#sam: please help me frame someone
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“well, i guess that’s broken.”
𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚎 : 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 : 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 & 𝚜𝚊𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚙 : 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟼𝚝𝚑 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟻 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 : 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛, 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚛𝚔. 𝚌𝚌 : @𝚟𝚕𝚢𝚞𝚟𝚍𝚘𝚟𝚊
if an outsider had walked in and observed this scene, sam would have been abashed with how ridiculous and childish it all appears : her, gracefully poised to his left, countertop repurposed as a bench with the perfect viewpoint to his misery, just out of range of the dangerzone. him, shoulders rammed underneath his ears with all his recalcitrant chagrin poised in his spine, hips, pout, lowering fist. impossibly, she is radiant at six in the morning, smile as coy as a cat amongst the pigeons and clearly enjoying the show. careworn, grumpy and vibrating as he is, sam cannot bare to look at her.
he’s struggling to think only of calm, sandy beaches. not her smugness. the smell of the sky. not the smell of failure. a broad, vibrant smile in an otherwise dreary municipal office that had interrupted a mundane life to show him all this adventure. actually, screw all that smile. if it weren’t for “the adventure” , sam never would have busted his knuckles on this stupid ass contraption. his baby nephew fitting from elbow to wrist. not wrapping the evidence up in a bag to bury in an unmarked location. one breath in. one breath out -
( ‘in total, not including labour, it comes to about sixteen grand but i built it with my own two hand so it’s priceless. one of a kind, wilson, just like me. it’s the only STARK INDUSTRIES coffee machine in the world and i’m giving it to you.’ stark had boasted [ as he always boasted ] his way around the tour he insisted giving to sam, buffeting him some of the countless rooms on each of the sixteen floors. in either half an hour or half a year sam had lost count, stark had modestly appraised the entire land at a conservative one hundred million due to the avenger’s brand, presence, rabid fanbase but that wasn’t all that boisted it’s cost. it heralded an impressive six landing pads, a mile long swimming pool, holographic training pad with real event simulations and a war room designed to cuck the situation room below the white house. with one arm hooked, chaperoning around his shoulders, the billionaire assured him that sam’s own bad posture would be corrected by the four thousand dollar beds or the personal physical therapist who would be on-call and exclusively theirs - ‘bet you don’t have that in dc, do you, wilson?’ no, but sam’s home had a working coffee machine that needed to be punched in the face. so, take that. )
the thought of a home free from an eight hundred dollar blanket brings peace enough to open one eye whilst his breathing drags to something controlled and careful. only to have to face black smoke blooming from a cyclinder that’s cracked too much to pretend it was an accident. his favourite cup, emblazened with bright blue words assuring him he’s ‘the world’s best hero’, inconcievably split perfectly in two. brown sludge squirting the stink of burnt coffee all over his best workout shirt.
there are beans scattered and shattered around his shoes ; the messly, crumpled pile only the evidence that remains of his pride.
❝ . . . it broke me first. ❞
and it doesn’t evade his attention, that natalya is offering zero help in his time of crisis. but her help is probably just allowing him to wallow without smearing his shame to the others. ❝ help me flee the scene of the crime, skip the morning workout, blame all this on vision and i’ll buy you starbucks for a month. ❞
#INBOX.#vlyuvdova#VERSE / WE COULD BE HEROES.#sam: please help me frame someone#nat: my baby boy is growing up
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Shoot Your Shot, Cupid
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 3,770
Warnings: mature language, unbeata'd, soft Bucky, lets assume Sam set him up for this one, female coded reader, happy ending because we all deserve it, TIME SKIIIIIP, best friend with good intentions that shows up for one job and then disappears, speed dating, one obnoxious man, all the soft feelings.
Hello Kittens, and Happy Valentine's Day. It's been a while since I wrote... well anything and I was working on this for a couple of months but I think it's come all together now. Hope you enjoy it!
This couldn’t get much worse.
Tricked by your best friend.
Nay, betrayed.
By someone you implicitly trusted.
There would be no forgiving this.
Never, not ever.
The dinner and drinks invitation a few days before the start of February was met with trepidation on your part. All Christmas season you’d feigned interest as Mellony, your best friend, thrust every single co-worker, neighbor, and wait staff at you to find you someone to share the holiday with.
You couldn’t blame her. After all, Mellony was blissfully happy with her fiancée and only wanted the same for you.
All that you could forgive.
But this?
This was a complete and utter betrayal.
A deep and unimpressed frown marred your face as Mellony took the sticky name tag off the table with her perfectly manicured nails. Peeling the back with an ear-to-ear grin and pressed it against your chest. “There,” she exclaimed with joy, lacing her fingers together. “Now you’re all set.”
Looking down at the beautifully scrawled letters framed by little hearts you couldn’t help but curl your lip and whine, “Mel, you promised.”
The blond snorted and rolled her enormous puppy dog eyes, “I never promised anything.” Looping her arm through yours she practically began to drag you through the convention center doors and past the sign that sealed your fate.
Cupids Bow Speed Dating Event.
“Yes, you did,” you reaffirmed. Glancing around the room packed full of men and women in a combination of sweaters, suits, and cocktail dresses. “You promised not to try and set me up with anyone again.”
“This is my speed dating event. It doesn’t count.”
“I can assure you it does.”
“Nooooo,” she practically sang, turning around on her heel with that adorable mischievous smile of hers. “I promised that I wouldn’t set you up with anyone I knew. Everyone here was vetted by my team. I don't know any of these people.”
Grumbling she began tugging you towards the stage as intro music began to play softly from the DJ booth. Mellony paused, gripping your hand tight and looking down at you as the DJ introduced her, “Please, stay? I just want you to find someone.”
“Mel,” you hissed with disapproval. “I don’t need to find someone.”
Whether or not she heard you was unclear as the music swelled and Mellony put on her famous razzle dazzle smile and waved at everyone as she took the microphone and the presentation began. Your eyes swung to the crowd of people, more than three dozen people silhouetted against the stage lights and it made you shiver.
This was going to be a disaster.
Twenty minutes later your mind was glazed over with the audacity of men.
With every new ding of the bell, you found yourself becoming more annoyed. The match-making event progressed easily. People were divided into groups based on results from a questionnaire, something you distinctly remember Mel presenting to you as a fun Cosmo quiz, while one group remained seated the others rotated around the room.
By some stroke of luck, you were one of the people destined to sit. But that also meant that total strangers would be coming to your table to chat with you.
In all your years of singledom, you’d thought you’d heard it all. Too fat. Too loud. Too smart. Too opinionated. Those were old hat by now, and you weren’t immune to the bitter words from unimportant people.
“I suppose you’re an attractive woman,” the suit across from you said thoughtfully. His eyes never met yours, instead looking around the room likely for the next victim of his charm. “But I’m not really into your hair color. How would you feel about dying it?”
The question hung in the air as you waited for the man to look back at you. When his beady eyes returned to your face you couldn’t hide the disbelief, waving your hand in the air with an icy finality, “Absolutely not. You can go.”
He didn’t wait. Standing so quickly the chair scraped against the floor as he haughtily walked towards the bar. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you pulled out your phone and began to scroll social media waiting for the next bell in fifteen minutes.
Not the wildest thing you’d ever heard, but the gall of some people astounded even you sometimes. This also wasn’t the first event you’d been to that Mel had put on, you’d come to one or two as she’d begun her match-making service so you knew the ins and outs pretty well. But getting the same questions over and over was getting old fast.
What do you do for a living?
Where are you from?
What’s your family like?
What’s your perfect date idea?
BOR-ING!
Just once you’d like someone to ask you a real question, something thoughtful instead of the surface questions you’d find on social media.
You couldn’t believe you wore your favorite dress for this nonsense.
The bell dinged once again and the shadow of a new man sat in front of you.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” you said not looking up from the device in your hand.
“Come here often?”
“To a dating event? No,” the words were flowing out of your mouth easily. Canned responses for canned questions.
There was a heavy pause, “You seem bored.”
“That’s because I am.”
A muted scoff came from the other side of the table, “What would make it more interesting then?”
A long sigh escaped you as you continued scrolling on your phone, “If someone would ask me a question of substance, maybe I would give them a chance for conversation.”
Again a long stretching silence from the other side and you had to resist rolling your eyes.
“Alright,” he rumbled, leaning back against his chair. “Then what’s one gift you always wish you’d gotten, but never did?”
That had your thumb pausing on the endless scrolling you were doing. Finally, your gaze flicked up and your brain stopped working for a brief moment as you took in the disgustingly attractive man sitting your opposite.
Coffee color hair, and a chiseled jaw dotted with a five o’clock shadow would be enough to make even the most choosy of a woman’s breath catch. He was wearing a bulky leather jacket in a building that was pushing 80 degrees, which was odd but not overly strange.
But oddly enough you felt yourself getting drawn in. Not by his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, the dimple in his chin, or even the semi-scowl he wore.
No, it was his eyes. Bright blue soulful eyes, that sparkled a little as he sat across the table from you. Eyes that told a story all their own and drew you out of your scrolling for the first time that night.
Pursing your lips slightly you thought, “Hmm, I’d have to say it’s a puppy.”
His eyebrow arched slightly, clearly surprised by your answer, “A puppy?”
“Sure,” you said with a slight shrug. “A puppy is something I’ve always wanted but never gotten as a gift from anyone other than myself.”
“What kind of puppy?”
“Oh I don’t have a preferred breed,” you informed, tilting your head a little at the odd conversation. “But as a child, it was what I asked for every year as a present. But I never got one.”
His lips turned up in a half smile and you thought you were going to melt in your seat, “Asking for one every year and not getting one, sounds a little disappointing. Was that just a Christmas thing?”
“Nah,” you laughed a little, fingers picking at a little piece of lint on the edge of your dress. “Christmas, birthdays, Easter didn’t matter. If gifts were being given, it was at the top of my list. Every year I’d be running to the tree and picking up presents, looking for one big enough. It’s a running joke with my friends that I’d marry the first man to give me a puppy for Christmas.”
A brisk laugh escaped him, his lips pulled into a charming smile that had nervous butterflies leap up in your chest. “A puppy for Christmas,” he rumbled thoughtfully. “I’ll have to remember that.”
The response made goosebumps prickle along your skin and you held back a shiver, wetting your suddenly dry lips, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s a gift you always wanted but didn’t get,” you paused briefly a coy smile stretching your lips.
His smile turned into a smirk as he once again leaned back in his chair, blue eyes darting back and forth over your face as he thought about it. It was going well, your impish smile growing along with his own. That is until his smile began to fall, bright blue gaze darting a little more frantically over your face before he licked his lips and an unexpected tremor sounded in his voice, “I think, I think it was a sled.”
“A sled,” you asked, leaning forward a little in intrigue. “Like a big plastic one with the handles? Oh no, I got it you’re definitely an inflatable snow tube kind of guy.”
A balk of laughter sounded from him, making hidden laugh lines appear at the corner of his eyes as they brightened with your playful banter. “Nah,” he exclaimed, waving a hand. “More like a wood and metal one. It had bright red skis and a wooden seat top. That sled was all I wanted as a kid.”
An amused giggle slipped from you, “I had a wagon kind of like that as a kid, it was a radio flyer.”
His fingers snapped as he pointed at you with a little bit of excitement, “That’s it! A Radio Flyer sled, with a rope handle and foot steering bar. Though I don’t think I’d ever get one now. I’m a little too old to go sledding down a hill.”
“Age is all about perspective.”
He snorted, “Tell that to my driver's license.”
Genuine laughter bubbled up from inside of you as you leaned forward in your seat, a teasing retort on your lips. Before you could speak, Mellony rang her little handbell and people began to switch places again. But your blue-eyed stranger lingered at your table.
“Talk to you again?”
He sounded, hopeful. “Yeah,” you croaked out pathetically. “Talk to you again.”
You watched as he stood from your table and made his way across the room to his next table while another man took his place at your own. A feeling of disappointment swelled as you lost sight of him in the crowd of people, the feeling intensifying as this new man briefly introduced themselves before launching into a long Tinder-level introduction.
Two more men sat at your table, barely holding your interest outside of normal pleasantries before Mel rang her handbell in rapid succession. “Alright everyone that’s the first round,” she called from her place at the podium. “We’re going to break for thirty minutes. There are hors d'oeuvres and refreshments at the bar. Please feel free to mingle!”
The room of people began to stand and mill around as an uproar of chatter began. Your eyes picked out a couple of men from your group, pairing up with others and heading to the bar. Cordial smiles turned into pleasant touches and sweetheart eyes as they went.
The Cupids Bow Dating Event was a success and you couldn’t help but feel the swell of pride for your friend.
“Hey, Sourpuss,” Melody greeted, looping her arm through yours. “You having fun yet?”
Your mind drifted back to your blue-eyed stranger, “A little.”
“Well, I don’t know if you know this. But the point of speed dating is to, you know, find a date. I was watching you, and you gotta talk to more than one person,” she sassed.
Your mouth turned down to a frown for a brief moment, “I talked to someone.”
“Oh yeah? What was his name.”
Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times as you realized quickly you’d never even got Mr. Blue-Eyes name, “Shit.”
“What?”
“I didn’t even get Mr. Blue-Eyes name!”
“It’s Bucky.”
Turning around there stood Mr. Blue-Eyes himself, err… you meant Bucky. There was no doubt your embarrassment showed on your face, but the little nervous laugh that slipped out sealed the deal.
Bucky smiled at you, “That is if it’s me you were talking about?”
Wetting your lips you shifted, suddenly nervous before meeting friendly blue eyes, “Yeah,” you squeaked before clearing your throat. “I mean, yes. I’m sorry I missed your name when we talked.”
He was nodding for a brief moment, his eyes darting over towards the bar before taking a few steps closer to you and leaning down. “There’s a restaurant down the street. They’ve got pretty good sushi. You want to get the hell out of here?”
“Oh, my god yes!” The tips of your ears felt hot as you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole but Bucky didn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. Instead, he offered up his right arm and you looped yours into it without hesitation.
Melody’s brow shot up out of surprise, “B-but that was only the first round! There are still two more.”
“I don’t think we need a round two,” Bucky said, the same charming smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and making his eyes crinkle.
“Yeah,” you laughed, in a teasing tone. “This round just might go to Cupid after all.”
Three years later.
Lights twinkled in the living room of your apartment, it was god awful early and you’d carefully planned today. Christmas day and you’d been waiting for this moment for two years now. Quickly and quietly you snuck out of the bedroom where Bucky lay wrapped up in the blankets and made your way to the front closet.
It was hard being sneaky when your boyfriend was a super spy. But after a lot of careful planning, misdirections, and a lot of help from Sam, you’d managed to do it and Bucky was none the wiser.
Tiptoeing towards the hall closet that Bucky never used you opened the squeaky hinged door in just the way so it made no noise. Reaching blindly into the black of the closet you felt around, past the dozen unused coats, jackets, scarves, and hats your hand met the back of the closet wall. Sliding quietly until your fingers brushed the cold metal you were looking for.
Jackpot.
Fingers wrapped around your prize as you gave a firm but gentle tug. A pristine, adult-sized, bright red and creamy wood seat Flex Flyer sled emerged complete with an enormous red bow.
Stifling a giggle you set it down.
“What are you doing?”
A shriek tore out of your throat as you jumped what felt like twenty feet in the air.
“James Barnes,” you scolded, heart beating a million miles an hour. “What have I said about sneaking up on me?”
“You were being sneaky first,” he said, brows drawn together as he tried to look around you. “What you hiding doll face?”
“Nothing!” You lied, spreading your arms and legs to hide your surprise gift.
It was at that moment you heard the vibration from Bucky’s phone clutched in his hand, the man tried to not look sheepish as he not so covertly pressed the silence button.
Suspicion immediately filled you, “Bucky? What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” He shot back, his brow knits in suspicion.
It was a standoff.
The two of you staring each other down in the dark of the hallway in your matching Christmas pajamas. Someone knocking on the front door startled you both before Bucky cursed under his breath, pointing at you, “Don’t follow me.”
His instruction surprised you as he brushed past you in the small hallway. You scoffed under your breath, “You’re in your PJ’s Buck, how far are you going?”
Bucky paused before going around the corner, “I mean it.” There was another soft but hurried knock and he cursed before disappearing.
A tisk of disapproval escaped you, but urgency filled your movements the second he was out of sight. Hands shaking slightly you hurried, pulling the sled out from the closet with as much silence as you could muster before dashing the Christmas tree. Stuffing the sled behind the tree, a few bulbs swinging back and forth as you fumbled to fluff the crumpled bow on Bucky’s surprise.
A cacophony of hushed grumbles and whispers came from the front door, you could have sworn you heard Sam as the door closed with a thunk and the lock turned. In a matter of seconds Bucky was coming around the corner again, an enormous gold box gripped in his hands affixed with a brilliant glittering green bow.
It was clear that Bucky didn’t see you immediately as he juggled the wobbly box and tried to remain quiet as he did so.
“Whatcha, got there?”
Bucky startled, socked feet skidding to a halt just at the corner of the couch as the box wobbled in his hands again. Frustrated and accusatory blue eyes narrowed, “What are you doing in here?” He asked in a hushed whisper.
“What are you doing in here?”
“You better not be shaking presents.”
“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll have you know I haven’t shaken a present since I was ten. What’s in the box, Jamie?”
Bucky flinched a little, his one weakness was when you called him Jamie. His shoulders sagged a little as his grip on the box tightened, “This was supposed to be a surprise.”
“Oh I’m surprised,” you said with a laugh. The mantle clock began to ding for the early morning hour. Five AM came so early now. “Do you want to open our gifts now?”
Bucky pursed his lips, body jerking as the box tried to throw itself from his hands. “I think now is best.”
Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the prospect of what the box could contain. But your eyes flitted over to the space behind the tree where you’d stuffed Bucky’s surprise and the anxious feeling grew tenfold as you thought about the question you were going to ask him once he’d seen it.
Clearing his throat Bucky nodded towards the Christmas tree and the traditional present opening space. Dutifully you sat down in the chair, eyes darting over behind the tree to where your gift sat. “Um, mine's not wrapped.”
“That’s alright,” he said, setting the box at your feet as it rattled all on its own now that it was on the floor. “Where is mine and we’ll do them on the count of three.”
“Alright,” you agreed, fingers tapping the edges of your box. “Yours is behind the tree.”
You saw his eyes dart over to the tree and then back down to you, “On three.”
“Alright,” you agreed, fingers poised to rip at the bow on top of the gift. “One.”
“Two,” Bucky echoed, taking a step closer to the tree.
“Three!”
Your fingers began tearing at the bow on top of the gift box as it rattled against the floor. Pushing back the loose gold paper and terrible tape job before, POP!
Two of the most adorable brown eyes you’d ever seen stared up at you. You were stunned for a moment, staring down at the cutest little paws and wet nose you’d ever laid your eyes on.
“OHMYGODAPUPPY!!”
The shrieking sob spilled past your lips as you pulled the squirming pup into your arms, its tiny tongue licking and sniffing all over your face and mouth. Tears spilled from your eyes as the little bundle in your arms wiggled, squirmed, and kissed your face everywhere; its bottom wiggling so much they tumbled out of your arms and into your lap.
“Oh my god,” you blubbered, holding the precious little one to you. “Bucky! He’s so cute. Oh, it’s a she. She’s so cute, James. Oh god! Oh my god, I love her so much. I can't—I can’t believe this! This is real right? Do I get to keep her? Bucky?”
Looking up Bucky was angled away from you, the lights of the Christmas tree gleaming off of his arm as he held onto his new sled. His fingers found the tag as he stared at it in the dim lighting.
He sniffled briefly before he began to read, “Roses are red, violets are blue, do me the—the honor—the honor of spending my life with you?”
Teary blue eyes turned towards you as you held the squirming puppy in your arms. “Doll,” he squeaked out with a sniffle as a few tears began to slip. “You…”
Looking up at him from your seat you reached into the side table drawer pulled out a distinctive black ring box and opened it. Inside, a single simple gold band that had Bucky’s breath catching.
“Will you,” you croaked out, clearing your throat a little more and juggling your new bundle of joy in your arms. “Will you marry me, James Buchanan Barns?”
A laugh escaped Bucky as he lowered the sled to the floor, and then himself. Bucky knelt before you, down on one knee, and reached forward towards the little puppy squirming in your arms. His fingers brushed against a tiny piece of string attached to the bow, you’d missed it but he lifted the dangling object for your inspection. A beautiful golden ring with what had to be the most enormous diamond you’d ever seen.
Your shocked watery gaze met Bucky’s impossibly blue eyes, “Only if you say yes too.”
The puppy leaped down from your lap, content to explore their new apartment as you slid down and onto Bucky’s lap. Arms wrapping around his shoulders and kissing him harder than you ever had before. Warmth blossomed in your chest as Bucky’s lips parted briefly with a light moan, kissing one another with dizzying urgency.
Gasping for air the two of you parted briefly, planting pecking kisses against one another lips.
“Is that a yes,” he husked, his hands sliding up and down your back.
“Yes, it’s a yes, Jamie.”
Grinning up at you, Bucky cradled you against him, “I didn’t know if you’d say yes.”
“Of course I’d say yes,” you whispered, holding onto him tightly. “After all, you did get me that puppy I’ve always wanted.”
A laugh escaped Bucky as he held you tightly and buried his face against your chest, his shoulders shaking in what could only be a relief, “Fuck, I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Blue-Eyes.”
END
#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barns x reader#bucky barns x y/n#bucky barns fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#mcu#TFWS#winter soldier#avengers#bucky barnes#marvel
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just too late
pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader
summary: where tara can't help but regret the outcome of her consequences, she was just too late. how can a heart love if it is no longer beating?
warnings: massive angst, death, stabbing, blood
word count: 3.5k+
a/n: based of a request i got on wp! honestly, i wrote this months ago and got to the end, but their request was so similar that i redid it. posting a small second part soon<3 also omg, thank you for 500 followers!
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You had just visited Tara, a bouquet of roses in one hand as you knocked on the door. You had seen them when walking to her apartment and you knew that they were just perfect for her. You had to get them. As you heard the lock of the door click, Tara opened the door. She peeked out and saw you, smiling shyly. You thought she'd smile back, but instead her smile dropped.
That had never happened before.
"Y/N, we need to talk.
You knew something was wrong, something bad was going to happen. Your breath got stuck in your throat as she stepped aside to let you in. You knew the next thing that would happen would not be good.
fast forward 20 minutes
You stood there in Tara's apartment, Sam eyeing you with a penetrating death glare. You felt like sinking into the floor right there and then. You hated this kind of silence.
Sam broke the quietness, her gaze stern, "Y/N, this isn't going to work out between you and Tara." She states, crossing her legs as she sighs, "All of it just adds up."
You shake your head, but before you can retaliate, Sam speaks again.
"You know it too. You started dating my sister two weeks prior before the first ghostface attack. The police found your necklace right next to the victim, covered in blood. I can't trust you and have you near my sister. All of us," she states, twirling her finger in a circle, "Are in danger and I can't let my baby sister get hurt again. None of us trust you, not Mindy, not Chad, and definitely not me. You are going to stay away from her, no more coming over or seeing each other at school. Do I make myself clear?"
"You believe a piece of evidence that barely proves anything? They didn't even find my DNA anywhere!"
"Gloves."
You felt rage crawling its way out, you couldn't believe your girlfriend's sister would think you're the killer. Sam knows all too well how much Tara loves you. "You know I wouldn't hurt you! Least of all Tara! I love her with my whole heart and I would never even think of that! I-I don't know how my necklace got there, someone framed me!" You turned to Tara, blinking away tears that stung your eyes, "Tar.. You believe me right? Please tell her. I didn't do anything! Please don't leave me."
"Please.." you begged. You saw the way her gaze slightly cracked, you knew she didn't believe you. You could feel it, you wouldn't care for fucks sake if Mindy, Chad, or Sam didn't believe you. But Tara was different. It felt like a swing to the heart, it hurt so much. It felt heavy.
Tara didn't do anything but give you a hurt look, staring down at her fingers. You expect her to throw her arms around you, tell you that they all got it wrong and you can both live happily ever after in the end. Yet she doesn't.
"I'm sorry Y/N," she forces her shattered voice in her normal tone, swallowing a cry clawing to come out, "I don't trust you anymore, I don't love you. I-I never did. I just.. Don't think you should visit anymore. We're done."
You felt like your whole heart shattered at that moment as you heard her last two words. You looked at her as you sobbed in your hands. Hurt, mournful, betrayed.
All that Tara said was, "You need to get out please," her eyes pink and glossy.
"You don't understand Tara, please I'm begging you-"
"Y/N, I'm not going to say it twi- It's n-not me Tara!" you say, this point a small cry escaping you. The way Tara looks at you is wild.
Your girlfriend's voice raised, with a fury, she wasn't going to say it again, "Get the hell out! Do you need me to say i-it twice? I don't fucking love you! I don't want to see your face again!"
You flinched, you never felt more heartbroken in your life. Your heart hurt, it felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer. Tears that threatened to fall down were now dropping on the floor. All the moments you've spent together were now thrown away, stomped on. You felt your body shaking as you toss the flowers, leaving them to fall on the floor with a thud.
You simply nod, slowly.
"Fine." You say, more flat than ever, turning to leave as you feel the petals get stepped on by your shoe.
All you wanted was to brighten your girlfriend's day, entering with flowers in your hand and just wanting to cuddle her all day long. Yet, here you are, your girlfriend now turning into you ex, flowers dead, no cuddles, no more trust.
Tara felt horrible, the guilt eating her alive. All of her words were lies, she just knew that if you were to separate from her, she would keep you safe. You wouldn't be the target for ghostface if he thought you were just a normal person in Woodsboro. You would be safe. She tried to assure herself that as you slammed the door.
Her eyes met the squished flower that escaped from the bouquet on the floor and she wondered if she'd ever get flowers from you again after everything.
-
You stared at the picture frame placed on the counter of you and Tara together hugging with matching clothes, you choked on your sobs. Tara nor your friend group had chatted with you since then. Sam had blocked you on social media. At least your other friends had came along and checked up on you to make sure you were okay. Tara had sent a few messages, saying she was sorry that things had ended up like this, but to realize you blocked her.
You couldn't function properly, your eyes were dry with the amount of tears you released in the past week.
It's not your fault, you tried to assure yourself. You weren't ghostface. You can't believe the person you trusted most didn't even put her trust in you.
Maybe it all is your fault. Maybe if you were different, in personality, how much the core 4 really liked you, you wouldn't be here, crying like those teens in the movies that just feast on a gallon of ice cream. It makes you cry a little harder while you hug your teddy bear.
Especially the taunting memory of Tara screaming at you, tears blurring your vision as you stumbled back out of her apartment. Sam's eyes softening just a little bit, not meaning for this to happen. Yet you didn't even try looking into her eyes, too caught up with your own feelings to feel her sorrow.
The past few days, you've locked yourself up, abandoned school. Ignored the core 4, blocked Tara and the other three.
Your mind wandered, you were clouded in your own thoughts as you sobbed angry and hurtful tears. You cried to the point where tears stopped falling, and you were left with feeling nothing and your body feeling sore. Your breathing was still heavy, you let out heavy shaky breaths, but they started to cool down.
You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing, until you heard your phone buzz from the ground. You picked it up, there was a message.
A part of you expected your friends to check up on you, since that's what they've been doing every since you've stopped going to school. Instead, you were met with a picture from unknown of the abandoned movie theater not too far from here. There, you saw the camera facing a knife pointing towards Tara and Sam, threatening, daring.
Your eyes widened, as you immediately take your keys and bust out the door, grabbing a small knife, maybe you'll need it, unblocking Tara and calling her and all of those you knew must be in there. They're in danger.
Each call leads to voicemail, from both Tara and Sam, you search up their location. The only one shared for you is Tara's. You almost smash it to the front of your phone holder, locating where they are at.
As much as you hurt, you knew that you would never heal knowing that someone you loved was at risk. The car engine roars to life as you head for the theater.
With each texts and call ignored, you get paranoid, worried sick. Stepping on the accelerator of the car, your car turns a corner and is out of sight.
"She fell for it, she's coming your way," a taunting voice rasps into their phone, Ghostface.
"Our plan is just setting into action."
-
Carefully, you slip into the door of the run down theater. You hear clatters, and immediately you freeze, hiding a corner and peeking out. Tara's scream echoes through the theater, your eyes widen and you look around, for something sharp.
This is a stupid shrine committed to ghostface, you realize. It makes it a little better, at least you're guaranteed a knife to defend and fight with?
You sweep a corner, the room your in is silent, and you creek down the floor board, being greeted with glass display cases.
You're not good with blood, yet there's evidence from ghostface's mark years ago. TV's, a knife laced in the red crimson color. A gag almost leaves your lips, yet you open the display case and your hands grasp around a cool metal. It's a knife alright, not too sharp if you were to drop it you wouldn't cut your whole toe off. Yet it's do-able.
"Tara?" your voice echoes, walking around and exploring, you're frantic. You keep hearing her voice mail ring through your ears and your worry increases.
You thought the room you were in was obsessive with ghostface, yet when you go into the middle of this shrine, it's filled with obsessive things. Masks, robes, knives, even the TV that Stu Macher was killed by. A shiver escapes you.
You look up, and you see the chaos going, glass shattered on the floor, action buzzing around. You see Tara.
"Tara!" You shout, trying to keep your voice low, your eyes meeting the ladder that goes up, you climb on it, grunting in effort. You climb, climb, climb, climb, until you reach the top.
Tara is with Sam, they're talking about their plan, they're a couple hundred feet away from you. The sister's clothes are smothered in blood, Sam's arm has a wound, and you feel sick seeing the blood seeping from your girlfriend's clothes.
Your about to say her name, until you see a shadow emerge. It's not any that you know, this one is dark, tall, more man-like.
It's not until you see the tilt of their head the sliver of light reflecting off their mask. Ghost face.
You don't know what gotten into you from the adrenaline from the moment, but your legs begin to run, move, nothing sounds more fitting than slow motion. His knife lifts from his chest, the sharp metal edge glistening.
You try to scream, the words bubble up in your throat, comes out in a dry cough.
Your legs feel like jelly, run faster, damnit.
They can't see him, he's behind them, tucked just 2 feet away in a corner, yet you see him. You can save Tara and her older sister, you can save the both of them, you have time.
You can save the both of them, your love outplays your brain. It's telling you to stop, you're going to get killed. But your heart overwhelms it, beating quicker, with each beat all you can hear is
Tara
Tara
Tara
Save
Her!
Tara
You
Have
Time.
The knife ghostface is holding gets brought down.
"Tara!" You finally scream, it comes out as a desperate cry as you lunge towards her. Her eyes turn from the setting below her to you, confusion, then shock as your hands shove her shoulders. The strength you built up finally goes to use, pushing her out of harms way, she shoves into Sam, as they both stumble back.
You hear them both say your name, confusion at first, before the second time they holler it out. It's a scream, yet it dies down in your ears, feeling the cool metal of the blade slam into your shoulder. The ring from Tara's screams fade, replaced with the blood pulsing in your ears. The pain, the sharp knife sinking into the flesh of your shoulder. All you can do is let out a soft cry, too tired to scream.
Your eyes water, looking up at ghostface, the ugly mask boring into your eyes. He tilts his head, shocked for a moment. Until he tilts his head back again, like the target he hit is even better than what he wanted. They didn't expect you so soon.
The knife tears out from your flesh, a sob leaves your throat, kicking and flaring your arms.
"Y/N!" Tara screams your name, this one you can hear. She's crying, sobbing, wailing. Begging for her older sister to let her go and save you.
Sam shushes her, all they can do is watch. All Tara can do is watch you suffer.
His knife slams into you again, your abdomen. You hear a disgusting squelch as it goes in. The pain is unbearable, this stab hurts even more than anything you can think about. You thought the 4 foot thorn going through your foot was bad. You cry, grabbing the knife that's tucked into your pocket and slam it against the black coat, right where the neck meets the shoulder.
A raspy whisper escapes your lips, "F-fuck you." You snarl.
You barely hear him grunt. Yet he doesn't back down, in fact, you hear the disgusting squelch again.
And again.
And again.
The pain lessens. You know why. You're dying.
You can't hear it anymore, but there are now several stabs on your abdomen. You collapse, blood seeping through your clothes, your hands, your face. It's warm, dark red, spreading. It oozes out of your wounds, and the squelching sounds are gone. Your eyes flutter, seeing the flurry of the white masked figure leaving you to rot. Your body collapses to the floor with a loud crash.
You saved Tara, you would die before he could ever kill her. Before she could ever die. If Tara died, you'd kill yourself, or you'd die quicker from a broken heart.
Sam's yelling, kicking ghostface as he lets go of you, you can barely see her bringing him down to the bottom floor, both of them collapsing off the second story.
Your eyes begin to close, your breath comes in short heaves and wheezes.
And then, you see her, barely, through your weak vision.
It's blurry at first, but you know it's Tara, who else would look so good with blood all over her face?
She presses her body down to you, her warmth barely seeping through, your body is colder. Those warm, soft eyes are wide, looking so scared, hands pressing down deeper to your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.
"Fuck, no. Nononono.. Why the hell would you do that?" She yells at you, shaking your body, you whimper.
You barely respond, croak her name out, cough out blood.
She's crying, you realize, she's choking on sobs as she cradles you, lifting your body up to her chest. She smells like your favorite scent, sweet.. light.. vanilla.. So lovely.
You just want to be in her arms forever. Let her sweetness soothe the pain.
"Y/N," she sobs, seeing the way you're struggling to stay conscious, you're only holding on because she's there. She can tell the way your eyes are slowly glassing over, your vision is twitching, blurring, un-focusing.
Don't cry, you want to tell her, even though you know you're here, dying in your girlfriend's arms. But you're too weak to speak, instead, let a slurred murmur leave you. Her hand is clinging to yours, like if she were to let go you would immediately fall away.
"It's okay baby," Tara sniffs, clinging to you. Like if she lets go you'll shatter, "I'm here, help will come soon. Stay with me. Eyes on me baby."
You look at her, your girlfriend, being in her arms. She has a small wound, around her arm to her shoulder, yet it's barely bleeding. Being here, in her arms. It's your favorite thing ever, you've done it so many times to feel her warmth. You never thought you would not be in Tara's arms at night with you buried against her.
Yet you know it's your last time you'll be in them. You can barely feel the warmth she's trying to transfer to you, you're freezing. She senses it too, the way she's hugging you tighter. Pleading you to stay here, with her. The brunette squeezes your hand, distracts you from the pain that's already leaving. Along with your pulse.
"I'm so fucking sorry," she sobs, "I love you so much, you don't fucking understand," she wails. Pulls you closer to her, "I should have never left you, you mean the world to me, I never meant what I said. I t-thought I could protect you if ghostface knew that you were no longer in our circle."
You wheeze, your eyes never looking away from hers. She notices, how you're studying her, like the moment you don't, you'll forget how she looks like in heaven.
Freckles, doe-shaped crying eyes. You lift her hand to your chest, let her feel your heart, to let her know that your giving her your heart, your love. You don't want her to forget about you.
You don't want to die.
Yet if you don't want her to die, you'll die before she could ever.
Tara's still sobbing, ripping her shirt and tying it against your stomach, the blood seeps through, she tightens it. Looks worriedly down at you.
Ugly shapes of swiggles and dots cloud, you see random shapes flying. Try to focus on Tara.
Sirens ring in the distance, Tara looks back, yet immediately looks back at you. A tear falls from her stained mascara cheeks, down your shirt. Weakly, you bring it up and wipe her cheeks. Assure her it'll be okay. Yet she knows it's not. They're just too fucking late.
You saved her. That's all that matters now.
"It's all my fault, I'm so sorry my love. I never meant to hurt you. I never thought it would end so soon. I don't want you to die."
You swallow, blood slightly gurgles through your throat, use your dying strength to speak, "I'm h-here." You croak, "T-tara."
"I love you so much," you slur, hiccupping on a cry. Trace the matching necklace she gifted the two of you years past on her neck. You're wearing it too. Hers was silver, yours was gold. A silver and golden dove.
The blood loss is too much, you can barely speak. But she's here with you, in your last moments. You're able to have a goodbye you might not have had. She might not be ready, but you almost are.
Time wasn't in your favor. It really wasn't.
This isn't goodbye this is a simply see you later.
She's okay, knowing that makes you feel a little more okay. A little more okay and soothe the worries.
Tara plays with your necklace. A proper goodbye. Her eyes glisten with tears, and she leans down, presses her lips to yours. You kiss her, knowing it'll be the one you'll live to feel. Then you slump back down on the concrete. You don't care about anyone but her anymore. Sirens holler, people bust into the theater, and you look up at her, taking off her necklace and putting it into the palm of her hand.
"I w-want you to promise me one thing."
She sniffles, tears wont stop anytime soon, keeps tying cloth around your deep wounds. It's no use. She nods, "Y-yeah?"
"Promise me y-you won't forget me. E-even when you find someone you love, maybe even more than me. You won't t-throw.." You pause, coughing, "T-throw our memories away. Promise me that. That when your h-hands hold theirs, you realize that mine was once warmer. When you're by yourself on F-Friday nights, you'll remember that you used to come to mine and cuddle m-me." You hiccup, losing your train of thought, blinking, your words are barely audible, yet Tara can still make them out.
"...When you look at the stars on the grassy meadow, you'll remember that that's the spot we always w-went to to get our thoughts out of things," you barely giggle, it hurts your stomach. "A-and, when you look at all my pictures, or maybe one day I won't pass your mind for once, you'll be ready to let me go. The thought of me still being here. Y-you'll be able to love, even though I might still scar your heart."
She sniffles, seeing the way you begin to struggle on your words, they grow quieter.
"But I won't let that happen, I don't want your h-heart t-to scar," You place her hand on your chest again, "You can have mine."
Tara swallows her tears, still, they drop.
"I love you, Y/N," she sniffles, it's the same word from every other time you both said you loved each other. Yet this time, it's so fucking different. It's the last time you'll ever hear her say it to you while you're still hear. "I'll never love anyone more than I loved you."
"I love you too, Tara," you whisper. It's the last time she'll ever hear it from you. A small, weak smile cracks on your face as she leans down one more time, kisses you softly, taking the last breath from your lips.
And it's time to go. Your chest stills.
And for the last time, she hears your heart beat one more time.
A heart that once beat for her was gone.
#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna ortega x you#jenna ortega imagine#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x you#jenna marie ortega#jenna ortega x reader#vada cavell x reader#jenna ortega x y/n#vada cavell x y/n#tara carpenter x y/n#tara carpenter x female reader
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Hi! Could u do Sam and Colby x reader where they're exploring a haunted area and the reader has a panic attack due to a scare so they comfort
Ofc! Thank you for the request!
I did make the reader female because of some extra details, if you don’t like that please let me know I’ll change that for you<3
We just had a tour and our guide left afterwards. I would lie if I said I wasn’t nervous, I’ve never done this before.
“Alright, so our tour guide just left so we’re all alone, are you two ready?” Colby pointed the camera at Sam and me.
“Hell yeah!” Sam grinned and I just chuckled nervously. “I am rather nervous if I’m honest.” I said.
“And that’s totally fine, I mean, this is your first time, right?” Sam asked and I nodded. “It’s completely fine to be nervous or scared, I mean I can’t say I’m never scared in our own videos.” Colby said and I couldn’t help let out a small laugh.
“Alright then, where do we start?” I asked, putting my hands together.
“Well I’d say the children’s room, our guide said it was pretty active there and I mean, their children, it’s a good start,” Sam suggest and then looked at me.
“You’re a skeptic right?” He asked and I nodded. “Yes, I am a sceptic, but you know, maybe that’ll change today,” I grinned at the camera before Colby shut it off.
When we where in the children’s room he started it again and pointed it at Sam who would explain a bit.
“Alright so as the guide mentioned, there is quite a lot of activity here, mostly like toys moving, equipment going off and he mentioned knocks when you are in another room.” He summed up before Colby pointed the camera at me.
“He also said, they did really like females especially with long hair.” He said and Sam walked the frame taking some of my long locks of h/c hair in his hands and pointing at it. “Long hair.” He said and I chuckled.
“Let’s just hope they won’t cut it.” I said making them also laugh.
After the investigation in the room, we’re about to leave when I feel a strong tuck on my hair. I suck im a sharp breath and my hand shoots towards my head.
“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” Sam immediately notices something wrong. “Something just pulled my hair I’m not kidding,” I say and tears fill my eyes.
“Like an actual pull or just movement?” Sam asked curiously, not noticing my distress yet.
“No like someone actually grabbed it and pulled,” I said and my voice broke, making them realise something was wrong. “Hey, hey it’s alright.” Colby quickly walked over putting and arm around me.
“No, no I’m fine, I’m sorry,” I apologise. “Hey, no need to say sorry, it’s all fine.” Colby reassured. My sight was blurred and I could feel my hands shaking.
“Come, you should sit down for a moment.” Sam urges and I just sit down right on the ground, leaning against the wall.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, wiping my tears out of my eyes. “No, no it’s fine, it’s fine. Come breath, in and out alright.” I’m not sure who’s speaking to me but i try my best to listen, trying to take longer breaths.
“See, that’s better,” Colby says, rubbing my back. “I feel like I’m going to pass out.” I admit as I lean my head against the wall behind me.
“You’re not going to pass out, just keep talking to me, you’re going to be alright.” Sam reassures, sitting in front of me while holding my hands to stop them from shaking.
I take deep breaths in an out, trying to calm down while they keep reassuring me everything is going to be fine.
“I- I think I’m fine, we can continue.” I said after calming down a bit, I try to sit up but Sam stops me. “Wow, let’s get you some water first and then sit for a moment longer, we’re in no rush.” He tells me before standing up and walking towards the bags to get some water.
When he returns he hands me the bottle and I take a few sips.
“I’m sorry, I just- I already was overwhelmed and then that happened, it just freaked me out.” I said. “No it’s fine, really, you don’t have to apologise, its really fine.” Colby said, sitting next to me.
“Do you still want to continue? We can cut it short and get you back,” Sam asked but I shook my head. “No, we can continue, I’m fine.” I smiled.
“Alright, but if you want to leave just say so,” he tells me and I nod. “Can we cut me freaking out from the video, though? You can add the part where I just say what happened, just… not what happened after.” I say.
“Yes, of course, I think we actually immediately cut the camera’s.” Colby says and I breath out in relief.
“Alright then, let’s continue.”
#sam golbach#colby brock#sam and colby#colby brock x reader#sam golbach x reader#xplr#xplr club#panic attack#sam and colby x reader
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a novel life pt.4
Summary: You were really starting to understand a few things about the younger generation. For example, every time you looked at Sam, you thought "I can fix her." It was happening a bit too frequently for your liking.
Word Count: 4.8k
Warnings: Swearing, Scream levels of violence, suggestive themes
Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Reader
(pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5)
“Baby?”
You kept your eyes on whatever was on the floor.
“You broke it.”
“Tara, shut up.”
“Look at me.”
It wasn’t moving.
“Hey.”
The red creeped and crawled toward the flowers on the ground.
“Baby.”
Hands held both sides of your face and tried to pull you in the other direction. Gentle, but firm. It didn’t matter, they could pull all they wanted, it didn’t stop your eyes from staying glued to the thing in the middle of the living room floor. The shape was familiar, and you were aware that you should recognise it. But the harder you looked, the more the shape seemed to blur and distort.
“Stop looking at it.” Sam. “Look at me.”
You couldn’t.
You opened your mouth to answer, stopped to clear your throat, and started again. “Is that a body?”
Everyone seemed to hesitate.
“Yes,” Sam answered.
You nodded slowly.
“Is it dead?”
“I thought you were supposed to be smart.”
A sigh. “Tara.”
“Yes,” Sam repeated.
You nodded again. The red almost touched your shoes.
“It’s a dead body?”
“Jesus fuck, Sam, get them out.”
“Come on,” Sam said softly, keeping her hold on your face to pull you with her.
Your eyes never left the scene until she had pulled you into her room and shut the door behind you both. There was a dead body in Sam’s living room. A body. A dead one. In the living room. Right there on the floor. Visible to god and anyone who opened the front door. Which included you.
“You need to breathe,” Sam said. “Look at me and breathe.”
You inhaled deeply and blinked slowly. Only when you opened your eyes did you actually see Sam for the first time that evening. She looked stunning, as usual. Her beautiful brown eyes looked lovely in the artificial light of the apartment. You tried not to notice the blood on her arms.
Not even her beautiful, kissable face could distract you from the scene that had plastered itself behind your eyelids.
“There’s a dead body on your floor,” you said.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said with a humourless chuckle.
“It looks like a dead body,” you repeated, “in your living room.”
She sighed. “Maybe it is what it looks like, but I can explain.”
You shook your head and took a half step back. Did you want an explanation? Perhaps you could act like you hadn’t seen anything. That would create plausible deniability, would it not? No, not entirely, you had still seen a body in your girlfriend’s apartment. Your deniability wouldn’t be that plausible.
As you took another half step back, you were finally far enough away to realise what was hanging off Sam’s frame. A black cloak. Or robe. Whatever it was, it was familiar. Very familiar. The only thing missing was the mask. Your head tilted slightly.
Perhaps you liked the robe. It looked… nice.
“Please let me explain,” Sam said as she stepped closer.
You took a step back, but nodded in her direction.
“He followed Tara home because he thought she was a kid,” she said. “It was for good reason.”
Good reason. Someone had died. Horrifically, if the amount of blood was anything to go by. And the amount of knives. Someone had clearly suffered. What about that explanation made it such a good-
-oh.
Okay, perhaps it was a good reason.
“Is this the first…” you sighed and shook your head, “accident?”
The way Sam’s face fell was answer enough.
“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Okay, I need to go home.” You couldn’t look at her. “I need to think.”
“I can walk you home-”
“-it’s okay,” you said. She stopped moving closer when you held your hands up in front of you. “I promise I’ll call.”
The look on her face was enough to break your heart, but it was sitting backseat to the body that you couldn’t help but look at as you walked out of the bedroom. J was already dragging it to the bathroom. They stopped, smiled, and waved at you before continuing to move. Beside them, Tara gave you a look that was akin to what you would give a dog at the shelter.
You bent down and picked up the flowers from the floor, placing them gently on the table. Blood started to pool underneath the petals as you left the apartment.
—---
Sleep had evaded you since you had gotten home a few nights ago. The world had simply kept turning. You had handed out the graded essays in class; you had introduced new material. You had ordered takeout because the last thing you needed was burnt food from your own kitchen. The world kept turning, and everything kept moving forward.
And you still hadn’t called Sam.
You had turned the volume off on your phone the moment you had gotten home. If you saw the notifications from Sam, you would cave and call her back instantly. Against all your better judgements that told you to think everything through, you would have called her and gone back to her apartment to face whatever trouble came your way.
There was no promise you wouldn’t still do that. But the least you could do was think through every aspect.
And you did. You tossed over every possibility, every facet of truth, every miniscule detail that may or may not have mattered, starting with the biggest fact; Sam was Ghostface. Or she was a Ghostface. Clearly Tara and J were involved to some degree. So on one hand, Sam was the only one, on the other hand, there were three Ghostfaces.
Splendid.
That knowledge forced your hand, and you bought all the books and movies and every little news article you could find, old and new. The movies were on in the background - they were far more disgusting than you had planned, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly pay attention - while you read the books. The majority came from that news reporter, Gale Weathers. They were a little tasteless, but seemed legit nonetheless.
Your handwriting littered the books, pointing out motives, tactics, patterns, anything you could find. Most were petty, certainly not worth killing for. At least Sam had given a fair reason; you could understand that one. Not killing people because your father had cheated on his wife.
Thankfully Sam hadn’t gotten that level of pettiness from her father.
Inevitably you found the online forums that claimed Sam had been the killer after Woodsboro. All the theories were, quite frankly, baseless. From an academic point of view, they would have been tossed out within the first few words. There was no reasoning, no critical thinking, simply everyone jumping at the chance to blame someone else because it was popular.
It was no wonder Sam had thought you were stalking her on the day you met her.
When all your research was said and done, you had what amounted to the entirety of a second thesis at your disposal. Everything from past Ghostfaces, their motives, conspiracies being disproved, all the way up to the most recent sighting not too long ago. In New York City. With J, Tara, and Sam in the news.
Things had added up, and you were ready to face the solution.
Sam answered before the first ring had finished.
“Are you all at the apartment?” You asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said; you could all but hear the relief in that one simple word. “We’re here.”
“Stay there, I’m coming over,” you said quickly. You nearly hung up, but spoke again. “I’ll bring dinner.”
You didn’t wait for Sam to say anything else; you were in the proper headspace you needed for the upcoming conversation, and you couldn’t risk losing it because you missed her. Stay strong, you told yourself, say what you need to say. You weren’t going to get sidetracked, this was going to be solved, and you weren’t going to let anything get in your way.
Except for the rundown pizza place on the way to the Carpenter apartment. It was a rather delicious place, somewhere you wouldn’t have imagined visiting if it hadn’t been for Sam. You grabbed the three pizzas you knew everyone would eat, making sure to tip generously before continuing the trip to the apartment.
You also stopped for some more flowers.
And a few sweets.
And that new game you knew J had been wanting.
But then you were finishing your walk to their apartment because nothing could stop you. You were brave. You were going to talk with Sam, and you were going to talk with everyone, and you were all going to come to some form of conclusion so you could close out this thesis and move forward.
The walk up the apartment building stairs was more terrifying than it had ever been in the past. But you were brave. You took it step by step, giving yourself a pep talk with each flight. By the time you got to the apartment door, you were feeling thoroughly hyped. Nothing could stop you. Not even the… door that you… couldn’t open… because your hands were too full…
You set the bags on the floor to open the door, but then you were walking back into the apartment. A man on a mission, that’s how your dad had always described people that walked with the same attitude you were in that moment. It didn’t matter that you wouldn’t look up just yet even when you knew they were all looking at you. You closed the door, set the bags and flowers and pizzas on the table, and then you looked up.
And oh god, you had missed Sam so much.
When it was all said and done, you had actually only been away from Sam for eight days; barely over a week. No time at all where most things were concerned. But each minute that ticked by had been agonisingly slow, almost painful to the very atoms that made up your being.
“Grab your dinner,” you said with authority. And a shaky voice. “And back on the couch so we can talk.”
Tara tried to hide a laugh, and J wasn’t far from doing the same, but that was okay. They could laugh at your attempts at being brave; as long as they listened. And they did. You got out the plates and handed them to everyone so they could grab their food before they politely made their way back to the living room.
You made sure to give Sam a kiss on the cheek when she passed.
“Now,” you said as you stood in front of everyone on the couch. “We’re going to talk about what happened.”
“Hell yeah,” J said around an already full mouth, “lay down the law.”
“Thank you,” you said. They gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “We’ll start with last week.”
Everyone was silent, sans the occasional sound of chewing. That was good, they were going to let you talk. Perhaps they had prepared for such a situation. Surely they had seen this coming at some point, right? It wasn’t like they thought they could get away with murder forever, right?
Right?
“Sam told me the reason you-” you sighed and shook your head, “-and it’s an understandable reason.”
“Understandable?” Tara asked. “I think it was a bit more than that.”
“The Professor is talking,” J said, “don’t interrupt class.”
“Please continue,” Sam said with that small smile that always made your knees weak.
No, focus. You had a mission.
“We all know murder is wrong,” you said. “Illegal, even.” You looked each of them in the eye. J was nodding enthusiastically, Tara rolled her eyes, and Sam… wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Since we’re all in agreement, I have a few questions.”
“I didn’t study for a pop quiz,” J said.
“I’ve seen you study,” Tara said, “it wouldn’t have helped.”
“Have I told you I love when you’re mean?” J asked with a lovesick smile. It was precious.
And unnecessary.
“A few questions!” You repeated a little louder. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Please just ask,” Sam said without removing her hand.
“Okay,” you said softly, folding your hands behind your back, “when did all of this start?”
“After the New York attacks,” Sam said.
“I’m still salty about that,” J mumbled, quickly taking another impossibly large bite of their pizza.
“They’ve healed well,” Tara said softly. In a rare gesture of kindness - at least in front of you - she lifted her hand and gently brushed her thumb over the scars on their cheeks.
You gave them a moment before clearing your throat to get their attention once again.
“Who all is involved in these…” you bit your bottom lip as you considered your wording, “activities?”
“You mean murders?” Tara clarified.
“Stop it,” Sam said with a pointed look before facing you again. “All of us.”
“I feel like we’re in detention,” J whispered.
“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Tara asked. The niceties were long gone, it seemed.
You nodded at the information, ignoring Tara’s gibes. “All of you,” you said to yourself. Your feet froze in place, stopping your pacing. “Which one of you did I see in the alley that night?” You asked, turning to face them.
“That was me!” J said proudly with their hand raised high. “Did I scare you?”
“So badly I was sick,” you said instantly.
“Hell yeah,” they mumbled with a cocky nod of their head as they leaned back on the couch. “That was a good night.”
You stood there and watched as they looked at each other with not shame, but abject exasperation. So that was their attitude about the entire thing. You should have known, it wasn’t entirely a surprise. The fact that J had waved at you before you left last week should have been enough of a warning. But it didn’t exactly sit right with you.
There should have been shame from murdering someone. Your research had told you the Ghostfaces of the past had been particularly remorseless in their actions, but the three people in front of you weren’t like them. They were troubled, but they were kind. They had accepted you - even if it took Tara a bit of time - and had allowed you to care for them.
Sam was your Sam. Nothing about her was indicative of some internal Ghostface turmoil. She was soft. Night after night, she sat with you and talked out her feelings from the week. Multiple times she had voiced her frustration at being a Loomis, stating she was better than her genetics.
Nothing was adding up.
You had walked into this meeting with a plan; measure their responses to the allegations and get them to stop. But you very well couldn’t convince them to stop if they suspiciously felt no remorse or shame, could you? There wouldn’t be near as big of an impact if they didn’t agree with your arguments in the first place. That alone left you with very few options.
You stood up straight.
Very few didn’t equate to zero.
“Would any of you be willing to stop?” You clarified.
Sam opened her mouth.
“No,” Tara cut her off. Sam didn’t argue. “We just wouldn’t tell you.”
“Very well,” you said with a nod to yourself. “Then we’re going to come up with a few rules.”
“You’re putting rules?” Tara asked. “On Ghostface?”
“No,” you said, “I’m putting rules on the three of you.”
“Oh shit,” J said while Sam tried to hide a smile, “we got ourselves a mastermind.”
You did your best to hide your visible flinch. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a wonderful idea. Would you be connected to all of this? What if they were found out? What if you were found out? You couldn’t hold up under pressure, what if someone interrogated you? No, no this wasn’t going well at all.
But they all sat dutifully in front of you, waiting to hear what you had to say. You couldn’t just leave, or change your mind, and it was far too late to pretend you hadn’t seen what you had. No, you were going to have to be brave. You were brave.
You were brave.
—---
It turned out you were, in fact, not brave.
In the moment, you hadn’t been able to come up with a genuine rule for any of them. The only one you had managed to get out was “please don’t do it in my apartment.” Which, to your delight, they had all readily agreed to. Aside from that, you had stumbled over your words and decided you would come up with rules later.
Tara had laughed. You couldn't even be upset about it.
At least you could see Sam again, which, in the end, made everything worth it. You had missed holding her, and feeling her hands on your neck, and her lips pressed against yours. No one said a word when you stayed the night, doing nothing but holding Sam close and reminding her how much you had missed her.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said from your couch; her books were lined neatly on the table. Something you had loved about her from the very first moment you had seen her study.
“For what, darling?” You asked as you sat down beside her. She mumbled a “thank you” as she took her plate from you.
“Ghostface,” she said softly. You quickly turned to look at her even as she averted her own eyes.
“Oh,” you said before looking back down at your plate. You didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “It’s alright.”
“It’s not,” she said quickly.
You sighed and placed your plate on the table. Not on her books, of course. Then you took her plate as gently as possible, placing it down as well before turning to face her. Not just look at her, but to properly face her. If she wished to talk, you would give her your full attention.
“You deserve more,” she said.
So that’s where it was going. Okay. Now this, you could handle this.
“Before you go on this tirade of self-abuse,” you said, reaching out to grab her hands and pull them into your lap, “may I say something?”
After a slight hesitation, Sam nodded once.
“You and I are both old enough to make our own decisions, yes?” She nodded slowly. “Then trust I am old enough to know what I do and do not deserve.” Her eyes fell to her hands in your lap. “If I felt you were not what I truly wanted, I wouldn’t have stayed.”
“You don’t need to be brought into all of this,” Sam said anyway with a shake of her head. “You’re better than some traumatised Woodsboro kids.”
“I’m not better,” you said quickly, “just different.”
“Sounds the same to me,” she said with a humourless laugh.
“Samantha Carpenter, my darling dearest,” you said. You waited until she looked back up at you before you brought her knuckles to your lips, leaving the softest of kisses upon them. “I love you dearly and no, ah,” you laughed lightly, “hobby of yours will turn me away.”
There was a light blush on her cheeks when she met your eyes. “You love me?”
Oh.
Oh dear.
“Was that the first time I’ve said so?” You asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said with a smile.
You sighed. “Far less romantic than I had planned.” Your eyes widened as you looked back up. “But no less true,” you said quickly.
She shook her head before leaning forward, and you eagerly met her halfway. Her lips were soft; they always were. The faintest taste of tobacco always lingered no matter how long it had been since her last cigarette. A constant in the ever-changing lives you both led. If you could have found a way to frame it all to keep with you forever, you would have.
“I love you too,” she mumbled against your lips.
You held still as she moved across the couch, crawling into your lap and kissing you again. Her hands rested on your neck and not for the first time, you did your best to keep your cool. It was something about the contrast between the gentleness of her kisses and the strength in her hands. You were putty under her fingers; she knew it.
It wouldn’t be polite to ravage her before she had eaten dinner. If there was one thing you knew about Sam, it was that she would forget to eat. Often. And as ready as you were for a very particular meal of your own, you couldn’t push back the concern of when she had eaten last. Truly eaten, because everyone knew neither she nor Tara had enough free time to cook for themselves very often.
“Darling,” you said softly. Her nails scratched lightly against your neck as she hummed for you to continue. “You need to eat.”
“I’d love to,” she said, her lips already starting to move across your jaw.
“Real food,” you clarified.
You felt more than heard her huff before her head fell into the crook of your neck. She didn’t like when you laughed at her, so you didn’t. Not out loud, at least. Your thumbs rubbed against her lightly exposed hips until she relaxed a little more under your touch.
“Now?” She asked.
“Now,” you repeated.
Sam sighed again, but lifted her head and looked down at you. The unhappiness was clear on her face. Quite frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care. There was plenty of time left in the evening to have your fun, and she would thank you later for making sure she had eaten something.
“Do quickies require food first?” She asked. Her eyes fell slowly along with her hands, raking her nails lightly along your skin until she reached the first button of your shirt.
“Yes they do,” you said.
She undid the second button.
“Are you sure?” She asked.
You swallowed loudly. She undid the third button, and you could feel her fingers ghosting across your skin. Perhaps she made a good point, perhaps you didn’t have to have food before a quickie. After all, that was the whole point, was it not? To do it before getting back to everything else? And when she bit her bottom lip and looked at you, you knew you were a goner.
She knew it too.
“Maybe we have a little time-”
-the door to your apartment flew open, hitting the wall with a bang. Your hands gripped Sam’s waist as you both jumped and looked toward the commotion. The door slammed shut once again before you could properly get a good look at who was in the two black robes.
“Hey guys, wanna watch a movie?” J asked breathlessly.
“Are you serious?” Sam asked; she still didn’t remove herself from your lap.
“I just wanted to freak him out,” Tara said as she held her arm. You noticed a single drop of blood on the floor. “He had creeped out Anika.”
“There was one rule, Tara,” Sam said.
“It was this or go to jail, which would you prefer?” Tara asked.
“I’d prefer if you were more careful-”
-a knock at the door caused everyone to shut up and freeze.
“NYPD,” the muffled voice said from the other side of the door.
“Fuck,” J whispered.
You couldn’t really argue with that statement. No one had moved, and the police were still right outside the door. Sam’s nails dug into your skin, leaving behind a sting that, in any other situation, would have been lovely. But this wasn’t any other situation, you were all frozen while the police knocked on the door again.
“Go to my room,” you said as you lifted Sam off your lap and stood up. “Lock the door.” Tara and J nodded before running as quickly as they could to your room. “Stay here,” you told Sam.
You gave her a quick kiss before heading over to the door. Your fingers played with the buttons on your shirt before you decided better of it. Behind you, you could hear Sam stand up. With a deep breath in and a slow exhale, you decided to be brave and opened the door.
The policeman instantly looked you up and down before looking behind you. You hoped he saw Sam in slight disarray. A second policeman was leaning against the wall outside, not even having the decency to look at you before speaking.
“Did two people in black robes come in here?” He asked in a gruff voice.
“No sir,” you said quickly, “no visitors today.”
“You sure?” The first officer asked. “We saw them run into this building.”
You needed to come up with a better lie. Something more convincing. What could be convincing enough? You couldn’t blame the neighbours, you knew nothing of them. If they saw the two coming into the building, you would have to think of something. What would work? Clearly those fancy degrees you had meant nothing.
Ah.
Maybe not entirely useless.
“I’m really sorry, I haven’t noticed anything,” you said. “I’ve been a little, ah,” you cleared your throat and looked back at Sam. She gave you a small smile, and you turned back to the police, “preoccupied tonight.”
The officer looked behind you. You didn’t dare turn away and waited patiently for him to focus on you once again. Hopefully he couldn’t hear your heart attempting to beat out of your chest. He just needed to hurry and leave.
“I’m sorry we interrupted your night,” the officer finally said. “Thank you both for your time.”
You nodded and gave them both a smile. “Stay safe, officers.”
They tipped an invisible hat at you before leaving, and you didn’t wait for them to be very far before closing and locking the door. You let out a heavy sigh and let your head fall against the door with a solid thud. That was… far too close. Was that something they had all dealt with before? Had the police come to their doors before?
You took a deep breath and stood back up. Okay, you were brave, you had been very brave. When you turned around, Sam was still looking at you, but there was a different look in her eyes. You didn’t know what it was; at that moment, you were still too wound up to care.
“Come on out,” you said once you had walked over to Sam and wrapped your arms around her waist.
“They’re gone?” Tara asked while J opened the door.
“Yes,” you said with a nod, “they’re gone.”
“I thought we were fucked,” J said.
“I wish I was,” Sam mumbled softly enough for only you to hear.
You ignored the heat in your face. “Not tonight,” you said.
“Thank you,” Tara said in an uncharacteristic show of gratitude. “We didn’t know where else to go.”
“You can always come here,” you said. Tara nodded and made as if she was going to leave the apartment with J. “Don’t even think about it.”
Sam sighed.
“We need to go get cleaned up,” Tara said.
“You can clean up here,” you said forcefully. Or you hoped that’s how it came out. “Then we’re laying down some ground rules.”
Tara kept eye contact with you. You would have caved at any other point in time; there was nothing more terrifying than a Carpenter. It wasn’t questionable, there was no room for argument, it was a matter of fact. But you had just lied to the police for the first time in your life. Ever! If this was going to be a common occurence, then you were going to stand your ground.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Tara mumbled, but grabbed J’s hand and dragged them to the guest bathroom anyway.
“Thank you,” Sam said softly once she heard the shower turn on.
“Of course,” you said, placing a lingering kiss behind her ear. An idea sparked in your mind. “How long do you think it’ll take them?”
“Tara showers slow,” she said as she turned around in your arms to face you. “And if they’re both in there, it’ll be a while.”
You hummed and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I did tell the police we were preoccupied,” you said as you started manoeuvring her to the couch.
“Yes you did,” she said with a slowly growing smile.
“I’d hate to lie to them,” you continued, followed by another kiss.
Sam let herself fall onto the couch, pulling you down with her. She wasted no time in getting to work on the remaining buttons of your shirt. Her lips felt heavenly. You knew she still needed to eat, but something more important had come up.
Besides, you were happier to eat out anyway.
#samantha carpenter x reader#sam carpenter x reader#samantha carpenter imagine#sam carpenter imagine
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Envy-one shot
Pairings: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Words: 1119
Warnings: angst, swearing, drug/drinking references, fluff, and a bit of implied smut.
Summary: There's a new bartender at Bucky's club which almost spells disaster for reader and Bucky's relationship.
Authors Note: Someone requested this like over a month ago and I'm finally finding a few minutes to write something up, so whoever requested it I hope you like it! Sorry for yet again making Natasha the bad guy.
The music was loud, echoing off of the brick walls of the club as I maneuvered my tiny frame through the sea of bodies that were pressed against one another. It was a typical Saturday night, everyone in Brooklyn had shown up for either drinking their sorrows away or hoping to get a glimpse of him knowing that he would be the answer to whatever problems they needed help with. I knew that it was a long shot because he rarely was seen out on the main floor of his club. He strictly stayed in the back, watching everything from afar.
“Hey, Y.N. Where’s Barnes?”
I came to a halt while crossing my arms over my chest and raised a brow at the man that sat in the usual stool.
“Tony Stark. I thought you said that your standards were too high for Buchanans?” I reminded him.
Tony shrugged while taking a large swig of his beer. “Your boyfriend has a great place, what can I say?”
“Fiancé,” I corrected him.
The large diamond from my ring shined bright underneath the lights that were being projected from the DJ booth.
“So,” Tony set the beer on the bar behind him. “Can I get a few minutes to sit with him? I’ve got a great business idea that would be perfect for his mob group.
I shook my head. “Bucky doesn’t like walk-ins. Call Sam to make an appointment.”
Ignoring his protest, I walked to the other end of the bar and gave a small smile to the new bartender who looked a bit flustered. I knew that anyone's first night at a new job would be nerve wrecking especially here at Buchanan’s. It was known as THE hot spot in Brooklyn, everyone wanted to come here but spent the majority of the night waiting in line, hoping it would be their moment. There was a very strict guest list here and Bucky would never deter from it.
“Hey, can I get Mr. Barnes drink please?” I gave her another smile.
The bartender, Natasha, raised a brow at me while halting making the current drink.
“I didn’t receive Bucky’s order,” she said with a hint of attitude.
I bit the inside of my cheek to do my best to keep my own attitude at bay.
“Mr. Barnes,” I corrected her.
There were only a select few that could call him Bucky; me and Steve.
Natasha rolled her eyes before popping open a beer bottle and sliding it over to me.
“$7,” she said flatly as I was about to walk away.
I scoffed. “Put it on his tab.”
“I was told that whoever picks up Mr. Barnes drink needs to pay,” Natahsa stressed out his name.
“This isn’t worth it,” I mumbled to myself and went to walk away yet again.
It was when I felt her hand on my wrist that I stared at it with pure anger flashing in my eyes.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I seethed and yanked my hand away.
Nataha’s eyes sliced into me. “Who do you think you are that you can walk away without paying?”
I held up my left hand, the large diamond glimmering in her eyes. “I’ll let this one-time slide but if you question who I am or touch me again, I’ll make sure you never work anywhere in Brooklyn again.”
There was a small group of people staring at us, wondering if a fight was about to break out, but there were a certain set of eyes that I felt burning at the back of my head that made my entire body tingle.
I peeked over my shoulder and saw Bucky leaning into our booth, the sight of him being seen out for the first time in a while. No doubt he received word about my and Natasha’s exchange of words. And with the way his eyes dropped away from me, a deep breath falling from his lips I knew that he was disappointed.
With a snap decision to drop this conversation, I turned my back to Natasha and made my way towards Bucky.
“Don’t even say it,” I warned while sitting next to him.
Bucky sighed. “How many bartenders are we going to have to rehire because of you?”
I snorted a laugh. “Maybe if they learned their place then I wouldn’t have to show it to them.”
The fast-paced beats of the music pounded hard against my chest as I leaned deeper into the cloth booth, the heat radiating off of him. With his arm wrapped around me, I stared up at the soft features of his face, the freshly buzzed haircut of his suiting him just right.
I pressed my lips onto his, Bucky’s tongue not wasting any time in exploring every crevice of my mouth. My moan was muffled by him as his fingers slid underneath my skirt and ghosted over the slit between my legs.
“So wet for me already, doll,” Bucky groaned while burying his face into the crook of my neck.
Our actions went unbothered by anyone in the club, they all were too busy with drinking or snorting whatever drug had been smuggled inside.
“Excuse me, Bucky?”
Rage boiled when I heard her scratchy voice and Bucky reluctantly pulled away, eyes landing on Natasha who was leaning on the table in front of us. Her breasts were exposed by her low-cut shirt.
“It’s Mr. Barnes.”
I chuckled silently at him correcting her.
She mocked sorrow by nodding. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. But there’s someone at the bar asking for you.”
We noticed Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers leaning up against the bar which only meant one thing; Bucky was needed somewhere pronto.
“I could walk you over there if you’d like,” Natasha said. “I know how crazy it can get in here when people see you.”
Bucky ignored her and placed a deep, loving kiss upon my lips. “Don’t wait up for me, Y/N.”
I scratched at the back of his neck, his sweet spot, and saw his eyes flutter shut at my touch.
“We both know that I always do,” I said.
“Mr. Barnes?” Natasha tried again while pushing her breast together. “Would you like me to walk you over there?”
The low rumble of annoyance in his chest was only heard by me as Bucky stood from our booth. “Get back to the bar, Romanoff and don’t leave unless I say it’s alright.”
With her tail tucked between her legs, she scurried back to the bar.
Bucky went to walk away but I linked my fingers with his vibranium ones. “Be careful.”
With a few peppered kisses over my palm, he nodded. “Always, doll.”
#bucky barnes#mob!boss bucky and yn#bucky barnes x reader#mob!boss bucky barnes and reader#james buchanan barnes#james buchanan barnes x reader#bucky barnes request
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Auntie Row
Rowena & Winchester little sister!reader, team free will & Winchester!reader
Requested by anonymous
Synopsis: Rowena has a soft spot for the Winchester’s little sister, and they get into lots of trouble together (I suck at synopsis, just read the fic it’s better)
Warnings: honestly nothing, time frame makes no sense with reader’s age but 🤷♀️
“Rowena, what do you think you’re doing?”
The witch looked up in surprise when the Winchester brothers entered.
“Sammy!” You, the brothers’ six-year-old sister, ran straight to your big brother and giggled when he lifted you into his arms.
“Oh, you’re back,” Rowena said, cringing. “That was quick.”
“Auntie Row is teaching me how to do magic, like Hermione!” You babbled excitedly.
“Rowena…” Dean growled in warning.
“Now now, she’s a growing girl!” Rowena defended herself. “Learning magic is a perfectly natural part of growing up.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Sam scoffed.
“But Sammy!” You whined.
“Nu-uh,” Sam shook his head. “C’mon, it’s about time you had a nap.” He carried you out without another word to Rowena, who huffed dramatically and started to gather her belongings.
“When we said you could watch Y/N—“ Dean began, but Rowena cut him off.
“I know you didn’t mean this, but honestly Dean Winchester, how d’you expect the girl to defend herself if she can’t use magic?”
“She doesn’t have to,” Dean insisted. “We’ll protect her.”
“Oh honestly, you can’t be around her all the time! If she had magic, she could—“
“For the last time Rowena; no.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.
“Uh, guys.” Sam returned to the room with a slight frown on his face. “Y/N said she wants Rowena to continue her story from last night. She’s refusing to sleep without it.”
“Well,” Rowena smirked. “Duty calls.”
“Hey.” Dean caught Rowena by the arm, and she glared at him. “Magic always comes with a price. I don’t want her to have to pay it.”
Rowena softened.
“I understand, Dean Winchester.”
His grip slackened, and Rowena left to go to you.
…
“I have a little something for you,” Rowena said as she stepped into your room.
“Can we finish the story?” You asked.
“Of course, sweet girl, of course. But first, I want to show you something. You remember that cursed necklace from the story? The one that protected the witch from the angry mob?”
“Uh-huh.” You nodded excitedly.
“Well, I think it’s time it protected someone else.” Rowena grinned, unclasping the necklace that was hidden behind her shirt and carefully putting it on you.
“Really?” Your eyes went wide as you stared up at the witch.
“Yes. That will protect you from anyone who wants to harm you. That way you don’t have to use any magic, just like your brothers said.”
“Thank you, Auntie Row,” you breathed sincerely, reverence painting your tone as you admired the glowing red jewel.
Rowena leaned forward and kissed your forehead.
“You’re very welcome, sweet thing. Now, let’s finish that story, shall we?”
…
“Kiddo, please, it’s just for a few days,” Sam tried to soothe you, but you still wouldn’t let go of his leg and continued to cry. “Mary’s gonna take good care of you, I promise.”
“I could really help you guys on this one,” Mary argued.
“She needs someone to watch her,” Dean reasoned.
“And why am I the automatic choice?” Mary countered.
“You two are not helping,” Sam said through gritted teeth as he picked you up, letting you lay your head on his shoulder. He hated Mary’s distance from you; you were John’s, but not hers. He understood her reason for not getting close to you, but you were just a little kid, and you didn’t deserve that. Sam just rubbed your back, still trying to soothe you as you continued to sniffle.
“If you boys needed help, you could’ve just asked.”
The three adults turned in surprise at the sound of Rowena’s voice.
“I mean honestly, it’s not like I haven’t babysat before.”
Dean was hesitant. “I don’t know if—“
“Sounds like a plan,” Mary said, going to grab her duffel. She tossed over her shoulder, “now I can help on the hunt!”
“Am I gonna stay with Auntie Row?” You asked Sam, your eyes wide and pleading.
“I…yeah honey, you are,” Sam sighed.
“Yay!” You grinned, wiping your tears away and squirming in Sam’s grip.
“Ok, ok,” Sam chuckled, lowering you to the ground so you could run to Rowena for a hug. “It’s probably best that you guys don’t stay in the bunker.” Sam directed his next words at the witch holding his little sister. “The bunker’s system still goes a little wonky with a witch inside, so one of your safe houses is probably a better idea.”
“That works for me.” Rowena grinned. “How would you like to go to Paris, sweet thing?” She asked you.
“This is a horrible idea,” Dean sighed. But he still grabbed his bag and headed out to Baby anyway.
…
“We’re back!” Sam called as he stepped into the bunker.
“Sammy! De!” You squealed, running to your big brothers and reaching them just as they came down the stairs. Dean scooped you into his arms and held you tight, comforted to see such a happy sight after such a grueling hunt.
“Hey, what’s this?” Sam asked, noticing your outfit.
“Auntie Row took me to shops in Paris, and we got a lot of clothes!” You babbled excitedly as Dean let Sam pull you into his arms.
“You’re spoiling her, Rowena,” Dean chuckled, no longer quite so hesitant about the witch now that he saw how happy you were.
“And she deserves every bit of it,” Rowena said.
…
“Ow!”
“I’m sorry darling, but you must sit still!”
“What’s going on in here?” Sam asked curiously as he stepped into your room to see you and Rowena sitting in front of your vanity.
“I’m trying to do her hair, but she won’t stop squirming,” Rowena explained, running a little pink brush through your hair.
“It’s all knotty!” You whined.
“Well it won’t be in a minute,” Rowena said.
Sam just smiled as he watched you, finally getting experiences that you’d never had before; motherly experiences.
The more he watched, though, the more he noticed how much you were squirming, and how much you seemed to be whining.
“Hey, you seem kinda grumpy, kid. Did you get a nap today?” He asked, coming to stand beside you and Rowena.
“Yeah,” you sniffled.
“You’re kinda pale,” he muttered under his breath, getting on one knee and reaching the back of his hand out to touch your forehead. “Jeez kid, you’re burning up.”
“She’s ill?” Rowena put the brush down and turned your chair around so you were facing her, repeating Sam’s gesture and checking your temperature. “She is quite hot.”
“Hey, let’s get you into some pjs, ok?” Sam suggested, lifting you into his arms. “You should get some sleep.”
“I already had a nap!” You insisted, squirming in Sam’s arms.
“Hey Sammy, I think I found us a case,” Dean said, stepping into your room. “Something wrong?”
“She’s got a fever,” Sam sighed. “You should go without me.”
“Oh nonsense,” Rowena spoke up. “Just leave her with me.”
“I don’t want to leave her when she’s sick,” Sam argued.
“Oh she’ll be fine,” Rowena insisted. “I’ll give her some herbs and she’ll be out like a light, she’ll sleep until you get back.”
“I don’t know…” Sam sighed.
“How about this,” Rowena said. “You put her to bed, and leave once she’s asleep. I’ll watch over her, and I’ll call you if she worsens.”
“Alright.” Sam looked at you. “Is that ok kiddo?”
You nodded sleepily, suddenly not so eager to fight another nap.
“Sammy, my tummy hurts,” you whimpered.
Sam nearly melted at this, more reluctant than ever to leave you.
“I know sweetheart, c’mon let’s get you into some pjs and then you can go to sleep, ok?”
Sam helped you get dressed while Dean packed for the hunt. It didn’t take long to have you tucked into bed, and you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.
Sam lingered in your doorway, unsure about leaving you like this.
“She’ll be fine,” Rowena soothed the Winchester brother. “She’s asleep, and I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Alright,” Sam sighed, grabbing the bag that Dean had packed him. “Just…take care of her, ok?”
“Always,” Rowena responded.
And she did. When the Winchester brothers returned, your fever had broken and you were resting on the couch with Rowena, some cartoon playing on the tv.
“Hello boys,” she greeted when she saw them.
“Hey kid.” Sam went straight to you, brushing your hair away from your face. “Are you feeling any better?”
Rowena went to speak to Dean while you answered Sam with a distracted “yeah,” continuing to watch your cartoon.
“Her fever broke,” she explained to him. “I think it’s best if she rests a bit more, though.”
“Thank you, Rowena,” Dean said sincerely. “She really seems to like you.”
Rowena smiled. “She does, doesn’t she?”
…
“Did you have fun?” Sam asked you.
You nodded, finally pulling your gaze from the cartoon.
“Yeah, I like Auntie Row!”
Sam smiled softly.
“I’m glad.”
Taglist:
@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl
#dean winchester#dean and sam#the winchesters#dean winchester x reader#supernatural dean#dean winchester x you#winchesters x reader#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#winchesters x sister#rowena macleod#rowena supernatural#rowena spn#dean winchester x little sister!reader#sam winchester x sister!reader#dean winchester x sister!reader#dean winchester x sister#spn sam winchester#mary winchester#sam winchester x y/n
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Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 3
Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (STAY WITH ME)
Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.
You thought you were prepared for everything.
A new town, a new school, a new way of life,
but what you were not prepared for…
was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.
Word Count: 24.6k+ (i am so sorry)
Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, mentions of sexually explicit scene on film being shot, anxiety/stress, stressing about college grades, worries/anxiety about failing, test anxiety, over-indulgence of alcohol (drunkenness lol), spook/haunted houses, people in scary clown makeup, mentions of jumps scares, *consensual* relations where people put their mouths in *certain places*(not full smut. yet.), ambulances, someone being wheeled out on a gurney (with a lifeless-looking body), JEALOUSLY. lots of jealousy.
a/n: i apologize for this chapter taking me literal years, lol. this one is a bit heavy & was a little hard to write at certain points. but, it's been my brainchild for over a month now & i had to be sure it was perfect before i posted it. i hope you enjoy & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. 🤍
also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.
Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist
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The midterm pressure is now properly underway. With tests nearly everyday this week, a rigid filming schedule, work, and taking care of your mom, you’re on the edge of being worn completely thin.
Not to mention, you’re awfully distracted these days.
Filming has continued as normal. And you finally tackled that scene with Sam just weeks ago, and it went perfectly. Josh had a vision— to show the first fully intimate moment between the secret lovers. The first time their bodies become entangled in their heated passion. The ‘most significant image of the film in its entirety,’ as Josh had put it.
You’d been scared.
But after the kiss you shared with Sam, the one that moved far beyond the legendary characters you were portraying, the scene was performed to utter perfection. It was seamless; it felt completely natural.
Something ignited within once you put the costume on; something you’ve never felt before. A new kind of assured confidence in your body that has never once exuded from you. Your body that you’ve hated since your first cognitive memory, the body that you’ve opted to shield with oversized clothes to hide yourself beneath their stitched fabrics.
But, something happened.
After draping the thin lace over your frame, you were no longer you. You became a queen with a body worthy of being desired.
Josh and Malachi knew just what they were doing when they chose that (extremely erotic) dress.
For once, instead of being ashamed of your skin, you were fucking proud of it. You looked goddamn good.
And by the way Jake had been frozen solid in the door frame with his eyes locked on your exposed figure, you’d say he thought so, too.
You’d half expected him to drop to his knees right then and there, to fully submit and hand himself over to your will. And he probably would have, had it not been for Nat physically throwing him out of the way. (Had you not been so utterly turned on in the moment, you probably would have busted out laughing at the sight.)
The scene was filmed the very next day (with tattoo makeup, of course) and you used that exact heated tension within you to perform your very best.
When Sam saw you in the gown, his reaction was much the same as Jake’s. He was entirely transfixed by you; his eyes never diverting from your body. Not even once.
You had belatedly decided to forgo nipple pasties, much to Natalia's surprise. There was something about the way you felt, with your breasts still hidden, but your buds peaking through the thin fabric. In a weird sense, it made you feel even more in control of your body.
And the way Jake looked at them…
You couldn’t get his lust blown eyes out of your mind. He was, inadvertently, the reason why you felt so self assured during that scene, why you were able to give Sam such a heated performance… even if only a little. You had to credit his reaction for the help it had given you. It had been what your brain kept going back to time and again, anytime you swept the lace over your body. It was him who had helped you to have this overwhelming, new confidence when wearing the revealing piece.
(And you’d never admit it to anyone, but every time you put the costume on, you only ever thought of Jake. Not even his initial reaction—just him. When you felt sexy, he came to mind. And the thought of him alone helped your nipples to be prettily peaked for every intimate scene Josh would shoot.)
But Sam. Sam is the one who actually uses his words to reassure any unsureness you may have every single day.
Sam is the good one. The sweet one. The brother who never fails to put a smile on your face.
“Y/n…holy fuck.” He had said as you met him on set the first day you’d worn it.
And fuck, he’d looked damn good himself. No shirt, tight satin pants of the purest white. His hair was fixed to look disheveled and tangled, framing his features and giving him a look of pure sex ridden lust.
As heavy as the kissing scene had been, this one was levels heavier.
According to the script, you were meant to be laid out on a bed of red satin. You, sprawled out before him, and he on his feet at the foot of the bed, admiring the vision that is the ever lasciviousness Queen Guiniverre. (The vision of you.)
And admire you he absolutely did.
With the same look his brother gave you the night before, sending flutters to your heart and a pulse to your core. You envisioned Jake, but you saw Sam.
These two have entirely consumed your every thought. Sam has been in communication with you nearly every day, even outside of filming.
He conned you into giving him your number (not that it took much convincing) and he texts you, even calls you, multiple times a day.
Just innocent small talk, usually. Something little will make him think of you and he’ll send a quick message to tell you what it was. Sometimes he’ll send a joke or two that will force a laugh out of you, along with an eye roll. However there have been a few times that he’s taken it upon himself to make sure you know just how much fun he’s having with you on this film, that he knows his body sometimes speaks his infatuation with you louder than his words ever could.
And complain you will not. He’s a fucking dream, the sweestest man you’ve ever encountered. And so outlandishly beautiful.
It would be strange for you to not develop feelings for him, especially given just how close and personal the two of you have become during filming.
But,
Jake.
He wrapped you into all of this. He showed you a side of him that you’ve yet to see since. You couldn’t deny him, although you had every reason to.
It’s like he only wanted you to keep his promise to his twin of helping him find someone to play opposite of him (Sam, mostly, of which he clearly didn’t realize) and he only did so because you’re partners in this blessed project. Not because of who you are.
He buttered you up, to convince you to say yes, and that was the end of it.
Then, he went right back to his asshole ways.
That’s why for the life of you, you can’t fathom the idea that you’ve developed much stronger feelings for him than for Sam. (Who is, obviously, the far better candidate.)
And Sam is the one who gives you the attention you deserve.
But fuck.
The way Jake stared at you in that costume. And the way he didn’t take his fierce eyes off of you during the filming of your scene in that gown.
His jaw clenching with every kiss shared between you and Sam, his fists bunching up with each touch that connected your bodies. You heard deep, drawn signs coming from him when Sam caressed you. Furious sighs from flared nostrils.
He ended up storming out mid scene, slamming the door so loud you all nearly jumped out of your skin. Thanks to that, you had to redo certain parts of the scene. Sam had made a joke about how he “wasn’t upset” to have to do it more than once. (And you weren’t, either.)
But not having Jake in the room made it slightly more difficult to put yourself back in the mood. His presence alone, the deep breaths filling his lungs, his stare casted on you each time you glanced his way— that was plenty of inspiration to perform your sexiest.
But without him there, all you could do was picture him in your mind. Which you did with no problem. But it just wasn’t the same without his body in the same room as yours.
Before you left that night, you heard yet another fight commence between the twins.
“You should’ve told me it would be like this,” Jake fumed.
“I abso-fucking-lutely did, Jake. You just don’t listen worth a single shit.”
Jake slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, “I helped you write the goddamn script and those scenes were not in there. You know that for a fucking fact.”
“Okay— so I took a little creative liberty and added a few things. I am, after all, the director for god's sake. I think I’ve earned the right. But you knew the plot, Jake. Don’t act like you didn’t,” Josh spouted.
You’d gone to walk out the door before more was said. You felt guilty for listening, them both under the impression that you’d left.
But you’d heard something more that kept you from fully shutting the front door on your way out.
Sam was apparently in on this argument, too. And you’d overheard some rather interesting things regarding you— some things you haven’t been able to let go of since.
“Just admit it, Jakey boy. You thought you would be the one enjoying all these scenes with y/n. That’s why you asked her to join the cast, isn’t it? You’re just pissed that I get to share these moments with her and not you.”
Hearing those words come out of Sam's mouth was something you were not prepared for in the slightest.
You needed to just close the door and leave, to stop listening in on this conversation that you were most definitely not meant to hear.
But after hearing that, you just couldn’t bring yourself to take a single step. You had to hear Jake’s response.
“That’s true isn’t it, Jake.” Josh agreed. “That’s why you’re all out of sorts with this whole thing.”
“First of all,” Jake raised his voice with yet another loud crack against the granite countertop, (His fist must’ve fucking hurt like hell that night) “I only asked her because I had to. We were assigned this ridiculous project together and I was not about to work on something alone with her.”
…that was a fucking blow to the heart.
“Secondly, Sam, I don’t give a fuck one about your special little scenes with her. What I’m pissed about is that you’ve made this entire plot about fucking, Josh. That is not the only goddamn thing that happens in the original texts.”
He did make a solid point there. But from everything he’d told you about the plot before you agreed, (which wasn’t much, if you’re being honest) that was the whole point of the film. At least to show their adulterous human desire, that their love for one another wasn’t a strong enough force that others couldn’t break their way through.
“Jesus, Josh.” You heard footsteps coming closer to where you were hidden, so you quickly made your way out the door to conceal yourself. Before fully closing it, you heard Jake say, “I don’t want to be part of a fucking x-rated film. That isn’t what I signed up for. And you’ve basically taken everything I’ve helped you with and thrown it in the trash. Why did you even ask me to help if you didn’t want to use me for anything other than your precious fucking Arthur that you’re ruining with these worthless rags you call costumes?”
You quietly padded your way to the car as you heard Jake coming closer to the door. You felt you had heard enough, and you weren’t sure if you could mentally handle hearing much more.
As you drove home that night, your car squeaking and rattling its way through the middle of Detroit, the sound of Jake’s words in your mind were far louder than that of your beat down Firebird.
“I only asked her because I had to…I was not about to work on something alone with her.”
You couldn’t control the stray tears that fell down your cheeks. You’d always known that was the only reason he asked you, but hearing him say it…was something else entirely.
At that point, you’d decided that you’re not doing this for Jake anymore. Not even for the sake of your class.
You know it’ll get a good grade. That’s no longer a worry of yours.
No; You’re doing it for the friends you’ve made in the process of this goddamn thing that you would regret doing if it weren’t for them.
They way Jake’s family has treated you, especially in comparison to how he has treated you…you’re only sticking it out for them. Fuck Jake and his shit attitude that he’s given you since the first moment he met you.
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You dramatically set your cold brew on the plastic table, throw your bag on the sticky floor and plant your ass so hard in the metal chair you’re sure it’ll be purple in a few hours.
Elbows resting on the table, you let your head fall in your hands as you let out a long sigh.
“That good, huh?” Nat questions.
You peak at her through your fingers, taking in her almost apologetic smile. “I’ve not scored anything above seventy percent on a single midterm. And I still have one more to go.”
True to her character, she pulls your hand away from your face. She’s told you before that she likes to see your full face when she talks to you— just another reason, that even in the short time you’ve known her, she’s been the best friend you’ve ever had.
“And what is wrong with that, might I ask? Seventy percent is a C. And last I checked, that’s a passing grade,” she says with her slim fingers still held tight to your wrist.
You move your other hand away from your face as it falls limp into your lap. “I didn’t move over fourteen hours away to go to the school I’ve dreamt about since I was a child to make C’s, Nat. I want to excel. I want to make the dean's list. I want to leave my mark. I won’t be doing any of that with anything less than all A’s on my transcripts.”
She just smiles at you and softly shakes her head, a few perfect ringlets falling from her silken scarf.
“You will make your mark with or without a perfect 4.0, y/n. Your life is more valuable than a silly cumulative number that isn’t reflective of the person that you are.” She lays your hand down on the table with a soft pat against the back of it, her long acrylics leaving the gentlest, comforting scratches. “You have to stop being so hard on yourself, babe.”
She’s absolutely right, and you know it. In the grand scheme, grades don’t matter as long as you’ve passed. But dammit– that’s just not enough for you. You can’t, you won’t accept anything lower than an A.
You have to prove it to everyone who said you’d never make it. Everyone from your tiny hometown, everyone in this city who expects you to fail.
Everyone. Even your father who left you and your mom when things were at their outright worst. The man who cared more about his own well-being than that of you and your disabled, ill mom. You have to defy the standard, beat the odds. You refuse to become merely a product of your shitty situation.
You have to show him. Show him that you’re worth more than he thought you were. That you can do just fine taking care of your mom and yourself. Without him.
“It does matter, Nat. If I don’t do well now, I’ll never get accepted into a grad school and if that doesn’t happen, all of my hard work has been for nothing. I’ve proved fucking nothing.”
The sternness in your voice causes her to withdraw her hand from yours and sit herself all the way back in her chair, arms crossed in a state of defiance. “Who the hell do you need to prove yourself to? Why do you care so much about what other people think when I’m sitting right here trying to convince you that you don’t need to do that?” Her voice matches your tone perfectly, with seriousness and irritation present in her inflection. (Perhaps a bit more than you had anticipated. She’s passionate, you can’t deny that for a second.)
You pause for a moment, taking in the vast realization that you’ve never gotten that personal with Natalia on your behalf. She knows of your struggles with your body, and she’s done everything in her power to make you see yourself the way she sees you ever since you opened up to her.
She knows where you live as she’s had to pick you up and drop you off a few times for filming, so you’re sure she realizes that you live in a complex for low income, disabled tenants. She knows you leave and come back periodically if filming runs a little late, unbeknownst to her that it’s to take care of your ailing mom. But not once has she ever pried with a wandering mind. She’s been waiting for you to tell her.
Talking about these things is just something you’re not keen on doing. It presents an awful lot about you that you wish you could’ve left in Oklahoma.
It’s just hard.
And it’s hard to know who you can and can’t trust, who will take advantage of you and who won’t.
But as far as Natalia goes, you’re certain you could tell her just about anything and she’d be the last person to use it against you. But that doesn’t make it any easier to say everything out loud.
Suddenly, she stands up from her chair, the sound of the metal legs against the tile floor sending a shiver throughout your body. “W-where are you going?”
“Come on,” she responds, swigging down what’s left of her coffee. “We’re going to my car.”
Instead of arguing, you stand up with her and gather up your things, following her as she takes quick strides towards the glass doors.
“Why are we going to your car, again?” you ask.
“So you can tell me what you’re not telling me.”
At first, you’re a bit confused as to why she’d prefer to go to her car to talk. But as you open her passenger door, you remember that car talks are always the best place for deep, emotional conversations to happen. That’s exactly what she wants from you, and as soon as you take residence on the black leather of her Escalade, you feel the unrelenting urge to spill it all.
She slams the car door before adjusting body so she’s facing you. She rests her elbow on the center console, placing her face in the palm of her hand as she scans you with her chocolate eyes, waiting for you to speak.
“It’s just…” you sigh deeply from your chest before you begin telling her everything. “I’m the sole provider now. My mom isn’t much longer for this earth,” The sting in your heart upon hearing yourself say those words feels like an electric shock to your system. Speaking them feels like pure bile leaving your mouth. But it’s true. And not saying it doesn’t make it not true. “So it’s up to me to take care of her. She doesn’t have anyone else.”
Nat’s eyes soften at your vulnerability. Where they were once inquisitive, they’re now full of warmth and realization.
“I can’t fail her by failing myself. My education is just as important to her as it is to me. She didn’t even question it when I told her I wanted to come here for school. She showed me nothing but support, even coming with me when it was most definitely too dangerous for her to make the move. She did it anyway— she wanted to do it. She wants to see my education through as much as I do, and I’ll be goddamned if she doesn’t.”
“Is that why you go home so often? Why you can’t always stay very late for things?” she asks with a timid, sweet voice that calms your spirit a bit.
“I have to take care of her. Make her dinner, sort out her medications, make sure her oxygen tank is well tended. I’m terrified to be away from her, Nat. But she insists that I still live my life. I feel like I’d be doing her a disservice if I wasn’t, you know? But my biggest fear is that I’ll come home and she’ll be gone…and I wasn’t there to save her.”
“Shit, y/n,” she says, hardly above a whisper. “I hate that there’s so much pressure on you, girl. What about a live-in nurse? Or home health? Is that something you could do?”
“Her insurance won’t cover a live-in, unfortunately. And there’s no way in hell we could ever afford one on my paychecks alone. Her disability plan claims she doesn’t need home health, and that is something I just don’t understand,” you respond.
“Do you have any other family that could step in and help? What about your dad, where is he?”
You haven’t spoken of your dad since he left. You’ve hardly given him a single thought, even. The move was another way of purging him from your life completely— leaving the home you had once shared with him, getting rid of all of the stained memories once and for all.
You know that deep down there are plenty of happy memories of him somewhere, buried, in your psyche. But after the way he just up and left you and your mom as soon as her diagnosis was confirmed, the way he left in the middle of the night with no warning and leaving you to manage it all yourself, it’s hard to muster up a single pleasant feeling towards him.
“I wouldn’t care to know, if I’m honest.” You chuckle rather cynically, “The very moment he found out my mom could no longer serve his needs, that he would have to actually take care of someone for once in his goddamn life, he fucking ditched. Left over a year ago, haven’t seen nor heard from him since.”
Your life changed forever when you woke up that morning to his stuff cleaned out of the house, his oil stained spot in the driveway missing his pickup truck, and nothing but a handwritten note on the fridge that said ‘I’m so sorry, baby girl -Daddy.’
From that very moment, you became your moms entire world. Her one and only ‘person.’ It was no longer your life you were living for. She needed someone to take care of her, and the person that vowed to do that in ‘sickness and in health’ left. Just fucking left.
“He is who I have to prove myself to. That fucking asshole needs to know just how well I’ve done— how well we’ve both done without him. I don’t need him to take care of her, to get myself through school and graduate with fucking honors, and then go on to get my masters. I can do it all without him.”
Heavy tears begin to well in your tear ducts, tears that have been begging to be shed since the day he left. But you haven’t allowed yourself to cry over it. You swore to yourself that you’d be strong for your mom.
“Y/n I–I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have asked.” She most definitely picked up on the sudden onset of your emotions. As much as you try to hold it back, you just can’t any longer. Your flushed cheeks become soaked with your tears. You're sad, but more than anything, you’re angry. Angry for you, angry for you mom. You haven’t allowed yourself to properly feel any of it. From finding out your moms terminal diagnosis, to your dad abandoning you the very next day. You haven’t done a bit of healing since.
But something about her presence makes you feel like it’s okay to show your emotions, to at last let them come to the surface for the first time since everything has happened.
You try to tell her it’s okay, that you actually really needed this. But the words are incoherent behind your sobs.
She takes note and doesn’t say anything more. She reaches her arms out towards you and you lean forward, falling into her embrace.
She rests her head on yours, her own tears falling onto your hair. Her empathy is something you treasure most in your friendship.
She always knows the right thing to say, and she always knows when words aren’t necessary. Right now is most definitely one of those times.
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“I can help whoever’s next!” You shout to the small line of students filling the lobby, each one hugging a pile of books flush to their chests as they patiently await you and Natalia, stationed at the other computer behind the desk, to lend them their study tools.
Work has been especially hectic this week as everyone is cramming in their last minute studies. Each computer designated for student use has been occupied nearly everyday this week, but even with the prominence and accessibility of the internet these days, there have been plenty of students checking out real hard backed, leather bound books as well.
As an avid reader yourself, it brings a spark of joy to your heart to see so many people still reading physical forms of literature.
You’ve loved seeing the mass array of books that have come through the counter this evening, ranging from the iconic literary classics all the way to the Fundamentals of Trigonometry.
Next in line is one you recognize from your beloved (sometimes) class on the mysterious King Arthur.
Toney Carmichael. The six foot something, brawny, platinum blonde wide receiver for the Michigan Wolverines. And one of the most academically scattered people you’ve ever encountered.
You’ve made up your mind that the only reason he’s taking classes is to play football. He couldn’t care less about the school aspect of it all.
He makes the most outlandish, blatantly incorrect comments during class each week. You question how he managed to weave himself into such a high level English course.
Your first thought: rigged. Absolutely rigged. Someone pulled some tight strings for him to be able to continue his education so he can keep his precious football schedule.
From what you’ve heard, he’s quite good. One of the best on the team.
Not that you would know (or give the slightest shit) about a single thing to do with that area of the university.
You’re far too ‘liberal arts’ brained to understand the intense lore behind competitive sporting.
You fight off the urge to roll your eyes as he quickly pads his way to the edge of the counter, plopping a mass amount of books before you, one even falling behind the counter and onto your keyboard.
“Hey, Toney,” you say, with little to no enthusiasm.
You begin scanning the ISBN tags on his books, noting that they are a cumulative of the required semester readings for your shared course, all of them pertinent to the first half of the class.
You snicker to yourself, realizing that he’s waited until the very last opportunity to read these novels before the midterm test, which is tomorrow.
This class is very reading intensive; you can’t fathom waiting until the last moment to tackle all of these incredibly difficult reads.
Nine books in, you’re finally down to the last two to scan into his account. With a limit of twelve books that can be checked out at once, he’s cutting it awfully close.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight are next, scanned in and bagged with the rest.
At last, the final novel.
It's so torn up and ragged that you can’t even make out the title on the tattered cover.
You scan the faded tag placed on the spine; Le Morte d’Arthur.
Not just that, but the exact one Jake had returned months ago. The one you wouldn’t loan back to him because you had a far better version that you let him borrow in lieu. (That he also hasn’t given back yet, you suddenly remember.) You recognize it as such now, though you didn’t realize it at first. But the computer also conveniently notifies you of the last six students who had possession of the book.
You twinge a little upon seeing the name Jacob T. Kiszka in bolded arial font on the desktop screen.
But, no matter. It isn’t Jake in front of you right now, it’s Toney Carmichael. Star football player. (Sadly.)
You finish the last few steps, placing Mr. Carmichael’s receipt with the date of return stamped on the top in his bag.
“Here you are, Toney. Good luck on the midterm tomorrow!” you say, bidding him adieu while handing him his stuff.
“Shit, that’s tomorrow? I thought it was Friday!”
Idiot.
“Nope, it’s tomorrow. Better get to reading,” you tell him. He flings his plastic bag of books over his shoulder and nearly sprints out of the building. Again, you ask yourself, how the hell did he manage to get enrolled in his course?
You turn your attention back to the led screen, fully intending to clear the display in preparation for the next student. You’re met with the harsh realization that a certain name is still grievously present.
It serves as a reminder of the very night he asked you to do this confounded film for his brother. Where the very seed of his kindness was planted, only to never be watered and die in the soil with his shit personality. (That somehow still hasn’t turned you off entirely. What the fuck, y/n.)
You see a student walking up out of your peripheral, and before you can tell them you’ll help them in just a moment so you can finish ridding your computer of Jake’s name, they slyly place a venti cold brew next to your hand situated on the mouse.
You pause your task to snap your head up to see who in the hell brought you your go-to drink.
What’s the perfect distraction from Jake? His charming and equally stunning younger brother.
And god, stunning doesn’t even begin to describe the vision before you.
This is the first time you’ve ever seen his hair pulled back, tied in a loose messy bun sitting at the nape of his neck with a few strayed pieces framing his cheekbones.
He’s wearing the most lovely blue button up embellished with cream colored flowers, left partially unbuttoned on the top to frame a dainty silver charm hanging from a matching chain, complete with a black and white canvas belt bag draped across his midsection.
Fuck, the way that these colors accentuate his flawless complextion is rather elating. Your heart jumps a few extra beats when he makes eye contact with you.
“Sammy! What are you doing?” you inquire with an embarrassingly huge smile plastered to your face.
He flashes a smile that matches yours, the corners of his mustache curling with his sweet grin, his round eyes crinkling above his cheekbones.
“Figured you could use this,” he says while nudging the cold brew a bit closer to you. “Oat milk and extra vanilla, right?”
You pick up the drink and take a long swig of the cold coffee, sighing in relief at the feeling of the caffeine entering your worn down system.
“I most definitely needed this. How did you know this is my favorite?” you ask him, taking another sip.
He looks to Natalia who’s standing near you behind the counter and throws her a sly wink. “A little bird told me.”
You turn your head to look her in the eye, while she quickly looks away and pretends to busy herself with something useless.
“Natalia Dolores! Are you the little bird?” you say with a shocked tone, a massive smile threatening to make an appearance as she attempts to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible.
“Woah, she middle named you, Nat. This is serious,” Sammy jokes, his lips tucked in a patronizing grin and his eyebrows hiked.
“Don’t look at me, girl! He’s the one that asked!” She wags her finger towards Sam, her other hand planted firm on her popped out hip.
It’s staggering how the smallest act of genuine kindness, something as simple as surprising someone with their favorite coffee, carries a meaning far beyond the gesture itself.
Also, it just so happens that coffee is one of the direct lines to your heart.
You snicker at her response as you shift your attention back to Sammy, catching the twinkle in his drowsy, honey eyes as they set their gentle gaze on you.
You can see so much behind them, so much that he isn’t afraid to hide from you. His unfeigned honesty is captured perfectly beyond his feather lashes.
But the only thought pounding from the screaming voice in your head…why couldn’t it have been Jake instead?
You quickly force yourself to shove that thought down immediately. It’s quite simple; Sammy gives a shit, Jake doesn’t. It’s time to put an end to your sad, unreciprocated little crush on Jake. His disinterest is unequivocally clear, he’s even said so himself. (Even though he had no idea you were listening in.) So why bother with your silly infatuation any longer when there’s someone far better giving you the attention you deserve?
“Thank you, Sammy,” you tell him, the feelings for his insolent brother waning as you catch the genuinity behind Sam’s smile. “You’re truly my knight in shining armor.”
“You’re quite welcome, your majesty,” he counters with a regal bow of his head.
You smile at him as you take another sip of your gifted liquid gold, humming at the bitter sweetness as it falls down your throat. Perfection in a cup.
“You know,” Sam resumes, shifting his body to get a good look of the old building in which he resides. “I’ve never actually stepped foot in this library. Not even once. It’s quite beautiful.”
Nat, still standing behind you, huffs a rather obnoxious laugh that makes you jump a bit. “That’s because you’re never on campus, Sam. It’s a wonder to me that you manage to pass all of your classes.”
“Geniuses rarely have to try,” he retaliates, placing his elbow on the counter in front of him, resting his head condescendingly in his opened palm. “Which one of you ladies wants to give me the grand tour?”
“That’s a big fat hell no for me. Y/n, show the man around. I’ll take care of the front desk,” Nat says, logging herself back into her computer on the opposite end of yours. “But make it snappy. And don’t forget we’re closing early tonight! I want him out of here by 5:15 and not a second later.” she says with a cunning grin.
You grab your coffee and walk around the other side of the counter, giggling as you get a look at Sam’s full outfit. He paired his rose patterned shirt with gray drawstring pants, covered in contrasting white stripes.
Sam matches your giggle, asking “What’s so funny?”
“Sammy,” you say through your almost uncontrollable chuckles, “you look like the fabric section of a craft store.”
Another boisterous laugh echoes from behind you, as Natalia chimes in with her agreement.
Sam looks down at this outfit with knitted brows, smirking to himself while drawing a deep breath to say, “Well, jokes on you both. I happen to love the fabric section at craft stores.”
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“And this is my absolute favorite spot; the British Literature section.” You tug on Sammys arm to pull him closer as he smiles at your unbridled passion. “You’ll find all your British classics here. The Once and Future King, The Mists of Avalon, The Canterburry Tales,” You list them off as you read the titles off the exposed spines, stopping once you get to one you’re sure he’ll be intrigued by. “And, of course, The Adventures of Sir Lancelot The Great.” You pull the book from the shelf and flip through the first few pages, quickly noting the intense worn smell emitting from the bound paper. It’s clear that this book has been sitting here for quite some time. “God, I just love this smell. I could make a candle out of it.”
Sam gently takes it from your hands and takes a whiff himself, making a face that tells you he’s not as entranced by it as you are. “That’s an… interesting scent. Kind of smells like Jake’s musty room when we were growing up. Makes sense, with all of his old books he used to keep in there.”
No. Please don’t say that.
“I know absolutely nothing about our beloved Sir Lancelot,” he continues, glancing at the words printed on the first page. “Well, other than what we see in the Monty Python masterpiece.”
As much as you’d hate to admit it, The Holy Grail is, in fact, a masterpiece. You’re pretty sure you could quote the whole thing word for word.
“And,” he proceeds, “that he likes to bone the king's beautiful wife.”
His eyes flick up from the book to meet yours. You can’t help the flush of pink that encompasses your cheeks upon his brash statement. (Or the heartbeat that is pounding at your very core.)
“I guess you could say that’s a pretty significant trait of his character,” you say, your soft tone cracking a little.
He smiles at you as you smile back, quickly casting your eyes downward to avoid the prolonged contact that’s only intensifying the blood rushing to your face.
You hear his feet shuffle a little closer to yours. That heartbeat you were feeling a second ago has now tripled. He gently takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, lifting it ever so softly so you have no choice but to look in his eyes. “Guiniverre could only wish to be as beautiful as you.”
You move your glare to his lips, so soft and pink. You’ve lost count over how many times you’ve kissed them the past few months. How many times you’ve wished the camera wasn’t there during those moments.
His gravity is pulling you closer to him, urging you to crash your lips with his in a kiss that would put everything you’ve ever done on camera to shame.
But just as you’re about to…
“Sam? Y/n? Where the hell did you go?”
Natalia. Like clockwork. Here to ruin a special moment just as she did with Jake all those weeks ago when he saw you in the black lace gown for the first time. When she removed him from your sight.
You curse under your breath, reluctantly stepping away from Sam as she stomps up the old wooden stairs and finds you both.
“You guys! I told you 5:15 and it’s…” she pauses to pull her phone from the back pocket of light wash mom jeans. “5:21! Sam, you need to leave. We have to close.”
Sam hands you the book and you place it back in its designated spot.
“I can’t wait to hear more about his story,” he says as he walks away.
“What? Whose story?” you ask absentmindedly. Your mind has become so jumbled with everything that transpired in the last few minutes, you’ve completely forgotten what you two had been talking about beforehand.
“Our good old Sir Lancelot. It’ll help me perfect his character on the screen, you know, like you said.” He throws you a little quick wink as he makes his way down the stairs, leaving you alone with Natalia.
“Do I want to know what you two were doing up here?” she asks, her eyes opened wide and her hands settled on both of her hips.
You look back to the book you’d just put away, running your finger along the spine, stopping on the engraved Lancelot in gold lettering. “Just as he said,” you tell her. “We were talking about his character for the film.”
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
An air of confidence fills your lungs as you walk into Movack’s class. Finally your last midterm of the semester, and while the others haven’t gone as well as you’d hoped, you feel good about this one.
This is the class you’ve felt the most prepared for. And admittedly, this is the one you’ve studied for the least. But, you feel you can get away with that.
If there’s anything you’re sure of yourself in, it’s your knowledge of this lore. You’ve studied it on an academic and scholarly level for more than half of your life. Needless to say, you’re pretty well versed in it all.
The only issue with this class: Jake.
He’s proven to be a bit distracting during quizzes, resulting in you receiving less than satisfactory grades. But you’ll be damned if you allow that any further.
He’s disrupted things long enough since you’ve started classes, it’s time to forget about him once and for all and focus on what truly matters.
He’s already seated in his spot, books opened flat on his desk as he does a little last minute reading before the exam begins.
You don’t even look his way as you sit in your chair. You simply pretend he isn’t there, a method you’re planning to use for the entirety of his test. (And the rest of this semester, if you’re lucky.)
You sure as hell don’t smell his cologne, vanilla mixed with a musky sandalwood, that has bewitched you since the very day you met him. Nope.
And you certainly don’t care that he’s wearing a white button up that gorgeously flatters the leftover tan he still has from the summer. Or that he’s not wearing his John Lennon sunglasses that you’ve hated (sort of) for months now, allowing for you to see his sparkling, whiskey colored eyes underneath the shadow of his brown leather wide brimmed hat.
No, you don’t care at all about these things. Your heart isn’t racing erratically at feeling his body heat radiate on you in the cold classroom from just how close your seats are.
Fuck. You can only tell yourself that for so goddamn long. And no matter how much you try to fill your head with other thoughts, when he’s sitting right next to you, drawing deep breaths as he’s focused on his reading, he’s the only one you can conjure up.
Of course he would choose today to look the best he’s ever fucking looked.
You hold your breath as you hear the clinking of his necklaces each time he moves to open and close his books, the ridiculous amount of silver charms he wears being one of your favorite things about him.
He seems a bit flustered, sighing and anxiously rubbing his chin (a nervous habit, according to Josh) with each page he turns.
Surely he’s not nervous for the exam…right?
“The exam will begin in one minute. Please place any books you have under your chairs and silence all cell phones. The link to the exam has been sent to your school email through LockDown Browser. Please be sure all other tabs are closed as the system will not allow you to open the test otherwise,” Dr. Movack announces.
You tuck your bag beneath your chair and open your laptop, scrolling through your emails until you find the one from Dr. Movack for the test.
“Good luck,” Jake says in a monotone voice, still so alluring and sexy despite lack of tone.
He’s shocked you almost completely still as you sit there staring at the homescreen for the test. You don’t say anything just yet, giving yourself a moment to register that he actually spoke real words to you. Words that didn’t sound angry or annoyed for once. Something kind of sincere, even.
“Uh- yeah, you too,” you stumble in response.
“The test will begin now,” says your professor.
You try to read the first question, however your mind is turning it into a jumbled mess of incoherent words. You read it over a second time, slower to really focus on what it’s asking.
But it’s no fucking use.
Jake is clicking away at his keyboard, typing his answer with hardly a second thought it seems. You hear his silver bracelet (that you find rather appealing) hitting the side of his laptop and causing a hitch in your breath.
The sound of his heavy breathing as he types should annoy you, but of course, it’s only affecting you further in your distraction.
No. You need to focus.
You shake your head a little to snap yourself out of it, realizing it’s taken you more than two minutes to just read and comprehend the first question of the test.
You're wasting time. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let this happen.
In yet another attempt to reread the question, it finally proves worthy as your brain can make sense of it this time.
Rank and briefly describe the Three Estates of medieval society. Then, describe their individual significance and contribution.
You rub your temple and your eyelids to relieve the tension before you begin writing out your answer, going as fast as you can as you’ve already wasted more than an appropriate amount of time on the very first question.
As you type out your response, you can’t help but notice that Jake hasn’t stopped typing since this whole thing began. Curiosity has you wondering what question he’s on, since he’s clearly flying through this thing with absolutely no problem.
You glance up at Dr. Movack to see him seated at his desk, eyes cast downward at his own computer. You then look around the room a bit, each student fully attentive to their own test.
Turning your head to Jake, you sneak a look at his computer to see what question he’s on.
Number five. Already. And you’re still stuck on the first one. Pathetic.
As you turn your attention back to your screen, you hear someone clearing their throat rather loudly. But it’s not coming from just anyone, it’s coming from Dr. Movack.
“Ms. Y/n.” His deep voice startles you, your body jolting a bit at the aggressive tone bouncing off the walls. He’s now standing at his podium, looking directly at you while every student follows in his suit with nosey eyes cast on you. “This is your first and final warning. Keep your eyes on your screen and off Mr. Kiszka’s, or you will leave my classroom and take a zero for the exam.”
Great. He thinks you’re trying to fucking cheat. And so does everyone else in this goddamn class.
You’re not cheating. Didn’t even think about cheating. But how the fuck do you even begin to defend yourself?
“Sir, I-I wasn’t-“ You trip and stutter your words, trying desperately to make yourself look any better than you do right now. But you quickly realize just how terrible it truly looks as you scan the room to see forty nine sets of eyes glaring at you, judging you. And yes, even Jake’s.
He abruptly cuts you off before you can somehow explain yourself. Although there’s really no good way to explain it. “I didn’t ask for a response. Cheating is strictly not tolerated here and you should find yourself awfully lucky that I’m letting you off with a warning.”
Lucky. That word isn’t even a part of your vocabulary these days.
You nod your head in understanding, shamefully setting your attention back to your laptop. But the words are even harder to read now, as you’re trying to comprehend them between welling tears sitting in your ducts.
The humiliation is settling in as you’re trying to finish your exam, but it all feels in vain now.
Everyone in here, including Jake, thinks you were cheating. On Jake’s test, no less.
So much for your fucking method of pretending he isn’t there. In no way did you manage to be even remotely successful in that pursuit.
And not only did you fail yourself in that aspect, but now the whole class, including Jake, knows it was his screen you were peering at.
Humiliated doesn’t even crack the surface.
You can’t win in this class, nor can you win with fucking Jake.
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
Walking out of class feels like the ultimate walk of shame. Worse than a walk of shame. Like utter defeat— an ignominy.
The most painful part is this is now the third time you’ve been the center of attention in the class— for the worst reasons.
And to add even more salt to the wound, you only received a sixty eight percent on the test. A fucking D. In the subject you’ve considered to be your best since you can remember.
And it’s not for a lack of knowledge. It’s because of the string of shit luck and continuous distractions that seem to follow you as of late.
The uncontrolled tears are soaking your cheeks as you speed walk down the halls of Angell Hall, considering never coming back as you run down the concrete steps outside.
You heard footsteps following closely behind you, but you couldn’t be bothered to turn around to see who it was. In fact, you were hoping that whoever it was would just fucking give up and stop following you. You thought that if you ignored them long enough, they’d just give up.
But, no. They followed you all the way out the door, and now you hear them continue down the fucking steps after you. Relentless.
You stop on the last step, having every intention of turning around and giving whoever the fuck is behind you what for.
But just as you’re about to, you hear, “Y/n. Will you please talk to me?”
Of fucking course.
With the sleeves of your U of M hoodie, you wipe away the streaks of tears sitting on your face, looking at the black marks staining the cuffs from your running mascara. You don’t want him to know you’ve been crying, but the state of your makeup is most likely a dead giveaway and there’s not much you can do about it right now.
You snap around to see him standing at the front door of the building, hands tucked loosely in the pockets of his blue patchwork pants.
“What, Jake? What is there to talk about?” you say, your voice quivering from the tightness in your throat.
He walks down to the step you’re standing on, and you catch his eyes widen at your confrontational tone before he takes his sunglasses from his breast pocket and places them on his face, tucking a few hairs behind his ear.
“Well, first,” he says, using his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose the rest of the way. “Movack can be rather gruff at times, so just turn a blind eye to him. But second, I just want to know why you were looking at my test. You’re smart as fuck with this stuff, I can’t fathom why you would need to read my answers.”
You’re struggling to think of an answer. You want to explain yourself, to defend yourself. But where do you even begin?
Do you tell him that you were so fucking distracted by him that you couldn’t focus, inevitably causing you to take far too long to answer even the simplest questions, and that you just wanted to see how far along on the test he was to compare to your sudden ineptitude?
No. Not a goddamn chance. While the whole thing looks terrible, you find the true reason behind it all to be much worse than the cheating allegations.
“I wasn’t reading your answers, Jake.” Your voice is still restricted from the lump in your throat that just won’t go away. But you shove it down as much as you can. The only thing that would make this entire thing worse is to cry about it in front of him. “It wasn’t anything more than my eyes needing a break from my own screen for a tenth of a second. Movack already has it out for me, so I’m sure he was eyeing me the whole time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”
He chuckles softly to himself, and you can’t help but watch the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down. And his pretty smile that illuminates his entire face, his cheekbones sitting high atop his glowing features… it sends an electric shock to your heart. You don’t get to see him smile nearly enough, and you wish so much that you did.
“You’re probably right about that one,” he agrees. “I swear Movack picks and chooses students each semester to single out. And you made it easy on him with those first few days in class.”
There’s his sweet smile again, prompting goosebumps to rise on your skin and forcing out a smile of your own.
You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not; being the utter enigma that he is makes him incredibly difficult to read.
And after hearing him angrily spit out his true feelings for you a few weeks ago, your brain won’t let you forget his harsh words. Of course, he doesn’t know that you heard. And you’ll continue to act as if you don’t know.
But, knowing what he said makes you wonder if anytime he’s being “sincere,” it’s just a facade.
Still yet, you’re appreciative of the fact that he’s not outright accusing you. Almost coming to your defense, even. Not only that, but he sort of complimented your knowledge and academic abilities.
At this point, you’ll take whatever you can get from him.
“If you have any tips on how to survive his class the last half of the semester, I’m all ears,” you tell him, nervously twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers. This is the closest you feel you’ve ever gotten to a ‘normal’ conversation with him.
“At this point,” He places his hand on your shoulder, gripping it tight. You don’t even notice the breath you sucked in at his touch, feeling like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to blow it back out. “you’ll have to go above and beyond to put yourself in his good graces.”
He wraps up his advice with a soft squeeze of your shoulder before he steps down onto the sidewalk.
“Above and beyond?” you repeat, matching his tone with an added sarcasm. “Got it. No problem.”
Although it would be a lot easier if you weren’t there to distract me.
“You can do it,” he says as he’s beginning to walk away, adjusting his leather satchel over his shoulder. “Remember how you put me in my place on the first day?” he recalls through a laugh. “Yeah, just keep doing that.”
You dramatically cringe at the memory of your first day of classes, not really in the mood to ponder that mess just yet.
But he is right. That’s the only memory you have of Movack actually being somewhat kind to you.
“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have any problem doing that,” you say with a devious smile.
“That’s only if I let you do it,” he remarks with a smirk as he’s already halfway down the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow.”
Your tummy immediately fills with butterflies as you watch him saunter away. You weren’t sure how to feel about him being a decent human being… you just know you wanted more of it. More of the Jake you’d come to fantasize about from time to time in your cluttered mind.
Like the one who throws one more small (devastatingly handsome) smile over his shoulder at you, still standing in the same place where he’d left you, before he turns the next corner.
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
Filming has just ended for the night. Jake filmed one scene and left just as you arrived for your shots, so it’s just been you, Josh, Sam and Malachi for the better half of the evening.. Things tend to go much more smoothly with this crew; you quite enjoy nights like these.
You’re seated on their fluffy beige couch in the living room next to Sam, Josh and Malachi perched on the opposite end. With filming ending a bit earlier than usual, (given that Jake wasn’t here to cause any delay with his constant arguing) you’ve got a little time to sit around and enjoy a movie with everyone.
Josh did ask everyone what they wanted to watch, however it’s clear he never intended to let anyone's preference determine what would actually be viewed.
Once he turned on the television, he’d already had A Clockwork Orange queued up on the roku— it appears it was predestined for that to be tonight's film of choice. Not that you’re complaining, though. You do rather enjoy the madness that is this classic Kubrick film.
You’re no more than thirty seconds in the beginning of the movie when Josh says, “You know, Kubrick never really wanted to make this film. He thought the book was a yawn fest when it was presented to him. Just didn’t find much interest in it.”
Sam and Malachi basically ignore him, merely nodding their heads while their eyes stay fixed on the blue lit screen.
Still yet, he continues. “It was only when he imagined Alex being played by Malcom McDowell that he decided it’d be worth a shot. Can you believe McDowell didn’t even know who Kubrick was? He’d seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, obviously, but didn’t know Kubrick by name. It’s mind blowing, truly.”
Now that is a fact you most certainly did not know. And being the massive Kubrick fan you are, you’re surprised you didn’t know that.
“Wait, really?” you ask with genuine curiosity to discover more that he might know.
Sam places a hand on your knee and squeezes ever so gently. “Don’t encourage him, y/n. Or he’ll never stop,” he says with a half grin.
From where you’re seated, you can see Josh’s face perfectly. And even with nothing but the bright screen illuminating him, you see him roll his eyes and toss his hand in Sam’s direction.
“Yes, really! Isn’t that wild?” Josh proceeds despite Sam’s interjection. “I bet you also didn’t know that his nod to Gene Kelly was improvised.”
“It was?” you respond with a bit more shock in your tone than you had wanted. You can’t help it; this stuff fascinates you.
“Indeed my dear, it was. Kubrick directed him to do anything that would serve as a major contrast to the violent and sinister nature of the scene, told him to dance around or something. So, that’s exactly what he did. Took one of the most convivial moments in cinematic history and turned it into an example of Hollywood’s gift of euphoria, using it against the very corporation it came from.”
“How on earth do you know all of this, Josh?” you question.
“Because he spends all of his time studying this useless stuff,” Malachi jokes. He pulls Josh in by the shoulders and hugs him tight to his chest while they both bust up in a fit of laughter.
“Watch the hair, please!” Josh says, his voice muffled by Malachi's shirt.
You’ve truly come to admire their relationship over the short time you’ve known them. The love they have for one another and the love they each give to everyone around them, so selflessly and without condition— they are just wonderful, beautiful people.
You still can’t help but question how Jake carries the same DNA in his body as Josh, because they are so vastly different from each other.
The movie continues while Josh throws in a few more tidbits, piquing your interest and subsequently annoying Sam. (That’s almost more entertaining than the movie.)
Sam seems to be a little antsy. Antsy over something else other than his older brother talking away about mindless things.
You’ve noticed him glancing your way periodically out of your peripheral, and he keeps taking a breath as if he wants to say something but stops before he gets a word out.
You can’t take it any longer. “You okay, Sammy?” you ask in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb Josh and Malachi.
“Y- yeah, I’m okay,” he whispers. But you know better. Something is plaguing him, and you will get to the bottom of it.
“Are you sure?” you ask, a little bit of inflection on the last word.
He nods his head and hums in confirmation, setting his eyes back on the sci-fi film while you shrug him off and do the same.
As many times as you’ve seen this movie, you still can’t help but cringe during the infamous torture scene.
You verbally express your disgust over the torture being inflicted on Alex, holding your hands over your face and barely peeking through the space between your fingers.
The guys all snicker at your squeamish recoil, opting to watch you versus the movie as your reaction is probably more riveting than the horrid images on the screen.
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
The early evening has now cast a full, lunar glow as time has drawn on with the movie now running its ending credits.
Josh and Malachi have long since fallen asleep, cuddled up in an impressive knot together.
You peel yourself up off the soft cushion and stretch your stiffened limbs as Sam remains tucked deep between the pillows, still awake as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone as you suddenly remember you haven’t checked yours since filming came to an end hours ago.
You reach in your bag to fish it out, only to find that the battery is now completely dead.
“Shit,” you mumble more to yourself than anything else.
Your mind is instantly filled with the worst case scenario. Is your mother okay? What might have happened in the time between your phone dying and now? If she was in trouble, there is no way you would’ve known.
“You okay?” Sam hushes from his cocoon in the couch, lifting up a bit as you give him a sideways glance.
You had just tried to turn your phone on, to no avail. Only being met with the red battery telling you that you’re shit out of luck. Deciding to play it off, you do your best to not overthink it as you toss your phone back in your bag.
You feel your heart plummet with the phone the slightest bit. “Y-yeah,” you stutter, keeping your tone quiet for the sleeping lovers. You throw a thumb towards the door, connecting your eyes with his again. His expression is so concerned, his eyes mimic that of a baby calf. “I’ve just gotta go. Just a grade I’ve been dying to check and my phone is dead,” you lie through your teeth, starting to head to the door.
But just as you get to the door, his hand is over yours on the handle. Your heart rate admittedly speeds up at the proximity. Cute, sweet guy who you’ve been sitting closely with all night? Touching your hand?
You turn your head back and upwards to get a look at where he is standing behind you.
“Let me walk you out,” he offers, his tone kind but leaving no room for argument. “I don’t like the idea of you being out there at night by yourself.”
Little does he know where I fucking live. This place is nothing.
But, again, you play it off. Company on the way to the car wouldn’t be bad.
“Okay,” you grin. And he’s so close, you can’t help but blush as you open the door under his hand, still covering yours.
Once you get out to your car, you’ve built up a little bit of nervous energy from Sammy following you out. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a bit of a crush, and having him so near was doing funny things to your heart.
You turn to the driver’s side door and go to put your key in the lock.
“Thanks for walking me out, Sam,” you look over your shoulder, trying your best to look as cute as possible in front of your beat up, jank-ass car. “I really loved hanging out with you tonight,” then you turn back to open the door. “Have a good night, Sa—.”
“Wait—,” you hear him say, his voice anxious. You follow the tone of his voice, and turn to face him front on. You can’t help the grin that flutters to your features as you wait for him to finish. “I’ve—I’ve actually been wanting to ask you something. I just wasn’t sure how to do it, but— fuck it. Do you want to go out this weekend? With all of us, I mean. Well, with me, but everyone else will be there too.” he utters, stumbling all over himself as he does so. “Josh wants to have a party here with all of the cast and crew to celebrate being halfway done with the film, and then we’ll all go out afterwards. Well, just my brothers and I. Of course Malachi will come. And you, I hope.” He’s spitting this all out so quickly, it’s like whiplash trying to keep up with everything he’s saying.
He seems…nervous? That is quite shocking to you given how close you two have been for filming. He seems to never have an issue in those circumstances. He’s incredibly confident and sure of himself while he kisses you like no one has ever kissed you before. All for the sake of a silly college project.
You smile at him and grab his hand before you respond, attempting to reassure him and make him feel more comfortable. “I’d love to, Sammy.”
You can visibly see the anxiety wash away from his body as he relaxes a bit, loosening his stiffened posture. “Great! How do you feel about haunted houses?”
“Haunted houses?” you question. “Like, spook houses?”
Your Oklahoma is showing, y/n.
Sam chuckles, “I forget you’re from down yonder,” he jokes with the worst fake southern accent you’re sure ever heard. “Yeah, like those. We go every year to them, kind of an annual ritual for my brothers and I. I’d really, really love it if you joined us this year. It’s a blast. That's what we’re planning on doing after the party. There’s a new one we’re wanting to try out for size.”
You’ve been so caught up in the chaos of everything consuming your life at the moment that you’d completely forgotten that Halloween is this weekend. Time has utterly flown by since your move. It still feels as though you’ve just begun classes at the U of M only days ago, when in fact, it’s been months since the semester started.
“God, I haven’t gone to a spook hou– sorry, haunted house, in years.” you tell him.
His face scrunches up in a tenderhearted grin at your correction.
“It’s a date, then!” he exclaims with an enthusiasm that swarms your belly with tiny butterflies.
He opens your car door a little wider as you climb yourself in the driver's seat. “It’s a date,” you repeat through a full toothed smile. He matches your grin as he gently shuts your door, bidding you a farewell with a sweet salute.
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
Each outfit you put on just doesn’t flatter you in the slightest. Every shirt is either too tight or too low cut, each pair of jeans has a weird gap in the crotch, your leggings only look good with a baggy sweater. And even though that’s your go-to comfort outfit, that is not the vibe you're going for tonight.
No; you have to look damn good tonight. You want to look good for Sam, for him to see you in something cute that’s not just a film costume. (But there’s also the incessant part of you that desperately wants to impress Jake, too. And your usual attire just won’t do the trick.)
You dig through to the deepest crevices of your closet in hopes to find something that looks good, but also makes you feel confident in your body.
The only thing you do feel confident in these days is your seductive wardrobe for the film. But, for obvious reasons, you can’t wear those to the party or the spook house. That is not the kind of attention you’re attempting to draw this evening.
You stumble upon a black velvet skirt, short with a small slit on the left thigh. You’ve never worn it. You bought it years ago for a reason that you can’t seem to remember at the moment. But it’s managed to withstand the multiple closet purges you’ve done over the years, so part of you has clearly always thought it would come in handy at some point.
Holding it up to your hips, you figure it’ll probably still fit. (Fingers and toes crossed that it does.)
It’s supposed to be a bit chilly out tonight, so you rummage through the second drawer in your dresser for the pair of black tights you have tucked away at the very bottom under all of your other undergarments.
You sit on your bed as you pull the tights over your calf, up to your thigh before repeating the same thing on the other leg, standing up to awkwardly pull them the rest of the way up over your hips and ass, covering the cute black boy shorts you chose to wear underneath that match your black t-shirt material bra. These particular tights have some serious tummy control— something you’re quite grateful for.
Now, for the brutal moment of truth. Will the skirt fit?
You certainly hope so. Trying on anything can be incredibly difficult for you. You live in fear that nothing will fit you. Too big or too small, it doesn’t matter. Dealing with the size of your body in any aspect is paralyzing and far too triggering. So, doing this right now is a massive step for you. But, if it fits, it’ll be worth it.
You undo the zipper on the back and step into the skirt on one foot at a time, sucking your stomach in fiercely as you zip it back up at your waist and clasp the small hook and eye at the top.
As you let out the breath you’d been holding, you’re delightfully shocked to find that the skirt fits. Not too tight, not too loose— it’s perfect. A wonderful surprise that you truthfully weren’t expecting.
You walk over to your small vanity to take a look in the mirror sitting on top of the white wooden table. You bend down a bit to get a better look at the skirt, and holy hell.
Your ass looks fantastic. And the little slit sitting on your left thigh is tastefully sexy as hell. The tights were a great choice as they make your legs look smooth and complement the black velvet beautifully.
Now, to find the right top.
Giant sweaters are your comfort, but you’re feeling like trying something a little different tonight.
You have a dark gray, long sleeved mock neck that’s been hidden away almost as long as your skirt has. The fit of it has always given you wild amounts of anxiety. It’s tight. Like, skin tight. Yet, it’s remained part of your wardrobe for a long ass time. So, why not give it a try? You’re feeling a little more brave at the moment, and it might surprise you just as the skirt did.
Shifting through the hangers holding your shirts, you finally find it. Still brand new with the tags. You can’t remember why you bought this, either. Perhaps past you was looking out for future you to have something hot to wear on this very night? Who the hell knows.
You rip the tags off of it, figuring it’s probably much too late to return it now. You stretch out the mock neck a bit before pulling it on over your head, smoothing it over your breasts and down your stomach, tucking the length into your skirt and tights.
You adjust the arms a bit, feeling a tinge of apprehension at just how snugly the material is clinging to your biceps. A body part of yours that you’re not so keen on accentuating.
But as you take a look in the mirror, you’re shocked yet again— over just how good this looks on you, too. The tight-fitting fabric is actually doing you a lot of favors, particularly in the region of your breasts.
The shirt isn’t cut in a way that would show any cleavage, but the way it fits around them emphasizes their shape, making them look rather perky as they sit perfectly upon your chest.
The whole outfit is flattering you in ways you’ve never explored. The anxiety about trying something so far outside of your comfort is still ever present, but as of late, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s okay to do that every once in a while.
You’re tired of being trapped in the prison cell that is your self conscious brain. It’s time to break free, and the confidence that filming has brought to you feels like the very key to unlocking the bars that keep your thoughts in confinement. And so does this moment as you’re seeing yourself in yet another new light. It makes you feel utterly silly for feeling as shitty as you always have.
You glance at your phone to check the time, and you still have over an hour until you have to be at their apartment. You’re thankfully making good time, so you have plenty to dedicate to your hair and makeup to perfect it.
You decide to throw a few loose curls in your hair, letting the waves fall around your face to frame it. Keeping your makeup a bit on the light side, you choose to go with a small, subtle black wing and black mascara to accent your eyes. You decide on a daring red lip, but not just any red lip– the same shade of red you’ve been wearing while you’re portraying the highly coveted Guiniverre. You grin as you swipe the scarlet color across your lips, thinking back to all the times it’s become smeared on yours and Sammy’s. The giggles that you two have broken out in over the mess you’ve created on his face.
Digging through your jewelry box, you find some silver and gold chains you like to pair together. You place them meticulously around your neck, making sure they’re stacked to perfection. Then a pair of big hoop earrings that show beautifully through the loose curls around your face.
But just as you’re closing the lid to the floral painted ceramic box, something catches your eye.
A little golden charm in the shape of a heart with your initial engraved on it. Your fifteenth birthday gift from your dad. You used to wear it every single day, up until the very day he walked out of your life for good.
You threw it away that day. Tossed in the garbage the second you realized what he had done.
While you’re not entirely sure how it made its way to Michigan with you, you’re willing to bet your mom dug through the trashcan to salvage it for you, hiding it in your box for you to discover later on.
As much as you’ve struggled to contrive a single memory of your dad that doesn’t involve him leaving, looking at the necklace has your mind venturing back to the moment he gave it to you. Wrapped up so elegantly in a red velvet bag, with a letter from him that told you the story behind your name, how he chose it special after his grandmother that helped raise him when his parents gave him up. (Seems a little ironic.)
You suddenly begin to panic. Where did that letter end up? Did you throw it away, too? God, you really hope you didn’t. But it seems like something you definitely may have done in the midst of your unforgiving anger with him.
But you loved that story. You used to make him tell you about your name all the time, and having it written down in his handwriting was something you held rather close to your heart until he up and left.
You start scrambling, pulling your tangled jewelry out in handfuls to see if it’s buried in there, but it’s no use. It’s not here, and you truly feel in your heart that it’s somewhere in the landfills of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma. Disintegrated to near nothing.
It breaks your heart to think of it in that state. But maybe it’s for the better. Maybe that’s the universe trying to tell you that it was meant to stay back in Oklahoma with the life you no longer have with him.
One thing is for sure, there’s no use in shedding tears over it. It’s in the past, and that’s probably the best place for it.
You check your phone once more, realizing that you have to leave in no less than twenty minutes if you want to be there on time.
You begin rushing around, looking for your black thigh length leather jacket (faux, of course) that you know will match your outfit perfectly.
You find it buried under a few other coats on the shelf of your closet. You swiftly grab it and start heading out of the door of your bedroom, realizing that you’re still clutching the heart necklace in your right hand’s grip.
Mindlessly, you slowly place it around your neck, lining it up with your others so it sits in just the right place. You hold tight to the engraved charm, swiping your thumb over the initial a few times, just as you always did for comfort in the years that it was worn.
The comforting feeling is still there, strangely. Everything has changed since you last wore this, yet somehow it all feels the same.
The memories start to flood back like a tsunami, but you don’t have time for them right now. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself with it all. Wearing the necklace is just one step towards forgiveness, and that’s all you have the mental capacity for at the moment.
Throwing your jacket on your shoulders, you walk down the hallway to the living room to search for your purse and keys.
Your mom is seated on the couch, watching her favorite television show and cleaning up the plate of food you made her. She starts to get up to take her dishes to the kitchen, but you stop her before she can stand all the way.
“Let me get that, mom.” You take them from her, rinsing them off in the kitchen sink before placing them in the dishwasher. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with me gone for so long?”
Tonight will be the longest you’ll be gone from her since you made the move, and the worry sitting on your heart is almost too heavy for you to truly feel okay with leaving her tonight.
Your biggest fear is playing over and over in your head like a damaged record. But when you told her about tonight, she wouldn’t accept anything less than you going and having a great time.
“You look beautiful, sweetie. Does my poor heart some good to see you like this,” she says as you saunter your way back into the living room to meet her warm, smiling face. “And I told you, honey. I will be fine. Don’t you dare fret about me tonight.”
Triple checking that all of her nighttime medications are out and within her reach, you also take a moment to check that her oxygen tank is full and that her mask is nearby should she need it.
“Y/n.” She takes your hand away from the tank and pulls it close to her. “I am just fine. Now get on out of here and enjoy yourself, sweet pea.”
She pats the back of your hand with her other, something she’s done since you were a child.
“Okay, mom,” you utter through a deep sigh. “But please promise you’ll call me if you need me for anything, okay?”
She nods her head in agreement, sending you a warm smile yet again as she lets go of you and softly nudges you in the direction of the front door.
“Love you, mom,” you tell her as you step through the threshold.
“Love you more, y/n.”
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
You nervously pull your car in the lot of their complex. It’s been clanking around more than usual tonight and there’s an odd smell emitting from the engine. You’re counting your lucky stars that you’ve made it here in one piece. You’re hoping that having it sit and rest for a while is just what it needs.
Your dad was always your right hand in fixing any issue that arose with your old piece of junk. Without him, you don’t even know where to begin. What shops to take it to, who will overcharge you and who won’t. Car mechanics are a foreign concept to you.
He even promised you a new one by the end of your junior year. It’s a pretty safe bet that that won’t be happening.
Josh answers the door before your fist even collides with it. “Y/n, my sweet dove! I’m so happy to see you!” he exclaims, clearly more than a few drinks in as he holds one tightly in his hand.
He practically pulls you into their home, wrapping you in a Josh-famous hug while nearly spilling his glass filled to the brim with some stout, honey colored liquid. The same one that you smelled on his breath as soon as he opened his mouth.
“Joshua!” you huff, laughing at his loose state. “The night has barely begun and you’re already drunk?”
“Ah, yes! The night is still young, and there’s plenty more trouble to get into!”
Your hand covers the sound of the giggle that erupts from you. “It sounds like you’ve gotten into enough already, Josh,” you say through your fingers.
His drink meets your empty hand in a clumsy ‘cheers,’ a few drops of his drink landing on your skin before he lifts his glass to take a big swig.
“The queen is here, everyone!” he shouts while stumbling through the crowded living room. You cringe at the sudden influx of eyes staring at you from Josh (loudly) announcing your arrival.
You flash an uncomfortable smile, waving stiffly at everyone while you take your jacket off and hang it on the coat-stand in the corner of the foyer.
“The queen, the queen!” Sammy roars from the kitchen, setting his glass down on the granite before swiftly padding his way across the living space to meet you. He instantly envelopes you in a warm, soft hug, digging his chin in your shoulder. His coarse facial hair tickles your neck as you playfully squirm away from his embrace.
He takes a step back, amorous eyes flicking up and down your form. “You look intoxicatingly lovely tonight,” he whispers, taking your hand as he gives the tops of your knuckles a quick peck.
Although he’s not quite as inebriated as his older brother, you can tell he’s had at least a few. Enough to sustain a pretty decent buzz. So, you don’t think his actions are completely due to the alcohol. Perhaps a bit, though.
“Come with me,” Sam says while he drags you by the same hand his lips just met. “Your lack of beverage is deeply concerning.”
As he leads you to the kitchen, your eye is caught by Jake standing by the array of finger foods intricately splayed out on huge charcuterie boards.
And fuck, does he look sexy as hell.
His dark beige collared jacket over his loose, worn white t-shirt is something brand new to you, and his denim button up tied around his waist above his black skinny jeans shouldn’t be nearly as inviting as it is.
You instantly notice the slightly cropped nature of his top, revealing just enough skin. Even the slightest vision of his lower stomach has your head spinning.
But then you realize… he’s not alone.
And she’s pretty. Really fucking pretty.
Her sun bleached hair falls just below her impossibly tiny waist. Her green eyes are complemented beautifully by her mulberry sweater, the deep neckline emphasizing her perfect breasts.
He’s smiling, laughing, and she’s laughing right along with him, making doe eyes as he talks to her. She’s holding some bright pink concoction, of which she’s taking the daintiest sips, never breaking contact with his eyes.
You’ve never seen him so outgoing, so talkative. And it’s all thanks to her.
Sam notices your stare in their direction, and switches directions so you’re now heading towards them.
“I don’t think you two have properly met!” Sam interjects. “Y/n, this is Stacy. She’s playing the woman that steals your man.”
He laughs ridiculously loud at his own joke, obviously not understanding where your mind is at all. (How could he possibly know? But, still. Poor taste, Sam.)
She is Stacy. Of course she is.
You’d heard about Stacy, but you hadn’t met her yet. All you knew was that she was the one cast as Camille, Arthur’s very own secret lover who will later turn out to be as evil as Morgan le Fey herself.
Nat has mentioned her briefly, telling you that she’s “kind of a moron, but a fantastic actress,” whatever the hell that means.
Her availability has been much different than yours for filming, so your paths have yet to cross. And since Josh has a strict ‘no pre-edit viewing’ rule, you haven’t seen any of her scenes with Jake.
And part of you isn’t entirely sure you want to. With how titillating your scenes with Sam have been, and the rather exposed nature of your own costuming, your wandering mind can only imagine how similar Jake's scenes are with Stacy and the costumes they’ve chosen for her.
The script you possess only includes scenes with you, so you haven’t even been able to read any of Jake’s that don’t include you, which also means you haven’t even read any of hers.
You’d already made it up in your mind that she was probably quite beautiful. That Jake probably believes she’s quite beautiful, too.
And you were unfortunately right. She’s a fucking goddess. You can’t hold a candle to her. And given the way Jake is looking at her, it’s safe to assume that he would agree.
Does he feel the same things for her that you feel for Sam? Why does it seem he gives her the attention you so desperately crave from him? Is she the reason why he has next to nothing to do with you?
It shouldn’t matter to the extent that it unfortunately does, but the thoughts are deafening nonetheless.
You’re jealous. And there’s no reason to be jealous, but you can’t begin to help it.
Out of instinct, you bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You suddenly feel like hiding once again.
The thrumming bass from the loud music is keeping perfect time with the amplified beating of your heart.
Why do you have to care so much?
You swallow it all down, breaking free from your thoughts to be cordial with her. Because she has yet to give you a reason not to be, and you don’t want to be that jealous bitch.
“Hi, Stacy!” you exclaim with a forced smile and a reach of your hand to shake with hers. “It’s so great to finally meet you.”
She disregards your outstretched hand, opting to pull you in for an unexpected hug in lieu and nearly causing you both to topple over.
She smells fucking incredible. Like fresh cherries and oranges.
She breaks from the hug, still grasping hold of each of your shoulders as you’re standing completely stiff in shock over the way she’s greeting you, as if she’s known you all her life.
With a giant smile, (displaying her perfectly white, straight teeth) she says, “I am so happy to see you! The boys have told me so much about you— well, mostly Sammy. He told me you’re a super awesome actress and has gone on and on about how pretty you are.”
Sam wraps his arm around your waist, giggling and blushing at her statement. You find his sudden onset of embarrassment to be absolutely adorable. You catch yourself smiling at the thought of him speaking of you in such a way. His sweetness more than makes up for the lack thereof from his older brother, who is standing stiff as a board behind Stacy.
His eyes flick to yours, and they burn a hole through your own gaze before they land on Sam’s arm that’s hugged tightly to your body. His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches before he gives Sam a look that you’re pretty sure could actually murder him if it were possible.
You can’t discern how he’s feeling, but whatever is on his mind, he certainly does not appear to be happy about it.
You look up to Sam to see that he’s staring right back at Jake, even throwing him a sly wink before Jake abruptly walks away from the three of you without a single word.
What the fuck is his problem now?
You all stand there in silence for a moment, Stacy’s head quickly whipping around in the direction he left in.
“Well,” you say, clearing your throat to draw the attention elsewhere. “I’ve heard plenty of wonderful things about you also, Stacy. I am so excited to see you in the film. I bet you’re absolutely great!” You’re more so telling her this in an effort to relieve the tension that Jake so lovingly left behind.
She smiles before taking a few sips of her drink, licking the rememints off her full, rose colored lips. “Jake is just a dream to work with. He’s so patient and kind with me. And he’s just the sweetest guy! When he asked me to come to the party tonight, there was no way I could say no.”
No. There’s no way she’s using ‘patient’ and ‘kind’ to describe the same Jake that’s been a rude, arrogant pain in your side for the past few months. He is most definitely not the ‘sweetest guy.’
You’re practically biting your tongue in half to stop yourself from saying anything.
Why the hell has he been treating her so much better than you? What is so special about her that you’re lacking?
Well, aside from her Barbie-like beauty. That is something you can’t compare to, sadly. You’ll never equate to girls that carry her kind of flawless, graceful allure.
And that is probably why you don’t receive the same respect as her. It makes perfect sense.
What a vain, fucking asshole.
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
You’ve been subtly eyeing them all night, watching as they’ve kept themselves tucked away together in a desolate corner of the living room, completely separated from the rest of the party.
He’s been ogling the hell out of her while she rambles on and on, talking his ear off for what feels like hours. (About something mindless and irrelevant, you’re sure.)
But whatever it is has acquired his full attention as they’ve basically not lost sight of one another since the night began. (Aside from the numerous times you’ve caught him glancing your way tonight. Maybe this outfit was a good idea.)
Sammy thankfully hasn’t taken notice of your wandering eyes. In fact, he’s been just as glued to you as the two of them seem to be.
And if you’re honest, he’s been a welcome diversion.
The drinks have made him a little extra clingy to you, and even more complimentary, as if that were even possible.
You’re asking yourself yet again why you care so fucking much about what Jake is doing, when you have Sam practically falling all over himself for you. (Almost literally, thanks to the alcohol flowing freely through his system.)
You’re still working on your first drink that Josh mixed for you, and you now know what Malachi meant when he told you to beware of an infamous Josh cocktail. There’s just a hint of lime juice swimming in an endless sea of Camarena tequila. (A Kiszka staple, you’ve come to find.)
You can only sip on it gingerly as a full gulp would probably cause your blood alcohol levels to rise rather quickly, so taking it slow is necessary.
“I think I’ll go pour myself another refreshment. Anything I can get you?” Sammy asks, effectively pulling your attention away from them again for the umpteenth time tonight. (Thank god he hasn’t noticed.)
“I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”
He gives you an inquisitive look as he downs the last few drops of what's left of his drink. “And you’re sure you don’t want something to eat? There’s plenty up there.”
You’ve turned down his offer at least three times now. He’s been questioning you all night about eating, but you just can’t right now.
The fear of becoming bloated while in an outfit as tight as this, clinging to every square inch of your body, is far too great to allow yourself to indulge.
If you want to look good, especially around the likes of Stacy, food is out of the question for tonight.
“I ate with my mom before I came over, so I’m really not very hungry.” That’s a lie. And you hate to lie to him, to anyone. But you don’t want to be tempted by him bringing you a plate of food. You’ve hardly stepped foot in the kitchen for that very reason.
He just smiles and says “okay” as he stands up from the couch to grab his refill, leaving you sitting there by yourself.
Normally you’d be grateful for the moment of solitude amongst the wild party goers as they dance and galavant around.
But all it’s doing is setting your attention right back on Jake, who’s still conversing with Stacy.
Only now, it’s much worse.
Your stomach tightens and drops when you see him mindlessly run the backs of his fingers up and down her forearm, landing loosely on her waist as their proximity has become even closer somehow.
You shouldn’t care. You really shouldn’t fucking care. But goddamnit— how you wish it were you.
You’ve told yourself over and over again to let go of this idea that he could ever possibly like you. It’s pointless, useless. He’s made it plenty well known that he isn’t and never will be interested.
But suddenly, he makes eye contact with you again as he’s wrapped up with her, and she doesn’t notice. She just keeps talking to him as if he were still listening.
But you can tell he’s not. His eyes are tightly fixed with yours, and this time, neither one of you are quick to break the contact.
There’s close to twenty people between the two of you, yet they all suddenly disappear. The music has turned into a muffled, incoherent beat. It’s as though you’re both standing on either end of a tunnel, the rest of the world stuck on the outside, unbeknownst to what’s occurring beyond the cylinder walls that encompass only you and Jake.
Your trance is broken by Stacy taking hold of his face and turning it back towards her. You can’t hear what she says, but based on the movement of her lips, you’ve gathered it was something along the lines of, ‘who were you looking at?’
She turns her head in your direction, looking around intently to answer her own question.
But she doesn’t look at you. Because in her mind, why would Jake ever look at you when she, perfect and beautiful as can be, is standing right in front of him?
No. She’d never suspect it.
And maybe she’s right, anyway. You turn to look behind you to see a slew of beautiful girls standing close by. Friends of some of the crew for the film, you assume.
He was probably just looking at them. Not you.
Never you.
You feel the couch cushion sink in next to you with Sammy sitting back down, clutching his newly fresh drink, completely oblivious to everything happening within your mind.
You suddenly feel your phone vibrate from your purse, and you unlock the screen to see a text message from Natalia.
It’s suddenly registered with you that she isn’t here yet, which isn’t like her to be late to anything.
Nat: “So, about tonight…”
You: “Are you okay?? Where are you, dude?”
Nat: “I *may* have a date planned, & I *may* not be making it to the party because of said date. ;)”
You: “A date?? With?? SPILL IT!”
Nat: “A certain curly headed boy who was also supposed to be there tonight. :p Any guesses?”
You glance around the room to determine who should be here but isn’t.
You still don’t know very many people in this town just yet, so the possibilities of who it could be are rather limited.
It clearly isn’t Sammy. And it most definitely isn’t Jake or Josh.
Then, it hits you.
Daniel. Sammy’s best friend who has been nowhere to be found all night, who was most definitely supposed to be here.
You’ve loved getting to know him over the last few months. Everything runs extra smoothly when he’s around to help with the camera work, and he serves as the best mediator for the twins. (And Sam when he’s feeling extra ruthless.) Fights are almost non-existent when his presence is looming.
And he is absolutely sexy as fuck. The tallest of all the boys, and the most muscular.
With Nat’s unmatched beauty along with her kind heart, the two of them would make the most ideal, movie worthy couple.
You’re sad she won’t be here tonight, but the thought of her going out with Danny has you far too excited to care. She deserves this.
You: “Danny?? SHUT THE HELL UP? I’m so happy for you!”
Nat: “Maaaaybe. ;) I’ll keep you updated! Sorry for ditching you tonight, love you & have fun!”
You: “You’re such a shit. Love you!”
“What are you so smiley about?” Sam asks, nudging your shoulder playfully with his as you grin at your phone.
You lift up your screen to show him, his smile matching yours once he discovers what has you so giddy,
“No fucking way!” he shouts, taking your phone from your hand to get a better look at the messages. “He’s been wanting to ask her out for ages. Way to finally grow some balls, Daniel!”
Sinking into the cushions a little further, you accept your fate of not having Nat with you for the night. You’re going to miss her. You are not sure how you’re going to make it without her perfectly timed buffering. And tonight of all nights is the one where you need her as a distraction. A distraction from the continuously ridiculous display that Jake and Stacy are giving with their secret giggles in the corner.
Next to you, Sammy’s small, drawn out cackle pulls you back. It brings a small smile to your face as it’s an honestly endearing sound–reminiscent of a laugh influenced by weed. You’ve gotten used to hearing it often, as Sam is always laughing if there’s a laugh to be had.
He’s a good distraction. A good buffer. You’ll have him to lean on all night. You’re assured of this as he looks down at you with his big, beautiful, deep brown eyes. He’s pulling you in, making you feel safe in this overly crowded room.
But another drink would be nice. Just to alleviate any tension that could unintentionally make its way into your muscles. It’s a humongous risk as Jake and Stacy leave their cocoon in the corner to make their way back to the kitchen.
Yeah, you don’t want to go back there. You need a drink, but you don’t want to accidentally see them canoodling when that’s the last thing you want to be privy to. The drink’s a necessity, though, you realize as you already feel irritation flare in your veins at the thought.
“You need something, hun?” Sam asks.
You bring your eyes, zoning out on nothing, back to him. God, he’s so sweet. Why can’t he be the Kiszka you want most?
Not knowing what else to say or do, you figure asking him to run to the kitchen for you might be a good idea. You need the alcohol, and he would surely love to help. Perfect combo.
“I need a drink,” you say, a shy smile taking over your features. “And I’m too comfy to get up.”
You really feel bad making him be your errand boy. Especially when his face lights up at the prospect of possibly helping you.
“Yeah!” He eagerly responds, getting up in no time. “Whaddya want? Mixed? Beer? Wine?”
“Glass of wine, maybe?”
“Dry? Sweet? Sour?”
“Sweet,” you respond, without thought. Sweet wine is always the only route. “Thank you,” you offer, blushing with the quiet thanks.
“Sure thing,” he winks. Then, he’s crouching in front of you, his hand landing on your thigh. Your skin heats under his touch. He’s so fucking gorgeous. And he’s so close. And he’s leaning in.
You lean forward, too, and capture his lips in an effortless kiss. So soft, his mustache tickles your upper lip just right.
He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and your tummy does a funny twirl before he’s standing back up with one more wink and a little grin that makes your cheeks flare red. “Be right back, sweet thing.”
As long as you can without having to move from your spot, you watch him lazily (and sexily) walk to the kitchen for your beverage. You’re biting your lip, still, when you turn back to face the rest of the party in front of you.
Then you see Jake leaving the kitchen right as Sammy enters it. And with Stacy momentarily distracted, he lets his eyes wander. But, you realize, they don’t really wander– no, they go immediately to you.
You’re still biting your lip, but you let your teeth slip just the slightest bit with the look he’s giving you. It’s haunting–almost as though it’s a best-kept secret. He looks…pensive. But his eyes are open, wondering and curious with his lips parted just slightly– so prettily.
You let your gaze stay on his face–continue looking in his mysterious eyes–until Sam is the one exiting the kitchen. So, you turn your attention back to his face. He’s smiling at you, holding up a clear plastic cup, holding what looks like Pink Moscato. Your lips turn up at the sight, but let your eyes float back to Jake’s of their own accord… but he’s no longer looking at you.
No, he’s looking at Malachi, who is still engaging in conversation with Stacy.
But he’s not smiling along with their conversation. He’s scowling, his jaw clenching enough to make your skin feel hot. Why’s he so mad?
You choose not to think about it, instead averting your eyes to Sam, now back in front of you with your wine, setting his new drink on the table. You let your eyes settle on his ass in his gray jeans and you can’t help but appreciate the view.
Then he’s turning around and his phone is getting clicked open from his pocket.
Peering at the screen, you wrinkle a brow.
“What’s–?”
“Twenty Questions!” He excitedly says as he hands you your wine and settles in next to you again. “Thought it could keep us busy for the next bit of time.”
Your eyes twinkle. He’s adorable.
“Okay,” you smirk, taking a drink of your wine, which settles immediately into your cheeks. Warms you right up. And, yes, it’s Pink Moscato. “How did you know I love this type of wine?”
“Lucky guess,” he chimes, the apples of his cheeks pink after a swig from his brand new mixed drink. “You wanna play?” He flashes his screen at you again, lit up way too bright with the questions he’d found online.
“Yeah,” you reply with a sure nod. “Give me your worst.”
And, without being able to help it, you’re peeking over your shoulder once more.
You find Jake’s eyes, dark and waiting for you, before you’re both turning back to your tasks at hand.
Your tummy is positively fluttering as Sammy asks his first question.
“What’s one of the craziest things you’ve ever done?”
Not helping the giggle that bubbles out of your chest, you know exactly what your answer is.
Ironic.
“Craziest things I’ve ever done…” you hum, already knowing what you’re going to say when you give him a tiny smile. “Well, one of the craziest things I’ve ever done is definitely agreeing to star in a project film with a bunch of people I really didn’t know worth shit.”
His signature cackle comes to join your giggle, and you feel totally at ease in the moment.
God, he’s easy to talk to.
“That’s fucking hilarious,” he responds. Then, there’s a wholesome smile under his mustache, his eyes encompassing a brand new emotion. “But I’m really glad you did it.”
And, with Sam’s precious face making you feel a little giddy, and the feeling of eyes burning into the back of your neck making your stomach feel heavy with want, you say the only thing you can think of.
It’s simple.
“Me too.”
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
The chill of the night is nearly unbearable as you’re waiting in the line for the hayride that takes you to the haunted house, and you’ve found yourself regretting your choice of attire.
Your pleather jacket isn’t doing a damn thing to block the crisp breeze, and the small amount of alcohol you had ingested earlier has completely worn off, so you can’t rely on that to warm your system.
Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest in a desperate attempt to use your own body heat to warm up, but there isn’t any heat left to be used. You’re sure everyone can hear the incessant chattering of your teeth and the jingling of your jewelry from your uncontrollable shivers.
Michigan cold feels different than Oklahoma cold. Your body clearly hasn’t adjusted to the northern weather as of yet. (It also doesn’t help that you haven’t eaten a single thing since you woke up early this morning, but you turn that thought away fast. You’re not ready to confront that just yet.)
You half expected Sam to offer you his coat by now, but he’s too busy cutting up with Josh and Malachi at the moment to pay you any mind. You feel too awkward to ask, so you’ll just stand here and wait for your body to completely ice over while you wait for this fucking hayride that won’t allow you to be any warmer than you are right now.
Hell, even Jake gave Stacy his coat, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. He just did it.
And it doesn’t help that she can’t stop making her ‘pick me’ comments about how his coat is so big on her that she looks so tiny in it.
You’re annoyed as fuck that she’s here. The way she chimed in before you all left, nosing her way in to figure out where you all were going, just to get Jake to ask her to come. And of course he did. Of fucking course.
So, she’s here. Bumbling about and talking about whatever comes to her dull mind. But, her looks give her a pass. You’ve found yourself wondering more than once tonight why they didn’t cast her as Guiniverre. Her beauty alone makes her more than qualified for the role. And if her acting is as good as everyone says, it just doesn’t make sense why she wasn’t chosen.
You’re really wishing Nat was here. She would just get it and share along with your annoyance. But she would definitely say something along the lines of what you’re thinking. She’s not one to hold back like you are.
(And you’re starting to understand why she referred to Stacy as a ‘moron.’)
The line has been still for well over forty five minutes at this point, and you’ve not even moved a quarter of an inch since you’ve been here.
This better be worth it.
Stacy decides to join in on the guys’ fun, making an obnoxious show of herself as she does so. You know she’s only doing it for the sake of Jake’s attention.
And apparently Sam’s, too.
She’s got her arm interlocked with his as they stand in front of you, making ‘jokes’ with one another that might actually make you hurl.
Sam is too naive (and still a bit too inebriated) to understand her little game, but you’re not.
And it should be pissing you off that she’s suddenly all over your date, but at least it’s keeping her from clinging to Jake.
The vexed look on Jake’s face says everything you’re thinking— his annoyance isn’t quite as subtle as yours.
You’re a little relieved to find that he is also not thrilled about the situation. Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves, and it’s not that you’re not, you just wish you weren’t so damn cold.
A sudden gust of wind hits you like a frozen freight train. It’s nearly painful, piercing through your skin to your chilled bones.
“Jesus!” You exclaim from the sharp gale, causing everyone to startle and snap their heads in your direction.
“You alright?” Jake asks.
You notice the bright pink hue on his cheeks and the very tip of his nose, and you’ve heard him sniffle every few minutes since you’ve been here. You kind of feel bad for him. Having given up his coat to the little blondie keeping Sam’s attention far away from you, he must be as cold as you are.
“I’m fine,” you fib through your jittering teeth. “I’m just so fucking cold.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad out tonight. Actually this whole month has been much colder than normal, I believe.” He cups his hands, bringing them up to his lips to blow warm air on them before sticking them back in the pockets of his skinny jeans.
You’re definitely not used to this kind of simple, small talk with Jake. And his annoyed demeanor has suddenly vanished. He no longer looks completely miserable, probably because he’s now ignoring Stacy’s obnoxious, forced laugh as she’s still messing around with Sam, Josh and Malachi just a few feet in front of you.
You’re absolutely over her at this point. The way she will snort out a fake laugh and casually peek over at Jake to see if he’s looking at her— it’s nauseating to watch, really.
“I think there’s a hot chocolate stand over there if you wan-” Jake starts, but he’s interrupted by Sam.
“I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t realize you were so cold.” Sam says, wrapping his arms around your frigid body and rubbing his hands up and down your back to warm you up.
You’re grateful for his body heat, the way it instantly puts your endless shivers to rest.
But you wish he would’ve waited until Jake finished his thought. (And you wish Jake were the one warming you up instead.)
But while in Sam’s embrace, you catch Jake watching, glaring.
His jaw becomes tightly clenched, his chest rising up and down rapidly with his deep breaths, his eyes narrowed in on you wrapped tightly in his brother's arms.
And even as Stacy waltzes her way to him, tucking herself into his body, seeking his warmth, (quite literally just mimicking you and Sam) Jake's burning gaze doesn’t cease.
You’ve stood like this for so long that you don’t even realize you’re all next in line for the hayride.
Sam helps guide you in the back of the wagon, being sure you don’t slip on the unstable wooden step. Josh and Malachi pile in shortly after you, then Jake and Stacy.
You wince as you take a seat on the sharp hay, wishing even more that you would’ve chosen something thicker than your skirt. The hay is stabbing you through your clothes, and no efforts in situating yourself to find a comfortable spot are proving to be successful.
“Here, “ Sam says, patting his thigh. “Sit on my lap, you’ll be a lot more comfortable.”
The dry hay may as well be needles poking your ass, so you don’t turn down his offer. Plus, his body heat will also come in handy as you’ve got a pretty substantial way to go before you reach the haunted house.
He holds you close to him by your waist as you situate yourself on his warm thighs, but you hear a rather unpleasant scoff coming directly from Jake’s mouth as you do so. And so does everyone else, apparently, as everyone looks his way at the sound.
Sammy snickers, asking “You good over there, Jacob?”
His condescending tone catches you completely off guard. And clearly has pissed off Jake.
“Sam, it’s in your best interest to shut the fuck up.” Jake angrily retorts.
Stacy is seated next to him, a ridiculous smile splayed on her unaware, perfect face. Giggling and laughing when she has absolutely no clue what’s going on between the brothers.
(If you’re completely honest, you’re not entirely sure you do, either.)
But the tension is evident, nonetheless. And she is obviously incapable of picking up on it.
But what she does pick up on, is how you're seated comfortably on top of Sammy's lap, giving her the idea to also do that. Because for some fucking reason, she feels the need to always do the exact same thing you and Sammy do.
You have to hold back your laugh as she moves to sit on Jake, and he tells her it’s not a good idea and makes her sit back down on a dirty piece of hay.
Serves her fucking right.
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
A slew of bloody, killer clowns lead you all out of the hay covered wagon. Their makeup is…mediocre at best. Not the most realistic you’ve ever seen but you can tell there was at least a little more than minimal effort put into their costuming.
Stacy, of course, is screaming at the top of her lungs with each move they make, attaching herself to Jake in an obnoxious manner that almost prohibits him from being able to walk. The look on his features tells you he’s less than pleased with her actions, but he doesn’t stop her.
They then lead you all to the beginning of their ‘Three Ring Maze of Horrors,’ guiding you through the dark black lit entrance. The sounds of exaggerated screams and wails can be heard through their less than adequate sound system, playing on an endless loop along with circus music in an eerie minor key.
A typical cliche; nothing you haven’t seen adapted a hundred times before. The concept is a bit overdone in your eyes. Being the horror fan that you are, you’re pretty desensitized to things like this. It takes a lot to scare you anymore. But, you still enjoy the atmosphere nonetheless.
Not only was Jake chosen to be the designated driver tonight, it was a collective decision to have Jake lead the whole group through the haunted house. Of course, Stacy is close behind, clutching his back and burying her face into his jacket, seeking her pick-me attention yet again from him.
You and Sam are close behind, with you in front of him. He’s not quite as brave as you are, closely mimicking the reactions of Stacy, much to your annoyance.
Josh and Malachi are the tail end, clinging to one another as they both share in their fear together.
You and Jake seem to be the only ones who aren’t phased in the least. He’s hardly even winced at a single bloody clown threatening to have him for dinner.
But with every jump and yell of a clown, comes a blood curdling scream from Stacy that is far more dramatic than necessary.
Again, you have to fight back your laughter at the fact that Jake quite literally shrugs her off and ignores her every time. It appears he’s not buying any of her shit anymore tonight.
Sam, on the other hand, is much more fearful than you would have initially thought. (Especially considering they do these every year. Surely he doesn’t think this one is bad, right?)
He’s basically using you as a human shield everytime a clown reaches for him, squealing and bending down to your height to hide himself behind you while you simply look at the clowns and wave, being the pretentious asshole you are.
You’re thankful that both him and Stacy can’t see the ceaseless rolling of your eyes each time they make a fuss over something that is not as scary as they’re making it out to be. Yeah, you’ve jolted backwards from a jumpscare or two, but the whole thing is planned out in a way that you can almost guess exactly when and where an actor will strike. It’s textbook for spook houses. Some of them (including this one) are incredibly predictable.
As you’re finally nearing the end of this poor excuse of a fear seeking thrill, you catch the smallest glimpse of a grotesque clown's meticulous hiding spot. But he’s not hidden as well as he thinks, since you can still spot him even with the neon lights flashing about in an attempt to disorient your vision.
Jake is walking closer and closer to his spot, and you have a pretty good feeling that he’ll strike once Jake is within the appropriate distance.
You see the clown prepare himself and just as Jake is in the perfect spot, he jumps out in front of him, letting out a rather deafening wail.
Jake clearly did not see him, having the ever loving shit scared out of him and raising his fist to throw a punch at the actor.
Thankfully, the clown tucked himself back away in his little hiding spot before Jake could throw his self-defense punch.
Why was that so fucking hot?
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
After a rather interesting time out, you’ve all finally made it back to their apartment.
The night ran a little later than you intended, so you’re making haste in preparing to leave so you can get home. Sammy isn’t too keen on you leaving just yet, offering hug after hug in an attempt to keep you here a little longer with him.
I don’t deserve him.
“Do you really need to leave?” Sam asks, his tone of voice telling you he’s got something special in mind. You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t intriguing to you. “It’s pretty late, you know. I’d hate for you to drive all the way home at this hour. You’re more than welcome to stay here.” His wink sends a swarm of butterflies to your undeniably eager tummy.
You hear Josh agree that it’s a good idea as he and Malachi are making their way up the stairs to their room. You instinctively look to Jake to try and gauge his thoughts, but, as usual, you can’t read his stone cold face.
If circumstances with your mom were different, you might agree. But you’ve been gone from her for far too long. And being away from her overnight just simply isn’t an option.
“I wish I could, but I’ve got piles of homework sitting on my bed waiting for me.” Again, that’s a lie. But telling everyone the true reason is a task for another night.
“Will you at least text me that you’ve made it home safe?” Sam asks. His request sends a wave of warmth to your heart. The fact that he just fucking cares about you, and makes it evident.
“I will, Sam. I promise.”
You start gathering your things that you left on the couch earlier, and as you’re about to open the front door, you hear something that sends a boiling heat to your blood.
“Sam's right, Stacy. It isn’t safe to be out driving at this hour. I’m going to insist that you stay here tonight.” Jake tells her.
Don’t stay, don’t stay, d-
“I’d love to, Jakey!” her squealing voice answers.
Jakey?
“You can just sleep in my room, if you want,” he continues.
As if your blood wasn’t heated enough, now it’s blistering.
You cock your head in Jake’s direction, and his eyes are frozen solid on you.
He’s doing this on purpose. He’s getting even with you for all of your antics with Sam tonight.
Fuck you, Jake.
She follows him down the hall to his room, and when you hear his bedroom door shut after they walk in together, you decide that enough is enough.
You throw your stuff back down on the couch and stomp your way towards Sammy who’s staring at you with wide eyes.
Non verbally agreeing to his inquisition, you wrap your arms around his neck and attach your lips to his with everything you’ve pent up from the entire night, letting it all out on Sammy who’s willing to take it with no question.
He doesn’t break away to ask what changed your mind, he just reciprocates the same passion you’ve bestowed upon him. He’s practically clawing at your body to bring you closer, shoving his tongue past your lips and moaning straight into your open, hungry mouth.
With no more thoughts running through your mind, you leap into his ready arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands reach to cup your ass.
He starts carrying you up the stairs, holding your body as if you weigh nothing. His lips only detach from yours long enough to open his bedroom door and carry you in, carefully letting you to fall on his mattress.
He wastes no time crawling on top of you, sucking the skin of your neck before finding your lips once again.
You grab hold of his white button up and tug on it until it reaches his shoulders, digging your nails into the now exposed skin of his back.
He lifts up to take it all the way off his body, tossing it across the room somewhere before gracefully flipping you both so you’re now on top, straddling him, your skirt now fully bunched up around your hips as his hands begin kneading the flesh of your thighs over your black tights.
You grind yourself on his body in desperate search for a release to ease the built up tension tonight has caused you.
“Shit, y/n,” he hisses, moving his hands to your hip bones to help guide you even further into him.
The moan you let out is one you’re sure everyone else in the apartment heard, but you couldn’t begin to care even if you wanted to.
I hope he fucking heard that.
You lean yourself down, your lips flush against his once again, making a show of sticking your ass out as much as you can.
“Y/n,” Sam pulls away from you. You chase after him, but he stops you again. “Hey, are you sure you want this?” he whispers.
You find his question to be utterly ridiculous. Of course you want it.
Even though it may not be for the right reasons…
You lift yourself up to look him in the eyes, “Do you not want this?” you ask, a bit of defensiveness in your tone.
His hand reaches out to pull you back down to him, enveloping your lips with a long, drawn out kiss that steals every breath of air from your lungs.
“I have wanted this since I fucking laid eyes on you,” he utters against your parted lips. “I just want to make sure that you are ready.”
You don’t want to think anymore, you don’t want him to think anymore.
Instead of using words to tell him just how badly you want this, you lift back up to tear your shirt off your body, leaving just your black bra on your top half. There’s no use in overthinking that, considering he’s already seen your breasts due to the sheer nature of your black lace piece for the film.
“Fuck,” he whispers, running his hands up your bare stomach, reaching to gently cup your still clothed chest. His thumbs trace delicately over your hardened nipples through the fabric, a rise in goosebumps enveloping your body. “You are so goddamn sexy, y/n.”
Just as you’re about to lean back into him, you notice something catching his eye. You instantly realize what it is.
Fuck. You weren’t ready for that yet.
“What’s this?” He traces the outline of your tattoo etched under your right breast, no longer disguised under the heavy stage makeup you’ve used during filming. Your body stiffens at the realization.
Now that he’s officially witnessed the most personal part of you, it suddenly registers what you’re doing.
And the anxiety becomes all consuming. All you want to do is cover up, to hide.
At this point, you’re only doing this to get to Jake. It’s absolutely not fair to Sam, using him and his affection for you like this. It’s not fair to yourself, either.
This isn’t what you want. But you’ve convinced yourself that it is, letting it go so far that your best kept, most intimate secret has officially been revealed.
You begin feeling a loss of your sacred identity, a piece of yourself that you weren’t ready to share just yet.
It’s much deeper than the tattoo at this point.
What the fuck am I doing?
You swing your leg over Sam, removing yourself from his body and searching frantically for your shirt.
You have to get out of here. You should’ve just fucking gone home.
“Y/n?” His voice sounds shaky and unsure. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it so far.” He stands from the bed to meet you, the concern painted on his features shattering your heart.
As bad as you feel right now, you would’ve felt a thousand times worse had you continued this whole thing for all the wrong reasons.
“You didn’t do anything, Sam. I need you to know that. I just—“ Fuck. You don’t want to hurt him. And you don’t want him thinking any of this is his fault because it absolutely isn’t. “I thought I was ready, I don’t think I am. I’m so sorry, Sammy.”
You swallow down the massive wave of tears threatening to fall, but you can’t help the wetness forming in your ducts.
You’re angry with yourself for letting it get this far. You’re angry that you almost used someone who’s been nothing but kind to you to get to someone else, for your own selfish purposes. And you’re angry that you almost gave yourself fully to him without being ready to do so.
And for allowing him to see a part of you that practically no one knows about.
“Hey, hey,” he says, cupping your cheek. You know he can see the tears welling in your eyes, as much as you wish he didn’t. “Please don't be sorry. I’m only into this if you are. You call the shots, okay? I don’t want you to ever feel rushed.”
“I think I’ll just go home, if that’s okay.” You pull your shirt back on over your head, wanting nothing more than to be in one of your giant sweaters for just a semblance of comfort right now.
“Of course that’s okay. Do you want me to walk you out?” He asks. His sweet, quiet voice is comforting you a little, but you can’t shake the guilt you’re carrying heavily on your shoulders right now enough to find enough solace.
You tell him no, that you’re okay to walk out on your own. You can’t bear letting him do anything else for you. You just need to go.
He hugs you goodbye, telling you to be safe and reminding you once more to text him when you get home.
You tell him you will, and walk out of his room, shutting the door behind.
As you run down the stairs, you’re immensely hoping that no one is down there to see you leaving but as you reach the last step, that hope you were clinging to is no more.
It’s Jake. Rummaging through the fridge in the dark kitchen, and to make matters worse, (and slightly more awkward) the only thing on his body is a pair of black sweatpants.
And when he turns to face you, you realize how low they’re sitting on his waist. Low enough that you can see his hip bones and a small trail of hair sticking up from the waistband. Fuck. His hair is an absolute mess, tangled and sticking to his sweaty, flushed face.
You would enjoy the view, but you know good and well why he looks like this. And you know Stacy is still in his room, probably in a very similar state.
He watches you while your hurriedly head to the door, not stopping to say a single fucking word to him. He mutters something to you as you shut the door, but you don’t bother turning around to catch what he said. You just ignore him, practically racing to your car to get the hell out of here.
You throw the driver's side door open, slamming it shut once you’re seated. You sit in silence, laying your head on the steering wheel while the levees in your eyes finally break. The tears are uncontrollable, and leaving right now would prove useless as your vision is completely blurred.
The disappointment in yourself is ripping your soul in two.
And you feel so fucking bad for Sam. You made him feel as though he was to blame. But the real reason for everything that transpired is so terrible. This isn’t like you, to take advantage of someone for the sole purpose of making someone else jealous.
Someone as lovely as Sam who absolutely doesn’t deserve something so cruel.
You’ve successfully lead him on in ways you never intended, all for the sake of someone who can hardly hold a normal conversation with you.
You feel like you’re beneath the lowest levels of the earth right now.
You’re just ready to be home. All you want right now is to be tucked away in the comfort of your bed, to finally go to sleep and forget about everything for a while.
And the reality of how long you’ve been away from your mom is setting in, yet another thing to feel guilty about.
You choke back your sobs, fanning your eyes with your hands to dry them enough to see.
You take your key and turn it in the ignition, waiting for the car to start.
Nothing.
You pull it out and try once more. It almost starts to turn over, but the laggy engine isn’t doing anything other than sputtering and heaving.
You wait a minute before you try again, giving it a second to breathe and praying to every god in the universe that it’ll start.
In one last ditch effort, you hold the key as long as you possibly can this time until you hear a loud pop from under the hood. Then, total silence.
This isn’t happening…
You try the ignition once more just to see if by some miracle it’ll start, but it won’t even try to turn over now. There’s no more power.
Your car is fucking toast. And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.
The last thing you want to do is go back inside to ask for a ride. But at this point, your options are rather limited.
Your first thought is to try and call Natalia. But both times you try, it goes straight to voicemail.
Great.
You have to get home, even if that means swallowing your shame and going back for Sam’s help.
With a reluctant and heavy sigh, you leave your car and drag your feet back to their apartment.
You turn the knob of the front door to find that it’s still unlocked. (Thank god you don’t have to knock.)
But when you quietly step in, you’re mortified to see Jake and Josh now awake and in the kitchen, snapping their heads sharply upon you entering.
“Jesus Christ!” Josh shouts, his whole bodying jolting forward into Jake’s in a dramatic display.
You feel bad for scaring him so bad, but his comical reaction does bring a hint of a smile to your face. Although you’re far too upset to laugh right now.
“You okay, love?” Josh asks with a gentle voice while he quickly walks over to you, looking at you with sweet concern.
You know for a fact that your mascara has left streaks of black down your face, so you’re sure you look absolutely insane right now but you couldn’t be bothered to fix it before you came back inside.
“Um, my car-“ you start, clearing your throat to strengthen your weak voice. “My car broke down and I need a ride. I really have to get home.”
Without as much as a single question, Josh takes his coat off the rack and grabs his keys off the hook beside the door, but he’s promptly cut off by Jake swiping them away from his hand.
���You’ve been drinking, Josh,” he says while hanging the keys back in their spot. “Driving isn’t a good idea.”
“She needs to get home,” Josh argues, ripping his keys off the hook yet again. “I’m completely fine. I’ll take her.”
Jake takes the damn keys back again, this time shoving them in the pocket of his sweatpants to ensure Josh can’t get ahold of them. “No. There’s goddamn liquor running through your blood. I’m not letting you drive. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”
“Do you want to take her, then?” Josh asserts, rubbing a frustrated hand across his forehead.
God, please no.
The thought of being in a car alone with Jake is enough to make you put your foot down on that idea. But you’re also not too keen on him seeing that you live in one of the most rundown, shitty complexes in the entire city.
But Jake is right, as much as you’d hate to admit. With as intoxicated as Josh had been earlier, it’s not smart that he drives you. You can still smell the alcohol on his breath and he’s not even standing that close to you.
“Just go get Sam,” Jake responds, stomping off to his room.
Josh grunts and matches his heavy footing up the stairs to Sam’s room, leaving you standing there alone and wondering what the fuck this whole night has become.
A few minutes pass, and as Josh is heading back down the stairs, you notice he’s alone and appearing even more irate than he was previously.
“I’m so sorry, y/n. He’s completely passed out and won’t move. I’ll just have to get Jake to take you since he’s so insistent that I can’t drive.”
Fuck.
Before you can oppose, he’s already knocking on his door.
“Jake, put a goddamn shirt on and take her home.” He yells, not caring enough to quiet his voice for the sake of the others who are fast asleep.
You take a peek down the hallway to catch Jake tossing open the door, damn near slamming Josh with it while aggressively putting on a Jimi Hendrix hoodie.
Stepping into a pair of black vans, he takes what you assume are his keys from the hook, already halfway out the door before he asks, “Are you coming, y/n?”
His tone pisses you the hell off— he’s not hiding the fact that he’s not thrilled about this. Both with his tone of voice and his assertive body language.
Sorry to inconvenience you so goddamn much.
You’re not in any mental state to argue; getting home is your only goal right now.
“Yep.” You sneer, grudgingly following him out the door to his car.
You had seen the practically brand new, matte black Range Rover sitting in the parking lot plenty of times, but you never gathered that it was his.
Although you should have guessed, given the way it so perfectly matches his aesthetic. You recently discovered his affinity for all things piratical, learning from Josh that the medallions he wears around his neck are ancient coins found amongst the ruins of old shipwrecks. He also told you about Jake’s childhood obsession with Johnny Depp's famous portrayal of the beloved Jack Sparrow character, so you’re not the least bit surprised when you see ‘BLK PRL’ engraved in the metal license plate. Clearly a nod to that part of himself. (That you can’t help but find awfully endearing.)
It’s nice. Really fucking nice. And clearly very well taken care of as there’s not a single flaw to be found.
The question remains– how the hell does a college student afford one of the nicest apartments you’ve ever seen and a new Range Rover?
You still don’t know what he does for work, but you don’t care enough at the moment to find out.
To your shock, he pulls a pure gentleman move by opening the passengers door for you and helping you in his car. Something you certainly hadn’t planned on but found rather charming.
Once he verifies that you’re in and secure, he shuts the door and heads to the drivers side, letting himself in and starting the engine.
He begins backing out of the driveway, one hand on the steering wheel and one on the headrest of your seat, his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth in concentration. You find it all to be inexplicably attractive and you can’t take your eyes off of him.
But when his eyes catch your stare, you look away, hoping he doesn't realize just how long you’d been watching.
“Where do you live?” he asks while putting the car in drive.
You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want him knowing that you live in one of the worst areas in the entire Detroit, Ann Arbor area.
But you no longer have a choice.
“Redwood Apartments,” you say quietly, wishing that this whole thing wasn’t happening. “Down on north Highland, just a block away from Meijer down the road.”
“Yeah, I think I know where that’s at.” He nods his head as he begins to take off in the direction of your home.
The car is completely silent, the rumbling tires against the pavement being the only thing you can hear. Neither of you says a word for what feels like hours, but when you look at the clock, you realize your trek began only ten minutes ago. It’s a solid twenty minutes between your place and theirs, so you still have another agonizing ten minutes left to go.
Once you hit a red light, Jake reaches to the center console for his phone and unlocks it, handing it to you with his screen open on his Spotify page.
“Pick something to listen to,” he says as the light turns green once again.
It feels utterly illegal to be in charge of his phone right now. But you’re also a fan of having something to listen to that isn’t your combined breaths and the sound of his heavy tires rolling against the road.
You take the opportunity to scroll through his playlists, seeing literally hundreds of them categorized quite specifically.
Picking the one titled ‘Fave Psychedelic,’ you scroll through until you find Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix. An old favorite of yours and the song you instantly thought of when you saw him put on his hoodie.
You set his phone back down as the song begins, feeling your spirits beginning to lift upon hearing the transcendent tonality that can only be described as the Hendrix experience.
Even Jake can’t sit still, nodding his head to the beat and tapping his fingers to the rhythm of Jimi’s strumming.
“Good choice,” he mutters, humming along to the classic tune.
“I must say, though,” he continues. “I actually prefer Stevie Ray Vaughan’s take on this one, especially when he played it live. He just exuded the very essence of Jimi, took everything he did and amplified the hell out of it while showing nothing but respect to the original masterpiece.”
Stevie is another favorite of yours. God, the hours you spent during your childhood watching him play, appreciating the passion and time he put into his art.
You went through years being bullied relentlessly for your taste in ‘old people’ music, having never found anyone else who shares the same musical palate with you.
Until now.
Having this conversation with Jake is something you so desperately needed right now.
“I completely agree,” you say, searching for his cover on Spotify and adding it to the queue. “The way he could make his guitar sing, like you can hear his emotion through his strings. One of the only guitarists worthy of being compared to Hendrix.”
You’re thinking about Jake’s style, his hats and choice of mostly black attire, his mass amounts of jewelry… it suddenly dawns on you that he must really love Stevie because his style is so closely linked to his. A style you’ve been attracted to since you can remember.
You’re shocked that you’ve not picked up on that until now, but it perfectly explains your instant infatuation for him.
“Absolutely,” he responds. “They’re both my biggest inspirations with my own music. I have so much admiration for them, and Clapton, Petty, Harrison, all the rock and roll greats who incorporated the deep roots of the blues in their playing.”
Imagining him playing like some of your favorites… it’s nothing but elating. Your imagination is running rampant with picturing him playing the kind of music you’ve spent so much of your life deeply appreciating. The music that connected your soul to things far beyond the physical realm.
“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” you say, turning a bit shy at your sudden valiant request.
Stopped at another red light, he looks to you with the most genuine smile you’ve yet to see from him. “Yeah?”
“Of course.”
⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎
You suck in a deep breath as Jake makes it closer to your apartment complex.
Lights. Flashing of blinding red and blue.
In the parking lot of your complex.
Fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance. All situated in front of the run down building.
“What the hell is going on? I can’t even make it in the parking lot, jesus.” Jake is driving around in slow circles trying to find a place to enter that isn’t blocked by cops.
It’s all beginning to set in. You feel your heart plummeting to the depths of your stomach, your breaths barely filling the capacity of your lungs.
Your worst fear.
You shouldn’t have fucking left her.
“Jake. Pull over. Now.”
You pull your seatbelt off, grabbing the handle of his passenger's door but it won’t open. You try tugging on it further, realizing it’s locked.
Jake picks up on the urgency in your voice and abruptly slams on the brakes, throwing the gear shift into park to unlock the doors.
“Y/n, what are you–” he tries to ask, but you’re already out of the car and sprinting towards the maelstrom of lit up vehicles.
But as you’re stepping over the curb into the lot, an officer stops you.
“Ma’am, you need to stay back. They’re about to carry someone out and we can’t let you over there just yet,” he says, holding your forearm to stop you.
Using every bit of strength you can muster in the moment, you pull away from him and continue running. You hear him yelling for you to stop, but his shouting is muffled by the voice in your head telling you to get to your mom now.
As you make it closer, you see them pulling a gurney down from the second floor.
The floor your apartment rests on.
They pull it down the stairs slowly, and they’re angled in a way that you can’t see who they’re carrying.
All you can do is stand there and wait amongst the paramedics and EMTs who are trying to tell you that you’re not supposed to be here.
But they’re blurred images to you. The only thing you can see clearly is the gurney being wheeled in your direction, squeaking metal being the only sound that fills your ears.
And as it finally reaches you, your fear is imagined.
Her swollen face is distorted by an oxygen mask, her weak body bound to the flat table by straps holding her tight to its cold metal.
Her right hand dangles off the side, swaying back and forth lifelessly with every push and pull of the wheels.
You lunge yourself forward towards her, being stopped forcefully by two officers who’ve been telling you this whole time to step back. The weight of their bodies against yours knocks the wind from your lungs, hardly allowing your choked cry for her to be heard.
“I have to go with her!” You scream as they situate the gurney in the back of the ambulance.
One of the paramedics steps between you and the cops, taking your hand and looking you in the eye. The kindest gesture you’ve encountered in the midst of this whole thing.“Honey, you can’t be in there when they take her. You can drive yourself and meet them at the emergency room, okay?” she tells you.
But your car. You don’t have your fucking car. It’s sitting completely useless at the Kiszka’s complex. Without it, you have no way of getting there.
You suddenly feel another hand on your body, your left shoulder. It’s warm. Firm. Yet soft and assuring all at once.
It pulls you from your disorientation, grounding you. You peek over your shoulder to see Jake standing there, his presence crashing in like a wave of peace over the chaotic storm that has become your reality.
Your eyes become wet at the mere sight of him.
He’s still here.
“Come on,” he utters calmly, moving his grip down to your hand, interlocking his fingers tight with yours. “I’ll take you.”
a/n: i'd love to hear your thoughts about everything! as i said, this one was tough for me to write, but it was something i desperately needed to do.
i hope you all love it as much as i do. 🤍
(i would also like to apologize again for taking so long with this one. i promise the next chapter won’t take nearly as long.)
if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️
sending all my love!
taglist:
@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @styles-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27 @hippievanfleet @jazzyfigz @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @smoking-jakelane @hernameis-heaven
i'm fairly certain i've included everyone but if i've forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)
#jake kiszka x reader#jake kiszka fanfiction#sam kiszka x reader#sam kiszka fanfiction#jake kiszka smut#sam kiszka smut#jake kiszka fic#sam kiszka fic#jake fic#jake kiszka#josh kiszka#danny wagner#greta van fleet fic#jake kiszka fluff#greta van fleet smut#gvf fic#gvf fanfiction#gvf smut#greta van smut#greta van fleet fanfiction#greta van fleet#le morte d’arthur#gvf
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I Could Drown Myself In Someone Like You
Part One
Title Comes From This Song:
You can find my other Biker!Bucky fic here:
Request: Hey girl I literally just found your blog and when I tell you I BINGED your Ride series. Please I beg could we have some more Biker Bucky? Maybe barmaid reader? I really don't mind as long as we get some BikerBuck!
Warnings: Mentions of unwanted physical attention. Future chapters will allude to past domestic abuse. If that isn't for you, please don't read, protect your peace and you can catch me next time xx
Bucky pulled his bike into the parking lot of his bar and grill.
A customer stepped outside to light a cigarette and the light from inside spilled out into the dark, along with the music playing inside.
Bucky was nothing if not a creature of habit, every night he would ride his bike through winding forest roads, down to the creek, and sometimes he would lay on the riverbank smoking cigarettes like he and Steve used to do when they were teenagers, before they’d gone to war, before he’d been fucked up. Before he became whatever this version of himself was.
And then in the evenings he’d pull up here to his bar and drink nearly not enough whisky to drown out the nightmares in his cabin behind the bar.
Sighing, he let himself into the bar. Steve as always was pouring drinks and chatting easily in that light hearted way he had, Bucky would have been envious if he hadn’t loved him so much. Steve had managed to hold on to all the best parts of himself, but Bucky’s were buried somewhere in a bunker in the Middle East, and even if he wanted to, he could never get them back.
Sam was busy flipping steaks at the grill and gave Bucky a wide eyed grin as Bucky passed him by and pushed the swing door into the back office.
He stilled all action at the sight of a girl in his office on top of his chair, on her tiptoes still unable to reach the top shelf as she fumbled to reach something.
“Can I help you?” he said gruffly and god damn if he didn’t startle you half to death and nearly cause you to fall off the chair.
“I’m looking for the grenadine syrup, Steve said I would find it up here.”
“Oh he did, did he?” Bucky laughed “And did he also tell you it was fine to climb all over my shit in the process?”
“No, Sir,” you offered meekly, stepping gently down off his chair “I’m sorry,” but you couldn’t fight the smile that was threatening to spread across your face.
Bucky huffed and reached over your head with ease, pressing the bottle of grenadine into your hand.
“Next time Steve sends you on a mission like that, tell him to pull his lazy, tall ass in here and reach the damn top shelf himself,”
You smiled up at him, and he felt the ghost of a butterfly in his stomach.
“I’m y/n,” you offered with a smile and he couldn’t help but return a lopsided one himself.
“Bucky,” he returned.
Bucky made your mouth water, his tight black jeans were ripped at the knees, and he wore a well worn leather jacket but it did absolutely nothing to hide his muscular frame, his hair was long and messy and was just begging for you to run your hands through it. You had to shake all thoughts of him from your head as you returned to your shift.
“What’s her story?” Bucky asked Steve, eyeing you as you made your rounds and he sipped on his whisky.
“Why do you assume she has a story?” Steve cocked his head now following you in his line of sight too.
“C’mon Steve, no one ends up here unless they have a story. They’re either running away from something, or someone. Or they’re on their way to somewhere else, and they’re simply stopping off here.”
“Bucky,” Steve sighed, clapping him on the back “You always assume the worst in people.”
“And they always prove me right,” Bucky countered while taking another sip.
As you finished mopping the floor, you made your way into the back office, looking shy, wringing your hands, nervously.
“What is it?” Bucky asked.
“Sam said to talk to you about if it would be okay to get this week’s wages upright,” Bucky could see straight away how embarrassed you were “Bucky I wouldn’t ask, but the bnb are asking for payment upright and I’m just 40 bucks short.”
Bucky was reaching into his wallet straight away and you tried to put out a hand to stop him.
“Please..Please,” Bucky shook his hand and handed you some notes, you scrunched your eyebrow at his kindness.
“Take this for tonight and I’ll get you your full wages for your shift tomorrow.”
“I’ll pay you back Sir,” you said, voice so low it was almost a whisper and he shook his head softly.
“Let me give you a ride back,” he offered and you shook your head profusely.
“You’ve done enough for me tonight,” you reminded him, notes in your hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow for my shift.”
Bucky watched you go, and again that ghost of a butterfly fluttered in his stomach and he grimaced uncomfortably.
Bucky watched you over the next few nights, always the first to your shift and always the last to leave.
And every night you refused any offer to drive you home from him, Sam or Steve.
He was filling out papers in his office when he heard a gentle knock and you were before him.
“I wanted to give you this,” you said meekly with some notes in your hand , “I can’t thank you enough Bucky.”
“Doll,” he sighed, surprising even himself with the nickname “Please keep it, consider it a welcome gift.”
“If it’s all the same I would like to give it back to you,” you smiled, placing it on his desk “It was awful kind of you and I’ll never forget it.”
Before he could even respond you had dipped out of his office and began your shift.
The bar went quiet when a particularly menacing looking gang wandered into the bar, and immediately Steve and Sam stood to attention, you were in the back fetching more pitchers.
They seemed to be scouting the area out before choosing a table at the opposite end of the bar to settle at.
Steve caught your arm as you went to take their orders “Be careful,” he nodded towards them and you went to take their orders gingerly.
Amid the wolf whistles and cat-calls you finally managed to take their orders, which you promptly relayed to Sam and Steve.
After you had successfully served their food and first round of drinks, you retreated to behind the bar before they summoned you back again.
“C’mere baby,” one of them slurred pulling you onto his lap.
You initially tried to laugh off how uncomfortable you were, but when he wouldn’t let you wrangle free, you felt trapped and felt your panic begin to rise.
“Let me go,” you tried weakly when he began to try kissing your face, trapping your hands in his much stronger ones, you tried to make pleading eye contact with Steve but he was nowhere to be seen.
As he let go of your hands to toy with the waistband of your denim jeans you finally managed to bolt free, but when he grabbed your arm and spun you around you reacted with a swift slap to his face, shocking even yourself, but you were in no way expecting the sharp sting of a returning slap, tears welling in your eyes and hand flying up instinctively to your burning skin.
Everything else passed by in a blur as you recognised Steve and Bucky kicking into action, you just about managed to get your feet to move before you were collapsing down behind the bar, feeling the all too familiar feeling of a panic attack ripping through your body and the awful sensation of not being able to breath.
It seemed like hours before Bucky was before you where you sat, rocking back and forward, hands covering your ears.
“Doll,” he tried and you cowered away from him, he got down on his hunkers and gingerly reached for you, “it’s me doll, it’s Bucky. Breathe for me. Breathe for me.”
When you finally felt like you could breathe again Bucky went to fetch a glass of water and leaned up against the counter, arms folded, he examined you over, eyes honing in on the red, swollen skin of your cheek.
“I’m so sorry Bucky,” you finally broke the silence, refusing to meet his eye.
“Hey,” he shushed, dropping down to his hunkers in front of you again “You have nothing to apologise for!”
You couldn’t help the tears that sprung to your eyes with shame and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
You rolled your eyes and sniffed, “This was meant to be a fresh start, and it seems like trouble just follows me wherever I go.”
“What can I do doll?” Bucky said softly reaching out to put a reassuring hand on your knee, it was only then you realised his knuckles were bloody.
You realised with a startle that he had got his knuckles bloody for you.
“Can you take me home Buck,” you asked swiping your thumb over his knuckles, your silent thank you for the trouble they had gone to on your behalf.
Bucky pulled into the parking space of the bnb, and helped you take your motorcycle helmet off.
It had been weeks since you first reached town and Bucky was curious.
“What are you still doing here? You don’t want to find somewhere proper?”
“Nobody will rent to me,” you said sadly “I’ve tried everywhere. Even that shack out by the creek that’s been abandoned since before we were born. Nobody wants to rent to me because I’m an outsider.”
Bucky was suddenly angry at how the town had been treating you.
“Thank you for taking me home and I’m so sorry about tonight,” you said softly and Bucky turned to examine your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, your eyes fluttered closed at the touch and something jolted inside Bucky.
“You sure you’re okay?” he whispered and you nodded softly.
You stood gently on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow Buck.”
Bucky tossed and turned all night. He had briefly fallen asleep only to once again be woken by a nightmare. The same one. That same bunker. That same chair. But then something unexpected, when he tried to close his eyes again, your eyes were staring back at him, and if he was honest that was what was keeping him awake. He knew he was in trouble….
“Keep your coat on y/n,” Bucky ordered as you arrived for your shift.
“What? Why?” you cried, fearing you were being let go, Bucky huffed a laugh at your horrified expression, “Doll, you’re not fired. We’re taking a little road trip.”
You climbed onto his bike and held on tight to his torso, winding through Californian redwoods, the mountain air all around you.
Bucky finally pulled onto a little dirt track that led up to an opening in the trees and a singular cabin stood against the backdrop of a small lake.
“Come on,” he motioned, removing your helmet, and leading you inside.
It was cosy, the living room and kitchen were open plan and there was an old cast iron log burner in the middle of the room with logs stacked either side of it.
There was one room off the side which you assumed was the bedroom.
“Well, what do you think?” Bucky asked motioning around.
“It’s beautiful Buck,” you said, still unsure why he had brought you here “It’s a beautiful home.”
“It’s yours,” Bucky stated simply, back turned to you and hands on his hips.
“What?” you almost shrieked and he replied in the same nonchalant tone “It’s yours!”
“Bucky, wait!” you deadpanned, catching his shoulder and forcing him to turn around to look at you, eyes scanning his face until he conceded.
“It was my Mom’s cottage, and seeing as she’s not here anymore and I’ve got my place at the bar, I think you should have it, you can’t stay at that bnb forever. You need a place of your own.Plus it’s about time some life was breathed back into this place ”
“Buck,” you cried, eyes watering, not letting go of your hold on him “Are you sure?”
“It’s yours doll,” he whispered, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips, “For as long as you choose to stay, and I hope you do stay, it’s yours,”
You extended your hand out to him “You take the rent out of my wages,” you ordered, waiting for him to shake on your deal.
“Doll,” he sighed “The place was lying empty, I'm not going to charge you rent,” you looked like you were about to argue when he stuck his hand out too, “Counter offer, if you do this place up. Make it somewhere lived in and beautiful. Somewhere my Ma would be proud to look down on, then we’re quits.”
You nodded and shook his hand ferociously, tears threatening to spill.
“Thank you Bucky,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug and relishing in the feel of his strong arms around you, and your heart hammered in your chest when he placed a gentle kiss on your head.
After a month or two of working at the bar you had saved enough to buy a second hand, beaten up old pickup truck, and Sam brought you out to pick it up.
“Are you sure you want this hunk of junk y/n?” he argued but you were enamored and being able to drive it home to your cabin filled you with an enormous amount of peace.
You had been growing closer and closer with Bucky, sometimes he would stop by on your days off to do some of the diy you pestered him about on your shifts and if you were honest you really enjoyed the company.
The first few nights on your own in the cabin had been nothing short of terrifying. You weren’t used to being alone and on the second night a huge storm knocked all your power out and you shivered in bed all night terrified of the darkness.
Bucky came around the next morning and fixed your generator so that would never happen again.
“There,” Bucky sighed “All done!”
You came to join him on the porch and passed him a bottle of beer and he flicked a switch and the fairy lights he had hung all around the cottage flickered to light.
“They’re beautiful Buck,” you smiled, hugging him tightly, eyes lighting up like a child as you looked up at them.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he said softly, hands coming to rest on your waist, and his breath on your neck made you shiver.
“Bucky,” you tried softly but he cut you off with a kiss. You melted into his touch completely and he gently became more ferocious in the way he clasped your body and kissed your lips.
He backed you through the open door of the cottage until you collapsed down on the sofa and he climbed on top of you, he was making quick work of your shirt when you finally came to your senses.
“Wait, Wait,” you panted, hands planting on his chest “Maybe we should slow down for a moment.”
“You want me to slow it down baby doll?” he panted and you nodded gently.
“I’m not ready Buck,” you cried and Bucky suddenly noticed how terrified you looked, feeling guilty that he had pushed you to a place you weren’t ready for yet.
“I can wait babygirl,” he promised, cupping your face in both of his hands “I can wait.”
“Bucky, no. No.” you cried, pushing him away with your leg and running your hands through your hair, “I can’t do this,” you cried.
Bucky sat still on your sofa not quite sure what to do for a moment “You don’t want this?”
You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes “It’s not that Buck, it's just I can’t be what you need right now. I can’t be with you like this.”
“What do you think I need?” he rose gently “All I need is you,” he countered
“Hey, hey, why are you crying?” he shushed brushing your hair behind your ears “Don’t cry.”
“Please Buck,” you were pleading, “Please can you just leave, I can't do this. It’s too much for me.”
Bucky was torn between wanting to assure you some more and respecting your request for him to leave. He hesitated just a moment too long for you to take it the wrong way completely, your eyes were wide and ferocious like an animal that had been cornered.
He scratched the back of his neck before he could find his voice “Doll, if I’ve read this wrong-”
“-You have,” you snapped “You’ve read this wrong and I need you to leave now, please,” you paced until you found his leather jacket hanging across the back of a chair and tossed it to him.
He couldn’t help the anger of rejection that rose up in his chest, and the shame for having read the situation so wrong.
“Fine. Fine. I’m going,” he sighed, pulling his jacket on and stomping towards the door.
“You know what..” he started one hand on the handle, but stopping to face you “Forget it,” he deadpanned, pulling the door open and slamming it behind him.
Work the next few days were less awkward than expected, Bucky and his bike were nowhere to be seen. You’d heard Steve mention to Sam that he was worried that Bucky was gone on another whisky fuelled bender and you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that gnawed away at your stomach.
Days turned into a week with no contact from Bucky and the guilt was eating you alive. You had texted him days ago to apologise, and asking if you could talk it out and explain, but he never replied. Not only were you angry with yourself for fucking everything up but now you were really beginning to worry.
You were closing the bar by yourself tonight, it was a quiet Tuesday night and business was slow. You knew Steve had a date after work so you dismissed him early so he could go buy her some flowers he’d kissed you on the cheek and almost skipped out of the bar.
It gave you the opportunity to pop your headphones in and listen to your music as you mopped and cleaned.
It was nice to do a deep a clean without Steve or Sam trying to hurry you out.
And as you made your way into the back office to put away the takings into the safe your heart almost fell out of your chest.
Bucky was laying back in his office chair, eyes squeezed shut while some girl with her skirt hitched up at the sides was grinding her hips on him, her own head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode him.
You froze on the spot, you couldn't help the way your stomach sank to your toes in a feeling of betrayal, or the way your eyes stung with tears.
Bucky wasn’t yours, you had seen to that with your stupidity the other night so you had no right to feel the way you were right now and when his electric eyes suddenly bore into yours with an expression you honestly couldn’t read you were backing out of his office quicker than lightning.
He followed you out into the carpark catching you just as you were about to climb into your truck.
“Doll,” he reached for you exasperated, “Doll wait, please.”
You turned to face him, tears rolling down your cheeks, and he reached for you gently, relieved when you didn’t bat him away as he cupped your face.
“I have no right to be crying,” you sighed.
“I don’t understand,” He stuttered, somewhere between annoyed and confused,” I thought you didn’t want me?”
“Bucky, of course I-” You were about to answer when Bucky’s name being yelled across the lot caught both of your attention.
“What the fuck is this?” The girl who had been with Bucky only moments before came storming over and smacked him straight across the face as hard as she could.
“You always fucking do this shit James,” she cried “This is the last fucking time.”
She looked at you genuinely hurt and for a moment you wanted to apologise, until her expression turned to contempt.
“Seriously, this is who you keep blowing me off for?” she huffed out a laugh, “Good luck with that, you’ll be crawling back to me in no time.” You felt yourself shrink down to half your size under her words.
She took one last seething glare at Bucky before smacking him again and he made no move to stop her, watching guiltily as she stormed away.
“I deserved that,” he said glumly, you made a face to argue when he cut you off, “No doll, I truly deserve it. Hell if you wanted to have a pop too I would understand.”
“Buck,I don’t want to slap you” you sighed and he ran a hand through his hair before kicking at the dirt.
“Then what the hell do you want y/n? Goddamn it.”
You were floundering like a fish out of water, trying to grasp at words and coming up short.
“You wouldn’t understand,” you tried and he cut you off with a pointed finger.
“Don’t give me that shit,” he warned “You literally could not throw me out faster the other day and then you turn up crying when I’m clearly fucking trying to get over you so what is it? You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me?”
“No,” you scoffed, your own anger rising now too.
“No” he repeated exasperatedly, “So what do you want?”
“I- I don’t know,” you mumbled.
“You don’t know?” he goaded and goddamn was he intimidating, looking at you like a predator stalks his prey, waiting for an answer to pounce “Well, I sure as shit can’t figure that out for you sweetheart,” he sighed, running the back of his hand across his lips, before spitting on the ground.
You were not used to this Bucky, this agitated, whiskey drunk version of him. The one most people were used to. But not you.
“Look, just go,” he sighed eventually, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.
“I don’t know what you want, but it sure as shit ain’t me. And I'm done with whatever the fuck this is.”
You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, tears welling in your eyes as you reached for the handle of your truck door and pulled it open, gasping back in fright when Bucky slammed it closed suddenly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked like he was going to yell at you but nothing could have prepared you for what came next.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Please don’t go,”
Trapped between his body and the door of your truck you melted into his touch, whimpering as he leaned forward to capture your lips with his own demanding ones.
Tagging:
@spookyparadisesheep @jbbarnesgirl @salvatoreitmeanssaviour@princesscornbread @loki-laufeyson-1054 @firstcashheroathlete @missvelvetsstuff nana1000night sapphire-rogers @sarahrogersevans @steverogerssimpp @spudinthemud @mrsragnarlodbrok @buckgasms @miss-patriciah-maximoff @hellomissmabel @knittingknerdy @shamvictoria11 @buckysberrie @assembletheimagines @dearthofequanimity @wellthatsrandomkek @mitra-k-w @nikkitia7 @fantasticimpaladoctor @feelmyroarrrr @sebseyesandbuckysthighs @andhiseyesweregreen @frickin-bats @buckyywiththegoodhair @iiharu-kunii @bellenuit45-blog @james-bionic-barnes @avengerofyourheart @jaegers-and-kaijus princess76179 brasspistol thelittleredrobinhood
#bucky x reader#biker!bucky#bucky x you#bucky barnes#bucky x reader angst#bucky barnes au#biker#volklana writes
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Comforting Tara at the hospital after getting attacked in the opening scene
my taglists are here (I added one for SCREAM) + you can requests here at any time
—
When you arrived at the Carpenter residence, a hoard of police cars were parked in front of the property and an ambulance was pulling out of the driveway with its siren screaming and flashing.
Mrs. Carpenter was at a conference in London and Sam had moved god knows where outside of town. That left...Tara. Worry began to set in your stomach and you reached for your phone to call Tara, which kept ringing.
‘’Pick up, pick up,’’ you prayed into the phone, needing to hear her voice to confirm she was not in the ambulance.
One of the officers saw you on the grass and came up to you. ‘’Excuse me, Miss, you can't be here,’’ he informed you as red and blue lights were flashing all around.
You put your phone down. ‘’My girlfriend Tara, this is her house. We were supposed to have a movie night—’’
Before you, the officer’s face changed and tears filled your eyes.
Tara was the only thing on your mind as you drove to Woodsborrow’s hospital, breaking a few driving code rules on the way. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to see her until a few hours after she was admitted.
One of the nurses informed you that she was getting surgery, but that she would be okay.
When you finally entered her room, your eyes found Tara's small frame in the bed and another rush of tears filled your eyes. Her face was on the pale side, her hair was tied into a messy ponytail, tubes were inserted in her nose to help her breathe and her right arm was bandaged. One of her left was broken too.
Whoever had attacked Tara had gotten her good.
‘’Tara.’’ Her name slipped from your lips in a barely there broken whisper.
Tara’s head turned in your direction and her face crumpled and she broke into sobs. They had given her strong medications for the pain and post-traumatic shock, but they hadn’t fully kicked in yet.
You rushed to her side, your heart breaking more.
‘’I was so scared,’’ she said through sobs, shaking as you pulled her in a careful hug. Her non-bandaged hand gripped the back of your sweatshirt, needing to anchor herself to something comforting and real, still shaken up and terrified. ‘’I thought someone was pulling a prank, but it wasn’t. Someone was in my house and stabbed me and I…I thought I was going to die.’’
You held her a little tighter and pressed a kiss to her temple. ‘’It’s over. You’re safe, now.’’
‘’I thought something was gonna happen to you too.’’ A cough ripped through her, her throat raw from all the screamings.
You looked around the room for water and found a cup on the table. ‘’Drink a little.’’
Tara took the cup with shaky hands and brought it to her lips, letting the cool water run down her parched throat. She took a few sips, then handed it back to you.
You tuck her hair behind her ear. ‘’I’m okay. We’re both safe, okay?’’ She nodded and settled into her pillows, the medications starting to work. ‘’We'll talk tomorrow. Go to sleep, you need rest.’’
Tara grabbed your hand. ‘’Can you stay? Please.’’ Her eyes were heavy, close to falling asleep.
A soft smile curled on your lips. You nodded. ‘’I’m not leaving your side.’’
—
Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638
All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade
#tara carpenter#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter imagine#scream#scream 6#scream 6 imagines
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Love Me Harder
DONT TOUCH ME RN IM JUMPING AROUND THE ROOM
When Ethan accidentally hurts his girlfriend, his fear of hurting her again makes him push her away.
He’d cut you.
So shallowly it was practically a scratch, but you still slapped a hand over your arm as you stared, wide eyed, at Ghostface. You could’ve sworn he’d pulled back, had tried not to do it, when he jumped away from you almost as fast as you did from him. And then Tara was grabbing you, yanking you after them, even as it took Ghostface half a second to recover his senses and give chase.
You’d refused very adamantly to go across the ladder. You were the last one in line, shaking as you looked at the drop. Anika went before you, encouraged by Mindy and Sam to hurry the fuck up, and she’d just made it across to the window beyond when Ghostface burst into the room.
He took one look at you and paused; you were trembling, gripping the windowpane, your eyes glued to the long distance below. Your fear of heights was so bad you could hardly take an elevator, let alone crawl across a ladder to a window several feet away.
“I cant do it.” You wept, shaking your head as your friends screamed at you, urging you to come on. You turned, your panic rising as you saw Ghostface approaching slowly, your cries coming faster and more frantic. “I cant do it please don’t hurt me don’t—” Your scream was abruptly cut off when he passed you, moving to toss the ladder onto the ground below.
Effectively trapping you.
Tara was sobbing loudly as Mindy yelled out curses; you were sure Anika needed to go to the hospital. You were praying someone had called the police.
“Would you hurt a defenseless damsel in distress?” You asked, feeling hysterical as Ghostface turned his head, fixing that cold mask’s stare onto your shaking frame. You inched away, eyeing the bedroom door. “Wait look, what’s that!” He actually looked, turning, when you pointed behind him. Then you ran for it. “No!” You screeched as he tripped you, your body crashing down onto the carpet.
And just as you were sure you were going to die, all because you saw that scene from Nerve and didn’t feel like reenacting it, you heard shouting and cop sirens coming from downstairs and outside. You looked over your shoulder; Ghostface pointed his knife at you, as if in warning, and fled.
Now you sat on the edge of an ambulance, Tara’s hand laced with your own. Your tears had long since dried on your face but you still trembled. Anika had been rushed to the hospital, the police insisting the rest of you stay at the scene, but you’d been told it was uncertain if she’d live.
Mindy had torn into you over your resistance to cross the ladder, but, after seeing your haunted expression, had went on to thank you for letting Anika go first. If you’d have crossed and then froze, paralyzed by fear of falling, she would’ve been left to die.
“Y/N.” Tara whispered, giving your hand a squeeze. You looked up and saw Ethan, a concerned look on his face as he ducked under the crime tape and moved towards you.
Chad gave you a warning glance and moved off off of the ambulance; he was as protective of you as if you were his own sister and as you watched him grab your boyfriend and slam him against a car, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude at his protectiveness. But you still tensed up, rising a bit from your seat to help.
“Dude, I was in a study hall with a hundred other people. You can ask any of them.” Ethan was saying as you stood.
“Y/N, don’t.” Mindy warned, grabbing your hand as Tara shot you a surprised look. “He could be Ghostface. We can’t trust his ass.”
“I trust him.” You argued, pulling away from her and moving to Ethan. Chad shook his head at you, disapproving, even as you pushed past and wrapped your arms around the brunet boy.
“Oh my god.” Ethan gasped, seeing the bandage wrapped around your arm. He hugged you back, but hesitantly. You’d ignored the way he seemed to stiffen when you held him, but felt a twinge of hurt when he pulled away too quickly. “Who?” He asked, nodding towards the jumble of police officers.
“Quinn.” You said, sniffing, and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand. “And Anika got stabbed. She’s in the hospital—they don’t know if she’ll make it.”
“And you—” an odd look crossed his face as he took in the sight of your arm again.
“I’m fine.” You told him, eager for him to hold you again, but he didn’t. He seemed to take a step back, away from you, like he didn’t want you to touch him. “I couldn’t cross the ladder. He almost had me, E.”
“That’s—” he swallowed. “That sucks. Im sorry.”
“That sucks?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing as you looked at him. He was staring behind you, avoiding your eyes. You’d expected him to be upset; you’d almost died, and he didn’t even have the decency to look too unhappy about it? “Ethan what—”
“Come on, Y/N.” Tara called, but you only stared at Ethan, searching his face for any signs of grief or worry for your safety.
“Did you even hear what I said?” Your voice cracked and he finally looked at you, a frown pulling at his mouth. “Ethan?”
“I heard you.” He said simply and you felt like he’d punched you in the gut. You took a step away, your mouth trembling as he stared at you with a look of blankness.
“Y/N, come on. We’re going to check on Anika.” Tara called you again. The entire group was listening to this exchange. You felt mortified, and hurt, and slightly heartbroken. So you turned, trying not to cry as you climbed into the back of the ambulance, Tara immediately scooting in and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
“You’re at the top of my list.” You heard Mindy tell Ethan, but you didn’t look at him again, not until you heard Chad say something you couldn’t hear. You saw Ethan’s face grow pale, his eyes finding your own and, right before the doors of the ambulance shut behind the four of you, hurt and fear crossed his expression.
-
It had been days since he’d spoken to you.
The two of you hadn’t talked since the night at Tara’s apartment and you were growing more and more anxious by the day. You’d called him about a hundred times and, when you saw him at school, he dodged you. Your heart was breaking; you loved him, had thought he loved you, and he wouldn’t even speak to you.
So you found yourself at Chad’s dorm, knocking harshly against the door as you wiped the tears of frustration from your face. You didn’t know what to do—yell at him, break up with him, you didn’t know.
Chad opened the door, took in your expression, and shook his head.
“He uh, he can’t talk to you.”
“Why not?” You asked, pushing passed the boy and into the room. He grabbed your hand and, though you tugged, he was stronger than you.
“He’s in—I don’t know he’s been like catatonic the past few days. He says he doesn’t want to see you, I’m sorry.” When you stared, chest rising and falling at a rapid clip, he added, “maybe it’s for the best, Y/N.”
“Fuck that.” You snapped, wrenching your hand away, and moved to Ethan’s room. “You wanna explain what the fuck is going on?” You asked, opening his door and slamming it roughly behind you.
He was already standing, expression pained as you heaved for breath. Your heart was racing so fast you could barely think.
“Y/N, listen,” he started, in a calm tone that infuriated you. “it’s not your fault. I just think that maybe this isn’t working out and—”
“What? The day before we got attacked you said you loved me. You love me. And then all of a sudden, couple days later, and you just—don’t anymore?”
“Y/N—”
“No. You’re gonna tell me the real reason, E. It is because you’re afraid? Did me getting hurt freak you out so bad you’re pushing me away?” Then you paused, your breath hitching as tears began to slip down your cheeks. “Or did you lie? You—” You covered your mouth and turned away, unable to look at him.
“Y/N, please.” Ethan sighed, coming up behind you to touch your waist. He pressed his face against your shoulder as you cried, your body trembling as you fought the urge to sink back into his hold. “I didn’t lie. I love you.”
“Then why?” You breathed, turning to face him. His expression was the most agonized you’d ever seen it, and your stomach turned. “Why, Ethan?”
“I cant—” He shook his head once, twice. “I cant lose you. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Then stay with me. Be with me and we’ll stick together. Ghostface is dumb and we’re smart, remember? We can try and fight—”
“Please go.” He begged, resting his forehead onto your own. “This is hard for me. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” You murmured, clasping his neck in your hands. Your fingers brushed against his hair as you looked at him, taking in the pained look on his face. “We’re a team? Aren’t we?”
He sniffed and nodded, allowing you to lean up and, as soft as you could, brush a kiss against his mouth.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He whispered, holding you close to him. “I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you.”
“It’s okay.” You told him, kissing him again, and allowed him tug you impossibly close, forgiving him with every inch of your being.
#she doesn’t even know his double meaning by sorry I hurt you#ethan landry#scream six#ethan landry angst#got me crying in the club#Jack champion
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Enough is Enough
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Goddess!Reader
Word Count: ~2.4k
Warnings: character deaths, reader being forced to kill, revenge kills, fluff at the end
Request by anon: Heyy! Can you write a one shot of team free will x powerful demigod reader? Where the reader is the daughter of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades and blessed by the Gods and the Team need her help for some case and they summon her for help and in the end Dean or Sam fall in love her?
Summary: Sam and Dean take on a case where people are killing themselves after what appears to be a ghost touching them when in reality, something much deadlier is attacking them.
Square Filled: summoning a spirit for @spnclassicbingo
Author’s Note: i appreciate any and all comments! <3
x
“Okay, Sammy, tell me one more time what we’re dealing with,” Dean says as he drives into Victorville, California.
“Two people have died under mysterious circumstances. They were normal people with normal jobs until one day they suddenly went crazy and killed themselves. None of them had prior indications that they were mentally ill or had depression.”
“Yeah, that could be our thing.”
“I already called the sheriff. He’s expecting us.” Dean heads into town and stops at the local sheriff’s station. Both brothers get out and enter the station where the sheriff greets them. “Sheriff. I’m Agent Lennon and this is my partner Agent McCartney.”
“Thank you for coming out here.”
“Of course. What else can you tell us about this case?”
“I can do you one better. I can show you. Follow me.” The sheriff brings Sam and Dean to his desk where footage from a CCTV camera is already pulled up. “Go ahead. Press play.”
Sam sits down and presses play to start the video. There is a highway with passing cars and a diner on the other side of the road where someone is waiting for something. Thirty seconds pass before Sam sees something glitch in and out of the frame. If someone were scrolling through the footage, they would miss it but Sam knows what he’s looking for. As soon as the mysterious object passes through the frame, the man starts screaming in terror. He pulls at his hair and runs into traffic where he gets hit by a car.
“Poor son of a bitch,” the sheriff sighs.
Sam rewinds the footage and stops on the figure that glitches into the frame. There isn’t a good angel for it but Sam knows it’s the shape of a woman.
“Was there footage of the first murder?” Dean asks.
“No. It happened inside the victim’s home.”
“If you get any more footage, please let us know immediately.”
“Sure thing.”
Sam and Dean finish up at the police department and leave together.
“Did you see the ghost?”
“I’m surprised the sheriff didn’t.”
“We should check the diner for any signs of EMF.” Sam and Dean drive over to the spot where the second victim killed himself. CSI and the police already investigated here, so the place is pretty empty. No one wants to go to a diner where someone saw a ghost and freaked the fuck out. “Why don’t you see what you can find out? I’ll talk to the staff inside.”
Dean leaves his brother’s side and heads inside while Sam takes out his EMF reader. He walks down the entire length of the parking lot but not a single abnormality shows up on the reader. It doesn’t take long for Dean to finish talking to the staff inside and he joins his brother’s side when he’s done.
“Anything?”
“They didn't see a thing. It was too dark to see if there was another person. All they knew is that he came in by himself, ate, and left. Minutes later, he went crazy and killed himself. What about you?”
“Nothing. There is no evidence that there was any ghost here. It’s weird, we definitely saw a ghost on film.”
“What else could it be?”
While Sam and Dean ponder on that questions, two teenage kids hang out at a grocery store on the other side of town. They’re known as the troublemakers of the town. They love getting into fights, trashing people’s houses, skipping school, and causing headaches for most of the adults in town. Dylan and Jaden are best friends who feed off each other’s energy so there is no stopping them whenever they come together.
Dylan is resting on the hood of his car while Jaden is smoking next to him. They’re in the mood for a little fucking around with the locals in town. The best kind of people to fuck with are the tourists and people who pass by their town because they don’t know the boys’ reputation. Someone new moved to town not that long ago making him the perfect target for the boys’ torment.
The man is walking out of the store since his shift has finished and walks toward his car. Dylan nudges Jaden with his foot and gestures to the employee. Jaden takes a deep inhale from his cigarette and flicks it onto the ground.
“Melinoe, come out come out wherever you are,” Jaden smirks.
You emerge from the shadows with a look of hatred on your face. Dylan and Jaden smirk and point to the man walking to his car.
“I should kill you two instead,” you glare.
“Do that and you won’t ever see your heart again. Now go kill the bitch before we kill you,” Dylan threatens.
If someone is in possession of your heart, they have the ability to use you in any way they wish. If someone were to pierce your heart, then you’ll die a slow and painful death. These two idiot kids got ahold of your heart and now have power over you that no human should ever have.
You walk over to the man who has no clue what’s about to happen to him. You’re all for killing people and bringing their souls to the Underworld for punishment but only those who deserve it. The people you’ve killed never deserved it despite the two kids thinking they did. You walk past the man and touch his shoulder to let your powers flow through him. The man screams in terror and pulls at his hair as he is driven mad. He carries self-defense weapons to protect himself which he uses to kill himself.
You turn back to the shadows when you’ve done your part.
The next morning, Sam and Dean show up at the grocery store parking lot where the man killed himself. Dean talks to some of the staff while Sam takes out his EMF reader to check for paranormal signs. Much like the last scene, nothing shows up.
“Dean, this isn’t making any sense.”
“The store manager says we can look at his security footage. He got a good view of the parking lot. Come on.”
Sam and Dean walk inside the store and meet the sheriff at the manager’s office where the cameras are. The manager plays back the footage to the right after the man left for his shift. There are two kids by a car in the background that are illuminated by the light pole, and they’re watching the man walk to his car. A ghostly figure walks into the frame and they gesture for it to attack the man.
They watch as the figure walks past the man who then freaks out. He takes one of his self-defense weapons and kills himself with it.
“Who are those two kids?” Dean asks. The manager rewinds the footage and zooms in on both of them, getting a clear view of them. “Sheriff, could you identify them?”
“Yeah. I’ll have my men look into it.”
The sheriff immediately sends the footage over to his IT department who comes back with both of their identities and their addresses. Sam and Dean will take over from here, so they head over to Dylan’s house in hopes that he’s home. Dean and Sam walk up to the front door and knock three times. Five minutes later, Dylan answers the door with Jaden behind him.
“Yeah, what do you want?”
“Are you Dylan and Jaden?”
“What’s it to you, old man?” Sam and Dean push themselves inside their house and look around. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Where is she?” Dean asks and shoves his FBI badge into his face. “Where are you hiding her?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The woman you use to kill people. Where is she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave before I call the police on you. Do you even have a warrant to be in here?”
Dean is about to tear him a new one when you appear from the shadows in the corner of the room. Sam and Dean take out their guns with iron bullets and aim them at you. Dylan and Jaden step back when they see the weapons to stay out of the line of fire.
“Who the hell is she?”
“Those bullets won’t do anything to me.”
“Who are you?”
“I am the thing they keep hostage to kill others with,” you glare at them.
“Kill them,” Dylan orders.
This is it. This is your way out. At this moment, you don’t care about your heart or where they might have hidden it. The fact is, they don’t have it on them right now.
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m done being your bitch. It’s time you get a taste of your own medicine.”
You disappear from sight and allow them a few seconds of pure terror of not knowing where you are. You appear behind them and place your hands on both of their heads. You let your magic flow through their brains ten times harder than you did with the other victims. Almost immediately, they begin screaming their heads off in fear.
They didn’t know it, but they were declared dead the second they possessed your heart.
They claw at their hair, run their nails down their faces so hard it draws blood, and smash their heads against the walls multiple times. Dylan did it so much that his skull split open and his brain and blood spattered everywhere. Both men slid to the floors when they died, and you turn to the brothers who have shocked looks on their faces.
“My name is Melinoe but I go by Y/N these days. I am the Goddess of Ghosts, Nightmares, and Funerary Rites. I am the daughter of Persephone and Zeus and Hades combined. I’d like your help finding out where my heart is so I can be free.”
Sam and Dean call in the double suicide before leaving the scene as fast as possible. You join them in their motel room to talk about what you’re here for and what it means to have someone possess your heart.
“We’ve met some Greek Gods in our time but never someone like you. We’ve met your father.”
“Which one?”
“Zeus.”
“Despite what people say, Zeus is worse than Hades. Zeus got jealous of Hades and banished him to the Underworld.” Sam and Dean look at each other in silence. “Look, I know you think I’m a killer but I’m not a bad person. I only kill those who deserve it so I can guide their souls into the Underworld to exact their punishment. Those two idiots made me kill innocent people.”
“How did they do that?”
“They have my heart. I shouldn’t have killed them. They hid it so I wouldn’t grab it and leave them.”
“We’ll find it,” Sam smiles.
“Thank you. I’m not all bad, you know. I can reunite people with their dead loved ones for a few minutes. Cemeteries are my favorite places to hang out in.”
You, Sam, and Dean do some research on where Dylan and Jaden could have hidden your heart. They would have chosen a place where no one would find it. A place that could be abandoned or a cave. There aren’t a lot of spots like that around town so it’s easy to compile a list.
“What will happen if your heart is destroyed?”
“I’ll die. I had ownership of my heart for thousands of years until one day I met a man. A man who heard the rumors about me and what I can do. This was during the time when Greek Gods and Goddesses were roaming Earth. He’s the sole reason why I believe in love, but he’s also the reason why I believe in heartbreak. He stole my heart and it’s been passed around ever since.”
“Greek Gods were around in 900 BC. That’s a long time to go without your heart.”
“You’re telling me,” you scoff.
“I promise to get your heart back for you.”
“Thank you,” you smile sweetly.
“Okay, I have a list of three places where your heart can be,” Dean says. “The abandoned factory outside of town, the old Well House on someone’s farm, and a cave in Long Beach. Though, I don’t think they’d drive two hours for something so precious as a Goddess’ heart.”
“Let’s check the factory first. These guys craved power. I don’t think they would allow my heart to reside on someone else’s property.”
“Factory it is.”
You three head thirty minutes to the factory outside of town. Before you step foot out of the car, you can feel the power your heart holds. It’s here and it’s calling to you. You don’t have to search the entire property because you know exactly where it is. Your heart is inside a dirty box and you scoff at the treatment it got.
“Wow, never seen that before,” Dean mutters.
You grab your heart and it glows bright green at being connected to the person it belongs to. You move the top of your dress to the side and allow your heart to be absorbed back into your body. Your entire body glows bright green before dimming down, and you turn to the brothers with a smile.
“I can’t thank you two enough for what you’ve done for me. Please allow me to repay you back. Is there a dead loved one you’d like to see again?”
“No, we’re good. I just want to get out of this God-forsaken town,” Dean chuckles.
Sam looks at his brother in thought and gets an idea.
“Actually, there might be.”
It doesn't matter where a person is buried or where they ended up after death. You have the power to draw their souls back to you for a short amount of time to give a person a chance to talk to them. Dean is shocked when you pull his mother and father from Heaven to allow him some time to talk to them. Sam never knew them, not in the way that Dean did, so he gives this moment to his brother.
“You must love your brother to let him have this,” you say to Sam.
You and he are off to the side to give Dean some time alone with his parents.
“He knew them better than I ever did,” he shrugs.
“Listen, I don’t have to be in the Underworld right now. Would you like some company for a while?”
A blush spreads across Sam’s cheeks at the thought of spending more time with you.
“I’d like that.”
x
Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester fic#sam winchester fanfic#sam winchester fiction#sam winchester fan fiction#sam winchester fan fic#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester angst#supernatural#supernatural fic#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fiction#supernatural fan fiction#supernatural fanfic#supernatural fan fic#supernatural fluff#supernatural angst#spn#spn fic#spn fiction#spn fanfiction#spn fan fiction#spn fanfic#spn fan fic#spn fluff#spn angst
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Anchor (pt. 2)
Summary: you’re starting to settle in at the avengers compound when an attack on the building has you spilling more about your past
Word Count: 1.3k
Parings: (Natasha x Y/n) (Bucky x Y/n)
Warnings: fighting, slightly disordered eating
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You followed a single raindrop from the top of the window all the way to the bottom, it fell so slowly. “Come in” you said after a light knock on the door “only me” Natasha said as she peeked round the frame “how are you finding your new room?” She asked, you decided to stay facing the window pane “it’s a big change I know” Natasha empathised, having a conversation with your silence. “It’s the bed isn’t it?” She said “what?” You whispered as you turned your attention to the red head. “It’s too soft right? You should try taking the mattress off it’s-“ “how could you possibly know what this feels like?” You cut her off. Natasha didn’t take offence to your remark, after all how could you know about her past “sleeping on the mattress on the floor really helped me, when I first came here, from the red room” your eyes grew wide “you were in the red room?” You asked, the bile rising in your throat as you said the words “yes” Natasha said with a tone of surprise, opening her mouth to ask another question before you cut her off “I’m tired” you said as you turned to face the window once more “I’ll let you get some rest” Natasha said as she closed the door behind her. You pushed open the bedroom window and reached your hand out to feel the rain. It was cold outside but you didn’t mind, it was nice to feel the air and the water as it fell off your fingertips. You thought about the look in Natasha’s eyes, the suspicion she held. You thought about telling her, perhaps she was someone you could trust? You wondered why you had never met her. A loud roll of thunder broke your gaze, the edge of your hand getting caught on the open window as you jumped. You hated storms, so you quickly closed your window and climbed into your bed, pulling the sheets up over your head, blocking the world out.
Downstairs, Bucky was talking to some of his teammates about the possibility of a Hydra attack. He didn’t like to cause panic amongst the avengers but they needed to know that you were a target and you were living under their roof now. “We’ll protect her Buck” Steve said, placing a supportive hand on Becky’s shoulder “so we’re just gonna risk our lives for this girl because Bucky said so? She’s a complete stranger to us, she could be dangerous” Sam spoke up from the corner “you used to say the same about me Wilson” Natasha remarked “she’s not dangerous, she’s afraid. We can’t just send her out into the world to defend herself” she continued “you don’t know her like I do Sam, we have to keep her safe, please?” Bucky pleaded with Tony “we’ll set up extra security measures, make sure she stays in the compound and I’ll have Jarvis alert you or I if she’s in any distress” Stark said “Natasha too” Buck answered “I think she trusts you” he said to the redhead “ok Natasha too” Tony said as he settled on the couch “is there anything else we can do?” Asked Clint, Bucky thought for a moment but shook his head. The conversation began to fade and one by one people left for bed. Soon it was just Natasha and Bucky left, sitting in comfortable silence. Nat was the first to speak up “you think she trusts me?” She said “I do” Bucky answered “she might not show it and maybe she doesn’t even know it yet, but I see that look in her eyes. She knows you won’t hurt her” he finished. Bucky excused himself for bed and made it half way to the door until Natasha asked “has she said anything to you, about that mission, and what happened to her?” Buck stopped in his tracks, he had asked you about it but could tell you weren’t ready to talk about it yet “No” he sighed “ok, goodnight” Nat said, avoiding eye contact “night” Bucky said back as he left the room.
The next few days were slow. So slow that you couldn’t even remember how much time had passed. You stayed in your new room, not wanting to be around all these strangers. But there was Bucky, he would bring you fresh meals and sit with you even when you told him to leave. Bucky was the only person you allowed to check your wounds and on occasion, Natasha would stop by to say hello. No one had told you that the rest of the team were hard at work, watching Hydras every move taking turns to monitor the security cameras. There hadn’t been a whisper of movement since you arrived four days ago and Bucky was starting to think that maybe Hydra weren’t after you. Tonight, you were at the compound with Natasha and Bucky, the rest of the team had been sent on an overnight mission under Fury’s order. The widow and the soldier had convinced you to join them for dinner in the dining room, and as there was no one else around you eventually agreed. You pushed most of the food around your plate but did manage a few mouthfuls, much to Nat and Bucky’s appreciation. After dinner the three of you settled on the couch for some movies. You stayed silent while the pair conversed about the things they did and didn’t like about the film.
You were just starting to drift on when suddenly alarms blared throughout the compound. The sound rang through your ears as you jumped to your feet. Bucky begged you to go to your room and hide, but before he could finish his sentence you were following Natasha down the hall. “Y/n, you need to keep hidden!” Nat said “I can help. Let me help” you begged. The widow passed you a pistol and a dagger for your waist belt. The two of you sprinted back to the living room where Bucky was already fighting three masked guards. You caught a glimpse of their selves and the hydra logo sent chills down your spine. Gunfire rained down as fists were flown towards faces and stomachs were kicked. Natasha took a hard hit to the face and was knocked to the floor, Bucky was still preoccupied with taking down the last guard attacking him. It took you only seconds before you decided to dive for the agent who had hurt Nat, taking down the guard fighting you as you went. You through all of your weight at him as you swung around his shoulders to wrap your legs around his neck. Your body was so sore, you still weren’t fully recovered from your injuries. You fell backwards, aiming for the floor, and the guard caught between your grip came crashing down with you.
Bucky came sprinting back over when he had finally overpowered his attackers. “Nat, y/n!” He yelled “are you okay?” He said as he came to help you both to your feet. “Is that all of them?” He finished. “I think so, just the five of them” you said as you looked around you at the bodies scattered on the floor. “They must’ve thought you were alone” Bucky said as Natasha finally found her feet. She was slightly out of breath and was wiping the running blood from her nose. “How did you do that?” She said “do what?” You shyly asked “the way you took that guard out. Where did you learn to do that?” Natasha said, fearing that her assumptions were right and she already knew the answer. You mumbled for a moment, fidgeting with your fingers. “Y/n?” Bucky said with a voice laced with concern “did you learn it with Hydra?” He asked, not really understanding the silent conversation between you and Natasha. “No” you whispered. “Then where did you learn it?” He asked again. “In the red room”
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Taglist<3
@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo o / @tobiaslut / @a-simpfortessa-lesbriean / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904
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Hiiii hii hi over here!! I loooved stitches!! They way you wrote Mark was perfect imo, capturing his sonewhat standoffish but human side. Awesome job!!
Can I request one where Mark is reader's best friends's dad?? AU or not but he's still an officer
Pretty please with a cherry on top? ♥
Okay we're fudging math a little with this one. We'll clock reader at 22 and Mark at...44. there, twice the age without making it too weird.
I really love this prompt and its challenge to dodge some cliches. And then roll around in some like a little piggy in the mud. Little pig boy comes from the dirt. Sorry I blacked out there for a second.
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Is It Justice? (Mark Hoffman x F!Reader)
Tags/warnings: older man/ younger woman, manic depressive disorder, moments of deep vulnerability, questionable choices, kissy kissy, mentions of death and grief, hurt/comfort
Rated: M (I think? I started to go cross eyed writing this)
Mark sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Again. Again?
He knows he should be grateful it's you and not his son. But Sam would never, ever be caught in this compromising a position. But you had seemed to lack any sort of stern parenting in your life. His son had no shortage of that.
Okay, so he hadn't always been a perfect father, but he was a good cop. But tonight, as it had so many times before, the line became blurry. And a third role had begun to emerge, and it was bad enough that each time he had half a mind to pawn you off on someone else.
But it didn't feel right. No one would take responsibility for you, nobody would claim you. He may as well.
That's how he ends up in front of the holding cell at 3 in the morning. He's still dressed from work because he hadn't left the station yet. His son was (he prayed) still sleeping soundly in his apartment off Princeton's campus. The same could clearly not be said for you. You are in the same baggy clothes you're usual donning, dark circles decorated your undereyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd think you're on something hard.
Your eyes don't light up like he expects them to each time you're both in this situation. It's almost like a kin to dread, or pure exhaustion.
"If you're that inconvenienced, commit a crime closer to a different precinct," he mutters as the night shift cop slides the barred door open and you step through, just narrowly avoiding Mark's large frame and he follows behind you. At the booking station, Helen presents your possessions back to you.
"One cell phone, a wallet with a driver's license, library card, fortune ticket and father's credit card-we've already called- a pack of cigarettes and a Bic lighter."
You grab it all and shove it into the deep pockets of your jacket. Mark nods in gratitude at Helen and when you turn to the direction of the exit, Mark has a firm hand on your shoulder and he's steering you towards his office.
You've been in Mark's office a couple other times. Once, when you and Sam first moved in together and he wanted to introduce you to his father, and once for the first time you and the holding cell had become acquainted. The two other times you'd ended up at the police station, you'd been lucky enough to avoid this room again. But not this time.
You shake your head and slump in one of the chairs as Mark closes the door behind him. He sighs heavily and drops himself into his desk chair, and for a moment you both sit in your shared exhaustion.
"Does Sam know where you are?" His voice is groggy when he speaks. You pick at the chipped paint on your nails.
"Hope not. I left after he fell asleep. I don't like to make him worry when I leave."
Mark smirks humorlessly and stares at the ceiling tiles.
"How considerate."
"Just don't bail me out next time."
"Oh don't worry. I won't. There better not be a next time. But if there is, you'll get no help from me."
His eyes are staring sternly into your own now. You didn't have much to be proud of anymore, but you could always be proud of managing to hold Mark Hoffman's stare.
"I don't have a report. I'm tired. Can I go home?"
"You got money for a cab?"
"No."
"A subway pass?"
"I'll hop the guards."
"Like hell you will. Fine," he pushes himself up from his seat and throws on his jacket. "Come on. I'm driving you home."
You have half a mind to put up a useless fight but you're too tired, so instead you follow silently out to the parking lot and climb into the passenger side of Mark's car. He gets in and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
"When was the last time you ate?"
You shrug. Mark curses under his breath and starts the car.
"Fine. Food first."
A half hour later, you and Head Detective Mark Hoffman are sitting outside a 24/7 bodega, devouring sandwiches and a couple of sodas. You don't even mind that the food isn't hot, you're just glad to have something on your stomach.
"Alright, so," Mark wipes his mouth and clasps his hands together. "Trespassing?"
"It didn't hurt anybody."
"Nobody but yourself."
"I'm fine."
"You know they've been exploding deeper into that quarry, right? What if you'd gone near some active explosive? Or tripped in the dark and fell 250 something feet?"
"Then Mom would have some company."
He fights the urge to grab you, only to shock the thoughts from your head. But he's too shocked.
Your mother disappeared seven months ago. Five months ago, she was found at the bottom of the quarry outside of town. Maybe it was murder, maybe it was accidental. Either way, there was a closed casket.
You almost feel guilty for the way you've stunned mark into silence, but the feeling passed quickly.
"How would your father feel if he knew that's where you were tonight?"
"He'd have to be sober enough to comprehend a single thought. My money's on the likelihood that he's in no such state."
"Fine. What about Sam?"
"I won't tell if you don't."
"Well, I've got half a mind to."
You chuckle and feel the tears prick at your eyes. "Heh. Right, just pawn me off on him. Great fathering techniques, Mark. Seriously. I'll not just become someone else's problem, but your son's. My best friend's. And soon he'll get fed up and drop me, too."
"Enough with the pity play."
"Why? It's all true. You don't give a shit so it's not like I could guilt you."
Mark crumples up his sandwich wrapper with ire and tosses it into a nearby bin. He straightens out his trousers and stands. Stares down at you. From here, you look like a stranger. Not a girl, not his son's roommate and best friend, not a woman on the verge of unravelling, but some other being that has attached itself onto his heart and follows him around like a curse.
He'd loved you for a while. He'd hated you for just as long. The way you drag yourself down, the way you endanger Sam along the way. But the way you smile and how you shine when you have your shit together- there were as many good memories as bad ones in the short span of time you'd known each other.
He can't decide who he's looking at and doesn't stop staring until you look up at him. He shakes his head, looks out onto the street, then offers a hand to help you up. You take it without hesitation and you both get back into the car.
"I really don't wanna take you back to the apartment."
"I don't wanna go back. To wake up Sam is bad enough the day before finals, but to do it with his dad in tow is not much better."
Mark grumbles. "Couch?"
You nod. "Couch."
You've done the couch routine one other time, and it wasn't any of the times you'd been arrested. This incident was midwinter, during one of your episodes where you decided to walk in the freezing snow with no direction. Sam had called Mark in a panic, Mark knew your routes well enough to find you quick. It was closer to go back to his place, and he made careful work of warming you up and assuring Sam that you were safe. After that, you and Mark formed a mutual understanding that the less Sam knew, the better.
Mark's apartment was that of the poster child for a bachelor. After Sam went off to Princeton, Mark and his wife had nothing keeping their tenuous marriage together so the divorce was quiet and amicable. Now, Mark works too much to seek any remedy to that.
All that being said, Mark keeps his place nice, and his leather couch beckons you immediately. You collapse onto it and you can hear Mark halt over you.
"You're gonna sleep in jeans?"
"I didn't pack my overnight bag," you mumble into the material. Mark sighs. Leaves the room, comes back, tosses a bundle of clothes on top of you. You sit up and unfold them. PPD sweatpants and a faded t-shirt.
"How scandalous," you mutter, too tired to censor your words.
"Be uncomfortable for all I care."
Mark busies himself with removing his tie and you stand and hobble to the bathroom to change. From the kitchen area he can hear you sniffle and cough, changing otherwise quietly before reentering the living room. His breath hitches when he sees you in his clothes. He can't remember the last time he saw you in something that actually fit but clothes always left plenty to the imagination. And Mark did imagine.
You rub your eyes and stumble to the kitchen sink, grabbing a coffee mug and filling it with water. He watches as your throat strains when you devour the water like you were born thirsty. You'd just had a soda, but of course you're dehydrated. You don't take care of yourself during your episodes. He knows it just kills Sam. He knows, because he feels the same way.
He can't understand why you and Sam never became an item, even for a brief time. He was proud to call Sam his son, the way he's smart and kind, and you're funny and intelligent when you decide to be, and beautiful. So beautiful. Whether you're made up and presentable or on his couch, in his clothes, looking like death.
He only realizes he's staring when he blinks and you're staring back from the sink.
"Mark?"
He squeezes his eyes shut and yawns. "Sorry. Tired. You know where everything is if you need it."
"Yeah," you say, but your voice is thicker than it should be. It's no mystery that Mark Hoffman is an attractive man. Gruff and grumpy and yet does everything in his power to take care of you. Sam does the same, but you're so scared of ruining him. You don't run that risk with Mark.
You can't ever pin down exactly what it is you like so much about him. Maybe it's his thick arms and large hands, or his dumb hair, or his asshole smirks and the way his praise and compliments light you up inside. How he talks to you like an equal, even in these times. Everyone walks on eggshells around you. He's a hardass. You love him for it.
Mark senses a shift and taps the counter decisively.
"Listen-"
"No," he shakes his head. "No, don't."
But you stand and he doesn't move.
"I'm not doing anything."
Except you are. You're moving towards him and he can't find the strength to move away.
"It's too late to do this-"
"Do what?" You ask in faux innocence. You're not the teasing type, but you're just desperate to know if he'll fess up or not. You already know you're screwed.
"You know."
You bite your lip and take a small satisfaction when the movement captures his eyes.
"Mark, no one sees me like you do."
"That's not true," he lies.
"It is, but it's okay."
You place your hands on his chest and he stops breathing. Doesn't move.
"So long as you know, I don't do it for attention. I've been this way before I ever met you or Sam."
"I know," he says breathlessly.
"Do you want to touch me?" You ask. He exhales and trembles. He's only thought about it shamefully in the dark of his bedroom or his office about a hundred times. To caress the sides of you that he suspects have gone untouched for too long. To hold you gently and yet assure you that no one else will be touching you for a long time.
He's quiet for too long. You take a hand and bring it under the shirt that swallows your torso, sliding his palm against your tummy. He exhales through his nose.
"I want you to touch me. And I want to touch you."
His hand burns onto your soft skin and you continue to move it up until his fingers grace the curve of your breast.
And just like that he yanks his hand back and stands, pushing away from you.
"Mark-"
"Go to sleep. Don't think about this anymore."
Easy enough for him to say. You both know that you'll go to your respective beds (well, bed and couch) and you'll be kept awake by the thought. But you don't argue. Only watch as he stalks down the hall and fights with himself, until he closes the bedroom door behind him. You sigh and lay down on the couch, grabbing a nearby throw blanket but deciding you're too hot for it right now.
And in his room, Mark paces the floor. He slowly removes one article of clothing after the other, ends up sitting on the edge of his bed in a shirt and boxers, fingers pressed to his lips, eyes glued to the door.
He's waiting for you. If you come knocking, he'll let you in. But he can't go to you. He can't. That would seal his fate.
But the thought of you so warm and ready for him, so inviting and strong willed...his resolve is wavering.
And it doesn't take fifteen minutes before he's walking back to the couch.
And you rise and meet him halfway, and there's only a moment's hesitation before his lips crash into yours and his hands are returning to where you'd placed them before. Mark will convince himself that you initiated the kiss. You'll let him have that lie. Whatever seals your fate together. Whatever keeps you both coming back together.
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"Happy 100th anniversary"
a/n: this is soooo self indulgent please. It's a vignette (written only in dialogue) for Daisy's (my Yuu) birthday jacket card that I just made! I'll be linking it here once I edit this post!
cw: oc x canon (Ruggie x Daisy; they're established to be in a relationship and Daisy has already made her decision to stay in twisted wonderland); dialogue heavy; poor attemps at making this look like a fake translation from a vignette bc I'm delulu
The template for the frames of the paintings can be found here.
Words: around 1k
Happy birthday, Daisy!!
Daisy: To think I'm able to visit a museum like this! I wonder what sort of paintings I'm going to see…
Daisy: I'm expecting to maybe recognize a few from the stories mom used to read to me… let's see if I actually can recognize them!
Daisy: I wonder… is she someone I'm aware of? A lady who constantly cleans her house…
???: That's the princess who inspired the glass slippers you always wear.
Daisy: Huh? Oh, Ruggie! I thought you were all the way on the other side of the museum!
Ruggie: I was, but then I met Trey and we kinda ended up wandering around until I got here.
Ruggie: What a coincidence that I found you looking at the painting of the lady who inspired your favorite shoes, shishishi~
Daisy: I guess it is a fun coincidence. Oh, right! Would you mind explaining more about her to me?
Ruggie: Fine! But don't go walking around telling people I've gone soft…
Daisy: No need to worry, I wouldn't even dream of it.
Ruggie: *sigh* anyway… This lady is the princess that inspired your shoes, do you know the story behind it?
Daisy: Sam only explained to me that the princess who wore them danced with them until midnight… so I guess I don't know much more than that.
Ruggie: Right. Legend says she was an orphan who was forced by her stepmother to become basically a servant.
Ruggie: She cleaned the house all day everyday, was forced to hear awful things by her step family and when she wanted to go to a ball her stepsisters tore down her dress.
Ruggie: A Fairy Godmother – well, her Fairy Godmother – decided to help her get to a ball, she gave her a gown, a carriage and everything!
Ruggie: the Prince fell in love with her almost immediately and when she ran away and left her glass slipper fall, he tried it on every lady in the kingdom to find out who his beloved was. Then they got married and she never saw her family again.
Daisy: That’s basically the story of Cendrillon.
Ruggie: What? Oh– one of the fairytales from your world?
Daisy: Yes. I’ve always admired her story, I reread it a lot growing up because I related to her.
Ruggie: Ah… you did say your stepmother treated you horribly.
Daisy: She… treated me as best as she could.
Ruggie: Which wasn't anywhere near good enough.
Daisy: Haha… I guess you're right.
Daisy: What I mean is just… she treated me badly, but I don't hold grudges.
Daisy: Whatever she's doing, I forgive her. And now that I'm somewhere better and living a happier life… I hope that her and her children manage to grow as people.
Daisy: That's what my mother taught me.
Ruggie: …sometimes I really do wonder how I fell for such a goody-goody.
Daisy: W-what’s that supposed to mean?
Ruggie: I’m just saying, you're way too naive and nice to forgive someone like that.
Ruggie: if it were me, I’d never forgive them. No way someone's gonna step all over me and I'll forgive them.
Daisy: because that's exactly what you did to Leona-senpai, huh?
Ruggie: besides the point.
Daisy: Ruggie, isn't this painting depicting that story you told me about? The ones about the dogs sharing spaghetti?
Ruggie: Oh, that one, yeah! I didn't know they actually painted the scene, who would've thought.
Daisy: They're so adorable, I see now how romantic this is.
Ruggie: I guess? It's still just spaghetti…not only that but it's outside in the middle of the night. I guess for dogs it would be cool but for people? I’d honestly just be excited because it's free food.
Daisy: Oh, come on now! This is super romantic! It's a candlelight dinner under the night sky!
Daisy: If someone did that for me, I know I’d be pretty happy and satisfied.
Ruggie: You’re just trying to convince me to ask you on a date, aren't you?
Daisy: …
Ruggie: Should’ve figured, shishishi!
Daisy: You can't blame a girl for trying, I’ve been pretty lonely these past few weeks since you’ve been working more than usual.
Daisy: But jokes aside, this right here is already enough. I’m already way less lonely just by walking around this museum with you, it's practically a date!
Ruggie: I don't think a date would consist of everyone from our school coming with us…
Daisy: You get what I mean…
Ruggie: Tell you what, once we get back I’m cooking us both some spaghetti and lighting some candles if that's what you’d like.
Ruggie: If my flower is feeling lonely then I better give her a proper date so she can feel loved, right?
Daisy: You really don't have to… but thanks. I would love to.
Ruggie: Ah, this one's actually a very famous painting, I’ve seen pictures of it around quite often.
Daisy: R-Really…?
Ruggie: What? You don't believe me?
Ruggie: It ties with Sunset Savannah’s history and with The King of Beasts’s story!
Daisy: Well, forgive me for not understanding the historical significance of a monkey holding a lion cub…
Ruggie: *sigh* Alright. Lemme explain.
Ruggie: This is a ceremony often done by members of royalty when a new child from the royal family is born.
Ruggie: It goes so far back even the lions from The King of Beasts’s story did that. They basically present the baby to everyone else in the kingdom… it's kinda hard to explain.
Daisy: Oh, I get it now!
Daisy: I see why it's so famous, seeing how it portrays an aspect of the royalty of Sunset Savannah.
Ruggie: Eh… I never went to one, as you can imagine.
Daisy: Never? Is it not open to the common folk?
Ruggie: Well yeah, but back when there was one for who I now know is Leona-san's nephew, I was trying to survive.
Ruggie: I didn't have the time to go to a ceremony just to watch a new baby I didn't care about being presented to the whole kingdom.
Ruggie: I’d learn about him regardless, so I just didn't care much.
Daisy: I guess that makes sense.
Daisy: Still, it must be super interesting to see it happening. How cute would it be to see a baby cub being shown to the entire world just like that, hahah!
Ruggie: Ah– sorry, before I got here I told Leona-san I’d go fetch something for him at the cafeteria in a few minutes… if I don't go now he’s gonna be pissed.
Daisy: Why didn't you tell me sooner?!
Ruggie: Well, ya know– it's impossible to resist spending time with you~
Daisy: Alright there, Romeo, enough! Go before he gets upset. I'll be looking around this area for a while more if you want to come back.
Ruggie: *sigh* ‘kay, I'll be off then!
Daisy: Hm? Ah, this is another painting of Cendrillon.
Daisy: She looks so much free... I'm happy she got her happy ending.
#💌! mah writes#💌! daisy#💌! daiggie#twisted wonderland#twst#oc x canon#twst oc#twst yuu#yuu twisted wonderland#ruggie bucchi x yuu#twisted wonderland ruggie
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˚. ❝₊˚ 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 .2 ˚₊· | ☽ 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 1
» dean winchester x reader
͟͟͞꒰➳ summary: a second part to demon daycare, dean is trying to make a deal for sam to get revived but he didn’t expect the demon from before to answer his call
» a/n: a while ago @honeylamb-esther asked for a second part to this and I’ve just now gotten around to finishing it
» warnings: demon!reader, little!dean, crying, talk of death & canon typical events, this isn’t supposed to be about a certain death we saw in canon so you can choose when it takes place
You sigh as you turn around, someone summoned you for a soul selling and while you’re fine to write up a contract, it’s a tad bit boring. You’d much rather have a more important job than the run of the mill demon duties, but after you had let the Winchesters “get away” with their angel, the higher ups weren’t too happy, and you doubt they’d be pleased to find out you really let the three go. You couldn’t stomach harming them when Dean was in such a vulnerable state, Castiel and Sam had both thanked you for it by sparing your life so you suppose it’s all okay.
And when you look up only to be met with Dean Winchester himself, you feel that same surge of weird protectiveness in your chest. He looks a mess with red rimmed eyes and a wobbling chin he’s definitely trying to hide. You can take a wild guess that either Sam or Castiel died, or got stuck in some bad situation, that’s the only reason Dean would be so distraught.
“Dean, what are you doing here?” He sniffs and looks away with slightly blushed cheeks, obviously just now recognizing you from your voice.
“I need to make a deal, for Sammy.” The poor thing sounds absolutely miserable, hands shaking where they fidget with the brown coat he has on, it’s far too baggy to be Dean’s own. It’s probably Sam’s, and that makes you feel a horrid swell of hurt for Dean.
“I’ll see what I can do about it, but for now let’s sit before you collapse.” He’s definitely slipped into headspace as his legs are a tad shaky and he doesn’t put up a fight when you take his hand to lead him over to the abandoned couch in the dirt a few feet away. It’s not an ideal place to be, so out in the open, but there’s nowhere else you can go.
“Your Angel friend couldn’t help get Sam back?” Dean slumps his head to your chest once you’re settled on the couch beside him, you reach to run your hands through his hair, hoping to calm him. It’s been a while since you really had to comfort a human- sans that situation with Dean a couple months ago- so you’re not a hundred percent sure if you’re doing this correctly. It’s not an everyday occurrence that a human trusts you so blindly like Dean is right now.
“Cas is back in heaven, said there’s nothin’ he can do.” Tsk, angels, so useless.
“Well hopefully I’ll have more luck. But Dean, you do know a deal means you’ll have to pay your due at some point.” It’s not a question because you know he knows, it’s how he got stuck in hell before Castiel showed up.
“Just want Sammy back.” It’s more of a mumbled slur than a firm statement, not like you’ve heard him so many times before. The Winchesters might not know it but you’ve been around for a while, just silently watching and waiting, you know just how grief stricken they become when the other is gone. It usually manifests as anger, rage filled vengeance that no doubt causes more destruction before they get what they want, not a crying heap collapsed on a demons lap.
“This his jacket?” It’s pulled so tightly around Dean’s frame you swear it has to hurt. He’s holding it like you’ll rip it off his arms and light it on fire, like it’s something to be protected just as securely as he tries to protect Sam.
“Mm, he lets me sleep with it in Baby when he drives.” You hum along and remind yourself not to startle when he curls in further against you, arm curved over your waist and head pillowed on your collarbone.
“You can go to sleep now, we can discuss your deal when you wake up.” Not that you’re even sure if you can get Dean a deal, depending on why and how Sam died, it might be difficult. Nobody in Hell is fond of the brothers and most likely won’t be willing to have Sam topside again.
“M’kay.” You can worry about it later though, for now you just tug Dean in closer and settle back into the couch as you won’t be moving for a while.
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