was sitting in the recliner next to the front door. A blank, distant look about her eyes. She didn’t tell you good morning, she didn’t even look at you. Though she’s never been the one to offer you a cheerful good morning, you could tell there was something more behind her silence. 

You wondered if her mind was just preoccupied with the skies' indication of bad weather. You began asking her if she’d gotten everything prepared yet – the generator, flashlights, candles, a pair of shoes for everyone. But as you were speaking to her, her distant look morphed into one of distress. She didn’t answer a single question, only choking back the sobs that overcame her, tears falling down her pale face. “Mom? Are you oka–,” 

You were cut off by her pointing a single, trembling finger towards the kitchen. That was when it finally hit you. 

He was usually the first one up. He’d start breakfast each morning before the sun rose. The smell would always infiltrate your room, always waking you earlier than you’d like. But on this particular day, you slept in a little later than usual. You slept in because there was no smell of maple syrup and eggs to wake you. 

That thick, dark feeling that you woke up with quickly turned to pure concern. Where was he? 

As though an invisible string were tugging at your legs, they slowly yet reluctantly carried you to the kitchen. Upon the first glance, everything looked normal. Everything, except…

It only took you a moment to notice the note on the fridge. The bright, yellow sticky note stood out like a sore thumb adhered to the flat-white freezer door.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl- Daddy”

The words didn’t register right away. You had to read them over and over again before it finally dawned on you; you didn’t see his truck in the driveway when you looked through the window. Only the oil stains it left on the concrete. He was gone. And you knew he wasn’t just gone for the morning, or for the day. He was gone for good. There wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. He made the choice to live his life without you. Given the fact that you, his only daughter, wasn’t enough to convince him to stay, you knew you couldn’t do anything.

A clap of thunder roared around your house, shaking the very foundation it stood on. The bones of the home creaked and screamed with the pressure of the wind while plates and cups in the cabinets rattled. A few photos hanging on the walls fell to the floor, their glass shattering. Then the lights flickered for a moment before they went out completely, leaving the house as dark as it was outside. The sirens began their cry. The rain blowing sideways pushed its way through every window sill in the kitchen, tiny droplets splattering your face. But you kept still. You let it happen; in fact, you welcomed it. You just stood in the kitchen while your mom ran to shelter, keeping your feet planted where they were. You didn’t want to run, didn’t see the point. 

The storm came at the perfect moment; it was the physical one that mimicked the one inside of your head. The emotions that couldn’t be released from your body were blowing all around you and your old home.  After only a few minutes, (though it truly felt like an eternity) the skies calmed. The rain let up, the wind held still.  And it was quiet. Eerily. 

The sudden quiet meant you then had to confront the storm in your mind. The relentless destruction of your thoughts created a cyclone of torment within you. Your whole world changed in that single moment. The sole provider of your home left, leaving you, the full time college student working a full time job, to take his place. You could already feel the weight of your new responsibilities, of the new heaviness placed on your tense shoulders. 

And you felt grief. Grief over losing someone who chose to leave. 

How do you grieve someone who’s still alive? Someone who decided it was best to live the rest of their days without you? Your dad?

Cherry Tree faced an EF-2 that day. They said the winds exceeded one hundred miles per hour, leaving damage and destruction to most of the tiny town. Your home sustained minor damage – a few missing shingles, ripped up siding, the typical wreckage Oklahoma storms leave behind. 

Your dad was always there to fix those things. But after that storm, it was up to you to fix them. And that’s exactly how you spent the two weeks that followed – fixing the things that needed fixing. The things you could fix, at least. The physical ones.

All on your own, you fixed the broken seals of the windows, replaced the missing shutters, cleaned up the yard the best you could. That storm forced you to face your new reality head on. You were now working two full time jobs; one during the day at the only restaurant in town, and one at Cherry Tree Grocery for the late shift. And then, there was your mom. 

She’d only gotten sick a few months before he left. You hadn’t even fully come to terms with her prognosis yet, and you were thrown into being her caregiver basically overnight. All the things he had been doing for her, you had to learn to do. You essentially had to take a crash course in at-home-nursing. You learned far more about healthcare than you ever thought you’d have to, but you knew you had to do it. You managed all of that while taking classes online, and busting your ass to keep your grades up so you could move away. What had once been a dream to move away on your own, had quickly become getting you and your mom out of there as soon as you could.

You fought hard against the urge to reach out to him in the first weeks after he left. All you wanted was an answer to your one and only question – why? Why would he leave you with so much to worry about, knowing how badly you wanted to get the hell away from Oklahoma? During that time, you became more and more resentful towards him, more angry over the decision he made. So, the urge dwindled over time. It was after the one month mark of him being gone that you tossed your necklace in the trash can, ridding yourself of it – and him – once and for all. 

But the letter he gave you along with the necklace…you just couldn’t let it go. You decided to let it be the last remaining piece of your relationship with him. It was painful as fuck to keep it, but you knew it’d be even more painful to not have it. (And yet, you somehow managed to lose it during the move. And, the necklace magically reappeared in your jewelry box, not long after you knew you tossed it. Still makes no sense. But you’re glad you have it, even if how you have doesn’t quite add up.)

There is a part of you that is grateful he left, and it’s the part of you that couldn’t stand living in Cherry Tree any longer. His departure only made the desire of realizing your dream of attending the U of M that much stronger. A new beginning was the best option for you and your mom. In fact, she pretty much insisted on it. She didn’t want to be there any more than you did once he left. The acceptance letter symbolized the beginning you desperately needed. The only loose end that needed tying was the house, and once the burden of that was out from under your feet, you left. 

Your Firebird was your only means of getting the two of you there, so any money that you could spare from your savings was spent making sure the clunker would make the journey. Before then, you dad took care of your car troubles. Even promised you he’d help you get a new one before you left home. When he wasn’t there to make that happen, you had to make the best of what you had. The day you packed up the last of your things, the air felt different again – lighter, but still heavy with memories. You drove out of Cherry Tree with a mix of relief and sorrow clinging to you, the dusty Oklahoma roads fading in the rearview mirror as you headed north to your new home.

The storm that ripped through the town that day certainly left its mark; it transformed the tiny community, it transformed you. But it wasn’t just the physical destruction that changed the course of your life. The storm only made you realize that there was nothing left for you in Cherry Tree. 

The storm was your dad, creating an unexpected upheaval in your life. It all happened so quickly, so unpredictably. There was no siren to warn you, no safe place in which you could take shelter until things went back to normal. He left his mark that day, much like the storm. Only, for you, it left a scar far deeper than any natural disaster could ever reach. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Present Day

His desperate attempts at explaining – over explaining – are useless. Every word that leaves his lips feels like a distant echo to you, as though he’s already miles away. It’s like you’re standing in a vacant tunnel, hearing the whispers of those on the outside. You can hear that he’s speaking, but your mind can’t make out the words. 

But you’re not in a tunnel; you’re in Jake's room. And he’s standing before you, pleading with you to hear his words. 

He’s already a memory to you. A memory – just like your father. 

How do you grieve someone who’s still alive? 

You hear his every footstep against the carpeted floor behind you as you’re walking around to gather your things, hastily putting on your sweatpants and hoodie that you packed with you last night. You hesitate as you reach for the satin dress he bought you, the one you wore last night, the beautiful gift he wanted you to have for your date…

The hesitation wanes, and you quickly shove it in your canvas bag so as to not have to think about it any longer. 

“I need you to listen to me.” You feel his hands grip at your shoulders, stopping you before you can begin your final walk out of his bedroom. His touch forces you to make out his words this time, when before they were mere mumbles in your head while you placed your focus on getting the fuck out of here.  

“I need to go home, Jake.” The words are monotone as you say them, void of the storm whirling inside your mind. You keep your back to him, eyes fixed on your bare feet. You forgot to bring another pair of shoes, and you’ll be goddamned if you walk out of here with your heels on from last night. 

Nope. Barefoot it is. 

“Can I please take yo –,” Before he can finish his question, you quickly turn on your heel, shrugging his hands off your body as you face him. The now dried tears on your cheeks are met with fresh ones falling from your eyes, tears that refuse to be held back, no matter how badly you don’t want to show your hurt. 

“NO, Jake!” His eyes widen, his eyebrows furrowed and his bottom jaw becomes slack. You didn’t mean to yell. You didn’t want to yell, at least not as loudly as you did. It just…happened. It was pent up rage, derived from pain and a moment that feels all too familiar, triggering emotions you’ve not allowed yourself to feel. 

“I’m sorry, I just–” The tears are now a flood crashing in waves against your red cheeks. You bring your hands, covered by the sleeves of your oversized hoodie, up to your face, concealing and muffling the pain that’s surfaced. 

No. You’re not sorry. You shouldn’t be sorry for feeling and expressing what you’re feeling. You’ve done that all your fucking life. He knows that. And he knows how fucking hard this is for you. He doesn’t say anything more, only pulling you in and holding you close, letting you sob into his chest. His scent instantly works to calm you, the scent of last night mixed with leftover hints of his cologne. But feeling his comfort only makes the pain hurt worse. It quickly dawns on you that you won’t have this for much longer, and you pull yourself away from him, wiping your face with your now tear-soaked sleeves. “I don’t want you to take me home,” you snap, your voice cracked and wet from your tears. You can’t avoid eye contact, though it’s not for lack of trying. You just can’t keep yourself from looking into his eyes, those sweet, honey whiskey eyes that drew you in the moment you saw them hiding behind his black frames. 

And you’ve seen these eyes before. They’re angry, but they’re a sad angry. Despondent, heavy with heated sorrow. The last time you saw these eyes was in this very room, practically in the very same spot you’re in right now. 

The last time you saw them like this served as the beginning for what you have–had–with Jake. Now, they represent the ending. 

Those sad, fuming eyes hold yours only a moment longer, then flick downward as he takes a long breath to speak “How do you suppose you’ll be getting home if you don’t want me to take you?” His tone is both quiet and sharp, monotone. And he knows what you’re thinking before you even fully know. 

There’s only one person you should turn to right now. And it’s going to piss Jake off. But you don’t care. Not right now. 

You choose to not answer his question, knowing that there’s no real point in doing so. The silence laying between you two is broken by the squeaky hinges of his bedroom door when you turn around and open it. You step one foot through the threshold, but there’s one thing stopping you. “I want my book, Jake,” you mutter, your back turned to him as you’re staring down the long hallway. The words almost hurt coming out. They hurt from the tightness in your throat at uttering them, and they hurt because that book that once represented the beginning of so much, feels like it now represents the end all at once. 

Poetic. Fucking. Irony. Your entire goddamned life is full of it. 

“What book, y/n?” 

“Le Morte d’Arthur. I need it back.” 

He breathes an elongated sigh when you hear his feet padding towards the bed where the book still sits. You peer over your shoulder, using your peripheral to watch him pick up the book, turning a few of the yellowed pages for a moment before quickly slamming the cover shut. His feet shuffle toward you once more, carefully nudging your elbow with the physical emblem of the last few months of your life. “Here,” he spits, his touch  far gentler than his tone that sends a jolt through your spine. “Guess I forgot about it.”

Clearly not, considering that’s where I found everything. 

Without a word, you reach your other hand over your body, taking the book from him and letting your feet guide you the fuck out of his room. And where they’re taking you next is what you’re sure will set Jake off indefinitely. Keeping your composure right now is fucking hard. But you have to do it as you’re quickly trudging down the hallway, eyeing the stairs that lead to his room. It’s not until you’re halfway up the steps that you notice Jake at the end of the hall, watching you with hard eyes as you take the last few steps to the loft. You reach Josh’s door first, and for a brief moment, you contemplate knocking on it instead, knowing this choice would avoid upsetting Jake any further. 

But you only think about it for a second before you decide to keep walking a few steps further, placing yourself in front of Sam’s closed door. You lift your hand to knock, but you’re hesitant as you remember the conversation you had with Jake about Sam. The one where you promised him nothing had happened with Sam, when he promised you that nothing happened between him and Stacy. The familiar sense of guilt over everything crashes over you. But when you look at the book held tight in your hands, and when you peek over your shoulder to the balcony, seeing that Jake’s body slumped and leaning against the wall, watching your every move, your decision is made. 

“S-Sam?” You stutter with a light tap of your fist to the wood, timid and nerves billowing to the surface. A moment passes, and he hasn’t answered the door just yet. Before you choose to knock once more, you look over your shoulder to where Jake was, noticing that he’s no longer there. And it’s then that you hear a loud slam coming from the downstairs hallway. 

Sadness weighs in the pit of your tummy at his absence, an absence that you’ll have to start getting used to. You then turn your focus back to Sam’s door, and just as you’re about to knock, the knob begins turning from the other side. He opens it only a little, peeking through the small crack he’s made. His tired eyes widen when they realize it’s you beyond the door. 

“Y/n? Hey, what are–” 

The look about your face must say more than any words you could utter, because he stops himself from speaking any further, opening the door all the way and inviting you inside. “I just–,” You don’t step in through the open door all the way, only about an inch or so, keeping your bare feet planted on the spot where the hallway meets the carpeted floor of his room. “Do you think you can take me home?” Your voice is shaking far more than you like, and it’s all you can do to keep from crying. His eyebrows scrunch in the middle, so very annoyingly similar to the way Jake’s do, before he reaches over to grab his coat and keys hanging from the hook screwed into the wall. He silently throws his coat over his shoulders, his eyes scanning over your body, trailing down to your exposed feet. His tongue peeks from the corner of his slightly parted lips, though he’s deep in contemplation. Brushing the messy hairs away from his face, his features soften, as though he’s come to the conclusion of whatever he’s thinking. He quickly turns around to go deeper into his room, rummaging through his closet until he finds a pair of white fluffy slippers, donned with a single yellow smiley face on the tops of them. 

He walks back toward you, holding the slippers between your bodies as he gets closer. “Too cold to be barefoot,” he says, keeping still until you take the warm footwear from his hands. Setting them on the floor, you slide into them, one foot at a time. They’re much too big for your feet, but they’ll certainly do the job of keeping them warm. “Wanna tell me about it?” He asks as he leads you down the stairs, cupping your elbow should your feet slip out from the oversized slippers. You’re a bit too full of shame to talk about it, though you’re sure he already knows. How could he not be aware of Jake leaving? Certainly he can put two and two together. He notes your silence, opting to keep silent himself as your feet leave the last step. He walks ahead of you to the front door, unlocking it and holding it open for you as you make your way through the living room. 

“Thanks,” you mumble as you walk through the front door, not bothering to look back when you take a final step out of the apartment. The air is bitter this morning, biting at the little bits of uncovered skin the moment you’re exposed to it. Your body instantly begins trembling with cold shivers from the elements. The tears that are begging to fall from your eyes will certainly turn to ice sickles the moment they do. 

“C’mon,” Sam says, quickly locking the door before coming up behind you and placing his warm hands on your shoulders as you walk to his car. This all feels wrong. It feels so wrong. You’re grateful to Sam, but you’d be kidding yourself if you tried to say you’re glad he’s with you instead of Jake. 

In one wrong move, you turn your head back to the apartment, your eyes instantly finding the window to Jake’s room. The blinds are drawn, so you can’t see him. But you know he’s watching.  Part of you is glad he is. But the other part of you, the much bigger part, feels like pure shit over it. 

Just as you reach Sam’s bright orange VW Bug, his arm extended towards the passenger door, you turn around to face him, stopping him with a grip on his forearm. Those tears that have threatened to fall since you walked outside are now leaking from your ducts as you face Jake’s window. 

What you truly want to do is forego this whole thing and run back inside, find Jake’s embrace once more. But, you know better than to act on your impulse. And when you look into Sam’s eyes, you’re reminded of a time when he was the one who showed you the genuinity you were lacking from his brother when you first moved here. 

There’s another impulse that’s weighing on you, and this is one you feel is the better option given the circumstances. And as though Sam can read the thoughts running through your mind, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as close to his body as he can. Your sobs are let out into his chest while his lips find the top of your head, a sweet gesture to remind you that you’re safe in doing this. Not that you had any reason to not believe that, but you’ve been worried Sam may never view you the same ever again after everything. So, needless to say, the reassurance is nice, and very much needed. “Let’s get you home,” he mumbles into your hair, thumbs tracing gentle circles at your sides. 

Just as you start to pull away, his hand lingers on your back, warm and steady against you. You look up at him, catching a soft, understanding smile that speaks of adoration for you, despite everything.  “Thank you, Sam,” you whisper, your tear-soaked voice hardly audible over the morning breeze. 

He nods, brushing a few loose hairs that have fallen from his ponytail out of his face as he opens the door for you. As you settle into the passenger's seat, there’s a strange feeling weighing on you – a mix of nostalgia, a sense of relief. Perhaps this is truly where you’re meant to be. At least this morning. 

But with a final glance at Jake’s window as the old Bugs engine begins humming, that mixture of complicated feelings turns into one single, heavy emotion; regret. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Jake’s point of view;

I waited far too long. 

I had every intention of telling her—the plan was already in place. 

All I needed was to wait for the perfect moment to ask her to come with me. I knew she wouldn’t say yes right away, so I had to take the time to craft the right words, to convey the way her very essence softened my hardened heart. 

Goddammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of what has transpired with her over the last few months was meant to happen. 

But fate would have it otherwise. And I knew mine was sealed when she chose the seat next to mine on the first day of class. I thought I’d never have to see her bewitching face again after I so callously bumped into her in the hallway. But when that very same, beautiful stranger walked in late through the doors of Movack’s lecture hall, I knew I had to take every measure possible to fend off any infatuations that I felt could arise. 

But, as though it were predestined, we were paired on a project she was just as passionate about—if not more—than I was. 

I suppose I thought the film would be the best way to keep my distance from her while also keeping true to our commitments to the project. I surmised the addition of my family would keep us from having to be alone, having any real conversations to get to know one another. 

I didn’t want to get to know her. Not because of her, because of me. I gathered immediately that she was far too wonderful for the likes of me, far too easy to fall for. Her beauty and complexity, the most exquisite and intrusive storm to my hardened heart. 

She truly was too good for me… still is; utter perfection encompassed in the ethos of her femininity. 

That fact was all but confirmed on that first day of class. When she checked my ego over a question I should’ve known the answer to, I knew I was utterly fucked. Intelligent, full of the wit necessary to challenge me. I was a fucking dick to her from the outset. But I had to keep my own feelings in balance. 

Jesus — who the fuck am I kidding? 

I didn’t ask her to help with the film to keep her away—I wanted her to play opposite me. I wanted her to play my fucking wife. I wanted the chance to act on the feelings that were already amassed, without the risk of her thinking they were anything more than for the sake of the film.

But Josh fucked it all up for me. The script wasn’t what we agreed on, no matter how much he’s fought me on that fact. His idea to shift the focus on infidelity, specifically her infidelity with fucking Lancelot was unadulterated bullshit. And when I had to watch her share so many scenes with Sam, scenes that should’ve been with me, the fire it ignited under my crawling skin told me that my attempts at keeping my composure about her were failing. Miserably failing. 

Stacy was my escape. She had wanted me for years, and I knew she would be the perfect distraction from my growing feelings for Y/n — and from the agony of watching my brother touch her in ways I could only dream of.

But, fate wouldn’t hear of it. It didn’t fucking work. Stacy doesn’t hold a candle to Y/n; she’s nothing more than a flicker next to Y/n’s radiance. Wasting my energy with someone as dull-witted and mindless as Stacy only made me yearn for Y/n all the more. 

Y/n’s mystique, her grace, the very aura she strides with…she’s the most captivating woman I’ve ever set my eyes upon. It took only a few weeks to memorize every minute detail of her face. Her sweet nose that crinkles when she laughs, her glittering eyes that hold the weight of a thousand beautiful lifetimes, her eyelashes that are as dark and full as a ravens wings, her crooked smile, succulent lips…she’s more elegant than any painting the most adept artist could ever render. As though her outward beauty wasn’t enough to lure me in, her endearing southern accent, the one that instantly told me she was miles away from her birthplace, charmed me even further. 

I hadn’t found a single reason to stay here, a reason that made London feel like a poor decision until she infiltrated my existence, when her earthy, vanilla aroma inundated me with lust and desire. 

And though she tried to hide it, I could tell she was looking at me with the very same eyes I saw her through. 

The only thing I could do at that point was push her away, and keep pushing her until she despised her every thought of me. I couldn’t risk what I was afraid it could turn into. 

It felt like knives tore through the inside of my throat when I said some of the most revolting words I could think of to her in class. I felt like the biggest piece of shit when her incredible eyes became glassed over with tears, when her round, rose lips downturned at what I had said…and I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word of it. She didn’t deserve to hear such horrid things. 

I fucking hurt her. And that was what my thoughtless self wanted. 

I wanted it so I wouldn’t get attached, so she wouldn’t get attached. I’ve needed to get out of this fucking city–this goddamn country–since nearly every person I’ve ever loved died in the places I’ve called home. Other than my brothers, there’s been nothing to keep me here after my time at the U of M is up. And I swore there’d be no way in fucking hell I’d let some girl change that. 

But what my imprudent ass couldn’t accept was that Y/n has never been just some girl. I’ve always known it, and I’ve been utterly terrified by it since I let myself watch her—observe her. All it took was one class period for the horror to sink in that she is different from any other woman I’ve ever beheld. She even surmounts every woman in fucking literature. 

She’s magic.

And she’s broken me. She’s torn down every wall I’ve built since the death of my parents, then proceeded to destroy the ones that came up after I lost my grandparents. No one that isn’t my own twin brother has been able to see me the way she does. 

I mean, Christ, I played guitar for her. Only her. I practically gave her my vulnerability, placed it in the palm of her open hand and closed her delicate fingers over it. I’ve shown her parts of myself, piece by tiny fucking piece, that a mere handful of people have borne witness to. 

I assumed she’d be like every other girl I’d known, but the moment I held her for the first time, I realized just how profoundly wrong I was. From the first touch, the first taste, the first time I fucked her... 

I can’t explain what she does to me, or how she does it. But she brings forth an animalistic side of myself, engulfed with pure desire for everything that she is. 

I knew she was beautiful from the moment I laid my eyes on her, but when I discovered what she was hiding beneath her oversized attire, I felt longing anew. It was a cruel irony for Josh to make my room her dressing quarters. If I knew my brother at all — which I do, better than anyone — the little shit did that on purpose. 

He knew of the risks. I knew them — what might happen if I were to open my bedroom door. And it did happen — the day she was trying on her costumes, and though I knew what I’d possibly be walking in on… I wasn’t the least bit prepared for the sight my eyes would behold. 

As if Josh hadn’t fucked me over enough with the entire ordeal, he added to my misery by choosing costumes for her that only served to enhance her allure that already held me captive. 

That black lace number she was in when I opened my door left my knees weak — my face, numb. I could see every outline of her form, every beautiful part of herself that she’d hidden in my short time of knowing her. The buds of her perfectly shaped breasts were peeking through the embroidered netting, the curve of her exquisite ass was just visible beyond the exaggerated slit of the gown. And her skin, glowing in the dim light, freckled and pristine. 

I stood completely still — in awe of her. I wanted to fall to her feet at that very moment, and I suppose I would’ve if it wasn’t for Natalia. I knew it was wrong to stare at her, but no living mortal would’ve been able to avert their eyes from such an ethereal vision. 

How fitting that she wore that very gown when I at last got to feel her, glide my tongue over every goddamn inch of her sweet skin, mark her so my brother knew who she really wanted…

I’ll surely never forget the way she melted under my touch that night, the way her skin became littered with goosebumps in the wake of my fingers. And when I discovered her little secret, the sexy scarlet colored ink beneath her breast, it left me stunned at first. Yet somehow, it didn't entirely surprise me. It suits her enchantment, her mystery. And it’s enormously tantalizing. 

I simply became intoxicated by her. I needed more, and my futile attempts at withholding my true desires, of delving headfirst into something I knew I’d never be capable of coming back from, would inevitably fail. 

Fuck. She made it so difficult. And it didn’t help when I realized how badly she needed it as well. How could I continue to deny her any further when I myself could no longer resist what we both wanted? 

I chose to tread slowly, to take the time to learn her body and the ways in which she longs to be pleasured. I knew she was losing patience with me, but I had to wait until the perfect occasion. 

I nearly gave in the night she wrapped her gorgeous, velvet mouth around my cock as I drove. I discovered the limitless desires she had been harboring, giving me all she had, keeping her promise of taking care of herself to the thought of me. 

The birthday party felt like the opportune time to at last allow ourselves a true taste of one another, but when I discovered her little lie about the tattoo, my adoration for her burst out of my body like ten foot waves slamming against the oceanside. 

I was angry. But more than that, more than anything, I just wanted her. And I didn’t want to give her a single reason more that she should find herself choosing the affections of Sam over me. 

Fucking her for the first time… nothing in the world could come remotely close to the feeling. And when she’d told me she wished I’d do it — wished I’d fuck her — my heart had catapulted to a place it had never ventured before. Knowing she wanted it so badly… there had been no stopping that shit.

The feeling of her body… No other woman could ever compare — will ever compare. No matter where I venture in the world, there will never be another like her. She's the everlasting dream. My dream. 

Every curve of her body — each time her gorgeous cunt would clench around my dick, her falling apart so gloriously at my touch… I found myself transcending space and time as I knew it.

That night was the one of the most glorious experiences I’ve yet to share with another living being, second only to last night. 

And when I had her in the library…

Jesus Christ. I just need her. In every way that I possibly can. 

And I hate how much I fucking need her. This is a new realm for me. I’ve always been my own unit, seeking the company of others only when it felt necessary. I’ve never known someone who could turn my lonely world upside down and inside out in the ways she has. 

But it wasn’t until Natalia confirmed my fears that Y/n hadn’t been taking proper care of herself that I truly realized the possible breadth of my care for her. Something wholly new to me.

I felt the longing threads of my heart rip to tattered shreds. How could a woman of her magnitudinous beauty be so blind to it? How could she ever doubt the effect she has on unsuspecting souls by simply gracing a room with her charm? It shattered me inexplicably when I learned of the way she views herself. And that—that  was when I truly realized the depths of my affections for her. 

God, the depths… like that of the ocean. 

I then sought out ways in which to help her, and the one thing I was certain would bring her peace was having her lend me a hand in preparing a home cooked meal. I had to suppress the rising flood of tears when I watched her eat it, seeming to have no more doubts in her mind as she did so. I saw the very same thing at The Whitney; Not a single burden behind her eyes as she nurtured her beautiful body. 

God. She’s evoked feelings from me that I never thought could be mine to feel.

But I just can’t stay here. I can’t bear it any longer, and she has to understand that. It’s what she did herself when she chose to move here, to say a final farewell to the town that bore her own pain. 

It isn’t her damn job to have to carry my pain, though. By every measure, I’m a failure. In the truest sense of the word. 

I fell for her when I swore to myself I wouldn’t allow for it. I’ve hurt her repeatedly with my pure bullshit. The worthless tries at denying my heart.

And I’ve hurt her yet again by dragging my feet, letting her find out in the most careless of ways by leaving the evidence in her fucking book. And in turn, I’ve hurt my own goddamn self. 

God knows how hard I tried to talk to her this morning, but she had already decided to hell with me. I can’t reproach her for it. I just wish she’d listen to me, I need her to hear me. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be accepted to Oxford. Fuck — her mind, so wondrous and brilliant. I want her there with me. I’ve suddenly found myself unable to take this trek across the sea without her. But I fear my time to present that to her is nearly up. 

And it’s all my fault. Every bit of it. 

But this morning… she had wanted to twist the metaphoric dagger in my already bleeding chest.

She’d gone to Sam. Immediately. As soon as I’d betrayed her trust, she’d gone to Sam. She could’ve at least asked Josh to take her home, though her and I both knew that Sam was the more obvious choice. The choice she knew would hurt me as much as I had hurt her. 

But what she doesn’t know is how much I’m already fucking hurting. By my own hand, no less. I never intended for this, and yet, here I am, feeling things I’ve yet to allow myself to feel over a woman, a woman that walked into my life only months ago. 

And now, thanks to me, she’s being held in the arms of my younger brother, shedding her tears into his chest right outside of my bedroom window. 

Is she wearing his fucking slippers? Jesus Christ. 

I could wring his goddamn neck for this. It’s not his fucking place. His bed wasn’t where she laid last night. His body wasn’t the one taking care of hers. 

Though, I suppose I can’t fault him–I wouldn’t be able to gather the strength to turn her away, either. Not ever again, if the truth should be told. 

I just…I’ve wanted so much more with her than this. So much more. But I must now accept the chance that I’ve fucked it all up. Perhaps I fucked it up from the very start; The fact that she ever wanted anything to do with me after the way I treated her is a remarkable wonder. 

My nerves are engulfed in flames as I have to witness her getting into Sam’s car now. Him, shutting the door behind her, racing around to the driver's side so she’s not alone for too long, wiping the last of her tears with the cuff of her sleeve. 

Tears that I fucking caused.

I’ve been through immense pain in my life, the kind of pain that feels like shards of glass slicing at my skin at the reminder. But this kind of pain, watching him drive her away because she couldn’t bear the thought of me doing it, it’s brand new to me.

I’m crossing over into untouched realms of misery, of torment. 

I can’t let things with her end in this way. I won’t stand for it. As much as I wasn’t prepared for this to begin with her in the way it did, I’m not equipped to accept it ending like this. 

I cannot leave for London knowing I was never given the chance to properly fight for her.  

But if she won’t listen to me, I fear the choice will no longer be mine to make. 

End of Jake’s point of view. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you say, glancing around the car’s interior, charmed by its retro vibe. “What year is this Bug?”

He chuckles, giving the dashboard a little pat. “’66,” he replies proudly. “Picked her up a few years ago and been keeping her going ever since.”

“Of course you did,” you say with a grin. “Somehow it’s just… so you.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “One thing about me: I’ll always pick the quirkiest option.” And quirkiest or not, you have to admit, there’s something reassuring about the old car – a little bubble of nostalgia that somehow makes the morning feel a bit lighter.

“Wanna make a coffee run before you go home?” Sam questions, turning his face slightly toward you, his mustache curled at both ends, his lips tucked into a graceful grin as his fingers tap at the steering wheel. His voice, soft and tender, is enough to make your heart swell amidst the chaos that has been this morning.

One thing about Sam, he definitely knows coffee is the way to your heart, and while it can’t fix the broken pieces, it can certainly make it feel a little better. 

“That sounds delightful, actually,” you say with a breath of relief over the promise of a little caffeine. 

“Ah, good. Been to Hyperion yet?” 

His attempts at making sure this morning feels as normal and not tense as possible are actually doing you some good, though you can’t help but feel a bit…weird about it. 

It feels almost wrong to be doing this. Going to Sam when Jake’s upset you, getting coffee with him when you should be doing that with Jake. (When you want to be doing that with Jake.)

But, you must admit that Sam is raising your spirits, at least a little bit. And who are you to turn down a coffee in any case? 

“Sure haven’t,” you say, bringing your legs up to the seat and criss-crossing them for a bit more comfort. “Any good?” 

“Oh, yes. It’ll change your life,” he says as he flips his blinker to turn left at the stoplight in front of the U of M. Looking ahead, just down the street a ways, you see an old brick building with the Hyperion Coffee Co printed in black on a white background. 

“I can’t believe I’ve never come here with how close it is to school and work,” you comment, trying to keep conversation, and just genuinely in shock that you’ve never even heard of this place. If it’s as life changing as Sam claims, this may become a new spot for you. Something different, a change of scenery. (And something in this town that doesn’t make you think of Jake. Even better.) 

It looks nice enough from the outside. Quaint and charming. Enough to get your mind off of things, at least for a moment. 

“You can stay out here if you’d like. I’ll keep the heat on for ya.” He turns the knob to crank up the temperature just a few more degrees when he notices your body shiver. “The usual?” He asks as he unbuckles his seatbelt and begins opening the door.

The usual. You seemed to have forgotten that Sam cared enough to memorize your coffee order. Though it’s not the most complicated, it’s still so sweet that he thinks enough of you to remember that. Something seemingly so insignificant means an awful lot to you.  

Does Jake even know that? Does he care enough to know? Of course he does…right? It doesn’t matter, truly. He did so much for you last night, more than anyone ever has. But, if he’s leaving, does he really care? You shake your head, as if you physically rid yourself of the thought. 

Coming back to your senses, you notice Sam patiently awaiting a response from you, his generous charisma as strong as ever. 

Coffee, y/n. Tell him what coffee you want.

“I – I think I’ll do something warm this time,” you stutter, realizing he’s probably wondering why it’s taking you so long to answer. “A steamed latte with vanilla sounds perfect.” 

He then steps all the way out of the car, winking at you with a kind smile and a nod. “You got it.” He shuts the car door behind him and scurries his way inside, looking back once more before he walks through the door. 

A long, exhausted sigh leaves your lips as you relax your body against the cool leather. You let your eyelids shut for just a moment, resting your eyes and your head. But, the moment is cut even shorter than you planned when you feel your phone vibrating in the front pocket of your crossbody. 

There’s no need in seeing who it is. You already know. And you’re not going to answer it. After the fourth ring, it stops altogether and you close your eyes once more, awaiting the heated comfort that Sam will bring you soon. 

But then, it begins vibrating again, forcing your eyes to jolt open. 

No. Just let it ring. 

Just the same, it ends on the fourth ring. And you hope that by now he’s gotten the hint that you’re in no place to speak with him. Not right now. Not yet. 

Before you can rest your eyes just a little more, you notice Sam using his ass to open the glass door of the coffee shop, a drink in each hand and his shoulder pressed against his ear, holding his phone. He’s basically putting on a juggling act trying to get the car door open with his hands full, so you lean over the center console to open it for him. 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” you hear him say to whomever he’s speaking to on the phone, and you sense a bit of annoyance in his tone. But you don’t even think twice about that or his words as he hands you your coffee, too ready to indulge in the warm liquid that you know will take away some of the hurt laying on your soul. 

But as you take your first sip, and as Sam positions himself in the driver's seat, his next words certainly grab your attention. “Well, that’s not what she wanted to do, Jake. She asked me to take her, why the fuck would I say no?”

You nearly spit the coffee out of your mouth when it hits you; he’s talking to Jake. And they aren’t just talking, they’re arguing. Over you.

Sam’s desperately trying to speak, but the yelling on the other end of the phone is relentless. You can’t even tell what he’s saying, but you know he isn’t happy. His sheer volume of speech confirms that. And you’re not surprised, given the way you left his room, going to Sam when he’s been a touchy topic with you and Jake. 

Yeah, you feel a little bad. Only because you know he’s hurt by your actions this morning. But you’re fucking hurt, too. And the choice to separate yourself from him was made the moment you discovered he’s leaving the goddamn country and didn’t think to tell you. 

“I – Jake, it’s not –,” Sam attempts, though his voice is drowned out by the yelling on the other end that you’re still unable to make sense of. “Would you please let me —,” he continues, uselessly. His palm meets his forehead, rubbing away the irritation as he holds his phone away from his ear, letting Jake’s words hang in thin air. And with his phone held away from his ear, you’re able to hear Jake a bit more clear. 

“I know what you’re fucking doing, and I’m not okay with it. She’s not yours to take care of! I’m gonna make you regret this, Sam. I know what your intentions are with y/n – “

Sam’s eyes nervously flick to you when he realizes you can hear everything Jake’s saying, and before you can hear anything else, he quickly brings the phone back up to his ear, quickly clicking the volume button down with his index finger. 

“I’m hanging up, brother. Need to focus on the road.” 

Sam just spoke over the muffled yelling completely before taking his phone from his ear and using his index finger to end the call, tossing it in the back seat so it’s completely out of sight. 

“Guess we really ruffled his feathers, huh?” He jokes, turning the key to start the ignition. It stalls for a moment, having a hard time turning over. But with one more turn of the key, the engine hums a low vibration. 

You’re silent as he pulls out of the lot, thinking about, well, everything. 

What the fuck has this morning been? First, you wake up next to Jake, thinking that most of your days from here on out will begin the very same way. He makes breakfast and brings it to his room for the two of you to enjoy, something so domestic and charming. 

Then, it all falls apart, seemingly as quickly as it was put together. 

And now, you’re essentially back where you started months ago; with Sam, all for the purpose of making Jake jealous. Only this time, there’s more at stake. A fresh wound festered with the reality of what almost was, what you wanted. What you thought he wanted, too. 

Maybe he does want something with you. But he obviously isn’t that invested in you if he’s not been honest this entire time. 

What he was saying before Sam held the phone back up to his ear and lowered the volume, about knowing his intentions with you that have Jake very upset…

Perhaps Sam wants to be with you in the ways Jake just doesn’t. Maybe you’ve been wasting your time with someone who can’t commit to you while there’s someone very close by who can give you everything you’ve been looking for. Someone who’s been there all along, just waiting for Jake‘s inevitable storm that would make you realize that.

There’s only one fucking problem – you don’t want Sam the way you want Jake. That’s just a simple fact you’ve had to come to terms with. Sam is so undeniably special, but your mantra since you’ve met the two of them is still very relevant right now; Sam isn’t Jake.

But as it stands, you do feel something for Sam that is far beyond friends-only. And the fact that he hasn’t given up on you, even after you hardcore ghosted him and used him to get to his brother just may be the indicator you need. 

He may not be Jake. But he is Sam. And Sam is everything kind and gentle in this world, bottled up in one beautiful person. 

But Jake…

The way Jake makes you feel is completely different. No one has made you feel the way he does. He makes you feel beautiful, desirable. He makes you feel sexy, when that’s something you’ve never once felt about yourself. 

But more importantly, Jake makes you feel safe. And during this upheaved phase of your life, when everything feels different and scary, safety is what you crave. It’s what you need. He gives you hope, he gives you meaning. Healing only feels possible with him. Maybe that’s why you’ve relapsed so hard since moving here. Aside from the trigger of the many life changes, you got so bad because he needed to see your pain to help you move through it. 

Last night felt like the first time in your life that you felt like a whole person. Someone who is worthy of love, of being loved. The worries about eating all but vanished, and as you looked at him sitting across the table from you, you finally saw a future in which you were healed and happy. 

That’s probably why this morning has felt so heavy. It seemed like just as your heart became filled with hope, it was ripped away from you at an unprecedented speed. 

Aside from all of that, you’re also afraid that you’ve destroyed a brotherly bond, simply by needing them both in different ways. You led Sam on, then pursued Jake, and now you’re back to Sam. And Jake hates him now because of it.

The very last thing you want is to get in the way of the relationship between brothers. Brothers who live together, work together, have been through so much loss together. You can’t let yourself be the reason they hate each other, after an entire lifetime of leaning on each other. It’s selfish of you. 

“I’m sorry, Sam. I feel like I’m the reason he’s so upset with you,” you carefully utter, finally finding the courage to say something to him. Because, the truth is, it is your fault that he was screamed at by Jake. This very realization is causing fresh tears to form in your ducts, because who the fuck are you to ruin their relationship? All because you can’t deny your feelings for both of them? As soon as something goes awry with Jake, you’re right back to seeking comfort from Sam. And that is not okay. You know it’s not.

And that’s why you feel like the worst kind of person right now. 

But you don’t want him to see you cry again. And you certainly don’t want to have to explain why you’re crying, because admitting what you’ve done outloud isn’t something you’re ready for. So, with the help of another sip of your coffee, you’re able to keep the tears at bay. 

“Ah, just a quarrel between brothers. Definitely not out of the ordinary for us,” Sam says, entirely unaware of the vast emotions you’re feeling, a sweet grin on his lips as he takes the final turn down the street your apartment rests on. “Nothing you should be sorry for. I promise it happens more often than you’d think.” He chuckles at this, and whips the Bug into the parking lot of your complex. 

He’s obviously ignoring what he knows you heard, but you're okay with that. A conversation about that feels a bit too much right now. 

“Thank you for bringing me home,” you say as he shifts the gear in park, letting the door unlock for you. “I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” he says, his sweet eyes meeting yours, his gaze lingering for a moment. “Need me to walk you up?” He asks with a gentle smile that’s tugging on every string attached to your heart. 

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you respond as you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. 

“Just thought I’d offer,” he says, still smiling as he watches you step out of the Bug. “Take care of yourself, and text me if you need me. I’ll see you later, okay?”

With a wave and a confirming nod, you shut the car door and watch him pull away. 

As you head up the steel stairs to the second floor, a memory begins filling your melancholy thoughts. One that was triggered by something Sam had said before you got out of the car. 

It’s a memory from the night your mom ended up in the hospital, and Jake stood by your side through it all. Even stayed in your apartment with you so you wouldn’t be alone, opening up to you about incredibly personal things when you couldn’t sleep. 

“You know, it’s pretty late. And it’s a long drive back to my place,” he had said as he parked his Rover in complete silence, probably sensing your reservations about spending the night alone after what had just happened. “I could stay here, sleep on the couch. That way you’d have someone to take you tomorrow morning.” 

You were utterly shocked by his offer, and you wanted it more than anything else in that moment. You needed him there. And though he tried to play it off by mentioning how far of a drive he had, it was very clear that he proposed the idea because he knew you needed him. 

“Jake I – I can’t ask you to –”

“You’re not asking if I’m offering.” 

He wasn’t going to leave you. No matter what. And he was right; you never asked him, you didn’t have to – he wanted to stay. And he knew how badly you needed his company. 

He just got it. He understood the position you were in, and he understood your need for his presence, even before you understood what you needed yourself. 

He’s made you feel safe from the very beginning. Even when you fought it.

And now, as you’re walking inside the quiet apartment, your mom still fast asleep, you’re wishing you could relive that night all over again. Terrible as it was, you had him to make you feel better. 

The sadness you’re feeling is almost comparable to the heavy emotions of that night, but at least you had him to give you some peace then, even in the rocky beginnings of the two of you. 

You don’t have that now. 

And the reality is, you may never have it again. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The daisies sitting in the vase on your dresser are making a mockery of you as you enter your bedroom. As are the ones sitting on the nightstand next to your bed. One bouquet from Jake, one from Sam. And next to the one from  Sam is the photo of you and Nat that she gifted you for your birthday, the photo Jake took.

Fitting. Disgustingly.

You toss your bag on the floor, not ready to take out its contents just yet. A tiny grin graces your lips as you kick off your footwear, the smiley face slippers Sam insisted you borrow for the journey home. 

The only thing you can think to do, the only thing you want to do, is take a fucking shower. Wash it all away. Let the night before flow down the drain, along with everything else you’re currently feeling. 

But before you can do that, the apartment needs tending to. Conveniently, the living room is a fucking mess. Not at all how you left it last night. Your mom certainly seemed to have no problem making the mess, but she’ll find every excuse possible that would explain why she couldn’t clean it. 

It’s frustrating for several reasons. But the biggest one that’s rattling your already shot nerves is the fact that the apartment was spotless last night. And now, thanks to whatever compelled her to ruin all your hard work, it needs to be cleaned. Again. 

You can’t shower in peace knowing the place looks this way. So, you’ll clean it first. 

At least it’ll be a good distraction from everything. A good way to occupy your mind from the disaster that has been this morning. Everything you’re feeling is far too similar to the things you felt the day your dad left. Eerily similar. Like you’re not worth staying around for, and that’s been proven twice now. 

Walking back to the living room, the first thing that catches your eye is the pile of dirty plates sitting on the floor, and the half-full cups of water on the coffee table. And that very coffee table, covered in crumbs from last night's meal. You brush them all off on the floor before picking up the dishes that have been left there, sitting them in the sink to worry about later. 

Right now, it’s imperative that you vacuum. Those crumbs from the coffee table that are now embedded in the carpet will be the only thing you can think about until they're gone. And the couch – it’s just as covered in food remnants as the coffee table was. You brush them off on the floor, too, so their fate will be at the discretion of the vacuum’s nozzle.

You grab the vacuum from the coat closet, its cord tangled and twisted, much like the contents of your mind at the moment. As you try to unravel it, it only knots further, becoming a mess in your hands. You can only get a small amount of the cord free from the rest, and that’s all the lead you have to work with as you just decide to give up and plug the damn thing in.

The low hum of the vacuum fills your head with white noise, an intrusion you hoped would drown out the thoughts swirling in your head about everything. But, it doesn’t work. They’re still there, tormenting you as you clean up your moms mess for the thousandth time.

You focus on the crumbs disappearing into the nozzle, wishing you could suck away the thoughts, too. The daisies. The photo. Sam. Jake. The weight of it all presses down, heavier than the vacuum in your hands.

The couch cushions are next. You flip one over, finding a stain you hadn’t noticed before – a dark blotch that looks like spilled wine, or maybe coffee. You can’t be sure. It’s just another mark, another imperfection in your life that you’ll be forced to live with. One that you have no answers to the questions you have about it.

When you finish, the living room is as clean as it was last night. But somehow, it’s not making you feel any better. Like the mess was the only thing keeping you from the reality you can’t escape. 

You set the vacuum back in the closet and head for the bathroom to finally rid yourself of any lingering piece from last night. The biggest thing – Jake’s smell is all over you. His sandalwood aroma, covering your body, your hair. You smell just like him, like his room. 

And it really fucking sucks. You can’t stand it any longer, it’s too goddamn painful.

The shower is scalding, but you don’t care. It feels good. You stand under the spray, letting the hot water batter your skin until it’s red. 

The water dripping down your chest reminds you of what still hangs around your neck; the sword necklace Jake gave you last night. The one that matches his. The sword, a symbol for so much. You grab the sword, clutching it tightly as you prepare to yank it off, break the silver chain in a hundred little pieces to flow down the drain with the water. 

But, you don’t. 

You let go of it, leaving it dangling between your breasts as the warm water continues to cascade down your body. 

You close your eyes and imagine it washing everything away – the mess, the memories, the ache. But when you step out, dripping and shivering, you realize it hasn’t.

It never does.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s not like Jake to miss class. For any reason, truthfully. 

So, it certainly caught you by surprise when you arrived at Movack's class and saw an empty seat next to yours. 

Class began over five minutes ago now, and he’s still not here. It’s pretty safe to assume he won’t be coming today. And though that should give you some relief that you won’t have to sit in the inevitable awkwardness for the duration of class, you can’t help but feel a little sad about it. 

Regardless, at least you’ll be able to focus on school today. Not him. Perhaps his absence is a good thing after all. And, it’ll truly make things a bit easier for you in this class in particular. Movack made an announcement online that you’ll be working with your partners today on an in-class assignment. 

It may be for the best that he isn’t here. Of course, it’ll leave you without a partner. But, you’re certain it’s nothing you can’t manage on your own.

“As you all know, today you will work with your respective partners on analysis,” Movack says, finally wrapping up his usual long-winded announcements he makes at the beginning of every class. “I’d like you to analyze the psychological dynamics of characters within the lore.”

Solo it is. And you’re actually okay with that.

“Ms. Y/n,” Movack says, causing you to jolt anxiously in your seat. “Mr. Kiszka informed me before class that he will be a few minutes late and wanted me to make you aware.”

Goddamnit. 

Also, why couldn't he tell you that himself? 

“O-okay,” you stutter, timidly as you notice everyone in the room glaring at you, Dr. Movack patiently awaiting your response. “Um, thanks for letting me know.” 

You’re trying to not take it too personally that he felt the need to have the professor of the damn class tell you he’ll be late. But it isn’t working. In fact, it’s kind of making your blood heat to a near boil at the thought of it. And, him coming to class means you’ll have to interact with him. You’re not ready for that yet. Part of you thought he may avoid class because of that.

But, no. Of course not. This man never skips class. No matter fucking what. He’s also never late, though. And you can’t help but wonder why he’s late today. Not that it’s your business anymore. Or, was it ever really your business?

Just as Dr. Movack is beginning to give you all the details of the assignment, Jake comes through the lecture hall doors. Their squeaking hinges echo throughout the acoustics of the room, the heels of his boots click against the hard surface of the floor as he waltzes in. He’s in no hurry, of course. His walk is a saunter, no sense of urgency in his stride as he makes his way up the steps to his seat. 

You try not to observe him too closely, your heart hammering in your chest. It is stupid how one quick, simple glance of the man has your body temperature increasing. 

“Welcome to class, Mr. Kiszka,” Dr. Movack says, greeting him with a kind smile. (And all you can think about is your first day of class, when you were late and treated the exact opposite of Mr. Kiszka.) 

Jake nods his head in response, taking his final steps until he’s right next to you. And, naturally, ignoring your existence. Not that you expected any less. You aren’t exactly pleased to see him, either. 

He sits down with a deep and heavy sigh, glancing at you briefly before looking away just as quickly as his eyes found you. The scowl on his face is rather prominent, his lips pursed and unmoving. You want so badly to say something. But, what? No words feel appropriate, yet you can’t handle this screaming silence sitting in the tiny space between you two. 

(This really does feel like the beginning of the semester all over a – fucking – gain.)

You’re angry as fuck with him right now. For reasons on a continually growing list. But all you can think about right now is how fucking good he smells. The scent that’s carried you through so much, the one you’ve found yourself covered in after being entangled within his bedsheets. It’s so close, yet feels further away than ever. 

And he looks nice. So very handsome. Salt to the still very much opened and bleeding wound. Your cheeks flush as you eye his chest through the partially open button down.

“As I stated, you will be performing an analysis on characters and their dynamics. This is to bring us back to the root of the lore, while also preparing you for your presentations that are set to begin next week,” Movack continues, his voice now like a distant muttering to you as you’re suddenly finding it hard to focus any further with the addition of the presence to the left of you. “This assignment will be interdisciplinary –  I want you to think about the infamous love triangle and how that affects Arthur’s dedication to the court.”

If it were ever possible for a person's heart to completely stop while they’re still living and breathing, right now would be that instance. You know you had a very physical reaction to the premise of the assignment, your body noticeably tensing and the gasp of air that you couldn’t hold in even if you tried. 

You didn’t know what exactly to expect with this analysis, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

Given Jake’s sudden change in posture that you can see from your peripheral, you’d say he’s feeling roughly the same as you. It’s too ironic. Uncomfortably ironic. 

Movack’s had all semester for this. And he picks now to have the class work on it?

Not the fucking time for this, Movack. 

“With your partners, I’d like you to discuss this in as much depth as our time restrictions of the class will allow,” he proceeds, as your heart simultaneously feels like it’s going to stop beating, yet rattling the bones in your body with its nervous pounding all at once. “Take notes, detailed notes, and turn them into me at the end of class. You may begin.”

You can practically taste the bile forming at the back of your throat. What the fuck kind assignment is this? God, you wish Jake would’ve just skipped the damn class. You wish you would’ve skipped. Hell, you have it in your right mind to hop out of your seat and sprint your way out of here. Take the F for the day. At this point, you couldn’t give a shit about your grade.

As if things weren’t awkward enough, this will certainly hit the nail on the head. 

Neither one of you has said a word – you aren’t even looking at each other. How do you even begin this conversation? How do you pretend that things are normal, just for the sake of this class? 

You hear the evidence that everyone else has begun their analyses, talking in depth with their partners while you and Jake have yet to speak to each other. Movack has definitely noticed that you two have yet to start. That much is clear in the way his eyes are piercing the two of you.

And, to make it worse, here he comes. Walking toward you, his arms crossed tightly over his beige sweater vest. His square frames are placed right on the bridge of his nose, his eyes peering above them in agitation as he positions himself before you and Jake. “Is there a problem?” He demands, his salt and pepper eyebrows raised as he impatiently awaits an answer from either one of you. 

You and Jake look at each other at the same time, the first time you’ve looked into his eyes since you left his room the other morning. When you left him to seek the comfort of Sam. 

And you can see it. Feel it. The very same pain you saw in his orbs that morning. They look the exact same. Only heavier, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than before. You begin to wonder if he’s been sleeping, because it certainly doesn’t appear that way. It can’t be because of you, right? Surely you’ve not hurt him that badly. He’s the one leaving. So, he can only be so hurt by his own doing. 

But, still. He looks defeated. And it’s making your heart ache, even though you know it shouldn’t.

“A-hem!” 

You both snap your heads back to Movack, who looks far more irritated now than he did before. 

“Is there a reason you two aren’t participating? I’d hate to give you two failing grades for today, but that doesn’t mean I won’t –,” 

“No, no,” Jake interjects, finally. “Sorry, we’ll get started right away.” 

Movack hums as he nods his head, pushing his frames up to his eyes before he slowly turns to walk down the steps. He’s still looking, peering at you and Jake over his shoulder before he makes it to his wooden desk at the front of the class.

“Guess we better at least look like we’re doing something,” Jake mutters, begrudgingly turning the upper half of his body so that he’s now facing you. 

You force yourself to do the same, knowing it’ll at least get Movack off your back. But, at the cost, that almost seems like the better option. Now that you’re facing him, looking at him again, it’s almost too much to bear as his downturned eyes are looking into yours once again. 

But after noticing the heaviness in his eyes, the next thing you notice is just as devastating. 

He’s wearing the sword necklace around his neck, dangling beneath his coins against his off-white button up. Hanging beautifully between his exquisite pectoral muscles. It’s odd that he's wearing it, given it’s identical to the one he gave you. 

And what’s even more weird — you’re wearing yours, too. Only, yours is tucked into your sweater, hidden beneath the heavy black knitting. Out of sight, yet still close to you. 

The fact is, you’re both wearing them. But he has the nerve to wear his in plain sight. And you immediately wonder if it’s to elicit something from you, perhaps a reminder of the fact that you’ve chosen to cut things off. 

And that pisses you off. 

“Well, we still need to have something to turn in at the end of class,” you start, your throat constricting at the first words you’ve spoken to him since that morning. Not the words you had envisioned, but here they are. All about fucking class so you don’t say what’s really on your mind. “So, don’t you think we probably need to actually do something instead of just looking like it.” 

That came out much more harsh than you truly intended. But, you are right. His idea of just pretending isn’t going to cut it. He knows that, too. 

His eyes grow wide, his jaw clenching. He brings his hand up to his chin, his finger vigorously rubbing at the skin. 

“Kay,” he snarks, sharply. “Why don’t you get started then, y/n? Tell me the impacts that Guiniverre’s love affair had on the King.” He reaches behind him to his book satchel, rips a piece of paper out of his notebook and grabs the pen sitting in the front pocket of his off white button up. “Tell me how bad it hurt the King to see his beloved with someone else.” 

Beloved?

He begins aggressively clicking his pen over and over, the sound of it overstimulating the fuck out of you. 

Hell no. 

“Let’s first discuss the treatment of the Queen,” you start, feeling every ounce of blood in your body reach your cheeks, your heart palpitating in your chest. “And how Lancelot treated her the way she deserved to be treated from day one, and didn’t lie to her like the selfish King did.”

Oh god. 

You didn’t want to say it. But Jesus, the words just kept coming. Spilling out of you like a soda bottle that had been shaken too much. 

You regret it. Instantly. 

Jake just stares at you for a moment, blankly. You’re waiting for some sort of comeback, but he’s silent. Then, to make it worse, he starts etching everything you’ve just said on the paper. Everything. 

“Jake. Jake, stop.” You try reaching across the table to cup his hand, but he quickly pulls away from you, ripping the paper with the point of his pen as he does so. 

“What else would you like to say, y/n?” His voice is steady, yet charged and heavy. The weight of his glare is keeping you locked in, your body tense and unable to move. He lets the silence linger for a moment before leaning forward towards you, his tone sharpening further as he speaks. “I’m sure you’ve got more to add.”

The room suddenly feels smaller, empty. Like everyone else in the class has suddenly disappeared, leaving only you and Jake. 

He glances at the paper in front of him, staring at the half-written words – your words. “Perhaps,” he says, his voice dipping low before rising with deliberate intensity. “You’d like to elaborate on how the King reminded her she’s a queen – by showing her exactly how indispensable she is to him.”

“Indispensable?” You echo, leaning closer to him, mirroring his body language with defiance. Your voice is sharp, cutting through the thick tension between you. “If that’s so, then perhaps we should discuss how he still wanted to leave her!”

His nostrils flare, his fingers tightening around the pen in his hand until you’re sure it’s about to break in two.

“Perhaps,” he snaps, his voice loud enough to make heads turn. “We should discuss how he bared his heart to her, and it still didn’t stop her from running to fucking Lancelot instead of letting the King explain himse –,”

“Jacob and Y/n!” Dr. Movack’s slices through the room, cutting Jake off from the remainder of his rant about the fictional characters, the rant that you know wasn’t just about them. 

You hadn’t even realized how loud the two of you had gotten. Your heart pounds as the Movack’s words pull you back to reality. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the dozens of eyes on you, of the collective silence in the room. It’s like you’d both forgotten where you were, that this wasn’t some private, messy argument but the middle of class. And yet, none of that had mattered – until now.

“Class is dismissed early. Place your notes on my desk, and I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Your classmates begin unzipping and zipping their bags, closing their notebooks, shutting their laptops. “Jake and y/n, I’d like you to stay after class for a moment.”

Shit. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔

“This is the second time you two have disrupted my class.” Dr. Movack stands from his desk chair, walking around to the front to lean against the old wood bureau where you and Jake are both awkwardly standing. “I’m not blind to the fact that something is going on between you. I’ve noticed it all semester.” 

He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, placing the frames on the desk. “You two are the best students in this class. Well, the best students I’ve had in years, actually. I don’t want to see you two fall short in your studies because of something that’s happening outside of this classroom.” 

The both of you are dead silent. You can’t speak for Jake, but you feel like you could come unglued at any given second. 

“Listen, whatever it is – and let me clarify, I don’t need to know, nor do I want to know – keep it out of this classroom. Let it go before you walk through those doors.” He looks to the large doors that lead out to the hallway, pointing to them. “Because if I hear one more display like I heard today, I won’t have a choice but to kick you both out of this class.” 

Here it is. That heartstopping sensation you felt earlier, and that involuntary gasp that apparently comes with it. 

“With as late as we are in the semester, and with as much work that I know you two have put into your project, I don’t want to do that. But, it won’t be up to me. This campus has a very strict code of conduct.” He pauses, his eyes shifting back and forth from you to Jake. “As intelligent as you both are, I hate seeing you break that.”

You’ve never heard Movack’s voice like this before. His normally loud and booming voice has softened, almost unrecognizable from what you’ve come to know.

He’s stern, undoubtedly. But, it’s the kind of stern that you’d hear from a loving dad who is disappointed. You feel his sincerity, his softness hidden behind his professor-persona. 

It’s intimidating, yet it’s comforting all at once. He cares, deep down.

“Jake, I’ve known you long enough to know that this behavior is not in your character. And y/n,” he starts, looking at you with eyes that are soft and altogether hard as rocks. “I’m aware that I’ve only known you for a few months, but I know you’re better than this. I’ve seen it.” 

He then picks his glasses back up, placing them on his face again as he steps away from his desk. “I’ve seen it in both of you,” he continues, placing his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. “Listen, I’m not just giving you this speech because of today, or because of the last time this happened. I’m telling you both all of this because you’ve both been nominated for the Distinguished Student Award given to English Majors. I am the one that nominated you.” 

Your eyes widen, your mouth parting in surprise. Instinctively, you look to Jake, whose face is emitting nearly the same expression as yours. 

“I don’t know who will be chosen,” Movack goes on. “But I can’t stand the thought of you two being ineligible because of episodes like today, that I’ve now seen twice.” He moves back to his desk, leaning his back up against it as he crosses his arms over his chest, and one loafer-clad foot over the other. “This award looks really good to grad programs. Jake, I know you’re already accepted to Oxford.” 

Fucking Movack knew before you did? Wonderful.

“But this award will guarantee funding through the scholarship only awarded to the student chosen. I can’t give you too many details, but you don’t want to mess up this opportunity.” 

He then focuses his attention back to you, looking at you with a softness that is somehow reminding you of the way your dad used to look at you. “And for you, this would be money in your pocket since your tuition is mostly covered by the fact that you’re employed by the university.” 

Money in your pocket…something you really need. You’d love to get you and your mom out of that shitty apartment someday, someday soon. Aside from that, this would be really helpful when you begin the process of applying for grad programs next semester. 

You didn’t even know anything like this existed, let alone that you would be considered for something like this. You can’t fuck this up. Movack’s lecture is the thing you needed to bring your focus back to why you’re here in the first place; your education. The only thing that’s ever truly mattered to you. The reason you were able to get yourself out of Oklahoma, the thing that will prove to everyone and yourself that you are capable of achieving anything. 

This award could open so many doors for you. And for Jake, whom a part of you wants to win it just as badly as you want to win it. He deserves it. Despite everything, he deserves it. He should be recognized for his talents, his incredible brain. He was accepted to one of the most prestigious schools in the world, after all. Painful as it is to think about, it’s not lost on you how impressive that is. 

“Do me a favor and consider everything at stake here while you’re on Thanksgiving break,” Movack continues. “You two are shining examples of the brilliance of this department. Don’t let yourselves down by letting things get in the way of that.” 

Movack excuses you and Jake, and the walk down the hall is filled with only the sounds of your sneakers and his boots against the carpeted floor. You stop once you make it to the stairwell, letting him continue his walk down the stairs. But when he realizes you’re no longer walking with him, he turns around, looking up at you as you’re standing still on the top step. 

He takes a breath, as though he’s ready to say something. But after a moment of him looking at you, of you looking at him, there isn’t a single word spoken. Instead, the silence lingers until he turns away, continuing his trek down the stairs.

Not even so much as an apology over what happened in class, or a single comment about what Movack had to say. And you’re angry about it. He should’ve said something. 

But then again, you also could’ve said something. And you didn’t. Couldn’t. 

What transpired in class wasn’t all his fault. You’re self-aware enough to recognize that. And you’re aware enough to know that everything he said was rooted much deeper than the Arthurian lore. Maybe he really does care. And maybe you truly have hurt him. Hurt him more than you ever really intended. 

But the damage has already been done. You fear there’s no coming back from this. From any of it. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The smell of charred turkey and singed herbs is rather potent throughout the entire apartment. So strong, in fact, that the freezing temperatures outside didn’t keep you from opening each window to air out the stench.

You had spent hours researching how to properly bake a turkey, what to season it with, how the hell you’re supposed to carve the damn thing. It’s not something you’ve ever had to worry about doing before, and you didn’t want to fuck it all up your first time. 

But, as you make the first cuts into the smoky meat, you realize that you may have done just that. It’s cooked all the way through – that’s certainly not something you need to worry about. Cooked a little too well, in fact. It’s way too dry, that much is evident by the way your knife isn’t slicing easily through the meat. 

Your mom couldn’t help you with the meal. Her coughing has gotten so much worse; she’s been struggling to catch her breath the past few days. You can hear the rattling in her chest when she speaks, when she coughs – she sounds bad. Really bad. Probably the worst you’ve ever heard. 

You can’t be certain, but you’re suspicious that she’s stopped taking her medications again. A thought that simultaneously pisses you off and breaks your heart. You’re doing everything you can to help her, but if she won’t swallow the pills, she won’t be around much longer. And no matter what she’s done, that fact absolutely terrifies you.

So, Thanksgiving was up to you this year. And the sad reality of it is you would’ve been able to enlist Jake for help. He would’ve happily done it in a heartbeat. He’d be here right now, guiding you through the steps of preparing a meal you have zero experience in.

The only thing you managed to not fuck up are the mashed potatoes. And that’s only because they’re the instant kind. A little hot water, and voila. You have perfectly mashed ‘potatoes’ that taste subpar at best. 

Even the stuffing you made from a mix didn’t come out right. Without gravy, (because you couldn’t find any instant gravy at the store) the stuffing and potatoes will just be dry and rather lackluster. But, at least it’s something. 

The chicken noodle soup is a recipe from your late grandmother. Easy enough to follow, though it just doesn’t taste like it should. It’s certainly not the worst thing you’ve ever made, but you’re a little more than disappointed in the fact that the store was out of carrots. Carrot-less chicken noodle soup just doesn’t feel complete to you. And if you know your mom, she won’t be too thrilled about the lack of carrots, either.

A less-than adequate meal for your first Thanksgiving in your crummy apartment in Ann Arbor. There is a small sense of pride, though. Regardless of how the food turned out, you did it. All on your own, too. You know you deserve at least a little pat on the back for all the work you’ve done. And not just with the food, but how you’ve managed to keep you and your mom afloat. Being the sole provider and caregiver for over a year now, surely she’ll cut you a little slack if the food isn’t up to par with what’s typically expected for a Thanksgiving meal. 

For years, you and your parents had gone to your dads side of the family for pretty much every holiday that called for family gatherings. The only family you had left after the passing of your maternal grandparents. And even before that, you didn’t get to see them but once a year for a few days during Summer break. 

With your dad having exited the frame of your life completely, that means his family is also non-existent in your world. Last year was your first Thanksgiving without him, and the holiday was spent in a small diner over an hour away from Cherry Tree. It was the only thing open, and it was all you could manage at the time. It certainly didn’t feel like Thanksgiving, but it was the best you could do given the circumstances. 

It was your goal this year to give your mom (and yourself) a decent holiday. And even if that means a shitty excuse for a meal, it’s still better than last year. A little, at least. Though, current life circumstances are still feeling rather heavy – some in old ways, some in new ways. 

As you're plating each of your dinners, the main thing on your mind right now is your dad. He’s probably in Oklahoma with the rest of the family, enjoying his second Thanksgiving without the burden of you and your mom. You wonder if he’s happier now, if he’s relieved. Maybe he’s found someone else by now, someone that’s worth sticking around for. Maybe this new someone has a daughter that he loves more than you. Maybe…

Enough. 

Those thoughts will do nothing but make this day a thousand times harder than it already is. It’s been difficult enough as it is, having to turn Josh down over and over again when he’s asked you to come over and celebrate with them. You’d told him that you needed to spend the day with your mom, and of course, his next idea was to have her come with you. Told you there was plenty of food, that Jake had spent hours preparing the meal. 

That sounded even worse than dealing with the guilt of leaving her by herself. The situation would be far too awkward, and you haven’t even told your mom of everything that’s happened. It’s just too much to explain, and going tonight, having her go with you amidst everything…

Nope. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Alone with your mom it is. And though it’s not the ideal scenario by any means, it’s the best option. (And the morbid part of you can’t help but wonder if this’ll be the last Thanksgiving you’ll ever celebrate with her.) 

“I think the turkey is a tad bit burnt,” you admit, defeatedly. “But hopefully it’ll still taste okay.” 

She’s found herself in another coughing fit as you set the plate in front of her. The coughs are deep, heavy. They’re coming straight from her chest. “Try and take a deep breath for me,” you say, rubbing her back until she finally catches her breath. “That sounds bad, mom.”

“I’m…fine…,” she tells you through gasps of air. She sits still for a moment, letting air fully fill her lungs again before she reaches for the plate of food you’ve brought her. “No carrots in the chicken and noodles?” 

Of course she noticed. 

“Couldn’t find them at the store,” you tell her as you get settled in your dining chair. “I guess I waited too long to go shopping. Just about everything was sold out.” Pulling apart your piece of turkey, you grimace at just how dry looks. “And most of what I did manage to find was from the cheap brands that no one really likes.” 

The turkey really does taste terrible. As you suspected, dry as fuck. Without a giant swig of your water, you’re not sure you’d be able to get it down. Gravy probably would’ve helped, you silently ponder. 

After a few bites of potatoes, a spoonful of chicken noodles, and a bite of stuffing, you decide you’re mostly done with the meal. 

The food is pretty bad. But that’s not the only thing keeping you from it. Eating was already hard; it’s about a hundred times worse right now. 

The holidays have always been difficult, simply because they always revolve around food. And Thanksgiving, being the holiday for food, has typically been your least favorite one to celebrate. You have so many memories of family members giving you a look when you filled your plate with less food than they deemed appropriate. And you would get even more looks when you never finished everything on your already scarce plate. 

It’s just a lot. Always has been. And this year, it’s just that much harder. 

Your mom, on the other hand, has practically finished everything on her plate. Which, to say the very least, is shocking when considering how much she shit-talks your cooking. 

“Does it taste okay?” You ask her as she smothers her last piece of turkey in mashed potatoes, shoveling it all in her mouth in one go.

“It’s a little dry,” she utters through a full mouth. “But it’s not half bad. Good job, sweetie.”

“Thanks mom.” Standing up from your seat, you take your half full plate to the kitchen and dump the sad remains in the trash. “There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry.”

“Done already?” She asks while you begin rinsing your plate in the kitchen sink.

“Yeah. The food was pretty filling,” you say, rubbing your tummy to indicate that you’re full. “Couldn’t eat another bite if I tried.” 

She hums inquisitively as she sets her fork down on her plate, grabbing her cup and sipping on the store-bought apple cider you poured her. “You’re not starvin’ yourself again, are you?” 

The plate in your hand crashes into the sink, slipping out of your grasp. You never truly know what your mom is going to say, but this…it caught you by surprise, startled you. This isn’t a conversation you want to have with your mom; you’ve never really had it at all. She’s always dismissed this part of you, pretending like it didn’t exist. Your dad was the one that got you help. Not her. 

So, hearing her mention it is…strange, to say the least. Strange and uncomfortable. Though you don’t like discussing this with anyone, she’s the last person you want to talk about it with. 

You’re not sure what to say, or if you should even say anything. Avoiding it feels like the best option – maybe she’ll forget about it, let it go if you change the subject. Just pretend like you didn’t hear it. 

“Um, there’s some pie,” you force out, leaving the plate where it landed and turning off the faucet. “In the freezer, there’s a frozen pie. Pumpkin. If you want it, I can preheat –,” 

“You didn’t break the plate, did you?” 

The plate? She’s only concerned with the fucking plate?

“N-no?” You stammer, confused. Looking in the sink to be sure, you see the plate still in one piece. No cracks beyond the ones that were already there from age and use. “No, the plate’s fine. Do you want pie?” You ask again, finding this entire interaction incredibly odd.

“No, I don’t think so.” She pushes her now cleared off plate to the center of the table, standing and stretching her arms as high as she can. She coughs again, this one even deeper and more rattling than the ones before. “Think I’ll go take a bath and head to bed soon. I’m not feeling too great.” 

Do you ask her about her medications knowing she’ll probably just lie? No, there’s no point. You know that. She’s clearly made the choice to forgo her meds again. And you learned the last time she did this that you can’t force her to take them. She’ll do what she wants, even if it means it’s slowly killing her. 

And that thought, regardless of everything, absolutely breaks you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

After helping your mom through a bath, putting away leftovers, and cleaning the kitchen until the laminate countertops were sparkling, you’re at last snuggled up under your covers. Though it’s only a little after eight, being in your bed this early feels like the best way to spend the rest of the night. Your mom is already fast asleep, snoring away whatever Western film she’s chosen for the night, so there’s no reason you can’t hunker down in your room a little earlier than usual. 

The apartment is freezing, but you don’t mind. It just gives you a reason to turn your heated blanket up as high as it’ll go, break out your prized pair of purple fuzzy socks, and a giant ass Nike hoodie you thrifted years ago.

This kind of weather begs for a Harry Potter night, one of your favorite things to watch during the colder months. But, of course, you can’t just watch them from the beginning. As of tonight, the Christmas season has officially begun. It’s only right that you watch The Sorcerer's Stone first, the one that, in your opinion, is the most Christmasy of the whole franchise.

The only thing you’re missing are your decorations you’ve always put up in your room. Your tiny tree that could only hold maybe five regular sized ornaments, the string of colorful lights with the big, retro bulbs you’d hang from your ceiling, the wreath you made yourself when you were probably eleven or twelve that you’ve hung on the back of your bedroom door every year. 

You moved to Michigan so quickly, and there was only so much room in your Firebird for everything that encompassed your entire life. Decorations just weren’t a priority when you packed up your life in Oklahoma. 

So, you’ll just have to make do with your fairy lights framing your vanity mirror, and your cuddly cactus plant that could probably hold a star on top, if you really wanted to get festive. 

You’re only a few minutes into the movie, but your eyes are slowly becoming heavier, each blink longer than the last. There’s a certain peace with tonight, thinking about Christmas and watching a movie that has always made you happy. It’s all made you feel so comfortable, and the addition of your warm blanket is the cherry on top of the perfect, cozy night to yourself.

Letting your eyes fully close, you begin to doze off to the sound of the movie, letting it lull you to a restful, tranquil slumber. 

Until your phone vibrates. 

Initially, it scared the hell out of you, your eyes shooting open in an instant. Sitting on your nightstand made the vibration much louder than normal – you swear you felt your bed shake along with it. You clutch your chest, the intrusion making your heart race. 

Reaching for it to see who it is, you’re fully expecting a text from Nat, or another plea from Josh to join them for Thanksgiving.

But reading the screen tells you your thoughts over who it could be are very wrong. It’s the last person you expected to hear from tonight, and you’re reluctant to even open it. You were so relaxed, so close to resting. Why did he have to ruin it? 

You let the text remain unopened for a bit, but you know damn well your anxiety won’t let you leave it that way for much longer. 

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you click on the message. 

Jake: Don’t let the food sit out there for too long, it’ll get cold. There should be plenty for both of you.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed, unwrapping yourself from your heated blanket-burrito and using the remote to pause your movie. You read the text again, trying to make some sense of it. 

Did he…drop food off at your front door? 

There’s only one way to find out. The chilly air hits your bare legs the minute you get out of bed. The shivers run up and down your body as you quickly leave your room and head to the front door. Keeping your arms in the sleeves of your hoodie, you open the door to see probably five or so tupperware containers, stacked neatly by size in front of your door. Further inspection tells you they’re full with food. 

Quickly, so as to not let any more cold air in the apartment, you gather the containers, finding a way to cradle them all in your arms so you only need to make one trip. You use your foot to close the door, hurrying to the kitchen before one slips out from your arms. 

Pieces of turkey in one container, mashed potatoes in another, stuffing, the most gorgeous mac and cheese you’ve ever seen, and sweet potato casserole. Each lid you open lets out steam; it’s all so warm and fresh. And it smells absolutely heavenly. 

The first thing you have to do is taste the mac and cheese. Grabbing a spoon, you dig into the gooey side dish. Strings of cheese hang off the spoon as you bring it to your mouth. 

Jesus. This has to be the best thing that’s ever touched your taste buds. It’s perfectly creamy, and you can taste so many different types of cheese blended in with just a hint of garlic. You’ve never had gourmet mac and cheese, but you’re pretty sure this is about as delectable as it gets. 

Next thing to try is the potatoes, which you’re sure were handmashed. Those instant ones you made earlier don’t even deserve to be called mashed potatoes, especially in comparison to Jake’s. 

Before you know it, you’ve tried at least a few bites of everything. And, as you presumed before you did a taste test, everything is incredible. Jake is certainly skilled in the kitchen, and it makes you wonder if he’s missed his calling as a prestigious chef.

Then again, his literary brain is one of the things you love most about him. It would be a shame for him to not pursue something in the written arts. 

You’ve suddenly remembered you haven’t thanked him. Though you’re not exactly on speaking terms, you can’t let him do all of this, driving over twenty minutes just to bring you and your mom something to eat, go without a proper thank you. 

You: Thank you, Jake. That was really nice of you.

You pressed the send button before giving yourself the chance to overthink the tone of your message. (Which, you’ll still do. But, at least you didn’t type the message a hundred times before you sent it.)

After finding a place for everything in the fridge, you walk back to the front door to lock it, remembering you hadn’t earlier. You then go to peek in your moms room to see if she’s awake to offer her some actual good food. She’s still asleep, her snoring now a dull noise as she’s deep in her slumber. 

It’ll be a nice surprise for her in the morning, you think to yourself as you head back to your room. You’ve ignored the fact that your phone has yet to vibrate with a text back. No response from Jake, and it’s been a solid ten minutes. (You know it’s not that long, but your anxiety about texting him makes it feel like ten hours.)

Oh well. It is what it is. He doesn’t have to respond, and there’s a good chance that he won’t. You’ll just have to be okay with that. 

You crawl back into bed, clicking the button on the control to your heated blanket a few times to ensure it’s up all the way before unpausing the movie. Though, it doesn’t feel quite as relaxing now that your mind is a bit preoccupied with the fact that he’s still not responded. You keep glancing at your phone on the bed next to you, waiting for the screen to light up with his name. 

But, it doesn’t.

And that’s okay. Or, at least you’re trying to convince yourself of that. It was, afterall, your choice to cut things off with him. He’s already done more than he probably should’ve done. Though, you still don’t really know why he did it. The fact that he thought of you at all feels good. Really good. 

But, did he do it because he wanted to, or because his twin that’s been texting you all day put him up to it? 

That’s the question running laps around your mind as your eyes are becoming heavy again, the sound of the movie fading as you’re starting to drift to sleep. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I really need your creative mind, y/n,” Josh begs. “I can’t do this without your eye, my dear. You’re the heart and soul of this whole thing.”

You’ve been on the phone with him for nearly fifteen minutes now; he’s been incessantly begging you to come over the entire time. He swears he needs your help with the final edits of the film, making sure everything flows properly, that the story line makes sense. Why a film genius like him needs your help is beyond you. But you’re flattered, nonetheless. 

And while you are flattered, and you do want to help, going over there means risking an interaction with Jake. That’s risky territory at the moment, and you can’t help but be a little offended over the fact that he never responded to you the other night. 

“Can we just go somewhere else?” You ask him, the phone nearly slipping out of your palm from the nervous perspiration. “I just don’t want to see–”

“I can get rid of Jake,” he interrupts, speaking a little quieter than he was before. You’ve got a sinking feeling that means Jake is in the room, or at least nearby. And that possibility has your tummy doing flips. “I’ll just tell him he needs to take Sam’s shift, let him handle the office for a while. I do have that power, you know.” 

He wheezes a chuckle to himself, and it actually makes you smile too. It eases your edginess for a moment, but that quickly fades when you hear another voice on the phone, one that seems to be a bit further away. 

“I can take the fucking hint.” He’s yelling, he’s angry. And you suddenly feel like absolute shit. You then hear a rather loud bang, presumably the front door being slammed as he made the decision to leave.

“Well, that takes care of that little nuisance,” Josh says, still giggling. “So, you’ll come?”

“W-was that Jake?” You ask, though you already know the answer. The very mention of his name makes your heart ache, and hearing that tone from him is like a slice to the skin. 

“Sure was,” he chuckles. “He’ll get over it. The coast is clear until six o’clock when the office closes. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival, my dear.”

“Josh, wai–” You hear a smooching sound from his end before the call ends, cutting you off completely. 

Little shit. He didn’t even give you the chance to turn him down again. It’s only reluctantly that you’ll go. And you may as well go now. Get it over with quicker. 

You couldn’t care less about your appearance today. Comfort takes priority over cute as you pull on your clothes. Sweats today instead of leggings, your trusty Billy Joel crewneck – an old relic from the ‘90s that used to belong to your dad. Not that sentimentality has anything to do with it; it’s simply warmer and sturdier than your other options. Men’s clothing always seems to be made better than women’s, and vintage pieces like this remind you of a time when quality mattered. Heavy, durable, and practical – exactly what you need today. The fact that it was once your dad’s? Pure coincidence. (Mostly.)

A little moisturizer and aquaphor for your lips is the extent of your makeup, and a messy bun on the crown of your head is all you care to do for your unwashed hair. 

You slip your phone in the front pocket of your crossbody before securing it over your shoulder and heading to the coat closet to grab your puffer. You’re trying not to breathe as you walk past your mom, hoping by some chance that she’ll ignore the fact that you’re leaving. She’s been sitting on the couch for hours now, watching every film Clint Eastwood ever made back to back. 

“You know,” she starts, keeping her eyes glued to the forty three inch insignia. “Your grandfather performed a few stunts in his movies. Remember that?”  

Pulling your coat from the closet, you hold it under your arm as you turn your attention to her. “Yeah, I do,” you say, smiling softly at the fond memory of his stories. “I really miss him.” 

She’s not looked at you until now, and she’s smiling at you. Something you’ve not seen in a long time. At least not a genuine one. Her eyes are smiling, so you know she means the one she’s wearing across her lips. “I miss him, too.” 

You’ve not talked about your grandfather in years. Not since he passed. Your mom forbade you to do so, saying it hurt too much to talk about him. 

Her grieving process was much different than yours. She felt her sadness by watching movies he loved, but not talking about him while she did so. You felt yours by asking your dad about any memories he had with him. 

He’d always warned against asking your mom too much about him, or anything about her childhood altogether. There’s so little you know about her life growing up. You only know the things your dad had told you, and you know a little from what your grandparents felt comfortable divulging, which truly wasn’t much. 

Her mother, your grandma, struggled immensely with her mental health. She struggled in a time when the world simply didn’t acknowledge that the brain could be just as sick, at times more, than the body. She never got the help she needed. Though she tried to be the best mother she could be, you’re fairly certain she put your mom through a lot as a kid. From what you’ve gathered from your dad, she would act out and cause quite a bit of disruption at times. She did it purely for the attention it garnered. 

But she never remembered doing it. As your dad described, it was like a switch would flip inside of her mind, turning off the logical side of her brain and closing her eyes to what she was doing. She’d even gone so far as to make herself sick a few times, just to get attention from people. When the switch would turn back on and she’d realize what she’d done, she felt terrible. 

By the time you came around, she had finally gotten some help. She became the mom your mom always needed. 

You loved your grandma. She was as sweet and gentle with you as any grandma should be. Her and your grandpa both were. But they lived in Texas, so you didn’t see them as much as you wished you could’ve. 

His passing happened only a few weeks after hers. You’re certain he died of a broken heart. As much trouble as she gave him throughout the half century they were wed, he still loved her. 

He couldn’t find the strength to attend her funeral service. Said he’d already gotten his closure, and didn’t see the point in letting the wound fester even more. 

He was already gone by that point. A soulless vessel just waiting for the body to give out. 

You weren’t able to go to his service. Money was far too tight to make the drive to Fairview more than once in such a short period of time. Your dad did everything he could to make the trip possible. And if you’re remembering correctly, your mom didn’t exactly fight to go. She kind of just…gave up on the idea. Didn’t even try. If you had to guess, aside from the money issues, she more than likely just couldn’t handle attending both of their funerals so close together. 

This is the first time she’s mentioned him since then, and it’s…odd. But, a bit comforting. While you don’t have too many memories of him, of either of them, the ones you do have are beautifully engraved on your heart forever. 

There’s a longing to stop what you’re doing and sit with her on the couch, take advantage of this rare moment of her wanting to talk about something she’s never talked with you about before. 

But you made a promise to Josh. And that promise is quite dear to you. And, it’s not like you’ll be out late. You’ll get home just in time to make dinner and, hopefully, continue this conversation with her. 

“I-I’m going to help with some things on the film,” you say, timid over the sudden wave of guilt for leaving right now. “But I’ll be back in just a few hours. Is soup okay for dinner?”

“Sounds good to me,” she responds, deadpanned and monotone, eyes now back on the screen. “See you later.” 

“Okay.” Her sudden tone-shift has you a little nervous, that feeling of disappointing her weighing on your chest. “I’ll be back around six thirty. Love you,” you say as you head out the door, and you wait just a moment to see if she’ll respond.

She doesn’t. She essentially waves you off, and you leave in silence, left in complete confusion as to what the hell just happened. 

Part of you wonders if she’s attempting to rebuild your relationship. Well, could you even call it ‘rebuilding’? Or… more likely, was it possible she continued to work (like always) to cover up everything that’s happened in your life again? The slightly more cynical part of you wonders, like you often have been lately, if she started the conversation to guilt you into staying home.

In truth, you just don’t know with her anymore. And you may never again. Well, at least you thought you understood her. Thought that your entire life. 

But, as you’ve recently discovered, you may have never truly known her. The fact is, you’re coming to the conclusion that she’s manipulated you into believing things that just aren’t true. When Jake played you Stevie Ray Vaughn, reminding you of music that defined your life up until this point… You pondered the music you thought your mom introduced you to. Certain things with him have forced your brain to remember things from your past a bit… differently. 

Your mom didn’t listen to Stevie. Your dad did. He played his music, he talked to you about how much he admired him, and your mom took the credit for it. And, your dad being the man he had always been for her, had let her have that. Let her take credit where it was due him. She ‘took credit’ so often that she had you convinced, for years, that it was the truth. And, when he left, she took advantage of the newfound ‘hatred’ you developed for him, and used that to her advantage. 

Perhaps you’re just easy to manipulate.

Or, she’s just that good at strategically lying. 

Jesus. You just wish Jake wasn’t leaving. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

This is your first time at the Kiszka place since Sam took you home the other morning. And while you know Jake isn’t at home, seeing his Rover outside as you pulled into your parking spot most definitely elicited some strong emotions from you. A bit of a jumpscare to see it, to say the very least. 

A helpful reminder that he is technically here as he’s working the front office of the complex. So, avoiding that specific area is necessary. If you do that, you’ll be just fine.

And though Jake may not be at home, someone else most definitely is. As if your life isn’t enough of a disarrayed puzzle, the closest spot to park your car in was an empty one right between Jake’s Rover and Sam’s Bug. 

Okay, universe. I fucking hear you. 

As you’re getting out of your car, you catch sight of Sam jogging toward his Bug, smiling wide when he sees you. “Hey, beautiful!” He pulls you in for a tight hug once he gets closer to you. His blue Patagonia pullover feels so soft and warm against your cold cheek. And he smells amazing, like eucalyptus mixed with the scent a rain shower leaves behind. “Here to help my brother, are ya?”

“Mhm,” you hum into his chest, reluctant to break the hug as it's freezing outside. As you pull away a bit, you look up at him, his warm smile making the cold air a little less crisp. “Are you helping, too?”

“Well, with Jacob taking up my post in the office, I’m free to head to the animal shelter like I’ve been wanting to.” He shrugs his shoulders, his grin growing even wider. “Kind of been thinking about adopting a puppy. Finally have the chance.”

You’d sort of hoped he was going to stay and help, but the fact that he looks so excited about the possibility of getting a puppy makes up for the fact that he’s leaving. 

He gives you one last hug before walking to his car. “I hope you find the perfect baby to bring home with you,” you say as he opens the squeaky driver's side door.

“Me too! I’ll see you later, beautiful.” With that, he hops in and starts the ignition as you power walk your way to their apartment, desperate to get out of the cold. 

Josh welcomed you with literal open arms when he let you inside, hugging you tight against his soft beige sweatshirt before you could walk all the way in. The display of affection made you breathe a sigh of relief. You’re glad to know that your friendship with him is okay despite everything. In truth, you have been a bit worried about that, given Jake is his literal twin. It would only make sense he’d choose his side over yours.

But what you’ve learned about Josh in the few months you’ve known him, is he’s the most unbiased, loving ray of pure sunshine who doesn’t hold anything against anyone. 

He's the kind of person anyone would be so lucky to have by their side. And you just so happen to be one of those lucky few. 

“Talk to me,” he says as he pulls out a chair for you to sit at the dining room table. He then sits at the chair right next to yours, turning it completely so that his entire body is facing you, his way of letting you know you’ve got his undivided attention. “Are you doing alright?” 

“I’m doing fine! Stressing about finals, but other than that I–” 

“No,” he interrupts, crossing one khaki-clad leg over the other and folding his arms over his chest. “You know what I’m talking about.” He leans his body against the back of the chair, getting himself nice and comfortable as he’s prepared to hear the truth about how you’re actually doing. “You can’t hide from me, y/n.” 

Well. Perhaps he’s correct about that. You’ve almost always been able to hide the way you truly feel from people, but when you moved here to Michigan, you found it much harder to do so with the people you’ve befriended. 

There’s no answer as to why they are able to see you so vastly different than anyone else in your life ever has. They just do. The fact that they see you at all is a wonder entirely unheard of to you. 

In a display of defeat, your body slumps down in your chair, your elbow meeting the table as you move your head to rest against the hand of the same arm. “I’m…a little sad, I guess. I don’t know, I just –,” This new territory of expressing whatever the fuck is happening in your mind is not exactly a comfortable place for you just yet. And you’ve had to do it an awful lot as of late. Jesus. Your emotions could use a fucking rest. “I thought things were going well. Better than they actually were. I can’t – I just don’t really know how to articulate it.” 

“Trouble articulating is certainly not something you need to worry about with me,” Josh giggles, unquestionably referring to his slightly long winded rambles that sometimes take awhile to get to the point he’s trying to make. That characteristic just so happens to be one of your favorite things about him.

But just as he’s about to finish his thought, your whole body stiffens in fear as you hear the front door unlock and begin to open. Glancing at your phone, you note that it’s not even two yet, so surely it can’t be him…right? 

The door opens a little more, and your breath is held tight in your lungs at the possibility of who’s behind the frame, your body frozen in your chair, entirely unable to move a muscle. 

Dear god, please no.

“Well hello, darling!” Josh lovingly boasts as Malachi struggles to walk inside with his hands full of carryout bags from Shake Shack, impressively juggling his keys and phone all at the same time. 

Thank fuck. 

Not that you don’t love to see Malachi all the time, but you’ve never been happier to see him than you are right at this very moment. 

“I know you’re a little busy, babe,” Chi says, struggling to find his footing and a free hand to shut and lock the door with. “But I could really use a little help making sure the food actually makes it to the table.” One of the bags falls from his fumbling hand, but with pure grace and luck, he somehow catches the handle with the tip of his foot, bending his knee so that the bag is suspended from the ground. 

Josh yells a monstrous laugh, clapping as he bolts out of his chair with such speed that the whole thing slams on the ground. “That was talent, baby!,” he shouts, jogging his way over to lend Chi a hand before he loses his balance. 

He grabs the bag still dangling from Chi’s foot, finally giving the poor man back his footing. You smile as you watch Josh lift on the tips of his toes to plant a big smooch on his cheek. “Thanks for picking up lunch, babe.” 

“Mhm,” Malachi hums as they bring the bags over to the table you’re still sitting at. “Wasn’t sure what to get you, y/n,” he says as he and Josh are moving the fast food contents from the bag to the table. “I hope a grilled cheese and some fries are okay!” 

You didn’t know food would be involved today, but you are hungry. Extremely hungry, in fact. Needless to say, meals have been even harder since you discovered Jake’s little secret. Just one more thing to add to the endless triggers as of late. 

And though eating is hard right now, a grilled cheese is actually one of your safe foods, something you’ve never been too anxious to eat. A childhood staple that’s never been too much, yet just enough. “You can never go wrong with melted cheese on toast,” you say to Chi. “You really didn’t need to get me anything, but I appreciate it.” 

“My thoughts precisely. And it was no problem at all,” he remarks as he sets the meal down in front of you, along with a few crumpled up napkins. It smells so wonderful. You’ve suddenly gotten the urge to rip open the foil wrapper around the sandwich and scarf the whole thing down as quickly as you can. Of course, that’s not what you’ll do. One bite at a time like a normal, not ravenous person will do just fine. 

“You two get anything done while I was out?” Chi asks as you take your first bite, letting the warm cheddar sit on your tongue for a moment, relishing in the melted gooeyness. 

He pulls out the chair on the end of the table beside Josh, digging into his own food once he sits down next to his partner who’s nearly finished his burger already. 

“Not quite,” Josh answers, mouth full of food, wiping ketchup globs from the sides of his lips with his napkin. “We’ve been catching up, haven’t we?” He looks to you, smacking his food and winking. “And don’t think we’re done with our conversation just yet, sweetheart.”

Dammit.

“Ah, the Jake drama, I take it?” Chi speculates, examining his burger with a huff of irritation. “They never remember to leave off the damn pickles.” Begrudgingly, he peels them off the patty, one by one, tossing them in one of the bags he brought the food in. 

“Picky picky,” Josh teases, tossing his trash in the same bag with the forsaken pickles. “Anyway, as I was saying,” he begins, dusting the salt from the fries off his hands and turning his chair back to face you. “We’re not done talking about this.” His hands reach for yours, cupping one the one not holding your grilled cheese between his two palms. “I don’t want you to let anything that happened with my brother make you feel like you should keep your distance from us.” 

You know he’s referring to his multiple attempts at reaching out to you, inviting you over, eliciting your help on the film. He’s certainly been trying to keep you around, and while you’ve never really been able to identify your self worth, the fact that he’s gone to all of this trouble just to maintain a friendship with you truly does make you feel good. Really good, actually. 

You’re suddenly feeling incredibly horrible for ignoring his endeavors. Avoiding Jake doesn’t mean you need to avoid Josh, or Malachi, Sam…

They are extensions of Jake, to a degree. But they aren’t Jake. You can have relationships with them without the addition of Jake. If they’re okay with it, then so are you. 

“I won’t,” you confirm with a deep sigh, setting your sandwich with a few small bites out of it down on the foil it was wrapped in, deciding you’ve had enough. “I promise.” 

You’re glad Josh hasn’t decided to cut you out completely, because losing Jake is hard enough as it is. It would be much worse if everyone decided you were no more than an insignificant fling in Jake’s life (which could still be the case… for Jake, at least.) and chose to cut you off when he did.

But you can’t help but wonder why no one thought to mention it to you, or why it was never brought up. Obviously, Jake’s decision wasn’t on a whim, or some spur of the moment choice to move to another country. This had to have been in the works for a long time now. And you know his brothers knew about it. They’re his brothers, for christ sakes. One of whom literally shares his DNA. 

Aside from that, Jake’s job as co-business-runner of this incredible complex is far too important to just leave without warning. There have no doubt been several talks amongst all of the Kiszkas. And surely, they’ve begun the process of hiring someone in his place by now. (The mere thought of all of these loose ends getting tied up sucks, by the way. Makes it all the more real that he’s actually leaving to live in an entirely different fucking country.)

So, a question that’s been sitting in your mind, festering, lingers. 

“Can I ask you something, though, Josh? And I want you to be honest with me.” 

You’ve certainly piqued Josh’s interest. He sets his burger back down on the table just as he’s about to take a bite, choosing you to give you his full attention. “Of course, love,” he says.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me he was leaving? I’m far past done trying to comprehend Jake’s silence about the whole thing. I cannot wrap my mind around that—.” Shifting your weight in your chair, you try shrugging off the tension forming in your body at the thought. Tugging at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, you let out a heavy sigh as you stare at your fidgeting hands. “But I just want to know how come no one warned me. I mean, I know we weren’t exactly public about…,” you pause, thinking of the right word that describes what you and Jake are – were. “...our thing together. But we didn’t really hide it, either. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel like someone should’ve told me, you know?” 

You peer at Josh through your lashes, having felt far too nervous to look at him until you said what you needed to say. His hand is rubbing at the back of his neck, his lips curled in a nervous grin. “Well,” he begins, fluffing the curls sitting on his forehead with the back of his hand. “I can’t argue that, my dear. You’re right; someone should’ve told you. It’s not that I didn’t want to – I was obligated by oath.”

“Oath?” You question, finding yourself awfully intrigued by this now-apparent promise to keep quiet.

“He made me – us – vow not to tell you, or to let on to it until his timing felt right.” He shrugs his shoulders, uncrossing his legs and places his hands in his lap. “I trusted that he’d find the right time and the right way to present it to you. He fucked his entire plan up. The whole goddamn thing.” 

Us? Plan?

You’re hearing Josh’s words, but you’re growing increasingly frustrated over the fact that it seems everyone knew before you did. Along with the frustration is the maddening confusion that seems to relentlessly linger. “Who’s us?” You ask, fighting the frustration seeping out through your tone of voice. It’s not Josh’s fault, you know that. He’s not the one you’re upset with, and you don’t want him to think your anger is toward him.

“Well, Malachi and I,” he says as he gestures toward his partner who’s just finished his burger. “And Sam.”

Sam? He talked to Sam about this? Your heart practically skipped a beat at the mention of his name. 

“But he hadn’t told Natalia or Danny yet. He didn’t trust those two to not spill the beans,” he giggles, Chi joining him with an agreeing smile. 

He’s certainly correct about that. Nat wouldn’t have kept something like this from you, wouldn't have let him keep it from you. She would’ve made him tell you. 

So, yeah. He was smart in keeping her out of it. And telling Danny would mean practically the same thing as telling Nat. 

But if he asked Sam to keep it from you, wouldn’t that mean Sam was privy to your situationship? He acted like he had no idea you two were a thing…acted? It certainly makes more sense to you that Sam would’ve known this whole time. How could he not? The times you and Jake snuck off together and weren’t seen for the rest of the night, or the unspoken glances and subtle touches you’ve shared in front of everyone. The fact that you completely ghosted Sam when things with Jake were picking up. 

Surely he knew before he found out about your birthday date with Jake. It’s possible that he really was naive and oblivious to it, but you also can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it than that. Especially considering what Jake said to him on the phone the morning he took you home. 

What if he has known this whole time, but chose to ignore it? What if he was waiting for the moment Jake would fuck up and you’d turn to him once again? 

Jesus. That’s a lot to take in, and you’re in no place emotionally or mentally to consider all of that. Your fingers begin rubbing away the ache present in your temples, and you feel Josh’s hand reach for your knee to offer you some comfort.

“I’m sorry, love. You probably feel like you’ve been lied to by everyone,” Josh goes on, the sympathy in his voice touching your heart. “But no one had any malicious intent. We just wanted Jake to take the reins on this one and, well, he blew it.” 

Yeah, that about sums it up. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Josh. It’s not your fault – or yours,” you add, directing the words toward Malachi, who looks a bit uneasy with the direction this conversation has taken. Definitely not what he bargained for when he showed up with the food, you’re sure. One of the most non confrontational people you’ve ever met. “I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It makes sense. Really, I get it.”

Josh gives a gentle squeeze to your knee before letting go, offering a sweet, apologetic smile. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he says, chuckling softly through his nose. “I’ve never seen him this…,” he pauses, raising his hands as though he’s reaching for the right word. “...entranced before. And don’t you dare let on that I told you this,” he says, waving his index finger toward you. “But he’s absolutely captivated by you, my dear.”

You cock an eyebrow at Josh’s words, feeling a mix of emotions about it. You know Josh wouldn’t lie to you, but you can’t fight the lingering sense of doubt over what he’s saying. 

The way your stomach tightens and then flutters at his words, though… The idea that you ‘captivate’ him in a way his own twin has never witnessed another woman ‘captivate’ him — it makes your skin tingle in a way that has you reminiscing. Reminiscing on the evening of your birthday…

But, when you think about the night of your birthday, when he played Lenny for you and handed you that part of his heart, it does make you wonder if it could be true, that he is captivated by you. 

You can’t be certain about how he feels, but what you do know is you are undoubtedly captivated by him. In every way, unfortunate as it may be.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“My god,” you mutter as you’re seeing the first clips of the film. The picture is beautiful. The cinematography is beyond what you imagined, like a movie with a billion dollar budget, set to be released on silver screens around the globe.

The fact that your group of people, that Josh was able to produce something of this magnitude…

You knew it would be beautiful. But you didn’t realize it would be this professional. 

“Josh, this is –,” you say, watching only the exterior shots he grabbed to set the scene. “Wait –, “ You press the spacebar on the laptop to pause the video, looking at Josh who’s grinning into the palm of his hand at your reactions. “I didn’t know you had a drone!” 

The footage is of a mountainous landscape, from above it. He’s slowed the video down, letting the powerful cinematic music play over the view of the lush peaks. The camera rounds the mountains, hovering above a crystal lake glittering at their bases. It then turns to the field of trees next to the water, their leaves in full evergreen wonder. He must’ve filmed this at the beginning of August, as the colors of the trees are exactly as they were when you moved here. You remember, because they charmed you instantly. 

“You like it?” He eagerly asks, anxious excitement laced in his voice. “I thought the drone footage added a bit of je ne sais quoi to the piece.” He kisses the tips of his fingers in a chef's kiss of sorts, in regards to his work. 

Awestruck is the only word that appropriately encapsulates how you’re feeling as you watch this masterpiece, and you’re hardly two minutes in. The quality is perfect. The colors are so rich and deep. How a college student managed to create this is absolutely beyond you. Then again, this is the mind of Josh you’re witnessing. After months of working with him, seeing his gorgeous visions come to life, you really shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’ve been utterly impressed by him since day one of working with him. 

“It’s beautiful, Josh. Better than any movie that’s come out in the last few years.” 

He laughs shyly, pausing the film with a tap against the space bar. “I can’t accept that, y/n. But, it most definitely means a great deal coming from you.” 

“Don’t inflate his ego,” Malachi chuckles, gathering all the trash from lunch on the dining table. He leans down to Josh, whose face is contorted in annoyance, offering an apologetic kiss. Josh lifts his hand just as their lips are about to meet, so Chi’s lips land on his flattened palm. “Awe, c’mon, babe. I just was joshin’ ya.” Chi winks in your direction, grinning mischievously from the corner of his mouth.  

You can’t help but giggle, holding your hand up to your mouth to suppress how hard you truly want to laugh. 

“You are done,” Josh says, holding back his desire to laugh by brushing down the slides of his mustache. “I believe the costume picker-outer is no longer needed during the process of editing the film. You know, since the costumes are already picked out and filmed.” 

Malachi winces as he tosses the fast food trash in the trash can, clicking his tongue. “Ouch, babe. Got me there,” he says, sarcastically, strutting back toward the table and leaning down to Josh once again. “This costume picker-outer is going to take a nap and leave his brilliantly callous boyfriend to edit in peace.” They both giggle, and Josh finally gives in and gives Chi the kiss he went for earlier. 

As Malachi heads up the stairs, you notice the blush in Josh’s cheeks as he scrolls through the footage on his laptop. “You guys are sickeningly cute,” you say. 

“We are, aren’t we?” Josh replies, the gap in his front teeth on display with the biggest grin you’re sure you’ve ever seen from him. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been looking through video clips for over two hours now, lending Josh a hand in editing and arranging them wherever you can. It’s certainly a bit weird and almost uncomfortable to see yourself, well, like this. You hadn’t realized just how much of you you’d see on the screen. Both in the amount of scenes you’re in and the amount of skin you’re presenting. 

Especially those scenes with Sam. 

Though it is uncomfortable to see yourself tangled up with him like that on the screen, the way it’s filmed is incredibly sexy and perfectly sensual without it being too much of either of those things.

Josh’s camera skills are unmatched, as you’ve discovered by watching everything back. He filmed all the right things, found all the best angles. The ones of you in bed with Sam, the ones you were most nervous to see, are so beautifully done. You don’t even see yourself in them, you see Guiniverre. And when you see her, you see beauty in yourself that you’ve never known before.

Josh paid extra careful attention to the shots of your body, being sure you’re not in a place to be objectified, but admired. Only very small glimpses of your body are shown, but enough that it’s very clear what is and will be taking place with the queen and her secret lover. It’s simply magnificent, cinematically stunning. You’re proud of it, and you have no doubt it’ll guarantee you and Jake a good grade in Movack’s class for this genius adaptation of the lore. 

You’re mesmerized by each scene you watch, but your favorite scene you’ve seen thus far is the one in which the queen and Lancelot kiss for the very first time, hidden in their secret sanctuary in the forest. 

It was the first scene you’d shot. You were so nervous; you hardly knew everyone at that time. Yet, it’s the most convincing acting you had done in all of the scenes you’ve seen. Not only that, but it’s the most aesthetically beautiful. The place Josh found for it was incredible, and you find yourself thinking about that little hidden gem amongst the trees behind their apartment complex quite often. 

Watching all of this has brought back so many memories of filming. Like that day you filmed the first scene, how Jake was pissed and you got to witness your first twin fight. 

As you watched further, there were little clips interspersed within the captured film that highlighted times like that. ‘Behind the scenes’ footage, if you will. The candid moments made your heart skip a beat and your eyes well with tears. A smile, pulling easily at your lips as you reminisced. It was as you reviewed these clips that you truly realized how this experience had been one of the best in your entire life. Truly. This group of people, having changed your life so inexplicably… It made you wonder if part of your reason for winding up in Michigan was to simply meet and love all of them. 

These small, carefree moments in time you remember witnessing (others you were sure occurred as you busied yourself with costume changes) — they rivaled many cherished family videos of your own. Because, you realized, these times and these people had taught you an authentic appreciation for life like you’d never had before. Every single ‘outtake’ made your chest ache and long for all of it, all over again. A never changing existence with these wonderful individuals you got to call your friends. Chosen family, even.

Giggles and snorts filled the room at the miscellaneous clips, thrown in at the most hilarious times. Extremely serious scenes would end with a ‘cut!’. And Kiszka mischief would immediately follow in the very next break of camera footage.

You snickered watching the clips of Jake and Sam, stealing the cameras and filming each other at the same time. They were flipping the bird at one another and laughing so hard at Josh throwing a fit over them “mistreating the equipment.” 

And then one of your favorite days filtered in. When Jake was practicing his British accent and sounded way too much like Jack Sparrow. His little accent, endearing to you in a way you still can’t describe.

His brothers gave him so much shit for the lilted tone. You grinned as you watched film roll back of them telling him he sounded like the drunken pirate, only serving to fan his flames. Acting like a pirate for the rest of the day, yelling “argh!” at least every five minutes and continuously asking where the rum had gone. (Of course, there was no rum to begin with. Only tequila… a Jake staple.) 

As well, you heard him yell “parlay” in the background of some of the clips. You remembered he’d done it anytime Josh told him to prepare himself for a scene. At which point Josh would remind him that they were, in fact, not on a pirate ship and, consequently, there was no captain to take him to. 

You belly-laughed harder than you ever had that day. Just as you did watching them now. Josh was so frustrated with him and his pirate antics, but after a while he got in on it, too. Jake’s impression, arguably better, probably due to his childhood obsession, (and his adult obsession – his car is named the black pearl for a reason, after all) but Josh’s, heard again in these outtakes… it wasn’t half bad.

Those days were simply the best, and you’re finding yourself reflecting on them with a feeling of pure joy, with that bothersome undertone of sadness. Though those days were only a few months ago, some of them even less than that, you miss them. You always will. You miss the peace they gave you, the new sense of belonging they provided that you’d never known up until that point. 

Things are so different now, and you hate it. You’re afraid you’ll never be able to hangout with all of them again. Things would be too awkward, too tense. Those days are only left in your memory as some of the best days of your life. And your memory, sadly, is probably where they’ll stay. 

But at least you have something to commemorate those memories; the film will forever exist in the ethos of time, a visual representation of the moments — some bad, but most of them wonderful — echoed in your mind for the remainder of your lifetime.

“The red looks so vibrant, Josh,” you say as you watch him edit a scene in which the queen is wearing her red gown, the most stunning costume you’d ever seen when you put it on the first time. And the red lips, the special Guiniverre red you wore that you’ll always identify with your portrayal of her (and you’ll certainly never forget the smear of it, all across Jake’s face. The two of you, hidden behind the door of his room). The lipstick in every scene is so brilliantly bright – you knew it would be a staple for your version of her, and the red lips, along with the red dress and Sam’s red costumes are suddenly inspiring you. 

“I have an idea, and if you hate it, it’s okay. Just don’t tell me you hate it,” you say, still eyeing the suddenly iconic lip color. 

Josh stops what he’s doing as he grins and gives you his attention. He squints his eyes as he looks at you, staring directly into yours and biting his lip. 

“I see a glint of genius in your eyes,” he says, staring at you almost uncomfortably intently. He then bends his torso and places his elbows on his knees, making a fist with his hands for his chin to rest on.“I’m all ears. Let’s hear it.” 

He’s looking up at you with giant, baby cow-like eyes, lashes nearly touching his dark brows. He certainly looks intrigued, and you’re fighting against the nerves to voice your thoughts to someone so talented. But, if anyone isn’t going to judge you for an idea, it’s Josh. 

“The color red is really significant in this film – it symbolizes their lust and the intensity behind their passionate affair,” you begin as he cocks an eyebrow, nodding his head while his lips part a little. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We edit every scene with Guiniverre and Lancelot to be black and white, except for the color red. So, her lips, her dress, the bedsheets, anything red is highlighted as an ode to their passion.” He quickly lifts from his bent over position, bringing his hand up to his mouth as his eyes grow wider.

“Brilliant!” He shouts, so loud that your body jolts. “Your mind is a visionary trove, y/n. What a dazzling testament to your pure genius!” He leans forward and cups your face in both of his hands, planting a wet kiss on your cheek. “How very Spielberg of you, my dear.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Almost two more hours of non-stop editing have gone by, focusing on the colorization of the scenes that’ll be mostly black and white, save for the red details. 

And just as you expected, it looks incredible. Josh has given the scenes an almost noir effect; they’re grainy and contrasted, very low exposure. It’s beautiful, divine, and so sexy. The pops of red are subtle, yet alluringly effective. It looks even better than you imagined, all in thanks to Josh’s eye for filmmaking. 

You both decided on only the intimate ones to look this way, that it shows the significance of their ill-reputed affair and sets them apart from the rest of the film. The only scene of this nature that won’t look this way is the first kiss between the lovers, and that’s simply due to the breathtaking scenery surrounding them. It’d be a shame to take away from that, and Josh believes it makes perfect sense that their first encounter be colorized. 

Everything is turning out even better than you could’ve ever imagined. And while you’ve only tackled a handful of the scenes in this masterpiece, you know the rest of this film is pure magic. 

It’s getting late now, and you promised your mom you’d be home at a good time tonight. (Not to mention, it’s almost time for Jake to get off work, and you don’t want to risk that intrusion.)

“I’m forever in your debt, y/n. Thank you endlessly for your insight today.” Josh helps you put your coat on, handing you your crossbody once you’re situated in your puffer. “You’re the very thing we needed for this film, I hope you know that.”

You thank him with another hug, letting the embrace linger as he sways you back and forth. You then hear the front door open again, and you look over expecting Sam to walk in with his newly adopted baby from the shelter.

As the door opens further, you look down towards the floor in hopes of seeing a dog walking through. But, what you see is no dog. It’s a boot. A black boot. One you recognize rather well.

The way your heart picks up in your chest, your breath catching in your throat… it’s embarrassing. But you can’t help your bodily reaction of his closeness. His proximity, fulfilling secret desires of being with him again. Secret, ridiculous desires.

And as the rest of him walks in, you’re met with the person you tried to avoid tonight. For obvious reasons, but mostly because you can’t trust yourself around him. Jake walks in, seemingly unaware that you’re standing only feet away from the door. He turns around to shut and lock it, kicking off his boots before he finally notices you and Josh.

You don’t say anything, he doesn’t say anything. The two of you stand still for a moment, sharing an awkward glance in complete silence. God, how you wish things were different.

Josh being Josh, can’t handle the quiet tension any longer. He knows the two of you probably won’t say anything unless he breaks the tension himself. “How were things at the office?”

Jake heads toward the kitchen, walking past both of you to get to the fridge. “Fine,” he says as he grabs a Miller Lite from the top shelf. “Pretty slow. Slow enough that I probably could’ve worked from here and just had the phone on me.” Based on his tone, you’d say he’s still a bit angry over having to work tonight. Also, the fact that you’re still here is most likely not helping. 

He cracks open the can, taking a large swig of it before he walks out of the kitchen toward the hallway.

“Oh,” he mutters before as he stops midway to his room. He spins back around to face you, taking a few steps closer. Your heart beats at the prospect of him being nearer to you, even if only a little. “Sorry I didn’t respond the other night,” he says to you. “I had just forgotten to.” His voice is gentle and sincere, yet there’s a touch of sadness encompassed in his words. “So, um, you’re welcome. I hope you and your mom enjoyed it.” His lips form a thin, sweet smile. He nods his head as he takes another sip of beer, disappearing back down the hallway. 

You ignore the way your heart falls at his sudden lack of presence. Him, being the last thing you wanted to see and the only thing, all at once. Foolishly, you long to follow him down the hallway.

But you don’t.

“He insisted on bringing it to you,” Josh tells you as he gently nudges you, capturing your attention from the last spot you’d been able to see Jake. Fuck. You let his nudge sort of guide you to the door. He takes the hint and begins walking you there. “Said he knew your cooking wouldn’t suffice.” He laughs, and you can’t help but chuckle a little, too. Because, well, it’s absolutely correct. 

As you say your goodbyes to Josh, and head out the door and walk to your car, your heart feels like it’s beating in your throat. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to utter a single word. You only gave him a half smile when he apologized for not texting you back. You could’ve at least thanked him again for the food. 

But, you didn’t. And all you can think about now is the way he smiled at you before he went to his room. 

It was a Jake smile, no doubt. But it was missing something. What was missing, you can’t be sure. Whatever it was, it has you ruminating on everything Josh told you today. Everything about Jake… his ‘plan’ for telling you about London. 

You may never know what his plan was, because you’re not allowing yourself to get close enough to him again to find out. One thing you can be certain of is his plan wouldn’t have changed the outcome. He would still be getting ready to leave, and that alone is enough to force you to keep your distance. 

Because if not, you fear you’ll fall for him… Further than you already have. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The coffee tastes bitter this morning. The cold foam on top isn’t as foamy as you normally prefer it, and the vanilla is, well, lacking, to say the least. 

Not even Carmen, the most lively girl with her sweet freckles and stylish glasses, could bring you out of your slump this morning when she handed you your coffee. She already had it made for you before you even walked in the automatic sliding doors, and normally her toothy smile always brightens your day. 

But, not today. Not for the last few days, in truth. 

You told Nat you weren’t coming to the coffee shop this morning. It was a lie, clearly. And you feel bad for lying, but you need a moment of reprieve before the day begins. A moment away from home, from work, from classes. 

Any time you can get to yourself, you’ll take it. Even if it means being dishonest to someone who truly doesn’t deserve it. 

You could’ve just told her the truth, and you know she would’ve understood. But you also know that she would’ve fought you on it. You need to be around people, you can hear her voice telling you in your head. You shouldn’t be alone right now. 

But you want to be alone. Your longing for solitude as your mind wraps around everything is far greater than your need to be with people right now.  

Talking to everyone is just too damn much. Every single conversation you’ve had as of late has absolutely drained every piece of you. There’s no harm in telling a little white lie, if only for the sake of balancing and maintaining your own mental peace. 

But, that peace is disrupted, shattered, replaced with pure guilt when your eyes catch the person currently walking into the coffee shop. Her pace is quick as she bolts through the door, her normally tamed curls are full of frizz and tangled in a messy bun. She’s wearing her giant Aalyiah t-shirt with an even bigger fluffy cardigan over it, and baggy sweats as if she had just gotten out of bed. But she still looks beautiful. Beautiful as ever. And, she looks mad. Her eyes connecting with yours freezes you in your spot.

“Just as I suspected,” she says as she stomps over, joining you at your lonesome table meant for two. “Had a pretty good feeling I’d find you here.” She slams her book bag on the table, yanking the chair out from under it and planting herself in it. 

Dammit. 

“Nat, I’m sorry. I just needed to be –,”

“Alone?” She interjects, giving you the most frustratingly disappointed look you’ve ever seen her give, her voice practically echoing around the coffee shop. “You’re alone all the time, y/n. And no offense,” she insists, yet her tone would suggest that she most definitely means to offend you a bit. “But I don’t exactly trust you to be alone right now.” She pauses, her eyes flitting up and down your body that’s slumped down in your chair. “Are you eating? Because it really doesn’t look like it.” 

One way to irritate you is to take away something you feel you’re entitled to, like having alone time. No matter how much of it you have or need. And another way to irritate you is when someone insinuates that you’re not allowed to do the things you need to do in order to cope. 

Everyone deals with shit in different ways. Some need to be surrounded by people, some need to have time to reflect on their own. You just so happen to be in the latter category. Just because someone doesn’t handle things the same way as you, doesn’t make them wrong in doing so. 

And, to bring up your eating? 

No. That has quite literally nothing to do with what’s going on right now and you do not want to entertain that at the moment. 

You know she cares. She probably cares more than anyone else. But she’s bordering on the line of being downright rude and, with everything else happening in your world, it’s not the time to hear that your best friend doesn’t trust you. That’s the last thing you want to hear right now, and for what? Because you want to be alone? 

“Okay, for one, can you please lower your voice?” You say through gritted teeth, the blood rushing to your cheeks from fear that everyone in this blessed coffee shop heard what she said. “And second, what do you mean you don’t trust me, Natalia?” 

There’s a lingering, rancid vanilla taste from your coffee sitting in your chest, creeping up and burning your throat. You feel like you could throw up. This isn’t what you want right now, it isn’t what you need. 

The palms of your hands slam against the metal table, then reach up to your scalp, fingernails scratching at the roots of your hair. A display of the raging turmoil happening inside, unable to be concealed any longer. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Natalia. I can take care of me, my mom, anything. Don’t treat me like I can’t.” 

Fuck. 

That nauseous feeling is even worse, the very thought of taking another sip of coffee sounds revolting. This fucking sucks. All of it. 

You don’t want this with her. And you don’t want her to leave you because of this, because of who you are. But you’re clearly causing her vast amounts of unneeded stress, burdening her with your shit self-esteem. 

Maybe she’d be wise to leave you, to end this friendship and find someone else to replace you. 

“Got it. I’ll let you be alone.” Her voice is sharp as she stands up from her chair, the metal screeching loudly against the floor as she pushes it underneath the table. She turns from you, beginning to walk away, but something stops her feet from moving further. She then turns on her heel to face you again, taking small steps closer to you. “I know you’re upset with him. And I know you’re going to miss him.” 

Her once angry eyes have turned softer, more understanding as she’s staring into your own, as yours begin to fill with tears. “But don’t let him be the only reason you care about yourself. Because what will you do when he leaves, hm?” 

The tears that were filling your eyes are now streaming down your cheeks, warm and salty to the taste when they reach your lips. She moves even closer, her hand reaching for your shoulder, her touch offering a gentle reassurance. “I love you, okay? Don’t try to push me away.” 

With that, she leans down to kiss the top of your head, then walks away toward the glass doors she entered just moments ago. With blurry eyes, you watch her walk to her car through the window.  

You shouldn’t have lied. You know that. Being honest with her would’ve made this whole situation fair much better. She’s just looking out for you, and her love is a bit tougher than what you’ve been used to. While you wish she’d show you more careful love, perhaps tough love is what you truly need. And perhaps she is aware of that as well. 

Even though it’s something you’re not entirely familiar with, deep, deep down, you are grateful for it. She forces you to question the way you care for yourself, she forces careful self-reflection when it’s not something you’ve ever really done. 

One thing you know, undoubtedly, is that you can’t let yourself lose her. 

Deciding it’s time to swallow your pride, and when you realize she’s still sitting in her car that hasn’t moved, you gather your bags, toss the revolting remains of your coffee in the trash, and speed walk your way outside. 

She’s staring at her phone when you walk up to her driver's side window, lost in a mindless scroll through TikTok, slumped in her seat. She’s aware of your presence, that much you can tell. It’s obvious she’s waiting on you to make the first move. (Though, in your mind, walking out here in the first place was the first move.) 

Alas, you’ll give in to her stubbornness. With your fingernail, you lightly tap it against the glass to get her attention. It’s clear she’s fucking with you when she doesn’t acknowledge you right away. So, you tap the glass again, a little harder this time, and continuously until she has no choice but to humor you. 

She slowly turns her head in your direction, looking up at you through her beige framed Ray-Bans. Keeping her eyes on you, and making an intentionally slow effort, she presses the button to lower the window. 

“Seriously, Nat?” You say in response, giggling at her almost comical pace with lowering the window. “Are you going to let me apologize to you or not?” 

“Oh, so you’d like to apologize, huh?” She mockingly states, at last letting the window roll the rest of the way down. “I’m all ears.”

With a roll of your eyes, a deep breath, a one last gulp of what's left of your ego, you begin your plea for forgiveness. “I know what I did was wrong. I should’ve just been upfront with you instead of lying.” She lowers her glasses a bit more down the bridge of her nose, waiting for what she really wants to hear. “And, you’re right. About everything. I don’t take care of myself the way I should, and it’s definitely been much harder lately.”

With a smirk, she takes off her Ray-Bans, fully revealing her golden irises, like sweet honey in the morning sun. “Yep, I am right,” she says through a snorting chuckle, adjusting herself in the seat to face you better. “And you should also know that you’re a really shitty liar. If you’re gonna do it, at least get a little better at it, geez.” 

Well. When she’s right, she’s right. You are a shitty ass liar, apparently, given she knew the very place you’d be. The one you said you swore you wouldn’t be at. 

“Do you forgive me?” You ask quietly, internally worried that this may have driven a rut in your friendship. And it’s all your fault. 

Without a word, she places her sunglasses back on her face and unlocks the car. “Get in,” she says. 

Confused, but in no place of wanting to argue with her, you walk around to the passenger seat. Once you’re in the car and buckled, she puts the gear in drive and slowly makes her way out of the parking lot. 

“W-where are we going?” You question, far more perplexed than you were before. She takes a left out of the lot, leaving campus altogether. “Nat, we have class, remember? Women in Literature? We need to be there in less than ten minutes!”

She smirks as she continues to drive further away, ignoring your concerns about class. “Hello?” You try waving your hand near her face to get her attention, to which she only turns to you and smiles. 

She stops at the red light, completely tuning you out as she digs into her purse, retrieves her phone, and scrolls through her Spotify playlist. After a moment, she chooses Stay High by Brittany Howard. As the smooth melody fills the car, she bobs her head in time with the beat. The light turns green, and she drives forward, her focus entirely on the music.

You can’t help but laugh at whatever she’s planning, but the potential of missing class is certainly gnawing at you. She, however, appears completely unfazed — dancing to the music, belting out the lyrics, carrying on as if you’re not here at all.

“Natalia Deloris!” You do something you hate other people to do, and you reach for the volume button to turn the music down. “Stop ignoring me! What are you doing?”

She says nothing as she stops in front of the Kerrytown Market & Shops, tossing the gear in park and pressing the button that turns off the ignition. 

“Listen,” she says, taking off her seatbelt and facing you, smiling at your clearly confused expression. “There’s no forgiving you, because what happened doesn’t require forgiving.” She pushes her glasses up to sit on top of her curls, against her messy bun that somehow enhances her striking features even more. “I’m not mad at you, dude. I get it. I just worry about you.” She lets out a soft sigh, her fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry that I’m a little harsh with my love sometimes. I don’t always think about how to say things before they come flying out of my mouth.”

That is certainly true of her, but you love it. Her extroverted nature is something you truly adore, as well her tendency to love so hard that she sometimes can’t hold it back. Every introvert needs their extrovert, and you’re so happy that you are her chosen introvert. 

“I’m sorry if I don’t show you enough how grateful I am for you, Nat,” you say as you stare down at your lap, knowing all too well that you have a hard time accepting when someone truly loves you. Which means, to you, it doesn’t always feel real. So, you don’t show nearly as much appreciation for it as you should. “But, can I ask you a really important question?”

“Don’t, babe. I know you’re grateful. And yes, of course,” she says as she’s putting her phone in her purse and zipping it shut.

“Why the hell are we at Kerrytown and not in class?”

“Told Dr. Lacey we were with each other over the weekend and that we’ve both come down with horrible colds,” she says, sounding as though she really believes herself. 

“What? Why would you do that?” You ask, shocked though, a little relieved to not have to worry about that class today. 

“Decided we could use the morning for a little girl's day.” She gets out of the car and you quickly follow suit. “You’re going shopping with me. It’s the least you can do after your little trick you pulled on me this morning,” she says with a stone face, though her contagious smile is breaking through her facade as she begins walking towards a boutique.

“You are such a hypocrite, Natalia!” 

She stops mid-stride to the store, turning on her heel to look at you. “How the hell am I a hypocrite?” 

“You were so upset with me for lying, and you lied to get us out of class!”

She starts to say something in retaliation, but before she does, she ponders what you’ve said, grinning when she realizes. “You may be right about that,” she says, once again taking steps in the direction of the store. “But my lie was better and benefited both of us.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at the fact that she will always have the last word. “You got me there, babe.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been laying on the floor in the middle of your room for, what you think, has been well over an hour.

Flat on your back. Leaky eyes staring at the ceiling, tears falling past your ears, wetting the hair behind them. 

Before you found yourself here, you were trapped by your own hand in the bathroom, doing everything you could to bring your dinner back up. Everything. But nothing worked. 

The intense fullness from the salmon bowl you made sent you careening down a massive spiral. You knew you’d feel this way after you took the first bite of the perfectly baked, buttery fish. 

But goddamnit. It tasted so good. So fucking good. And you’d been craving it all day. It was all you could think about. It’s one of the few dishes you’re truly skilled at making, and you certainly proved that tonight. It was the best it's ever tasted.

That’s why you just couldn’t put it down. The first bite turned into a second, then a third, and before you knew it, you’d finished the whole fucking bowl full of rice, steamed broccoli, and the best salmon your hands have ever prepared. 

It made you feel good at the time. Each bite was just as delicious as the last, garlicky and lemon pepper seasoned to near perfection. 

But the stark reality of it all crashed into you the moment you set your empty bowl in the sink to be cleaned. You felt it, felt the thing you despise the most. 

It was the kind of full that made you sleepy, groggy. Your skin felt greasy, your arms felt huge. Your face felt puffy. 

And your stomach was bloated. More bloated than you’ve felt in a very long time. It felt like a rock sitting beneath your skin.

The shame was instant. The guilt came shortly after, but greeted you even stronger than the shame. 

Once you helped your mom into bed, you locked yourself in the bathroom. And you did something you shouldn’t have done — you looked. 

I look fucking pregnant, you thought, your fingers gripping tightly at the protruding flesh. There was no amount you could’ve sucked in to mask it. It was just there, taunting you with the reminder that you did that to yourself.

And then, it began. 

The manic research on your phone of ways to get rid of the bloat, how to digest your food quicker. Every site said the same things – consume less salt, drink hot tea, avoid processed foods, don’t eat too quickly. 

You didn’t have any tea in your kitchen, and the rest of the tips, well…it was just too late to avoid those things. The damage had already been done.

So, when none of those options were possible, your mind took a much darker turn. 

You tried to do it. You did what you knew would trigger your gag reflex, but it just didn’t work. You couldn’t get your finger back far enough, couldn’t keep it there long enough for anything to happen. 

So, you turned to your phone again, typing something in the search bar that you’ve never felt the need to type before. 

How can you make yourself throw up? 

Your thumbs typed as fast as they could. In part because you were shameful over what you were typing, and because you were desperate for reprieve from the far more profound shame over eating so much. 

But the first thing that you saw upon your search inquiry was something you weren’t prepared for, something that forced you into a much different reality than you wanted to face.

It was the website to the National Eating Disorders Association, with the words Get Help attached to the link below it. 

It scared you. You didn’t expect it. And it certainly stopped you, your thumbs held frozen above the link that begged you to click on it.

But you didn’t. Couldn’t. 

You’re not that far gone that you have to seek help in that way…right? 

Defeat overshadowed the shame as you slumped yourself down on the bathroom floor, letting your phone crash against the ceramic tile. 

And you cried. You sobbed. Harder than you’ve ever sobbed before. 

And you let yourself do it. You needed to do it. There wasn’t anything left to do. 

Minutes went by. Several of them. But exactly how many, you don't know. You didn’t keep track. The tears just kept coming, and you were in no place to stop them. They were old tears that you never allowed to be shed, and new tears that needed to join them. 

They were tears from the nine year old you that grew breasts before anyone else in her class and was bullied over it. Tears from the eleven year old you that discovered she could skip the breakfast her dad made in the mornings if she slept in just a few minutes later. Tears from the thirteen year old you that began skipping lunch everyday at school. Tears from the sixteen year old you that was told she was severely anemic from malnutrition and needed the highest dose of iron supplements her doctor was able to prescribe. Tears from the eighteen year old you that refused to take senior pictures because she hated the way she looked. Tears from the nineteen year old you who was told there was a slim chance she’d ever be able to have children. 

And tears from today you. The you that misses her dad, the you that is tired of people leaving and lying to her, the you that wants so badly to love her body the way Jake did.

The you who’s going to fucking miss him.

When your eyes decided to let up, you slowly stood from the floor, grabbing your phone and heading to your room.

And that’s where you’ve been ever since. Laying here, letting a few stray tears fall as they please. You’ve no control over them anymore. They now choose when to cascade down the sides of your face. And you’ll let them. They need to be shed. 

You want to talk to someone, but at the same time, you don’t. 

You can’t bother anyone with this anymore. Especially Nat, who's probably sick of hearing it by now, and whose voice is currently playing on a continuous loop inside your head. 

“But don’t let him be the only reason you care about yourself. Because what will you do when he leaves, hm?”

She said those words only hours ago. She probably doesn’t want to be bothered with all of this again, twice in a single day. 

No, you can’t do that to her. She shouldn’t have to worry about you, or have to hear about your pathetic triggers again. She’s too good for you, too strong of a woman to be burdened with the likes of you. She would deny that if you told her. She’d tell you she loves you and you’re the best friend she could ask for. But you know she’s too good for you. (And, deep down, she probably knows it, too.)

But more than anything, what's haunting you is the one person you truly want to talk to right now: Jake.

And you can’t do that. 

You can’t just call him up, listen to his voice to make yourself feel better. You can’t  get in your car and drive to his apartment so he can hold you. You can’t let him be the one who saves you, because you won't have that option anymore once he leaves. Just like Nat was trying to get you to understand earlier, that you now understand too well.

And she’s right; what the hell will you do when he leaves if you only try to heal because of him?

But, fuck. He’s the source of your safety — was. You don’t know how you’ll ever find that again. And in moments like these, you need that the most. You can’t even talk to him anymore. 

So, instead of following your heart, you’ll continue to lay here. You’ll lay here as long as you need, keeping your eyes off your body and up towards the ceiling. Letting the tears come and go as the deem necessary. 

Relapses happen. You’ve known that for the majority of your life. 

But this one…this one is different. It’s darker than any other time before. Admitting that, even if  only to yourself, is quite difficult.

And you’re scared you may never be able to pull yourself out of it. Because, while you’ve been able to do that every time before, this time is so very different.

You’ve always been able to do it on your own. But what if…

What if you really need someone by your side this time?

And what if that someone is currently packing his things to move across the world from you?

You want to heal. God knows you do. It’s miserable to live this way. But your fear is that you’re too far gone at this point, that the hope of you ever being able to eat food like a normal person is dwindling with each passing day that you struggle, each year. 

You don’t want to live like this anymore. But you also don’t know anything different. 

It’s a sad reality you’ve had to face for as long as you can remember, and it’s one that you’ve had to confront even more so since you moved here. 

Perhaps there’s a reason for it. 

The tiny optimist in you would like to think that, because this season has been so much more difficult than any other, that means you’re closer to healing than you’ve ever been.

But.

The much larger pessimist in you is fearful that the true reason you’re struggling more than ever is because…

…because this may be your final battle. 

The battle you’re destined to fail. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Why don’t you like this?” Nat asks you, tugging at the green chiffon fabric sitting against your hips. “This looks hot as hell on you.”

“Nat. Are you joking? This looks awful.” The reflection in Nat’s gold framed, full length mirror isn’t one you’re exactly thrilled with. This is the third dress of hers you’ve tried on and nothing is up to your satisfaction. And of all of them, this one is by far the worst. Swamp green, long sleeves made of the most uncomfortable material, and the skirt bunched up at your hips. Not exactly the way you want to look for the premiere tonight.

“I look like Kermit the fucking Frog in this color.” 

She rolls her eyes with an exaggerated groan, waving her arms in defeat. “Well, your highness, I’m just about out of options that meet your royal standards of dress wear for the evening.” She comes behind you to help you unzip the horrid gown she’s put you in. “And Kermit, y/n? You seriously think this makes you like an amphibian with some man's hand stuck up his ass?”

“Uh, yeah. I may as well bring a banjo tonight so I can sing about fucking rainbows.” You pull the dress over your shoulders, instantly scratching your arms once it’s off due to the itchy chiffon that was clinging to your skin. It made you feel suffocated and trapped in its green netting. 

“I’m convinced that you’ll find something wrong with anything that I give you to try on,” she grumbles as you help her put the dress back on its hanger. “I give up! You’re impossible to please.”

“That’s not true! You just have terrible taste in dresses,” you say, laced with sarcasm because it’s certainly not the case. All of these pieces would undoubtedly look amazing on her, just not on you. Though, you’re convinced she could wear just about anything and make it a fashion statement. 

Her outfit for tonight is the epitome of grace and effortless beauty. The soft baby pink of her soft, velvety gown perfectly compliments her glowing caramel complexion. It hugs her body beautifully, and the off-the-shoulder neckline seems designed just for her, highlighting her elegant physique. Her natural curls, sitting just above her collar bone, are lustrous and full of body. It’s rare that she wears her hair down, but you love it when she does. Her gorgeous curls only enhance her striking presence. She truly is one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. 

“I really think you should just wear this one, babe.” She points to the dress you brought to her place with you. The one that’s laying across her bed, the red dress Jake bought you. It’s the nicest thing you own, and you love the way it looks on you. But, wearing it tonight feels weird. It was purchased specifically for your date, and what it now symbolizes for you is deeper than just the gorgeous, satin dress you wore for your birthday. 

“You don’t think it’ll be weird? I mean, considering it’s —,”

“It will not be weird.” She interjects your thoughts as she takes the dress from her bed and holds it out for you. “If anything, seeing you in that sexy number will make him regret ever lying to you in the first place.”

She’s probably right. No, she is right. (You hope, at least.)

And, aside from the fact that this dress makes you feel beautiful, the color is fitting given its significance in the film. 

Deciding to give up on trying on anything else that you know you’ll hate, you slip into the dress and, for the first time tonight, admire your reflection — something you hadn’t done with any of the other gowns you tried.

“Like I said before, babe,” Nat says, fetching her black faux fur shawl she had you try earlier in the evening with something else. You despised it then, but with this dress, it’s altogether different. “This dress was made for you. I mean, look at your ass!” She looks you up and down, biting the knuckle of her index finger, shaking her head in disbelief. 

Your face, completely flushed as you giggle at her remark and contort your body to see what she sees. There is a rather pronounced, rounded curve, the material and fit of the dress accentuating the shape. But, it’s not that impressive. At least not enough to warrant her reaction.

She drapes the shawl over your shoulders, pulling it snuggly around the front. The soft, textured fur frames your neckline in a graceful v-shape, elegantly cascading from your back and delicately covering your upper arms, leaving the tops of your shoulders exposed. It's timeless, and so classy. More than that, it promises to shield you from the biting, Michigan air as this dress wasn’t exactly made for such temperatures. “I love this,” you say, running your fingers over the soft warmth of the faux fur. “It really dresses it up, doesn’t it?” 

The confidence in her I told you so smile says she knew all along that this would look as good as it does. “You should never doubt my stylistic abilities.” She heads to her closet, bringing out a shawl that almost identically matches yours, only hers it white. A gorgeous fit with the baby pink color of her gown. Her beauty is simply impossible to ignore.

“You‘re so beautiful, Nat.” She smiles, her perfect teeth whiter than the shawl she’s draping over her shoulders. 

“So are you, my gorgeous bestie,” she says as she grabs her liquid lipstick to put on one more coat before Danny gets here.

As you watch her paint her lips, you remember the lipstick you brought that you had planned to wear. And, it’s no coincidence that it’s the very same one you wore for your portrayal of Guiniverre. You grab your cross body from her bed and rummage through it to find the lipstick. And as you’re doing that, you’re reminded of one more thing you brought — the sword necklace. You’re considering wearing it, but only for the sake of the film. (Part of you is clinging to the hope that Jake will wear his, too.)

Standing next to Natalia in front of the mirror, you quickly coat your lips in the scarlet shade, using your finger to blot the excess and clean up the sides. “Oh that color is perfect,” Nat says as she’s finishing up her own lips. She makes a kissy face in the mirror once she’s done, leaning over like she’s about to plant one on your cheek until her phone begins ringing. 

“I bet that’s my Prince Charming ready to whisk us away to the royal ball,” she says, tilting her chin upward in a regal pose, waving her hand in as though she were a true Princess. “You ready, babe?”

Mimicking her royal stance, you link arms with her and practice your very own Princess wave, thinking of the way Princess Mia learns to do it in The Princess Diaries. “Thou art ready,” you say, in your best (albeit, horrible) British accent. (Jake would certainly be disappointed.)

As you’re heading out of her room, walking arm in arm to the front door, you’ve suddenly remembered something you forgot. “One sec,” you say as you unlink your arm from hers. “I left something in my bag. You go ahead and go out, I’ll be there in a minute.”

She dances her way out of the door, humming some tune that sounds like something from a Disney movie. “Don’t keep us waiting, darling! The King anticipates our arrival!” 

Walking as fast as your heels will allow, you reach her room and grab your bag sitting on her bed. The sword charm is the first thing you see as you unzip it, and without much of a thought, you pull it out, placing it around your neck. 

The clasp is tricky without someone to help you, but after a few tries, it’s finally secured. 

After one more glance in the mirror, finger combing your bangs and adjusting the necklace so it sits just right against your chest, you decide it’s the perfect final touch. 

And with that, you head out the door to begin what you’re certain will be an unforgettable evening. (For many, many reasons.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The neon lights reading ‘FOX’ can be seen blocks away from the building they’re lit against, practically blinding against the stark contrast of the night sky. Glorious reds and blues glow with the sparkling stars, illuminating the city with their gleam. It’s an incredible sight to behold, adding to the seemingly endless reasons you’ve fallen madly in love with this city. 

“Wait, is that where we’re going?” You ask as Danny makes a sharp turn on Woodward avenue, coming closer to the theatre and essentially answering your question as he pulls into the private parking lot across from those neon lights you’d been eyeing for several minutes. 

“I’m so excited to finally see this place,” Nat says, her voice high in pitch as Danny shifts the car into park. 

You knew the viewing of the film would be at least a little more formal than your typical classroom presentation, but you weren’t prepared at all for this.

Formal is indeed the correct word. It’s comparable to a Hollywood premiere – not that you’ve ever been to one, or anything close to one, but this certainly feels like something you’ve seen in the movies a time or two.

Josh wasn’t bullshitting when he told you to go all out with your attire; everyone is dressed to the nines. Gowns and suits, a true black tie affair. You’re suddenly feeling more grateful than ever that Jake bought you this dress. There’s not a thing in your wardrobe that would fit the bill for a night like this. 

There are a few students walking in that you recognize, but for the most part, it feels almost too official for a collegiate event. You didn’t realize anything of this grandeur existed within the realms of the U of M. Apparently, this is an annual thing, just before the end of the Fall semester. 

Keeping strictly in the English department, Natalia’s never been to one as you either have to be exclusively invited or a film student. She’s always wanted to experience it, so Josh made sure she’d get the chance to come, even though she wasn’t part of the film. She’s one of the VIP guests for the night, listed right along with the cast and crew of the film. Her eyes are practically as bright as the neon colors in the theatre’s sign as she steps out of the car, taking it all in as this was her very last chance to attend one of these things. 

Enhancing the Hollywood-esqu aura, a lush green velvet carpet stretches up the stairs to the entrance, illuminated by spotlights that guide your way. You may as well be a beloved film star, gracefully making her way across the grand carpet to the premiere of a highly anticipated movie directed by the industry's biggest names. That's certainly how it feels, at least. And while this event may not have the global scale of a blockbuster premiere, you are, in essence, the star of one of the films being showcased tonight. College film or not, tonight, you truly feel like you might be someone special.

“Holy fuck,” Nat mutters under her breath as the two of you take anxious steps along the carpet together with your arms linked together and clutching your shawls in the wake of the cold air, Daniel towing closely behind. “This is…insane, right? 

She took the words right out of your mouth. “That’s putting it lightly, Nat.” 

“I think I’m a little underdressed,” Danny giggles as you get closer to the two ushers in full tuxedos, coat tails and all, greeting you as you approach the doors. 

“Welcome to The Fox, ladies,” one of them says before noticing the tall man in a black turtleneck and maroon slacks following behind you, awkwardly waving to get their attention. “My apologies,” he continues. “And gentleman.” They each open the doors on their respective sides, and when you catch the first glimpse of what’s behind them, your breath is completely sucked away from your lungs. You’ve never seen anything more magnificent in all of your life. 

East Asian architecture is an art deco lover's dream. The colors are so full, so rich, mimicking the ones glowing on the outside of the building. The intricately designed ceilings, golden and lined with chandeliers, practically reach the height of the stars. 

Another staircase, with statues of lions with jeweled eyes guarding the base of the railings, is in front of you, leading where you can only assume will hold the evening's main event. The only thing you can think to compare it to is the grand staircase depicted in the Titanic, though you’ve got a feeling this may be even more majestic than anything James Cameron could ever hope to produce. 

“Pretty sweet, isn't it?” Danny says, standing behind the two of you with a hand on each of your shoulders as you’re both left awe-struck by the vision before you. “Been to quite a few musicals here with my family. I promise you, it’s just as beautiful every time I see it.” 

Approaching you is yet another usher, dressed in full black tie with a clipboard held in his hands. After greeting the three of you, he glances down at the list attached to the clipboard, taking his pen and making marks. “You’re here as guests of Mr. Kiszka, I presume?” He asks, as though he’d been waiting on the three of you to arrive. He smiles  as you each confirm, making one last mark on his list. “Right this way.”

With that, you’re led up the grand set of stairs. Nat takes your arm once more, giggling as Danny is stuck walking behind you two again. 

There are hundreds of seats with gold crowning, upholstered with red velvet, facing a giant screen that’s framed by a curtain the same shade of red as the seats. 

This is certainly not the kind of theater you had in mind when Josh explained what tonight would entail. You expected a classic AMC or a Regal. Not this. 

The theaters back home are nothing like this one. In the almost six months you’ve lived here, you’d never once driven by the Fox Theatre. It was forty minutes away from your home in Ann Arbor, but still. You’d never even heard of it, which is mind boggling considering the sheer history this place must have. Apparently, this place is quite the home for the prestige around here. This city will never stop surprising you, and you fall in love with it a little more each day. 

The usher has led you all the way to the first row of the orchestra pit that’s blocked off with red ribbon, a sign reading "Reserved” attached to them. Each seat has a name card on it, and once you find yours, you’re appalled when you read the names on the seats yours is between. 

Samuel Kiszka on your left, Jacob Kiszka on your right. 

While you’re not entirely certain, you do have a pretty good feeling you know who’s behind this.

Thank you, Joshua. 

Jake and Sam aren’t here yet, of course. Nor is your director and his partner. The Kiszkas are notorious for showing up at least a little late everywhere they go, but you thought for sure they’d break that late streak for tonight of all nights. But, no. They have yet to make their grand arrival. And that is only serving to heighten your already shot-to-hell nerves. Not knowing when Jake and Sam will be here, if they’ll show up together, what their reactions to this little seating arrangement will be that you will get to witness first hand. 

Aside from all of that, the thing that’s really tying your nerves in knots is what Jake will be wearing tonight. Something regal, you’re sure. He’ll no doubt sport his necklaces, maybe a hat. Perhaps he’ll wear something all black – your ultimate weakness – sleek, irresistibly sexy…

Fuck. Just thinking about it makes your core ache, but also hurts your heart with just as much intensity given the circumstances with him right now. 

And then, there’s Sammy, who will be on the other side of you all evening. He elicits an entirely different set of emotions from you. Emotions that are just as complicated as the ones you feel with Jake, but in ways that are completely unique to Sam. 

Jesus. Though you know it’s an unrealistic wish, you hope that somehow the two of them just decide to not show up tonight, save you some of the agony of sitting right in the middle of them. But, you know them both better than that. They wouldn’t dare miss an opportunity to support their brother. And that’s why you are here, too. To cheer on Josh, to show him the love and admiration he deserves after pouring all of himself into this film.  

You’re just so grateful to be a part of it. The fact that it’s all coming to an end tonight dares to bring a few tears to your eyes. 

“Bitch,” Nat whispers as she takes her seat next to the empty one that will be Sammy’s, throwing you a look after reading the names on either side of you. Her hand flies up to her mulled wine-painted lips, muffling a laugh at the pure irony of the situation and the discomfort you’re sure is evident in your features. 

Danny, already seated in his assigned chair near the end of the row next to Nat, leans over her to see what the fuss is all about. And when he realizes it, he is having a hard time not laughing at the matter as well. “Big yikes,” he giggles. 

“Stop it,” you mumble through gritted teeth, deciding to simply pretend like everything is normal. You want to make things the least awkward they can possibly be when they arrive and discover the situation for themselves. 

“Hi, girlies!” You hear in a familiar, high-pitched voice. One that you should’ve expected to hear given her involvement with the film, though you truly hadn’t thought about that possibility until this very moment. 

And, here she is. Floor length, completely sequined gown of vibrant pink, a slit running all the way up to her bronzed, smooth thigh. The bust is strapless, of course, and her boobs are basically pushed up to her fucking chin. Her platinum locks are curled and feathered to near perfection, her makeup without a single flaw against her already unblemished skin. And a glance behind where she’s standing realizes a fear you didn’t prepare yourself to have tonight – her name is taped to the seat on the other side of where Jake will be sitting. 

So, suffice to say, this little seating arrangement is probably the worst way to have placed everyone. 

Josh on the end next to the aisle, then Malachi, Danny, Nat, Sam, you, Jake, and Stacy. You certainly don’t hate the universe, but you do wish it would align a little more in your favor from time to time. 

“Hi, Stac,” you say as you plop yourself in your seat, feeling the weight of dread over what events the next few hours will bring. “You look beautiful tonight.” 

The words felt like fire against your tongue. But, they’re quite true. And no matter how you feel about her, she deserves to know she looks incredible. Suddenly, you’re feeling like you don’t quite measure up. A familiar feeling, one you wish you weren’t experiencing tonight. 

Stacy’s glossed lips become stretched over her pearly teeth in a huge smile as she takes her seat, smoothing down a few sequins and pushing her boobs up even more as she does so. “Awe, thanks, y/n!” She says, almost as though she was expecting the praise. She wasn’t surprised by your compliment, at least. That much is evident in her I know, don’t I? tone of voice.

You glance over at Natalia to gauge her thoughts on the interaction, and to no surprise, her lips are pursed tightly, as if to force them shut so she won’t say what’s truly on her mind. Which is almost always a good thing. She’s one of the sweetest souls you’ve ever encountered, but she can be quite ruthless when she wants to be – not all of her thoughts should be vocalized. And when they are, someone will end up with sore feelings. But, she means well. Most of the time. 

There’s only ten twenty minutes until this thing is set to begin, and still no sign of a single Kiszka. While you’re not happily anticipating Sam and Jake’s arrivals, you are beginning to worry a bit about whether Josh and Malachi will make it on time. It is his big night, afterall. Showing up late may not be the best look to all of these scholarship funders, with their pockets full of a promising future for only a few of these anxious students presenting tonight. 

Josh always pulls through, you know that. He will be here. It may be nearing the very last second that he makes his grand appearance, but he’ll do it in style. Stylishly late. 

 “Nat,” you quietly mutter, a failed attempt at getting her attention as she’s whispering in Danny’s ear, the two of them giggling like two kids who’ve just said something they really shouldn’t have. 

They’re adorable. And nauseating. 

“Natalia Delores!” Your voice has a bit more umph behind it this time, enough that her and Danny both now have your attention. Her face says she’s definitely annoyed by your interruption, but you can’t be bothered with that at the moment. 

“What, y/n?” She responds, matching your tone almost perfectly.

“Do you think they’d be mad if I switched spots with Sa–,” 

“Here we are, sir.” 

“Ah, thank you, good man!” 

“What’s up, Sammy?” Danny says, lifting from his seat to greet his friend with a full body hug, offering a playful tap to his ass. “Handsome fucker,” he jokes. “You get all dressed up for me?” 

One thing you’ll never deny is just how sexy Sam is. He’s gorgeous. He truly does look handsome as hell tonight. He’s donning a full red suit, tailored flawlessly to his physique. Tight in all the right places. 

And, he’s matching you. The hue of his suit is an almost exact compliment to your dress. There’s no way he would’ve known what you had planned to wear, so it’s most definitely not on purpose. 

But, Jake may not believe that. He just might think it was a deliberate choice for you two to match. And there’s a chance he’ll even be a little angry about that presumption. 

Good. 

You’ve always known Sam to have a rather eccentric sense of style, but he always makes it work. His style is so very much him. Most probably wouldn’t be able to pull off a suit of this shade, but he just does. He can make anything look good. Anything. 

“Only for you,” Sammy winks as he shimmies his way down the row in search of his seat, Nat standing to give him more room down the narrow way. 

“You’re right here,” she says, pointing to his name taped on the back rest. “Right next to y/n.” She looks to you, noting the horror in expression you’re sure your features are screaming. You mouth out the words Thanks, Nat and she chuckles, blowing you a kiss for forgiveness that you can’t help but smile at. Fucking brat. 

“Y/n! Look at you!” Sam nearly shouts, leaning down and taking your hand, forcing you to stand up. He pulls you in for a deep hug, holding you close for a few seconds longer than what most would deem appropriate. “I like that we match,” he whispers in your ear, meant only for you to hear. His lips just barely ghost the skin beneath your earring. Every inch of your skin rises in goosebumps, your heart fluttering. 

“Th-thank you, Sam,” you stutter, keeping your voice as hushed as his. He leans away, breaking the hug and letting you see the smile across his lips. His grin urges one from you, too. His smile is always contagious. 

He pats your arm, then moves to sit down. And just as you’re about to take your seat once more, a well-known cologne overwhelms you, a sexy, captivating scent of musky sandalwood that you recognize all too well as… 

“Jake!” Danny shouts, echoing across the acoustics as he leaps out of his seat yet again to embrace his friend. “Looking snazzy as ever, I see.” He pats his exposed chest, twiddling with the lapel of his suit’s jacket. Even as Danny’s hand slides down the lapel, your eyes stay firmly planted on the tanned skin of his chest and abdomen. “Where the hell’d you find this?” 

Jake’s famous giggle leaves his smiling lips, his teeth sparkling white against the contrast of his all black garb. “Malachi dug through endless trenches to find it for me.” He brushes at each of his shoulders, adjusting the waist of the jacket as he straightens his posture. “Found it a rather fitting piece for the night,” he says, pursing his lips through a smug grin, acting as though he’s the true belle of the ball.

And you are in an even worse predicament than you’d thought you’d be in.

Nat’s eyes almost instantly find yours. Hers are wide and smiling, faux sympathy for you laced in her golden irises. 

You’d already prepared yourself for the chance of him showing up in something that would leave your knees weak and your skin on fire. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you’re witnessing right now. 

“Is that hand sewn?” Nat asks, standing from her seat to give Jake some room to head down the row in search of his seat. He nods his head to confirm what she already knows, scooching his way through as you’re practically frozen in your seat, watching him get closer and closer to you. Your eyes are glued to the impeccable way his expensive, straight-leg, black satin slacks hug his round ass. The suit might as well have been made for his beautiful body.

“You know your brother finds only the pinnacle of clothing. He wouldn’t have let me show up in anything less than the absolute best quality.” 

“He doesn’t do that shit for me, damn,” Nat snarls as he passes her, his back just slightly brushing against her, then walking slowly past Sam. You’re certain it’s on purpose, but he’s avoided all eye contact with you thus far. And you’re mentally thanking whoever the hell you need to thank for that, because it would absolutely make things all the more awkward. 

But you can’t seem to move yourself from your chair when he turns around finally, body no longer turned towards the front to get through. No, he’s now facing your row of seats. And your poor legs can’t handle his proximity, feeling numb at the fact that he’s now so close to you. The thick silvery stitching embroidered on this suit jacket, in the image of a sword piercing his chest, dark red stones, the color of blood, dripping from the blade, are blinding against the black satin they’re embedded in. It’s the beginning of December – the temperatures are frigid. Yet, his jacket is completely open, exposing his toned (and unseasonably tanned) chest, his tummy, all the things about his body that make your head spin. 

And, no surprise, he has quite the collection of coins hanging against his bare skin. Some that you’ve seen him wear many times, some that you haven’t. But there’s something noticeably missing. 

He’s not wearing the sword tonight, and you are. And you know he sees it. His eyes confirm that as they’re staring directly at your chest where the necklace rests. 

You’re embarrassed that you’re wearing it, wishing you would’ve just left it in your purse. Or, better yet, left it at home. There’s no way to know what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling. But if you had to guess, his thoughts aren’t exactly happy ones at the sight of you wearing the dress he bought and the necklace that matches his own that he deliberately chose not to wear. 

The air becomes trapped in your throat as he approaches you, his eyes flitting to yours for the first time tonight. Damn this theatre for not having enough space in the rows of chairs – he can’t get past you, so you have to stand in order for him to reach his seat. 

But you’re still stuck. Stuck in fear, in hurt feelings, stuck in awe of him. 

How are you supposed to stand when the feeling in your legs has essentially vanished? 

How are you still feeling this way about him after he lied to you?

As his eyes are still fixed on yours, he takes the last step towards you. He reaches his right hand down to yours, holding his palm up and open, ready for you to place yours inside. 

What – ?

Tentatively, hearing nothing but the erratic beating of your heart pounding in your ears, you take his hand. He helps you out of your seat, his dark eyes keeping tight hold of yours. 

You suck in a breath as he begins to walk past you, not speaking a word. With the way he’s now turned, you can’t help but notice… unlike everyone else he’s just walked by, his back isn’t facing you – it’s the front of his body slowly gliding past you. He’s so warm, so sturdy. And you feel all of him. And while you may never get to feel him inside of you ever again, you can certainly feel his cock pressed against your front. It’s taking every ounce of strength you’ve got to not let on to what it’s doing to you. The throbbing in your core is enough to make you want to take him right here. And while you certainly shan’t do that, you can at least play out the scenario safely in your thoughts. 

His right hand still has yours in his grip, while his left gently grabs your hip. His hand slides down as he fully passes you, his thumb just barely skimming the top of your thigh. His fingertips linger for just a moment longer, before finally letting go of your hand. It’s then he discovers where his seat for the night is, and you can see the slight downward curl in his lips as he realizes. 

Now you’re left to wonder – was the indication of disgust over you or Stacy? 

Her squeaking voice pierces your ears as she greets him, having no problem standing to pull him into a hug. Something you couldn’t bring yourself to do. 

There’s a tightening in the pit of your stomach as you sit back down, feeling far too many things all at once right now. He does look irritated as he’s hugging her back. But, he’s still hugging her. You know him well enough to know that he wouldn’t hold the embrace any longer if he didn’t have reason behind it. It could be to make you jealous, (a trick you’re all too familiar with) or, worse, it’s because he wants to keep hugging her.

Either way, you’re mortified by it. And if you didn’t have as much self-discipline as you thankfully do, you would've used that moment to unleash all your true feelings about her, to her. Just as you should’ve done a long ass time ago. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Are you excited to watch this?” Sam asks, throwing a sly wink and nudging your shoulder with his. “I bet we look pretty hot,” he giggles, his famous laugh that forces one from you. No matter how much you don’t feel like laughing right now. Sam can always make you crack a smile. 

You look to Jake out of your peripheral to gauge whether he’s listening or not. He’s sitting stone cold on the other side of you, completely still, looking only at the stage that is set and ready to proceed with tonight's events. 

He’s still not spoken a word to you. But to be fair, you’ve not said anything to him either. It hurts. It feels like absolute shit. It’s almost like everything wonderful that happened between the two of you never truly happened at all. The slate has been wiped clean, like you’re in the very same place you were with him when you first moved here. 

But, the unfortunate part about that is, there’s a painful history there now… where there wasn’t one before. 

You almost wish you could go back in time, rewrite the story of you and Jake and take out all of the beautiful things you shared. At least then you wouldn’t have this weight settled between you two as you’re sat very close to one another. The problems you two had would have remained unspoken and left as nothing more than a mutual hatred. 

But, nope. That wasn’t what the stars had written for you. 

In truth, he should be your date this evening, your other half as you watch the very thing that brought the two of you together, reminiscing about the last few months spent pouring yourselves into this massive project. Instead, you’re both acting as if the other doesn’t exist to either of you anymore. Heavy silence is all that is left. 

And that feels like shit. 

But, at least you’ve got Sam. And no matter the situation, he’s a bright light and a calming spirit, one that is able to calm yours at this very moment. 

“Oh, yes. I know we look hot,” you respond, speaking loud enough that hopefully Jake heard you. Is it absolutely shitty of you? Yes, yes it is. But at least you can admit that. And at least you know it’s sure to ignite a fire in him, get the wheels in his head turning. Maybe even force him to speak to you. Because god knows you will not be the first one to break the ice tonight. Nope. He can do that if he really wants to. 

You sneakily glance over to him just to see if he’s wearing any sort of reaction on his cold features. 

But, alas, nothing. He’s still staring at the stage, as if his glare will make this whole thing begin that much sooner. 

And that thought makes you realize that Josh and Malachi are still not here. The masterminds behind this whole thing, and they are cutting it way too close for comfort.

Leaning over Sam, you reach for Nat’s arm, tapping her until she looks at you. “Where are they?” You ask, motioning toward the two empty seats at the end of your aisle. 

Nat shrugs her shoulders, lifting her hands up. “Fuck if I know,” she says. “Josh probably spent over an hour figuring out what to wear, my brother probably had to have at least five outfits prepared for him to try on a hundred times before he decided on something.” 

“Fucking diva,” Sam mumbles under his breath, chuckling to himself. 

“He is the definition of diva,” Nat confirms. “Beyonce’s got nothing on that man. And Malachi does nothing but encourage it.” 

“Speak of the diva himself,” Danny chimes in, looking over his shoulder as Josh is practically flying down the green carpet toward you all, Malachi speed walking close behind. 

All of you have now turned your attention toward him, and he stops just before he makes it to the seats to put on a dramatic curtsey, one from each side of his body. 

Now you understand what took them so long. 

He’s dressed in full sparkle. Head to toe. Literally. 

As he approaches his seat, you note the elaborate pattern of rhinestones glued around his black tight-lined eyes. His cheeks are glowing with an iridescent highlight that the bright lights of the theater accentuate gorgeously. 

And his jumpsuit. It’s truly unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Full velvet, with a jacket of the most intricate designs you’ve ever seen sewn with beads and jewels. It almost perfectly mimics the iridescent color on his cheeks. Each time he moves, you see pinks and lavenders in the material. Even some blues as he gets closer. And, as a reminder that he and Jake are in fact twins, the neckline is taking quite the plunge down his chest, hitting just below his sternum. 

These boys must never get cold, you ponder.

He looks absolutely immaculate. Not that you expected anything less, but still. Josh is the best kind of unexpected. This man always keeps you on your toes, never knowing his next extraordinary move. The traits of a true, professional director who creates the most revered and timeless pieces. 

Malachi compliments him beautifully with his black velvet tux. And god, he looks handsome, too. They both pulled out all of the stops. It looks like they both got fresh haircuts, their facial hair cleaned up and shaped. They are absolutely gorgeous, and it makes you so indescribably happy to see them like this on what very well could be the night that lays the foundation for something even bigger for them. Especially for Josh. 

If you know anything about film (and you’re pretty sure you do), you have no doubt that this one will be a crowd favorite. No doubt that it should open every door possible for Josh to have a future in this business. Which he very much deserves. 

The house lights begin dimming just as Josh and Chi are taking their seats, proving that they truly did make it just in time. How on earth they did that is nothing short of a damn miracle. 

A spotlight hits the master of ceremonies, a tall man without a single hair on his head, appears from behind the velvet curtain to thunderous applause from more than a hundred excited film students. Josh whistles through his fingers, and you’re impressed by how loud he is. While you don’t recognize this man, almost everyone else in this room certainly seems to adore him. “Welcome, my dear students and guests, to the annual University of Michigan Film Fest,” he boldly announces through the microphone. “As many of you know, my name is Dr. Steven Turner, and I am the department head for our film studies program on campus.”

After more applause, and more whistling from Josh, Dr. Turner waits for everyone to quiet down before he announces the films that will be presented. There are only three films that will be shown in their entirety tonight, one of them being Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur, under the direction of the one and only Josh M. Kiszka. 

You felt the thumping of your heart when Dr. Turner said the (very long) name of your film, and it’s truly beginning to settle in that you'll be watching yourself on the screen tonight. And so will everyone else. A crashing wave of anxiety courses through your veins at the thought, tingling under your skin. Your tummy is twisted in knots, your leg bouncing with nerves. There’s no turning back now.

“At long last, I present to you our first film of the night,” Dr. Turner declares, and you’re silently praying and pleading that Josh’s film isn’t first. You need time to prepare yourself before you watch it like this.  “Written, produced, and directed by senior Josh M. Kiszka,” 

Fuck. 

“Please enjoy the debut of his first short-film, Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.”

As he exits stage left, the spotlight begins dimming until it’s gone. Then, the curtain begins to lift, revealing a huge projection screen. Suddenly, it displays the title card of Josh’s film in an elaborate red font against a stark black background. 

This is it. 

Your whole body begins trembling with unease. The knots in your stomach have turned into pure nausea that you’re trying your hardest to swallow down. But, as the image on the screen shifts to the opening sequence, the beautiful drone footage Josh captured of the mountains, your throat suddenly becomes too dry to swallow. 

At this point, the entire row must be shaking from your bouncing leg. You can’t help it. You’ve seen yourself in this film, but you’ve not seen it like this. On a humongous screen and in front of over a hundred people, no less. You’re fearful of their judgements, what they’ll think of you playing the Queen. 

The opening footage starts to fade out, and the first thing that fades in – The Queen. In full color, she’s dressed in the deep, red gown, the first costume you had tried on. As the angle widens, Lancelot, in his white velvet top and red cape, is seen standing across from her in their secret spot hidden in the middle of the forest. They stare into each other's eyes, longingly. Hopelessly and forbiddenly in love with one another. 

Lancelot, Sam, begins to speak his first lines, the first of the entire film. 

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

And then, the Queen, you.

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

As you’re watching yourself on this screen that is larger than your entire apartment complex, your leg continues to bounce, your teeth biting at your brittle nails. It’s only the beginning; there’s still so much left of this film to witness, and you’re not sure you can find the strength in you to keep watching. If seeing yourself like this has you ready to run out of this theater and never look back, how the hell will you be able to sit through what’s to come?

No. You can’t do it. You’ll ask Josh to forgive you later, but right now, you have to get out of here. As you uncross your legs, readying yourself to make a quick and hopefully unnoticed exit, you feel a warm hand against your trembling thigh. Your right thigh. The side Jake is on. 

With a downward glance to your lap, you see the hand you’ve come to know quite well as his. You’d know those hands anywhere. There’s no doubt you’d be able to recognize them instantly, even without seeing his face. 

Your leg has stopped bouncing, and your body begins to relax as you no longer feel the desire to escape. You feel like you can breathe again, all from the most gentle, grounding touch from someone you’re supposed to hate right now. At least, you think you’re supposed to. 

Without being able to stop yourself, you look at his face as he’s absorbedly studying the screen. His lips are parted just slightly, his brows carefully knit as he’s focusing his attention on his twins project. All at once, as though he really wasn’t paying as close attention as you thought, he looks down at his hand that’s still resting against your thigh. And once he realizes, he removes it. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, still peering down where his hand once was. “I didn’t mean to, I just, I knew you were –,” he stammers, his raspy voice hushed and soft so as to not disturb any viewers. He takes a deep breath, the hand that was on your thigh rubbing at his lower chin. “You look beautiful,” he sighs, looking back to the screen. 

Whether he’s referring to you on film, or right now, you can’t be sure. Either way, your anxious wave has settled to a warm calm, wrapping you in a quiet embrace.  

“Thank you,” you whisper, and you’re almost certain you see the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Though his hand isn’t there to offer you comfort any longer, the effects it left are lasting. As the scene in the forest comes to its end, and as the big first kiss is taking place between the lovers, your nerves have significantly calmed down. You’re still not completely comfortable, but knowing Jake could somehow sense that you needed someone, that you needed him, is giving you a sense of peace over it all. He’s still right next to you, and that’s truly enough to help you get through this. 

“We look pretty good, huh?” Sam whispers, nudging your arm with his elbow. If you were to be completely honest, you had almost forgotten Sam was here. You’ve been so focused on watching yourself on the film, letting your nerves get the best of you before Jake intervened. And, while you’re sitting here between both of them, just as close to one as you are to the other, Jake was the one who noticed you were feeling tense.

Not Sam, whose smile is oblivious while eyeing your shared kiss projected on screen. It was a good kiss; it was a great kiss. You’ll never forget the way it made you feel, the way Sam made you feel. The passion is there in this scene; it’s there in all of your scenes with him. 

But if your memory serves you right, (and you know it does) you were only a convincing actress when Jake was nearby, when he was watching. His very presence ignited something within you, and the only person who could fan the flame at that moment was Sam. So, with every kiss, heavy and full of emotion, you envisioned Jake. Every. Single. Time. And because he lingered in the background for nearly every scene you shot, watching you as you acted with his brother, your performance is far more authentic than you realized — as you were in the moment. Watching it back now, fully edited and being viewed the way it was intended, the affair does appear incredibly believable. 

The heaviest scenes, the ones in black and white have finally been reached. You’re taken aback by how magnificent the editing turned out. On the big screen, it’s an entirely different experience compared to watching it on the laptop. The reds are even more vibrant, more eye-catching and captivating. Every intimate moment between the illicit lovers is a beautiful depiction, where the color red emerges as a poignant symbol of their passionate affair.

But, the beautifully filmed and edited work doesn’t change the fact that you are the one portraying the Queen. No matter how many times you tell yourself that it isn’t really you being pictured across the screen, you still see pieces of yourself that serve as a daunting reminder. As someone who’s never been keen on her appearance, it’s certainly difficult to view yourself in such a manner. You’re just thankful that Josh was so careful in the way he filmed you, and even more mindful of your scenes when it came time to edit. 

As this vigorous affair is unfolding on the screen, it’s becoming more intense than it’s been conveyed in the story thus far. The camera pans the expanse of the Queen's body, clothed in black lace. The gown striking within the noir effect. You’ve almost forgotten entirely that it’s your body, feeling as though the camera has truly made you unrecognizable as y/n. And, you’re okay with that. 

The camera stills on her torso, and suddenly a hand appears just below her rib cage. A widening angle then reveals the Queen in a passionate exchange with Lancelot. Their bodies become tangled, fully engrossed within one another as their love is about to consummate. 

You’re beginning to notice a sharp change in Jake’s breathing. Every time the Queen's lips meet the ones of the King's most trusted companion, you see Jake shift in his seat out of your peripheral vision, breathing heavily through his nose.

You know exactly why. Anxiety begins to creep its way back in as you ruminate on how Jake must be feeling. Watching these intimate moments between the Queen and Lancelot transpire on such a massive display, knowing how he feels about the actors beyond the film. The anxiety is quickly morphing into immense guilt, and a bit of shame. Though you know it’s not your fault, it is certainly making you think of other choices you’ve made as of late. 

This moment in the film is one you remember quite well. And it’s not just because of the contents of the film that you have such a vivid recollection, it’s what happened behind the camera that makes your heart flutter. As the scene progresses with the lovers, the King suddenly makes a dramatic entrance through the doors of the boudoir, bearing witness to his wife’s best kept secret with his second in command. 

You’ve practically stopped breathing at the sight of Jake as the king, wearing the cropped chainmail top and black pants, his sword attached to his hip. He despised the top at the beginning, having an almost visceral reaction when he wore it for the first time. Yet, you remember feeling as though he was the most enchanting vision you'd ever seen before your eyes. That very same feeling is overwhelming you at seeing him wear it again.

As the King begins to speak, the black and white slowly fades away to color, a decision Josh made to symbolize the ending of the forbidden affair. 

“I thought I knew better than to heed Mordred's vile words of my first in command. And yet, I find that I needn’t worry of his lies, only those of my beloved and her dearest, both of whom betray their King.” 

The King’s voice, Jake’s voice, is so deep and raw, vibrating the floor beneath your feet from the power behind it. As he speaks his lines, your mind takes you back to the day this was filmed. Jake was the most angry you had ever seen him, and he placed that energy into the King’s reaction to seeing his wife in bed with another. He couldn't even finish the scene at first, as his anger overcame him and he was no longer the king you’re seeing on the screen. 

He lost control and stormed off set, and when you followed him to his room, you witnessed his unraveling for the first time. 

That moment, while you were filming this very scene, serves as the beginning of what has now ended, and seeing a representation of it through the film makes your heart feel as though it could shatter at any second. 

Jake’s leg has now begun to bounce in the seat next to you, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same things you are. Unlike he did for you, you choose not to rest your hand on his leg to offer him comfort. It’s not that you don’t want to, you’re just not sure that you can. You fear it’ll only make things worse for him, given how quickly he chose to remove his hand from you just moments ago. The touch would probably cause him even more discomfort, and you don’t want to be any more responsible for that than you already are. 

In the film, after the King has threatened Lancelot with his life, the scene then shifts to his infidelity with Camillie. This is one you haven’t watched yet, and now you’re understanding what Jake may have been feeling this whole time watching you and Sam. 

As the pair begins to kiss one another, the camera closes in on their faces. Watching Jake lips interlocked with hers in high definition isn’t something you were ready to see. And to make this moment much more difficult than it already is, you hear the infamous giggle that belongs to Stacy from further down the row. As your eyes leave the screen and glance her way, you’re wishing you would’ve just kept your attention on the film. Her hand is on Jake’s thigh, and he is smiling.

The rage you’re suddenly feeling is surpassing every other emotion you’ve experienced in such a short amount of time. What is she doing with her hand on him? Why does she think she has that right? Because of her miniscule little role she played in the film? 

You want so badly to get Nat’s attention, but it would be inappropriate to do so during the film. And, Nat is just as enthralled by it as everyone else. 

And you should be, too. It’s a true work of art, a magnum opus. Why can’t you let everything else rest so you can enjoy what you helped to create? If not for you, for Josh and Malahchi who labored endlessly over this. It’s not fair to either of them to allow your mind to be so preoccupied with other things that you know don’t matter right now.

As Camille and the King's scene comes to an end, it then fades into the final goodbye between Lancelot and Guiniverre. He’s holding her, telling her that he must put an end to this affair, if only to spare his life from the King’s wrath. In a final display of their love, they kiss one another deeply before he sets off. 

The moment is powerful, as it shows the Queen and Lancelot doing what they know is right, while the King has just been shown having his own affair behind the back of his wife. The camera closes in on the Queen’s face, tearfully watching her lover fade into the shadows. You’re enthralled by moment, as you can feel the very emotions you felt as you filmed it all over again. 

You hear a sigh from Sam, who nudges your shoulder once more as you’re the single shot on the screen. And with the nudge of his elbow, your body is shoved into Jake’s. 

You begin to apologize for it, but as you look at him, his eyes piercing yours, you’ve found yourself unable to speak. His face is close – close enough that you needn't hardly move if you decided to kiss him. And the desire is there, no doubt. His warm breath fans your face, eliciting chills all over your body. His eyes begin to move down to your chest, and you feel your nipples begin to perk at breath touching your skin. You know he notices, as you can see the hint of a smile on his lips, even in the dark theatre. 

The longing to lock your lips with his is dire. To feel him again, to taste him again; you’d be damned to say you haven’t wanted that this whole night. His eyes slowly lift back up to yours and his tongue glides over his lips, and before you can say or do anything, he turns his attention back to the film.

Taking a deep breath, mentally brushing away any other thought, you do just as he did and focus your eyes back to the screen, watching the most beautiful film progress before your eyes. Instead of wasting this time worrying about what you can dwell on any other time, you’re choosing to witness the retelling of a King and Queen who loved one another, yet they couldn’t be together for many reasons, most of them beyond the telling of the well-known tales. 

You know you have a bias, but this adaptation of a lore you’ve studied for more years than you can count is truly the best you’ve yet to see. Josh’s careful attention to the details of the classic story, while adding his own magical touch to the insight of each of these characters – these incredibly deep and complex characters – it’s done in a way you’ve never seen. To be part of something like this, it’s the biggest honor of your life. 

As the film is reaching its final scene, you feel tears welling in your ducts as you watch the King prepare his final speech. Jake’s acting is something to be revered, and his portrayal of this timeless character is award-worthy in itself. 

As the King, Jake, holds Excalibur high in the air, the tears begin falling down your face as the King bares his heart to his knights. 

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.” 

As he proclaims his love and hurt over his dear wife, and his loyalty to Camelot, this magnitudinous film reaches its ending. 

Once the final credits begin to roll, the whole theatre starts rumbling with roaring applause. And as you look over your shoulder, the tears start falling even harder when you see a standing ovation from every person filling the Fox. Josh is nearly beside himself when he notices, a look of pure relief and pride on his tear-stained features. 

“You did it, babe!” Malachi shouts, standing with Josh to embrace one another. The rest of the row stands to join the ovation, as the applause seems to be endless from the crowd. Sam’s arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you into a short side hug. You then catch sight of Nat, who seems just as emotional as you are with streaks of black mascara down her cheeks. 

And then, you look to Jake, standing beside you and gazing at his twin with nothing but admiration laced in his smile. To see him so clearly proud of his brother is such a beautiful thing, and it’s certainly distracting you from everything else you’ve felt tonight. 

The film, and everything surrounding it, has reached its final closure. 

It’s done. The hard work has more than paid off, in your opinion. Seeing it like this, played before an eager audience as though it were being premiered in Hollywood, has made everything about it worth more than gold. You’ll still present it in class next week, but this – this was what it was made for. It’s a crowd pleasing masterpiece, and Josh should be nothing but incredibly proud that he is the creator of something so extraordinary. 

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After watching the other two films, each of them far beyond anything you expected tonight, the viewings have come to an end. You didn’t realize the sheer talent present at your school, and it enlists a sense of pride within you. These students, Josh included, are so passionate about what they do, and it’s so very clear in every piece you’ve seen tonight. You’re in awe of every one of them, to say the least. But, putting your clear bias to the side, Josh’s film surpasses the other two by a massive landslide. His is as close to perfection as a short film can possibly be, with or without you. 

Dr. Turner, joined by four more faculty members from the Film Studies program, walks back on stage to more applause from the crowd. “Distinguished students and guests, we are pleased to present this year's Hopwood Award for Screenplay and Cinematography,” he announces.. “As you all know, students who earn this award are guaranteed a full ride to The Los Angeles Film school, as well as the opportunity to shadow a world renowned director of their choosing.” 

As you look down the row towards Josh, his nerves are present in his body language, a timid smile across his lips. You are filled with nerves, your chest tightening and your palms becoming damp with perspiration; if you are this jittery, you can’t begin to imagine how Josh is feeling. He’s holding Chi’s arm with one hand, gripping Nat’s hand in the palm of the other. Touch is his comfort, and you’re sure he’d be clinging to every one of you right now if he could.

He looks down the row as he’s chewing on his bottom lip from anticipation, locking eyes with you as. He mouths the words “Thank you,” and you respond with a quiet “Good luck!” He nods his head, blowing a kiss as you offer one in return. 

“After careful consideration, the board has chosen the student whom we believe has directed the most visually stunning and well-written short film. This has been no easy choice, as each film we’ve seen tonight more than qualifies for such a prestigious award,” Dr. Turner says, holding the physical representation of the award in the hand not holding the microphone. “But the student we’ve chosen has displayed time and time again what it means to be a director in a field that requires the kind of talent and discipline that we’ve seen from him over the years.” 

Without even realizing it, your hand is gripping your necklace, something your anxious thoughts decided you needed right now. Your pounding heart can be felt against your hand, beating so quick you’re afraid you’ll faint if the recipient isn’t announced. 

“With that being said, the student we feel is the most deserving is…,” 

Come on, come on.  

“...Josh M. Kiszka, for his impeccable direction of the astounding Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.” 

The mention of his name has each of you shooting up from your seats, cheering and shouting for Josh as you fight back the gleeful tears. As Josh stands, he hugs Malachi tightly before the two of them walk hand in hand up to the stage to accept the award. Everyone in the crowd is clapping, rallying behind him and encouraging him.

He deserves this. More than anyone in this room, Josh deserves this. 

As Dr. Turner hands him the award, he shakes his hand and pulls him into a hug. Everyone from the board walks by to congratulate Josh, shaking hands with him and Malachi, commending the two of them for their work. 

Josh is wiping away a few tears as Dr. Turner hands him the microphone, patting him on the back. “You’ve made a grave mistake in handing me this,” Josh jokes in the mic, cackling to himself. There are quiet agreements from each of you, knowing damn well that Josh will talk forever if given half the chance.

“I promise to keep this short. I would just like to extend my gratitude to a group of people that have been the driving force in seeing this dream of mine come to fruition.” He looks at your row, holding out his hand to you all with heavy emotions present on his smiling face. “My brothers, Jacob and Samuel, my dear friends y/n, Natalia, Daniel, and Stacy –,” Of course she had to be mentioned. 

“ – and, lest I forget, my loving partner, Malachi.” Standing beside him, Malachi wraps his arm around Josh's shoulders. “You all are the beating heart of this production. Without each and every one of you,” he tearfully exclaims, holding up his award. “This wouldn’t have been possible. Know that my love for you is boundless.” 

He takes a bow to the crowd, blowing kisses all across the theatre. As he hands the mic back to Dr. Turner, Josh pulls Malachi close to him for a hug. The two of them, so proud and full of love. It melts your heart in every way a love like theirs should. 

And watching them has you longing for your own hug, specifically from the person to your right. But as you look over, he’s already lost in a hug. With Stacy. 

Before you can give yourself the chance to lament on it, Sam reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. “Can you believe it?” He sways you back and forth, turning you both in a circle, to where you’re now facing Jake, who’s no longer in an embrace with Stacy. 

He’s looking at you, staring into your eyes while you’re wrapped in his brother's arms. At once, you try to pull away from Sam so you can celebrate with the one you really long to be with. 

But, it’s too late. 

With a solemn smile, tearing his eyes away from yours, he walks right past Stacy down the other side of the aisle. She tries to get his attention, but he’s paying her no mind. You watch him continue to walk, until he’s gone, completely lost within the sea of people in the theater. You let go of Sam, beginning to follow after Jake until you feel a tug on the back of your arm.  “Don’t,” Josh whispers in your ear from behind you, his thumb rubbing circles on your arm. “Just let him go.”

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a/n: i can't lie, i'm a little sad the filming days have ended, too. i know this was a lot, & i am once again offering my sincerest apologies, lol. see you in part 2. 😘

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?) sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

a/n: thank you all so so much for being patient with me. your support means the whole world. ♡ love you all endlessly.

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.

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You’ve been lying on top of him, tangled in the sweaty, rumpled mess of his sheets, for what feels like hours—though it’s only been a few moments.

There’s something about his embrace, his strong and toned arms fully enveloping you; There’s a sense of safey here that you’ve never quite known, one that you’re suddenly terrified of ever losing.  

And yet, there’s still something plaguing you. As you’re cuddled up the most intimately the two of you have ever been, you’re feeling the guilt of how things transpired tonight. Of how you’re game you’d been playing with Sam eventually caught up to you. And though you don’t regret where it’s landed you, you do regret the dishonesty that brought you here. 

“Jake?” You say, meek and quiet as you lift your head to look him in the eye. “C-can I be honest with you about something?"

His eyes were closed, but he opened them the second you began to speak. “Of course, doll.” He hums, kissing your forehead and donning a lazy grin. 

You sigh as you lift yourself off of him and lay over on your side so you can better face him, laying your head in the crease of your elbow. 

“What’s the matter?”  He asks, following your movement by laying himself on his side, too, facing you as he props his head up with his hand. “You look a bit troubled.” 

Starting this drawn-out, difficult explanation isn't easy. But here you are, already committed. Best to just come out with it, to finally relieve yourself of this burden. "First, I want you to know I didn't sleep with Sam. We got close, but I stopped it." Sitting upright, you grasp the black satin sheet to shield yourself, though it's not your exposed body that leaves you feeling vulnerable right now. "I hated seeing you with Stacy that night, and I understood why you went into your room together. So, I tried to get back at you by getting close to Sam. But I couldn't go through with it, and I—"

When he clasps your hand, a sudden air of confusion flickers in his sleepy eyes, prompting you to halt your over-explanation.

"I don't want Stacy.” His tone is resolute, firm. His eyes are imploring you to trust his words. "She tried hard that night, but I turned her down."

A rush of embarrassment flushes your cheeks. How could you have misunderstood so completely? 

Yet, there's still the lingering suspicion that he might be telling you what he thinks you want to hear, especially considering his state before he drove you home that night...

“Why weren’t you wearing a shirt when I came back down stairs? And why did you look exactly like you do right now before you drove–”

"Y/n." He stops you, squeezing your hand tightly, urging you to stop overthinking. His eyes lock onto yours with intensity, pulling you into his earnest gaze. "I need you to believe me when I say nothing happened between us. It doesn't mean she didn't try, and I admit, I entertained the idea for a moment. But I couldn't stop thinking about—" He wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap. "I couldn't stop thinking about you..." Leaning in, he kisses you softly and sweetly. "And how badly I wished it was you in my room with me," he whispers. "Not her."

He carefully lays both of you back down, you resting on top of him just as before. "Do you believe me?" He asks gently, reassuringly.

Though uncertainty is still weighing on you, present in the tightness forming in the pit of your tummy, you know there's no reason to not believe him. He’s not given you one that should make you doubt his words, and his actions as of late have certainly validated them. 

Even if they had slept together, it's in the past, just like your almost rendezvous with Sam.          

You can’t change the past. You can’t destroy the tumultuous foundation you and Jake built upon first meeting one another. You can only grow as a result of it. Everything that has happened in the past is just that–in the past. 

What’s the sense in dwelling on it when you can put that energy into something far greater? 

Terrifying as it may be, and though you tried with all of your might to deny it, you want him. And you’ve got a pretty good inclination that he wants you just as much–something you once convinced yourself was impossible.

In truth, what’s happening right now is all that matters.

“Of course I do,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss the flesh of his peck. “Do you believe me?” 

You're left a bit perplexed as his chest erupts with a vibrating chuckle, a lazy snicker escaping his lips. "What's so funny?" you ask, a touch offended, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him.

"Relax, doll. It's nothing," he replies, still chuckling softly as he gently guides you back into your previous position. "But I have to admit," he continues, his fingers now tracing over the chilled goosebumps on your arms. He reaches over, pulling the tangled covers over both of you. "It does feel good to come out on top with Sam."

"Jacob," you giggle softly, feeling your body completely relax under the warmth of the sheets and the comforting heat from his body beneath you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re realizing the very reason why Jake was so adamant about wearing this costume in particular. He’s petitioned for it since filming first began months ago, but Josh simply wouldn’t budge. 

“Not until the right moment,” he’d told Jake the countless times the conversation had been brought up, each time Jake nearly demanded that he be allowed to wear this outfit. 

It got so bad that Josh took some rather extreme measures, resulting in hiding this costume from Jake until he and Malachi believed the time was right. 

So, because of that, you hadn’t seen it. Not on him, at least.

That is, until this very moment as he’s sauntering out of his room with an air of confidence you’re finding so fucking sexy. 

And this outfit…it’s certainly forcing you to feel things you most definitely should not be feeling right now.

The first time you’ve seen him in all white, and you’re quite literally shocked by it. It’s Jake, but it’s a completely new version of him.

The first thing your eyes fall to are his white pants that fit him a bit too well. The most snug fit you’ve seen on him, and they’re not doing much in the way of concealing his…member. 

To make things so much worse for you, the white shirt he’s wearing is cropped, donned with a silver breastplate over his chest. The jacket over top is also cropped, with a long train in the back that flows elegantly behind him with each stride of his legs. 

And, your favorite part: his sword. 

It’s held tight to his waist, secured in the black sheath with the belt wrapped around his hips. 

And you’re sure he’s done something different to his hair, looking as though he’s taken a curling iron to it. 

He’s moved closer to you, locking eyes with yours as he throws you a quick wink. And that confirms what you were already wondering the moment he walked out of his room; he’s wearing fucking eyeliner. Tightlined on the bottom and top lids, smudged out a little on the outer corners.

This is all far too much to take in right now. Your knees feel as though they're on the verge of buckling beneath youtu. 

Fucking Jake. 

“Alright, everyone,” announces Josh while he finishes packing up the last few things he’ll need for today's shoot. 

Your head snaps over in his direction, your eyes longing for Jake as soon as you do so. 

But, you don’t have to be too sad for too long, as you feel Jake come up behind you. Close enough to your back that you feel his firm abdomen against your body. And, to your utter demise, you feel as he lays a sneaky hand against your hip, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there.

Fuck. 

You do your best to focus on Josh as he rambles on, explaining (in his typical, long-winded fashion that quickly became one of your things about him) the ins and outs of today's scene. 

“And what better place for that than our beloved campus?” Josh remarks, flashing a wink your way that you snicker off. He’s a goof. 

He goes on about how the shoot will take place in front of the historic U of M law school, the most eye-catching of all the buildings on campus. The one that looks just like a castle fit for the King of Britain himself. 

“I can’t begin to fathom that, after this scene, this little brain child of mine will be completely filmed.” He quickly wipes a stray tear from his glittering eyes as he starts to pace around the living room, stopping when Malachi wraps a supporting arm around his shoulder. 

“I just wanted to thank all of you for your endless help and support on the most extensive project I’ve taken on. This film…” Josh pauses his talking to gain a bit more composure, his voice beginning to crack with the heavy emotions that are begging to be felt. “...it will open so many doors…for all of us. And I undoubtedly believe that.”

Josh’s eyes flick to Jake’s behind you for a blip of a moment. Was that meant specifically for Jake? If so, what did it mean? 

On top of the secret look, Jake’s grip on your hip loosened just a bit for the briefest of moments. It would’ve made you ponder further, but only seconds after he’d let up his hold, he was back to grasping at you. 

This time, his thumb brushing purposefully against your ass for just long enough that you had to cross your legs awkwardly. 

Fucker.

As Josh sturdies himself against Malachi, taking a moment to gather his emotions, he clears his throat in preparation for one more announcement. “But before we head over there, I’d like to share with you all the official title of this masterpiece we’ve created together.” 

Josh said from the very beginning that he wanted to wait until the filming was nearly complete before giving it a name. He wanted to see it to the end before giving it an “all encompassing heading.” 

Knowing the title of this film will make the ending feel official, and it makes you a little emotional to see it all come to a close. This project has given you so much you never thought you'd have, and to finally know its name...

Your thoughts are interrupted when you feel Jake’s hand land on your lower back, sliding slowly up the hem of your shirt as he lightly scratches the bare skin with dulled nails. Every inch of you is painted in goosebumps, and you’re suddenly finding it hard to take a full breath any longer. 

“The purpose of this film,” he begins, effectively drawing your attention back to him, “Was to show a different side of the infamous, yet idolized romance. It’s a beautiful retelling, full of love, betrayal, hurt, and eventual death. After witnessing the genious of this immaculate cast,” he continues, being sure to make eyecontact with everyone in the room so that no one feels excluded. “I finally decided on a title that I feel speaks for the film.”

Josh looks to Sam, who begins a fake drum roll with his fingers against the kitchen counter. 

“Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur,” Josh proudly boasts, making a dramatic display by excitedly clapping his hands together and bowing to everyone before him. “I know, it’s somewhat of a mouthful.” He laughs.

“And that translates to…?” Danny asks, he and Nat cuddled up on the couch together.  

“Ah, I was hoping you’d ask!” Josh smiles, pointing his finger toward Danny before crossing his arms over his chest. “It means The Dark Intrigues of Guinevere and Arthur. I thought it fitting to stick with the French theme, given the source from which the script was derived.” He raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased with himself on 

The Dark Intriges…

With everything surrounding this film, everything it’s brought you, it just couldn't be more suited. 

Your eyes are drawn to Sam once more when his connect with yours, seemingly paying no mind to how close Jake is standing behind you as he smiles and subtly winks you way. Smiling back at him hurts, because you’ve got a solid feeling he knows nothing of what's going on with you and Jake. What you hope will happen is he’ll figure it out on his own. Telling him would, frankly, fucking suck. The guilt you feel is tremendous, though.

And for that reason, the title of this film is all too fitting. Even beyond it. 

“I love it, Josh,” you tell him. “It’s beautiful.” 

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“I can see why you fought so hard for this outfit,” you say, slyly as Jake is driving the two of you to campus. 

Jake had actually called you as his riding partner on your way to the parking lot…in front of everyone. 

And while it’s not exactly been a secret (amongst almost everyone, at least) that you two have this thing for each other, it still made your skin heat and butterflies fly rampant in your belly when he claimed you’d be riding with him. He certainly didn’t want anyone else riding with you — only him. 

He’d told you as much as soon as you were both closed into the Black Pearl, his hand momentarily having squeezed your thigh when he spoke the words that made your heart flutter. 

In the present moment, you can see the flush in his cheeks as he grins, full toothed. “Yeah? Like what you see, huh?” He says with a cock of his eyebrow. 

“Mhm. Very much so, actually.” 

“C’mere,” he tells you just before he stops at the red light. You lean over toward him, and with a finger hooked under your chin, he pulls you in for a heavy, deep kiss.

He’s clean shaven, his face feels so smooth. And he tastes just like his birch wood aftershave. 

It’s not until the car behind you honks that the kiss is broken, and you both realize the light has turned green. Judging by the now continuous honks, it's probably been that way for a bit.

“Best we don’t start something we can’t finish, hm?” He utters, laughing when the car behind passes him and the driver throws him a very erect middle finger. 

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Stacy wasn’t supposed to be involved in filming today, and still yet, to your pure and utter disgust, here she is. She’s standing next to her car, eagerly jumping up and down as you all approach the parking lot across from the law building. 

Even with the radio on, and the windows rolled up, you can still hear her shrill screams of irritating excitement to see everyone. 

What the fuck.

“Jake!” She blurts as he gets out of the car, ignoring her attempt to give him a hug while he makes his way to the passengers side to let you out. “O–Oh! Hi, y/n! Didn’t think you were filming today!”

Yeah, I could say the same for you. 

“Nice to see you again, Stac,” you say, doing your very best to not sound like a total bitch. “Just wanted to watch the final scene being filmed. I assume that’s why you’re here, too?” 

Anyone else would have no problem seeing right through your fake kindness, but Stacy doesn’t seem to. In the time you’ve known her, you’ve noticed that she’s not the best at picking up on most social cues. She just continues to live in her little happy delirium, unable to read every room she graces with her movie star beauty.

“Oh yes! I can’t believe our project is almost over.” 

Our project? 

She inserts herself between you and Jake, standing as close as possible to the two of you, facing Jake with her back to you. The chemical-like smell of her cheap coconut body spray (which she’s obviously bathed in) stings the inside of your nose. Combined with her equally cheap hairspray, it's an abrasive scent she’s clearly nose-blind to.

As much as you’d like to say a few choice words, you bite your tongue and step away from her. Jake, looking just as annoyed as you, quickly joins you and begins leading you across the street to the front of the building. The sound of Stacy’s mule heels clicking against the pavement grows louder behind you as she hurries to keep up. 

Read the room, Stac. 

Josh and Malachi are already in full production mode as they’re working together to set up the perfect shot in front of the law school. “Can you bring me the light reflector, babe? We need the right balance of light on the bricks,” you hear Josh as Malachi as he’s looking through the viewfinder, making adjustments to the framing. 

“How’s that?” Chi asks, holding the reflector steady. 

Josh looks through the camera again, motioning for Jake to come stand in front of the lens as he tells him how to position himself. “Ah!” He exclaims, throwing an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Perfect!”

Just then, Sam, Nat, and Danny pull in the parking lot in Nat’s Escalade. Even from across the street, you can vividly see the look on Nat’s face when she spots Stacy. Her expressionsays it all—her annoyance for Stacy has only grown in the last several weeks, and one thing about Nat? Her thoughts rarely stay safely within her mind. 

“What a…pleasant surprise,” Nat grumbles sarcastically as she approaches all of you, her eyes narrowing on the blonde standing to your right who’s trying to wedge her way in between you and Jake yet again. 

Stacy’s smile falters for a moment, but she quickly recovers, putting on a sweet and clueless grin. “Hey, Natty Batty! How are you?”

You have to quickly muffle your giggles with your hand when you see Nat wrinkle her nose at whatever the hell that nickname was. The look of utter disgust on her face is blatantly obvious to everyone else. But, not to Stacy. To no surprise,

Danny, ever the peacekeeper, excels at diffusing tension with his genuine smile and warm embrace. Nat’s irritation melts away instantly as Danny tenderly kisses her nose, eliciting a wide grin and a rosy blush. He is her perfect balance, just as she is his.

“My twin!” Josh shouts, snapping his fingers while still squinting one eye at the viewfinder. “Someone send my twin over here—this shot is more perfect than I couldn’ve imagined, and I don’t want to waste daylight!”

Jake gently squeezes your hand. “Looks like it’s my cue,” he says, smiling down at you. “Wish me luck.” Your face glows red when his lips carefully brush against your cheek. No one seemed to notice that he did this, no one except Stacy. Her shock is evident on her face as her eyes are locked tight with yours as you simply smile and casually wave her direction. To which, she rolls her eyes and looks away, crossing her arms over her chest in a silent temper tantrum. Good.

Your attention is pulled back to Jake as he’s walking toward the camera, and there’s no sense in trying to avert your gaze. His body is so strong, so broad and sturdy. His walk is most definitely one of the sexiest things about him. So confident in his strides, and the way he’s holding on to the sword swaying from his hips…It’s taking everthing in you to put on a casual facade. But, if anyone is going to see right through it, of course, it’s Nat. You feel her nudge your shoulder, breaking you from your Jake-induced trance. “A little distracted, there?” She winks, her and Danny both chuckling at you. 

“Here’s the king!” Josh booms once Jake finds his way in front of the camera. “Okay, Jakey boy. This monologe, it’s incredibly significant to the entire piece, and will close out this story we’ve created.” He steps away from the camera, meeting Jake in his spot to brush out a few wrinkles in his jacket and guide him to the exact position he needs him in. “It will also serve as the King's final oration before his death. So, you know, no pressure or anything. But, it does need to be pristine.” He giggles, offering a gentle pat to his cheek. 

“I won’t let you down, good sir,” Jake returns, saluting him. And when Josh finds his place back behind the camera, he mimics the very same to his twin. 

“Ready, Jake?”

With a nod of his head, you watch Jake effortlessly slip into character. Straightening his posture, he places his hand on his sword, (excalibur, of course) readying himself for the draw of his weapon. 

“And…action!”

Then, with a deep breath, Jake begins. 

“I stand before thee, on the brink of battle, yet my heart is heavy with a betrayal most grievous.”

His eyes, as glowing as ever, cast downward in heavy emotion, as if seeing the haunting memories play before him. 

“Guinevere, my queen, my love, has forsaken our sacred bond for the arms of my most trusted knight. The pain of this treachery pierces deeper than any sword.” 

He’s using his accent, the very one that Josh swore he despised, but it seems Jake has been practicing. He sounds much more believable this time. Perhaps it’s the emotions he’s conveying, the seriousness of the scene. Whatever it is, it’s the best he’s ever sounded. 

His voice wavers slightly, his emotions suddenly becoming even more palpable as he looks off in the distance. You swear you can see welling tears in his honey eyes, the way they’re beginning to glisten against the sun. 

“My soul, shattered and consumed by the weight of a despair so fraught and injust. I am but a man, burdened with the agony of a broken heart. A wound that may never heal. Yet, I must not falter. For the sake of my beloved Camelot.”

His grip on excalibur tightens, his knuckles nearly white. 

“I will rise above my personal grief to fight for all that I hold dear. But know this, my loyal knights—if I should fall on this day, it will be not from the blade of our enemy, but from the tremendous sorrow that consumes me.”

He then pulls excaliber from her sheath, holding her high as the metal gleams against the dying sunlight. And when he does, he looks at you, holding character while his eyes pierce your soul. Tears begin falling from your eyes at the heightened emotions emitting from him, the woe that he’s conveying so well. It nearly feels real, as though it’s been pent up for a long time. It’s striking, it’s beautiful. 

“Let it be known that King Arthur fought not just against the foes outside these castle walls, but against the demons within his very own heart. My story,” He holds his weapon even higher, looking up to it in admiration and strong will gleaming through his eyes. “Will become a great title of an unimaginable fable, woven through the seams of time. And to that, I say, onward! Onward for Camelot, onward for Guinevere, the queen of my desolate heart!”

Everyone is silent once the monolouge finishes, letting it hang in the air for a moment as Jake still holds the sword high above his head. It seems everyone is a bit awestruck after that, after what you’re sure will be the most powerful ending to this film. 

Josh slowly steps away from the camera, looking at his twin with his mouth hanging wide open, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “...cut,” he says quietly, purely astonished. “And that, my friends, concludes the filming of Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur.” He practically runs to Jake, grabbing him in a tight embrace. “Bravo, my brother!” 

Jake hugs him back, one handed as he’s still carrying the sword. “Should we do it again? Just to be sure it’s oka–”

“Fuck no!” Josh cuts in. “We won’t get any closer to perfection than that. That was raw, you just let yourself become the King with no hesitation. No, no.” Josh shakes his head, breaking the hug, wiping the tears falling along his cheekbones and placing a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That was it. That was our ending.” 

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“I insist,” he keeps on, refusing to accept any answer that’s not a yes. “And I mean no offense but, your cooking skills are lacking a tad.” 

“Well now officially offended, Jake!” You can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s absolutely correct. It’s true that you’re no cook, but damn–he’s certainly humbled you a bit more. 

He’s been on your case all day about having you over for a “proper dinner,” according to him. One that he’s prepared entirely from scratch. Rather adamant about it, in truth. Your phone buzzed all throughout classes, during your small shift at work. And now, as he’s walking you to your car from the library, he's not dropped the topic since he met you at the circulation counter.

“Josh will be working the office, and Sam has plans with Danny.” He takes the key right out of your hand as you approach the driver's side door, unlocking it and holding it open for you. “So, you’d actually be doing me a favor.” 

“Oh yeah?” You snicker as he hands back the key, leaning your back against the frame of your clunker. He steps in between your slightly parted legs, pressing his body against yours. “And what exactly would that be?”

He steals a quick kiss from your lips as he runs his fingers through your locks. “Keeping me company, of course.” 

His lips linger on yours a bit longer this time, another plea for you to at last agree to his proposition. How could you possibly deny him any longer? “Alright, alright,” you concur. “What time should I be there?” 

He smiles, snatching one more kiss before quickly making his way to his Rover. “No later than 6:30. And you’re to bring nothing but your lovely self.” He winks as he climbs in the driver's seat, starting the engine and peeling off before you have a chance to argue that last bit. 

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The kitchen is filled with the tantalizing aroma of fresh ingredients as Jake had everything laid out and ready to make dinner before you go here. The scallops are neatly arranged on a plate, a bundle of fresh spinach resting nearby, and a bowl of gleaming pomegranate seeds wait to be transformed into a glaze.

“You ready to become a master chef?” Jake asks, flashing you a playful grin as he hands you an apron.

You manage a smile, though your tummy is fluttering with nerves. Nerves over fucking up the meal, but even more so, nerves over eating the meal. 

It’s the only reason you were apprehensive about tonight. It’s as simple as your fear of eating, of eating in the presence of someone else. But what you didn’t know was Jake’s plan to have you help prep the meal. 

What made him want to do it this way is completely beyond you, but you have to admit that it seems to be helping even the slightest with your fear. 

Still yet, you’re uncertain about the whole thing. If you had it your way, the two of you would plant yourselves on the couch and watch something on the television, fight eachother over dominance when you start getting handsy with one another. 

As if he can sense your hesitation, your racing thoughts, he steps closer, his smile softening into something more intimate as he helps adjust your apron. His fingers brushs against your waist, lingering for just a moment, but long enough to steal your breath. “No worries, doll,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ve got me as your sous-chef. We’re in this together.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides down to gently rest on your hip, guiding you to the cutting board. “First things first,” he starts, his tone casual though his touch is anything but. “We’ll start with the spinach. Rather easy—we’ll just chop the leaves into smaller pieces.”

You pick up the knife he’s placed beside the greens, noting its heavy weight of this massive blade. Jake’s hand hovers nearby, his presence steady and warm. “You’ve got this,” he murmers, his voice close to your ear. The proximity is sending a shiver down your spine, but his presence makes you smile, nonetheless.

As you begin to chop, Jake leans in, his breath tickling your neck as he begins telling a story about his first attempt at cooking scallops. “I burned them so badly, they were basically little hockey pucks,” he giggles. “And don’t even get me started on the smoke alarm. Sent my brothers in a screaming frenzy. I swore my grandfather was ready to kick me out.”

You chuckle at the image of Jake frantically trying to clear the smoke out of the kitchen, of Josh and Sam being scared to death over it. But it doesn’t fully distract you from just how close he is, how his arm brushes agaisnt yours  when he grabs another knife to help you chop the last of the leaves. 

With the spinach done, Jake moves on to the scallops, setting a pan on the stove. “Alright, here’s the trick with scallops: you want a hot pan. They should sizzle as soon as they hit the surface. Like they’re saying, ‘We’re here, mother fuckers and we mean business!’” 

Laughter bursts from your belly at his completely cheesy remark. He jokingly pats himself on the back at making you laugh so hard before handing you the metal tongs. He lets you take them but keeps his hand on them as well, guiding you as you place the scallops in the pan. 

While the scallops are searing, Jake moves on to the pomegranate glaze. He pours the juice into a saucepan, adding honey and lemon with a flourish. “This part’s fun,” he says, giving you a wink. “We’re basically making a magic potion. When we drizzle it over the scallops, it’s going to taste like pure heaven.”

His voice drops a notch, and when he holds the spoon to your mouth to taste the glaze, his fingers softly brush against your lips. You open your mouth to allow the tangy sweetness of the glaze to spread across your tongue, but your mind is admitidly elsewhere, fixated on the heat radiating from his body.

“What do you think, doll?” He mutters, his eyes watching your tongue as it collects the sauce that dripped on your bottom lip. “Is it to your liking?” 

“It’s perfect.” 

You take the spoon from his hand and lick off the reminents of the glaze, taking your time to put on a bit of a show for him. When you set it back down on the counter, his hands, still a little sticky from the sauce, grab hold of your face and pull you closer to him. “Let me try,” he moans sweetly in your mouth, tasting what’s left of the glaze on your tongue. “Mm, you’re right,” he says, stealing one more taste of your lips. “Perfect.”

With the scallops now seared and the glaze ready, Jake guides you through plating. He arranges the spinach on the plates, then hands you the spoon to drizzle the glaze. “Just a little drizzle,” he says, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Like you’re adding the finishing touch.”

You follow his lead, trying to focus on the task, but it’s rather hard with him so close, his hand brushing your back as he leans in to admire your work. “Not bad for a first try, huh?” He says, his breath warm against your ear.

“Not bad at all,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

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The evening was about as close to perfect as you could’ve hoped for. Well, aside from your mom’s phone calls beginning to become persistent as the night lingered. 

The meal was glorious, and the way Jake had you help with preparing it gave you some sense of control over it all. It certainly helped you overcome some of the fear of eating, and though you’re normally the cook at your own place, tonight just felt different. Perhaps it was because Jake was with you this time, his peaceful aura working to calm you. You felt okay. More than okay. 

While the fear was still there, Jake’s voice worked to quiet the no-so-nice ones in your head. 

He helped. He helped a lot. And he doesn’t even know it. 

But now, you’re home, lying in your bed with a belly full of seafood. The thoughts are much louder now than they had been all night; the anxieties have managed to slip back in your head now that he’s not here to protect you from them. 

The night ended far quicker than you wanted, though you know it’s not anyones fault. Josh called needing Jake’s help with a particulary irate tenant, one that only Jake knows how to deal with properly. 

After more than a few minutes arguing on the phone, after Jake promised to kick Josh’s ass for making him come help, you offered to get out of his hair so he could handle the situation. It was late, and you knew being out any longer would result in more phone calls from your mom, more guilt for being gone. 

You miss him. You miss the safety and reassurance he provides that you just can’t get at home. 

No, there’s no safety here anymore. 

There’s tension, resentment. On both sides. 

When your head hits the pillow these days, your mind has a much harder time shutting off. You’ve replayed the conversation with your mom over and over again. Dodger…

You think about whomever this is almost nightly since the very mention of the name caused her to spew such horrible things your way. The name served as some sort of trigger for her, and you just want to get to the bottom of why. 

Thinking about it is beginning to put pressure on your now throbbing temples and cheekbones. It feels like a rubberband is tightening around your whole head, the only relief coming from the tips of your fingers pressing down on either side of your nose. 

Everything feels out of your control. Everything. If you could just figure out who he is…He?

Suddenly, you remember. 

You sent yourself the contact from your moms phone. You have Dodger’s number. 

One phone call is all it would take. One phone call, and you’ll have your answer. 

The screen of your phone is nearly blinding in contrast to the darkness of your room. The first thing you do is turn the brightness down before anything else so your eyes can have an easier time adjusting. 

You scroll through your contacts until you see the name, your thumb stilled and hovering above it once you see it.

You’re scared. You’re not sure why you’re scared. There’s so much you feel like you don’t know, that’s being hidden from you. And calling this number might mean learning some — perhaps all — of those things. 

You’ve just got a feeling, a feeling that you can’t understand.

The hand that’s not holding your phone reflexively reaches to the necklace around your neck, taking hold of the little charm with your initial. When you rub your thumb over the engravement, you feel a tiny sense of peace in the grasp of your hand, against the ridges of your thumb. 

And you’re also suddenly feeling like calling Dodger may not be the right thing to do.

Not right now, at least. 

There’s someone else you’d much rather talk to, someone that will make you feel like everything is okay, even if it truly isn’t. 

It only rings once on the other end before he answers. “It’s awfully late, doll.” His voice is quiet, deep. “Everything okay?” 

You huff a breath of solace, feeling your nerves dull and the ache in your head begin to ease a bit at merely hearing his voice. “I just wanted to say thank you again for tonight,” you tell him, lips curling into an honest grin. “It meant a lot to me.” 

You hear a faint, breathy giggle in your ear. “Happy to do it, babe.” 

Babe.

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You have a fondness for nights like these, when you close the library on your own. There’s something so calming, so peaceful about the vacant building in the evening. 

Albeit a little spooky, it’s in all of the best ways. Never once have you felt unsafe or scared here. 

And you never grow bored. The stories that line the ceiling-high bookshelves provide all the wonder and escapism one could ever want for. 

As for most weekend evenings, it’s been awfully slow tonight. Not that you’re complaining; it's provided you with ample opportunities to explore a little deeper than you’re normally able to. As much as you adore working with Nat, she usually talks your ear off the entire shift, so, without her, you can give yourself a little you time to walk around the quiet space. 

At a quarter to ten, the library will be set to close in about fifeteen minutes. With all of the closing duties complete, all that’s left to do is lock the doors when the clock strikes ten. There’s not been a single person in here since early this afternoon, and you’re willing to place a wager on it staying that way until it’s officially time to close it down. 

But just as you’re thinking the remainder of the night will be still, you hear the familiar creak of the large wooden door. 

Who could possibly need the library at this hour? 

With a roll of your eyes, you make your way down the stairs to greet whomever decided to waltz in here at the last minute. 

And when you catch a glimpse of who it is, you’re not shocked in the least. 

“Hi, doll.” 

You should’ve known as soon as you heard the creaking door. This has, afterall, happened before, as history would tell.

“Jake, what are you doing here?” You ask as you approach, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of him in his denim button up over a slightly torn white v-neck and tight dark wash jeans.

He closes the small gap between the two of you, making graceful strides your way as he reaches both hands out to grab hold of your hips, a lazy grin exposing his pearly whites. “Thought I might check out a book before closing time," he says, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "Got any recommendations?"

You laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart races at his touch. "At this hour? Really, Jake, you're impossible."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "You know me, always full of surprises." He releases your hips but not before giving them a gentle squeeze. "But seriously, I just wanted to see you."

You playfully begin walking toward the shelves, pretending that you’re carefully looking for something that may pique his interest, hearing the click of his black heeled boots against the hardwoods. 

"Well, you’ve got me," you say as you’re facing away from him, trying to keep your tone light while you feel the warmth of his body against you when he gets closer. "Anything in particular you're looking for?"

You look over your left shoulder to him as he tilts his head, considering. "How about you surprise me? Pick something you think I'd like."

You nod, turning your attention back towards the bookshelves, grateful for the brief moment to collect yourself. As you scan the rows of spines, you can feel his eyes on you, a warm, steady presence that’s both comforting and exhilarating. After a moment, you pull "Tell Me to Stop" by Charlotte Byrd from the shelf and turn back to him.

"Here," you say, handing it over. "I think you'll fancy this one."

Jake takes the book from your hands, his fingers lingering just a moment longer against yours. "Ah, I’ve heard of this one. Thanks, doll," he murmurs, his voice a low, intimate whisper. As he reads the title, his lips curl into a slow, knowing grin. "Quite the dark romance, I hear," he says, his eyes locking onto yours with a heat that sends a thrill through you. 

“It is rather…enticing,” you snicker, sucking in a sharp breath when his free hand finds your hip once again. “Very dark, very romantic.”

You glance at the clock just as the hands indicate that it’s officially closing time, but before you can tell Jake that you need to lock the doors, you hear the novel thud to the floor as he pulls your body into his. His lips collide with yours while your hands instinctively run all over the expanse of his back and shoulders. 

You savor the taste of him, already familiar yet exhilaratingly new each time. The spicy peppermint against his tongue, the lingering taste of black coffee, sweet and bitter—so very much him.

Inappropriate as it may be, you can’t begin to stop yourself. The library is closed, and the chances of anyone else walking in are incredibly slim to none. And though the risk is there given the doors are still unlocked, you can’t deny that makes this ordeal all the more exciting. 

He pushes your back against the shelf where you found his novel, and the books on the other side hit the floor from the force, their echoing thuds heard throughout the old walls of the building.

You feel him, hard and rock solid against your hip, his lips hungry and eager for yours. There’s a need coursing through your veins that only he can bring forth, a need that waves all caution of being in a public place (closed or not) to the wind. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,” you grumble, your lips hardly leaving his. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, rutting his hard cock into your hip. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

Jesus.

He groans, deep and raspy when you reach between your bodies to feel him through his jeans. He thrusts his hips into you, pushing himself into your palm. “Turn around,” he mumbles, already leading you there before the words even leave his lips. 

“Yes, sir,” you moan while you hurriedly turn to face the shelving. One hand softly grips the back of your neck, finding the waistband of your leggings. He pulls them and your underwear down in one swift motion, fingers instantly prodding at your leaking entrance. You groan and sigh his name, your cunt throbbing and yearning for him.

“Color.”

“Green.”

You hear him unbuckle his belt and yank down his zipper with his other hand, his cock now resting on the skin of your lower back while he pushes his middle finger inside to the knuckle. “Spread your legs a little more for me, doll,” he mumbles into your hair. You spread them as much as you can, but you can only go so far with the way your leggings are stretched on the middles of your thighs. “Wider,” he groans, quiet and deep from his throat. 

The threads in your leggings snap when you spread your legs even further, and you feel the breath of his chuckle against the back of your neck. “Is that enough for you?” You snap, half out of irritation, half out of desperation. 

He then pulls his finger from you, swatting the flesh of your ass just enough to startle you. “Careful, doll,” he mutters, the tip of his leaking cock now replacing his finger. “You know what happened last time you got cheeky with me,” he whispers, one hand gently massaging your ass cheek to help remind you, while the other still has firm hold on the back of your neck. 

“Yes, sir,” you comply, noting a snarky chuckle from behind you before he nibbles at your shoulder. 

“Are you ready for me, love?” He questions. His voice is still stern, yet becoming gentler all at once. He kisses your shoulder, the hand on your neck moving to brush your hair out of the way as his tongue follows a path to the back of your ear. 

“Y-yes, sir,” you reiterate, finding there’s hardly any air left in your lungs to speak with.   

Any air that is in your lungs is instantly stolen from you when he slowly glides himself inside your soaked cunt. You hold on to the shelves with a white knuckle grip as he fills you slowly and completely, letting you get comfortable with him nestled away inside of you. 

“That’s my girl,” he growls in your ear, keeping his thrusts very slow and deep. “Always so wet and ready for me, huh?” 

He then takes both of your wrists, bringing them down to rest against your lower back, holding them still with one hand. His pace quickens with this new leverage, pounding himself into you with a force that causes at least five more books to fly off of the other side of the shelves. 

“Wish you could see this, doll.” You feel him lean the upper half of his body back as his hips keep their rythmn, keeping your wrists held together while his other hand holds you sturdy by your shoulder. “You look so lovely like this.” 

Your wails reverberate from the high pitched ceilings, bouncing off every wall. His cock sliding in and out of you at this momentum has the band within you daring to snap at any second, your walls fluttering and squeezing his twitching dick. 

A series of explicitives mixed with his name escape your lips, near incoheriences as you’re feeling your body coming closer and closer to letting go for him. 

“Jake Jake Jak–” 

“That’s it, doll. Give it to me, so fucking wet.” His breathing is labored, hitched as it’s becoming caught in his throat as you gush around his twitching cock. A feeling of bliss so indescribable, so intoxicating. An intoxication only made possible by Jake. 

He’s close behind you, his rhythm faltering and becoming sloppier and harder. You’re on the brink of overstimulation, but you don’t care. You’d let him keep going forever if you could. 

“Where do you want it?” He asks, slowing enough so he can gain a bit more composure before he gives it to you. 

“Inside,” you plead with a high pitch in your tone, desperate to feel full of him. “Please, sir.” 

“Fuck.” His hips pick up their previous speed as he lets go of your wrists, letting you grab hold of the shelves once again. “A-are you sure?”

Is it risky?

Absolutely. 

But, the risk is there whether he pulls out or not. And right now, with every heightened, burning cell in your body and the already present risk of doing this at work, you want it. You need it. Every caution went out the window the moment he walked through the doors tonight. 

“Y-yes,” you stutter. “Fill me up, sir.” 

A deep, rumbling sound you’ve yet to hear from him erupts from the depths of his chest, and within seconds of your plea, he’s doing just as you said. He’s filling you with everything he’s got, so much that you feel it spilling down the insides of your thighs. 

He slows himself to a complete stop, stilling himself inside of you as he catches his breath and letting you do the same. “Goddamn,” he mutters through panting breaths. “You’re just too fucking perfect.” You hiss as he pulls himself out all the way, slow and steady so you’re as comfortable as possible. You reach down to pull your leggings up, but he gently stops you before you can finish. “Just a second, doll.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder as he’s taking off his denim shirt and reaches it down to clean the traces of him left on your inner thighs. “We sure made a mess,” he snickers as he helps you bring your leggings back up. 

You feel you have to muster every little bit of strength you have left to turn your body around to face him. He giggles at your exhausted state, and you can’t help but grin at the state of him. Sweat accumulated on his eyebrows, dripping down his cheeks, his eyes heavy and drowsy.

He drapes his shirt over his shoulder before he pulls you into a lazy hug, holding you against his warm body. You fully melt into him, letting your arms fall to his sides and your head rest against his chest. “You’re going to have to help me put those books back on the shelf,” you chuckle, remembering just how many of them hit the ground. 

You feel his chest rattle as he laughs and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s just leave ‘em. Blame it on the ghosts.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve never looked forward to your birthday. Years of it being spent alone, your mom never allowing you to have birthday parties, people constantly forgetting about it…you just can’t recall a time that you actually felt loved on this day. So, it’s just another day to you. You’ve learned to not expect much from people when it comes around. 

And just like any other day as of late, today is filled to the absolute brim with school, work and the countless things you’ll need to do at home. 

Just another day.

But you know that this one will perhaps be a bit harder, as it’s the first you’ll spend without your dad. Even though birthdays have always left you feeling just as insignificant as the other 364 days of the year, your dad would still make it a point to surprise you with a little something every morning on this date.

Usually, it was a red velvet cupcake from the Sweet Crumb bakery just down the street from your home, adorned with a single golden candle that he would wait to light until you were awake so the wax wouldn’t melt all over the cream cheese frosting. And, without fail, every year he’d lay a single white gerbera daisy on your pillow for you to wake up to, usually with a little note tied to the stem that said, “To My Wildflower.”

On your sixteenth, he gifted you your once favorite piece of jewelry— a little golden heart charm with the initial of your first name engraved on it, hanging from a golden chain. 

The very one you wore every single day. Well, until he left, that is. And that was when you decided you no longer needed it, that it simply didn’t mean the same to you. 

But somehow, it made its way to Ann Arbor, even though you distinctly remember throwing it away along with the handwritten letter that had been in the jewelry box. The same letter you still can't seem to find, even though it was always kept alongside your necklace. You recall hesitating when the thought of throwing it away crossed your mind. In the end, you weren’t quite ready to part with it.

Odd. 

And yet, despite everything, you’ve recently found a quiet happiness in knowing you still have the necklace. Today feels as good a day as any to wear it. Even though he left, he can’t take the necklace away, and wearing it gives you a small sense of control over it all.

Alas, there’s no cupcake or flower awaiting you this morning, though. Not much of anything, actually. Only once in your life can you remember a gift from your mom, and you’ve a strong feeling this year won’t be much different. 

You can’t remember a time in your life that you’ve truly been celebrated as a person, just for who you. You’ve always been left to wonder if you’ve just never been worthy of it. A life in the shadows, you’ve always said. In the shadows of everyone else around you, around the important people. 

For that very reason, you’re grateful to have stumbled upon the people who are in your life now—the ones who’ve been a thousand miles away but feel like they should have been with you all along.

But, they're in your life right now for a reason. There’s a deeper purpose to the fact that you’re just now meeting them in this stage of your life, not any other one. 

What the reason is, you may not know for a long time. Or, you may never know. Regardless, you’re grateful to them. And they have no clue just how much they’ve helped you come into your own in the incredibly short time you’ve known them. 

As you gaze at your closet, only partially filled with clothes, the thought of wearing something a bit nicer for class and work crosses your mind. Yet, as you rummage through the same five pairs of leggings and your tattered sweatshirts and oversized sweaters, you realize there’s nothing that nice to wear.

Your ensemble from the infamous night at the haunted house is washed and hanging neatly in the back corner of the small space, but the thought of wearing that again isn’t exactly a pleasant one. There’s just too much associated with it to want to put it on your body again. There’s always the outfit from the night of the birthday party, but you haven’t had a chance to wash those clothes just yet. So, your uniform of choice— leggings and a massive sweater— will have to do for today. 

Just another day.

Although, you figure it’d do little harm to wear your nice sweater today, the white button up with beige flowers stitched all over it. The one that pairs perfectly with your white, hightop converse, sprucing up your usual look a bit. And with the addition of your dads gifted necklace, your vibes are at least a little nicer today. Nicer than you normally feel, at least.

And, fuck it. You may as well add a touch of makeup, throw a few curls in your hair, just for the hell of it. 

Once you finish dabbing on a little black mascara and rose colored lip gloss, you take a step back from your vanity to get the full image of yourself. And surprisingly, you’re quite pleased with the outcome. 

With a few spritzes of your Being Frenshe vanilla cashmere perfume, you feel it’s about as good as it’ll get for the day. And, oddly enough, you’re pretty happy with it. 

Your birthday may not be your favorite, but at least you can make yourself feel a little better with your appearance. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to you, to feel okay in your own skin. But you’ve found that, lately, it’s come a little easier. 

(And you know exactly who to thank for that.)

You grab your cross body bag, picking up your phone that’s still plugged into the charger, and before you place it in the front zipper of your bag, you notice there’s an unread text from Jake that he sent about fifteen minutes ago. 

Before even opening the message, there’s a warm feeling flooding through your body at seeing his name, something you’re sure you’ll never get used to.

Jake: May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly. And yours, burning brightest as you embark on another trip around the sun. Join me for a celebratory feast on this fine eve. At the stroke of 7:30, look for me from the balcony of your watchtower. I’ll be awaiting your anticipated arrival from your chariot of the night, The Black Pearl. 

It’s not that you expected him to forget, but the prospect was strong in your mind nonetheless. It’s historical that people have forgotten your birthday, or at least didn’t pay it enough mind to reach out to you about it. So it’s no wonder why you questioned whether or not someone you’d just met a few months ago would think to text you. 

But, it's Jake. Jake is different, and you know that. You've seen his heart.

Just as you’re about to respond, you see the three little dots bubbling under his last text, so you wait a second to see what else he has to say.

Jake:  Also, there's a surprise for you in your car. (Please lock it at night) See you in around 12 hours, beautiful.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re shocked when you see the most beautiful bouquet of white gerbera daisies mixed with wildflowers sitting propped up in your driver's seat. It’s the biggest you’ve ever seen; there must be at least fifty daisies wrapped up in there. 

(It appears as though you did get your daisy this year after all— and then some.)

But that’s not it. There’s an incredible red dress lying across the back seat with a jewelry box sitting on top of the crimson, satin fabric. And just when you think he thought of everything, you spot a pair of black heels on the floorboard, a note attached to the ankle strap of the left one. 

Wear this tonight, and you’ll be the loveliest sight. - JTK

My god. The lengths he has gone to, all to make today as special as he can. It warms your heart, yet sends a slew of uneasy nerves through your blood. 

As much as you’re grateful for this new addition to your wardrobe, you can’t help the burgeoning thoughts that it may not fit the way you’d like.

Clothes shopping is a difficult task for you. The mere thought of knowing your size, your exact measurements…it’s a massive trigger, suffice to say. 

So, you just don’t do it. Sticking to leggings and oversized tops is the easiest thing for the very simple fact that those items always fit the exact same. Most of what you have in your closet that aren’t those things are items you bought years and years ago that you’d always had the best intentions of wearing, but couldn’t ever bring yourself to do it.

The thought of trying on this dress is a scary one. The thought of it not fitting…terrifying. Mind-numbingly.

Jake doesn’t know that. Of course, he had no idea of your inhibitions to try new clothing when he bought this for you. It’s the sweetest gesture, and his intent is nothing but pure. Nonetheless, you’re worried about the whole thing.

What if it truly doesn’t fit? What if you despise the way it looks on you? It could highlight all of your worst features, it could cling to the areas of your body and put them on display. 

But he’s expecting you to wear it. 

A rock in a hard place. You’re completely stuck. 

The last thing you’d allow yourself to do is make him feel bad for something he had no idea would trigger you so bad.

You can’t control how your body will look in the dress, how it’ll hug you in perhaps a few ways that may be unflattering. But one thing you can take control of today, is how much food you decide to put into your body.

Meals are simply out of the question today— until your date, at least. 

You’re not risking the inevitable pooch that will make itself present with anything you decide to eat. A little hunger is okay if it means you might fit the dress a little better. 

You take the dress, shoes and jewelry from the back of your car, grab the lovely bouquet and head back up to your apartment to set everything in your room.

As you stare at the dress laid out on your comforter, you can’t fight the rush of anxieties creeping up. As much as you want to try it on now, so you’ll know for sure if it’ll be a good fit for tonight, you just can’t. Not yet. You’d like to remain as blissfully unaware for as long as you possibly can. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You feel rather accomplished as you leave your Classic Horror course, having just gotten back your analytic paper on the ever scandalous novella Carmilla with a ninety eight percent decorating the front left corner in red ink. 

And even better, your professor told you that your paper scored the highest out of the forty six people in your class. 

You're mentally patting yourself on the back as you head to the library for your shift, feeling a sense of pride in your work that you initially thought wasn’t worthy of any praise. 

Movack's class is canceled for today, and you’re a little sad about that. You never thought the day would come when you’d be upset about not having Movack’s class, the one that’s shown you grief after grief this semester. But, it’s the one that introduced you to Jake. And with how things are at last falling into place, that class has turned out to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to you.

But, not having Movack’s class means you can get a few extra hours of work in. Your bank account will certainly be grateful for it, and, in truth, you love your job enough to sacrifice a few hours of free time. 

You’re almost sure that you’re the only person in the world who wants to go to work on their birthday. Natalia offered more than once to work extra to cover your shift, but you wouldn’t hear of it. Apart from being with Jake, the library is the best place to be today. (And t certainly beats being stuck at home.)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A huge bunch of sparkly silver balloons is the first thing that catches your eye as you’re nearing the circulation desk.  And right next to the balloons, is your dearest Natalia with an excited smile stretched across her perfect teeth. 

She’s not even supposed to be at work today. Yet, here she is. And you’re so happy to see her.

“The birthday girl!” She exclaims, practically sprinting to you while holding out a gift bag that perfectly matches the balloons. 

“Nat! What did you do?” You exclaim through a ridiculously large smile, so big it’s almost embarrassing. 

You’re not used to this kind of attention, especially on your birthday. 

A day that you had prepared yourself to be just another day, has turned out to be one of the best birthdays you’ve ever had. 

And you needed it. 

You just didn’t realize how badly you needed it until you got it. It feels silly to be so emotional about everything, but it just can’t be helped. Happy, thankful tears begin falling down your cheeks as you try to sniff them away, but to no avail.

Nat sets the gift down and pulls you into a full body hug the moment she sees your emotions surfacing. There’s no sense in hiding them, especially with Nat. If anyone is going to understand your feelings, it’s her. 

“I’m not letting go until you do,” she says, squeezing you tightly in her toned arms. She smells so good, so much like her. Like a field of lilacs and freshly brewed coffee. 

When you finally decide to let go, she uses the sleeve of her fitted mustard yellow turtleneck to wipe thye tears from your cheeks.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you tell her once you notice the splotch of mascara you left on the shoulder of her top. 

“Don’t be sorry,” she responds, picking the gift back up and holding it out to you once again. “But you have to open this before you go fix your makeup.” 

With shaky hands, you take the bag from her, instantly noting its weight. 

“Nat, you shouldn’t have done–” 

“I wanted to,” she interrupts. “Now, open it!”

You reach your hand in the bag and pull out something wrapped it white, sparkly tissue paper. It’s heavy, but not too heavy, and oval in shape. As you begin ripping away the tissue, you see the beginnings of a beautiful bronze antiqued frame with rose gold flowers carved into it. And when you see the photo it surrounds, the tears begin making their appearance one more.

Why can’t I keep it together?  

It’s a photo of you and Nat, a candid shot of her helping you fix your hair as you’re getting ready in Jake’s room for a scene. You’re dressed in the red gown from earlier scenes, so the photo is at least a few months old. 

It's beautiful. It perfectly embodies your friendship with Nat, capturing where it was then and where it is now. It's a frame, frozen in time, depicting how she has helped you every step of the way since the day you met her, always being right there behind you in everything you do.

“Nat it’s–” You try, choking on your words through heavy emotions. “I just love this so much.” 

You stare at it a few moments longer before pulling her in for another embrace. But as you’re holding her close, you suddenly begin to wonder…

“Who took this?” You ask her, breaking the hug only a little so you can see her face. 

“I’ll give you one guess,” she winks. 

“Jake?” you ask, shocked. Yet, somehow, not shocked at all. She nods her head to confirm, and all you can do is smile at the lovely thought that this simple gift represents so much. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Get a plate! There’s plenty here,” Nat says as she’s filling her silver paper plate with one of everything from the spead.

Cupcakes, a massive variety of chips and every dip one could possibly want for, pretzels, popcorn, an entire fruit tray with a white ceramic bowl holding a fluffy cream cheese dip…

So. Many. Snacks. 

So much temptation on a day that you really don’t want to be tempted. You can’t risk your tummy sticking out tonight for your date, and any amount of these snacks will do just that. 

But dammit, they look incredibly appetizing. And your empty stomach is begging you to scarf down one of those vanilla cupcakes with the pretty baby-pink frosting. 

You feel guilty about it. Shameful. Nat spent so much time and money on this for you, but you just can’t allow yourself to do it. You won’t do it. 

Eating isn’t a priority right now.

“I will in a bit! I just need to enter these returns really quick,” you tell her, pretending to focus on your computer that isn’t even turned on yet, making haste in gathering up whatever paperwork that’s around you to try and bullshit your way out of this. 

It’s not really working, though. You don’t even have to look at Nat to know what she’s thinking, what her face is saying. 

“It can wait,” she jolts, her tone short and sharp as ever. “I know you didn’t eat breakfast. And I can bet you don’t have any lunch plans.” She grabs the papers out of your hands, setting them aside. “So, eat something. Now.”

How does she–? 

Think of something to say, y/n. Quick. 

“I, um, I actually have food in my car for lunch. Just forgot to bring it in—”

“Come here,” she cuts you off, taking your right hand from the keyboard as you’re trying to sign in to the computer and leading you to the back room. She closes the door and motions for you to sit down next to her on the pile of old books you usually sit on when you’re sorting through things to be shelved. “What's going on with you?”

“Nothing! I just—” 

She holds a hand up between you both, stopping you before you can continue with whatever bullshit was going to fly out of your mouth. “Don’t you dare tell me nothing. You hardly ate anything at the birthday party, you never take your fifteen minute meal breaks at work, you turn me down for lunch almost every day and when you do actually go with me, you take maybe three bites of your tiny salad and chug your water.” 

You’re stunned silent for a moment. For several moments, actually. 

What do you say? There’s nothing you can say, no excuse that could ever suffice when she’s caught on to this much.

You don’t like talking about it. Talking about it, to you, is a much worse feeling than the painful hunger you’ve put yourself through. Admitting you have a disorder makes it all the more real; it’s too vulnerable of an admition for your liking. Especially outloud in the presence of someone you know you shouldn’t keep secrets from. 

“I—,” you start, but it’s useless. There isn’t a single word ready to leave your tongue. Nothing is ready at the forefront of your brain.

“You’re losing weight, y/n. And you’re losing it in the most unhealthy way possible.”

No. You can’t do this today. It’s not the time. 

It’s never the time.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Nat,” you spit as you stand up, walking toward the door until she stops you with a firm grip of your forearm, holding you in place. 

“We have to talk about it,” she asserts, frustrated. “You have to talk about it. You can’t keep pretending it’s not an issue. Stop avoiding it.”

You quickly snap your arm out from her hand, refusing eye contact. You know she’s right, but this means you have to confront it. And doing that is probably the worst thing about this illness that you’ve been carrying for so many years. It only shows itself periodically, making you believe you’re finally healed, only to rear its ugly head just when you think you’ve rid yourself of it once and for all. 

Confronting it feels like you’re giving it some sort of power; you’ve convinced yourself that ignoring it will make it go away. Eventually. 

But, you know that isn’t true. Years of living by that very sentiment have proven it. No matter what, it keeps finding its way back. An unwanted, cruel friend that somehow brings you a bit of comfort, no matter how horrible it may be to you. 

You can’t bring yourself to lie to Nat. Besides, she knows you well enough that there’s no use in it; she’d know you weren’t being honest. Both a gift and a curse that she knows you so damn well. 

Unsure of what to say, you just bring your hands up to your face in a sore, pathetic attempt at muffling your cries. 

Nat doesn’t say anything as you feel her grab you and hold you tight, keeping you close to her. You can feel the beating of her heart against your own chest, beating almost as quickly as yours is. 

As hard as this is for you, it’s probably hard for her, too. 

“I’m sorry to bring this up on your birthday,” she begins, slowly pulling herself away from you, taking your hands away from your tear-soaked face so she can look you in the eye. “But I’m doing it because I want you to have more of them.”

“I’ve just lost so much control, Nat,” you sob, finding it rather hard to look her in the eye as the words begin to spill from your lips. “Everything is out of my control. My dad leaving, my mom, my feelings for Jake that I wasn’t prepared for…” 

Even when good things are beyond your control, they’re still beyond your control. You never meant to fall for him as deeply as you did– it just happened. You tried to resist it, to keep your emotions in check, focus on anything else. But, feelings, especially those holding this much weight, can’t be controlled. Not by anyone. And as wonderful as these feelings are, there’s still this persistent fear that something, anything could go wrong with Jake, and you’ll find yourself powerless against it. Just one more thing you can’t control. It’s just so heavy. 

“But the one thing that I can control is–” 

“Eating.” She says it before you can, like she knew how much it hurt to say it out loud— she wanted to do it for you, take away some of the fear. “It’s something you can control when everything else seems too hard to manage. But, at some point, it’s not you that’s in control. It’s the disease that’s controlling you.” She pauses, waiting until you gather the courage to look her in the eye. “And when you avoid it, you’re letting it control you.” 

Every single thing she’s saying is true. Undoubtedly. 

It’s just not as simple as not letting it take control. God, you wish it were that simple. But with every factor at play– the unrelenting need to have reign, the severe bouts of body dysmorphia– it’s bound to take over, whether you like it or not. And that is where she’s very much correct; this illness manipulates you, makes you believe you’re the one calling the shots, when it’s truly the opposite. 

As you see the tears beginning to fall from her honeyed irises, your heart swells. She cares. She cares more than just about anyone else in your whole life has cared. “Please, y/n. You have to take care of yourself.” She hugs you again, holding you even tighter than before as you both cry together. “Take care of yourself for you, and for all of the people who need you healthy, who need you here.”

Need. 

You’re needed? 

Even with as long as you’ve been taking care of your mom, needed isn’t something you’ve ever felt of yourself. You’ve never felt good enough to be needed. 

“I know he hasn’t said anything yet,” she continues quietly, still holding you tight. “But Jake has asked me several times if you’re okay. He knows something is up, y/n. And he cares.” She pulls away, her arms outstretched as her hands hold onto your shoulders, thumbs rubbing the place where your bones are beginning to protrude a bit more.  “He just doesn’t know how to approach you about it, and he’s not always the best at showing it, but I promise you; he cares.”  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

There’s a plate of food sitting in front of you, and a war waging its highest battle inside of you. 

One thing you’ve always known to be true with this illness are the intense feelings of shame involved with…everything. 

Eating is shameful, not eating is shamefiul.

And what’s worse about the shame associated with not eating; when people know. 

Realizing that Nat knows, coming to terms with Jake knowing…

You’ve managed to swallow a few bites. A piece of popcorn here, a pretzel there. A few chips, (but no dip) a nibble or two of the pink frosting on top of your vanilla cupcake.

Do you eat because you want to? (Because you need to?) Or do you do it because people are starting to notice?

Right now, you know you’re only doing it to appease Nat. To make her feel better, to keep her from being upset with you. 

Is it right? No, absolutely not. It’s wrong in about twenty different ways. But, you’re eating. A half step in the right direction is still moving foreward. 

Things have been a little quiet with you and Nat for the last hour or so, quieter than usual. The only words you’ve spoken have been exchanges about students turning in or checking out books. You can’t get rid of the tension between you two, and you hate it. It’s not that she isn’t trying to ease it, you’re the one feeling awkward as fuck right now. It’s a strange feeling associated with someone knowing about your struggles. Even if it is your best friend. It’s yet another vulnerable layer of yourself peeled away from its protective barrier.  

If anyone should know, you’re glad it’s her. And you know that of everyone else, she has your absolute best interest at heart, always. No matter how brash she comes across. She’d never use it against you. 

Still yet, she knows. And anyone knowing is hard for you. It just means that she’ll keep a closer watch over you, especially when it comes to food. That is something you most definitely don’t want. 

You just don’t want things to be different with her. But, no matter how badly you wish for that, things will probably be much different from now on. People will always view you differently when they know what you struggle with, and Nat is no exception. 

“Looks like you’ve got a little visitor,” you hear Nat say as your eyes are fixed on the computer screen, breaking you from your endless thought train. When you look up, you see a vase filled with a lovely bouquet of more daisies, just like the ones left in your car for you this morning.

Jake. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he came to surprise you at work, too. 

“More flowers?” You say with a winded giggle, reaching to slide the vase over to the side so you can see his face. “You’ve done way too much, Ja–”

Before you finish moving the vase, your stomach drops when you see who's responsible for this beautiful gift.

It’s not Jake who brought them to you. 

It’s Sam. 

And here he is, standing before you in one of the nicest outfits you’ve yet to see him in; black slacks with a handsome red knitted top underneath a black blazer. He’s holding your favorite coffee in his hand, and wearing the sweetest smile that has his mustache curling on either end of his lips.

“S-Sam! Oh, this is so sweet, but I—” 

“I figured you were probably getting off work pretty soon,” he interrupts, setting the coffee down next to the flowers. “I thought we could,” he pauses, removing his aviators and tucking his hair behind his ear. “ I just wondered if you’d want to go get dinner tonight. For your birthday, of course.” 

Fucking hell. 

His red cheeks and warm smile are making your heart ache. 

Looking at his sweet face is just…it’s almost too much. You know turning him down is going to hurt him. But it just might hurt you more. 

“That’s so sweet of you, Sam. But I…” 

Fuck. 

“I actually already have plans tonight.” 

He tucks another strand of hair behind his ear, fidgeting with the sunglasses he’s still holding. “Oh, okay,” he says with a heartbreakingly innocent smile. “With your mom?” 

Ugh.

Do you tell him? Do you lie to him for the sake of protecting him? It might crush him, and you don’t want to do that. But, he needs to know. And as much as you don’t want to utter the words, lying about it, only for him to find out later, is far worse. 

Well, here it goes. 

“No. I’m going with Jake.” 

That fucking hurt like hell. 

You have no doubt that the look on his face will stick with you for a very long time. His eyes, suddenly downturned like a puppy who’s just been separated from his mom, and his lips that have parted just slightly. His whole body slumps over, his shoulders seeming to go weightless as his arms fall to his side. 

I’m so sorry, Sam.

You hear Nat abandoning the desk, shutting the door to the backroom and leaving you alone with Sam, in complete silence. Good call, Nat. 

It’s the kind of silence that’s so quiet, it nearly hurts your ears. It’s awkward tension, your words left hanging in the air all around him. 

Please say something, Sam. Anything.

You feel like the dirt beneath the deepest points of the earth, even deeper than that. You and Sam weren’t anything even close to exclusive, but you know you led him on. Selfishly, and for all the wrong reasons. You love Sam, but you can’t see any relationship with him beyond the beautiful friendship you’ve grown. But now, you’re worried that all but vanished as soon as you uttered his brother's name.

“We just made the plans this morn—”

“...you’re going with Jake?”

His tone is almost pleading with you to say it isn’t so. He sounds sad. So, so sad. 

A part of you thought he might’ve gotten the idea by now that you and Jake have become a bit of an item. Or that Jake would’ve said something to him. 

But, given his reaction to this news, he most certainly had no idea. Meaning, you get to be the one to break it to him. 

Great.

He looks you in the eyes as he nods in understanding, a tiny, defeated smile on his lips. “Okay.” He hesitates, looking down to the ground for a brief moment, then back to you with a smile a bit more genuine than the last. He takes a deep breath and places his sunglasses back on his face. “No big deal. I hope you two have a great time.”

You try to thank him for the sweet gifts, but he’s already walking towards the door. Your heart suddenly hurts, hurts incredibly bad. You know he is hurt, and that is the very last thing you ever wanted to happen. 

But, at least he knows. Perhaps, since nothing was ever actually official between the two of you, he’ll be able to move on with no problem. 

As much as you are enamored with Jake, there will always be a soft spot in your heart for Sam, the one who’s been the most graceful with you since the very day you met him.

I’m so sorry, Sammy. 

You hear the door behind you creak open as Nat has determined the coast to be clear of any more awkwardness with Sam finally gone. “Well, that was brutal.” She says. “I guess I thought he would’ve figured it all out by now.”

“Me too,” you respond, still picturing the sad look about his sweet face. You feel weighed down with guilt, with shame. You shouldn’t have let it go as long as you did, shouldn’t have used him the way you did. 

But, what’s done is done. There’s nothing more you can do about it.

You just hope he’ll find it within himself to forgive you someday… 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve just finished your shower, with your hair and makeup flawlessly done. Your skin carries a subtle, enticing fragrance of vanilla and cashmere, and you’re wearing the new black lingerie set you’ve been eager for Jake to see.

But now, with everything perfectly in place, it’s time to finally try on the red dress he bought you. You’ve managed to put it off until now, but with only twenty minutes left before he’s due to pick you up, your time for stalling is running out. 

You’re feeling incredibly nervous, your tummy tight and a bit nauseous. You’ve not even checked the size yet—what if it’s completely wrong? What if it’s too small or too big? Did he guess your size just based on how you look?

No, y/n. He probably got your size from Malachi who has your literal exact measurements for your costuming.

But, what if it just doesn’t fit and looks terrible on you? Will it accentuate everything about your body that you don’t like?

Goddammit.

You’d give almost anything to have someone by your side right now. You wish your mom could be here to calm your nerves like she used to. But you know that turning to her might only heighten your anxiety. Instead, you’re frozen in fear, staring at the red dress draped across your bed. Its silky fabric shimmers softly in the dim light of your room, only  your apprehension.

But then, an idea crosses your mind. The only person who knows about your dysmorphic thoughts, your best friend who understands you better than you sometimes understand yourself, is just a mere phone call away. A FaceTime away, even. Though things were a bit rocky with her today, she's still the only person you want to help you through this right now.

With only fifteen minutes until he’s set to arrive, you quickly grab your phone and search Nat’s contact, tapping the little film icon to the right of her name.

You set your phone up on the vanity as it’s ringing, and just as she answers, the look on her face reminds you that you’re only wearing a black lace bra and matching thong. 

“Goddamn, y/n!” She shouts, bringing her closed fist up to her mouth. “Daniel definitely has some competition now!”

“Nat, stop it!” You chuckle, making a horrible attempt at trying to cover yourself up. 

“Whatcha need, hot stuff?” 

“Jake bought me a dress to wear tonight, and I’m terrified to try it on,” you say, holding it up in front of the phone so she can see it. 

“Girl, that will look sexy as fuck on you. What the hell are you so scared about?” She asks, shocked as you show her the gorgeous outfit he so lovingly surprised you with. 

“I’m just…what if it doesn’t fit me and I look like utter shit in it?” 

“How the fuck are you going to know if you don’t just put the damn dress on?” She loudly asserts, intently watching you with a very annoyed expression, impatiently waiting for you to try it on and get over this hesitation you're feeling. “We’re not having another Alter’d State dressing room incident; put that bitch on.”

“Jesus, okay! Give me a second.” 

You step out of frame, rolling your eyes and giggling at her aggressive love that you’re starting to somewhat get used to. 

And, being distracted by her aggressiveness has somehow helped you to finally put this dress on your body. You did it so quickly, without hardly a thought, that you honestly didn’t even realize you actually did it. 

Your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the soft, silk fabric, smoothing it over your hips and tugging it into place. It feels tight, a snug fit you wouldn’t normally choose for yourself. 

But without having taken a single glance in the mirror, you can tell that it most definitely fits you. As you instinctively run your hands up and down your sides, feeling it out before looking at your reflection, you’re realizing that it actually fits you really well.

But, you’re worried about how it looks on you. As you’re feeling around your body, you’re noticing the way your lower belly sticks out, the very distinct protrusion of your hips, the dips above your thighs. It’s very tight. It may fit a little too well, and that meaning it's probably putting all of your insecurities on display.

“Y/n! Hurry up, already!” You hear Nat spout from your phone that's still perched upright on your vanity. 

“You have to be honest with me, okay?”

“Aren’t I always?” Nat scoffs. 

Running your hands over your body once more, sucking in your tummy as much as you possibly can, you take tentative steps in front of your phone screen. 

It’s just Nat, it’s just Nat…

“Well?”

“BITCH!” She yells, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, almost falling over from her sheer volume. “That dress was fucking made for you! Why are you always so weird about clothing, when everything you try on looks perfect on you?” She continues, Danny now in the frame and agreeing with her. 

A wave of relief washes over you, feeling your cheeks warm at her words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You really think so?”

“Uh, yeah, babe. You’re going to leave that boy completely speechless.” 

You step to the side, allowing yourself to see your full image in the vanity mirror. With every ounce of strength you have in you, you do your best to ignore the things about yourself you typically focus on. Instead, the first thing you notice is the way your breasts are accentuated beneath the tight fit, the way the square neckline is just low enough to highlight your clevage in a tasteful, yet sensual way. You’ve never seen your breasts so round and full at the top like this. Part of it is all thanks to your new bra, and part of it is definetely due to the fit of your outfit. 

Wow. 

And although it’s sleeveless, thick straps being the only thing giving your shoulders some coverage, you’re not tempted to put anything over to cover your arms over fear you’ll hide the incredible things it’s doing for your chest. 

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the fucking best, you know that?” 

“Fuck yeah I do,” she chuckles, her and Danny blowing you mass amounts of kisses over the phone. “Have the best time tonight, and keep me updated!” 

She hangs up the call just as Jake sends you a text that he’s just about here. 

The strappy heels he gifted you with the dress are sitting next to your bed. You place your feet in them, (perfect size, of course) securing the strap around your ankles. When you stand, you feel a bit like a newborn deer attempting to gain balance. But after a moment of practice, striding around your room a few times, you feel a bit more comfortable in them. 

With one final glance in the mirror, doing everything you can to only focus on the things about your appearance that you do like, your gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the left of your vanity. The very one Jake left in your car along with the rest of your outfit for the evening. 

You lift the lid, and inside are the most glorious, tear shaped black diamond earrings. My god, they’re stunning. And not that you’d care either way, but by the looks of them, they’re most definitely real. You can’t even begin to fathom the amount he spent on them, on everything he’s done so far. And the night has hardly begun. 

It’s an almost uncomfortable feeling to be so cared for on your birthday. There’s a budening, lingering thought that you truly don’t deserve everything that’s been done for you so far.

The birthday party, where everyone showed you immense amounts of love and adoration, Sam’s sweet and gentle gestures, the beginnings of what you’re sure will be the most elegant evening you’ve ever experienced…

Is it possible that, just maybe, you are worthy of a love you’d never thought fathomable in your life thus far? 

It still feels awfully strange, but, a good strange. A welcome strange. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“Where are you going?” You hear your mom rudely question, with a cough behind the Kleenex in her hand, as you’re pulling your coat from the front closet. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“Going out,” you say while looking through the peephole to see if Jake has made it up the stairs yet. “And it’s a new dress.” You check your makeup once more in the mirror next to the door, brushing away the fallen eyelash sitting on top of your cheek. “Dinner is ready for you in the oven, and I left your medications next to your bed— have you taken them?” 

She scoffs as she looks you up and down, as though she’s horrified by what she sees. “And with who?” She asks, sounding utterly shocked that you could possibly have anyone who’d want to celebrate you on your birthday while altogether ignoring your question. 

“Jake.” Your answer is sharp and quick. To the point, not letting yourself fall for the guilt she’s inevitably preparing to lay on you. 

You’ve done everything she’s needed tonight. The apartment is spotless, there’s plenty for her to eat, her oxygen tank (that she refuses to wear against the doctor's order) is full. 

God forbid you get to enjoy your own birthday—for once. 

“So I don’t even get to spend your birthday with you?” 

There it is. 

There’s no doubt of what she’s trying to do, and you’re not going to give her the space to do it. She’s never prioritized your birthday, hasn’t even so much as acknowledged it once today. She just wants an excuse to argue, a reason to keep you here when you both know you don’t need to be. 

If you don’t give her the attention she wants, she doesn’t hold the power to make you feel bad. So, you’ll just ignore her every attempt at putting you down. 

And clearly, she’s not happy about it. “I see,” she mutters. “Guess your mom isn’t important enough to spend your special day with. And that dress is a little too skimpy, if you ask me.” 

She knows the perfect way to trigger you, the perfect things to say that’ll make you want to rip the dress off and cover yourself with the nearest oversized outfit, or hide beneath your covers and forget tonight was ever supposed to happen. 

 “Trying to impress him with your body won’t get you where you think it will,” she keeps on. Her voice is becoming louder, as if she knows you’re choosing to not hear what she’s saying. She thinks yelling will get your attention a little better. “A little pathetic, if you ask me!”

Good thing I didn’t fucking ask you, you think safely to yourself. 

She’s making it really fucking hard to not say anything, but thankfully Jake knocks on the door right at the perfect time before your mouth gets the best of you. 

Don’t listen to her, don’t listen. 

You hear her make continued, snide remarks about how your body looks, but you’re too preoccupied with getting to the door to meet Jake. And once you do that, you’ll be safe from whatever shit she’s spewing at you. The first thing he does when you open the door for him is greet your mom, but she isn’t having it. 

“Don’t be out all night,” she says as she makes her way to her room, slamming the door behind her. 

“Just ignore her,” you say to Jake. “She’s in a mood.”

“You look like an absolute dream.” He completely disregards the interaction with your mother, choosing to focus all of his attention on you. He walks in a circle around you, eyes grazing every inch of your body. “I knew this would look immaculate on you,” he attests, hands reaching out to gently squeeze your hips.

But the real dream is him. 

He’s adorned in his usual all black, but it’s much different than anything you’ve yet to see him wear. 

Handsome just simply isn’t a strong enough word. Perfection is the closest way to describe what you’re seeing in front of you. 

Tailored black pants that hug him just right. A black vest with a dramatic scooped neckline that plunges far past his chest, allowing for the best display of his chain that holds so many silver coins, more than you ever see him sport. And alongside them, hanging a little lower than the rest, is a silver sword charm That one, specifically, is reminding you of where it all began with him. 

My Arthur. 

His blazer drapes over his broad frame with effortless elegance, sitting atop his wide shoulders as if it were crafted just for him.

And his hat. 

His black, wide brimmed hat, the very one you’re sure he wore the day you met him. The one that, despite your every reservation, piqued your interest. 

Just when you thought that he had gone all out with his attire, the extra nine is added when you catch sight of his silver and black striped boots.

“Jake, you look…” Your breath catches in your throat. No word seems adequate. You can’t find the strength to resist pulling him in for a deep kiss, the only way to truly express how much you love the way he looks.

You catch a hint of his aftershave on his lips, mingling with the taste you’re coming to know as distinctly his.

God, he tastes so good. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you last saw him, but you’ve missed his lips.

And you miss him the moment he pulls away, just as the kiss deepens.

“We better go, love,’ he whispers against you. ‘Can’t be late for our reservation.”

Reservation?

“Where are we going?” You inquire, staring intently at his lips that you want nothing more than to become lost in. 

“You’ll see when we get there.” 

With a playful, gentle slap to your ass, he takes your hand in his and leads you out the front door. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It looks like a fucking castle come to life directly out of a medieval romance. (Rather fitting.) A wonderful, massive Victorian mansion that nearly appears out of place in the modern streets of the big city. 

How have you never seen this place before?

The outside is full mortar stone, the roof different levels of height with rounded columns that are peeked at the top. Extravagantly huge balconies are wrapped around each level. It’s glorious, it’s too much. 

“What is this place?” You ask, stunned and wide eyed as he pulls the Rover up to the man dressed in formal attire waiting for him at the circle drive near the back of the building. 

It has valet parking. Fucking valet. You’ve never been to a place fancy enough that you don’t even have to park your own car. 

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to read the red, oval sign to the right of the elegant circle drive. 

The Whitney: Restaurant | Ghostbar | Gardens is displayed in white lettering. 

One thing is for absolute sure; there is nothing like this where you’re from. Not even remotely close.  

Out of instinct you reach for the handle of the door, but Jake stops you with a firm grasp on your upper thigh. 

Fuck. You’ll never get used to the grip of his hand, how strong and intentional his fucking hands are. You never knew you could be so turned on by a man's hand before; that was before Jacob Thomas (and his sexy ass hands) entered your life. 

“Stay right there,” Jake tells you as he jumps out of the driver's seat, handing the formally dressed man his keys along with a tip for his services. 

When Jake opens your door, he takes your hand and helps you from your seat, as though you truly are royalty. 

Once you're out of the car and sturdy on your feet, he locks his arm with yours, almost as though he’s escorting you to the most lavish ball. 

Before taking control of the Rover, the valet opens the door for you and Jake, revealing the incredible interior. 

And just as you suspected, it’s stunning. It’s more than stunning. 

You knew places like this existed, but never in your wildest fantasies did you think you’d be stepping foot in one of this magnitude. 

The first thing you notice is the baby grand piano sitting in the massive foyer near a painted portrait that must be over a hundred years old. 

Gold’s and royal pink’s detail the walls an intricate pattern, and the ceiling. Wood carved in utter beauty and class. 

“Right this way, Mr. Kiszka.” 

A woman, dressed in a floor length, black gown, guides you around the corner to a private room. 

Your breath is abruptly stolen from your lungs when you walk through the massive, gold trimmed french doors separating the space from the rest of the mansion. It’s dimly lit, with most of the emitting from the candles positioned all around the room. Next to the single round table, fixed with a black lace cloth and red napkins in the shape of roses, is a tremendous fireplace that surpacres your height. 

As Jake leads you to it, you're able to really see the intricate detailing across the stone work. It’s full white stone, with angels that are nearly the size of you carved into the sides, reaching from the top to the hearth. 

“Here you are, just as you requested.” She motions to the quaint table, the only one in the whole room, seated directly next to the immaculate fireplace. “Included in our private dining is a complimentary bottle of Antinori Tignanello, imported directly from Tuscanny. May I begin the evening by pouring you both a glass?”

Jake instantly looks to you for your answer, and when you eagerly nod your head, he tells the waitress that you’d both love to have a glass. 

“Jake,” you whisper as she leaves to fetch your drinks. “Imported from Tuscanny? How much did all of this cos–”

“That, my sweet doll,” he interrupts. “Is not something you should worry your pretty mind over.” 

His smile may actually melt your heart. You can tell, with the twinkling in his eyes, that he truly wanted nothing more than to give you the best. This all feels so authentic, so pure. Nothing you’ve ever quite felt before. 

Before you know it, the waitress is back, setting large, deep wine glasses in front of you and Jake. “The Tignanello is rich with notes of cherries, red berries, and a hint of lavender.” She begins pouring your glass first, then carefully finishing with Jakes. “It’s beautifully complimented with notes of roasted coffee and a touch of cocoa powder, closing with a tad of spice and fresh herbs.” 

Jake takes his glass, holding it out in front of him and signaling you to do the same. As soon as you do, after a clink of your glasses, you both take a sip. 

Wow. 

“Extraordinary,” Jake says to the waitress, who’s earnestly awaiting your reactions. “Absolutely remarkable.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the way he’s swirling the liquid around his wine glass, as though he’s a bonafide wine connoisseur. So very classy, so very sexy.

You start to feel a bit nervous when she and Jake then look to you to hear your thoughts. You’re not sure what to say that won’t sound completely silly. Jake knows how these places work, and being from the tiniest town in Oklahoma, you most surely do not know the proper etiquette of a place such as this. 

You’re no expert when it comes to imported wines, but you certainly know a good wine when you taste one. And this one is probably the best you’ve ever had. But how do you say that without sounding too…Oklahoma?

“Uh it’s, I mean it’s the best I’ve– it’s truly stupendous.” 

…stupendous?

Jake covers his mouth to conceal his little giggle, and the waitress has a bit of a dumbfounded look about her. You couldn’t have said that any more awkwardly if you tried. 

“G-glad to hear that!” She giggles, breaking the unease hanging in the air. “I’ll be back momentarily with your salads.”

Your head falls in your hands from pure embarrassment. “I am so weird,” you say, muffled. 

Jake chuckles again, taking your wrist as you look up to him through your fingers. “You are not weird. That was adorable.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The vibration from your phone can still be heard, though it’s tucked away in your clutch. 

Someone is texting you, and you’ve a good feeling it may be your mom. Your anxiety grows stronger with each text that comes through, knowing she’s probably sending you messages out of anger over tonight. 

Though you want to just ignore it and be present, when it vibrates two more times, one message sent directly after the other, you decide to just turn your phone off for the rest of the evening. 

“Everything alright?” Jake asks, noting your sudden onset of anxiety when you see several text messages from, just as you thought, your mother. 

They all say essentially the same thing, accusing you of not caring about her, of only caring about yourself and Jake. It’s not worth the turmoil of responding. She’s been fully taken care of for the night, she’ll be just fine on her own for a little while. 

“Just my mom,” you tell him as you shut your phone off and slide it back in your clutch. 

“I know she’s sick,” he begins, finishing off the last bite of his arugula salad. “But, that doesn’t give her the right to treat you the way she does.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, searching for the strength to eat more than a few bites of your salad. “You’re right. She hasn’t always been this way, though.” 

You know that doesn’t matter. But you also know, deep down, that she has always been like this. You’ve just convinced yourself that it was okay, that she wasn’t that bad. 

He thanks the waitress when she takes his now empty salad plate, leaving yours as it’s still decently full. “When did she start acting this way?”

Ugh. 

“I guess…Well, it got worse when my dad left, around the time she got her diagnosis. And the move was a lot for her.” That felt weird to say to him. 

“Natalia told me a little about him, about your dad,” he admits with a worrisome tone, like he’s revealing a great secret. “I–I hope that’s okay. That she told me, I mean. You hadn’t said anything about him and I–”

“Of course it’s okay,” you nod, interrupting his apologetic spiel. You’re glad he knows, and you’re even more glad that you didn’t have to tell him.

You then start feeling a familiar ache in your heart associated with thinking of your dad, reaching up to grasp your necklace. “He just couldn’t handle it any longer, I guess. We were just too much for him.” 

I was too much for him…

“Do you miss him?” He continues, eyes attentively narrowing on you. 

“I shouldn’t,” you start, awkwardly shifting in your chair. “But, yeah. I do. He was…it felt like he was the one who loved me most, you know? Or, I thought he did. And when he left…I just didn’t expect it. Never saw it coming.” 

Knowing in your heart that you miss him is one thing, but saying it…

“It’s okay that you miss him,” Jake says, reaching across the table and taking your hand, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Even if what he did hurts like fucking hell, you can still miss someone who hurt you. You can still love them, too.”

That isn’t something you’ve allowed yourself to acknowledge, that you can still have feelings of love for someone that caused you so much pain. But, you do still love him. You love him so much. And you thought he loved you the same. That is why it hurts so fucking bad. The memories of him are comforting, but they serve as a reminder of the fact that he chose to leave. 

You squeeze Jake’s hand as tears begin to form. “I’ve just felt so guilty for missing him, like I’m betraying myself for missing someone who left us…who left me.”

“Missing him doean’t make you wrong or weak,” he tells you, gently shaking his head as his waves brush against the tops of his shoulders. “Just makes you human, you know?”

For the first time in quite a while, you feel a spark of hope. Maybe, through Jake, you can find a way to heal, to embrace a future that isn’t held back by pain and abandonment. 

A smile tugs at your lips at the thought, wondering if there could be a future with Jake. Right now, you’re having a hard time imagining one without him. “Thank you, Jake. I really needed this tonight.”

“You deserve it, doll.” He lifts your hand, kissing your knuckles through a smile. “This and so much more.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The anxious, intrusive thoughts are relentless as she sets the beautifully plated Chicken Francese before you, urging you to take only a bite or two and leave the rest untouched on the fine china

But when you look at Jake, sitting across from you, taking a generous sip of his wine, it’s clear he’s waiting for you to take a bite before he starts on his own.

A gentleman, through and through. 

It’s no surprise that when you look into his eyes—kind and unwavering in their adoration for you—the anxious thoughts suddenly dissipate, melting away in the warmth of his gaze.

My safe place. 

The way he looks at you, as if you’re the most stunning vision he’s ever laid eyes on, with pure awe shining in his golden irises.

He makes you feel beautiful, like you’re enough.

And when you feel that way, you feel deserving of nourishment. He makes you feel worthy. There’s something about his presence, about how he cares for you as if you’ve been together for the better part of your young lives, as if you’ve always known him…

He has a way of quieting the intrusive thoughts, even if only for a moment. Just the two of you, in this palace, enjoying each other’s company.

And, a moment is all you need to fill your body with the love you’ve been so scared to show it. Perhaps it’s how much love he shows your body that forces you to believe it’s okay for you to show it some love, too. 

The first bite feels like a small act of defiance against the days of hunger you've endured. The moment the warm, buttery chicken touches your tongue…it’s suddenly more than just food; it’s a reminder that you do deserve to nourish yourself. As you chew, the richness of the sauce envelops you, and the warmth seeps into your very being, igniting a spark of joy that you seem to only feel about food when Jake is around. 

You’re not just feeding your body; you’re healing your spirit, reclaiming a piece of yourself. With every forkful, you allow yourself to believe that it’s okay to feel good, it’s okay to fill your body with what it needs to sustain. 

As you stick your fork in what will be the last bite, you look to Jake. He seems to be enjoying the food just as much as you. And when you lock eyes, you fill your mouth with the very last morsel left on the china. A strength you didn’t know you had, but he has helped you discover it. 

Instead of feeling shame over eating the entire meal, you’re grateful for it. You’re happy you ate it all. Your body needed it, your mind needed it. 

No, there’s no shame. 

This is a new feeling; you're proud. 

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“You certainly didn’t give me much time for planning,” he says while placing a small, red velvet box on the table between you. “But thankfully, I was able to purchase this on rush order.” 

“You’ve done so much, Jake. I can’t accept anything else—” 

“Yes, you can.” He smiles, warm and comforting. “Open it, doll.” 

There’s no chance you can deny him, especially with that little pet name that not once has failed to make you utterly weak. 

You’ve no idea what this could possibly be, because he truly has gone all out for you. It makes you wonder what he would’ve done if he’d had more than just two weeks to plan everything, because it feels as though he’s done it all. 

Once you open the box, your jaw nearly hits the table beneath you. It’s a necklace with the most gorgeous sword pendant hanging from its chain. And, even better, it’s a near identical match to the one’s wearing. Only a bit smaller to suit you better. 

“To commemorate the completion of our film” he begins, standing from his seat and walking around behind your chair. Taking the box from your hand, he carefully pulls out the necklace and places it around your neck. “Because it led me to my Guiniverre.” 

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With a clink of your silver forks, you cheers with your first bites of chocolate lava cake before filling your mouths full of the gooey, decadent dessert. 

“Happy birthday, sweet girl.” He licks the extra chocolate off the fork, his tongue wrapping sensually around the metal, eliciting a few strong feelings within you. And he must notice; he catches your glare, (that you’re not exactly trying to hide) winking at you while gliding his tongue along his bottom lip. “Here’s to the enchanting splendor that is you.” 

He brings his napkin up from his lap, carefully dabbing his face with it before accidentally dropping beneath the table. “Oops,” he sneers. “Rather clumsy of me, hm?” 

You chuckle as he fluidly and elegantly dips under the white tablecloth to retrieve it, taking his time while he does so. 

It isn’t long before you feel a gentle, sturdy hand wrapped around your calf, slowly leading up to your bent knee. Then, following the smooth glide of his touch, you feel the softest kisses against the smooth skin along the same path. The fabric of your dress is bunched up to your upper thighs, his lips following, urging you to at last uncross your legs. And when you do, his kisses, more fervent and intentional, meet the inner thigh of your right leg, then your left. 

“Jake…,” you whisper, wanting more than anything to submit to his advances, yet feeling the shame of it all at once. “Not…not here, baby.” 

He responds with one long, slow lick of his tongue, nearly meeting the heat between your legs before backing away altogether. 

“Jake…please.” You reach your hands under the table, searching for his face to bring back to you. You feel his hands find yours, pulling your hand to his lips where you can feel him smile as he kisses your palm.

You can hardly conceal your elongated sigh of dismay when he lifts back up to sit in his chair. “Don’t look so sad, doll.” He folds his previously dropped napkin in front of you, teasing the hell out of you. “We’ll go home very soon for the rest.” He stands up, pushing in his chair before offering you his hand to help you up. “But first, we must embark on our tour of the mansion.”

As badly as you want him to take you right now on top of this table, the floor, anywhere, you can’t deny your excitement to get a better look at this glorious place. “Sounds wonderful,” you mutter as he leans in for a quiet kiss, leading the way to the foyer where your waitress is generously waiting to guide you through the Victorian home.  

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“We’re no strangers to the paranormal here,” she admits, walking you through a narrow hallway that leads to a multitude of rooms you’ve yet to explore. “There are numerous accounts of ghostly sightings. Many claim to see the very same apparitions.” 

She opens the door to a room decorated with Victorian furniture. Large, hand painted portraits of a man and a woman hang from the walls, framed with antique gold. 

“David and Sara Whitney were the original owners of the mansion after its completion in 1894,” she begins, pointing to the portraits that immediately caught your eye. “David personally oversaw the construction of his home, being sure that all fifty two rooms he requested were structured to his liking. Sara, his wife, insisted on a fireplace in each room,” she continues, drawing your attention to the one in the room you’re standing in. “But David wouldn’t hear of it. So, instead of the fifty two fireplaces she wanted, she only got twenty of them.” 

She continues taking you through each room that is available for tours, showing you seven of the ten bathrooms, giving you a detailed, rich history of the place and showing you photos of the paranormal activity caught on camera.

Though you’re utterly fascinated by it all, especially the ghost stories, you can’t seem to keep focus with Jake’s wandering hands. Every corner you turn, he reaches down to squeeze your ass. Everytime she looks away, he cups your breast with a strong grip.

You’ve smacked his hand away each time, fearful that she’ll eventually catch on to what’s happening behind her back. 

But, when Jake stops you, holds you up against the wall and locks his lips tight with yours, you decide to blow all caution to the wind at this point, unable to deny him any longer. That is, of course, until your fear becomes recognized. 

She stops mid sentence, clearing her throat to get your attention.“The tour is almost over,” she says, standing in the middle of the hallway, her hands resting on her hips. “Do you think you two and handle yourselves for just a few more minutes?”

Feeling completely embarrassed, you both awkwardly apologize and agree that you can manage it. (Hopefully, at least.) 

You wipe the smudged lipstick from your face and Jake’s before carrying on with the tour, keeping the touching to a minimum of just handholding. 

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The drive back to his place was full of red light kisses, heavy and hungry touches. Every still moment in the Rover resulted in your hands all over each other. 

Neither of you wasted anytime getting in the front door and down the hall, Jake stopping just as you approached the door to his bedroom. He’s holding you against the wall, hands wrapped tight in the roots of your hair as he kisses you hard and deep. 

His lips stay attached to yours as he leads you into his dim, warmly lit room, closing the door before he guides you to his bed, seamlessly laying you down on your back as he braces himself on top of you, taking his black hat off and tossing it to the other side of the bed.

He’s holding the back of your neck, fingers tangled in your now messy locks, his tongue filling your mouth with the taste of the last hints of the imported wine, reminding you of the lavish evening he’s already spoiled you with. 

He carefully moves your head to the side to gain access to your neck, kissing and sucking on the tight skin, humming everywhere his lips touch. You open your eyes only for a moment, but when you do, you see his dark red SG sitting on the stand. It’s reminding you of a promise he made, that one day he’d play for you. As much as you don’t want this to end, hearing him play is something you’ve thought about almost everyday since you discovered this facet about him. 

“Jake, can—can you do something for me?” You ask him while he continues to caress you with his lips. 

He stops only to respond, keeping as close to you as he can. “Anything for you, doll.”

Having the worst time attempting to talk as he’s licking along your neck, you point to the guitar sitting beside the bed, hoping he’ll know just what you’re wanting. 

“Yeah?” He plants one more kiss as he begins to sit up on the end of the bed. “Want me to play you a little something?”

You move to sit next to him, smoothing down your hair a bit, looking into his golden eyes with eagerness. “Would you?”

“Of course, my queen.” He flashes the warmest smile, tucking loose hair behind your ear while he sweetly kisses you once more. “I’d be delighted.”

He approaches the guitar stand, fingers lightly brushing against smooth surface before gracefully grasping the neck, taking it from where it rests. Draping the black leather strap over his shoulder and across his chest, he adjuts it so that it fits snuggly against his torso, cradling it comfortably against his body, letting the weight of the instrument settle in his hands.There’s a still humming sound when he plugs the chord into the small Marshall amp in the corner. 

“Needs a little tuning.” He takes his pick from the top of the amp and uses it to pluck a few strings, adjusting the knobs along the head. It doesn’t need much, though. It sounds wonderfully melodic already. And god, does he look beautiful holding it. It’s a brand new side of him that you’ve known was there, but seeing it…it’s only serving to increase your every desire for him. 

He lets out a satisfied hum when the strings are in perfect tune, his eyes flitting back up to you with a loving smile.“Any requests?” 

“Whatever strikes your fancy,” you tell him, ready to hear just about anything at this point, your body beginning to vibrate at the vision before you.

“Hm, what strikes my fancy…,” he begins, heavy in contemplation. Then, he looks at his wide brimmed hat still sitting on top of the duvet. And as though that was his very inspiration, you see the gleam in his eye when he picks it up to place it back on his head. “I feel it’s only proper when playing a little SRV,” he winks. 

He starts playing a few chords, and while you can’t quite place them, they do sound awfully familiar to you. They sound peaceful, soothing. “Do you know the story about Lenny?” He asks, continuing to play the beginning notes of the melody.

You smile when you suddenly make the connection. Lenny, a staple for any Stevie Ray Vaughan lover. Of course you recognize the melody, it’s a classic. You do know a bit of the song's backstory, but you’re willing to bet you don’t know as much about it as he does. And, you’re very much looking forward to hearing him talk about it. 

“I can’t say I do,” you admit, shaking your head, looking into his dark, whiskey eyes. “Tell me about it.”

His fingers continue strumming the all too familiar tune, swooning you with each heartfelt chord he plays.“It’s a profound melody, heavy with the weight of love for his wife, Lenora.” Still standing, he lifts a leg and places his foot along the edge of the mattress, letting his guitar rest against his knee. “He loved her deeply, and he set out to express that love through music. No lyrics, just pure music, melody.” 

You can feel the vibration of every note he plays, your eyes flicking back and forth from his to his fingers methodically and intentionally moving along the fretboard. The way he’s playing from memory, as though the song is woven into his very soul–it’s nothing short of exhilarating to witness such a beautiful thing. 

“It shows his ability to convey the deepest emotions through his guitar, how he can almost manipulate it to sound like a voice. There’s not a single word throughout the entire piece, yet you can indubitably hear the essence of his heart being spoken through his fingertips.” 

You’ve always been able to hear it in Stevie’s playing, and you swear you can hear it in Jake’s playing. The tune sounds nearly identical to the original, yet the message he’s conveying is a bit different, a bit more melancholy. Whatever is weighing on his heart, is coming through with every movement of his hands. 

When he reaches the most pivotal part of the song, he throws his head back, his eyes closed and brows furrowed together. His lips are parted, speaking quiet whispers to his instrument as his fingers move at a speed you didn’t know possible. 

The rich, bluesy tones emitting through his instrument, the painful yet adoring cries of the melodies. The careful vibratoes and reverbs that are so identifiably Stevie’s, mimicked in Jake’s very own stylistic approach. The rhythms, the variations in tempo…you know, without a shadow of a doubt that Stevie himself would be more than flattered by such a gorgeous rendition of his beloved piece. 

He then becomes fully immersed in the tune, his back arching as he throws his head back even further than before, sending his hat tumbling to the ground but he’s not paying it any mind. Just when you thought he couldn’t look more captivating, more sexy, he forgoes his pick, placing it on the edge of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, he plucks the remainder of the song at a slowed down tempo, each note still resonating with deep emotion. 

“He called her his guiding light, the source of his every inspiration,” he mutters after taking the pick from his mouth, gently strumming the final chord. “His love for her was evident in everything he did, but nothing quite captures it the way Lenny did.” 

He gazes at his guitar for a moment, his fingers gliding along the fretboard, a soft smile playing on his lips. With a lingering touch, he removes the strap and carefully places the guitar back on its stand.

You slowly rise to your knees on the edge of the bed, beckoning him with a subtle wave of your finger. He does without hesitation, and when he’s within reach, you grab hold of both sides of his jacket collar, drawing him even closer. His eyes, dark and heavy in lust, meet yours with a half grin, the air thickened with anticipation. 

“Does this mean you liked it?” He whispers, beginning to close the tiny gap between you. His hands find your hips, rubbing along the satin material of your dress until the fabric becomes bunched up at your waist. 

“Loved it.” ” 

Feeling as though you can’t hold back any longer, you pull him by his collar and melt your lips into his. So much passion, so much vigor behind his lips. 

His hands reach around to your exposed ass, squeezing the flesh hard in his grip before cracking his open palm against your right cheek. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You then lean down to kiss his neck as your fingers diligently begin to unbutton his vest. Much like when he was playing you the song, he throws his head back to allow you better access to the skin, his lips parted and heavy breaths falling from them. 

When you reach the last button, he lets you pull his jacket and vest off his body in one go, leaving his top half bare. You then lean down even further, letting your lips kiss along his sternum, sucking marks on the skin of his chest, licking along his nipples. He sucks in a breath as you do so, his fingers then becoming tangled in your hair while he hums and groans as you lean up to his neck once more. 

“You sound pretty, Jake…,” you mumble into his flesh, feeling the sped up beating of his heart as your lips meet the pulsepoint of his neck. “I think I like you like this.” 

You feel the bobbing of his Adam's apple against your lips as he chuckles, breathing deep and heavy while you continue grazing your lips over the tight skin, sucking and biting, smiling at the goosebumps and dark marks left behind.

“Jesus, what have you done to me?” He groans, still grinning when you bring your gaze to his pretty face. 

Each time you think you’ve at last broken through the entirety of his exterior, you find yourself digging deeper and deeper still, discovering there’s still much more beneath the surface that he’s slowly allowing you to reveal. You can feel him begin to crumble under your touch; for him to grant you this position of power… it’s not the Jake you met a few months ago. It’s a Jake you convinced yourself wasn’t there, that he wasn’t real.

As much as he makes you unravel before him, you’re discovering that you have the same effect on him. And oh, how empowering it feels.

Your hands cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing his pink cheek bones. His eyes, pupils dark and heavy against the warm amper of his irises,ock onto yours as his grip finds the small of your waist. “What have you done to me?” He softly echoes before his lips gracefully meet yours.

He leans you back gently, laying you against the mattress. Standing before you as you’re sprawled out on the bed, he gazes down at you with eyes that hunger for everything you are.

And the vision of him, shirtless and sweaty, his cock hard and strained against his black slacks. 

Goddammit. 

How could someone this alluring, this striking, be looking at you the very way he is right now? 

“Just want to look at you like this for a bit, doll,” he whispers, fingers delicately grazing your calves, falling to your ankles. “You know you’re beautiful, right?” He takes the heel off your left foot, then your right. He leans down closer to you, hovering above you. His hair tickles your chest, his lips brush against your collar bone. The coins hanging from his neck feel cold as they graze your chest. “Tell me what you want from me.”  

His breath is hot against your skin, his voice husky and deep.

His hands trail slowly down the curve of your torso, the warmth of his touch leaving a lingering everywhere they touch. When he reaches your shoulders, he pauses, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he gently slides the straps of your dress down your arms, the silken fabric whispering against your skin as it slips lower. With a soft tug, he exposes your bra, the lace barely concealing the soft rise of your breasts.

He dips his head, his hair splayed across your chest, and begins to nip and kiss the tops of your breasts. His lips leave a series of gentle marks, each one a claim, as his tongue, wet and warm, starts its slow and deliberate journey. He glides from the valley of your cleavage to your neck, savoring every inch of the path. He playfully takes the silver sword charm he gifted you earlier in his teeth, letting it dangle for a moment before releasing it to rest against your breasts.

With the charm now lying between you, he continues to lick along the curve of your neck, tracing the line of your pulse. His journey seals with a tender kiss, ending his path with an intimacy that sends shivers down your spine. “Tell me," he repeats.

Your mind and mouth are suffering a massive disconnect, your lips unable to utter the words you so desperately want to say. All you can do is whimper, squeal out a pathetic plea for him to ravish you. The upper hand you once had has all but vanished, all thanks to the power he will always hold over you.

He softly giggles when you grip his shoulders, pulling him into you as you wrap your legs around his back. What your mouth can’t say, your body certainly can. 

The kisses are heavy, sloppy. Your hands find their home weaved in his locks, pulling gently, but enough to elicit a weighted whimper from him, the most gorgeous sound. 

“Again,” he moans. “Do that again, doll.” 

Oh, he likes this. 

You comply, tugging at his chestnut waves once more, this time with more force. The same whimper escapes his plump lips, sending a shiver through your core.

As you pull again, his hand quickly moves between your legs, his fingers finding their place against your fluttering clit, moving in slow but intentional circles over the black satin covering you. 

Upon instinct your arch your back, silently imploring for more and more. 

Your mind and body ache for him when he sits up. He’s standing at the end of the bed once more, staring down at you, a sultry grin curling at the corners of his mouth. 

He says nothing as he pulls his belt through its buckle, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down from his pants. He drops them to the floor, leaving him only in his black boxer briefs. 

He reaches his hand down, lightly rubbing his palm against his clothed cock that’s practically begging to be freed from the constraining fabric. 

Jesus. 

As much as you’d love to feel his fingers, his tongue, you’re nearly desperate for his cock at this point, not in any place to wait much longer for him to fill you. 

His eyes darken as he watches you sit up and pull your dress off in one go, removing your bra next just as quickly. 

He hums as you bare your breasts, groaning as his eyes fall to your secret ink below the curve of your breast.“Lie back down, doll,” he groans, his voice rumbling deep from his chest. When you comply, he swiftly yanks your panties off, discarding them onto the floor. He then removes his boxers, finally revealing what you've been craving.

With a swift motion of your hips, he draws you to the edge of the bed, standing before you and sinking his fingers into your soft flesh. His cock glides against your folds, slowly tracing your slit, the tip teasingly nudging your clit. You press yourself against him, yearning for more contact as his head finally probes your wetness. 'Please,' you whisper, your voice cracked and trembling with desire.

You needn't say another word as he fills you slowly, inch by inch, gripping the backs of your thighs while he watches himself enter you. His heavy-lidded gaze remains fixed on your cunt as he stretches you, maintaining an impossibly slow pace. 

“Jesus,” he huffs through a staggered breath. “I love watching you take me.” He slides out slow and gentle, thrusting back in with the same deliberate pace. “I love the way you grip me, how you pull me in.” His voice grows deeper, raspier. “Feel me, doll?” He lays his palm against your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure slowly as his cock disapears inside of you. “Feel how much I fill you?” 

The thumb of the same hand that rests over your tummy glides down to your swollen clit, flicking the sensitive bud ever so lightly as he maintains his slow pace. You can no longer keep your eyes open; your lids grow heavier by the second from the overwhelming stimulation, listening to your mutual heaving breaths and the clinking of his silver pendants against his chest. 

Your cheeks flush with heat, and every muscle in your body tightens. You feel your walls clenching around him, pulsing and fluttering with each breath. 

“Let it go, doll,” he mutters deeply, watching as you begin to fall apart beneath him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

One more flick of his thumb sends you crashing into waves of pleasure. Your hand reaches down to grip the sheets, your nails digging into your palms. Your other hand finds your breast, sending jolts of sensation through you. Your back arches off the bed, skin tingling and glistening with sweat.

Each breath from your lungs is rigged and stuttered, your lips only able to cry his name over and over. 

He doesn’t stop, only slows enough to let you come down slow and easy, letting you truly feel every bit of your pleasure. 

After a moment to catch your breath, you muster the strength to reach up for his shoulders, pulling him down to you. His lips crash into yours, and he remains tucked inside you, staying numbly still as your walls flutter, your cunt making a mess of both him and the sheets.

“You okay to keep going, doll?” He asks, the sincerity in his tone tugging at your heart. 

You nod, silently pleading for another kiss—you suddenly find yourself craving the taste of his lips. “Mhm,” you mumble, keeping your lips pressed firmly against his.

Without breaking the kiss, he uses the strength of just one arm to flip the two of you over, his cock still nestled deep inside you.

You’re on top now, still kissing him as you begin to grind your hips slowly against his. You find the perfect rhythm, each movement consistently hitting that special spot inside you. Positioned just right, your clit rubs against his lower tummy, forcing you back into the precipice of another blissful end.

He moans deliciously against your lips, and you lift just enough to see his face. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips parted and pursed. “There you go, doll,” he mutters, his voice quiet and ragged. “Give it all to me.”

His hands grip your thighs, his nails leaving crescent moons on your skin. As they move to your hips, they urge you to move faster. Summoning the little strength you have left, you follow the rhythm of his hands, bouncing and grinding your body against his. 

With a sweaty palm, he slaps the left cheek of your ass, forcing you to cry out his name louder than you ever thought possible.

“Inside,” you manage through a whimper. “Cum inside, sir. P-please.”

'Fuck!' he groans, and within seconds of your request, he’s painting your insides like a masterpiece. You’re not sure how you find it within you, but your body succumbs to the overwhelming need for release once more.

Together, both of you reach a blissful peak in the most intoxicating, exhilarating way.

Keeping him inside you, feeling the trickles of his release drip from you, you slump down, burying your face in his neck. His skin feels warm against yours, sticky with perspiration.

“Are you okay, my doll?” He asks, panting and breathy.

My doll. 

You can only manage to nod your head, to smile against his neck as you leave a gentle peck to the dampened skin. 

He chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on top of your head. His finger glides up the curve of your spine and back down, caressing the top of your hip. It’s an area of your body you’ve never been particularly fond of, yet you find yourself warming to it under his tender attention.

If he appreciates your body like this, especially having now seen you so intimately more than once, maybe you can learn to appreciate it, too.

"You okay like this for a little while, doll?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Is it alright if we stay like this for a moment?”

You’re not ready to end the contact just yet, longing to feel his warmth against you, in you, for a little while longer. You’re grateful to know he feels the same way.

You hum in agreement, planting another gentle kiss on his neck and nuzzling your face against him as closely as possible. 

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It’s the darkest point of the night, the moon settled against the earth in her fullest form. She creeps in the windows ever so slightly, mixing her silver hue with the golden light from the single lamp positioned in the corner of Jake's room. 

The air feels cool, and the tiny beads of sweat that once covered your skin have left a chill in their wake, sending a swarm of goosebumps across your body. But he’s so warm—so warm that the cold doesn’t matter when he holds you. This is one of your favorite things about him: how closely he embraces you after you’ve shared your bodies. 

Chest to chest, your hearts slowing their rhythm together.

Though your bodies are no longer intertwined as they once were, you sense an even deeper connection with him now, lying together in the purest forms of yourselves, cuddled up to fend off the night’s chill.  

You can’t recall a time in your life when you’ve felt more at peace than you do right now. Everything feels far too perfect to be real, too wonderful to be anything but a dream.

Things feel good. Things feel right. Yet, in this blissful moment, a nagging fear begins to surface—a sense that something will inevitably come along to shatter it all. It’s a lingering worry you just can’t seem to shake, not matter your efforts to do so.

But for now, you’ll savor this moment as it unfolds. It may become a distant memory someday, and you want to remember as much of it as possible if—or when—your haunting fear becomes a reality.

“Looks like you’re the one all marked up this time,’ you giggle softly, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on your elbows to admire the purple marks you left on his neck and chest. “Sorry about—”

“No need for an apology, doll.” He leans over toward you, gently pecking your lips. “I’ll wear ‘em with pride, let the whole world know the lips from which they came.” He throws his head back, holding his arm high in the air as if presenting himself to some invisible audience, basking in his imaginary applause after his scene. 

You kiss him once more, chuckling against his lips that are curled in a satisfied grin. “That was absolutely terrible Jake.” 

He grins wider, pulling you closer. “Maybe, but it got you to kiss me again, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes playfully as he leans over the edge of the bed, rummaging around for something.“One more gift,” he says, reaching for whatever else he has in store for you.

“Jake,” you start, breathless and giggly. “I’m serious this time. No more gifts.”

“Hold out your hand.” 

“No I can’t–” 

“Last one. I promise.” 

Shaking your head, you do as he said and hold out your open palm. He drops it in your hand, and instantly, you know exactly what it is. 

“Your pick?” You ask, stunned over such a personal memento. “I can’t take this, Jake!”

“You must not know much about guitar players,” he jokes, closing your fingers around his final gift and kissing your knuckles. “I’ve got a million and one of these lying around. This one belongs to you.” 

No words could ever come close to revealing what’s in your heart at this moment, and the only way you can think to thank him is with your lips. You kiss him slow and gentle, wishing on every star that father time would somehow stop his hands of time right at this very moment. 

This plain, black guitar pick, worn from its obvious heavy use, little lines left from the indentions of his thumb, has suddenly become your favorite gift.

To keep it safe, you place it inside of the sage-green case that protects your phone. And by doing that, you’re sure to carry it with you everywhere you go.  

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The rise and fall of his chest from his deep, sleeping breaths, the beating of his heart against your upper back, his arms wrapped lazily around the front of your body, his face nestled in your hair against your neck, his warm breath on your skin…

You’re sure there’s no better way to wake up in the morning. You almost don’t want to open your eyes, fearful that once you do, the most perfect dream of being held close to Jake will be just that— only a dream. 

But your fears are put to rest when you feel him begin to stir, a soft kiss of his lips meeting the skin under your ear. “Good morning, love,” he whispers before slowly creeping out of bed. “Stay where you are, I won’t be long.”

A sleepy grin graces your lips as you feel yourself dozing off again, relishing in the early morning quiet. 

The inviting smells of cinnamon sugar and fresh coffee lull you awake after a little extra rest. Jake left the door cracked, so his whole bedroom smells like the most delicious breakfast. 

After a few more moments of resting your eyes, you open them to the bright sun creeping through the blinds of his mostly dark room. With a stretch of your rested limbs, you sit yourself up on the edge of the bed, looking around the room and admiring all the things you love the most about it. The things you love the most about Jake. 

With the door only cracked open, you can see the Edgar Allen Poe canvas you love so much hanging on the back. “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.” 

God. You love his mind. Reading it is reminding you of the very first time you walked in his room, how wholly nervous you were to witness such an intimate part of him before you truly got the chance to know him. 

And now, while you’re sitting on his bed after having been together the whole night, the memories of meeting him for the first time begin flooding your brain. How much you thought you hated him, when in reality, the two of you just didn’t know what to do with the feelings you had for one another. 

Then, as you glance to the bedside table right next to you, you’re reminded what really started this whole thing. The film, yes. But even before that, it was the book you lent him. 

Your copy of Le Morte d’Arthur, the very one you gave him all those months ago for the sake of the film, is sitting on the very top of the other books he has stacked on top of eachother. 

You’ve not seen it since you let him borrow it, and truth be told, you’d nearly forgotten he had it still. 

I’m sure he won’t miss it, you absently think to yourself as you pick it up, fully intending to take it home with you today. 

But as you do, two folded pieces of paper fall from the front cover and land on the floor beside the bed. Old copies of film scripts, perhaps? You knew they had been using this book to help write it, maybe these were the early versions of the final thing. Pure curiosity begs you to look at them—you’re quite interested to see their process of creating this beautiful masterpiece. Surely Jake won’t mind, since you’ve been so involved in this whole thing.

You pick them both up and open one of them, fully expecting to see an early, handwritten version of the script that would become the cinematic masterpiece that is Les Sombres Intrigues de Guenièvre et Arthur. 

But, that isn’t what you see. Not even close. 

At the top of the page, in bold letterhead, reads The University of Oxford. And beneath it is the London address where it’s located.

And beneath that…

“Dear Mr. Kiszka, 

With reference to your application for graduate study at Oxford, we are delighted to convey the decision to offer you a place in the Literature and Arts Masters program beginning in the Spring of 2024.”

Spring of 2024…next semester. 

The pit of your stomach drops, as though the most dense weight has settled there. You keep reading the words, hoping that by some tiny chance you’ve somehow misread them. But, as your eyes scan the words over and over again, there’s not a smidge of doubt. 

He applied for a school in London. He was accepted. 

He’s leaving. 

And he’s leaving soon. 

You're struck in a state of shock, of disbelief. It’s a familiar feeling of betrayal, one you hoped you’d never have to experience again. 

You’re trembling as you unfold the second piece of paper, and just when you thought this whole thing couldn’t become more painful, you’re proven wrong. 

The other folded document is his schedule of classes. He’s gone as far as to make a schedule. And their starting date is in two months. 

Less than two months, and he’ll be gone.

Hurt and angry tears begin to well, blurring your vision so you can no longer read the words on the papers held in your hands. This kind of sadness, this ebb of shock and disbelief, it’s overwhelming. Your mind is stuck on an endless loop, replaying every moment from the last few months. There must’ve been signs you missed. But how? How could you have been so blind? 

He had so many opportunities to tell you, yet he didn’t. You’re left to wonder if he ever planned to tell you, or if he was just going to leave, leave you as though you never existed. 

Maybe you truly are easy to leave. First your dad, Jake…

You hear his footsteps coming down the hallway, getting closer to you. The door opens all the way, and you look up to see him carrying a plate full of food and a coffee mug as he greets you with a gleeful ‘good morning.’

Then, he realizes. 

His expression turns from one of joy to alarm when he sees the silent tears falling down your face, the papers you’re still holding in your hands.

“Shit, y/n I–”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You question quietly as you try to swallow down every tear. 

His face pales, and he hurriedly sets the plate and mug on the dresser beside the door before taking tentative steps towards you. 

“I–I was going to tell you I just–” 

His stuttered words hang in the air, unfinished. He runs a worried hand through his tangled hair, breathing heavily at the sight of you with his best kept secret in your grasp. A hurtful silence lays between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words, of broken trust. The room suddenly feels colder. 

He slumps down on the bed next to you, eyebrows knit with concern. His beautiful features, painted with guilt and worry. “I tried not to let this happen—I mean, I just didn’t think things between us would—“

What?

“…you weren’t supposed to find out this way.”

There’s so much you want to say, yet each word that dares to pass your lips feels useless. In truth, there’s nothing you can say. 

It’s already done. 

The distance between you now feels more pronounced than ever before, like he’s already left. 

Your source of comfort, your safety, your guiding light…

He's already gone. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

a/n: i suppose our girls intuition was right...

what do we think will become of this? & who do we think will provide her with some much needed comfort?

& on that note, see you in chapter 6🫣🤍

as always, thank you all for your love & support. hearing from you guys makes my heart soar, & it truly keeps me going. my inbox is always open. don't ever be afraid to reach out. 🤍

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or send me an ask/dm & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️ (let me know if i've missed you!!!) (also, i know tags are being a little weird right now—will you let me know if you did/didn’t receive a notification?)

sending all my love!

National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Please reach out if you're struggling. You're worth it. 🤍

taglist:

Jake’s POV - the Friday they left Tennessee.

Josh sat across from Jake in the tour bus they’d be spending months in. Josh sat across from Jake with a gut wrenching mix of malice and heartbreak in his eyes, his arms folded as he stared into Jake’s hungover soul.

Sam and Danny putzed around near their bunks, pretending not to be interested in the inevitable hellfire that would rain from their oldest brother.

“What did you do?” Josh asked, voice rough.

Jake looked down at his shaking hands, still willing himself not to cry. His nail beds were blue.

“What did you do to that poor girl, Jake?” Josh repeated, leaned back so casually on the bench but Jake could feel the heat of rage that flew through Josh’s veins.

Before Jake could finish the sentence “I fucked up” Josh yelled “no shit you fucked up!” loud enough to completely silence Sam and Danny.

Jake desperately wanted to jump off of the fucking bus and run. Run back to her. Run back and beg for forgiveness on his knees and tell her she was worth changing for, that he’d never hurt her again.

But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t mean shit anymore.

Because he fucked up.

_____

Josh wakes up groggy and stomps into the kitchenette where Jake and Sam are already awake. He grabs his phone and his eyes widen when he looks at it. Jake’s spine straightens, alert as he can be. It’s her. It has to be.

When Josh doesn’t say anything, Jake bites his lip, still staring. Josh just types.

Please say something. Please.

”You look creepy, Jake.” Sam mumbles, which knocks Jake right back into a slump, willing a flush to not color his cheeks.

”Fuck off,” Jake mutters back, grabbing his cup of coffee and hiding his face with it. Withdrawal is making him itch.

Josh looks at Jake with only an ounce of pity. “She’s fine.” He says, pocketing his phone.

Jake nods. His heart squeezes. Dear God, he misses her. He is … half of himself. One third of himself. He is disappearing.

Sam kicks Jake’s leg with just enough force to be playful while letting him know … “It’ll work out.” He whispers, eyes darting to Josh. Josh, who won’t look at Jake.

Jake looks at Sam for a long moment. He would get off the bus right now if it wasn’t hurtling down the highway. Even that used to be an option but not now. He just stands up and goes back to his bunk, abandoning his brothers and his coffee.

_____

Jake’s fingers hover over the keys on his phone, his heart pounding. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon and he can’t stop thinking about her. And taking a shot of tequila to ease the thoughts of her. He sends three texts.

Somehow, almost ten hours later, he is glued to the spot. He’s slept, he’s been given food, but he hasn’t moved. And she hasn’t replied. That pit in his stomach yawns wider. He sends another text. He loves her. And he goes to bed.

_____

They all stumble back onto the bus around 3:30 in the morning and fall into bed sometime after that, destroyed from a show that almost got rained out. They’re cold and Sam is drunk and Danny is stoned and Josh and Jake tuck away into their bunks. Josh can look at Jake now, but Jake almost doesn’t want him too. If he looks too close, Jake may split at the seams. Other than her, Josh is all he wants right now. He crawls into his bunk, shuts the curtain, and shuts his eyes.

He’s awoken by hushed voices, one tinned. It takes him a moment to come to and realize what he hears, just as the voice on the other end of Josh’s call fades into steady breathing.

Jake presses a hand over his eyes and bites his tongue, holding back the wave of … something … threatening to make him detonate.

Fuck. God. He misses her. Holy shit.

He should be laying beside her, wrapped around her, holding her belly and kissing her shoulder while she makes those sweet purring sounds in her sleep. It shouldn’t be Josh and it shouldn’t be on the phone.

He lays awake and wonders why she’s awake at 4:30 in the morning. He does not go back to sleep.

_____

He stares down at the two white chips on the table in front of him and gnaws at his lip. He can be … sober. He can go to AA and CA and therapy … online. While on the road. In a rock band.

He sniffs, straightening his posture when he looks down at his phone. The texts between him and her stare back at him. But she hasn’t replied in some time.

That’s okay. He can be there even when she can’t. That was always the promise, now he got to act on it.

It’s 10 in the morning and he finds just enough courage to tell her. He’s sober. He wants to hear her voice. He doesn’t need her to care.

He misses her.

_____

It just so happens that both Jake and Josh get out of their bunks to use the restroom at the same time. Josh stares at Jake, exhausted, phone held up.

“How is he?”

A rush of air leaves Jake’s lungs at the sound of her voice on the other end.

Josh swallows. “I’m not answering self-destructive questions. You know that.”

Jake bites his upper lip and watches Josh disappear into the bathroom. Self-destructive.

_____

The parents are bustling around the green room with the band, all talking and cooing over their sons as their sons get ready for a show. It was a privilege to have their parents there. Jake finds himself clear-headed when he talks with his. It feels good.

Danny shouts at his mom from across the room. “She’s thirty weeks!”

”Ah!” His mom exclaims, clapping softly. “So close!”

Jake smiles softly, just to himself. He knew that. He also knew his baby was the size of a cucumber. He hoped he’d get to hold them. Her. He trusted her intuition.

_____

Josh walks into the room while Jake is talking to his parents. Maybe this time it’s bad because Jake is talking. And Josh doesn’t want her to hear him. But he hangs up quickly and leaves the room. Jake pretends that it doesn’t eat away at him. His mom notices.

He makes it less than ten minutes before he has to text her and apologize. Any excuse to see her smile in her contact picture.

_____

It’s midnight, he’s outside a venue with a cigarette. He’s desperate. He needs her so badly it’s eating away at his soul. More than he needs her, he needs her to be happy. He gives himself the duration of one of Josh’s Marlboro reds to try and reconcile the idea that maybe only one can happen.

His hands itch as he types out another stupid text. He’s so shitty at expressing how he feels, especially when he feels like universes are bursting into existence and stars die and the sun pulses to the rhythm of his heart when he thinks of you. The whole world is within you, how does he convey that?

He tries. He asks how baby is. She doesn’t reply. He squishes the cigarette butt under his boot and stalks back inside.

When he wakes up the next morning and shuts off his alarm after snoozing it way too many times, he sees your reply.

”She texted me!” His voice is strangled and dry and he hits his head on the ceiling trying to get upright.

”No fucking way!” Sam yells from the kitchenette in earnest. “What did she say?”

Jake stumbles out into the kitchenette. “That the baby misses me!”

Sam takes a minute to digest how weird that sounds before he recovers to yell again. “What are you going to say??”

Jake stares at Sam, wide-eyed. “THAT I MISS HER TOO!”

”YEAH!” Sam replies.

But when the silence sits for another thirty minutes, Jake cranks out another apology.

He doesn’t hit send on a final sentence. If you never forgive me, I’ll understand.

Because he would. He would understand. And it would kill him.

_____

Sam is half-dressed as he does a touchdown dance into the main green room. “Y/N might come to a show!” He hoots.

Both Josh and Jake’s ears perk up at that.

Sam keeps dancing, annoying his brothers. “Just said so. On the phone. To me.”

When the twins stare blankly at him, he stops. “As long as she’s on my side.”

”Did she request that?” Jake asks, digging his thumbnail into his index finger.

”No,” Sam goes back to dancing. “I just offered it.”

Jake blows out a puff of air. Hope. He’s holding onto hope.

_____

When the picture Y/N took of the scan comes through, Jake leaps off the couch and yells incoherently. Everyone in the meeting stills as tears spring into his eyes.

”GIRL!” He yells, turning his phone around. “IT’S A GIRL!”

His brothers, even Josh, stand and pummel him into a hug, shouting congratulations and whooping nonsense and Jake lets them, letting himself get carried away in joy.

He only forces them off of him so he can reply, but he can’t stop crying enough to see his screen. He just has to hope spellcheck fixes it all for him.

When she tells him she misses him, he thinks his heart melts. He cannot focus on this stupid fucking meeting. Not when you miss him.

_____

Josh is humming while putting around the hotel room they got for the night. He doesn’t pause or look at Jake, who is laying on the bed and staring at the ceiling, when he starts talking.

”You better earn her giving that baby girl your last name.”

Jake looks over at him, broken from his thoughts of her and his baby girl. “What?”

”She’s giving her your last name, dumbass.” Josh replies, opening the fridge. “Earn it. I’m not asking again.”

This information rolls through Jake like a tsunami and he has to be grateful he already cried himself dry for the day.

_____

It’s all worth it.

Jake runs off stage to grab his phone while he’s still dripping sweat because he has to check. He always does, just in case.

Y/N: I forgive you

Two hours ago.

Relief feels like vomit as it floods his body and he hides a retching sound in his elbow just until he gets to the bus with his suit still on. Then he grabs an ice pack from the freezer and presses it to the back of his neck, taking slow breaths while he stares at her text.

Muscles begin to untense in his body.

He texts back, wishing more than anything to hear your voice. He is forgiven.

_____

He sits with it for a few days, occasionally so full of emotion that he does gag, before he reaches out again. She’s it for him. He’s done looking. Even if he isn’t it for her. Everything is fragile and precious and he asks on metaphorical blended knee if she could feel the same.

Jake: But please say you want me (4:49AM)

Y/N: want and need (6:21AM)

He brushes a hand over his face and sighs, relief so heavy once again that he has to bend over and catch his breath.

Hours later, when she asks how he is, he sees the olive branch and knows it won’t return in vain.

He gets to talk to her. It’s so fragile. She’s sick. His hands shake with the chance to show her love. He orders groceries to be sent to Josh’s house and breathes heavily the whole time. He’s acting on his promise.

When she says she was crying, it takes everything in him to not throw up from … something. He needs to be near her. With her.

He settles for asking to call her.

And when she calls him and he gets to hear her voice through his own phone, he’s glued in place, scared to move as if it will break the reverie.

It’s so easy with her. It’s always so simple. He loves her. He will always love her.

_____

Every morning, an olive branch from her soft hands. Every night, Jake silently begging for another one. She jokes with him, she laughs at his jokes, she sends him pictures and asks to see his face. She puts her phone on speaker so his baby can hear him and then suggests talking about names. He finally feels like he’s worshiping behind the veil again when he hears your voice like bells.

_____

She invites him into her weak moments and he picks up the phone, his buoy, and hears her cry in his absence, he bites his lip to keep from doing the same.

He’s broken open and bleeding, soft and vulnerable at her feet. Every metaphorical glance his way heals his bleeding wounds as it breaks him down.

So you and Josh hadn’t spoken and nothing had changed, nothing other than the fact that it felt Jake had been keeping his distance. Or maybe you were just more sensitive to his absence now that it felt necessary.

Damn him for being a good brother. For being better than me.

He was better than you, it seemed. Because he had put you to bed two weeks ago and left under the impression you were going to do the right thing and instead, you'd avoided your problems and had once again come running to Jake to have him make you feel better.

No, not to make me feel better. Just to play a stupid game. That's all.

He must have heard the honk of your car locking because you had barely made it to the front door before he was suddenly standing there in your way, a look on his face that somehow tangled caution and amusement into one jumbled mess expressed as a half-quirked smile and eyebrows that dipped low in the middle of his forehead. It was an expression that quite matched how you felt, butterflies and guilt and all.

“I take it you two didn't talk.”

Is it that obvious?

“What a way to greet a lady,” you said with a sudden scowl as you pushed past him through the doorway and led yourself to his kitchen.

To say you weren’t quite ready to broach that topic would have been an understatement.

“Why do you seem so chipper?” he asked from behind you as he followed your path through his home.

“I can't be happy to see you?” you threw back at him as you dropped your tote bag off your shoulder and onto the pristine marble of his kitchen island with a familiar muffled clang of a glass bottle shrouded by thin canvas to dull the promise it rang out into the air as it was set down. A little something for the soul.

“I guess I’ve admittedly grown a little bit more used to being greeted with tears. But this is a nice change.”

He gave you a sweet smile but paired with the way his eyes seem to wilt at the outer corners, you could see the sadness it held. It reminded you of the guilt you carried around with you constantly lately, only with a new object of affection. How selfish of you to think that this hadn’t taken any toll on him at all.

Your eyes turned soft. “I'm sorry. I am. You've been my sunshine these past several months. I hope you know that.”

Even as you said it, you knew it couldn’t begin to articulate what it was you really felt for him. But it was enough just to see the rose of a deep blush tinge his cheeks red and turn his smile suddenly bashful.

“Happy to provide,” was all he said in that typical, raspy, almost sleepy voice of his.

It was hard not to chuckle at the things he found too intimate to take in stride. It was fine for him to call you what he had in bed but heaven forbid you call him your sunshine…

“Don't think I didn't notice you dodging my original question though,” he added, breaking your concentration.

Oh yeah. My problems. How lovely of him to remind me.

You quirked up an accusing eyebrow. “Like how you dodged my compliment just now?”

“Ever so expertly,” he answered, this time with an unabashed smile that spread his lips wide across his face.

You felt your gaze dart away before you could even stop it, a heavy sigh pillowing in your chest before expelling into the air like a pot on the stove blowing off steam to keep from boiling over.

“I need one night of just…not talking about it.” You’d had plenty of nights of that, actually. What was one more? “Or thinking about it, preferably.” And then to really catch his attention and maybe even further drive home your point, you reached into your bag to uncloak the wine.

There was a specific smile he always donned when alcohol was present and when it took hold, you knew you could take it as an agreement to drop it, at least while there was a full bottle to contend with.

He took it from your grasp with only a dutiful nod, turning the dark glass over in his hands to inspect the label despite the fact that he likely knew nothing printed there would catch his eye. You had one sense of taste that trumped all others when it came to using fermented drinks to bandage your wounds: cheap.

“What am I if not a seasoned distraction?” he asked, already digging into a cupboard to procure two large, round glasses.

“That's why I seek you out,” you answered with a smile as you watched his hands work and tried your hardest not to think back to that first time he had served as your distraction.

“Well, hopefully that’s not the only reason.”

It was that comment that caught you and sent your stomach into a twist unbecoming of someone who was very much not single, especially given the way it suddenly brought the memory of your second time to the forefront of your mind, a time when it was hardly a distraction so much as it was a necessity in that moment. 

No, distraction wasn’t the only reason you were there. Comfort either. You’d grown to long for his company in a much deeper way. It wasn’t company in general he was providing you with, it was his and his alone.

And the game, of course. Mostly that.

“What's on the agenda for the night?” Jake asked as if he hadn’t just sent you into a deep spiral of thought that you’d been hoping to avoid that evening.

At least he’d been kind enough to pour you a glass of wine without you asking.

“I brought candyland since you owe me a rematch for what you did last time.”

The memory of your pieces scattered on the floor along with every card in the deck like a colorful patchwork quilt that you'd made him clean up both times he'd done it brought an earnest smile to his face.

“I'll flip the board again if you don't let me get tipsy first.”

You certainly didn't have to wonder if he was serious so with the preservation of your game in mind, you agreed with a nod and a, “Seems fair to me,” as you reached out for your wine. But he was already retreating by the time your fingers reached the air that the temptation in a glass once occupied.

“Come here,” he said with a mischievous look overtaking his face. “Something I want to show you.”

This time it was you left following him through his home, both glass stems tucked snugly between talented fingers like he was beckoning you to chase him if you wanted yours. And you did want yours. That was why, despite the sudden flurry of nerves that his look seemed to conjure in your chest, you did as you were told and followed him.

I swear to God, if he's talking about his dick…

You actually weren't sure what you'd do. Probably not the decent thing.

But to your surprise, he led you to a usually barren room save for the red Persian rug warming the middle and the walls outlined in vintage instruments ready to be plucked off the wall and played. Except today, the center of the room wasn't barren as it had been for months.

The room opened up to greet you with a warm mahogany welcome in the shape of a baby grand piano that instantly made your fingers itch. It wasn't so different from the piano you'd been toying with at the party where you and Josh had met. Of course, you weren't as good a player as he was but you certainly knew your way around.

“Figured we rehearse here enough it was worth the investment,” you heard Jake say from behind you where he now stood watching as you carefully perched yourself onto the little matching mahogany bench.

“My God, she is beautiful,” you breathed as you opened the fallboard to uncover a full set of vintage ebony and ivory that seemed to practically yearn for your touch.

Your fingers danced out a quick melody that warmed your joints as much as it did your demeanor. You hadn't played much lately. Actually, you hadn't really played at all. But there were some things that stuck with you, worked their way into your bones, maybe into your very DNA. And this was one of them.

“Does this mean you're going to learn?” you asked, turning your focus back to him as you swiveled to find his face.

“I'd need a teacher for that and I refuse to let Sam fill that role.”

He gave you a cheeky smile that you read instantly. It was an open invitation for you to take on the role of said teacher, so you stood and, taking your wine glass from his hand finally, made a grand sweeping gesture toward the now unoccupied piano bench.

He took his seat, pretending to throw his imagined coat tails over the bench, earning a giggle that swished the wine in your glass. You hovered not too far behind him as he cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat, making a quite thorough display of his preparation only to put fingers to keys and press out one of the more off-key renditions of twinkle twinkle little star you'd ever heard. And he was met with another giggle that seemed to only encourage his actions.

“Oh that's amazing. You must teach me your ways,” you joked with a smile as you set your glass down on the floor just out of the way.

“Save me, please,” he answered with a hoarse laugh, finally slowing his fingers to a halt but keeping them positioned on the keys.

You approached him slowly, coming up close behind his back to stretch your arms over his shoulders and let your fingers find rest overtop his just as delicately as your chest grazed the wide plane of his back. You could smell his cologne strong on his neck as you guided his fingers to better position them amongst the keys, your breath dusting his cheek with each exhale. And you swore you could almost tell that he was holding in a breath if you paid close enough attention to the movement in his shoulders that seemed to have suddenly stilled.

Somewhere among your skin resting against his and your hair tickling his neck, the world around you seemed to grow still and quiet, fading into a background of white noise and blurred lines. And then you pressed your fingers more firmly into his and a striking chord sliced through the air alongside whatever breath Jake had been holding.

“There, just like that,” you said in a voice far shakier than you had hoped it would turn out to be.

But he was silent, letting you guide his fingers slowly up to a new chord, or outstretching a pinky to hit a further key as yours nudged it, never saying a word. He let you play that way, through him, feeling the notes through the strength and dexterity of his talented fingers that fit so snugly beneath yours and obeyed your every command.

“I knew I was good at something,” he joked in a whisper that barely traveled up above the note lingering beneath your hold until he turned his face dangerously to the side to face yours.

It brought his nose only an inch from yours but what felt even more dangerous were his eyes and the quick flicker they made to your lips, resting parted and practically panting. You didn’t even realize your own breathing had picked up until you suddenly became aware of the heat reaching your palms, heat he could likely feel radiating through his skin still resting beneath yours. And just as quickly as the moment had been conjured, he turned his face back to his hands and yours retreated entirely just before you darted over to your glass of wine to down the contents while he continued to fiddle with keys.

“You're a good student,” you commented as evenly as you could as you took a seat on the bench next to him. A much safer spot than where you had been.

“You’re a good teacher,” he answered with a quick flash of a smile in your direction, fingers still tripping over keys and filling the air around you with a disjointed music that you admittedly didn’t mind.

“Well, maybe not as good as you.” It came out rather absently as you had taken to fiddling with a random key yourself, turning your attention to that instead of the familiar pounding of your heart in your chest, a rhythmic reminder of the effect Jake had on you.

When he turned to face you again, you could feel his eyes hot on your cheek. You wanted to be brave and face him but there was something about his knowing gaze that made you feel that much more defeated. You felt like a terrible person, in all actuality. How could you have fallen for your boyfriend’s brother? Was that actually what you had done or were you just using him like a bandaid? Did you even know anymore?

Maybe it’s just the sex I like.

“Is that why you're here?” he asked, his gaze somehow even hotter than before. “You need another lesson?”

God, can he read my mind?

For a brief moment, you found yourself debating it. It didn’t feel like that was what you had come for but you certainly weren’t ignorant to the need that radiated through your body every time he so much as glanced in your direction. But you also weren’t ignorant to just how wrong it really felt. However it had felt that first time, hesitant as you had been, the glances you stole now didn’t feel that way. They didn’t feel harmless. They didn’t feel like something Josh had signed off his approval on.

And for now, the guilt rang strong enough through your body to stop you from doing something worse.

“I'm here to beat you at candyland,” you answered, eyes finally braving his face only to be greeted by a smile that seemed to be growing by the second.

“Well that's just not going to happen.”

—

“That is cheating!” you yelled over the board as you angrily moved Jake's piece back several spaces behind yours.

“It is not, my piece was planning on being there this whole time,” he argued back, grabbing it from your hand to return it to the space he had just placed it on with his hand that wasn't gripping his wine glass like his life depended on it.

You weren't sure if it was the booze or the antics of the game, but his British accent was starting to slip out the more uncivilized he got and you were trying your best to be stern despite the smile it was holding permanently to your lips.

“It doesn't matter what he was planning on, you didn't roll high enough to go that far!”

He gave you a displeased shake of his head as he finally took his piece back, “accidentally” knocking yours over in the process.

“I don't think you're playing this right,” he mumbled before chugging the remaining contents of his third glass of wine.

“I'm sorry you don’t get to just do whatever you want,” you laughed as you wrestled another card out of his hand seeing as it most certainly was not his turn.

“Well that is too bad, isn't it,” he said gruffly although even he was struggling to keep the smile off his face and commit to the bit.

The day had grown so late that darkness had finally come to greet you and this was your third attempt at a civilized game, which you were beginning to think was simply impossible with Jake. He just couldn’t seem to stop cheating.

Let’s not read too much into that.

By the time you had maneuvered all of the cards away from him thanks to that all-too familiar gleam in his eye, he sat back in his seat to let a comfortable silence grow between you both, silent glances exchanged as a buzz settled over you both. But in the silence and the calm grew that familiar heat, a buzz brought on by more than just the alcohol consumed that night. There was something about it, those quiet, gentle moments, that turned the volume of tension about the room up several levels, like you couldn't trust yourselves to be around one another in such a still moment without busying your hands and your bodies with one another. Like you were always just waiting for the next opportunity for it.

That was how it felt: like you were waiting. And suddenly in the haven of golden light in your little secluded pocket of the night, in the quietness of his gaze trying to stay fixed to anything but you, you felt you shouldn't be there.

Why had you come?

Jake cleared his throat and nudged your empty wine glass. “You want more?”

You gave him a light shake of your head and an answer just as soft. “I'm driving.”

He nodded in return and cast his eyes to his hands. He almost looked nervous. Why would he be nervous?

When he met your eyes again, you could tell he was searching your face for something. But what it was he was looking for, you had no idea. And if he found it, you had no idea of that either. But as you gazed back, you found yourself unable to look away, unable to hide your face or your eyes or your feelings from him. Whatever it was you were feeling, you let him see it there on your features like a book written just for him.

It's him I want. That's why I came.

It seemed to hit you all at once and suddenly the need for action seemed just as real.

“I guess I should go.”

Before I do something I shouldn't.

He nodded again, adding an almost silent “okay” that somehow made the task of getting up all the more hard. But somehow, your feet shuffled and your legs moved and your body, which seemed to be of much more sound mind than your actual mind, moved its way to the kitchen sink, wine glass in hand.

“You don't have to do that,” you heard Jake say from behind you.

Close behind you.

“I don't mind,” you answered quietly as you continued to turn the faucet on and rinse the glass.

That was when you felt him at your back, arms emerging from either side and his hands, practically shaking, entwining themselves with yours to steal the glass away from your grip.

“Here,” he whispered, “let me.”

Fuck.

You weren't exactly sure what it was that suddenly surged through you but the moment the glass was set safely on the counter, you turned into his arms to face him, lacing your fingers into his shirt buttoned ever so lazily. And the move brought your mouth mere inches from his, your bodies practically pressed tight to one another.

There was greed on your lips, greed you wanted him to taste.

“Jake, I want you,” you whispered without even an ounce of shame, finally giving in to what you had been fighting all evening.

It was met with his eyes winding tightly shut as a blow of frustrated air pushed from his lungs. “Don't do that to me,” he shook his head. “That's not fair.”

“You're right, it's not fair-”

Your lips were practically on his when he suddenly pulled back several steps, out of your grasp.

“This can't happen,” he said sternly, although whether that was for you or for him you weren't entirely sure.

What you were sure of though was the embarrassment seeping into your very being. And then the guilt. They seemed to freeze you in your place.

God, what am I doing?

What was worse was that you had thought he wanted you too. Had you read it all wrong? Had you read everything wrong? Was he only entertaining you because he could see your desperation so plainly in everything you did? Was it only pity he felt for you?

Josh had no time for you and now Jake didn’t want you either.

You took a few steps away from the sink, aimless, wandering, before your face fell into your hands, to hide it, to soothe yourself, to try and disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated frantically, practically in a panic. “I don't know what I'm doing. It's just…it's not working.”

“You need to tell him that.”

God, the sympathy you now heard in his voice might have made you feel even worse.

“He knows that.”

“Babe-”

“I plan to,” you burst suddenly, hands falling away from your face to make way for the much louder sentiment, as unsure as it sounded. “I'm going to,” you repeated, “I just thought…”

You trailed off into nothing, totally defeated. You weren’t sure what you had thought but god, you were tired of this. Why was this so difficult? Why was this so complicated? Why hadn’t Josh just shown up like he was supposed to?

You looked to Jake somehow hoping he could give you the answers you were searching for but he looked just as confused, just as lost. And the longer you looked the more he looked…something else entirely.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked almost desperately.

You stuttered. “I mean…I think it's obvious. Or…maybe it isn't, I don't know, I just-”

“We can't be together,” he suddenly blurted out.

If his previous rejection hadn’t hurt, this certainly did. And it brought back to you the words he had said two weeks ago on the couch over pizza and comfort, only this time they seemed to form a coherence they hadn’t quite had when he’d spoken them then.

‘He knows I'm not the answer’.

And then the words that cut a little deeper. A little sharper.

‘Maybe that's why he sends me. He isn't worried about it’.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, all-too aware of what your body language was giving away. You had read it all wrong.

“I…I know that,” you answered quietly, pathetically, even though it wasn’t the truth. Not even close. “I know that.”

His eyes found your face again, this time more frantic, like he knew what he had just done but didn't have any choice in the matter. He raised his hand to your elbow, leaning in as he gripped you. He might have shaken you to try and get you to understand what he was saying if he thought that would go over better than his fingers alone.

“Listen to me, I'm telling you you need to do the right thing. He's my brother. But I can't…I can't be your answer.”

Those damn pesky tears were back, and with a vengeance. If you didn't dart out of there sooner rather than later, you'd be nothing but a puddle of salty water on his kitchen floor and you suddenly had no desire to let him see you that way.

There was anger there too, as misplaced as you knew it was, forming just as quickly and swelling into something so hot it practically blurred your vision. You felt almost lied to. Talk about fucking mixed signals. But you let out a long, terse, “okayyy” without even meeting his eyes, already mentally planning your escape.

“I love you, I do. I love you too much to-”

Bullshit.

“No, I get it,” you interjected before he could drive the knife any deeper. “It's good to know where you stand. Thank you.”

He called out for you more than once but it fell on deaf ears. You were already out of the house.

—

“Where were you?”

Good God, can’t the universe give me a break?

Josh's voice coming out of the near darkness startled you. You knew he was there. You'd seen his car in the driveway when you pulled in. But something about it felt like he was catching you in the middle of sneaking out. Or rather, sneaking in.

“I was out,” was all you said as you sat your things down and kicked off your shoes. You prayed your eyes weren’t still red and puffy from the crying you did on the car ride home.

“Just out?”

There was concern in his voice. You could hear it without even fully seeing his face where it was, shrouded in shadow that seemed all too fitting for the conversation you knew very well was about to be had. He could have easily been hiding from you. Fuck, you wanted to hide from him too.

You wanted to spare him the sigh that was brewing in your chest but it barreled out of you before you could stop it. “I needed to get my thoughts together,” you explained as you stepped further into the house and into the hall where you could better see him.

That was a mistake.

There was already pain in his eyes. Already a redness that you suspected was from his own tears. He knew where this was headed as well as you did.

Fuck, this might actually kill me.

“Why doesn't that sound good?” He gave you a nervous chuckle and the only smile he could manage, both of which fell flat.

“Josh, I…” There was actually nothing coming to your mind, try as hard as you did to think of the right thing to say. To think of anything to say for that matter. But he took pity on you instead and cut right to it. Something you might have been thankful for under any other circumstances. Well, maybe you still were thankful for it given these circumstances.

“I know,” he said without prompting. “I've been spread so thin lately-”

“For a while,” you corrected, only a tinge of the bitterness you felt biting into your tone. “And it's not really feeling like ‘spread thin’ so much as it is not making the time for…certain things. Things that should be a priority.”

Well that certainly sounded bitter.

“I know, baby. I've been wrapped up in a million little things. We're working on a new sound but it has required more of me than the others.”

You felt yourself wince at the pet name, a lump in your throat forming almost out of nowhere and suddenly threatening to strangle you.

You fought against it to push the words out. “Josh, I hear you, I really do, but this just isn't sustainable for me.”

He nodded at this but you could tell he was deep in thought. And his silence seemed to drag on for an eternity. Agonizingly. But when he finally broke it, you found yourself missing that silence.

“Does this have something to do with Jake?” he asked, raising his eyes to yours to undoubtedly impress upon you the importance of the question.

Suddenly you felt cold despite the sweat practically pooling in your palms and the heat flaring in your ears. You couldn't face him and tell him that you had fallen for Jake after all of the late nights you'd spent with him. You couldn’t admit to him the embarrassing truth that you had gone to seek him out, lying to yourself about why the whole time. And you certainly couldn’t admit to him how often you had thought of his brother when you found yourself alone over the past few months. But Josh seemed to glean every last one of those secrets from your silence alone.

“Where were you?” He finally asked the question you'd skirted around when you'd arrived home.

You didn't rarely hear Josh with anything you could call stern in his voice but you heard it now in his question. And his eyes begged the answer from you just as desperately as his tone did.

That was when you began to feel the tears well up for the second time that night. Your undereyes wouldn’t recover until the next week.

“Josh-” you croaked out, although he didn't seem to need you to finish whatever thought you were weakly stringing together into words.

“I shouldn't have let him do it. I shouldn't have let him near you that way.”

“It wouldn't have mattered,” you tried.

“Yes it would have. We wouldn't be here right now if I hadn't pushed you into his arms.”

“If it hadn't been him, I would have just been alone. All alone, Josh.” Even with the tears streaming silently down your face, you said his name pointedly enough that his shoulders seemed to slump and whatever anger was brewing for his brother was waning. “All alone for months and months thinking my boyfriend couldn't care less. Hoping I would at least get a text from you that time rather than Jake acting like some sort of carrier pigeon, as if that was any replacement.”

You'd never seen him so hurt. You'd never seen his face droop and fall that way, his lips melting downward at the corners and the liquid warmth of his eyes almost freezing over. Even his curls seemed to lose their bounce. He was wilting right in front of you and it only made it harder to breathe. It only made it harder to stand there and face him and say whatever the fuck it was you’d been putting off for that very reason.

If you don't do it now, you never will.

You wiped at your tears as best you could, trying to pull yourself together. “It hurts me,” you started. “Having you so close and yet so far constantly, it hurts me and I just can't do it anymore. And I don't want to wait until I resent you. I can't sit around waiting for that to happen. It'll kill me if I ever feel that way for you.”

Tears were now pouring down his face as he shook his head. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

If he said anything else, you could barely hear it above the racing of your heart in your chest and the dam breaking somewhere behind your eyes. It was like a tsunami when it came, folding you over until you slumped around yourself on the ground to let it wrack through your body. And he was there just as quickly, holding you despite the fact that he most certainly didn't have to. Clinging to you and his sorry's.

You weren't sure how much time passed as you sat there. You could hardly feel it ticking through your tears and a feeling that felt awfully close to regret. You couldn't feel the passage of the wind and the world beyond the strength of Josh's arms holding fast to your form, knowing that when he let go, he wouldn't have this opportunity again. It almost felt cruel, like a moment you should have had among many others but was stolen away from you all at once. So you basked in it. You bathed in it. You memorized his touch and his smell and the way it felt to be supported, even if you hadn't felt it in a while.

You had your reasons, you knew that. Had to remind yourself of it, even. But at the moment, you had nothing but him.

The tears always dried though. They always racked your body and stripped you of your strength and energy and when they vacated, just like they always did, you were left sitting, leaning against the wall of the hallway, in an almost daze-like state. Stuck in a limbo between sorrow and anger and humor. Every emotion you had seemed to sit at the edge of your being waiting for a moment to pounce in a state like this, and you were always left wondering what would take hold next.

Josh mimicked your movements, sitting opposite you like a mirror into what you probably looked like. And for a while, you sat in silence.

“I just want you to be happy,” he said after several moments. “That's all I've ever wanted.”

You nodded and sniffled, wiping your eyes and your nose with the back of your hand like a toddler.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

I know.

You nodded again but this time when you spoke, your voice was even.

“I know.”

You tapped your fingers against your knee, butt going numb against the hardwood floor and eyes feeling stiff at the corners thanks to the dried tears accumulated there. And it was funny in a way that really wasn’t funny at all that as you sat there and stared at Josh silently, you couldn't help but think to yourself how beautiful he was.

Fucking twins.

“Does Jake make you happy?” Josh asked suddenly, studying your face.

The short answer was yes but the long answer?

‘He knows I'm not the answer’.

“I don't know,” you admitted. And you hoped he believed you when you said it because you really didn't.

You liked how he made you feel. You liked that he was there when no one else was. But was he the answer? You had no idea, actually. Maybe you wanted him to be more than he actually was. Or maybe, just maybe, you just liked having sex with him.

Ha. Well, that's at least some of it. Not that it matters anymore.

You were shamelessly giggling to yourself at the entirely humorless situation you found yourself in even before Josh joined in, bringing his hand to hide his mouth like he was in on the secret joke and attempting to keep it just that, a secret.

“You should probably decide before I have a chance to kill him.” And then after a moment, he added, “Well to be honest with you, I might just kill him anyway.”

You couldn't even explain why but that did you in, spurred a full on fit of laughter. And somehow, Josh found himself laughing right beside you.

Typical Josh. Always a bright spot. Even if it hurt him to be.

—

You hadn't left your house in days. Hadn't washed your sweatpants in as long either. The takeout boxes were certainly piling up too. And had you already finished off the last of your wine stockpile?

Gonna need to hit the grocery store soon. Or Instacart, at the very least.

And when your couch hadn't been occupied by friends spoon-feeding you whatever therapy you needed, be that advice or ice cream, you found yourself alone with more thoughts than you cared to deal with.

And one name in your mind that you avoided at all costs.

You hadn't even texted him that it was over. Hadn't called. Hadn't seen his face or heard his voice or even uttered his name. But God, you felt it, that ache. The longing. The familiar itch that he had scratched for you one too many times that now begged for nails to rake across it.

Relief. You wanted him. You maybe even needed him. That was what the emptiness had shown you. Whatever it was that he even was to you, you missed it. You craved it. But in your hour of need, he was the last thing available to you. And you were certainly stubborn enough not to chase.

Until you eventually weren’t stubborn enough.

You had no idea what had possessed you to rise from the couch that day, throw on a sweatshirt to shield you from the rain, grab your car keys, and drive to his place. You had no idea what possessed you to jump from your car and brave the violent sheets of rain that threatened to topple you as your fist made contact with his door a bit more angrily than maybe it should have. And you had no idea what had possessed you to do all of this just to say what it was you said.

Maybe I enjoy getting hurt.

You weren't invited in. In fact, you weren't even greeted with any words. He seemed breathless the moment he opened the door and his brain caught up with his eyes, whether that was thanks to your unruly appearance made all that much worse by the rain or simply the fact that you were the last person he expected to see standing on his porch after what he had said. After what you had done.

Probably should have run a brush through my hair before coming here.

And then you blurted it out.

“I ended it.”

The rain raged on in an angry war against you but you stood defiantly, like there was some ground there to hold. And maybe there was. It certainly felt like there was. If it wasn't the rain, it was his eyes, staring dangerously into yours and then, even without a single utterance from him still, you saw it. It was undeniable and unmissable.

Jake's eyes flickered down to your lips where they lingered for what felt like an eternity but in actuality was about two seconds. Two of the longest seconds you'd ever felt, waiting for someone to do something about it.

“I just thought you should know,” you added.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

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.”