BRIT

Twin lane. Fanfic writer. 35.

[britney-gvf]

✨MASTERLIST✨

Josh

Troubled Mind: 1 2 3 4

Jake

Saigneur: 1 2 3 4

[gretavangroupie]

Ten Years Gone - Part I - Thanksgiving

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 13.4k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI - Alcohol, Cursing, Dramatic Themes, Kissing, Touching, Dirty Talk, Praise, Fingering, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Pet Names, Yearning.

A/N: Hey guys! Super excited to finally share the first part of this three part story with you. It will follow Jake and Y/N as they reconnect after years apart, during Thanksgiving, Christmas, and finally New Years Eve. I hope it will bring you a few surprises, a little nostalgia, and of course, some heat. I can't wait for you to see how this all unfolds, and as always thanks for every like, comment and reblog. It means the world to me to have readers like you! Happy Thanksgiving! - N

You grab your coat from the hotel closet, the empty hanger swinging freely now in the half empty space. Your hotel room feels too quiet, too small, and you can't stop thinking about what's waiting outside. Frankenmuth hasn't changed much. The streets are still alive and humming with tourists, and the air is still filled with the smell of roasted nuts and fresh winter air. But it feels different this time. Or maybe you’re different. 

It's been too long since you've seen your friends. The ones who knew you before your life started pulling you in a hundred different directions. You can feel the flutter in your chest, the one that comes as you find yourself on familiar streets, remembering high school dances and nights spent telling secrets behind the bleachers at football games. 

As you drive through the quiet streets of Frankenmuth, your mind drifts to Jillian’s text last week that started all of this. 

Jilly: Y/N! Henry and I are hosting Friendsgiving the day before Turkey Day. Pretty sure the whole gang is coming. I hope you can make it! 7:00, same house! 

You remember reading it, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling up all at once. It feels like a lifetime since you’ve seen everyone. You smile to yourself, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. You’re coming back, not just to your hometown, but to a piece of yourself you’d almost forgotten.

You’ve grabbed a bottle of your favorite red, the St. Julian that you can only get at the wine shop on Main Street. It’s always been your favorite when you visit home, and you know it’s perfect to share at a gathering like this one. 

As you step out of your rental car into the cold November air, your mind plays through vivid memories. Running through the first snow of Winter in the park with your friends, the smell in the air as the leaves begin to change color, and all the small quiet corners in this town you once called home. Every detail of home presses in on you, warm and familiar, reminding you how much you’ve missed this. 

You pull your coat tight around you, taking a deep breath. Tonight isn’t just another night, it’s a bridge between the past and the present, a chance to slip back in time, to see who everyone has become.

And as you walk toward the familiar house, a smile tugs at your lips. For the first time in a long time, you feel that simple, exhilarating feeling of being exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

You press the doorbell and wait, the chime echoing like a note from the past. The door swings open before you can knock, and a wave of warmth and chatter spills out. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, the faint smell of roasted turkey and pumpkin pie all hits you at once, a flood of comfort and memories.

“You made it!” Jillian shouts, pulling you into a hug before you can even set the wine bottle down. You can feel the energy of the room, the hum of voices catching up, stories spilling over one another. It’s chaotic, loud, and messy in the best possible way.

You start weaving through the small crowd of friends, exchanging hellos, kisses on cheeks, and quick hand squeezes. Everyone looks older, somehow, but not too different. The kids you knew are still there somewhere, and there’s comfort in that. Proof that while life pulls you all in separate directions, this is still home.

Jillian bustles past, her apron dusted with flour, laughing at a story someone is retelling from high school. You feel the corner of your mouth tug into a smile, your nerves now settling into excitement. You pull the bottle of wine from your bag and set it on the kitchen counter, ready to join the swirl of chatter and warmth.

Your friend Sarah catches your eye, and you’re pulled back to the countless nights you two spent running from one adventure to the next, chasing after boys and midnight dares, and for a moment, it’s like no time has passed at all.

You grab an empty wine glass from the counter, filling it with the red you brought, and take a slow sip, letting the familiar taste ground you. Laughter rings out from the living room, stories overlapping in a happy, chaotic blur. Someone nudges you gently, and you turn to see Ashlyn, her face lighting up with recognition.

“Y/N! I can’t believe you’re here! Look at you! You’re a vision!” she says, tugging you into a hug. You laugh, the sound spilling out of you easily, and suddenly all the years apart melt away.

You drift out of the kitchen, passing an old photo on the wall of you all in high school, arms slung around one another, grinning like nothing in the world could touch you. You feel a pang of longing, not sad exactly, but wistful, that familiar ache of knowing how far you’ve all come, and how much has changed.

The clatter of plates being set, the smell of roasted turkey, and the warm hum of conversation fills the space, and you let yourself relax, letting the comfort of it all wash over you. Tonight is about laughter, memories, catching up, and sharing pieces of yourselves you’ve kept tucked away during the months and years apart from each other.

You raise your glass to a passing friend, clinking lightly before taking another sip, the warmth spreading through you. For the first time in a long time, it feels effortless to belong, to slip back into the rhythm of this group that’s been part of you for so long.

You turn slightly as Henry, Jillian’s husband, sidles up with a warm grin. “Y/N! There you are!” He claps you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s been too long. How have you been? What’s life like in Cleveland?”

You smile, feeling yourself relax into his easy company. “It’s been good,” you say, setting your wine glass down for a moment. “Busy, you know. Work’s been… well, work, but I love it. Keeps me on my toes.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Ah, the ever famous wordsmith, always keeping busy. And what about the personal life? Still seeing that guy you were dating back in what, April? Barney?”

You laugh, shaking your head, a little embarrassed at how easily the question slips into conversation. “No. No, um, Barrett…That’s… definitely over. Long story, but I’m okay with it.”

Henry chuckles, a deep, warm sound that makes you smile. “For the best,” he says firmly, giving you a knowing look. “Trust me. Sometimes things end so something better can come along. You just have to be patient.”

You nod, sipping your wine again. “Yeah. I suppose that’s true, though you and Jilly never had to figure that out.” you laugh. 

He grins, clapping his hands together. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well…that’s enough serious talk. Go enjoy the party, catch up, make some new memories. You’re home, Y/N. And you're with people that love you, that’s what matters.”

You smile, letting his words settle in, feeling the comforting weight of old friendships and the familiar warmth of this space. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it here. How much you’d missed them.

The front door opens again, though this time there is no knock, no doorbell, just entry, the cold air sweeping through the front hallway suddenly. You don’t realize who it is at first, just a man dressed in dark clothes and a coat. But it’s when that coat comes off, and the hall light hits his face you realize just who you’re looking at.  

​​Your chest lurches before your brain even catches up. He’s different than you remember, shoulders broader, slightly taller, and with that same easy confidence that always seemed to fill a room. His hair falls to his shoulders now, and for a second, you think you might be imagining his presence all together. 

But no. It’s real. He’s real.

Your eyes meet briefly across the crowded room, and something inside you flips. A spark of recognition, a flash of memory from years ago, and a current that feels impossibly strong. He pauses, scanning the room, until his gaze lands on you again. That half smile, the one that haunted your dreams and lingered in your memory, tugs at the corner of his mouth.

You freeze midstep, glass halfway to your lips as your heart hammers in your chest. The laughter, the chatter, the cozy familiarity of the party, all of it fades into the background and suddenly all that exists is him.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves, neither of you speaks. It’s like the world has shrunk to just the two of you, suspended in that quiet, impossible moment.

And then, just as quickly, the spell breaks and the room begins to move again, the voices rise, but your mind is already racing. You take a slow breath, forcing yourself to act nonchalant. No sudden movements, no obvious staring. Just… blend in.

With your now empty glass in hand, you weave through the room, nodding and smiling at a few friends, letting your laughter sound natural even as your chest hammers against your ribs. Every step toward the kitchen feels measured and deliberate, like you’re performing some delicate balancing act between composure and the chaos of your thoughts.

You tell yourself he probably doesn’t even remember you. Probably doesn’t even notice you. And yet, with every step, you can feel the pull, magnetic and undeniable, drawing him closer.

The chatter fades slightly as you enter the kitchen, a quieter corner of the house at the moment, away from the main cluster of voices. You set your wine glass down on the counter and straighten your posture, trying to look casual. You glance around, pretending to be occupied with arranging dinner glasses and napkins, but your eyes flick toward the doorway out of habit and there he is. Not moving, not speaking, just standing there, like he’s always been part of your memory, a perfect, impossible fixture. 

Your stomach flips. You clear your throat softly, forcing a small, almost casual smile. “Jake,” you say, trying to sound like you weren’t just caught off guard by the last twenty seconds of your life.

He steps fully into the kitchen, the floorboard creaking softly beneath his boots. He looks different and exactly the same all at once. Older, sharper around the jaw, his hair long and wavy in a way that somehow suits him too well. But his eyes… Those are still unmistakably the same. Still his. 

“Hey,” he says, and it's low and a little rough, like he hasn't done much talking today. 

You force yourself to stay grounded, your fingers curling against the edge of the counter behind you. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” you say, letting the truth slip out. 

His mouth curves, “Yeah, I uh– got a flight last minute to come see my family. Figured I couldn’t turn down Henry’s invitation,” he says, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back in a motion so familiar it nearly knocks you over. “Been a while since I’ve seen everybody.”

You nod, “Yeah. Me too.”

He steps closer, not close enough to touch, but close enough that you can smell whatever cologne he put on this morning. He looks at you like he's trying to line up the person in front of him with the girl he knew in highschool. 

“So…” he says, “How uh– how’ve you been since—”

You release a breathy laugh, the question suddenly feeling huge. “Since high school? Good. Busy mostly. Cleveland’s… alot. But good. What about you?”

He tilts his head in a familiar way, like he's reading between the lines of your answer. Like he always did. “Great actually. Tired, exhausted really,” he admits. “But I think being home will help with that.”

You nod, clutching your wine glass tighter. “Yeah, I get that.”

The house hums with conversation pouring out of the living room. Jake’s eyes seem to linger on you and you see something flicker within them. Recognition for sure but memory, maybe?

He clears his throat then looks away. 

“You, uh, come in here to hide from everybody? Look busy so you don’t have to socialize?”

You grin, “Maybe.”

His smile is crooked now, “Figured.”

And just when the moment feels too intimate, when you’re dangerously close to being pulled straight back to who you were when you were eighteen, Jillian’s voice cuts through the air. 

“Time to eat!”

You both jump but then he steps aside, holding an arm out for you to go first, “Ladies first.”

—

Dinner is loud in the way only old friends can be. Layers of overlapping conversations, silverware clinking, someone laughing loudly at the end of the table while Jillian tells Henry he didn’t cook the rolls long enough.

You settle into your seat, trying not to be hyper aware of the fact that Jake ended up directly across from you. Which means every time you look up, there he is. Sometimes smiling, sometimes listening, sometimes looking at you before pretending he wasn’t.

You’re halfway through your roll when Jake reaches across the table and plucks your empty glass from in front of you.

“Here,” he says, already rising from his chair, “I’ve got it.”

You blink. “Oh. You don’t have to—”

He just sends you that one sided smile, “I know.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and you try to act like your heart isn’t doing absolutely stupid things in his absence. Jillian elbows you lightly.

“He looks good,” she whispers, wiggling her eyebrows and grinning.

You nearly choke on air. “Jillian.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

You make a face at her, but heat still creeps up your chest.

Seconds later, Jake comes back with your refilled glass and sets it gently in front of you. You thank him, bringing it up for a sip, but pausing, frowning slightly as you study the bottle he places on the table in front of you.

“Wait,” you murmur, leaning in a little. “I thought mine was gone.”

He glances at you, confused for a second, then shakes his head, motioning to the bottle. “Oh—this one’s mine. I brought it. Hope that’s okay?”

Your eyes widen when you spot the label. “You brought St. Julian?”

Jake’s mouth curves into a smile, “Yeah. It’s my favorite when I’m back home.”

You blink. The coincidence lands like a small, quiet shock. 

“Oh,” you say, softer than you mean to. “I um– Me too.”

“Guess some things haven’t changed that much,” he says lightly, but there’s weight beneath it.

You lift your glass again, the rim barely brushing your lip as you meet his eyes over the top.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I guess not.”

He raises his own glass, just a few inches off the table, his gaze still locked on yours.

A silent cheers.

No clink. No words. Just the two of you, glasses tilted toward each other in the softest, most loaded acknowledgment of the night so far.

You both take a slow sip, still watching each other over the rims. You lower your glass first, pulse steady but impossible to ignore, and Jake follows a beat later, his eyes lingering in a way that makes it clear you’re not the only one feeling something.

—

Dinner is in full swing now, with plates half empty, wine glasses half full, and everyone talking over each other like no time has passed. You’re mid laugh at something Sarah said when you hear Cora speak up from the other side of Jake.

“So, Jake,” she says, tapping the stem of her Martini glass, “You must have some wild stories from the road. I mean, you’ve been like all over the place, right?”

Jake looks up, offering her a small smile, “Yeah, I’ve been around a little bit.”

“A little?” Cora laughs. “Come on, you’ve been overseas, like ten times right? Touring and… whatever else you guys get up to. There has to be something exciting.”

Jake shakes his head with a soft breath of a laugh. “Nothing as exciting as people think. Mostly travel, soundchecks, shows, hotel rooms, repeat… not that thrilling if I’m honest.”

Cora tilts her head. “I’d love to hear about it sometime. Maybe fill me in on what it’s really like.”

Jake hums noncommittally. “If I can remember anything worth telling,” he says, taking a slow sip of wine.

She leans in slightly. “Well, maybe I could jog your memory later.”

Jake’s smile tightens, still polite. “I appreciate that,” he says gently, “but honestly, it’s all pretty boring compared to this.”

“This?” Cora echoes, confused.

He gestures lightly to the whole table. “Being home. Seeing everyone again. Feels… nicer than talking about work.”

“Oh.” Cora blinks, thrown off but trying to play it cool. “Right, yeah. Of course.”

Jake nods once, warm but distant. “But thank you.”

And just like that, he turns his attention back to the table. Back to Henry asking about a guitar, back to Sarah laughing about a junior year disaster, back to the conversation that includes everyone.

Cora sits back, swirling the olives in her glass, her smile fixed but tight.

Across the table, you feel that same warm flutter again. He wasn’t rude. He wasn’t cold. He just… didn’t bite. He didn’t give her anything to cling to. Didn’t engage and didn’t flirt back. And without looking directly at you, he somehow makes it very, very clear, he’s not interested in her.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

—

The rest of dinner ends up being louder and messier than it has any right to be. Everyone passes dishes over each other’s heads, Jillian shouting for someone to “please, for the love of God, stop double dipping into the sweet potatoes,” and Henry insisting the turkey is dry even though it absolutely isn’t.

Eventually Sarah leans back in her chair and claps her hands together dramatically.

“Okay,” she announces. “Does everyone remember senior year, the football game against Birch Run, when Jake, Henry, and Josh decided they were going to, quote, ‘fix the scoreboard themselves’? Because I think about it at least once a week.”

Henry groans immediately and Jake drops his fork.

“Oh my god,” Henry mutters. “Don’t start.”

Sarah is already laughing. “No, I’m absolutely starting.”

Jake runs a hand down his face but he’s smiling, shoulders shaking. “This is slanderous,” he says, looking around the table for backup. But no one gives him any. They’re all too busy trying not to laugh.

“You three idiots,” Sarah continues, “climbed up onto the roof of the press box with a wrench you stole from Coach Dan’s truck—”

“We did not steal it,” Jake argues, pointing his fork at her. “We were borrowing it. Big difference.”

“It was 9:30 at night!” Sarah cries. “You didn’t even tell anyone what you were doing! The announcer kept saying the score was wrong, and the crowd was booing, and meanwhile you guys are up there in the dark with tools!”

The whole table erupts in laughter. 

Jake is laughing so hard he’s gone a little red, head tipped back, hand covering his mouth. It’s so unguarded. So familiar. So infuriatingly attractive.

Henry shakes his head and points at Jake. “And who dropped the wrench that landed on Jessica Fortune's Tuba?”

Jake slams his hands on the table. “I’ll never tell.”

The table dissolves into hysterics.

You can’t look away from him. You didn’t expect to hear that laugh again, not like this, not across a table, not with ten years of space filling up the room and somehow not mattering at all.

And when he finally glances over at you, still grinning, still breathless from laughing, you feel it land in your chest like a memory snapping back into place.

Something warm and frightening. Something you didn’t realize you’d missed until now.

“Oh my god…speaking of that night,” she says, swirling her wine dramatically, “does anyone remember what Y/N was doing behind the bleachers while you boys were up on the roof?”

Fork halfway to your mouth, you freeze. “Sarah,” you warn lightly, giving her a look. She ignores it completely. Of course she does.

“Because if I recall correctly,” she continues, eyes sparkling with mischief, “you and Greg Thompson were getting very cozy back there.”

Your stomach drops straight through your chair.

“Oh my god, no we weren’t!” you blurt, practically choking on air. “Nothing happened! Nothing! He tried to kiss me and I literally shoved him into a football tackling dummy.”

The table laughs again, but now it’s at your expense.

Cora waves a hand,“Yeah right! You were back there for, like, half an hour!”

“I was hiding!” you protest. “From him! And from that stupid spirit week eagle mascot costume. And from you, because you dared me to streak around the track.”

Jake’s eyebrows lift, amused. “Wait—you almost streaked at the game?”

“Absolutley not,” you say quickly. “I was being bullied.”

“You were being dramatic,” Sarah teases.

“I was being normal,” you counter, pointing at her with your fork. “I was cold, sober, and Greg Thompson smelled like BO and hot chocolate.”

Henry snorts wine up his nose.

But Jake… Jake isn’t laughing as loudly as the others.

He’s definitely amused, but watching you with this quiet, fascinated expression. Like this version of you is new to him, but familiar, too.

“And just for the record,” you add, cheeks burning, “I did not hook up with Greg Thompson. Ever. Not even a little.”

Cora wiggles her eyebrows. “So you say.”

“So I know,” you shoot back, burying your hot face in your hands. And over the rim of your fingers, you catch Jake still looking at you, like that little slice of your past just peeled back something he never got to see.

Before Sarah can dig herself in any deeper, Jillian suddenly claps her hands together from the kitchen doorway.

“Okay! Enough humiliation for one night,” she announces, grinning as everyone laughs. “Who wants pie?”

There’s a chorus of enthusiastic yeses, forks tapping against plates, and Henry already lifting his hand like a kid.

Jillian points at him. “You don’t even know what kind I made and you live here.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Henry says. “Pie is pie.”

You laugh, grateful for the interruption, your heartbeat finally starting to settle. Jillian catches your eye across the table and gives you a wink, as if to say sorry. 

She stands and begins to make her way to the kitchen. “Apple and pumpkin.”

Chairs scrape the floor as everyone stands and flocks toward the kitchen, the room filling with the smell of cinnamon and butter. Jake rises slowly from across the table, eyes flicking to yours for the briefest second before he follows the group.

Your embarrassment fades into something else. Pie is happening. And so is whatever this thing is between you and Jake.

—

Everyone drifts back into the living room with plates piled high, forks already carving into the flaky crust. The lights feel softer now, the wine warmer, the air looser with the easy buzz of people reverting to who they used to be.

You settle into a chair with your pumpkin pie, tucking your feet beneath you as you watch Henry start gesturing wildly mid story. Jake sits across the room, relaxed into the couch with his legs stretched out, his plate balanced on his knee. Every so often, your eyes meet for a blink too long and you both look away like teenagers.

“Okay,” Cora says through a mouthful of apple pie, “do you guys remember senior prom?”

A collective groan ripples through the group.

“Oh God,” Sarah laughs, setting her pie down. “Why are we going there?”

“Because,” Cora smirks, “it’s hilarious.”

Jake lifts a brow, half amused, “I feel like this is gonna be at my expense. Again.”

“Oh, it totally is,” Henry says, pointing at him with his fork. “You and Lacey Turner. Man. What a disaster.”

You perk up a little, even though you try to keep your expression neutral. You remember Lacey. Perfect hair, perfect shoes, perfect everything. You never dared to think Jake would ask you to prom, but you remembered who he went with.

“What happened?” you ask, pretending you don’t remember every single detail of that night.

Cora laughs, delighted. “You don’t remember? Oh my God, you’re in for a treat.”

Jake closes his eyes like he’s bracing for impact. “Please embellish as little as possible.”

Henry ignores him, already launching in. “So Jake shows up in this suit that was like way too big. Like, drowning him big—”

“It wasn’t that big,” Jake mutters.

“It was gigantic,” Sarah insists. “You looked like a 1940’s jazz pianist.”

You snort into your pie, and Jake looks at you with a quick flash of a smile, just for you, before shaking his head.

“And Lacey shows up,” Henry continues, “looking like she walked straight off a bridal magazine cover. Like she was getting married, not going to prom. And she—what was it? She kept complaining about the music?”

“Oh my God yes,” Cora says. “She said the DJ ‘wasn’t playing any sick beats.’”

Jake looks pained. Everyone bursts out laughing and Jake can’t help but laugh too, heat rising in his cheeks but in a cute, self aware way. He shakes his head again, running a hand through his hair.

Henry slaps his knee. “Best part? She left early. Just completely ditched him.”

Jake shrugs. “I wasn’t devastated.”

“No, because—” Cora starts, grinning wickedly, “he came and sat with us the rest of the night. Remember? You, me, Sarah, and—”

She flicks her gaze toward you, smiling. “You. He sat with you guys until the lights came on.”

Your fork freezes halfway to your mouth.

Jake’s eyes shift to you again. Not teasing this time. Almost remembering something he hasn’t let himself think about in years.

“Oh yeah,” Sarah adds, nostalgic and oblivious. “We all slow danced in that stupid circle at the end. Remember? Jake, you danced with Y/N.”

Everyone looks at Jake. And then at you. Your stomach flips so hard you swear you feel it in your throat.

You remember that night. You remember the song. Perfect by Ed Sheeran. You remember his hands, awkward and gentle, at your waist. You remember not sleeping for two days afterward.

Jake clears his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching.  “I remember,” he says quietly.

And for a moment, the room feels too small. And too loud. And not loud enough all at once.

The conversation keeps rolling, everyone laughing and adding details you half remember, and half wish you didn’t. The room feels warmer, louder, and fuzzier around the edges. The wine is catching up to you, and the embarrassment burns beneath your skin.

You laugh along, but you can’t shake the way Jake said I remember, soft and earnest and too much for one crowded living room. You need a minute. You need something to do.

So you stand up from your chair, brushing your hands on your skirt. “I’m just gonna—uh—start grabbing plates,” you say, already collecting empty dessert dishes and abandoned wine glasses from the coffee table.

Jillian waves you off from her spot on the couch. “You don’t have to do that, babe—”

“I know,” you insist lightly, “but you guys cooked. Let me help.”

It’s the kind of excuse no one questions. A built in getaway. You move into the dining room, stacking plates in your arms, balancing utensils so they don’t slide off. The sounds of laughter fade just a little behind you, replaced by the steady thrum of your pulse in your ears. You’re halfway through rearranging the stack when you sense someone behind you.

“Here,” a familiar voice says. “Let me take some of those from you.”

Jake.

You freeze for only a second before forcing your grip to relax, letting him take the glasses from your hands. He smells like cologne and your favorite red wine and something uniquely him. He stands close, but neither of you steps back.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to yours. “Just figured you could use a hand in here.

“Yeah, um sure,” you say, clearing your throat. “Thanks.”

Things feel awkward. You are positive that both of you are feeling the weight of what was just said in the other room. And what wasn’t.

You shift your arm to grab one last salad plate, just as Jake moves to reach for the same one. Your wrists bump, the glasses tilt and a half full wine glass tips over the edge of the plate stack.

The splash is instant. A bright, growing red stain hits Jillian’s cream colored rug.

“Oh—shit,” you gasp, stepping back.

Jake crouches down automatically, guilt sweeping across his face even though it wasn’t really either of your fault. 

“That was—yep. That was me. Totally me. Shit.”

You try to kneel beside him. “No, I—”

“No,” he insists gently, looking up at you. “Let me take the blame for this one.”

Jillian’s voice calls out  from the living room. “Everything okay in there?”

You open your mouth, ready to take responsibility for the small puddle of red wine blooming across her rug but Jake beats you to it.

“My fault, Jilly,” he calls back immediately, stepping forward like he’s shielding you from gunfire.  “Totally my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’ll clean it up, just tell me where the… uh… supplies are.”

Jillian appears in the doorway, takes one look at the stain, and sighs. “Oh, for God’s sake.” She scans the mess and then Jake. “Hang on.”

She disappears and returns with a small carpet cleaner. 

Jake blinks at it. “What—what is that?”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you. “It’s a Bissell, Jake.”

“That tells me nothing,” he mutters, staring at it like she just handed him a piece of alien machinery. “Where’s the spray? Or the paper towels? Or—I dunno—salt?”

“Salt? You don’t need any of that,” Jillian says, pressing the Bissell into your hands. “Y/N clearly knows how to use it. So you two can handle it. I put the water in, just add the solution.” And with a suspicious little smirk that feels like it might be intentional, she leaves the room.

You're kneeling beside the stain before you even realize it, flipping open the water tank. “It’s fine. You just fill this up, add a little solution, and—”

Jake crouches next to you, knees brushing yours. “You’re really calm about this.”

“Well… it’s not my rug,” you say with a small laugh.

“Still. You’re cool under pressure.” His voice drops a little. “Always were. I remember that.”

You freeze with the tank half filled. “…Always were?”

He watches your hands, your wrists, the way your fingers move. “Yeah.”

Something inside your chest tightens. You snap the tank back in place and hand him the sprayer. “Okay. Pull this to release the solution as you spray it over the stain.”

Jake takes it carefully. “Got it.”

You both lean over the rug at the same time, shoulders bumping. The sprayer sputters, then releases a thin line of the cleaner. Jake moves it too fast, smearing the wine outward.

“Whoa, okay. Slow,” you laugh, guiding his hand. “You’ll spread it.”

He makes a low, embarrassed sound. “God, sorry. I’m making it worse I think.”

“No, you’re not. Just—here.” You set your hand over his, fingers sliding lightly across the back of his knuckles as you slow his movements.

Jake stills completely.

“Like that,” you whisper.

His eyes flick to your face, “Yeah. Okay.”

You shouldn’t hold on as long as you do. He shouldn’t let you. But neither of you moves. And the moment your palms part, you feel the spark under the skin, the same one that used to catch you off guard at eighteen.

Your mind flashes without your permission. 

Cherry Coke exploding across the lunch table. Jake’s startled laugh. His hands fumbling with napkins. Your fingers brushing his as you helped clean up the sticky red mess. The look he gave you then.

You swallow. Hard.

“Y’know,” Jake says quietly, breaking the silence, “this isn’t the first time I’ve spilled something around you.”

You give a tense laugh. “My hands were sticky for hours,” you tease, aiming for light and falling short.

“I remember your hands,” he says softly.

You freeze again.

He seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and shifting back a few inches. “Uh—your hands were always… fast. Efficient. I meant—like—you were good at helping.”

“Uh huh,” you say, trying not to smirk. “That’s what you meant.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, flustered. “Listen, I’m having a crisis over here.”

You laugh, and the tension softens just enough that you can both breathe again.

Together, slowly, you work at the stain. You guide his hand once more, accidentally on purpose this time. His shoulder brushes yours every few seconds, close enough that you feel the heat of him even when he pulls away.

After a minute, he leans closer, voice dropping into a whisper. “So… how’re we doing? Think Jillian’s gonna murder me?”

You lean in too, your lips brushing the curve of his shoulder before you realize how close you are. “I think you’re safe. Mostly.”

He doesn’t move away. Not even a little.

“I like when you whisper,” he murmurs.

You shouldn’t feel that in your spine. But you do.

You’re still kneeling over the rug, the carpet cleaner humming softly in the quiet room, hands nearly touching again, and neither of you is pretending it’s an accident anymore.

—

When you rejoin the group, the mood is even looser, full from dinner, soft with wine. Everyone’s on couches or the floor with mismatched throw blankets and pillows.

Someone is retelling a story about the senior year powderpuff game, and laughter fills the room like a heartbeat.

Jake drops onto the arm of the couch near you, his thigh brushing your shoulder in a way he definitely doesn’t apologize for. You curl up with your new glass of wine, cheeks still a little warm from the heat in the dining room.

Sarah pipes up. “Okay okay, do you guys remember the bonfire after homecoming? When Henry fell into the lake?”

Henry groans loudly from across the room. “Don’t bring that up.”

Jake laughs, a real, easy laugh that hits you right under the ribs. “Man, you were soaked. Like…completely. I thought you were gonna cry.”

“I did cry, it was fucking freezing.” Henry mutters, making everyone crack up harder.

You can’t help smiling, warmth blossoming in your chest. Nostalgia settles over the room like a blanket. Jake runs his fingers over his chin, feeling the stubble starting to grow there. He glances sideways at you, grinning.

“Hey,” he says under the chatter, nudging your knee lightly with his knuckles. “You remember that night?”

You swallow, surprised by how quickly the past blooms in your mind, the dark field, laughter in the air, all of you young and reckless and full of possibility.

You nod. “Yeah. I remember.”

Jake’s smile deepens. “Hard to forget.”

The conversation moves on around you, but you feel the weight of that moment, that quiet acknowledgment of your shared history, settle between you like something fragile and important.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. Like he’s starting something. Like he’s sure you won’t stop him. And that’s exactly why you have to.

Your heart thuds once, painful and loud, and your brain snaps back to reality so hard you almost flinch.

No. No, no, no. You know better. This can’t happen. Not like this. Not now. 

You push a breath out, stand too fast, nearly tripping over a blanket. “I—um.” Your voice cracks. Perfect. “I should actually head out.”

Jillian whines, “What? Now?”

“Yeah.” You force a smile, waving a hand vaguely. “I just remembered I have to be up really early. My mom needs help cooking for Thanksgiving dinner and she’ll freak out if I'm not on time. And if I drink any more I won't be able to drive.”

Jake’s face shifts, a shadow of disappointment flickering across his features before he can hide it. He clears his throat. “Yeah, no, sure. That makes sense.”

You grab your bag and coat as every begins to stir, avoiding the temptation to look at Jake again, because you know if you do, that resolve will crack right down the middle.

“Goodnight everyone, I had a great time!”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” they all say in unison. “We love you! Call us soon! Don’t be a stranger!”

You don’t turn around. You can’t. You force your feet forward, past the now clean rug, past the lingering scent of wine, through the hallway where Jillian eyes you knowingly, and out the door into the cold, because staying one minute longer feels impossible.

And because if you stay, you know exactly what’ll happen.

—

The moment you step out of Jillian and Henry’s house, the cold night air hits you like a reset button. Your lungs seize around it, sharp and bracing, the bite of late November sinking into your bones. You stand on the porch for a second longer than necessary, letting the door close behind you with a soft click. 

The sky above Frankenmuth is clear, stars faint behind the glow of the downtown lights, the moon hanging low and cold. You take a deep breath as you walk toward your car, but it’s useless. Your chest is still tight. Jake’s voice is still in your head.

You grip the steering wheel before you’re even fully seated, fingers curling hard into the leather. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.

“Why now,” you whisper into the empty car, your breath fogging in the cold.

The drive into town shouldn’t feel like this. You’ve driven these same roads since you were sixteen. The same winding turns, the same bridges over the same quiet water, the same shops lit up like a real life snow globe. But nothing looks familiar tonight because your mind won’t stay with you. It keeps drifting back to kneeling on that rug. Jake’s shoulder brushing yours, your hand on top of his, his breath grazing the side of your face like an accident that definitely wasn’t one.

Your pulse beats wildly.

This is why you left. Why you didn’t come home much. Why you put every crush and spark and almost history between you and Jake in a box with a heavy lid and never dared to peek inside.

Because the second you do, it still burns.

You hit a stoplight at the edge of town and rest your forehead against the steering wheel. The glow of the red reflects across the dashboard, soft and ominous.

“He looks at me like…” You can’t even finish the sentence. You shake your head. “Nope. No. No more of that.”

You’re being ridiculous. It’s the wine. The nostalgia. The crowd, the laughter, the memories flying around the table. Jake being… Jake, but older, more refined, somehow sharper at the same time.

It’s everything. Too much of everything.

You pull into the hotel parking lot, your headlights sweeping across all of the festive decorations. Giant toy soldiers stand guard at the entrance, wreaths wrapped in red velvet ribbon, twinkle lights dripping from the roofline. Frankenmuth really is the Christmas town people claim it to be. Tourists crowd the walkways, bundled in scarves, carrying shopping bags, taking pictures under glowing streetlights. It’s charming and cheerful. But it feels like static in your brain.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and head inside. The lobby is warm, smelling like cinnamon and pine. A roaring fireplace crackles beside the front desk. Families check in with armfuls of luggage, kids dragging bright red balloons behind them. Couples take selfie after selfie in front of the twelve foot Christmas tree, pretending not to argue. Normally, this would make you smile. Tonight, it’s just noise.

You punch the elevator button and ride up to your floor with two strangers who keep their heads down, murmuring quietly about making dinner reservations. When the doors slide open, you step into the hallway, the carpet muffling your footsteps. 

Inside your room, you toss your bag on the bed and go straight to the minibar. You crouch down, open the little fridge, and scan the shelves.

Liquor. More liquor. Even more liquor. Not a single mini wine bottle.

“Of course not,” you mutter, shutting it with your hip.

You stand there in the silence of your room, hands on your hips, staring at your own reflection in the dark television screen. Your hair is a little messy, your cheeks a little flushed, your mascara smudged just slightly at the corners.

Jake’s face flashes in your mind again.

You need something to shut that down for the night.

Then you remember that this hotel has a bar. All you need is just one more glass of wine. One quiet moment to drown out the buzz in your head.

You peel off your sweater and change into a soft long sleeve shirt. Joggers are next. You tie your hair into a messy ponytail with quick fingers. You leave your makeup on, though. You can’t bring yourself to scrub your face in the state you’re in.

You slip into your shoes, grab your room key, and head out again.

The elevator ride down is slower this time. Every floor feels like it stops just long enough to let your thoughts catch up, which is exactly what you don’t want. By the time you hit the lobby, your heart is thudding again.

The bar is small, maybe fifteen seats total. Warm amber light glows above rows of liquor bottles. A Christmas garland wraps around the counter with little gold bells that jingle every time someone shifts. Only a handful of people sit scattered around the room.

You slide onto the far end stool, grateful for the quiet.

The bartender approaches, drying a glass with a white towel. “What can I get you?”

“Red wine,” you say. “Anything dry.”

He nods and turns away, uncorking a bottle. The clink of glass against wood already has you feeling better.

You sigh and let your shoulders drop for the first time all night. You can almost feel the tension unwinding from your spine, the smallest bit of relief creeping in at the idea of being alone for a few minutes.

You tap your nails softly against the bar, trying to ground yourself. Trying not to think about Jake’s whisper by your ear. The way your hand lingered on his. The scandalous, traitorous thought that maybe—

No. Absolutely not. That door is locked. Triple deadbolted.

The bartender sets a glass in front of you just as a faint scuff of footsteps approaches from behind. You’re about to lift your wine when a voice speaks, low and warm and too close.

“Is this seat taken?”

Your stomach free falls. The world around you goes silent. The air leaves your lungs and your fingers tremble around the stem of your glass. Because you know that voice. You shouldn’t. You wish you didn’t. But you do.

You’re praying you’re wrong, but know you aren’t. Your breath catches hard in your chest. You turn in your barstool, heart beating against your ribs, and there he is.

Jake stands just behind the chair next to you. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, or maybe the alcohol at the party. His waves are a little wind swept, as if he ran a hand through them a dozen times on his walk inside. There’s a faint pinkness on the tip of his nose, a soft contrast to the dark coat he shrugs out of.

He looks… unreal in this light. Golden and warm. A little out of place in the best way.

You somehow swallow. “Uh… no. It’s not taken.”

His lips curve, slow and boyish, and he slides into the stool beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He nods at the bartender. “Bourbon, neat please sir.”

God. His voice. Even lower than earlier. Maybe it’s the room, maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting, your knees almost touching, and his coat brushing your stool when he shifts.

You grip your wine glass a little tighter. “Wha–what are you doing here?”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, turning slightly toward you. “Same as you, I suppose.”

“What, drowning out memories in alcohol?”

Jake smiles, “Pretty much, yeah.”

You bite back a nervous laugh. The bartender sets his bourbon down, and when he reaches for it, his fingers brush yours on the bar. Just barely. He glances at you, and his eyes soften in a way that steals all the air from your lungs.

“You changed,” he says. “Clothes, I mean. I–I liked the skirt, but… I like this too.” His gaze lingers on you.“And your hair. It…looks good up.”

Heat hits your cheeks so fast it’s humiliating. “Oh. Um. Thanks.”

“Didn’t know you were staying here,” he adds, lifting the bourbon to his lips.

“My parents are renovating my bedroom, I think they are turning it into a home gym,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Surprise gift for themselves, I guess. Guest room is full of boxes of my stuff. They booked me a room here for the weekend.”

Jake nods in understanding, his expression softening. “My parents place is… loud right now. Everyone’s home, with guests, my parents are hosting, and everyone’s sleeping over. I figured I’d just stay in town instead, sleeping bags aren’t really my thing.”

“That tracks,” you say, smiling. “You always did try to avoid chaos.”

“Which is ironic, considering my career choice,” he mutters.

You both sip your drinks, the silence between you full but not uncomfortable.

“So,” you finally say, “Friendsgiving.”

Jake groans. “God.”

You laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t,” he agrees. “Just… unexpected.”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Definitely unexpected.”

He looks at you over the rim of his glass. “Didn’t know you would be there.”

“Same. Jillian just… texted me last week actually.”

“Yeah, Henry too,” he says. “Said the group hasn’t been all together in a long time. Almost didn’t come, but.”

You nod, twirling your glass. “It was nice. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Jake echoes, chuckling.

Your shoulders relax. You didn’t expect to feel this comfortable with him. Not again. Not after all these years. But there’s something familiar in sitting next to him like this, like slipping into an old rhythm you didn’t forget as well as you thought.

“High school sure feels like a different lifetime,” you say quietly, surprising yourself.

Jake’s brow lifts. “You still think about it?”

“Sometimes,” you admit. “Random little things. But I try not to get sentimental.”

He smirks faintly. “I remember you said once that nostalgia is a ‘dangerous little liar.’”

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot.” He sets his bourbon down, turning fully toward you. “Mostly about…you.”

Your heart stops. Literally stops. You blink at him, your lungs trying to remember how to work. “What?”

He shrugs. “It’s true…You know, I just never really made a move because… well, because if I remember correctly, someone told me you weren’t into me like that. That you just wanted to be friends.”

You nearly choke on your wine, “What? No. No way. I thought– I was told you only liked me as a friend.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Who the hell said that?”

“Um– Justin Boswell?” 

He sits back, “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Junior year prom after party at Kelsey Winston’s house to be specific."

“That’s—” he shakes his head, laughing in disbelief “—that’s not true. Never was.”

He reaches out and puts his hand on top of yours. The contact is light but solid. Your breath stumbles in your throat.

His voice drops enough that you notice. “I never thought of you as just a friend, Y/N.”

You can’t look away from him. You don’t want to. Maybe it’s the wine, or the way his thumb moves against your skin.

“Well, I’m sure you have women falling all over you now. Cora sure did tonight.”

Jake’s expression deadpans instantly. “Oh my God.”

You laugh, “She was acting pretty thirsty,” you add teasingly.

“Desperate,” he corrects.

“Interested.”

“Relentless.”

“Persistent.”

He groans, covering his face for a second. “You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.”

He drops his hand, his eyes fixing on yours again.  “I know it probably seems like I deal with that all the time. But I don’t typically go for that type of thing.”

“No?”

“No.” He leans in a bit, voice lower. “Never have. I need… more substance than that.”

You swallow. “Oh.”

His gaze dips briefly to your mouth before rising again. “And before you say that you don’t…yes. You have that. Always have.”

Your pulse kicks into overdrive. Your voice is barely a whisper. “How about now? Do you still feel that way?”

Jake’s answer is immediate.

“Do you think I would’ve left the party if I didn’t?”

The air between you sharpens, and neither of you looks away. His eyes are still locked on yours when he shifts, just slightly, but enough that his knee brushes your thigh. 

Your heart pounds hard enough to feel it in your wrists.

Jake notices everything, your uneven breath, the way you’re staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, the way your fingers curl and uncurl against the bar as if you’re trying to keep yourself from touching him.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, softer than before. “You alright?”

No. Absolutely not.

You nod anyway.

He smirks, not cocky, but like he knows exactly what’s happening between you both. Exactly what you’re pretending not to feel.

His voice drops. “You’re lying.”

Your stomach flips so violently you have to grip the bar’s edge.

“Why would I lie?” you whisper.

Jake’s gaze dips to your mouth again, and when he lifts it back to your eyes, there’s something almost hungry there.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice low and warm, “because you feel the same thing I do.”

You don’t breathe. You don’t speak. You don’t even blink. But out of the corner of your eye, you notice a woman at a nearby table is blatantly watching the two of you. Listening, but pretending not to.

Jake notices her a moment later. His jaw tics. His hand slides off yours like he’s trying not to make a scene… but he stays close. He leans in, voice barely above a whisper, meant only for you.

“She’s listening.”

You flick your eyes toward the woman, then back at him. He gives a quiet, humorless exhale.

“I don’t want her assuming anything,” he murmurs. “Not about you. Or me. Or us.”

Us. Your body tightens at the word. 

He watches your reaction, then continues. “I can walk you up to your room if you want to keep talking.” he offers, “Or you can call it a night. Up to you.”

Your heart is pounding against your ribs. You look at his hand on the bar. Long fingers, rings catching the warm light. You imagine them on you. You imagine exactly what you shouldn’t.

“I… want to keep talking,” you say, your breath a little unsteady.

Jake nods slowly, like he was hoping you’d say that.

He stands, pulling out his wallet and tossing a one hundred dollar bill on the bar. He pulls on his coat and settles a hand lightly at the small of your back, guiding you through the bar with a protectiveness that sends heat rolling low in your belly. The hallway to the elevators is quieter, hardly anyone sharing the space with you, but still you can hear your pulse pounding between your ears.

Inside the elevator, the doors slide closed and the two of you are alone. Jake’s breathing shifts. His eyes stay fixed on you, but not on your face…Your mouth. Then your throat. Then lower.

He swallows. “You know,” he says, voice low as the elevator hums upward, “I keep wondering what would’ve happened if we’d told each other the truth back then.”

Your breath catches. “What do you mean?”

He turns fully toward you, the space between your bodies barely a hand’s width.

“I mean…” His eyes drag over you, slow, reverent, hungry. “If I’d known you wanted me.” he pauses, “If you’d known I wanted you.”

It feels like you might melt. 

Then, the elevator dings. 

The doors slide open, but neither of you moves for a second. Jake finally steps aside, letting you exit first, following close behind. His hand finds your lower back again, gentle and guiding, but intimate. Too intimate for old friends, but not enough for what’s humming between you now.

Your room is halfway down the carpeted hallway and as the two of you finally stop at your door, your fingers start trembling slightly as you slide the keycard into the lock.

The green light flashes and the lock clicks as you nervously open the door.

Jake stands just behind you, hands in his coat pockets like he’s trying to keep them there. He looks at you with an expression that feels loaded.

“See you around?” he asks.

“Stay.” you answer. 

“You sure?” he asks, his voice thick.

And without second guessing it, you grab his hand and pull him inside the room with you.

He stumbles forward, catching himself on the wall. The door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through your hotel room.

His breath hitches and the look he gives you is nothing short of starved. He stands in the dimness of your hotel room, his chest rising and falling a little faster than before, the soft light from the lamp brushing over his cheekbones. 

He doesn’t reach for you. He doesn’t crowd you. He just watches you like he’s trying to memorize what you look like right now.

“What’re you thinking?” you whisper, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

He licks his lips slowly, so slowly you feel the sweep of his tongue in your stomach.

“I’m thinking,” he murmurs, “That I should’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Yeah?”

He steps closer. One step. Only one. His boots barely make a sound on the carpet.

“Yeah.” he says simply. “Because I wanted you. Every damn day. And now I feel like a fucking fool for letting you believe otherwise for all this time.”

Your breath stutters. “Jake…”

“But I’m also thinking,” he continues, voice lower now, “that I don’t want to do anything you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Your fingers flex at your sides. “And if I don’t regret it?”

His eyes flash up at you. “Then you need to tell me,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Because I’m hanging on by a single thread right now.”

You step closer. It’s instinctive, almost unconscious, completely drawn to the heat of him.

“Jake,” you breathe, “I…want you.”

He closes his eyes. Just for a second. Like the words physically hit him. His hand twitches at his side as if he wants to grab you but promised himself he wouldn’t.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re darker. Hungrier.

“Say it again,” he whispers.

You swallow. “I want you. I would never regret this.”

His jaw flexes, and he takes another step until you’re standing close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. His restraint is now a living thing between you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

You lift your chin. “Then kiss me.”

His breath catches and one hand finally comes up, fingers brushing your jaw with tenderness. His thumb traces your cheekbone like he’s terrified you’ll disappear.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“So are you.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. I am, aren’t I?”

You lean into his touch, and something in him snaps. His other hand rises to the back of your neck, warm and sure, and he pulls your forehead to his. Not kissing. Just breathing each other in.

“You sure?” he murmurs again, voice raw.

“Jake,” you breathe, “kiss me, damnit.”

He exhales like he’s been starved for air. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, slow and soft and devastating. And then finally he leans in. It's just a whisper soft brush of his mouth against yours, testing the edges of a moment neither of you can undo.

Your breath catches and he pulls back a fraction, just enough to look at you. Just enough to give you an out. You grab his coat lapels and pull him in again.

This time, he kisses you.

Fully. Deeply, and slowly. His lips are warm and patient, his hand sliding from your face to your waist, drawing you closer until your bodies meet in a flush of heat.

His breath mixes with yours. His chest is solid against you. His fingers settle at your hip, squeezing, and kissing you like he has waited years for this exact moment.

You drag your fingers through his hair, and he shudders against you. His mouth parts, deepening the kiss with a low, hungry sound you feel everywhere.

Your back meets the wall, and he braces one hand beside your head, not trapping you, just… keeping himself upright.

“God,” he whispers against your mouth, “you taste exactly like I thought you would.”

Your knees nearly buckle at the confession. His lips trail to the side of your jaw, warm and slow, lingering for a second too long. His breath stirs against your skin.

“You have no idea,” he pauses, “how hard it is not to pick you up and throw you onto that bed right fucking now.”

“Then don’t hold back,” you whisper.

He laughs, low and disbelieving, resting his forehead against your temple.

“Y/N,” he says softly, “if I start… I won’t stop.”

You slide your hands down his chest, fingers curling in his denim shirt.

“That’s the point.”

His breath hitches and then he pulls back, eyes burning into yours, his pupils blown with lust. His mouth meets yours again, this time however, it feels more desperate. His mouth is warm and insistent, lips moving over yours with a kind of controlled urgency, like he’s trying not to devour you too fast. You taste the bourbon on his tongue when he licks into your mouth, slow but greedy, and your knees nearly give out.

He groans and pulls you even closer, one hand sliding down to palm your ass through the soft fabric of your joggers.

“F—fuck, come here,” he mutters against your lips, like you aren’t already pressed against him. He kisses you harder, deeper, the kind of kiss that steals your thoughts and replaces them with instinct.

Your fingers push into his hair again, your nails raking against his scalp.

“Don’t do that unless you want me to lose it,” he says, voice rough against your mouth.

“Maybe I do,” you whisper.

He laughs, his breath hot against your lips, and then he’s walking you backwards with slow, purposeful steps until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling fast. His eyes drag over your face, your lips, your neck, your shirt. All of you.

“Tell me you’re sure you want this,” Jake murmurs. His thumb strokes your jaw, soft in contrast to the tension coiled in his whole body.

“I want this,” you breathe. “I want you, Jake.”

He pulls the curtains closed with one sweep of his arm, the room dimming into soft lamplight. Then he turns back to you, and there’s nothing hesitant left in him.

He steps between your legs, hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing your waist. His palms are warm, almost hot, and the simple touch sends a shock through you. He lifts your shirt slowly, watching your face the entire time like he’s memorizing every second of this. When the fabric clears your head, he drops it on the floor and inhales sharply.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, taking you in. “You’re… God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

He runs his hands down your bare sides and then he pushes you back onto the bed. Your body sinks into the mattress, your hair spreading around you, and he follows, bracing a knee on the bed between your legs.

His mouth trails down your neck, soft at first, then hotter, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down your chest. He unclasps your bra with one practiced flick before he eases the straps down your shoulders. His knuckles drag lightly over your arms, and when he finally pulls the fabric free, he goes still. Not because he’s hesitating but because he’s looking.

“Jesus Christ…” he exhales, his voice dropping into something rougher. His eyes lift to yours for a second, like he needs to make sure you understand he means every word. “You have… unbelievably perfect tits.”

Heat floods your face, but he’s already lowering his mouth, tracing the slope of one with his palm, almost like he’s afraid to blink and lose the vision lying beneath him.

“I mean it,” he says, thumb circling your nipple lazily, watching it tighten under his touch. “The shape… the size…” His mouth brushes the underside of your breast, warm and wet, and your breath catches in your throat. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

He seals his lips around your nipple and you arch up into him. Your hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling into the brown locks as his tongue teases you, drawing slow circles around the peak before sucking it into his mouth with a low groan.

You whine as his teeth make contact with the sensitive skin. 

“Oh–That sound you just made,” he mutters against your skin, shifting to your other breast. “Do it again.”

He takes more of you into his mouth this time, sucking harder, like he’s claiming you. His free hand cups the other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple in the same rhythm as his tongue, and the sensation goes straight to your core, sharp and low and desperate.

Your thighs clench around his hips instinctively and he feels it.

He smirks against your breast, lips still wrapped around you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nipping lightly. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slides down your stomach again, slower than before. Teasing and measuring. He meets your eyes as his fingers hook in your waistband.

“You’re shaking for me,” he says softly.

“I—yeah,” you breathe. “I want—”

“Good,” he interrupts gently, tugging your joggers down over your hips. “Because I want it too.”

He kisses down your sternum, your belly button, the edge of your hipbone, leaving warm trails everywhere his mouth lands. By the time he reaches the hem of your panties, you’re already lifting your hips for him.

He doesn’t pull them off right away. Instead, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh… then another… then another, working higher until his breath is warm and slow right over where you ache for him.

“Take them off,” you whisper, trembling.

He looks up at you from between your legs, pupils blown wide, hair falling into his eyes. He slides his hands under the backs of your thighs, spreading you open just a little more.

“Tell me you want my mouth first,” he murmurs. “I wanna hear it.”

He doesn’t move yet, not toward your panties, not toward your skin. He just looks at you from between your thighs like he’s deciding exactly how he wants to ruin you first. Then he pushes up onto his knees with a quiet, determined sound in his throat.

“Hang on,” he says, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it carelessly toward the chair. “If I’m doing this…” He pulls his shirt over his head in a single fluid motion, muscles shifting under warm lamplight. A cluster of silver necklaces hanging against his chest,  “…I’m not doing it half assed. I want to get messy.”

The sight of his bare chest, all lean lines, and a light trail of hair leading down, the flush across his collarbones, hits you hard enough to steal your breath away. You didn’t realize how bad you wanted to see him like this. Wanted him on you like this.

He crawls back down between your legs, slower this time. His hands glide up your thighs, spreading them just a little wider.

“Now,” he murmurs, exhaling warm air over the thin cotton covering your core. “Say it.”

You swallow harshly. “I want your mouth, Jake.”

He grins, “That’s my good girl.”

He hooks his fingers into your panties, finally dragging them down your legs, and his breath catches the second he sees you.

“Oh… sweet thing...” His voice breaks into something raw. “Look how wet you are.”

He slides his hands under your thighs again and pulls you down the bed in one firm tug, settling your hips right at the edge of the mattress. Your legs drape over his shoulders naturally, like his body is made to hold them there.

He kisses the inside of your thigh first, soft and slow. Then higher…and higher.

“You are incredible,” he says against your skin, his nose brushing dangerously close. “I’ve imagined this more times than I should admit out loud.”

Before you can respond, his tongue presses flat against you, dragging a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

Your whole body jolts.

He groans against you,  “Oh, fuck… yeah. That’s it.”

He settles deeper between your legs, mouth sealing over your clit while his hands massage your thighs, holding you open for him. His tongue moves in small circles at first, teasing and patient, savoring you like he’s got all night.

You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling without meaning to. “Jake—”

He hums against you, the vibration shooting straight through your spine. 

“Let me,” he murmurs, slurping against your skin. “Let me take my time.”

He slides one hand down, fingers slicking through your arousal. He moans softly at the feel of it before sliding a finger inside you, slow and smooth.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, hips lifting.

He pulls back just enough to speak against your thigh. “Look how you take my fingers, baby. Fuck, I can’t wait to see you take my cock.”

Then his mouth is on you again, sucking and licking, working your clit in steady, rhythmic strokes while his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter.

You feel the heat coil low and sharp and impossible to ignore.

“Jake—please—don’t stop—”

“Look at me,” he orders softly, lifting his eyes while his mouth stays exactly where you need it. The sight nearly undoes you. “Come for me. Right on my tongue, beautiful.”

The pressure snaps, hot and overwhelming as your orgasm breaks over you, hips bucking into his mouth. He holds you through every shudder, sucking you through it, licking you like he wants every drop. Only when your thighs start to tremble does he finally pull his mouth from you, lips shiny, chin wet, and pupils blown completely wide.

“Messy enough for you?” he teases, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaning forward to kiss your inner thigh again, like he can’t help himself.

You’re still catching your breath when he rises to his feet, unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate movements. He drops his pants, steps out of them, and then he’s kneeling between your legs, hard and thick, his tip flushed and already dripping for you. He strokes himself once, slowly, curling his fist around his tip while watching the way your eyes fix on him.

“You want me to fuck you, pretty thing?” he asks, voice low and rough.

You swallow, your throat dry and your body still trembling from the high he just dragged out of you. Your voice comes out softer than you expect, but certain.

“Y-yes…” you breathe. “I want you to fuck me, Jake.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in your words. His jaw flexes as he exhales through his nose, steadying himself.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, sweetheart… that’s what I needed to hear from that mouth.”

He leans forward, bracing one hand beside your head while the other guides the thick head of his cock through your slick folds. The first glide makes both of you gasp.

“Oh—fuck,” he whispers, eyes squeezing shut again. “You’re so fucking warm. So wet…”

Your hips tilt up instinctively, searching for him. He groans, a deep, desperate sound.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Jake, just—”

“I know,” he soothes, kissing you once, slow and warm. “I know, baby… I’ve got you.”

Then he freezes. His breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling hard. He swallows, his eyes locked on where your bodies almost meet.

“Baby…” His voice is rough. “Do you—do you want me to grab a condom?”

It’s not hesitation, just care. A check. A moment of restraint when everything in his body is begging to be inside you.

You shake your head instantly, breathless. “No.”

His eyes snap to yours. “No?” he repeats, voice lower.

“I–I want you,” you whisper. “Just you. I want to feel all of you.”

His jaw flexes, something raw and reverent flickering across his face. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, exhaling shakily like your answer wrecked him.

“Shit,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Okay… okay, sweetheart. Only you. Only fucking you.”

He pushes in a little, just enough to part you, and your gasp echoes his.

His voice drops to a growl, “Jesus Christ… you’re tight.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders. “More.”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your throat, whispering between each press of his mouth.

“Relax for me, baby… let me in…”

You exhale shakily, and he presses forward again, filling you inch by inch. The stretch is overwhelming in the best way, a deep burn that steals your breath. When he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, he chokes on a sound that’s half a moan and half disbelief.

“Fuck.” His voice breaks. “You feel unreal. I’m not—baby, I’m not gonna last long. Not like this. Not with you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, clinging to him. “Move. Jake, move.”

He pulls out an inch, then sinks back into you with a slow, deliberate rock of his hips. The low growl he lets out at the feel of you makes your whole body tighten.

“There you go…” he whispers. “You take me so fucking well, baby. The best.”

Your legs wrap around him on instinct, hooking at his lower back. He groans at the shift, allowing him to get deeper. 

“Yeah—keep me there,” he pants. “God, that’s perfect. That’s perfect. Right fucking there.”

He thrusts again, slow, steady, and deep. Every roll of his hips drags against the spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your body feel numb. 

Your breath catches on a moan. “Jake… oh my god…”

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your throat. “Let me hear all of it.”

You tilt your hips to meet him and he hisses, grabbing your thigh and pinning it higher on his hip.

“Fuck—don’t do that unless you want me to embarrass myself.”

You gasp out a breathless laugh, nails grazing down his spine. “You feel so good… I can’t—”

“Look at me, Y/N.”

Your eyes snap to him.

“This,” he says softly, thrusting deeper. “This is exactly how I always imagined you… underneath me… wanting me…”

Your breath catches. “You thought about this?”

He groans into your ear. “Shit…You have no idea.”

His rhythm stays torturously slow, slow enough to feel every inch of him.

“Jake—please—I need—”

“I know what you need, baby.” he rasps, lifting himself onto his forearms so he can watch the way your body takes him. 

He pulls out almost all the way before sliding back in with one deep, perfect thrust, the sound of your wetness echoing through the room.

“Oh god Jake—”

“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you.”

Your back arches, pleasure building fast. He feels it, your tightening, your trembling, and his breath stutters against your chest.

“You’re close.” It’s not a question.

You nod, desperate.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, thrusts going just slightly faster, hips angling to hit you exactly right. “Come on my cock, baby girl.”

You fall apart with a broken moan, your back arching as your body clenches around him so tightly he groans loud and unrestrained.

“Oh—fuck Y/N, baby–don’t—fuck—don’t do that—”

You can feel him losing rhythm, feel the tension rip through him as he pulls out quickly, his hand wrapping around himself to finish.

“Fuck, fuck…look at me Y/N—fucking look at me– watch me cum for you.”

Your eyes flick to his, taking him in, in his most vulnerable state, and that’s all it takes.

He groans, hoarse and guttural, as he cums across your chest. The long, hot ropes of his pearly cum landing on your tits, your collarbone, your stomach… your skin flushed and still trembling from your own orgasm. The sight alone nearly makes you start to shake again.

His breath is ragged and uneven, his hand still around himself as the last pulses leave him. His eyes stay fixed on you the whole time, fully admiring the mess he made.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels, chest heaving. “You’re… god, you’re stunning like this.”

He reaches out immediately, his touch gentle now, running two fingers through the warm slick on your tits, spreading it around reverently before leaning down to kiss the curve of one softly.

“Goddamn perfect,” he murmurs against your skin. 

You blush as he cups one breast in his hand, his thumb brushing over your nipple.

“Jake…”

He looks up at you with that soft, post orgasm smile that feels sinful.

“Let me clean you up,” he says quietly, kissing your fingers. 

You watch him rise from the bed, the quiet efficiency in his movements grounding you even as your chest still hammers. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment, returning with a towel. His hands are gentle as he wipes you down, careful not to rush, his touch lingering in all the right places. Every movement makes you feel cherished, wanted, and remembered.

He presses one last kiss to the center of your chest before lying back down, propped on an elbow, eyes never leaving yours. “Room’s locked up,” he murmurs, a soft, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

You shiver at the sound of his voice, the warmth radiating from him so close to your skin. He shifts slightly, curling his body around yours. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other brushing softly along your arm, his fingertips tracing invisible patterns over your skin.

“Stay,” you hear yourself whisper, breathless, almost afraid of what he might say.

He smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Always,” he answers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The bed is warm, the eternal Christmas lights outside dim and distant. Your back rests against his chest, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart, strong and certain. His hands move naturally, threading with yours, holding you tight.

“I can’t believe all of this,” you murmur, leaning back into him, feeling his chin rest lightly on your shoulder. “After all these years… it’s surreal.”

“I’ve wanted this,” he admits, voice low and husky, a hand curling around yours and squeezing gently. “I’ve thought about it… about you… more times than I can count. I–I want this Y/N. Not just tonight, either.”

You swallow hard, your chest rising and falling against his. “Jake… it’s not that easy. I mean… we hardly know each other now—I mean…we’re in different cities. That’s… a lot.”

He tightens his hold around you, chin brushing over your hair, warm breath fanning your ear. “So its the distance? That’s just a word, Y/N. I’ll go to every length to make this work with us. Every single fucking length.”

You shake your head, turning slightly to meet his gaze, fingers pressing into the crook of his arm. “I don’t know, Jake… I just– I don’t want to get hurt. I can’t just… uproot my life. I mean, you’re in Nashville…”

“I’m not asking you to uproot your life, baby,” he says softly, thumb brushing circles over your hand. “I’m saying we figure it out. Together. I’ll show up. Call. Facetime. Fly out. Fly you out. Be here when you need me. I’m… all in. For you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, eyes closing briefly as you bury your face in the curve of his shoulder. “You always were reckless with your heart, Jacob Kiszka. I’m just… not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, lips brushing the side of your head. “But if it’s with you, it’s worth every risk. You’re worth it. Always have been, to me.”

You tense slightly, hesitating, then finally relax into him, letting your hand rest over his, thumb brushing against his knuckles. “And what about your career? Touring? You’re in two bands now, Jake.”

“So you have been keeping up with me…” he grins smugly.

You smack your arm against him playfully, a blush creeping up your body.

He chuckles softly, voice low and confident. “I can make the time. I will make the time. I’ll make it work. You’re too important to not try.” He shifts slightly, the weight of his chest pressing against your back as he snakes an arm around you tighter. “I’ve waited years for this. For something I never even thought could happen. For you. I’m not letting you slip away again.”

You sigh, leaning fully into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you… more than I realized.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I could feel it. Tonight, when I saw you… I knew.”

The room is quiet except for your slow breaths and the faint hum of the heater. He tilts his head, brushing his lips over the crown of your head. “Let's just sleep. No decisions, no pressure. Just… this.”

You nod, heart fluttering, letting his warmth envelop you. “Okay,” you whisper. “Just… for tonight.”

He presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, murmuring softly, “That’s all I need. You. Right here. Right now.”

You shift slightly in the sheets, tangled in the warmth of his body, the scent of him still lingering in the curve of the pillow. Jake’s arm drapes over your waist, fingers brushing your hip, and the room is silent. 

After a long pause, you finally speak. “When do you go?”

“Saturday night. My flight leaves Detroit at six.”

You glance up at him, heart skipping a beat. “Saturday?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the ceiling, as if trying to memorize this moment. 

He tilts his head, lips brushing the top of your hair. “I’m sorry,” he says, a little heavier this time, “for… you know, not having the balls back then. When I saw you tonight…I couldn’t… I just couldn’t let you go. I waited all of five minutes before rushing out the door of that party. I talked myself out of it on the drive here, and then there you were, just sitting at the bar like a giant red flashing sign that said ‘don’t fuck this up again’…”

Your chest tightens at his words. “Jake…”

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple, letting the silence stretch for a moment before you speak again. “Will you be home again for Christmas?”

“If I can get away. I have a lot of press on the schedule the next few weeks. But if you’re going to be here, I’m going to try.” he murmurs, and already you feel the weight of the distance pressing on you.

“You’d better,” you tease softly.

 “Would you… maybe wait for me until then?” he asks. 

You sit up slightly, looking into his eyes, your pulse accelerating. “What? Jake, what are you asking me?”

“You know what I’m asking,” he says, voice dropping. “This isn’t just some fling, Y/N. Not to me.”

“No, I know…” you whisper, shaking your head. “Not for me either.”

He runs a hand down your arm, tracing gentle lines over your skin. “I have a few things to take care of at home,” he admits, “important things, but I won’t be able to focus unless I know you’ll be here at Christmas.”

“I’ll be here,” you say, conviction finally settling in your chest. “I may not be in a hotel then,” you murmur, a faint grin tugging at your lips, “but I’ll be here.”

He nods. “Y/N, you know this won’t be easy. But I swear I will make it worth it.”

“I know,” you say, leaning back against him, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“Christmas… promise me, Y/N.”

“I promise, Jake,” you breathe, feeling the warmth of his hand over yours, and the press of his body against yours, the two of you sharing the quiet intimacy of knowing you’ve both decided to try.

You settle back against him, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, and the room grows quieter with each passing moment. His fingers rub gentle circles over your back, soothing and steady. The weight of him is heavy and comforting, like the world outside has momentarily disappeared. And slowly, inevitably, sleep claims you both.

—

When you wake, the room is quiet. The bed beside you is empty, the weight of him gone, but the sheets still carry the warmth of where he had been. A faint trace of his cologne drifts in the air, catching your senses and making your chest tighten.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it, heart thudding, and see a message from his number. The same number it had been all those years ago.

Jake K: Christmas. I promise. I’ll be there. Just… wait for me, Y/N.

Your fingers hover over the screen, trembling, caught in that tight place between wanting to answer him and wanting to protect whatever’s left of your heart. Sunlight spills across the tangled sheets, the world outside easing into its usual Thanksgiving chatter, but it all feels far away, muted behind the sound of your own pulse.

Because for the first time in years, the possibility of him, of you and him, isn’t some old daydream. It’s real. It’s here. And it shakes you to your core.

You set the phone back on the nightstand, but your hand doesn’t feel like your own. You breathe in, slow and shaky, staring at the window as if it might give you the answer. Christmas. He said Christmas. You picture it without meaning to…Jake stepping through the cold to find you, smiling like he means it, and reaching for you like he still wants more.

You hate how easily the thought unravels you.

The room is silent, but your heart is loud, thudding with a familiar ache, the one you never quite outran. And you already know what’s happening. You can feel it in the way your chest tightens, in the way your pulse jumps, in the way your mind tries and fails to pretend you’re not hoping.

You’re counting down the seconds.

Already.

Helplessly.

Counting them even as another part of you whispers that you’re a fool, that this is how heartbreak starts, that history has never been kind to you and Jake Kiszka.

But wanting him is a gravity you’ve never been able to fight.

And god help you.

Because you’re counting down anyway.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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[gretavangroupie]

black sheep - i

Pairing: Jake x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

WARNINGS FOR THIS SERIES: 18+ MINORS DNI - Alcohol, Smoking, Marijuana, Cocaine, Cursing, Dramatic Themes. Smut Including: Kissing, Touching, Making Out, Light Degradation, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Biting, Fingering, Name Calling, Edging, Unprotected Sex, Digital Penetration, Pet Names, Spanking. Angst Including: Mentions of Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Mentions of Violence, Manipulation, Jealousy, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Mentions of Death, Physical Fighting, Blood and more...

Another fantastic project written in collaboration with my bestie @gretavanmoon.

Black Sheep Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify

11:24. Perfect.

You slip your Blackberry back into your purse, trying your best to ignore the never-ending string of missed phone calls inviting you out for drinks or to brunch tomorrow morning. You don’t care about those people. Fuck, all they want is to use you for your status. You’re hot, you get it. You’d want to end up in the tabloids next to you, too. Get chased by paparazzi all night, end up in the back of a limo with the next Video Vixen popping champagne bottles while Jay-Z blasts from the speakers. All for the thrill. All for the attention. But not enough for you to give them the time of day. 

Anyway, the night is young.

You're already drunk when it really starts. Not the messy kind of drunk, but the shiny glittering kind that makes you feel invincible. As if the blood in your veins was replaced with champagne. You’d left the party uptown, the vibes less than thrilling. Everyone believing they are too cool to dance, and too bored not to gossip about each other. Now you’re crossing the city toward another one, chasing the next high before this one dares to fade. 

The doorman here doesn't ask your name. He doesn't have to. He just presses the elevator button and steps aside as you glide past him, a hot mess of leopard print and stilettos. The mirrored walls of the elevator catch you from every angle, multiplying your reflection into infinity. A silk slip dress clings to your body, silver in the low light, the lace tracing up your thighs like a ribbon of smoke. An oversized fur coat hangs off your shoulders, acting more as an accessory than providing actual warmth. You don’t need that. That’s what the alcohol is for. 

You pull your red lipstick from your bag and drag it over your lips before topping it off with a layer of glitter gloss. You’ve done this a thousand times, in backseats and bathrooms and hallways that reek of money and lies. Your eyes, glassy and sharp, flicker up to meet your reflection. You smile at yourself, a lazy, dangerous smile. You pull your flask from your bag, tilting up the last bit of it to warm your lips before getting to your destination.

The elevator dings and the doors open into the penthouse where music bleeds from the crowded corridor. It’s some sort of hazy electronic music that is sleek and hypnotic, only adding to the buzz from your three shots of Grey Goose at the last spot. The sound of the bass makes the room seem expensive. Warm golden light spills over the marble floors as laughter and clinking glasses carries through the hall. 

You step out into it all. The noise, the people, the bodies and the heat. You know most of these people, and they know you. You drift through the penthouse doors, the pulse of the music washing over you. The crowd parts almost automatically, some with smiles, and some with annoyance. They’ve seen this all before. The way you move, the way you probably laugh too loud, the way your heels announce your presence. You don’t even have to look around to see who’s watching you. You just know that they are. You can feel it. Every whisper, every sideways glance feeds the need inside you. 

Your father has funded your every whim. It’s as if Manhattan itself bends in your presence, but tonight, it feels like you’ve earned the attention yourself. The space, the eyes, the fascination. 

The penthouse is a jungle of velvet and chrome and warm lighting. Champagne sweats in crystal flutes as laughter bounces off the high ceilings. Some wannabe socialite bumps into your arm, barely apologizing, and still you smile. Your coat slips off your shoulders, now falling to your elbows, revealing more silk than should be legal. You can feel the new eyes on you, and you love it.  

Yet, there is still a sliver of emptiness inside you. You’ve been to enough parties to know this game. Everyone is performing. Everyone is pretending, and you’re the only one allowed to forget. To feel. Only it’s not a feeling. It's the haze of someone who’s never wanted for anything until right now. 

As you pull a glass of bubbly from the table, someone brushes past and murmurs something that meant to hurt you. You don’t hear it clearly, but your body tenses before your brain catches up. A sarcastic laugh leaves your lips. 

“Careful,” you warn, “I bite when provoked.”

And maybe you do. Maybe tonight is going to be the night that everyone realizes that the pretty girl in the silk and fur is untouchable. Or maybe she's just a mess. Either way, it doesn't matter. This city is cold and huge and the music is heavy, and you’re alive in a way that feels dangerously good. 

You weave through the crowd with your crystal flute raised, smiles thrown around carelessly with words that are half mean and half flirty. The adrenaline of the alcohol is sharpening your movements in a way that makes you feel lethal. You glance down at the champagne in your hand and take a sip, letting it burn all the way down. You're dizzy, sure, but steady enough. For now anyway.

You’re here for something special, and like magic it appears. You spot him near the balcony, leaning against the railing like he owns the place, though both of you know he doesn't. A quick glance around tells you no one is paying attention right now, and that's exactly what you want. 

“Bradley,” you purr, sliding your hand into his arm as you brush past. “Bathroom?”

He grins, a cocky smile plastered to his face as he nods. “You know the way.”

The hallway is dim, the thrum of the bass fading behind you as you slip past the velvet ropes and a few drunk party goers. The bathroom door closes with a solid click, shutting out the noise and chaos behind it. Inside it’s tight, nearly suffocating in a messed up luxurious way. Marble counters and chrome fixtures, the faint metallic scent of an expensive cleaning service. 

After making sure you’re alone, you shrug off your coat, letting it fall to the floor. Your dress clings to you and you're mildly aware of how the fabric feels against your skin. Barely there. 

Bradley quickly produces a mirror and a line. Your heart beats fast, more from thrill than anything. He supplies you with a rolled hundred and you bend over, inhale sharply, and then it hits. A spark behind your eyes, the shiver that runs down your spine, the room growing sharper. You lean back against the counter, letting the heat run through you and for a few seconds you feel absolutely in control.

“Fuck, you look good, Y/N,” he murmurs, voice low. 

You smirk, brushing your damp hair away from your forehead. “That’s the whole point.”

He laughs, leaning in close. You catch the faintest whiff of his cologne and you bite your lip, pretending you don't feel the tension between the two of you tightening. 

“Don’t get too crazy,” he teases. “Get back out there, or you’ll ruin all the fun.”

“Mmm,” you reply, running your hands under the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “Isn’t that sometimes the point?”

He laughs, his hands resting on your hips. “God, you really think you’re irresistible, don’t you?”

You lean in close, letting your black painted nails gently rake along his exposed chest. “No baby, I know I am.”

You laugh a little too loud and back away from him with a wink, smoothing your dress back into place. You grab your coat, placing it low on your arms. You pull your lipstick from your purse again and check your nose in the mirror, making sure the evidence is long gone. The rush from the bump mixes with the alcohol and suddenly you feel infinite. As if the penthouse, the city, even the night itself exists just for your enjoyment. 

“You’re impossible, Y/N,” Bradley sighs, adjusting himself in his pants.

“You worry too much B,” you say, sliding past him toward the door. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

The hallway swallows you again. You pull your fur back over your shoulders, letting it sway with each step. You step back onto the penthouse floor, your heels clicking against the marble floors. Faces turn and whispers ripple through the crowd, soft at first but growing louder. There she is, look at her. God she's always like this. How sad. You smile and let them talk. These people have watched your entire life play out in magazines, on TMZ, and in the murmurings of every bored rich housewife who thinks they matter in this city. 

A waiter approaches with another tray of champagne flutes. You take one, swirling the bubbles and letting them spill over the rim of the glass. 

“Careful princess…”

The remark comes from Georgia Bingham Kerry, a fellow heiress, finding her fortune in the Heinz company. You laugh softly, definitely loud enough for her to hear as you twirl your glass more. 

“Careful? Doesn’t sound like me,” you quip. 

She scoffs, “Maybe if you tried–”

“Maybe if I tried what?” you cut her off with a tilt of your head. “Being like you? Sad? Miserable? Boring?”

You flick your wrist and champagne flies through the air, landing perfectly on her last season Dior pumps. Gasps fill the room and Bradley steps back, wide-eyed. 

“Y/N! What the fuck? Calm down!” he shouts in panic. 

“Calm down?” you repeat, your voice rising. 

Your adrenaline is pumping, the bump from earlier still tingling along your spine. You move toward the balcony, brushing past a waiter who raises a hand in protest. “Maybe–”

“Maybe not!” you snap, spinning on your heel, silk and fur flying. 

And then, someone, a dumb, drunk older man, dares to whisper loud enough for you to hear. She’s ruining the night again. What a surprise.

Red flares in your chest. You lunge, shoving at him lightly at first, just enough to make your anger palpable. He stumbles back, startled, and the world shifts. Your elbow catches the edge of a nearby pedestal holding a piece of art. A sculpture you recognize as worth more than most of the partygoers’ yearly salaries. It teeters, then crashes to the floor in a shower of glass and twisted metal.

Gasps ripple across the room. Security freezes, shocked. Someone yells. Champagne flutes topple as the crowd parts, staring. You laugh. A high, jagged laugh, and look down at the ruin beneath your feet. It should sting. It should scare you. But the rush of it all, the bump still humming through your veins, the chaos…it makes your heart beat faster, makes you feel alive.

You push past a waiter who steps in to block you leaving, your fur coat slipping from your shoulders. The music feels distant now, replaced by whispers, sharp words slicing through the gilded air. 

And then the sound you knew was coming. A door banging open, sirens slicing through the low hum of the party. Red and blue lights wash over marble, over broken glass, over the silk clinging to your skin.

Suddenly cold metal bites down on your wrists. You laugh, breathless, somewhere between too aware and not aware enough. Handcuffs. 

“Oh this is rich,” you bite. “Really, this is rich.”

“Ma’am, if you just cooperate, this will be a lot easier on us all,” the officer bites nonchalantly after reciting your rights.

“I am cooperating,” you slur, your hair falling over your face. You’re nearly bent over the hood of the police car before you realize the crowd gathering around you. You take the opportunity, putting on a photo-worthy face before turning back toward the officer. “Actually could you maybe tighten them? Would make it a little more fun for me…”

The officer scoffs and pulls you by your arms to stand again. 

Paparazzi outside on the sidewalk fire relentlessly, capturing you in your barely there dress, everything nearly exposed forever in permanent pixels. The back of a police car swallows you whole. Darkness presses in, and the city that was so alive just for you merely moments ago, disappears completely. 

Happy fucking New Year.

—

It’s not the sweet smell of coffee brewing or the hand of last night’s hookup gently caressing you awake, but instead, it’s the shrill beeping of your Blackberry relentlessly buzzing on your nightstand. Your eyes open, one then the other, still thick and crusted with last night’s eyeliner and glitter mascara. You pull up on your elbows, glancing at the digital clock on the table. “Only fucking noon…” you mutter, rolling over to your back to punch a fist to your phone to shut it up.

You lie on your back in the pool of bright white down comforters and feather pillows, wishing like hell that you could just stay here all day. But you’ve never been one to be stationary, and your tired muscles are already begging you to get up. 

Sunlight slices through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your Manhattan apartment, sharp and cold against your skin, catching in the crystal of your chandelier before scattering across the marble floors. Your head pounds in rhythm with some distant echo of bass from last night, every heartbeat a reminder of the alcohol swirling in your veins that’s sure to bring a day-long migraine. Your dress is still clinging to you, the fabric twisted tightly around your body. The fur coat you abandoned last night is somewhere in a corner, limp and lifeless. 

Your wrists ache, tender and raw. You lift your hands to them, squinting at the faint impressions of the metal that haven't quite faded yet. Flashes of the night crawl in snippets through your mind. The drugs, the alcohol, the sculpture, the flash of cameras and the cops cuffing you. You swallow, throat dry, and groan, dragging yourself off the bed to wobble out of bed.

Your phone continues to buzz, friends sending text after text alerting you of the occurrences of last night. Pixelated photos of tabloids fly in, one after the other.

‘Heiress Arrested Before Clock Could Strike 12’

‘New Year, New Her? Not This Time’

‘Drunk & Disorderly - Hello 2004’

“Boo-fucking-hoo, the melodrama,” you groan in disappointment, but it doesn’t linger long. This is the life you have chosen, and you’re not going to change. You toss your phone into your purse that thankfully made it home with you before meandering, slowly, out into your living room.

Your apartment is nearly a study in luxury. Marble everywhere, the floor, counters, even the window sills. The faint aroma of your Christian Dior perfume lingers in the air, mixed with the bitter tang of spilled alcohol and wasted cigarettes, as the city streets below crawl with taxis. The windows stretch across the living room, revealing Manhattan in all of its frozen glory. Plush rugs and velvet chairs are scattered around and somewhere, a crystal vase leans just slightly against a wall, evidence of a rowdy evening. 

Then, the quiet is broken. Your father is there, sitting on the couch with the same cold precision he's always had. He’s impeccably dressed, of course, and his eyes are calculating and sharp, burning with what you know is anger. You freeze.

“Morning, Daddy,” you mumble, your voice rough as you head for the coffee pot.

He doesn't smile. “Morning?” His tone is pure venom. “Do you have any idea the chaos you caused last night?”

“Oh my god, don’t overreact,” you snap, “It was a party Dad. People spill things, yell, and get drunk. That’s just…life.”

“No, this is not life. This is reckless, dangerous, and humiliating. I am done cleaning up your messes.” His eyes bore into yours. “Do you know you destroyed a $3 million piece of art last night?”

You shrug. “They shouldn’t have had something so expensive just out there in the open.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I spent last night bailing you out of jail instead of ringing in the New Year. And I’ve spent the entire morning paying off reporters, and buying images to protect this family. I have had enough. You are twenty-three years old, Y/N. I am going to give you one last chance. One last chance to straighten up, or–” he pauses, “You are out. No more apartment, no more money, no more connections. You make one more headline, cause one more…disaster, and you’re on your own. No questions asked.”

Your stomach drops. “You’re bluffing.”

“I am not,” he says coldly, “You’re an adult now. I have been lenient long enough. Either you start behaving or you deal with the consequences yourself. This stops now. And I mean right now, young lady.”

“Stops?” you huff, throwing your arms out.”I’m an heiress, Daddy, you can’t just take my entire life away–”

“I can. And I will, if you don’t clean up this act. No more discussion. It stops.”

You huff, crossing your arms as you pout. “And how exactly do you plan to stop me?”

He shakes his head and lifts his cellphone to his ear. “Send him in.”

The click of your apartment door unlocks a new tension in your chest, then a man enters. Calm, deliberate, and impossibly composed. His navy blue suit perfectly tailored, his long brown hair pulled tightly back into a slick bun, his eyes sharp as he scans the room, before locking on you. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you demand, tilting your head to the side. 

“This is Jacob,” your father says. “Your bodyguard. Effective immediately.”

“Excuse me?!” you shout, your voice echoing off the marble flooring. 

“Since you insist upon acting like a child, he will treat you like one. Every move you make will now be monitored. Nothing happens without him, and nothing goes unreported,” he continues. 

“Oh my god, just what I always wanted, my own hall monitor,” you scoff. 

Jacob steps forward slightly, and for the first time you get a real look at him. His eyes are unreadable, dark, steady and detached. He doesn't flinch at your tone, he doesn't even bother to glance at your bare legs or the way the strap of your dress is slipping from your shoulder. 

“I will report directly to your father, Miss Y/N,” he says, the tone of his voice unreadable. But you have to admit, the way he says your name makes your stomach cave for a split second.

Your eyes narrow, ignoring the feeling. “Is that so?”

He nods once, “I take my job very seriously.”

Your pulse spikes, “You think you get to just walk into my apartment and start bossing me around?” 

“I don’t think.” He takes a deliberate step closer, close enough for you to catch the faint trace of his cologne. “I know.”

You roll your eyes, attempting nonchalance, though something in your chest tightens. “You’re what– just going to follow me around everywhere? Stand outside bathroom doors? Guard my champagne glass? Daddy, this is so ridiculous!”

“If that's what it takes to keep you from doing something reckless,” the man says evenly, “Then yes.”

Your father’s phone buzzes with a call. He glances at the screen and sighs, already halfway out the door. “Jacob, I’ll leave her to you. Make sure she sobers up. We will discuss the rest later today. No drugs.”

“Dad–” you start, but he's already gone. The click of the door feels…final. 

The silence that follows stretches heavy, nearly suffocating you. Jacob doesn't move from where he’s standing. His hands are tied neatly behind his back, and his gaze is unflinching. He is still, just watching you. 

You exhale a shaky laugh, “So now what, babysitter?”

“You can start,” he says, voice firm, “by sitting down.”

You lift a brow, “Excuse me?”

“Sit. Down.”

Something about the way he says it makes you obey before you realize it. You perch on the edge of your leather couch, seething as you cross your legs and arms. 

He studies you for a moment, then pulls out his phone and types something. Probably reporting back already. 

You lean forward, your voice like honey. “You know,” you say, tugging your dress up just a little more, exposing more of your bare thigh, “most men would kill to be in your position.”

He finally looks up from his blackberry, eyes flicking briefly over you, not lingering, just assessing, and somehow that almost feels worse. 

“I’m not most men.”

“Clearly,” you mutter, “You hate fun.”

He gives a faint, humourless smile, “I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to make sure you don't ruin your life or your father’s, before lunch.”

Your throat goes dry, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Not yet,” he slides his phone back into his pocket. “But I will.”

There’s authority in the way he says it, so certain, that it leaves you almost speechless. 

You finally find your voice, almost yelling now, “You can’t just– watch me… Follow me around and control me.”

His eyes meet yours cold, and sharp as a blade. “I can. And I will. That's what you’ve been reduced to, princess. Observation.”

The words hit like a slap. You stand quickly, jaw tight, desperate to reclaim some power in this situation. “You’re insane. You and my father. You’re like a fucking robot or something.”

He doesn't blink, “And you’re a liability.”

For a moment you just stare at each other, your pulse racing. For the first time in your life, someone doesn't flinch when you raise your voice. Doesn't shrink under your anger. Doesn't care who you are or what you have. 

And that alone is enough to terrify you. 

Jake steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he watches you scowl at him. “Your purse,” he says, voice low and steady. “Bring it here.”

You stare at him like he's lost his mind. “What?”

He holds his hand out, wiggling his middle two fingers. “Your purse. Now.”

You raise a brow, tilting your head, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what? You going to check it for contraband?”

He doesn't flinch, “Exactly that,” he says calmly. “Give it to me.”

You scoff, fumbling slightly with your hands and you go and grab it from the chair it ended up on last night. “This is out of control.”

He takes it from you in one smooth motion, flipping it open as if he is inspecting evidence. His eyes sweep over the contents as he dumps it out onto the marble countertop. A small bag of powder, a pack of cigarettes, two tubes of lipstick, a lip gloss, a pack of Orbit gum, your phone, and a bottle of Xanax. His eyes lift to yours slowly. 

“You do realize none of this is safe, right?” his tone is pointed. 

“Uh– it’s prescribed,” you lie, trying to mask your panic. “My doctor–”

He cuts you off, voice calm but sharp as glass. “What doctor, exactly?”

You stammer, making up a name that even feels fake as you say it out loud. He arches one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I–uh–I mean, it’s–”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “I don’t buy it. Say goodbye.”

Your stomach twists. “You can’t just– give that back!” you shout.

“I just did,” he says, “Consider it gone.”

Your hands fly towards him, “No! Give it–”

His hand closes around your wrist. Firm and unyielding. You should pull away, but the warmth of his skin sears into yours. Your breath catches for reasons you refuse to name.

“No,” he says, “You will not touch this again. Do you understand me?”

You yank at your wrist, frustrated. “You’re insane! This is my life! You can’t just take–”

“I did,” he interrupts, “And you’re going to learn to deal with it. You need boundaries. It is clear to me that you have none.”

“Boundaries?!” you scoff. 

He steps closer, and suddenly the small space between you feels electric. “Yes. Boundaries. Rules. Limits. Call them whatever you want, sweetheart. You don’t run your life anymore. I do.”

You flare your nostrils, trying to sound believable. “And if I refuse?”

“Do you want to find out?” he says softly, almost mocking. As if he is daring you to push him further. 

Your eyes narrow as you press your lips together. 

“I’m here to make sure you don’t humiliate yourself or your father, ever again.”

You snatch your Blackberry off the counter. “Fine, but I’m keeping this!”

He slides his hand around yours as you reach for it, smooth and fast, and lifts the phone. “Wait,” he says, dialing a number and letting the phone ring once before hanging up. His phone buzzes in his pocket and you realize he’s called himself. “I’ll keep your line active. For now. Don’t make me regret it.”

You yank the phone back, storming to your bedroom. “You can’t do this to me! I am a grown adult!”

“Watch me,” he says, simply, letting his words land like a punch. 

You snarl, glaring at him as you realize that you’re losing grip on your own life.

“You’re angry,” he says, “Good. You should be. You need someone who won’t let you continue to make mistakes. I am that someone.”

You spin, storming down the hallway to your bedroom. “I’m going to shower, asshole! You gonna follow me in there too?”

His lips twitch, but he doesn't answer. You slam your bedroom door with a hard satisfying rattle, the sound echoing through the spacious apartment. And behind that door your chest heaves, your pulse racing. Your fingers tremble with a mix of fury, fear and something else that shakes you to your core. 

Something you’ve never felt with anyone before now.

And the worst part is that it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels inevitable.

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[gretavangroupie]

Unsettled - III - Visceral

A week at the lake was supposed to heal old wounds, but it only ripped them deeper. Y/N thought she’d left her feelings for Sam buried long ago, but jealousy, fear, and one impulsive confession threaten to unravel everything she’s tried to protect. As tensions rise beneath the summer sun, every truth they’ve avoided comes crashing to the surface… and someone’s heart won’t make it out unbroken.

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Warnings: Angst: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking, Dramatic Themes, Arguing, Lying, Blood, Mention of Cheating, Mention of Manipulation and Mental Anguish, Crying.  Smut: Kissing, Touching, Yearning, Oral Sex, Digital Penetration, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex.  

A/N: Hello lovelies! Welcome back for last part of this mini series! We really hope you've enjoyed this, and we can't wait to show you what is coming up next! Thanks so much for your patience and support — it means the world to us! - N + J

You wipe the steam that has completely fogged the mirror of the basement bathroom, unsure why, really… The last thing you want right now is to face yourself. 

You’d been the one to retreat from the situation first, the tears and violent sobs threatening you so intensely that you had no choice but to run away. You’d afforded yourself a good guilt-cry in the shower, trying to sort your thoughts, trying to prepare yourself to fix this. 

But when you stepped out and let the chilled air hit your face, everything felt exactly the same as it had when you stepped in. 

The thin white towel wrapped around your body doesn’t do much for comfort, and as the steam slowly clears from the mirror, you realize that the state of your face and eyes looks worse for wear than it had after you’d jumped into the lake that night. 

You were defeated. Completely and utterly embarrassed, empty… without an excuse left in your repertoire. You’d fucked up. Royally. 

You’re mature enough to know that lying is never the answer. Why you never told Skyler about you and Jake, you aren’t sure. You just didn’t think it mattered, at the time. Hell, you were kids. And you really didn’t even have sex… in fact, your memory hardly even serves exactly what did happen that night at prom. There were extracurriculars involved, sure. You were both half-naked still clad in your dress and suit in the back of his car in the parking lot… consenting, young, bubbly and laughing through it all. Old friends just finding an attraction. A bottle of vodka and too many hormones did the trick. A little innocent flirtation and curiosity sealed the deal.

So, yes. Technically he did get you off in public. 

But full on sex… it never happened. 

It was a blip in your memory bank, though you were completely aware of the memory itself. The details never mattered; you never wanted Jake like that again, and he never wanted you. So keeping that bit of information from your best friend felt like the right thing to do. 

And when it boils down, he never told her, either. 

But now you know that was the wrong decision. And you needed to prepare to pay for it. 

The look on Sam’s face, though… unlike any emotion you’d ever seen him show. Betrayal was the word that kept coming to mind. Like you and Jake had ripped his heart still beating from his chest, stepped on it, and threw it in the trash.

Honestly, you didn’t think the news would affect him so seriously. Why did he care? 

Suddenly, the bathroom door flies open, and in charges the man you’d just been thinking about. 

“Hey, I’m in here!” you yell as you clutch the towel around you. “Ever heard of knocking?!”

“Oh, we’re way past knocking, sweetheart,” Sam growls, hovering over you so intensely that your back hits the wall. He slams the door shut behind him. 

His face is close to yours as your back stays pressed against the wall, trying like hell to stay as far away from him as you can.

“What the hell do you want, Sam?” you bite, your hair still dripping wet down your arms. 

“When were you gonna tell me you fucked my brother?” he grits, his jaw moving side to side as his eyes stay fixated on your lips. 

“Sam, please… can we just—“

“No, Y/N. I need to know. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why didn’t he ever tell me?!” You can tell his chest is vibrating with rage, his voice choked with emotion. 

But still yet, his breath on your lips doesn’t go unnoticed. Intoxicating, deliberate and drawing you into him again in every sense of the word. Damn him and this horrific attraction you share. 

“We didn’t fuck, Sam,” you finally breathe, looking him in the eye. 

“You’re lying,” he bites, his hands now rested on the wall on either side of your head. “Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth, Sam. I swear on my life.” Your empty palms fly up beside you, an act of complete and utter truthfulness in this bed of lies. “We didn’t have a condom that night. It—that…never happened.”

“But he got you off…” he manages, his tongue writhing as he tries to get through the thought process. 

“He did, yeah. That part is true,” you fight through the description as well, hating it with everything in you. But you know he deserves the truth. From both of you. “We just… ya know. Everything else. Everything but sex. We just… fooled around, I guess. You know, made out, hands…” You tried your best to get him to just understand. 

“Mouths…”

“Um, mouths, yeah…” you agree, the memory of that vodka-soaked night slowly trickling back into your mind as you allow the memory to process in real time. “Just, stupid kids, ya know?”

His jaw stiffens again, and it’s only now that you realize he’s shirtless. God damnit. You feel yourself clench around nothing, cursing his ability to make you feel this way on a dime. Even when the situation doesn’t afford it. 

“Stupid kids…” he repeats. “No condom?”

“No condom,” you parrot. “We were stupid kids, but not that stupid.”

You hear his fingernails scratch the wall behind you as his chest heaves, his eyes still fixated on your lips. You swallow down the thoughts defiling your mind, your head spinning with thoughts that should not be there. 

Slowly his face comes in closer, and his mouth is on your ear again, just as close as it was the day before on the kayak. 

“Just once,” he grits through a ragged breath. 

“Just once…”

“Ten years ago…?”

“A fucking decade, Sam…”

His lips brush over the shell of your ear, hot and wet from his tongue and the steam of the room. “And never again?”

“Never,” a chill wracks through you, and you know he notices your nipples standing at full attention under your towel. You fight the urge to let your fingernails dig into his skin, to rip and tear at the muscles on his back, to take him right here on the marble vanity countertop. 

“I’m better…” he states more than asks, and you know that he needs the confirmation. Always a competition. 

And for some reason, instead of giving him what he wants, you challenge him. You force his face back in front of yours, your fingertips under his chin as you press yourself into him, feeling him already half-hard in the flannel sleep pants sitting low on his hips. 

“I dunno, you’ll have to remind me,” you whisper. “It’s been a while…”

“I’m not fucking you, Y/N… you can forget that.”

“Your dick says otherwise, Sammybaby…”

“Shhhut the fuck up,” he mutters, his lips dancing across yours now, his words falling with a shudder of his chest. 

Your fingers stay balanced under his chin, your nails being unforgiving every few seconds as you both fight through the urge. 

“I can’t stand you,” you say, wetting your lips as you feel your heart rate quicken. 

“I fucking hate you, baby…” he agrees, pushing his groin back onto you, now. You can’t help the groan that slips from your lips, light and fast, but not unnoticed. 

“Then why’d you come kiss me last night?” you ask, thinking that maybe he’d already forgotten. 

He bites his lips in, pulling away just a little as he sighs through a breath. 

“Pity, I guess.”

“Mhm,” you reply, forcing your hips into him again. “Guess that’s why you told your whole family that what we had was serious…”

“It was serious, it is serious…”

“Stop lying to yourself, Sam… s’not a good look…” one of his hands lands on the back of your neck as he breathes a long, hard exhale… his lips an ‘O’ as you hear his nails scratch the wall behind you again. 

“I’m not the only liar here, sweetheart… maybe you should take a look in the mirror behind me.”

“That’s the thing, Sam…” you breathe, your eyes fluttering closed. “I’m ready to admit to my faults, confess my sins and tell everyone that I was wrong… I lied to them, and I’m sorry… but are you?”

His hand squeezes at the back of your neck, making your still-soaked hair drip down your back. His lips ghost yours, tingling like tiny streaks of electricity as you both shudder through ragged breaths. 

“Guess I’m gonna have to be…”

“If it was as serious for you as it was for me…” you say, jutting your hips into him again, watching his eyes glaze over with lust. His leg slits between yours, spreading your thighs apart just enough.

You lean over and bite onto his neck, exerting a tiny grit of a choked moan from him, followed by a tight hiss through his teeth. “It was serious… I miss you so bad, baby…” he can barely make it through his words. “But I’m so fucking pissed at you…”

You continue in on his neck, his hand still steady and hard on the back of yours as you’re damn near riding his thigh, at this point. You feel yourself dripping down your thighs, thankful for the lack of clothing that you have on to not take away from the sensation. 

His hand leaves the back of your neck and attaches to your hip, helping you begin to pick up a slow pace as you ride him. His hand feels like scorching hot coals as he touches you in a place that he hasn’t touched in so long… bringing back way too many dirty memories to count. 

Your back arches at his touch, and your steady movements become chopped as you search for that sweet spot. 

“You can be mad at me… Hell, I’m mad at me,” you breathe. “Everyone is just… mad…” 

He breathes hard, tilting his head back to give you better access to the column of his neck. Your nails, now digging into his pecs as you both become breathless.

“I don’t think mad is the word, baby…” he says, his free hand reaching down to grab your ass and pull you closer toward him. 

“And Natalia?” you ask, your nails scratching and grabbing at his shoulders as your clit finally dances across his thigh. 

“I hope the door hit her on the way out…”

You chuckle a light laugh. “I hope she fell down the steps… god, Sam…baby…I—”

He laughs through a groan. “Mmmh, I swear you’re so fucking…”

“Yeah…” you hum, letting his hand guide your movements on his thigh.  

“We’ve got some explaining to do, we gotta fix all this… all our fault, all my fault…” he chokes, his voice gritted and deep as he rolls his neck. 

“I’m the guilty one, Sam. We’ve just got to fix it all…”

“I’ll be completely honest with them… I promise… no more pretending…” he admits through tight breaths, his hair falling down over his face. You contemplate grabbing him through his pants; your hand is begging you to touch him, but you fight off the urge.  

“…But you’re still not gonna show me you’re better than your brother, are you?”

He bites back a smile, leaning down to rip the towel off of you in one swift motion, leaving you standing completely naked in front of him. Still completely flustered, still dripping in more places than one. 

He takes a good, long look at you, and you let him. 

“M’no. Not today, sweetheart.”

You bite back a smile of your own. “Fuck you, Sam.”

He leans in and places a soft, sweet kiss on your forehead, letting himself breathe in the scent of you. 

“Soon, baby. Soon.”

Then he takes a sharp breath and is gone, leaving you standing a half-wrecked mess with your towel at your feet, even more confused than you were when he came in.

—

Okay. Deep breaths. 

You put on the blinders of emotion, and let the armor of a brave face fall. You tap into your deepest parts as you walk down the hallway, channeling your vulnerability and readying yourself to admit your faults. To explain everything. To grasp at every last straw to keep from losing your best friends, or at least from losing their respect.

This trip has turned into a nightmare. 

The first thing you hear is the low bellow of Jake’s yelling voice outside on the deck, pitched up every few seconds as his voice cracks. You’ve only heard him yell a few times in your life, but nothing ever like this. You cringe at the sound, memories of old ex boyfriends he’d yell at for you mixed with the time he got into an argument with his dad. It gut-punches you, knowing that you’re the reason he and Skyler are having to endure this, right now. Josh just had to bring that up.

A quick glance out the glass doors shows you the image of Skyler’s face, emotionally bruised and on the brink of a breakdown. Your feet keep walking. 

Josh and Quinn are seated quietly side by side on the couch, their jaws both taut as they avoid your eyes. He must have talked her into coming back inside after Natalia made her grand exit. 

“C’mon. Come in here, sit down,” you murmur to them, pulling your robe tighter around your body. Suddenly, it’s freezing cold. 

They both give you heavily displeased looks, so you signal with a swish of your head for them to please, please, come sit. Quinn shoots daggers at you, giving you a look that you’ve honestly never seen from her before. You feel the reluctance seep into their muscles as they pull themselves from the couch and sulk toward the kitchen. 

Jake and Skyler’s muffled sounds are still taking up most of the noise, and Josh sighs heavily, “I’ll get them.”

“Where’s Sam?” you ask Josh before he heads outside. 

“Out front,” he replies blankly. 

You head toward the front door and pull it open slowly, finding Sam leaned against the banister overlooking the cul de sac, smoke billowing from his mouth. Thankfully, he’s put a shirt on. 

“Thought you quit a year ago,” you say, making him turn just slightly. 

He takes a large puff. “Thought it essential for what we’re about to endure…”

You manage a half-smile, “True as fuck, Sam.”

He turns to you then, a nervous energy already radiating from him. He hands you the roach of his cigarette and you take it without a second thought, letting the nicotine hit your system as one last ditch-attempt, hoping it will calm the nerves rushing through your bloodstream. “Let’s go.”

You tamp the smoke out on the railing and leave it there, watching from the corner of your eye as Sam shoves his hands in his pockets. “You sure about this?”

You shake your head. “We don’t have a choice.”

He nods, half agreeing, half trying to convince himself to stay, and not run for the hills. You’re impressed when you hear his footsteps following behind you back into the kitchen, and the door gently closes shut. 

“I really don’t want to fucking talk to her right now,” Skyler grits as she and Jake follow Josh back toward the kitchen. Just the sound of her voice makes you want to cry at her feet, beg her to hear you out, plead for her forgiveness. It shouldn’t be like this. You’ve never fought with Skyler. 

“Sky, please. Just give us a chance to explain,” you ask, your voice small. You hold out your hands and motion for everyone to sit. 

She huffs. “I really don’t think you deserve one,” she snarls, and you know she’s just upset. Upset and pissed the hell off. 

“Well at least let me try. Whether or not you believe it will be up to you… but just know I never meant for this to happen. Any of this…” 

“Wait, first, can I please explain to everyone that I was not sending sexts to a random chick,” Josh is monotone, his arms crossed as he sits heavily in his chair. 

“Yeah, what the hell is up with that one, Joshua?” Skyler accuses, her tone filled with venom. 

“I told Quinn already…” Josh takes a deep breath, folding his hands in front of him as if he’s about to deliver a speech. “Yes, I was sending somewhat risque photos to a woman named Jackie, whom Quinn and I had met at the bar, that night. She was nice, she was easy to talk to, yada yada. When Quinn got up to go to the bathroom, Jackie slipped her card into my pocket and told me to call her. She left before Quinn even got back. Jackie is a talent scout for male models. She works for Calvin Klein, Tommy John, Fruit of the Loom, all those male luxury undergarment brands. After our quick conversation, and my telling her what I do, she thought I might be interested in working for her. So when Natalia saw me “sexting”, I was actually attaching photos into a business email to shoot my shot into that industry. Jackie was helping me choose which ones to send. All fully clothed. All complete business transactions. That’s all.”

“You’re kidding me,” Skyler replies, her jaw hanging open. “So Natalia just–”

“Assumed. Exactly. I didn’t even tell Quinn about it because I wanted to get the gig first and let it be a surprise. I was simply sending my portfolio. Point blank, period.”

Everyone at the table laughs, fighting through a realization of how easy it is for someone to make up a lie, then spread it like wildfire. 

You shake your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “So, did you get the gig?”

He shrugs. “I don’t even know yet, that’s how new it all is. And I’m fucking pissed that Natalia painted me in such a bad light without even knowing me. Knowing the situation. You really dodged a bullet with that one, Sam.”

“You don’t even understand,” Sam says, his eyes fixated somewhere else completely. 

“Anyway,” Josh clears his throat. “Moving on… Jake, Y/N, go ahead…”

Fuck. You try to swallow, but your mouth is dry. Your heart is racing, and your skin is prickled with nervous sweat. 

Jake stands and reaches into the cabinet and grabs a bottle of wine and six red solo cups, tossing them into the center of the table. “Feels necessary.”

Skyler moves from her leaning position against the counter and rips a chair out from under the table. “Well. Is this just going to be another show, or are we all going to act like adults and tell the fucking truth for once?” Her voice is seething. 

“The truth,” Sam says, knocking the bottom of his solo cup against the table. “And nothing but. Right Jake?”

Jake fills the cups around the table until the bottle is empty. “That’s right,” he replies, taking his seat again. 

“Alright then. Y/N, why don’t you start?”

You take a deep breath, centering yourself in your chair. “Okay. Josh was right… Jake and I uh… had a thing in high school, at prom…” You’re choking the words out as you feel everyone’s eyes cast on you like a scorned child, their cold shoulders nearly freezing you out. Jake and Sam’s statures nearly mirror each other as they both have their arms crossed over their chests. 

“It was stupid, and immature… We were drunk off our asses and prom was almost over. We were eighteen, just acting like teenagers…” you explain. 

Skyler huffs. “So you’re telling me that the two of you were in a car, drunk, eighteen and horny, but you didn’t fuck?!” Her brashness makes you cringe. 

“No,” Jake says quickly. “We didn’t.” His eyes glance from Skyler, to you, then back to Skyler. “Just fooled around. That’s all.”

Sam shakes his head and lets out a quick breath from his nose before letting himself look at you from the corners of his eyes. You nod in agreement. 

“That’s all,” you agree with Jake. “I swear, Sky. I’m–I’m so sorry I never told you… it was just, so long ago, and so quick and dumb and… you know. Over before anything really even began. Hell, before we knew it, Josh was walking toward the car to drive us home, anyway. I don’t think me and Jake ever even talked about it again after that.”

“Josh, you knew… and you never said anything either?” Quinn interjects. 

Josh holds up his hands, looking at his twin. “Wasn’t my business.”

“I’m sorry, Skyler. I really am. And I know that Jake is too. I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t trust us because of that, something that happened so long ago. Please, just… I know us not telling you was wrong, and we know that. You’re my best friend, and I should have been honest from the beginning.”

Skyler takes a deep breath, her eyes still staring at the table as she chews on the inside of her cheek. You know that she will probably just need some time. 

“Everyone stayed at our house that night… after prom,” Sam suddenly murmurs. “You guys didn’t finish what you started?”

“Hell no,” Jake breathes. “I passed out on the couch within like, eight minutes of being home that night.” 

“Yeah, I fell asleep, too. Upstairs in the guest room,” you add. “Think I even woke up with my dress still on.”

“You did,” Sam says with his hand balanced in front of his mouth. “Ate breakfast with it on, too.”

“I just don’t understand how you both just, conveniently forgot. Never even touched on it,” Skyler says, her voice still huffed. 

“I don’t think we have a reason, babe,” Jake says. “Other than that it just truly wasn’t ever anything other than that. Just a hazy, drunken night that we both ended up forgetting about.”

Skyler takes a deep breath. “You both know I’m just going to need some time to process that.”

Jake reaches over and grabs her hand in his own. “Of course we do. And just… just know that we both feel horribly about it. And how it had to come up like this.”

The table goes silent again as you feel the heaviness fall. 

Josh interrupts, shifting the conversation. “Well, Sam, Y/N, do you all want to tell us why you kept it from us that you were sleeping together an entire year ago? Honestly, like what the fuck, guys?”

“Just full of secrets, aren’t we…” Skyler sings quietly, sipping her wine. 

Sam sighs hard and scoots his chair closer to the table, obviously preparing himself to speak. For a second you’re impressed that he’s taking the reins on this, and showing some maturity about it. 

“It was all my idea, keeping it a secret from you guys. You remember how chaotic that time was, hell, we were touring and shit was crazy and we were always go go go… we just. Found an attraction, and stuck with it. It was unintentional. And it was my idea to not tell you all, to not add to the confusion and the chaos of it all. We weren’t sure how you’d accept it, how you’d react. So we just hid it behind closed doors. Plus it kind of added to the fun,” Sam fights back a smirk. 

“Now don’t take all the blame, Sam. I agreed to keeping it from everybody, too,” you add, realizing now that you’re both taking up for the other, when just days ago, you were screaming at each another and placing the blame where it didn’t even need to be. You’re both guilty, and now you know it.

“Why didn’t you tell us, though?” Josh adds. “Did you think we would hate you or something?”

“No, it wasn’t that,” Sam goes on, his eyes slowly traveling to meet yours. “I don’t think either of us thought it was going to go beyond that first time… but it did. And it grew, uhm. More and more serious as time went on. I don’t think either of us saw it coming.”

Your heart falls.

“So it was serious,” Quinn coos.

You both nod, and you take a breath. “...I think we kind of only just now realized how serious it actually was.”

“What ended it?” Jake asks. 

Sam clears his throat. “I was stupid. I ran away from my feelings instead of embracing them, didn’t know how to handle it all. Dumb decision. I thought I was just caught up, didn’t realize what I had in front of me, ‘til she walked up on the front porch a few days ago and I felt like I wanted to fall through the floor with regret.” 

Your chest heaves again as Sam admits all of this, right here in front of everyone. You feel your eyes welling with tears chock full of so many emotions, so many unsaid words, so much lost time. His sweet vulnerability almost knocks you off your chair. 

“I knew I’d fucked up the minute it all blew up in our faces, over a year ago,” he bites his lips. “I knew I should have fixed it all right then and there, but my ego was too goddamned big.”

“I should have tried harder too, Sam. Don’t put it all on yourself,” you say, suddenly uncaring that all of your business has been laid out so transparently. You don’t give a damn. “We were both too proud, too heartbroken and mad to take the responsibility.”

The air is quiet and heavy as everyone lets it all sink in.

“Fuck,” Josh breathes, “you guys really were for real…”

Sam exhales, bringing his wine to his lips as he speaks almost too quietly to hear. “We’re still for real, Josh.”

“So, what are you going to do now?” Skyler speaks up for the first time, her voice a little more calm than it was before. 

You glance at Sam from across the table, your stomach swirling with an emotion that you haven’t put your finger on, yet. His expression is soft, his eyes full of sincerity. 

“I’m gonna wait for her until she tells me to leave. Wait ‘til she’s ready for me to come back again. I’m not goin’ anywhere this time.” 

You offer him a smile, suddenly overwhelmed with impression for him. You’ve never seen him this vulnerable, this honest. He’s going to wait for you.

“This time?” you tease.

Sam tilts his head and readjusts in his seat. “No more games for me, Y/N.”

The table shares a collective look of acceptance, of surprise and understanding that even though it was all a secret, it was real. And even though they knew nothing of it, and felt a little excluded from it all, it wasn’t for nothing. The intention that began as something that was just for fun had grown into something that none of them could deny, having listened to Sam’s admittance just now. They damn near have no choice but to show grace to the both of you. 

“So, now we just wait for her to fall in love with you again?” Jake asks with a smile, bumping you on the shoulder.

Sam hisses a laugh. “Hopefully you won’t have to wait too long.”

—

After another twenty minutes of hashing it all out, heavy discussion and way too many apologies to count, everyone finally starts to scatter from the table, finding other things to keep themselves busy while the mayhem of the day dies down. 

You find Skyler out on the front porch, hiding from the heavy rain under an awning as she lights up a joint. You gently close the door behind you as you wrap a blanket around yourself, finally shutting the two of you off from the rest of the world. 

“Hey,” you mutter. “You still hate me?”

She looks at the end of her joint, watching as the cherry ignites to life. Her eyes gaze out over toward the treeline as she exhales her smoke into the air. 

“No. Couldn’t ever hate you. Just… disappointed, I guess.”

“Gosh,” your shoulders fall. “That’s almost worse.”

“It should be,” she adds blankly. “You guys really hurt my feelings.”

“I know we did. And I can’t say I’m sorry enough. I know I can’t. But best believe I’m going to try.”

Her eyes beam toward you, shooting directly into yours. Her joint is pinched between her fingers, and you see her hand slowly drifting toward you, offering you a hit. “Swear to me that you don’t have anything left for Jake. Nothing at all.”

“I swear, Sky. I never did… it was one and done, over and sealed up. I promise.”

Her eyebrow raises when she realizes you haven’t taken the joint from her hand. You pinch it between your fingers and pull in the earthy smoke, keeping your eyes locked with hers as you do. You need her to know you’re serious. 

She finally looks away, breaking the heavy eye contact. She takes the joint back from you. The rain is bouncing onto your bare toes as it overflows the gutters and falls between the decking boards. You lean back against the wall, folding your arms across your chest. 

“Plus, I–I… I think I’m in love with Sam.”

Skyler erupts with a loud laugh, the smoke she had in her lungs choking her completely. “You think? Bitch, don’t be stupid, you’re both in love with each other. Did you hear how he was speaking to you just now? About you? In front of all of us? I’ve never heard the man even tell his brothers happy birthday, let alone that he loves them. And he just… laid all of that out for you…” she shakes her head. 

“It was sweet, wasn’t it?” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself even tighter.

“Sickeningly.”

She passes you the joint again. 

“Listen, Sky, I hope that you still trust me. I know it won’t come back overnight, but please just tell me that nothing is going to change between us. I can’t fucking lose you,” you say.

“You’re right. It won’t come back overnight. But you’re not going to lose me. I’ve just got to let myself be pissed for a while, ya know?”

“I totally get it,” you reply, knowing that that is all you can ask for, right now. 

She takes another big hit. “Plus, why didn’t you ever tell me how good of a kisser Jake was? When I was trying to win him over, you could have let a bitch know…”

“Ah!” you say, slapping her arm. “Probably because I didn’t fucking remember?!” 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she says, tamping out the end of her joint on a dry spot on the deck floor. “We better go inside. I can hear thunder off in the distance.”

“Great,” you reply, turning for the door. “Still love me?”

“Yes, I just need some time,” she replies. “Just don’t ever fucking lie to me ever again. Please. I don’t like being mad at everyone I care about.”

“Consider it promised, Sky. Honestly.” You turn back and cross your heart with your finger, giving her a soft side smile. 

The two of you head back inside, your skin slightly damp from the heavy rain. “I’m going to bed. No one bother me until the sun comes up tomorrow,” Skyler announces to everyone who can hear her.

“Skyler, its 5pm,” Josh giggles as he checks his watch. 

“Precisely. Goodnight!”

—

The rain picks up. In fact, it hasn’t stopped raining for almost ten hours. In all the chaos and commotion, it never dawned on any of you to check the weather for the rest of the day. 

The dust is settling, thank god, and spirits in the house seem to feel a little bit better than they did before. Though the tension still feels thick, it’s not as heavy, and thankfully most of the arguing feels like it has run its course. 

The conversation with Skyler was cathartic; it seems as if maybe, just maybe, the way that the two of you handled the situation has the potential to make your relationship even stronger. Once the tempers calm, and once reality is realized, then maybe things will turn out to be even better than they were before. You can hope, at least. 

“It’s raining fucking sheets,” Josh says as he comes up behind you, joining you in staring out the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the lake. 

“Yeah,” you reply mildly, “really ruins any plans for the day.”

“We didn’t have any, did we?” he asks, smiling just a bit. 

You chuckle. “No, don’t guess we made it that far.” The two of you stand with your hands in your pockets, realizing the quietness of the house compared to the loud pounding of the raindrops on the roof. “You okay?” you ask, nudging his elbow with yours. 

He grins. “Yeah, we’re good. I’m actually proud of you guys for finally letting all of that out. Sam never has been one to keep us up to date on every aspect of his life, we learned that with the arrival of Miss Natalia…”

You pull your neck muscles. “Eek, yeah, I guess that’s true.”

He turns to you a bit, taking in a sharp breath before looking you in the eyes. “Y’know, we wouldn’t have been mad at you guys if you had told us when all of that was happening. We actually might have been… happy for you, ya know? Supportive.”

You shake your head, all those weird feelings of regret still dancing in your gut. “I know. We never really planned for any of it to get that serious. And once we were in, we were in too deep, if that makes sense. I take the blame for it, we both do. I’m just glad you guys don’t hate us.”

“Of course we don’t hate you,” he goes on. “In fact… is it… still a thing?”

You feel your cheeks blush. 

“I mean, it kind of… makes sense. The two of you together. You’re both hot headed as hell, but… it almost feels right. I like it, even if you have to pick back up and start all over,” he adds. 

“Are you asking me if there is a possibility I get back together with your brother after all of that drama?” you laugh. 

Josh nods, his eyes wide and excited. 

You shrug, turning away again. “I dunno. Maybe…” You can feel the heat in your cheeks as the memory of Sam towering over you in the bathroom floods back to your brain, hot and heavy. The way his hands felt on you, the way he said ‘soon’...

Suddenly you’re flushed again. These feelings for him aren’t going anywhere.

“You guys have still got it, I can tell,” Josh says, clapping a harsh hand to your shoulder. “I see it in his eyes. God, the guy was itching for Natalia to get the fuck out of here so he could pay attention to you.”

“You think so?” you ask.

“Yeah. I know so. Just know you have my approval, if so.”

“Thanks, Josh,” you say over your shoulder as he floats away.

“Anytime, lover girl!”

—

You’re relaxed under the warm covers in your bed, mindlessly scrolling as you do your best to wind down and give everyone some well-deserved space. It’s been a few days since you’ve caught up with the real world on social media, and you take a second to call your mom to check in. The evening is nearing, and you can tell that the clouds outside are only growing heavier. 

Suddenly, your phone buzzes with a text. 

Sam K. : Hey

What the hell? You honestly haven’t seen Sam in a couple of hours, let alone talked to him.

You : Hello

Sam K. : It’s raining even harder now

Is he really texting you, from the same house, about the weather?

You: I know, will probably make for an early night

A couple of minutes tick by. Outside, the rain continues, now shifting into heavy thunder and lightning.

Sam K. : You think so?

You purse your lips. Should you lean into this? Or should you keep everything peaceful and normal and avoid any more drama at all costs?

You did get Josh’s approval, and you actually feel really good about how things ended up with Skyler. And honestly, this is your and Sam’s business, not anyone else’s.

You cuddle up, fluff your hair, turn your camera and take a selfie. Nothing revealing, nothing sexy. Just you, your blankets, and a cute smile. You attach the photo to the text. 

You: Yeah, I’m kinda already in for the night (:

Sam K. : My favorite version of you

You can’t help but feel a rush of warmth over your body. 

You: Really? Of all my versions?

Sam K. : Swear. Love all your versions, but this is the most you

You: Where are you, anyway? Decide to go for a swim in the storm?

Sam K. : No, there’s an extra guest room on the top floor that I hadn’t seen. It’s got a cool window by the bed. Just wanted a bit of time to myself, and have been watching the rain.

You: Wait- There’s been an extra room all this time?! I’m gonna kill Joshua.

Sam K. : I don’t think he even knew it was here. It’s tucked away, almost like it was a closet at one point. What, you don’t like sleeping in the same room as me? How rude, Y/N…

You giggle, knowing where this is going. It feels good, being flirty with Sam again. You turn and bury yourself in the sheets, knowing that you could text him until you can’t hold your eyes open anymore. The rain putters hard on your window, and the lightning flashes light up the room.

You: Of course I do, just these past few days have been a bit… challenging

Sam K.  : Understatement

You: I always preferred sleeping next to you as opposed to in the same room, if I’m being honest…

Sam K. : And who says you can’t tonight?

You bite your lips together to conceal the squeal that rises up from your chest.

You: You think that’s a good idea? I mean, the temptation might be heavy

Sam K. : For you? Or for me?

You: Might be mutual, at this point

Sam K. : Very mutual. The temptation has been heavy since I watched you walk up the driveway

You: But your girlfriend was on her way…

Sam K. : I told you, she was never my girlfriend. Jake and Josh told me you were coming about an hour before you got here. Had me nervous as fuck to see you again

You: Nervous? Why?

Sam K. : Because I missed you. Hated how things ended. Was still so confused and mad at myself for leaving things the way that we did

You : I was mad at myself, too

Sam K.: You still want me the way you used to?

You: Sam, I never really stopped

Sam K.  : Still thought about you all the time… missed the way you felt. Your sounds. Still have them memorized

Ah, fuck. 

You: And how did I feel?

Sam K. : Perfect. All the time. Still remember how you taste. How you felt wrapped around me, how your fingernails used to dig through my hair

You: I remember you liking a little bit of pain...

Sam K. : Loved it

Just then, the power flickers twice.

You: Uh oh… Your phone charged?

Sam K. : Yup. 99%. You?

You: Me too.

Sam K. : Tell you what, if the power goes out, you come up here with me

You: And if it doesn’t?

Sam K. : I come back downstairs, get in my bed, and we watch each other fall asleep from across the room

Inside, you’re praying for the weather gods to send down another crash of lightning, a loud and ground-shaking burst of energy to completely knock out the electricity. Fuck, you can hardly stand how badly you want this, want him. 

The rain turns vicious. What started out as a steady hum of droplets has now turned to a full on assault, slamming against the glass in sheets of rain that shimmer as lightning continues to crack. You pull the blankets up higher on your chest, feeling the fabric twist in your fists. 

You should feel tired. Your body is completely wrecked from crying, from arguing, from trying to hold yourself together, but your mind just won't quit. It loops through everything like film on a reel. Replaying his voice in your head over and over. 

You tell yourself he was kidding. That he doesn't actually want you to come up and find him. You tell yourself that even if he wasn't kidding, it doesn't matter. You're adults, capable of restraint and logic.

Except logic doesn't keep your skin from buzzing every time lightning crashes. 

Another rumble shakes the room, low and deep, shaking the floorboards. The power flickers again, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for it to give out completely. You imagine what you would do if it did.

Would you really go to him?

Your heart answers before your head can stop it. 

It would be easier if you didn't still feel him. His hands on your neck, the warmth of his breath…You’d promised yourself you wouldn't fall back into this cycle, and yet here you are, lying in this bed, whispering his name into the thunder. 

Another burst of lightning splits the horizon, so bright it lights up the room in a flash of white. Then, without warning, everything goes black. 

The hum of the fan dies, the lamp by your bed clicks off, and the house exhales into the silence. All that's left is the relentless rain and the thud of your pulse in your ears. 

You shoot up, your heart hammering in your chest. For a second you tell yourself to wait, but the darkness feels heavy, pushing you towards something. Towards him. 

You look at your phone screen, still glowing faintly, one tiny beacon of light in the dark. His last message stares back at you. 

It's stupid. You know it's stupid. But the timing feels too perfect. 

You pull in a shaky breath, swing your legs over the side of the bed, and feel the floor as it presses against your bare feet. The house creaks when you move, the old wood flexing with every step. You listen for anyone else stirring, but all you can hear is the storm outside and the water rushing off of the roof. You grab your phone for light and open the door. The hallway is pitch dark and silent, as if it's waiting. As if it knew you were coming. 

You tell yourself this isn't about him, but you know it is. It always has been. 

At the very top of the stairs you see the small hidden doorway, only illuminated by a flash of lightning. You don't bother knocking, instead you just push. The door opens with a soft click, and the smell of the rain and cedar hits you all at once. Another burst of lightning flashes through the room, revealing him for just a single second, barefoot, half turned and sitting on the edge of the bed. His phone is long abandoned on the table next to him. 

When his eyes lift to meet yours, the light fades again, and you're back in the dark. For a moment neither of you speaks. Then, his voice, quiet and rough, cuts through the dark. 

“You came.”

You exhale a laugh, “You told me to.”

He stands slowly, making his way towards you. He closes the distance one step at a time, until you can feel the heat of him through the dark. You can smell the damp air clinging to his shirt and the faint trace of cigarette smoke that never really leaves his skin. 

“And since when do you listen to me?”

You don't answer. The words are caught somewhere between your throat and your chest. All you can do is look up at where his face must be, guessing by the rise and fall of his shadow. Lightning spills across the room and you take a shaky breath. “Since now.”

The light fades again and the darkness folds over both of you. There's no space left to hide in. He moves first, you can feel the tremor that passes through him, the push and pull that neither of you are willing to admit out loud. 

“Do you think this’ll make anything better?” he murmurs. 

“No,” you whisper. “But I don’t care.”

He lifts a hand, hesitating slightly. His fingers brush a strand of hair away from your cheek, the touch barely there.

“Tell me not to,” he pleads.

“I can’t.”

His thumb drags over your lips before his hand slides down to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His eyes are dark, commanding, raw, finally unafraid to admit what’s been simmering all week. “No more pretending Y/N,” he says, low and urgent.

A shaky breath leaves your chest. “No more pretending.”

The space between you collapses. His mouth captures yours with a slow, agonizingly tender kiss, your knees nearly giving out at the contact. His hands move like he is relearning you, memorizing you all over again. His hands are warm as they slide down your sides, gripping into your ass. You press against him, rolling your hips as your body begs for more. 

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he groans into your mouth, his teeth grazing your lips as he pulls back just slightly. “Every look, every touch, all fucking week. I can’t stop.”

“I want you Sam,” you whisper, hot and needy as you thread your hands through his hair, pulling him closer. “The second I saw you, I wanted you.”

His groan vibrates through your chest. One hand grips the small of your back, the other slides between you, pressing against your thigh, his fingers teasing your wetness. “God, baby,” he pants. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he mutters between kisses, voice thick and rough. “I’ve been an asshole… a fucking idiot.”

You shiver against him, pressing your chest to his as your lips brush his neck. “Me too…But– I–I need you,” you breathe, “I want you, all of you.”

He growls and lifts you effortlessly until your thighs wrap around his waist. The wall behind you presses against your back as his hands move to grip your ass, his thumbs digging into the soft skin. “My baby, my messy, needy little thing,” he whispers, grinding his length into your core. 

Your hands clutch at his shoulders as your hips move instinctively to match his. “God, yes... don’t stop,” you whine.

He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes dark and intense. “Every second I was away from you, I thought about you… thought about this... I hate myself for making it so messy between us.”

“Stop talking,” you whisper, tugging him down into another hungry kiss, your lips hot and needy. “Just… feel me, Sam…”

His forehead presses to yours as his mouth claims yours again. “You’re mine, do you understand? Mine. I’m sorry I ever made you doubt it. I won’t ever again. Not now, not ever.” 

One hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers brushing over your sensitive nipples. “God you feel so fucking good, baby.”

You arch into him, pressing closer. “Please, Sam,” you beg. “I–I forgive you…Just…please touch me.”

He doesn't hesitate now, moving quickly towards the small bed. Before you know what's happening he is tossing you down onto the mattress, his hand exploring you hungrily as he pulls your t-shirt over your head. He groans, his eyes dark as he grips your hips, leaning down to drag his lips across your body, hot and wet.

“So fucking beautiful..All mine.” he hisses. 

You pull at his shorts, rocking your hips up into his as you pant. “Please… now, Sam. I can’t take it anymore,” you moan. 

He laughs, a smile crossing his face as he pulls your panties down your legs. His thumb brushes through your center, dragging your wetness down your thigh. “So fucking wet…So perfect for me. God you’ve been aching for it, haven't you…”

You nod furiously, “Yes! Yes, yes, god yes. I want it. I want you…only you,” you gasp, raking your nails down his sides as he hovers over you. He nips at your neck, biting softly, dragging you further into him. 

His hand slides between your legs again, letting his fingers slide through your folds. You shiver at the contact. He brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean before letting his hand slide gently over your throat. 

“Taste so fucking good… just like I remember…”

You whimper, rolling your hips against him desperately. “I need it… Need you inside me,” you beg, lips brushing his ear, “Please, baby.”

He pauses just long enough to look down at you in the shadows, dark eyes burning with heat. “God, I’ve wanted this… wanted you… all fucking week, all fucking year,” he murmurs, voice thick. Then he’s pulling you up, letting your legs wrap around his waist, as he slides into you, slow, deep and completely full.

“Oh fuck… Sam…” you cry, fingers clutching his shoulders, body trembling as he fills you. “Yes… fuck, yes…”

He grinds against you, hips moving with a delicious, deliberate pace, voice rough and low. “Dirty little thing… all mine, trembling, begging for me… I can’t get enough of you,” he growls. “Never get enough.”

Your hands rake over his back, nails digging into his skin, pulling him closer as you rock against him, gasping as your body feels like it's on fire.

He leans down, mouth brushing yours, teeth grazing your lips, tongue teasing, eyes dark with hunger. “You’re mine… mine to fuck, mine to ruin, mine to make lose her mind,” he hisses, trying to keep his voice hush. “Say it… tell me you want me like this.”

“I do… I want you… all of you… oh God… yes!” you cry, body trembling, heat pulsing through you.

He thrusts faster, harder, more relentless, his hands gripping your hips, fingers digging in as he buries himself inside you over and over. Your nails tear into his shoulders, back arching up into him. “Sam,” you whine, feeling your climax rapidly approaching. His hand flies up to cover your mouth, trying like hell to silence the noise you know you’re both making. 

He groans, edging you over the peak. “That’s it… come on, all for me… mine…”

The first wave crashes through you, shattering every nerve and leaving you gasping, trembling, wet, sticky, and needy. He doesn’t stop, his hips slamming into you, “Fuck… you feel so good… sshhh, so fucking good…”

Your nails rake down his back, your chest pressed to his, feeling every shiver of his body as it stiffens, hips stuttering. His breathing is ragged, low groans vibrating through his chest, a mixture of lust and raw emotion.

“I’m… so close,” he rasps, his voice almost breaking. “God… you feel too good… I’ve needed you… needed you so fucking badly baby…”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, teeth grazing his neck as your own shivers run through you, the aftershock almost as good as the orgasm itself. “Then come for me… please… I want it… I want all of you…” you whisper, teeth digging against his ear. 

The words hit him like a spark, and his release comes with a guttural, choked groan, trembling against you. He shudders violently, thrusting deep, spilling inside you in a hot, relentless wave, every inch of him captured and claimed in your body. His teeth graze your ear, lips pressing hard against your jaw as he whispers, hoarse and broken. 

“I don't deserve you… but I need you…I need you so much.”

Your fingers thread into his hair as he presses every ounce of himself into you, lingering, refusing to let the moment end. Even after he’s spent, the heat between you is magnetic. He rolls to press his forehead to yours, eyes dark and his voice still raw.  “I’m yours Y/N… I’m so fucking yours… and I swear, I’ll never leave you guessing again. Never.”

You smile, breathless, chest still trembling, heart hammering against his. “Okay,” you whisper. “Just stay here with me.”

You lie together, bodies slick and tangled, sheets twisted around your legs, the storm outside drumming against the cabin walls. Sam’s chest rises and falls heavily against yours, every exhale hot and ragged, his hand still resting possessively on your hip, thumb brushing in lazy circles over your bare skin. 

“I’m a fucking moron for…you know, everything… for making you wait… for making this—” He gestures vaguely between your bodies,“…all feel like some… some game.”

“It wasn’t a game,” you breathe, tilting your head so he can kiss you gently, just lips this time, lingering, and soft. “I wanted this. I wanted you. I wanted us.”

His hands tighten around your waist, fingers digging in lightly, possessive but tender. “I know… and I wanted you too. Fuck, I wanted you the whole time.” He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, letting his breath mingle with yours. “I’m sorry for all the times I fucked it up. For all the times I acted like… like I didn’t care. I did. I care. I always did.”

You nuzzle against him, letting a shiver run through you. “I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I just… I wanted to hear it. All of it. I wanted you to say it without holding back.”

He smiles softly, lips brushing your temple. “I can do that. No more pretending. No more hiding… just you and me.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself melt into him, chest to chest, the storm outside still lashing against the cabin walls. “I’m scared,” you admit quietly, voice almost lost in the rain. “I don’t want to lose this again… you.”

Sam presses a kiss to your hair, letting it linger. “You won’t. Not this time,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me, baby? Not anywhere.”

You nod against him, lips grazing his collarbone. “I think— I think I love you, Sam,” you whisper, the words raw, fragile, but undeniable.

He catches your gaze, eyes dark and fierce, softening only for you. “I love you too, Y/N… more than I can even put into words.” There’s a long pause as you both take in the moment, an overwhelming draw of something more powerful than attraction suddenly magnetizing itself between you. It feels tangible, like an unnamed and invisible force that surrounds the two of you, ready to protect, and ready to defend you at all costs. A bond finally locked in, the key tossed to the wayside. 

All you’ve ever had to do was voice it. And it manifested.

Finally. Love.  

“Fuck… I’ve waited so long to say that out loud,” he smiles against your cheek, almost shyly. 

“You’ve loved me all along?” you tease with full honesty. 

“All along, baby,” he whispers. 

And there, in the quiet darkness of the cabin, bodies still slick and warm, you press close against each other, letting the rhythm of your heartbeats match. Outside, the storm rages, rain lashing against the windows and wind thrumming through the trees, but inside, the world has narrowed to this bed, to the heat between the two of you. For the first time, you know the confessions weren’t just words, they were the beginning of something real.

The air between you is no longer unsettled. 

The weight of old tensions has melted away, leaving a visceral warmth that flows through every glance and every touch. 

Your playful vitriol, the teasing and the jabs that once sparked frustration, anger, and confusion, has softened into laughter, quiet but bright, echoing even over the storm. 

It’s volatile in the best way, a thrilling energy that makes your chest tighten with happiness and your lips curve into a smile that refuses to fade. 

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room in brief, brilliant bursts, and for the first time in a very long time, everything feels right. 

Everything feels yours.

fin.

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[gretavangroupie]

black sheep - prologue

WARNINGS FOR THIS SERIES: 18+ MINORS DNI - Alcohol, Smoking, Marijuana, Cocaine, Cursing, Dramatic Themes. Smut Including: Kissing, Touching, Making Out, Light Degradation, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Biting, Fingering, Name Calling, Edging, Unprotected Sex, Digital Penetration, Pet Names, Spanking. Angst Including: Mentions of Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Mentions of Violence, Manipulation, Jealousy, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Weapons, Mentions of Death, Physical Fighting, Blood and more...

Another fantastic project written in collaboration with my bestie @gretavanmoon.

Black Sheep Playlist: Apple Music | Spotify

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Date: December 29, 2003

Contact: Lila St. James – Insider Media

Phone: [phone]

HEADLINE: SOCIALITE’S LATEST ESCAPADE RAISES EYEBROWS

[NEW YORK CITY, NY] – Sources from Manhattan’s social and financial circles report that a prominent young socialite has once again become the center of attention following a string of late-night outings and activities that some observers describe as questionable at best and reckless at worst. Insiders say the socialite’s behavior in recent weeks appears increasingly impulsive, poorly judged, and far from the decorum traditionally expected of her family’s standing.

According to multiple eyewitnesses, recent appearances at exclusive private parties and high-profile venues have sparked a mixture of fascination and concern among her peers. “It’s the kind of conduct that makes people whisper,” said one anonymous source. “Her charm and connections are undeniable, but there’s no denying that her choices have left some wondering whether glamour alone can cover repeated lapses in judgment.”

While the socialite has not publicly addressed the mounting speculation, those close to the family reportedly worry about potential repercussions. Not only for her own reputation but for the carefully curated image of her household. Observers note that the combination of secrecy, indulgence, and apparent disregard for consequences has already generated considerable chatter within Manhattan’s elite social circles.

In a particularly dramatic incident, the socialite was reportedly seen leaving a penthouse in the Upper East Side late last night, just hours before a heated altercation at The Penrose Bar, according to sources. Though the details remain unconfirmed, the event has only added fuel to the speculation surrounding her recent behavior.

As the story continues to develop, social and business insiders alike are closely monitoring the situation. The public is left to question: How long can appearances mask behavior that insiders describe as reckless, indulgent, and potentially damaging? And what impact will these repeated controversies have on the socialite’s standing among New York’s elite?

[Photo Caption: “Y/N leaving an exclusive Upper East Side Penthouse last night — reportedly hours before an altercation at The Penrose Bar.”] [Photo Credit: X19 Online]

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[gretavangroupie]

Unsettled - II - Vitriol

A week at the lake was supposed to heal old wounds, but it only ripped them deeper. Y/N thought she’d left her feelings for Sam buried long ago, but jealousy, fear, and one impulsive confession threaten to unravel everything she’s tried to protect. As tensions rise beneath the summer sun, every truth they’ve avoided comes crashing to the surface… and someone’s heart won’t make it out unbroken.

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 15.7k

Warnings: Angst: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking, Dramatic Themes, Arguing, Lying, Blood, Mention of Cheating, Mention of Manipulation and Mental Anguish, Crying.  Smut: Kissing, Touching, Yearning, Oral Sex, Digital Penetration, Dirty Talk.  

A/N: Hello lovelies! Welcome back for part 2 of this mini series! I know it’s been a while since we’ve posted, and we are so sorry for disappearing like that. Again. Life got a little hectic for us both, but the good news is we’re back and completely reinvigorated after seeing Mirador in Nashville. Honestly, that trip sparked so much inspiration, and we can’t wait to finally share some of it with you. Thanks so much for your patience and support — it means the world to us! - N + J

Girlfriend.

The words hit like a punch beneath the ribs.

Your breath snags. Your fingers curl in your sleeves. You feel the floor tilt, the air thinning to almost nothing.

Instinct tells you to look at Sam. To search his face for denial, for an apology, for anything that doesn’t confirm this is real. But you won’t give him that. Not now.

You keep your gaze locked on her instead, rigid and unblinking, like if you don’t acknowledge him, none of this can touch you.

Her hand remains extended between you, waiting.

Your lungs burn. Your knees wobble. You are one second, one blink, from breaking.

And for a terrifying, airless moment, you think you might shatter right there.

But you don't.

“Hi, I’m– Y/N, obviously,” you smile, completely struck and blindsided by what you’ve just walked in on. “Nice to meet you…” Your voice isn’t your own, and you know that everyone knows that. 

Suddenly, a full mug with a dash of creamer is placed in front of you, ripping your eyes away from this drop dead gorgeous woman introducing herself to you and back to Quinn, sporting a strong ‘I know ha ha ha’ look that you will be revisiting with her later. 

You haven’t dared look Sam’s way, yet. No way. 

“So anyway,” Natalia rejoins the group conversation. “I was thinking kayaks today? Over to the island? Sammybaby had me stop to get stuff for sandwiches so… maybe lunch there, too?”

If it weren’t for the pure blissful taste of coffee hitting your tongue, you may have laughed out loud. 

Sammybaby?

For the love of god…

The table was silent for a few beats until you hear the sound of Skyler and Jake waltzing into the room from upstairs. 

“Did someone say kayaks?” Jake says as they join you. “Sounds like a plan to me… Hey Natalia.”

“Morning, Jake. Good to see you again!” Natalia responds, almost too cheerfully.

Jake introduces her to Skyler and you sit awkwardly, a few small conversations popping up around you as everyone talks about the day ahead. The room feels like it's closing in, the conversations blurring together as you think about looking at Sam… giving yourself permission for a split second to read his face. 

So you do. And what you find isn’t at all what you’d think a man whose apparent girlfriend has just joined him on vacation. 

His eyes are downshot, his face withdrawn and his arms crossed. His cheeks are pink with hangover, and his mug is balanced lightly on his chin as his fingers mindlessly tap on the handle of it. For a second you feel bad for him. For a second you’re confused. 

Is that what he was trying to tell you last night when he brought up her name on his phone? Is that what he was trying to explain when you shut him down?

Too late now. 

“So, you two didn’t keep us up all night, thanks for that,” Josh says loudly as he angles his mug toward Jake and Skyler. “Figured I’d have to break out my ear plugs.”

“Ahh, well, that’s surprising,” Jake says, his morning voice still very hollow. “Neither of us slept a wink.”

Josh laughs and claps one time as he readjusts in his chair. “These beds are incredibly squeaky, three cheers for you two on figuring out how to make accomplishments quietly.”

Skyler pulls her robe tightly across her chest, grinning into her mug. “It’s called a private bathroom, Joshua. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, well, in that case!” Josh goes on, his eyebrows bouncing. “Quinn, my darling, we have a new game plan for tonight.” 

“Can you two shut the hell up?” Quinn giggles, lightly hitting Josh across the shoulder. “I heard we’re heading out to the island today?”

“Yes! That’s the thought! If everyone is cool with it?” Natalia goes on, already clad in her very skimpy bikini and cover-up. “I don’t want to impede on your plans, if you already had them though!”

“No no, we’re good,” Josh says, standing to take his mug to the sink. “Sounds great to us, yeah guys?”

He earns a collective agreement from everyone around the table, and so it seems the plan is made. Much to your disappointment, though… you haven’t even had two seconds to debrief on anything with Quinn and Skyler, and haven’t had one second to ask who in the fuck was going to tell you Sam’s girlfriend was coming. 

Or did they even know?

—

“She’s hot. She’s hot, isn’t she?” Quinn whispers as the three of you gather in Quinn’s bathroom, quick-shaving and changing into your swimsuits. 

“Yeah, she’s hot. I was like, ‘Dang, okay, Sam’!” Skyler agrees, turning her back to you as she hands you her straps to tie behind her. 

“I wish we would have known she was coming, though… I’m sorry, Y/N,” Quinn adds. 

“So you didn’t know?” you bark, maybe a little too harshly. 

“No, we had no clue. She just pulled up outside this morning, Sam rushed out there to meet her. Kinda strange, but ok. She seems really sweet, though…”

Your stomach churns with a horrible bout of feelings… ones that feel like the dread of a hundred final exams, a thousand OBGYN appointments… and a million blind dates. Ugh. 

“What’s the matter, Y/N? You’re being so quiet, and you didn’t eat the bagel I made you this morning,” Skyler pouts. “You okay?”

“Yeah yeah, m’fine,” you lie, “just trying to figure out where the hell I’m going to sleep, tonight.”

“Fuck,” skyler whispers. “I didn’t think of that.”

Quinn sighs. “I’m sure they can just like… share his twin bed.”

Your eyes cut to her with the rage of a million scorned. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I–I don’t know, shit!” her hands flail. “But I do know that Sam won’t put you out of a bed you’ve already slept in…”

“Oh, you’d be fucking surprised,” you blurt coldly, on accident, really. 

“What? Why?” Skyler adds, still whispering. “Actually, speaking of, what the fuck was that in the hot tub last night? I mean I was pretty drunk, but the vibes were weird. Especially when Sam reacted so strangely to my never-have-I-ever then peaced out for the night.”

You take a quick gasp of air, half-tempted to let literally everything out, right then and there. Your body and mind are physically exhausted from keeping these secrets in, and after last night, you feel even more tired. 

“Where did you get that question from, anyway?” you press instead. 

“Nowhere, just came to me. And Sam looked playfully vulnerable so I directed it to him to get on his nerves. I guess it worked, even though I think he’s pissed at me now,” Skyler explains. 

You knew it was just a coincidence. A coincidence that unfortunately opened a whole can of worms. 

“Hm,” you answer, finishing up Skyler’s tie on her bathing suit. “I think Sam is pissed at everyone, if I’m being honest.”

“Maybe so,” Quinn says. “But you still haven’t told us what’s wrong.”

They both stand in front of you now as you stay seated on the closed toilet seat, their arms crossed as they both deny letting you up until you talk. 

“...And you still haven’t helped me figure out where I’m going to sleep tonight,” you reply. 

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Skyler shakes her head.

“If you think I’m going to sleep next to Sammybaby and his literal 11/10 while they cuddle and snuggle and spoon and probably fuck in the bed next to me, you’re on drugs,” you bite, challenging them both. 

“Ugh,” Quinn moans, rolling her eyes at you. “Do you truly think Sam would do that to you? Come on…”

“To spite me? Yes. Yes I truly think he would,” you declare.

Skyler cocks her head. “Spite you? Why would he need to spite you?”

Fuck. Too much. Reel it in. 

“Nothing, no reason. It’s a long story.”

“A long story that we have plenty of time to discuss while the guys pack the coolers… spill, what the fuck is going on, Y/N?” Quinn presses. 

You stand, forcing them to back away. “I told you, it’s nothing! I told you that back in the day before you two were even around, things could get really heated between him and I. We just… we’d fight. A lot. Even though we love each other…”

Goddamnit, Y/N. Not that word. 

“Were the fights that bad? That you both have this same volatile relationship still yet?”

You close your eyes, trying to calm your already racing heartbeat, full of adrenaline, full of still-lingering anger. “Yeah, yeah. They were pretty bad, uh. Heartbreaking, actually. Listen, I don’t want you to worry, okay? We’re good, I’m good. It was… a long time ago. And we’re on vacation, and we’re here to have fun, yeah?”

Your two best friends in the entire universe stand before you, reading your every move on their own, watching your body language and slowly, slowly, figuring out that there is something that you’re holding back. You know they’re suspicious, they know you too well to think otherwise. 

“Y/N, did you guys…”

Skyler’s voice is almost a whisper as she squints her eyes at you, then to Quinn, then slowly back to you. 

You swallow hard. “Did we what?”

Here you are, fully prepared to lie to your best friends. Again. Because that’s apparently all you fucking know how to do, when it comes to Sam.

But they both stay silent, both of their eyes slits and their bodies stiff with suspicion. You can tell their wheels are turning. 

“No. No, there’s no way…” Skyler finally raises her hands. “You’d never go for someone like him. No way in hell, hahaha!”

“Right,” you nod, feeling the weight literally lift from your shoulders. 

“He’s the complete opposite of you, and everything that you’re not attracted to…” she adds. 

“Yeah, no…” Quinn agrees as the three of you finally go to make your way out of the bathroom. “No way on earth. Sam’s too closed off, too cheeky in a bad way. Love him to death, but you tend to go for guys who are a little bit more mysterious, a little bit more gentlemanly. Knight in shining armor type with a smidge of goofball and supernerd.”

“God, Quinn, you just described Jake…” Skyler laughs as you grab your bag from her bed, even more unwilling to open up that can of worms.

—

The morning air has the sleepy stillness that lingers right before the sun burns through the mist. The water is glass flat, a sheet of blue light, and somewhere behind you the twins are arguing about kayaks while Skyler and Quinn sort out a cooler full of beers and snacks. 

“Alright,” Jake calls, holding up a paddle. “Josh, you and Quinn are in the red kayak, Skyler and I will take the smaller two-man, and Sam, Natalia and Y/N, you’re in the three man kayak.”

Perfect.

Your stomach drops. Out of all the possible combinations, it had to be this one. 

“Three-man kayak, my favorite,” you groan, forcing a smile when Natalia beams at you, adjusting her sunglasses. 

Sam gives a half shrug like he didn't plan it, though you catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of his lips as he pushes the kayak toward the shallow water. You climb in first, taking the front seat. If you’re gonna be trapped with them, you'd at least rather not have to watch it. 

Behind you, the kayak rocks as Sam settles into the back seat, his long legs bracketing either side of the two of you. Natalia plops into the middle, full of perfume and mindless chatter. 

“Oh my god, this sun is perfect,” she gushes. “You think I’ll tan or just burn? I swear if one mosquito even looks at me–”

You dig your paddle into the water, hard. Anything to move forward. Anything to drown out the sound of her voice. 

For a while, it’s almost peaceful, until the giggling starts. Wet kisses. The soft slap of hands on skin. Natalia's breathy little noises right behind your shoulder. 

You grit your teeth. Keep paddling. Pretend you don't hear it. 

“Hey girlie,” Natalia sings, reaching over your shoulder with her phone. “Would you mind taking a photo of us?”

You glance back, nearly clipping your paddle on the side of the kayak. “Sure,” you say, flatly. “Smile.”

Natalia presses herself against him, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Sam’s hands stay firmly on his paddle. His expression doesn't change, a look of boredom, half embarrassment, and nerves. 

“Cute,” she chirps, “Can you check them? Make sure I look good?”

You scroll through them quickly. She looks flawless, of course. He looks miserable. Something in your chest twists before you shove it down. None of your business.

From across the water, Jake’s voice carries. “We’re almost there. It’s that one right there!” he says, pointing out the small shady island of trees. 

Sam exhales hard through his nose, the sound sharp over the water. You match the rhythm he is setting with his paddle, automatically. Natalia, predictably, doesn't paddle at all. She's too busy uploading her photos and trying to get cell signal. 

By the time the kayak grinds against sand, your arms ache. Sam is the first one out, dragging the kayak halfway onto shore before offering his hand to Natalia. She giggles and takes it, nearly stumbling into him. He steadies her automatically, then looks past her, straight at you. His mouth opens like he might say something, but he doesn’t. He just turns away.

The absence of that simple gesture, helping you out, lands heavier than you expect. And Josh notices. 

“Brother,” he laughs, wading over to offer you his hand instead. “You gonna leave her stranded?”

Sam’s shoulders tighten. He doesn’t turn around.

You plaster on a smile, taking Josh’s hand as you climb out. “Thanks. Guess I’m invisible today.”

“His loss,” Josh says easily, dragging the kayak further up the beach.

You glance back once. Sam’s already at the tree line, cracking open a beer, gaze fixed somewhere you’re not.

“God,” you mutter. “I need a drink.”

Skyler waves you over to the blanket where the girls are unloading food. You collapse beside them, stealing a can of beer from the cooler.

“How was that?” Quinn asks, smirking. “You looked like you were paddling for your life out there.”

“Awkward,” you admit, popping the tab. “Like… secondhand embarrassment awkward. I thought about just rolling off the side halfway through.”

Natalia laughs from a few feet away, showing Jake her phone. You take a long sip of beer to avoid rolling your eyes again.

Skyler tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “Why do you care so much?”

You shrug, forcing nonchalance. “Because I was the only damn one paddling. They were too busy taking selfies.”

But even as they laugh it off, your gaze drifts back toward the edge of the trees. Sam’s still there, smoke curling from the joint between his fingers. The same look on his face as before. Somewhere between anger and longing and something that looks an awful lot like regret.

You look away first. You always do.

—

The sunlight has shifted, bright and direct now, bouncing off the water so hard it almost hurts to look at. Everyone’s half drunk and half sunk into the lull of the afternoon. Jake and Skyler are sprawled in the sand arguing about music. Natalia’s wrapped around Sam like a vine, her fingers idly tracing circles on his arm.

You pick at the corner of your sandwich, your appetite gone.

Josh finally collapses onto the blanket beside you with a groan. “I swear, she’s gonna give herself heatstroke if she doesn’t let him breathe.”

“Mm,” you hum, not looking up.

He grins, handing you another beer. “Here. Doctor’s orders.”

You take it, pop the tab, and take a long drink before asking, as casually as you can manage, “How’d they even meet?”

Josh looks at you, half surprised by the question. “Sam and Natalia?”

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Just wondering.”

He leans back on his elbows. “I think it was last winter, right after tour. He’d gone home for a bit, kinda keeping to himself, and then one night he showed up at this charity show she was playing at. Local thing. Acoustic set. Said she sounded like a summer breeze.”

You laugh, but it comes out brittle. “That sounds like something he’d say.”

Josh nods. “He tracked her down after the show. Found her at some café the next morning, brought her flowers. Which, if you know Sam, was, like, wildly out of character. The rest is history, I guess.”

“Flowers,” you repeat softly, eyes fixed on the sand.

Josh chuckles. “Yeah. Big, obnoxious ones too. Pink peonies or something. He called me after, all proud of himself, like…like he’d just invented romance.”

You smile like it’s funny. You even manage to laugh, a small polite sound that makes Josh relax again. But inside, something splits.

Flowers.He bought her flowers.

You think back, of all the times he came to you empty handed, smelling like whiskey and sweat, words dripping out like apologies he never finished. No gestures. No grand moments. Just stolen ones.

And now, he’s out here doing the things he said he didn’t believe in.

Josh must see something in your face, because his tone softens. “Hey. You okay?”

You blink, force the smile back. “Yeah. Just a lot of sun.”

He doesn’t push, but his eyes linger on you a second longer than they should. You stand, brushing sand from your bikini bottoms “Gonna take a walk. Cool off.”

Josh nods slowly. “Don’t get lost.”

“I won’t.”

You grab your half empty beer and head toward the trees, the sound of their laughter fading behind you.

—

The trail is narrow and mostly shaded, pine needles soft underfoot. The air smells sharp, like sap and lake water and leaves. Every few steps you can still hear them faintly through the trees, the tinny sound of music, Natalia’s laugh cutting through like something metallic.

You sip from the can and let your thoughts go where they want.

Flowers. A summer breeze.

He’d never said anything like that to you. He’d said other things…filthy, beautiful, terrible things, but not that.

You’d been the secret, the chaos, the thing he couldn’t name out loud. And she… isn’t.

You kick at a rock, watch it tumble down toward the waterline. “Pathetic,” you mutter to yourself.

But it still stings. The idea that he could just slot someone else into the place you once held…that he could rewrite himself into the man you’d wanted him to be, only for someone else.

The trail opens out into a little clearing at the edge of the lake. You stop there, watching sunlight glitter across the surface. 

You crouch, dipping your fingers in the water. It’s cold, shockingly so, and for a second you consider diving in. Just disappearing under until the noise in your head goes quiet.

He bought her flowers.

You breathe in deep, fighting the ache rising behind your ribs. You hate that it hurts this much, hate that it still matters. He’s allowed to move on. You’re supposed to have moved on too. But logic doesn’t touch what’s sitting in your chest.

You sit there for a while, just listening to the water, to the breeze, to your own heartbeat refusing to slow down. And eventually, you hear footsteps crunching through the brush behind you.

You don’t turn. You don't have to. You already know who it is. He’s always walked like that. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Sam says after a beat. His voice is rough from the sun, or maybe from silence.

You swirl your fingers in the lake water. “You didn’t. Just… thinking. Needed to cool off.”

He moves closer until his shadow falls beside yours. “You got quiet back there.”

You shrug. “It’s hot. Everyone’s loud. I needed air.”

Sam hums, not buying it. “You always say that when you’re about to cry.”

That makes you turn. “I’m not crying.”

He studies your face, eyes narrowed against the sun. “No. But you want to.”

You laugh under your breath, almost a scoff. “Wow. Thanks, therapist Sam.”

He doesn’t smile. “I know you asked Josh about me and Natalia.”

“So?” you deflect, looking back at the water. “I was just making small talk.”

He snorts. “You don’t do small talk. Never have.”

You keep your eyes on the lake, the reflection of light breaking against ripples. “Guess people change, Sam.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But you still chew the inside of your cheek when you’re lying.”

The words hang there, soft but cutting. You taste blood and stop. “You noticed that?”

“Always did.” He drops down to sit beside you, elbows on his knees. “You think I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours? Because I do.”

You stay silent, the ache pressing behind your ribs. “You look happy,” you finally say. “That’s all.”

He glances sideways at you. “I look trapped.”

“Same difference.”

He exhales through his nose, shakes his head. “You think I did all of that for her because I wanted to? I–I was trying to prove I could be better than what I was with you.”

That knocks the breath out of you more than you’d like. You don’t answer, instead just twisting the beer can between your fingers.

“I told myself that if I did the normal things– dinners, concerts, flowers, it would stick. That maybe if I did everything I didn’t do with you, I could forget you. That I could move on.”

You swallow hard, eyes stinging with tears. “Did it work?”

He laughs once, quiet and empty. “Take a wild guess.”

You want to stay angry, but something about the way he says it softens you. He looks exhausted, sunburnt, and a little lost. His eyes flick down to your hands, still shaking slightly. “You’re mad.”

“Of course I’m mad,” you whisper. “You made me think I imagined everything between us. And then I watched you turn around and become the man I wanted you to be…for her.”

He moves closer until the space between you is charged, almost humming. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what did?” you ask, voice breaking. “Because it sure feels like it.”

He hesitates, jaw tight, “I thought if I could rewrite it, I could forget you. But it doesn’t work like that.”

The silence after that stretches tight as a wire. You can smell the salt of his skin, the cedar of his shirt. The world seems to narrow until it’s only the space between you and the sound of the water lapping the shore.

He reaches up, stops just short of touching your face. “You should go back,” he says, but his voice is wrecked.

You tilt your head, meet his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

He lets out a rough breath. “No. I don’t.”

Your pulse stutters. For a second neither of you moves. Then his fingers brush a stray hair from your cheek, the touch light, reverent  and dangerous. Your breath catches. You can feel every heartbeat between you, all the things you could say, all the things you shouldn’t.

He leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, but he stops there, tension trembling in the space he leaves.

You whisper, “This is a bad idea.”

He smiles, small and sad. “Every good thing between us was.”

For a moment it feels like gravity will win, like you’ll close the distance just to stop the ache in your chest, but you pull back first, breaking the spell. The air rushes in between you again, cool and sharp.

You murmur, “We should go,” and this time he nods.

The silence that follows isn’t comfortable, but it’s honest. Wind stirs through the pines, the water bumps softly against the shore. You can feel him looking at you again, but this time he doesn’t reach for you. He just lets the air sit between you, heavy with everything that can’t be said.

Finally, you stand, brushing sand from your hands. He nods slowly, stands too. 

You start walking toward the trees. After a few steps, you hear him behind you. “Y/N—”

You stop but don’t turn.

He hesitates, then says, “For what it’s worth… I’m not okay either.”

You nod once, still facing the trees. “I know.”

—

Jake’s eyes are the first to meet yours as you walk back into the clearing, Sam’s heavy footsteps still twenty or so paces behind you. He lets them linger, and it sends a different kind of shockwave through you, one that’s tinged with a memory buried so deeply away that you aren’t sure if it is a memory, at all. It’s more a reminder, maybe, that even though time has passed, erasing the past is one thing that neither of you have the power to do.

It temporarily makes you forget everything that had just happened with Sam. The way you felt his breath on your lips. His fingertips on your face. The heat of his skin so close you almost lost all control. 

But just temporarily. 

Jake’s really good at being suspicious. 

“Where did you sneak off to?” You hear Natalia’s voice rip through the otherwise serene sounds of the lake, bringing you back to some semblance of reality. The tears that were still sitting at the edges of your eyes quickly dry up. 

Her hand is immediately balanced on the center of Sam’s chest, her half-drunken body leaning hard into him. You can hardly make out his response, low and muffled, but you do understand the words ‘she’ and ‘smoke’.

Right. Good lie. 

Her high-pitched voice still echoes weirdly off the trees and rocks surrounding you, grating on your nerves. 

He bought her flowers. 

You roll your eyes as you turn to envelop yourself with whatever conversation Quinn and Skyler are going on about, desperate for any kind of distraction. Your chest is still tight with nerves, your stomach churning with remnant adrenaline. 

“Catch a good high?” Quinn asks, popping a Dorito into her mouth as her eyebrows fly up. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I did. Haven’t smoked in a while, actually. Kind of hitting me already.”

“Explains why your eyes are bloodshot and teary…” Skyler says sarcastically. “Definitely not any other reason, right?”

You bite your lips and fully meet her accusatory gaze. “No. No other reason, at all.”

She shrugs. “Whatever you say, babe.”

The three of you change the subject, thank god, and for a few minutes, you manage to let your mind drift back to a place of semi-peace, allowing yourself to push the emotions back down into a sealed box in your chest. Just like you always do. Just like you always have. 

Habitual, practically. 

You listen to Quinn talk about her new job offer, and how her mom is engaged for the fifth time in ten years. You laugh along as Skyler jokes about going fishing later, and how much she wishes she’d have brought a different pair of flip flops. Normal, basic, distracting. 

Distracting, but not enough to make you forget that Sam, the only man you’ve ever really wanted in this world, just opened up to you more than he ever has. After all this time. On the beach of a lake, in the vicinity of his girlfriend. 

“That’s not fucking cute, Sam!” Natalia’s voice suddenly screeches a little too loudly, making the whole group stop and turn toward them. “It’s actually kind of disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“Oh, shit,” Josh murmurs through a half-laugh from a few yards away. 

Sam’s body language tells you everything you need to know. His shoulders stiff, his mouth a straight line. His eyes blank. 

He looks down at Natalia with hardly an emotion on his face before his eyes roam to the rest of you, slightly apologetic as he opens his mouth to speak to her. He’s quiet, though. Patient and slow as he tries to diffuse whatever she just screamed about. You watch his mouth move, but you can’t hear him. 

“I came all the way here, for this? For you to ignore me?” she screeches. And at this point, it’s almost as if she’s speaking this loudly to make a spectacle of herself on purpose. “No. That’s not sitting well with me, Sammy.”

“Yeugh,” Quinn makes a gagging noise a little too quickly. You bite back a laugh, positive that the rest of you are all having the same thought process right now. 

Her voice is still loud, still shrieking at a level that is far too intense to not be on purpose. Her words jumble up, her hands fly around his face, her neck jerks with attitude. Sam’s posture folds, then stands tall again. His mouth moves, his words still privately silent. You have to look away. 

Trapped, he is. 

“I just don’t get why you thought you could just disappear without telling me.. We’re here together! Maybe I wanted to smoke, too!” she goes on, her voice whiny. 

“God, who the fuck cares?” Skyler says under her breath, making you grunt through your nose. 

“But instead you wanted to sneak off with her—“

Your heart sinks. 

“Oh don’t even fucking start with that, Natalia!” Sam raises his voice just a little. “I took her a joint, what’s the big deal?!”

Lie.

As the uncomfortable, argumentative minutes tick, the rest of the group gathers a collective feeling of ‘ok, time to go,’ with quick glances and head nods to one another. None of you is willing to sit here and put up with the nonsense any longer.

You feel like you’re a speck of dust, wanting to crawl into a hole and bury yourself up and never return. 

“Alright, alright… let’s head back! I need a shower and it’s going to start getting dark soon,” Skyler says loudly, interrupting the mayhem that poor Sam has found himself in. You really truly feel bad for him, in the moment. 

Everyone stands and begins busying their hands with packing up, folding blankets and bagging up trash. Your eyes close for just a second as you gather yourself, unknowing yet how to handle the string of events that have decided to play out on this sweet little godforsaken island. 

“God, I need to chug a beer after that show,” Jake says quietly as he reopens the closed cooler in your hands. 

“No doubt,” you reply, slitting your eyes over to see Sam, still yet, helping Natalia back into the kayak. “Are they always like that?”

Jake tightens his neck muscles after sucking the foam off the top of his can. “I dunno. Only met her once or twice, but this is…this is something.”

“Something isn’t the word, man,” Josh adds, his eyes wide as he takes the cooler from your hands. “Sheesh.”

“And we have five more days of it!” Quinn whispers loudly, trying to keep the conversation hush. “So exciting!”

You can’t even find the words. The secondhand embarrassment you’d felt in the kayak on the ride over doesn’t even compare to what the rest of you just endured, and how Natalia is most definitely picking up on things. 

Poor, poor Sam. He’s really managed to get himself into a mess. 

“D’you want me to ride back with them? I don’t mind, I know that shit’s gonna be super awkward for you,” Josh offers.

“No, no, that’s okay… I know Quinn will want you to ride back with her,” you reply. “I’ll be alright, really.”

Josh offers you a quizzical look before an insistent one, nodding as if to say ‘suit yourself’.

Honestly, you really need to show them that you don’t care. You really don’t…

Confidently, you pace over to the kayak, realizing that Sam and Natalia have left the middle seat open for you. You pop open a warm white claw to keep between your legs for the ride home, deciding that you’re going to need it now more than ever. 

“I’ll sit in the front again,” you say blankly, motioning with a paddle. 

“No,” Sam cuts. “I told her she needed to sit up front if she isn’t going to help us paddle. Get us back faster.”

You hesitate, reading his sterned and emotionless face behind his dark sunglasses. Natalia is half oblivious, already back on her phone, anyway. You know she’s got to be seething. 

“Fine,” you say, ignoring Sam’s helping hand to step into the kayak. You wouldn’t touch him even if you wanted to, right now. 

“Jake, push us off?” Sam yells, his voice heavy with aggravation. 

Jake makes his way to the nose, giving it a big push backwards into the water. “Have a great trip,” he smiles, and you know that it makes Sam’s blood boil. 

After a few minutes of harsh paddling and quiet, you place the paddle over your crossed legs and chug the warm drink, letting the bubbles fizzle in your mouth as you endure the heat of not only the blazing sun, but also the tension sitting in front of and behind you. This is so fucking awkward. God, why didn’t you take up Josh’s offer?

“You okay up there?” Sam asks. 

“Yes,” you and Natalia both answer in unison, making you roll your eyes. You quickly pull your sunglasses down over your eyes and pick up the paddle again, ready to get back to the house as soon as humanly possible. 

“Ready, Sam?” you ask, tipping your paddle into the water. 

“Guess I have to be,” he replies, letting a short breath fall from his lips. 

It’s quiet for another few minutes as the island gets smaller and smaller behind you, Natalia still only half-assing her help with the paddling as she switches between holding it and her phone. 

“Sammy, take a shower with me when we get back?” Natalia finally speaks up, surely surprising both you and Sam with her sudden change in tone. 

“Uh, yeah… sure,” Sam replies flatly, with a little bit of question in his demeanor. “As long as it’s ice fucking cold…”

God damnit, Sam. Of course he’d say that.

Your mind quickly flashes back in time, to when you and Sam were in the absolute heat of your “relationship”. It was the heat of summer, around the same time as now. Sam had reserved a campsite on the river, far away from anyone and anything, the perfect place for the two of you to fuck until you couldn’t see straight, without the worry of being caught by anyone. Sickeningly hot sun, too much tequila, and the campground shower house had collectively given the perfect setup for one of the hottest nights of your entire life. 

The whole day had been chock full of buildup– just the two of you, talking, flirting, barely-there touches that sent your skin screaming for more. Stolen kisses and talk so dirty you even surprised yourself. You’d both come there with nothing but a tent, a cooler, and one sleeping bag, fully intending to do what the two of you did best.

The night was a blur, and far after the sun had set, neither of you could take it anymore. “Let’s shower,” he’d suggested, fully aware of the river sand and sunscreen still stuck to your bodies. A rush of hands and feet rushing to the showerhouse in the pitch darkness… hand in hand, sneaky touches every second that he could. 

It was only seconds before the both of you were stripped down to nothing, the blinking overhead lamp of the shower house providing only enough light to see dimness every few seconds. He flicked the shower on and pressed you up against the block wall, his hands immediately on your tits, your neck, your ass… exploring all the places he’d been dreaming about touching all day. 

You remember his mouth on parts of you that he hadn’t explored yet, at the time, making your entire body shudder with a satisfaction that was brand new to both of you. That was the first time he’d made you cum with his mouth, the first time you’d fully let him in. “Turn around,” he’d ordered, using his forceful hands to flip your front around to press against the wall. The shower water was cold as it poured over the two of you, and even after five minutes or so, it showed no signs of warming up. 

“Fuck!” you’d cried as he ran his fingers up through your folds, wasting no time in pressing you forward into the cold block wall, giving himself better access. You leaned forward and arched your back, hands gripped onto nothing as he entered you, the freezing cold stream of water only accentuating the body heat between you. 

It was lewd, messy and loud. The slaps of your bodies together bounced and echoed off the walls and concrete floor… your guttural screams mixed in with his gritted groans probably loud enough for any passerby to hear. It’d only taken you seconds to orgasm a second time, even with the setting being less-than comfortable. That’s all it ever was with Sam, hot, wild, and unexpected. Fast and forceful in the best ways- the both of you only using the other to get exactly what you wanted. 

Shivers coated you as you both finished, quickly rinsing off in the icy water and cleaning up as best you could. That night was spent together in that singular sleeping bag, but the shower wasn’t the only place he’d get you off, that night. 

You know for a fact that Sam had mentioned a cold shower for a reason; his memory was just as nostalgic as yours. You know his mind is ticking, too, a replayed slideshow of all the dirty things the two of you used to do together. 

The tension is so thick in this kayak that even a butcher’s knife couldn’t cut it, you’re positive of that. But it isn’t someone’s voice that breaks through it. No, instead, it’s the first few notes of a song playing quietly through the speaker of Sam’s phone. 

The first few notes of a song that was not from his shuffle. 

You’re positive your heart could explode into a thousand pieces had it not been housed by your ribcage, already beating a mile a minute as the song works its way through the air. I Miss You by Blink-182. He’s got to be kidding. 

More flashbacks. Old car rides move through your mind…Sam’s busted car speakers blasting middle school top tens, his hair blowing all around when he refused to close the sunroof. Ice cold glass bottles of Coca Cola in the cup holders between you, a half-eaten bag of Peach-O’s in your lap. Sometimes it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes it wasn’t all screaming and arguments with him. 

Natalia turns and scoffs at his music choice, giving him nothing but a scowl and a harsh flip of her hair over her shoulder. But you know why he did it. He picked it on purpose. 

He misses you?

But, he bought her flowers. 

You turn, slightly, and give Sam the tiniest smile. One that only lasts maybe a half-second, enough to acknowledge that he chose to play one of your favorite songs in the entire world. Enough to let him know you recognize it. Enough to let him know you miss him, too. 

God, this is all so fucked. 

The lyrics hit a little differently, now, as the situation has changed. The words are no longer a fond memory, but a message. At least, you’re letting yourself think it is. 

The song closes out and you hear Sam take a long, cleansing breath, and you feel it land on the back of your neck. Like a soft breeze that holds a million memories, you feel his breath on your skin for the second time today… too close for comfort, yet so, so incredibly far away. 

“I know why you wore that,” you suddenly feel him whisper in your ear. 

“What?” you reply quietly, trying not to react to the feeling of his lips on your ear. 

“That bathing suit, I remember it. You aren’t slick, Y/N,” he goes on, staying as quiet as possible as the next song takes up most of the sound. 

You think back, trying to think of all the times you’ve worn this; you’ve had it for nearly a decade. 

“It was the first time I ever saw you without…more clothes on. Showed up to Joel Jackson’s 21st birthday pool party in it… I was too young to tell you then, but fuck. You looked so damn good. The first time you really caught my eye, the visual of you singed into my brain for months. I was praying you’d ask me to be your partner playing chicken in the pool, but you didn’t.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the memory, and the way you hardly even remember him being at that party, at all. Still yet, though, his mouth stays close to your ear, his lips brushing into your hair as he lightly breathes you in. You feel his finger reach up under the bikini tie across your back, slowly snaking its way all the way across it, ending it with a harsh snap. “‘M not sure what I would have done with your legs wrapped around my neck back then, anyway.”

“Shh,” you bite at him quickly, unable to really form much of any other string of words. But you feel the corner of your mouth pull up into a smirk, completely into the way his dirty mind will always bring you right back where he wants you. Every single fucking time. 

It’s almost too much. It almost makes you want to scream out in anger, in exasperated rage at the whole thing… turn around and kiss him and say fuck it all, you had him once and you want him again. 

But you know you can’t. You have to paddle.

But then you feel his hand, hot and tense, land on your arm. He grips it for only a second with a couple tiny squeezes before letting it go, resuming his own paddling. A chill flies down your body. You can’t help it. But to be completely honest, you hope he sees your goosebumps. 

Not another word has been spoken the entire ride, everyone’s minds likely unable to be settled enough to make small talk, anyway. Ridiculous. 

Not only has Sam managed to piss you off, but he’s also managed to get you hot and fucking bothered just by talking about your legs around his neck. God, no. No no. Nope. Too many memories locked away safely to fall into that trap right now.   

Finally, you reach the beach of your spot, so ready and willing to run away as soon as your feet hit the sand that you can hardly stand it. The others are already yelping and hollering and stumbling, excited to see what the rest of the night has to hold. You feel envious of them, as you’d just endured an emotional rollercoaster to get back here without a murder happening. 

“Crab legs and shrimp in one hour!” Jake yells as everyone begins piling out. “I expect a large conflagration to be ablaze when I’m done!”

“Seafood? At a lake house?” Natalia spits as your boat finally comes to a stop. “Count me out.”

“Why?” Sam says from behind you, already standing and walking back up onto the grass. “Jake makes an excellent—“

“Because I’m allergic, Sam! Didn’t you know that?!” she boasts, struggling to get herself together enough to get out of the boat. “God, I swear you don’t listen to a word I ever say! Ever! Sometimes it’s like I’m talking to a fucking child!” 

Your feet are already in the water and you try steadying the boat for her, but her hands are too full to balance herself. 

“Come on, Sam, you not going to help your girlfriend get out of the kayak?” Josh offers his help yet again, taking the things from her hands so she can stand. 

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Sam yells, his fists bunched at his sides. “She is not.”

Everyone stops. Dead in their tracks. 

Eyes wide, mouths agape. No one knows what to say. 

Sam huffs, running his hand through his hair as he takes off, stomping his way through the yard. He forcefully picks up a cooler that Jake had left behind and rushes to the house, leaving the rest of you there to stand in a drowning pool of awkwardness. 

“Here, let me help you,” you say gently, holding your hand out to help Natalia to her feet. 

“Nah sis, don’t need your help,” she says, finally making her way out into the water without fail. Alright then, that was a bitch move.  “Apparently I’m not as welcome here as I thought I was.”

“Woah, you don't have to be so rude to him,” Skyler says. “Kinda of uncalled for.”

“Uncalled for?” Natalia rages, picking up the things she’d thrown from the boat onto the grass before getting out. “Uncalled for?! Just like it was uncalled for for him to invite me out here without telling you guys I was coming, uncalled for for him to basically ignore me all day, and definitely uncalled for for him to sneak off into the words with her.”

You step back. “Whoa whoa, that’s not—“

“Natalia, he told us you invited yourself…” Josh intervenes. “Not the other way around…”

“And you think that’s true?!”

Everyone stands still, really unable to move. 

“Yeah, I do. He’s uh…my brother. Sorry, I’m gonna believe him first.”

“Ugh, I’m so not doing this,” she huffs, stomping and pushing her way between all of you to follow behind Sam. 

You, Quinn, Josh and Skyler stand in utter surprise, looking around at one another with hands over your mouths. Josh trying not to laugh, but you, honestly trying not to cry. Or scream. Or maybe laugh…

“Welp!” Josh claps his hands. “Chef wants a fire, so a fire he shall get. Quinn, my love, a lighter?”

You stand there in the damp heat, the water lapping against the wooden dock, Jake’s laughter fading somewhere up the path, and all that’s left is the echo of Natalia’s footsteps stomping toward the house.

Josh mutters, “Christ,” under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Skyler’s still half-smiling from disbelief, and Quinn’s eyes dart between you and the retreating Natalia.

You can feel Sam’s energy even though he’s yards away, burning, embarrassed, and angry. He’s pacing at the edge of the grass, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other still clenched. When he looks up, it’s toward you. Not at you. Just in your direction, like he wants to say something but can’t risk the air catching fire again.

You decide you won’t be the one to break it. You never are.

“I’m gonna shower,” you say to no one in particular, though Josh’s brow furrows like he wants to stop you.

“Y/N—”

“I’ll be fine,” you cut softly. “Don’t worry.”

And you are, at least in theory. Fine. That’s what you tell yourself as you walk up the hill, sand biting between your toes, heart hammering harder than it should.

The house is quiet when you slip inside. You can hear the echo of Natalia’s voice somewhere upstairs, muffled and sharp, spewing something about “respect” and “humiliation.” You move faster, not wanting to hear another word.

The guest bathroom mirror catches your reflection. Lake hair, flushed skin, faint streaks of sun across your chest. The shower hisses to life. Cold first, then warm, then hot enough to sting. You step in and let the water slide over your shoulders, washing away the lake and something a little heavier. The words you didn’t say, and the way Sam looked at you when he denied her just now.

You should feel vindicated. You should feel something like relief. Instead, there’s only a hollow ache low in your stomach, and a heat that won’t fade no matter how high you turn the faucet.

Your mind betrays you easily, looping back through every look, every ghost of a touch from the day. His breath. The song. The whispering. The snap of your bikini strap.

You press your palms to the tile and breathe. You tell yourself it’s just the past haunting you. But the truth is simpler and worse. It’s not the past at all. It’s him. It’s always him.

The sound of laughter drifts faintly through the bathroom window. Jake and Josh are still outside, voices light with the the clatter of beer bottles. You try to focus on that. Something normal. Something grounding.

You finish rinsing off, wrap yourself in a towel, and stare at the clothes you’d laid out before you left for the lake. Loose shorts, a soft tank top, and that light cardigan you always bring on trips. Comfortable. Effortless. Harmless. You tell yourself you’re dressing for dinner, not for him. You tell yourself you’re not waiting for him to look at you.

But you tell yourself a lot of things.

—

When you finally step back outside, the sun has sunk lower, casting a honey glow over the trees. Jake’s at the grill with a beer in hand, arguing with Josh about seasoning. The girls have pulled chairs into a circle near the fire pit. It should feel easy again, normal, but even from here, you can feel the undercurrent.

“Hey, you,” Josh calls softly when he sees you. He’s lounging near the cooler, sleeves pushed up, a beer sweating in his hand. “You doing okay?”

You nod. Too quickly. “Yeah. Just needed a little reset.”

His eyes narrow, not buying it for a second. “You sure? You look…” He pauses, searching. “You look like you’re thinking too much.”

You laugh quietly. “That’s nothing new.”

He studies you for a moment, then nudges the cooler open with his foot, handing you a drink. “Whatever’s going on, I’ve got you. You know that, right?”

You force a smile. “Yeah. I know. Thanks, Josh.”

But he knows. You can tell from the small sigh that leaves him, from the way his gaze drifts toward the house, where Sam and Natalia’s silhouettes are visible in one of the upstairs windows.

—

The light over the lake turns to amber, and the air thickens with the smell of butter, lemon, and smoke. Jake stands at the grill in his cutoff shirt, salt and heat glowing on his arms, talking to Josh about the “correct ratio of Cajun seasoning to melted butter” like it’s science. The sound of their laughter rises over the soft clatter of tongs against the pan.

You hover near the porch rail, your drink sweating between your palms. The tension in your chest hasn’t gone anywhere, it just hums quieter, hiding beneath the rhythm of everyone else’s chatter.

From the kitchen window, you can see Sam. He’s moving slower than usual, filling a pot with water for the corn, hair damp from his shower. Natalia’s voice snakes through the open window, sharp and bright. Sam, could you not use that pot? I was going to use that one! He doesn’t answer. His jaw flexes once, twice, and then he steps outside carrying the pot anyway.

You shouldn’t notice how the sun touches the wet strands of his hair. You shouldn’t notice how his shirt clings to his shoulders. And yet you do.

Jake calls your name. “You good at cracking crab legs, or am I about to have to give you a crash course?”

You answer with a weak laugh, stepping closer to the table he’s set out by the fire pit. He’s already laid newspaper down, two bowls for shells, a mountain of shrimp grilled to perfection. Everything smells like summer and salt and a little bit of tension.

“Looks incredible,” you tell him.

“Good. Maybe food’ll calm everyone down,” Jake replies, eyes cutting toward the house for just a second.

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t have to.

Dinner begins in that cautious, tip-toed way that groups do when they’re pretending the air isn’t loaded. Natalia sits beside Sam but keeps her attention on her phone, flicking through photos. The others talk about nothing of substance. The lake, the weather, the ridiculous price of gas in the next town over. You nod along, smiling when you should, and sipping too often from your white claw.

Jake’s cooking really is good, which helps. You’re halfway through your plate when he says, “Firewood’s getting low. Anyone want to help me grab a few logs before it gets dark?”

“I’ll come,” you offer immediately, grateful for an excuse to move. Josh lifts an eyebrow, as if to ask if you’re sure, and you flash him a tiny smile.

You follow Jake into the trees, the evening light stretching long shadows across the ground. The forest smells like pine and smoke. Somewhere back near the water, you hear Sam laugh. A short, surprised sound, and it hits you straight in the ribs.

Jake’s already collecting branches, efficient and quiet. “You okay?” he asks without looking up.

You shrug, pretending to adjust your grip on the bundle of sticks in your arms. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I’ve been better.”

He nods once, letting it rest. That’s what you like about Jake. He doesn’t push, just hands you a heavier log so you have something to hold instead of the truth.

When you come back to the clearing, the fire’s catching. Sparks twist upward, tiny galaxies disappearing into dusk. Sam’s crouched beside the pit, poking at the kindling with a stick. Natalia’s gone. Inside, maybe. The sight of him alone by the flames pulls your pulse higher, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t.

He glances up as you drop the wood onto the pile. “Thanks,” he says, voice low, rough from the smoke. For a moment, it’s almost normal. Almost like all the months between haven’t rearranged the two of you into strangers.

“Jake’s the one doing the work,” you answer, brushing your hands off on your shorts.

Sam studies you. “You change your hair or something?”

You blink. “No.”

He nods slowly, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “Looks different. Lighter.”

You hate that your heart trips on the smallest things. You hate that he still remembers how to make you stumble with almost nothing.

Jake clears his throat. “Alright, I’ll go grab the rest of the food. Don’t let this burn down the whole place.”

When he disappears toward the house, silence stretches between you and Sam, filled only by the crackling of wood and the hiss of the lake behind you.

“Rough day,” he says at last.

“Understatement of the year.”

He kicks at the sand with his shoe, then looks at you. Hard, like he’s searching for proof that you’re still angry, or that you still care. “You didn’t have to stay quiet earlier. When she started in on you.”

“I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“It’s already worse,” he says, the words flat, resigned.

You cross your arms. “Then maybe you should fix it.”

“I’m trying,” he mutters, and when he meets your eyes again, there’s something raw there. “I shouldn’t have let her talk about you like that.”

“You also shouldn’t have—nevermind.” You stop yourself. What’s the point? The air’s thick enough with things you can’t say.

He watches you, waiting for you to continue, but you shake your head and look away. The fire crackles louder, filling the gap where your voice should be.

—

By the time everyone gathers again, the night’s fully fallen. The lake’s gone black, the surface reflecting pinpricks of starlight. Jake’s playing music gently from his guitar, something bluesy and slow. The group’s laughter ebbs and flows with the waves of conversation. Natalia’s reappeared, quiet now, drinking a hard cider.

You take a seat on the bench nearest the fire, the warmth licking at your knees. Josh sits beside you, close enough that you can feel his shoulder, solid and calm. He leans toward you. “Still think you’re fine?”

You exhale, watching sparks dance upward. “I’m getting there.”

“Okay,” he says simply, but his tone tells you he doesn’t believe you.

Across the circle, Sam’s staring into the fire, face caught in the orange light. His expression is unreadable, but every few minutes, you catch his gaze flickering toward you, soft, hesitant, and almost guilty. Every single time, you look away first.

Jake passes around another round of drinks, and for a while the conversation smooths out again. Stories from past tours, half-remembered nights in cities that blur together. You laugh when you’re supposed to, and the sound feels foreign in your mouth.

The hours stretch thin. The fire burns lower. One by one, people start peeling away toward their rooms until it’s just you, the coals, and the whisper of crickets. Skyler and Quinn had decided to share a bowl, and you knew from their immediate giggles and relaxed posture that they wouldn’t last much longer, anyway.

You stay because you don’t want to go inside yet. Because somehow the couch feels lonelier than this.

The fire is half-collapsed now, a slow, pulsing heart of orange deep inside the ash. Everyone else has gone. Their laughter has thinned into the walls of the house, muted by screens and showers and doors closing one after another. What’s left is you, the smell of smoke, and the soft hum of the lake.

You pull your knees up to your chest and stare into the embers. The air’s cooler now, sharp enough to sting your skin where the flames can’t reach.

You tell yourself you’ll just stay until the last spark goes out. Like you’re waiting for something to end, though you can’t name what.

The wood hisses, spits, and breaks. You imagine each crack as a sound you’ve swallowed all day. Every unsaid word, every bitten back feeling.

You picture Sam upstairs, probably sitting on the edge of some bed, running his hands through his hair, trying to fix something already too broken to patch. You picture Natalia, pouting in the mirror, replaying every scene with herself as the victim.

And then you picture the look on his face earlier. His jaw tight, his voice low. She’s not my girlfriend. You keep replaying that too, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though it’s the exact kind of thing that keeps you awake at night.

The flames shift, and a wave of heat brushes your knees. You remember the kayak…His whisper, his hand on your arm, the way the world seemed to tilt for just a second like it used to. Like nothing had changed.

But everything has changed. He changed it.

You take another sip of your drink, now warm and flat, and swallow hard. You’re angry with yourself for still feeling it. For still wanting anything from him after the mess he made of you. But want doesn’t care about pride. Want never does.

The night is so quiet you can hear the insects in the grass and the rhythmic push of water against the dock. You can almost convince yourself you’re somewhere else. Some other summer, before the lies, before the silence, before you knew what it meant to lose someone who was never really yours.

You close your eyes and rest your chin on your knees. The fire makes a low pop, sending a single spark floating into the dark. You watch it rise until it’s gone, swallowed by the night.

Maybe this is all that’s left between you and him. A few sparks from something that burned too hot to last.

You should go inside. You should let it die.

But you stay.

You stay until the light fades to nothing, until the air turns cold, until you hear it. The first sharp sound of raised voices down by the dock.

At first, it doesn’t register. Just another argument, another flare of drama you want no part of. But then you hear your name in Natalia’s voice, and Sam’s right after, lower, sharper, too familiar. You freeze, listening. The words carry. You embarrassed me. Stop twisting it. Don’t walk away from me.

You stand slowly, heart knocking against your ribs. When the shouting turns into the sound of hurried footsteps on the dock, you start toward them, intending to step in, to do something before the night collapses completely.

“…don’t talk about her, Sam!” Natalia shouts, her silhouette a jagged outline against the lake. She’s weaving slightly, the rhythm of too many drinks, the kind of motion that spells trouble long before it hits.

Sam’s back is turned to you, shoulders drawn up, hands out like he’s trying to keep her from doing something stupid. You can’t make out his words, only the shape of his frustration in the air between them.

You slow your steps, hands half-raised. “Hey, what’s going on?”

The question barely leaves your mouth before Natalia spins, eyes wild and glassy.

“Of course you’re here,” she spits. Her voice carries across the dock, sharp enough to cut through the night. “Here to finish what you started?”

“What?” The word leaves you flat, confused. “I just—”

But she’s already moving, storming past Sam with a half-sob, half-growl. The dock rattles under her steps as she brushes past you, hard, a full shoulder check that sends you and her stumbling backward.

The world tilts for a second, the air sharp and cold. Then there’s a splash.

Natalia shrieks, the sound slicing through the quiet night, and you watch in shock as she disappears beneath the water. Her limbs flail, sending ripples across the black surface, and Sam lunges forward, hands outstretched.

For a split second, everything stops.

“Jesus Christ!” Sam’s voice cracks open the silence, pure panic. He’s already stripping off his flannel as he dives in.

You don’t think, you just run, cold air slicing through your lungs, toes barely gripping the dock before you leap in after them.

The shock of the water steals your breath. You kick hard, eyes stinging, scanning until you catch movement. A hand, a flash of hair. Sam’s got her under the arms, dragging her up, but she’s coughing, thrashing. You reach for her other arm, helping haul her toward the shallows. Rocks bite at your legs and you can feel the scraping but you don’t care.

When you finally pull her onto the bank, she’s sputtering lake water and swearing. You collapse beside her, gasping, shaking from adrenaline.

“What the hell happened?” you manage between breaths.

She pushes her hair out of her face, glaring up at you. “You—” she coughs hard, spitting water—“you pushed me!”

The accusation hits like a slap. “What? No? Natalia–”

Sam’s voice breaks in, firm, desperate. “Nat. She would never.”

But Natalia’s already screaming again with wild, half-drunk fury. “Seriously, Sam? You’re defending her?! After everything—”

“No, Nat–”

She wipes water from her face with the back of her sleeve, hissing through clenched teeth. “You better watch yourself,” she spits. 

“Enough!” Sam snaps, but it’s too late. The noise has drawn the others. Jake’s running down from the yard, Josh close behind, flashlight cutting across the beach.

By the time they reach you, everyone’s shouting. Questions, confusion, and the smell of wet earth thick around you. Jake crouches, grabbing your arm. “Y/N, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, though your knees burn.

Natalia’s still heaving, eyes blazing. “She pushed me!”

“She didn’t,” Sam says again, quieter this time, exhausted. 

Josh steps between them, voice calm but sharp. “Okay, okay. Enough. It’s late, everyone’s soaked. Let’s just go inside and we can…figure it out in the morning.”

He turns to you. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ll find that rollaway bed for you. Everyone needs space tonight.”

You let him lead you up the path, too tired to argue, too wrung out to even look back. The voices behind you fade into the hum of the night, and you can’t tell which sound is your heartbeat and which is the water.

—

The cabin is quiet now. Your hair sticks to your neck, your clothes damp and cold, and the cut on your knee aches every time you shift. The night air outside has seeped in, carrying the faint smell of smoke and the lingering chill from the lake.

Josh moves quietly around the room, his presence steady and unassuming. He sets up a cot beside the wall, smoothing the blanket before stepping back. When he looks at you, he offers a half-smile…tired, almost apologetic, but comforting. “We’ll fix it, I promise,” he says softly. “Sleep.”

He leaves the room, allowing you to change out of your lake soaked clothes, before you crawl into the small, metallic cot. 

You pull your knees closer to your chest, letting the cot’s thin mattress support your weary body. It’s surprisingly comfortable. The warmth of the cabin is faint, but it feels safer than the night outside, safer than the tension still clinging to the air. Your eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion from the evening’s chaos pressing down like a weight.

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the memory of the dock, Natalia’s shriek and the cold splash of icy water. But the images linger, spinning behind your eyelids. Why does it still hurt so much? I didn’t push her. I didn’t. So why does my chest feel like it’s being twisted?

The shadows cast by the fading firelight stretch across the floorboards, flickering gently with the movement of your shallow breaths. I should sleep. Just sleep. I can’t fix tonight, I can’t fix anything… I just need to survive it.

Slowly, your eyelids grow heavy. Thoughts blur and twist together. Warmth, cold, fear, longing, until they’re nothing but a soft, distant hum beneath the ache in your chest.

And just as sleep is about to claim you, a hand rests lightly on your cheek. It’s gentle enough to startle you and warm enough to make your heart stutter. Sam’s face is close, shadowed in the dim light, his eyes soft and unguarded. He stares at you for a moment before finally speaking. 

“I know you didn’t push her,” he whispers, his voice almost reverent, careful not to startle you.

You blink, swallowing hard. “Then why didn’t you say more? Why didn’t you—”

“Because I was trying not to make it worse than it already was,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing across your cheek in the most tender motion.

“You did anyway,” you whisper, voice barely audible, a tremor threading through your words.

He leans closer, resting his forehead briefly against yours. For a moment, neither of you breathes. The world narrows to the gentle rise and fall of your chests, the quiet intimacy of a touch that speaks louder than words ever could.

And then, softly, he presses his lips to yours. Careful, fleeting, and almost reluctant. Not a kiss of desire, but one of reassurance, apology and unspoken promise. Your eyes flutter closed, holding onto the warmth and the steadiness of him.

When he pulls back, the faintest trace of a sad smile lingers on his lips. “Go back to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning,” he whispers, and this time you listen.

His fingers linger a moment longer, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face, before he quietly pulls back. The door clicks softly behind him as he leaves, and you’re left alone with the deafening silence.

Sleep comes slowly and unevenly. The memory of his hand on your face and the softness of his lips etched sharply into your mind, leaving you ache-filled and yearning even in your quietest, loneliest, and darkest hour.

—

You’re not sure how long you slept. You’re not sure you even really slept, at all. If it weren’t for the residual alcohol forcing your body into some type of REM stage, you’re positive you’d have stayed up all night long. 

But you’re startled awake again by the sound of the door opening. Not carefully, but more so to make sure that whoever opened it, woke you up. And in pour Skyler and Quinn.

“Good morning sunshine,” Quinn whispers as she pads toward the cot, her feet covered in thick socks and hands full with two cups of coffee. Skyler shuts the door and follows behind, skipping every other step to make it over to you faster. 

“What in the ever-loving fuck happened last night?!” Quinn asks as you take the mug, sitting up on the squeaky cot as they take their places on the plush rug on the floor below you. 

You take a deep breath, shaking away the half-sleep from your brain before indulging in a long drink of the steaming coffee. 

“I don’t know, guys. I don’t even know…” you reply, putting a hand to your forehead in hopes that maybe you can just suppress the memory, wipe it clean away instead of having to rehash and relive it all over again. 

“We went to bed fairly late,” Quinn goes on, criss-crossing her legs below her. “Didn’t think there’d be that much drama still.”

“Neither did I,” you laugh half heartedly. “Natalia just…” You bite the words in two, her name feeling like shards of glass in your mouth. “I was the last one sitting by the fire, just watching it die out, really…minding my own business. And all the sudden I hear her and Sam down on the dock, the same gritty voice yelling at him again. Both of them, arguing… It sounded like it was getting kind of heated, to the point where I felt like I needed to intervene just to act as a buffer so they didn’t kill each other. So I did, I went down there just to try and calm them, but she– she went fucking wild, she saw me and spit more insane accusations and tried to push by me. She was already stumbling over her own feet, and then she shoulder checked me, made us both trip. She fell into the water… she was really intoxicated, guys, honestly my stomach fucking sank. Sam jumped right in after her, and so did I… we pulled her up out of the water and we got her onto the beach… She was choking, crying… still spewing her shit even after we’d just saved her ass…”

“Jesus…” Skyler breathes as they both lock into the story.

“Even when we got her safe she was still going on and on, she said that I fucking pushed her off the dock,” you say, your mind already numb to having to relive it all again, relive the look on Sam’s face…

“What?!” they both cry in unison, still trying to stay quiet. “Was she serious?!”

You nod, “Yeah, she was serious. Accused me of shoving her right in.”

“And Sam took up for you, right? He told her that you would never–”

You shrug one shoulder. “He tried, I guess. His efforts didn’t blow me away or anything…” you recollect. “Didn’t have much time to talk about it before Jake and Josh came down and pulled us all back to the house.” For a second, you contemplate telling them that Sam came back into the room, told you he knew that you’d never push her into the water, kissed you…

But you leave it. It’s all too much. 

“God,” Quinn rests back, hugging her legs to her chest. “This is ridiculous. I’m so sorry we missed everything… we shouldn’t have gotten so stoned.”

“S’okay,” you go on. “I was really just enjoying myself, alone, watching the fire die… ‘til the tornado rolled through.”

“Why is she so hell-bent on being so horrid to you?” Skyler asks. “Like where is this jealousy coming from?”

You stay blank, looking them both in the eyes as the same old thoughts swirl around in your mind. 

Natalia’s gut feeling isn’t wrong. And that is the hardest pill to swallow. 

“Maybe I should just go home,” you mutter, swirling the cooling coffee in your hand. “Maybe I should just leave, let them enjoy their time–”

“No the hell you will not!” Skyler bites. “This is your vacation, Y/N, Natalia invited herself without any of our knowledge. You paid the money to be here, you made the plans with us. You’re staying, that’s final. She can fuck all the way off, for all I care.” 

Quinn nods in agreement. 

Your heart wrenches again, watching your best friends defend you so intensely, when in all reality, you’ve still kept them in the dark. Even with everything that has happened, even with all of the drama of the past twelve hours, you still hold on to hope that everything that happened with you and Sam could still stay just a memory. A slice of time locked away in a safe and buried in the deepest part of the ocean.

But with the way things are going, it seems that the universe has other plans. It’s almost unavoidable. 

“Thanks, guys,” you reply solemnly, your entire body heavy with dread of getting out of this bed and facing the day. Facing everyone else… facing Sam. 

“Go take a shower,” Quinn says, standing and taking your hand. “Get yourself back together, and come out here with us. We have no plans for the whole day.”

“Are Sam and her–”

“Still asleep,” Skyler interrupts. “After hearing all of that, I’m sure she’ll sleep half the day away.”

“That’s probably in her best interest,” you say, pulling the covers away from your legs.

—

“Want some whiskey in that?” Jake growls in your ear as you pour yourself another cupful of coffee. 

You chuckle as you turn to him, a look of pure mischief on his face. “It’s 9:30 in the morning, Jacob.”

“And? We’re on vacation, and you jumped into the lake to save a crazy lady from drowning last night. You deserve it,” he goes on, keeping his voice hush. 

“No, she pushed her, remember?” Skyler bites back a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh right, yeah. You pushed the crazy lady into the lake. You need a stiff drink!” Jake says. 

“Ugh, you’re both impossible,” you laugh along with them. “The last thing I need is spiked caffeine, right now. My nerves are fucking shot.”

“About to get a lot worse,” Skyler nods toward the window overlooking the lake, making you all turn to see Natalia walking across the deck with Sam briskly following behind her. 

“Fuck, I thought they were gonna sleep all day,” Josh says as he and Quinn join the room, the five of you suddenly having to quickly prepare yourselves for the tornado, again. 

Not a word is spoken by anyone as she bursts through the door, hands and hair a flying mess as she goes right for the refrigerator. She begins pulling the items that she brought along and stuffing them into a bag, and you notice that the mascara she didn’t wash off last night is strung darkly down her cheeks. 

Josh is the first to break the awkward silence. “Good morning, you two. How did everyone sle—“

“Not a wink, Josh. If I’m being honest!” Sam says a bit too sharply. 

“Oh,” Josh goes on. “Too much adrenaline to wind down after jumping in the lake?”

“You could call it that,” Sam bites, and you can hear the venom in his voice. Natalia is still working loudly stuffing all her things into a plastic bag, making more noise than she should be. 

“You need any help, Natalia?” Quinn asks, and you shoot her a look.

She stands in a huff, brushing her hair from her face before placing her hands on her hips. “No. Nope! I’m good. I’m actually going to do you all a favor and get the hell out of here.”

“What, why? We’ve still got four days…” Josh plays coy. 

“Why? Why? Because it's blatantly obvious that I’m not welcome here, by any of you. I tried to be nice, and help make plans and food and everything but… I think I may have overstayed my welcome. I’m leaving.”

“Nat, you were the one that blew up last night, we were all having a perfectly fine evening until you wanted to take things a step too far,” Sam begins to argue. You can feel the energy in the room instantly switch. 

Natalia steps toward Sam, who is sitting kicked back nonchalantly at the kitchen table. “A step too far? You’re joking, right? And I didn’t blow up, I was far from blowing up, Sam.”

Sam sits forward in his chair, leaning down on his elbows. “Oh, so you screaming in my face all night and then threatening to drive home drunk and me taking your keys and then you rushing down to the fucking lake to get away from me wasn’t blowing up?”

“No,” she says, crossing her arms. “It could have been way worse.” You wonder how the hell that could even be possible.

“You’re so full of shit, Natalia. You told me meeting me was a mistake. That coming here to spend time with my family was a waste of your time. And not to mention that stunt you pulled with Y/N on the dock…”

Natalia storms forward. “She pushed me in the fucking lake, Sam! I don’t know why you can’t get that through your head!”

“No, she fucking didn’t!” Sam stands and yells even louder, charging toward her. 

The rest of you stand dumbfounded, unable to speak or even intervene much out of pure and utter surprise at her ridiculous display. You feel your body stiffening, more and more rage flowing through your veins as she speaks about you like you aren’t even there, standing ten feet from her. Your fists are balled up and tucked into the pocket of your hoodie.

“I was there! I have eyes!” he yells, his hands flying through the air. “You rushed her, pushed past her and fell into the lake. Stop trying to place blame onto her for something that she didn’t fucking do!”

“Oh, so now you’re defending her? Again? Real fucking nice, Sam.”

You can’t help it. You feel the words begin spewing from your mouth. 

“What is with this, Natalia? Why are you so pressed by me being here?! Why are you over here trying to make up lies about what happened last night?” you yell in succession, making her turn to you. 

“Ha, wow. You are cute. Bringing up lies when that’s all you’ve been doing the whole time we’ve been here…!” 

“Nat, just stop,” Sam complains, stepping between the two of you.

“Natalia, what in the hell are you even talking about?” Skyler puts her two cents in, and you can feel the rage beginning to swirl through the air amongst everyone, now. 

Josh steps forward, ever the peacemaker to try and simmer everyone down. “Listen, listen, maybe we should all just take a minu—“

Natalia steps forward again, putting the back of her hand on Sam’s chest to brush past him toward you. “I’m not stupid, and I’m not blind, either, Y/N. So I think the best thing for me to do right now is get out of here before I make any more mistakes.”

It’s silent for a beat as she brushes between you again, going to grab her bag of things from the counter. “Sammy, you can stay or you can go. Just know that if you stay, you can count on never hearing from me again. And you can go ahead and lose my fucking number.” She crosses her arms accusingly over her chest, her cheeks reddened with madness as she kicks her foot out to the side, waiting for Sam’s decision.

Everyone looks to Sam, watching as his mouth curves and opens repeatedly, his head obviously arguing with his heart. “Can’t we just talk—“

“No!” she screams, her eyes darting to you. “I’m not talking about it anymore! I see how you look at her, and how you two snuck away at the island and tried to lie about why you left, and how you’re constantly flirting when you think no one is looking. I’m not going to sit here and watch it any more!”

“Are you serious, Natalia?!” you raise your voice, hand gripping at your chest. “You think I’m jealous of you and  wan—“

“No sweetie, I know you want him! And I know that you’re jealous that I have him! So you can stop with the performance, because you aren’t fooling anyone.”

You feel your voice catch in the back of your throat. It’s bubbling, and your breath is heavy in your chest. You can feel it rising like bile, daring you to let it all go. “I’m not jealous of you, Natalia.”

She charges forward again, her face flushed and her eyes wild. “Oh really?”

“No, you know why? Because I had Sam first! You think you’re over here telling me that I’m jealous when in all reality, you’re the one having my leftovers!” 

Your words hang heavy in the room. Your face, instantly hot with regret. Fuck. Fuck fuck, you just let it fly. You hold your breath, waiting for someone to talk, for someone to move… but nothing happens. 

Natalia finally retreats, her eyes blinking through tears. “Leftovers?” she whispers. 

“Wait… wait wait…” Josh says from behind you, a sudden stirring of heavy sighs and remarks of mad disbelief coming from your friends. 

Your eyes shoot to Sam, who is now plopped back down into the chair, his head in his hands. Shit. 

Suddenly, Skyler and Quinn are in your orbit. You can’t see them, you can just feel them and the aura of some type of rage radiating from them. This is about to get bad. 

“Y/N,” Skyler says meekly, “are you saying you…”

“Yes. Yes she is, okay? God damnit…” Sam stands, his voice loud but defeated. “You’re right, Natalia, okay? We have a past. We have a long and very serious past. And we—we lied to you about it. To all of you…”

“What the fuck?” Jake mumbles from somewhere in the room. 

“You’re joking, right?” Quinn adds. “You? And Sam?”

“I—I…” your mouth tries to move, to connect with your racing mind, but the words escape you. How do you explain this?

“When?” Jake asks, suddenly stepping forward, his eyes downcast and accusatory. Even bigger fuck. 

You’re panicking. “Ah, uh… way over a year ago, it… it wasn’t that involved, we were just—“

“Oh, don’t drag it out even further, Y/N,” Sam groans. “It’s all fucking out in the open, now…” Sam pulls his hair through his fingers, squeezing it hard before he takes a breath. “It was serious. It was very serious. We snuck away any chance we got. We kept it from you, because at the time we didn’t want it to be anything more than just sex…”

“Oooh my god…” Skyler shakes her hands and steps away, and you can feel her and Quinn share a look of disgust. Fuck, they hate you. 

“You guys were sleeping together,” Jake intervenes again, his voice solid and blank, his eyes distant but focused on you. 

You nod, swallowing. 

“Hah, see? I told you I wasn’t crazy,” Natalia bites. “You want her just as badly now, too, don’t you Sam?”

Your chest heaves, the feeling of the weight of the world beginning to tumble. 

Sam huffs. “Natalia, don’t make me answer that…”

She laughs hard. “Wow… sorry I turned your little family trip into a group therapy session!” She keeps laughing, her voice shrill and grating. “Guess it’d be as good a time as ever to tell you that Josh… sweet Joshy babe… I saw you texting someone who wasn’t Quinn two nights ago on the deck. You really don’t do a good job at hiding your phone, honey. Those were some awfully nice photos you were sending to whoever Jackie is…”

Oh. Fuck. 

Everyone’s focus shifts to Josh. “Whoa whoa, now I can explain that…” he chokes. 

“Jackie?” Quinn yells. “That girl we met at the bar that night? You got her number?!”

Josh steps forward, his posture suddenly falls. “Quinn, baby, let me explain. It wasn’t—“

“Oh, don’t even try, Josh. God, I knew I should have trusted my gut that night…” Quinn murmurs, her voice chopped. “You sent her photos?!”

Josh stuffs his hands in his pockets, his jaw clenched, his eyes wide. After ten or so seconds of silence, he nods. “I did.”

Quinn steps away, her hands pressed to her brow as she shakes her head, pacing toward the other room. Josh follows after her, her name falling from his lips as he chases after her. You hear Natalia’s laughter growing again, only finding the whole thing to be deviously hilarious, apparently. 

“You think this is funny, Natalia?!” Skyler steps in. “Your big mouth just blew up four people’s lives and you’re laughing?!” 

“Blew them up?!” Natalia retorts. “Oh honey, I know as well as anybody that this group was a ticking time bomb. All I did was just… light the fuse.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, Natalia,” Sam complains from the table, his head still in his hands. 

“Yeah, well it seems Sam didn’t want you here, anyway, so maybe you should have taken his hint,” Skyler bites back, and you can hear the madness in her voice, now. She has had enough of her. 

Natalia bites her lips and steps forward, leaning on the back of the chair Sam’s sitting in toward Skyler. “I don’t think you’re the safe one in this situation, boo…”

Just then Quinn bursts back into the room, a bag in hand and tears streaming down her face. She bolts for the front door, and you share a quick look of concern with Skyler. No no no. Everything is falling apart. 

Josh rushes in behind her. “This is all your fucking fault!” His finger is pointed at Sam, charging toward him with his jaw tense. 

“Mine?!” Sam sits up. 

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have let her come. You shouldn’t have let a stranger tag along to our family trip… now look what she’s done!”

“Don’t point the finger, Josh… you were the one sending risqué photos, not me,” Natalia says, inspecting her nails. 

“You don’t know the fucking half of it, Natalia! Now please stop inserting yourself into business that isn’t yours!” Josh yells, standing back up straight for a second before laying into Sam again. “You know better than to not consult with us before doing something stupid like this, Sam! You should have asked if we cared that she stayed, you should have checked with us all first!”

“Don’t yell at him, Josh… Natalia invited herself, remember?” Jake pulls Josh’s finger down from poking at the air in front of Sam’s face. 

“Stay the fuck out of this, Jake…” Josh retorts.

Jake grunts, getting louder. “No, don’t come at me sideways… go chase after your girl that just ran crying out the door, you absolute fuck!”

Josh stands again, completely abandoning his beef with Sam. 

“Oh, I’m the fuck?! Why don’t you explain to our brother here why you chose to drink after that question in the hot tub the other night? What was it…oh, ‘never have I ever made out with a prom date that wasn’t mine?’ Josh laughs diabolically, his eyes bouncing back and forth between all of you. 

Josh, no. No. 

“Oh! I forgot! There was more to that… why don’t you explain to him why you drank when the question of ‘never have I ever gotten someone off in public’ came around? It was all the same person, wasn’t it?”

Sam turns in his seat. Your entire body is on fire. 

“Jake, what’s he talking about? Who was it at prom? Who did you…”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Jake says. “That was years ago…”

“I mean it kinda matters,” Sam goes on, standing from his chair to approach Jake. “Especially since I’ve never heard those stories before...”

Jake stiffens, his knuckles white on the chair back he’s holding. Fuck. 

Sam slowly approaches Jake, his height dwarfing him in the process. “Tell me, Jake. Since we’re all airing it out… who did you hook up with at prom?”

“Me, okay? It was me…” you blurt, your eyes falling to the floor. 

Sam slowly turns on his heels to face you, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You can’t bring yourself to look at anyone. 

“Y/N…” Sam mutters under his breath. “My brother?”

Natalia’s laugh only grows. Seething, bitter, and shrill. “Oh, this is too good.”

Finally, you bring your tear-ridden eyes to look at Sam. You prepare yourself to take the beating that his words will surely bring. But nothing hits you as hard as the look of pure heartbreak on his face. “…My brother?”

“It was ten fucking years ago, guys,” you try to explain. “We were drunk, and young, and stupid… It didn’t mean anything… Sam you were…you were only fifteen then…”

“How many times?” Sam asks, his question directed at you while his eyes stay trained on Jake. 

“What?!” you breathe. 

“How many fucking times, Y/N?”

“Once, Sam. Once, that’s all… I swear…”

You watch Jake’s expression as his little brother’s face draws closer in to his own, his entire body stiff and seething. You know that Sam is looking for confirmation. 

Finally Jake nods, his eyes prickled with guilty tears. “Once.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Skyler’s voice breaks through the moment, shattering your entire world even more. “You don’t think that’s something that a best friend should share? You’re fucking kidding me…” 

And then she, too, steps between the group, her shoulder hitting hard into Jake as she does so. 

“Sky… please…”

“No,” she turns back around. “You know, no. Both of you, all of you, just fucking…stop. You’ve all been lying, none of you are innocent. Everything is completely fucked. Maybe Natalia was right… maybe she did light the fuse for a good reason.”

The entire room around you seems to crumble as you process what has just unfolded… the lies, the hiding, the scandal… everything is heavy, clouded and muddled. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, as your heart doing its best to keep you standing up straight. You feel like collapsing. You feel like surrendering. 

Skyler slams the patio door, the glass of the door and windows shaking the whole room and leaving the silence to reverberate off the walls. Everyone is still. 

“Welp!” Natalia claps her hands. “Guess I’ll be on my way…” she gathers up her bags and pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes, looking as though she doesn’t have a care in the world. “Don’t worry, Josh, I’ll check on Quinn on my way out.”

She fishes her keys from the bowl on the table, clicking a button as you hear her Mercedes beep to unlock outside. “Bye, Sam. Good riddance. Oh, and Y/N, guess you can enjoy my leftovers, now. Ta-ta everyone!”

The door slams behind her and the room is still left silent, guilt, sorrow, rage and confusion filling every particle of air and every exhaled breath you take. 

No one dares look at one another. 

No one dares make the situation worse with anything but the truth. 

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[gretavangroupie]

Unsettled - Volatile

A week at the lake was supposed to heal old wounds, but it only ripped them deeper. Y/N thought she’d left her feelings for Sam buried long ago, but jealousy, fear, and one impulsive confession threaten to unravel everything she’s tried to protect. As tensions rise beneath the summer sun, every truth they’ve avoided comes crashing to the surface… and someone’s heart won’t make it out unbroken.

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: Angst: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking, Dramatic Themes, Arguing, Lying, Blood, Mention of Cheating, Mention of Manipulation and Mental Anguish.  Smut: Kissing, Touching, Yearning. 

A/N: Hello lovelies! I know it’s been a while since we’ve posted, and we are so sorry for disappearing like that. Again. Life got a little hectic for us both, but the good news is we’re back and completely reinvigorated after seeing Mirador in Nashville. Honestly, that trip sparked so much inspiration, and we can’t wait to finally share some of it with you. We’re kicking things off with the first part of this story, and we hope it pulls you in, makes you feel all the feelings, and reminds you why you stuck around in the first place. Thanks so much for your patience and support — it means the world to us! - N + J

A deep breath finds your lungs as the warm, evening summer air blows across your face, bringing the faint smell of slightly burnt coffee to your nose. Your hands are full with three iced lavender lattes, and the setting sun has cast a hot orange glow across the patio of Southern Grind. 

Your two best friends, Skyler and Quinn have made themselves comfortable on a large, covered wooden swing, flip-fops kicked off as they scoot closer to one another and take their respective coffees from your overfull hands. You awkwardly take your seat beside them, pushing off the patio to get the swing going again. 

“Okay, so we’ve gotten it narrowed down to three places… Pine Landing, which is the one with the giant deck, Lakeshore Cove, which is the one that has the game room, or… Lover’s Retreat?” Skyler asks as she scrolls through the cabin rental website on the laptop balanced on her legs. 

“Definitely that last one, yeah?” Josh boasts on Quinn’s facetime call, vigorously waving his hands in front of the screen. You can almost feel your eyes roll into the back of your head as you sip down your coffee, kicking off your sandals to tuck your legs underneath you. 

You hear Jake groan from over Josh’s shoulder, leaning down to look at the phone screen along with him. “No, not that one. Are you serious? Mark that one off the list…”

“Off?!” Josh swats him away, “Wait, I thought this was supposed to be a couples’ trip?” 

“It is, Joshua, but we aren’t escaping the real world to go eat chocolate-covered strawberries while we lay on heart-shaped beds…” Quinn bites as Skyler continues to scroll. 

“Oh,” Josh responds with a heartbroken tone. “I’m sorry, so you don’t want me to wake you up every morning with a back massage, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while your coffee brews and your hot bath draws in the other room?”

Jake snickers. 

Quinn exhales, “Now I never said you couldn’t do all of that, babe.” A quick glance to Quinn shows you her slightly pinkened cheeks as she bites her lips with embarrassment. She and Josh hadn’t been together very long, but they had been an item long enough for everyone to be comfortable with making jokes that veered on the edge of inappropriateness. “Plus, Y/N is coming, and she’s coming alone. So you can’t really call it a couples’ trip. It’s just… a trip.”

“A vacation,” you interrupt in agreement, grabbing the phone in Quinn’s hand to turn the screen to your face. “Are you sure you guys are okay with me coming? I mean, it’s not too late for me to back out. I want you guys to relax and have your alon–”

“Yes,” the four of them all moan with annoyance after you’d tried backing out of this trip probably five times already. 

“We want you there, babe,” Skyler chimes in. “Seriously, you deserve a getaway, too. And it wouldn’t be the same without you there, anyway.”

You exhale with a heavy huff, crossing your arms across your chest in defeat, yet again. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, it was just that you really didn’t want to interrupt your friends and their long-awaited couples’ retreat. You didn’t want to impede on their privacy, and you surely didn’t want them feeling like they had to include you in every decision. 

But frankly, the past year hadn’t been the easiest, and you could really use a vacation, too. You’d been through a lot of life changes, some good, and some bad. And some, really fucking terrible. It’d been a whirlwind of a year, so when your best friends planned a well-deserved vacation and saw your face fall when they told you they were leaving, neither of them thought twice about inviting you along with them. 

Their significant others were just going to have to like it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me fifth-wheeling?” you whine again, earning you another loud and heavy ‘YES!’ from the rest of the group.

“Pine Landing, bring that one up again. I liked it the best,” Jake goes on, moving his face closer to the phone on the other end. Skyler follows suit as Quinn turns the phone for Jake to see, showing the enormous yet quaint log cabin perched perfectly on the shore of Lake Henley. “Yeaaaahh….” Jake says as she flips through the photos of the property. “It’s perfect. Secluded and private… and it has a hot tub, right?”

“Yes it does, Jacob,” Skyler grits as she pinches her lips between her fingers. “But don’t get any big ideas…”

“Book it,” Josh interrupts with a firmness. “Babe, you still have my card info?”

“Yep,” Quinn says. “Seven days, right?”

“Seven days,” the brothers respond in unison. 

“You guys aren’t going to get sick of each other and fight the whole time, are you?” you ask jokingly, your coffee already having worked its way down to the melting ice. 

“Us? Never,” Josh says with a wide grin. “Seriously, Y/N, we’re excited that you’re coming along. It’ll be fun. And, we may even have a little… surprise once we get there.”

“A surprise?” you ask. 

“Yep,” Jake goes on. “Maybe. Haven’t ironed it out yet, but. Fingers crossed. Regardless, we’re happy to have you tagging along, Y/N.”

You feel your head nodding in slow motion, finally feeling more comfortable with the notion of being the outcast all week long. But you’d mentally prepared, already piling up a stack of books to bring, along with a brand new empty sketchbook to break into as soon as you could find a free second. It would be good. It would be relaxing. And lord knows you need the downtime.

“Alright, it’s booked!” Skyler sighs with underlying excitement as she slams the laptop shut. “Josh, I sent you the confirmation email. Guess we’ll see you guys in just a few days?” 

“Yep, we’ll be there waiting for you,” Jake responds with a softness, taking the phone from Josh’s grasp before walking away with it. Quinn notices, and hands the phone off. 

“‘M really excited to see you, baby,” he goes on, running his hand through his hair. “It’s been way too long.” 

“It has been too long…” Skyler agrees, tilting her head to admire her lover on the phone screen. “I don’t even remember what you look like.”

You take notice that this facetime call has suddenly gotten private, so you look away and mindlessly scroll your phone, making sure to keep one ear open. 

“I haven’t changed much, just got a little peach fuzz situation going on,” Jake suddenly develops a sultry tone to his voice as you eavesdrop on their conversation. 

“I see, I like it. It looks sexy on you,” Skyler giggles.

“You think?” Jake laughs. “Just wait till you feel it on your–”

“Okay! Gross! That’s enough! Give me my phone, Romeo,” Josh tumbles into their conversation, ripping the phone from Jake’s hand. “We’ll talk to you gals soon. Go get to packing, chop chop.” Josh snaps his fingers into the phone speaker as Skyler laughs him off.

“Alright, we’ll text you,” she says, handing the phone off to Quinn to say her own goodbyes.

As they talk, Skyler places her laptop down on the patio deck and brings her knees up to her chest, hugging them close while she lets out a deep breath. 

You decide to press. “Things still really good with Jake?”

Her face lights up and she turns to you, still hugging her knees tightly. “Mhm,” she nods with a sweet smile. “We’re so happy, Y/N, it’s crazy. And we haven’t even seen each other in what, four months? And we can still handle the long distance like champs?”

“Well I’d hope so,” you add, “you’ve been together for what, two years?”

“Yeah, almost,” she agrees with a laugh, releasing her legs to fall back to slip into her sandals. “Just. Every day still feels like the first. Still get the butterflies, still feel all those mushy feelings…”

“...And?”

“And…” she blushes. “Still picture him as my end game. Ugh! I’m too young for that. I can’t be thinking that way. No…” 

“Says whoooooo?” you caw, slipping your own shoes back on. “You’re happy, he’s happy. Just allow yourselves to embrace it. Little daydreaming never hurt anybody. Besides, I see how he softens when he looks at you. How he acts when you’re around. He’s like the best version of himself, and so are you.”

“Shut the hell up,” Skyler pushes your arm. 

“I’m serious!” you continue. “I know these things. I’m like… cupid or something.”

She sighs and stands from the swing, stretching her arms high above her head. “Guess you’re right, you did get those two lovebirds together…” her eyebrows shoot to Quinn as she ends the phone call with Josh. 

You smirk. “Indeed I did.”

Quinn shoots up and stuffs her phone in her back pocket, offering the both of you a look of intrigue. “Okay bitches, you heard the man. Let’s go get our suitcases.”

—

Your twenty-seventh year hadn’t treated you all that badly, but you wouldn’t call it your prime year or year of best choices ever made. You’d gotten hired and fired twice from jobs you thought you’d keep for a lifetime. You’d lost your dad. You’d lost your childhood dog. You’d moved apartments three times, lost a few friends along the way. You’d had more one night stands than you’d like to admit, and, for some odd fucking reason, you’d managed to fall halfway in love. 

Halfway. But him? He’d never know that.

You might not call it love, per se, but instead you’d say you’d fallen into a whirlwind of a relationship that was chock full of secrets and confidentialities. Half the time, you called yourself stupid for ever even putting yourself into situations with him. He was cocky, annoying, and even a little bit off-putting. He could be rude and inconsiderate, blunt and a little disrespectful. But you swear to god, even those misgivings couldn’t keep you from getting swept all the way up into him. Everything that he was. His tough exterior was only a facade for the most enticing man you had ever had the pleasure of sharing a bed with. 

Even when you weren’t thinking about him, you were thinking about him. It was toxic, and delicious and beautiful. The whole relationship, if you could even call it that, was hands down the most alluring and impulsive experience you’d ever had. He treated you better than any other man ever had, even when he was in the worst of moods. The sex had you melting like honey in his hands, and the fact that you had to keep it a secret made it all the more overwhelmingly exciting. 

Things were going well, and the both of you were completely fine with the situation of not being official. Titles weren’t necessary, and the fact that you didn’t want to be open with your… relationship was proof enough to the both of you that moving forward just wasn’t in the cards. 

The cards that sat completely shuffled on the table, ready to be played, if only he say the word. 

You were older than him, you knew that. Though it wasn’t by much, it was enough. Your maturity balanced out his lack thereof, and though you knew your body had begun to show signs of being on a clock, you knew deep down that that clock was not going to be wound up by the likes of him. 

So, you began to see each other less and less. You each started to see other people in the interim of the carousel that was your front door. You let alcohol feed your sadness, and you found homes on Quinn or Skyler’s couches more times than you could count. It wasn’t rock bottom, but it wasn’t your peak. 

And then, one day, he was gone. 

One day you realized that he hadn’t called in a month, and you hadn’t physically seen him in longer than that. It hurt like a cannonball to the chest, but at the same time, it was freeing. No longer did you have to call on him when you needed him, pretending that the false name for him in your phone was just someone you’d met at the record store. You didn’t have to lie anymore. And most importantly, you could allow yourself the space for someone real. 

Twenty-eight had been better. Twenty-eight had been a good period of healing. 

So far, so good, at least. 

A solid job, a nice apartment. New friends and new hobbies. Art and travel and a better relationship with your mom. And, a new puppy, whom your mother had no arguments about babysitting while you relaxed in the middle of the forest with your best friends. 

*

The pile of books riding on your lap (because let’s be honest, you didn’t trust tossing them into a bag to be stuffed in the trunk with the multitude of suitcases and coolers) weas tempting at best, and you fought opening one up on the four-hour drive out to Lake Henley. But the temptation was overshadowed by good, silly conversation with your friends, and way too much singing along to early 2000’s throwbacks. 

You and Quinn had already dipped into one of the coolers, helping yourselves to a couple Mike’s Hard Lemonades for the ride in. The sun had just set and the moon was almost past the tips of the trees, and the sweet buzz running through your system only added to your feeling of peace that maybe this week was going to be exactly what you needed. 

“Wow, look at that!” you hear Skyler exclaim from the driver’s seat, craning her neck down to point to the absolutely breathtaking cabin at the end of the dirt road you’d been traveling for the better part of half an hour. “Is that it?”

Quinn zoomed in on the map, the little blue dot underneath showing that you were finally approaching your destination. The cabin looked to be a bit older in design, but it didn’t take away from the perfection of the structure itself– tin lights lining the gables, a dark metal roof, beautiful landscaping lining the driveway and surrounding grassy area, and of course, a ginormous deck that sprawled all the way out overtop of the lake. You could see the twinkling of the white Christmas lights strung perfectly above it, and the long branches of the trees that doubled as a roof over the porch. And the best part, the sun setting perfectly on the water, only making room for the glistening of the moon to follow right behind it. 

“Oh, it’s so cute. I can not wait to see inside!” you exclaim, your hand already balanced on the door handle to be ready to jump as soon as the car was parked. 

As the car slowly approached the gravel cul de sac, you could faintly see movement coming through the front door of the place, surely Jake and Josh rushing out to greet you. You push the door open, ready to stand and stretch your legs and get inside to see the place as soon as you could. 

“Hey, there they are! We were starting to get worried!” you hear Josh yell from the steps of the cabin, already a heavy slur in his voice. He has two bottles of wine in his hands, and he awkwardly steps barefoot over the gravel driveway.

Quinn slams the car door closed just as Josh is approaching, ready to take her backpack and head to the trunk for the rest. Jake, though, stays behind him just a bit, his face already hidden in the shadows of the set sun. You watch as he cowers a bit behind Josh’s car, his face already red and his chest already visibly heaving as he waits for Skyler to round the front of her car. As you make your way to the trunk, you offer Jake a tiny wave, which he repays with a sweet grin. It’s then that you give them the room, hearing gravel kick up and Skyler squeal as she jumps into Jake’s arms.

“Cute, aren’t they?” Josh says from beside you as he hands you the half-empty wine bottles and rips a suitcase from the trunk, landing it with a thud on the ground.

“Way cute,” you agree. “Hey Joshua.” He brings you in for a hug, already shirtless with his hair a little damp. You can feel the heat from the little bit of sunburn already radiating from his skin.

“Babe, have you guys already been swimming? You smell like sunscreen and sauvignon blanc,” Quinn giggles as she tosses the straps of multiple bags across her shoulders. 

“Let me, let me,” he scorns, taking a bag or two from the both of you. “And yeah, we didn’t have anything to do for like five hours. There’s a fucking slide off the porch, we had to try it out, ya know. Just to be sure it was safe. ‘N we already made dinner, too!”

You and Quinn exchange looks of impression as you begin hauling things down the walkway, watching out of the corner of your eye as Jake and Skyler finally separate in a fluster. 

“You gonna help, Jake, or you gonna make me be the man of the house?” Josh squeals through his loaded-down arms. 

“Yeah, yeah, keep talking shit,” Jake groans as you lift a bottle of Josh’s wine to your lips, letting it sit in your mouth for just a second as everyone pulls ahead of you toward the cabin. It truly is a gorgeous place; they weren’t lying when they said it was a sight. The sun has set over the water, and the summer sounds of the crickets and frogs have begun to seep from the woodwork, really making for an overwhelmingly peaceful setting. Maybe this will be okay. Maybe this will be the perfect reset…

Your suitcase is crunching rocks as you pull it behind you, watching the shadowed and blurry figures of your best friends make their way up to the steps of the cabin. But it’s then that you see something else. A silhouette of another person, slagging with slow strides out the front door to lean down on the porch railing. 

For a split second, your brow furrows, your mind caught off guard at the fact that there is someone else here, someone else you weren’t expecting. 

Your heart drops. 

Suddenly that dreadful feeling that you’d been harboring since the vacation plan was set in stone comes rushing back to the forefront. Your stomach churns, and your mouth goes dry. 

“Hey, stranger. Nice of you to finally show up.”

Fuck. 

“Sam,” you offer stoically after clearing your throat. Your hands are clammy as you approach the stairs, pushing the handle of your suitcase down to carry it up. Your legs feel heavy as you finally reach the top, not knowing whether or not you should greet him the same as you did his brothers, or maybe with a little more coldness. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

He smirks, standing up straight as he swirls the beer bottle in his hand. “Yeah, well, it was kind of last minute.”

Just then Jake bursts back out onto the porch, taking all the bags and bottles of wine from your arms. “I’ll keep that one, actually, thanks,” you say as he grips the neck of the bottle in your hand. 

“Oh, all yours,” Jake says, inhaling through clenched teeth. “Remember that surprise I told you about? The one we didn’t have quite nailed down, yet? Well, here it is,” Jake holds out his free hand to present Sam like a damned sideshow at a carnival while Sam bites both his lips between his teeth, shoving his hand in the pocket of his still-damp swim shorts. 

Neither of you speak. 

Jake clears his throat, “You said you didn’t want to be a fifth wheel, so… we decided to see if ol’ Sammy boy wanted to tag along, ya know. So you didn’t feel like you were… I dunno. Anyways.” Jake shoves Sam’s shoulder before turning to go back into the house. 

Sam stands still as a statue, his slit eyes glaring straight into the side of your head. Your feet feel like blocks of concrete as you will yourself to move, to leave… to either rush into the cabin to hide away, or back to the car to throw it in drive and go directly back home. But instead you’re glued, staring right back into the eyes of him. 

Seconds go by. A minute, even. Both of you gritting your teeth as a million words go unsaid in the matter of moments. Finally you tilt the bottle back up, squinting one eye at him as you refuse to be the first one to speak. 

“I’d offer to help carry your bags inside, but. I figure you don’t want anyone interfering, right?” he cuts, taking another swig of his beer. 

You scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Just the tenor of his voice sends a chill down your spine, the way that his sentences bounce off the corners of his mouth reminding you of every delicious yet poison-laced word he’s ever said to you. 

“Interference. Involvement, help… someone coming in and fucking everything up for you, hm?” His lips curl around the rim of his beer bottle before you watch him swallow, slow and patient. 

“I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, Sam, but it’s most definitely not the one you’re suddenly making me out to be. I know how your mind works,” you cut, stopping the shit that you know is about to hit the fan before he can even start with it. 

He steps forward, but you stay stationary. “Do you, now? It’s been a long time… You sure you haven’t forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing. And I’ve changed. A lot.” You cross your arms as you challenge him, your mind already working overtime to understand how in the fuck you’re going to survive this week with him. 

“Hah,” he laughs with no comic in his voice, at all. “So’ve I. That’s for damn sure.”

“Good for you,” you shrug, feeling him step forward, yet again. In an act that feels like old habit, you see his hand rise from your peripheral… Slowly reaching up to pull a strand of hair that had fallen across your forehead in the mess of getting your luggage up the stairs. At first, you cower and cringe, the tension already so thick that the thought of him touching you makes you want to scream and retaliate. But you don’t. You stand firm, letting yourself enjoy– if only for a second– the feeling of his fingertips on your skin again. 

He pulls the hair away, the brushing of his skin against yours making you go blind with echoes of the past. 

“So difficult…” he murmurs, letting his fingers rest on your temple for just a second too long. You don’t dare look him in the eye. “And so fucking infuriating.”

You huff, pulling away from his touch. “I’m most definitely not the difficult one, Sam. I think we both know that.”

“Stop making accusations you can’t back up. That won’t be a good look for you if we plan on keeping the peace all week.” His eyebrows raise as his words hit you, and before you can retort, his shoulder is brushing past yours with force, and all you can see is his back as he makes his way through the front door of the cabin. Then, it slams closed, leaving you standing stranded and alone on the porch with nothing but your suitcase and half empty bottle of wine. 

You should leave. 

You should get the hell out of here, right now. 

Fuck him. Not even a warm or civil hello after months of no contact. Just a slew of insults, a cold shoulder and a literal slam of the door in your face. You can’t be here.

You kill the remnants in the bottle as you mull it over, the loud sound of laughter already pouring out from the inside walls of the cabin. Your mind is seething, and your body feels like it is visibly vibrating as you let the rage run through you. You pace a little, tossing over the scenarios as quickly as you can. 

If you leave, he wins. And you lose out on everything that you were looking forward to.

If you stay, the entire week will be one big feeling of uneasiness. 

But you’ve come this far… and you can’t leave your best friends. And Sam can’t win. 

So you stand up, placing the now empty bottle back on the banister as you open the door and awkwardly pull yourself through it. Awkwardly, but confidently. 

“This place is amazingggg!” Skyler gushes as she rushes toward you to help carry your things, pulling your hand along through the kitchen and away from the already-loud mess that is the three brothers already digging into dinner. 

Your vision is blurry as she pulls you down a long hallway lined with sconces and framed photos of wildlife. The cabin is massive, and it feels like you walk behind her forever. The scent of wood cleaner and oak hits you in the face as you finally round a corner into a room, finding Quinn already sitting on the bed. 

“Leave your suitcase out there. We’ll go back for it later,” Skyler half-whispers as she shuts the door behind you. You do as she says, and take a seat next to Quinn on the bed. 

“Oh my goddddd, somehow he’s even hotter than he was four months ago what the fuckkk…” Skyler gushes as she paces the carpeted room, her hands squishing harshly over her cheeks. 

“You see him every day on facetime stupid,” Quinn says, “or have you been blind for the last few months?”

Skyler falls backward onto the bed behind you, huffing a loud breath of air as she crosses her hands over her stomach. “Yeah I guess but how in the hell does… he’s just been touring, I thought he would have been more tired-looking, but somehow he’s like. Glowing?”

You and Quinn laugh at her as she covers her face, the apparent shyness she’s feeling physically radiating from her.

“Well go back out there and hang out with him! You’re wasting your time with us in here when you could be oogling your own boyfriend,” Quinn cries as she jumps from the bed and begins to unpack her suitcase. 

“Unngghh…” Skyler grunts in aggravation, and the room goes silent for a second. 

“So yeah, thanks for telling me Sam was coming,” you blurt before you can even think twice. You had the wine to thank for that. 

“Sorrryyy, Jake wanted to surprise you,” Quinn says, putting a few of her t-shirts into a drawer. 

You swallow dryly. “Why, though? Why would he want to do that?”

Quinn turns back around, an aloof look on her face as she shrugs. “I dunno, said he and Josh didn’t want you to be like, lonely or whatever. Thought you could use a friend, a sixth wheel… I guess. A buffer. I thought it was kinda sweet of them to ask.”

Your eyes hit the floor as your stomach churns with sudden guilt that you never told them. “Yeah, sweet.”

“Why, is there an issue?” Quinn asks. “Oh my god, you hadn’t invited someone else, had you?”

“No no no,” you shake your head. “I just… I haven’t seen him in so long, I–”

Quinn cocks an eyebrow. “But you’ve been friends with him for longer than Sky and I have known you… Isn’t it just like old friends, old times kind of thing?”

Without trying, your eyes shoot daggers at Quinn, not for the fact that she’s so nonchalant with it, but for the fact that she truly has no. fucking. clue.

You take a deep breath, recentering. “Yeah, it will be. Just— don’t let him be an asshole to me. Sam and I used to… Fight. Like cats and dogs. We both have short fuses and whenever we’d be locked up together for any amount of time, it could sometimes get heated.” 

Your words have double meaning, but they don’t know that. 

“You’re kidding,” Quinn laughs. “But you’re grown now, maybe you’ve both matured past the point of getting into catfights. I think you’re thinking about it too hard.”

Too hard, yeah.

“Guys why am I nervous? Why does Jake make me feel all weird and anxious?” Skyler whines loudly, ignoring the conversation at hand. “I didn’t expect it to feel like I’m flirting with him for the first time again, I’m twenty-eight fucking years old…What am I gonna doooo…”

“Because you love him you idiot,” you say, ripping her hands from still covering her face. “Quinn is right– go back out there. Sit on his lap. Run your hands through his hair or whatever.”

“God, I won’t be able to hold myself back, guys. He’s like, fine, fine. And he’s mine? What the fuck…” you hold back a laugh watching Skyler gush over her own long-time significant other as if it’s the first time she’s ever seen him.

“We’ll all go. Come on,” Quinn interrupts, pulling you both from the bed and back out the door down the long hallway. Your nerves wrack through you again as you realize you’ve got to face Sam again, and you wonder how on earth you’re going to get through seven entire days of this. 

You stern yourself as the three of you approach the kitchen, the low hum of conversation and the faint sound of clinking glasses pulling you forward. The guys are exactly where you left them—Jake leaning against the counter, a beer dangling from his hand; Josh scrolling through his phone; and Sam at the sink, sleeves pushed up, rinsing out a glass with a concentration that feels far too performative.

Jake looks up first. “There she is! You ladies hiding from us already?”

“Skyler was having a crisis,” Quinn answers before you can, bumping her shoulder into yours with a grin.

Skyler groans. “Don’t start.”

Josh chuckles. “What, is your hair too shiny?”

“Shut up,” Skyler mutters, but she’s already gravitating toward Jake, slipping her arms around his waist like she’s been waiting to all night. He grins, setting his beer down to wrap her up easily.

You look away. You can’t help it.

Sam’s still at the sink, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he dries the glass with a dish towel. You hate that you notice that. Hate even more that your body remembers the way those hands felt when they—

You shake your head. No. Absolutely not.

“Hot tub’s heating up,” Jake announces, clapping his hands together. “Fifteen minutes tops. Everyone suit up.”

“Suit up?” Quinn repeats, shooting him a look. “You make it sound like we’re going into battle.”

“Depends who you’re sitting next to,” Josh mutters under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Quinn as they start gathering their drinks.

You move toward the cabinet for another glass, keeping your eyes on anything that isn’t Sam. But of course, he chooses that moment to speak.

“Still drink cabernet?”

The words freeze you mid-reach. You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes. Brown, sharp, and unreadable.

“Yeah,” you say finally, voice tight. “Some habits die hard, I guess.”

His mouth twitches. “Guess so.”

You pour yourself a glass, pretending your hand isn’t shaking, and try to drown out the sound of your pulse as everyone disperses—Skyler and Jake heading outside towards the hot tub, Josh and Quinn arguing down the hall about who gets the aux cord.

Then, it’s just you and Sam.

You can feel his gaze on you, heavy and patient. You turn to face him. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking.”

He leans back against the counter, that same lazy confidence curling at the edges of his posture. “You used to like that about me.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, forcing yourself to remember what he said to you on the porch. “Yeah, and I also used to like Pop-Tarts for dinner. Doesn’t mean I still do.”

That earns you a real smile, small and infuriating. “Still got the attitude, I see.”

You take a long sip of wine. “Still got the ego.”

For a second, it feels like old times—the teasing, the push and pull, that spark that used to flicker just before it burned you alive.

“Hot tub in ten!” Jake yells from outside, the sound of the back door slamming punctuating the air between you. “She’s sitting at 99!”

You exhale through your nose and step away, your shoulder brushing his as you pass. It’s enough to make your skin light up like static.

You don’t look back, but you hear him mutter, low and amused, “Long week, huh?”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts, but your mouth betrays you, curling just barely at the corner.

Josh’s voice echoes down the hallway as he lugs a stack of towels under one arm. “Alright, last stop on the tour—guest room for you two.”

You’re half a step behind him, doing your best impression of relaxed, even though your stomach is in full rebellion.

He pushes the door open with his hip, flicking on the light. “Ta-da. Twin beds, lake view. Cute, right?”

“Cute,” you echo, voice a shade too high.

And then you see it, Sam’s duffel bag already slouched against one of the bed frames, his jacket thrown over the chair, guitar case propped against the wall.

You stop in the doorway, throat closing.

Before you can process it, footsteps sound behind you. Heavy. Familiar.

Sam.

He comes to stand in the doorway beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his arm, though he doesn’t look at you. His jaw ticks once, and the muscle there jumps hard.

Josh claps his hands. “See? Plenty of space. I put Sam up here earlier. Figured it’d be easiest if you two shared.”

Sam’s expression flickers—something like disbelief, then irritation that he tries to bury under a polite half-smile. “Yeah. Sure. Perfect.”

You manage a nod that feels mechanical. “Right. Great.”

Josh looks between you, confused for a half-second, then grins, satisfied. “Knew you wouldn’t mind. You guys always travel well together. Remember that house in Traverse City? Same deal.”

You laugh weakly. “Yeah, good times.”

The words taste wrong in your mouth.

Josh doesn’t notice. “Anyway, drop your stuff and meet us out back. Hot tub’s steamy, baby!” He gives a little two-finger salute and heads back down the hall, humming to himself.

As soon as his footsteps fade, the silence slams into place.

You’re still standing just inside the door, clutching your bag straps like a lifeline. Sam’s still near the threshold, his hand braced on the doorframe, eyes fixed on the floor. The air between you feels thick, electric, the kind of quiet that hums with everything unspoken.

You finally find your voice. “I didn’t know you were—”

He cuts you off without looking up. “Yeah. Surprise.”

You blink, thrown by how sharp his tone is. “Josh said it was Jake’s idea.”

He gives a small, humorless laugh. “Of course it was.”

You set your suitcase down by the other bed, fingers fumbling with the zipper. “If this is weird, I can sleep on the couch—”

“No,” he says too quickly, too forcefully. Then, softer, “No. Don’t worry about it. I honestly thought there was gonna be another room for you, I didn’t think that–” He takes a heavy breath as his thumb and forefinger squeeze the bridge of his nose, letting his words end there.

You glance over. His hands are in his pockets now, shoulders tight, the faintest flush creeping up his neck. He still won’t meet your eyes.

“Sam—”

“Don’t,” he mutters, voice low. “Just—not now.”

The words hang there, and you can feel the memory of that night between you—the one you’ve both been avoiding, the one that burned everything down.

You swallow hard. “Okay.”

He nods once, finally looking up, his expression carefully blank. “Good.”

Another beat of silence. Then he gestures stiffly toward the room. “You can take that bed. I’ll stay out of your way.”

You nod. “Fine.”

He exhales, turns, and walks out—slow, controlled, but you can see the tension in every line of him.

When he’s gone, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at his bag across from you. The room suddenly feels too small, the air too heavy.

You sit there for a long moment after Sam’s footsteps fade down the hall, staring at the closed door. The air still feels thick with him. It’s sharp and heavy, like the room’s been holding its breath too.

You finally kneel by your suitcase, flipping it open. You tell yourself you’re just getting settled, doing something normal, something productive. Anything to focus your hands on.

The zipper catches halfway, and you tug too hard, muttering a curse when it jerks free. Clothes spill out in a half-folded heap. You start sorting them automatically, putting your shirts into the dresser, with jeans stacked neatly on top. The dresser drawers stick a little when you pull them open, the old wood groaning.

And then you freeze.

Inside, folded with that same careless precision that’s so him, are Sam’s clothes. A few t-shirts, a worn flannel, and socks rolled into lopsided balls. You stare down at them, the scent faint but unmistakable: cedar, detergent, that cologne he always overused.

Your fingers hover over the edge of the drawer. You shouldn’t touch them. You really shouldn’t.

But you do.

You lift the flannel, thumb brushing across the soft fabric, and for a second you’re back in his passenger seat, rain drumming on the windshield, the air between you tense and sweet and dangerous. The night that changed everything. The night that ended it.

You shove the memory away and fold the flannel tighter, moving it to the far side of the drawer before adding your own clothes in.

By the time you open the closet, you think you’ve steadied yourself — until you see his jacket hanging inside. You swallow hard. There’s a part of you that wants to take it down, bury it somewhere you don’t have to see it. But you don’t. You just hang your hoodie beside it and tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

You keep unpacking. Toothbrush by the sink, charger by the nightstand, your bag tucked neatly under the bed. Everything in its place. Everything pretending to be normal.

When you finish, you stand back and look around the small room, taking notice of the twin beds, two sets of drawers, and the quiet hum of the ceiling fan overhead.

It should feel temporary, easy, and forgettable...

But instead, it feels like being trapped inside something unfinished.

A knock at the door jolts you.

Jake’s voice filters through. “Hot tub time, Y/N... You coming?”

You blink, pulling yourself back to the present. “Yeah! I’ll be right there.”

You grab your swimsuit from the drawer and change quickly, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. Much to your dismay, you can still smell his cologne on your hands.

—-

The faint hum of voices and laughter filters in from the deck. First you hear Jake’s unmistakable laugh, then Skyler’s high-pitched teasing, followed up with Quinn’s dramatic sighs. Everyone’s outside already.

You move down the hall, feet quiet on the wooden floor, the smell of warm chlorine and lake water drifting faintly through the open back door. The kitchen lights are dim, the glow of moonlight leaking in through the windows.

You reach for the wine bottle you’d left on the counter earlier and pour yourself another half-glass, trying to steady your hands. You can almost convince yourself you’re calm, until you hear a soft thump behind you.

You turn.

Sam’s there, barefoot, in red swim trunks and t-shirt clinging in places that make your pulse quicken in spite of yourself. He stops when he sees you, jaw tightening, like he hadn’t expected to find you there either.

“Hey.”

He nods once. “Hey.”

The silence that follows feels like the longest thing in the world.

You take a sip of wine just to have something to do. “You’re not out there with everyone yet?”

“Needed a minute,” he says shortly, stepping past you toward the fridge. He opens it, grabs a beer, and lets the door close with a dull thud.

“Right,” you murmur, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He doesn’t look at you when he twists the cap off. “You?”

You shrug. “Same, I guess.”

Another silence. It’s not angry exactly — it’s heavier than that, full of words that both of you keep swallowing back down.

You glance at the counter, at the edge of the sink where his phone is plugged in. The screen lights up briefly, showing a missed call and a text from a name you don’t recognize. Natalia. You look away fast.

He notices. “Curious?”

You roll your eyes. “Not even a little.”

He makes a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Sure.”

You can feel his gaze now, steady and unreadable. It pins you in place more than the words ever could.

He takes a slow drink from his bottle, sets it on the counter, and pushes past you toward the door. “Think they’re waiting,” he says, not looking back.

You watch him go, your chest tight, that same pull you hate so much tugging right behind your ribs.

When you finally step outside a minute later, the air hits cool and thick with laughter and steam. The others are already sunk into the glow of the hot tub lights, drinks in hand, music low on Josh’s speaker.

You paste on a smile and walk toward them like nothing’s wrong. But your pulse doesn’t get the memo.

Josh spots you first. “Finally!” he calls, grinning and raising his beer. “I was starting to think you bailed on us.”

You force a smile and slide into the remaining open spot beside Skyler, your legs sinking into the warmth of the water. “Nah, wouldn’t miss it. This place is incredible.”

Sam follows a few seconds later, barefoot and quiet, dropping into the space across from you. He doesn’t look at you, not at first. He just leans back, grabs another beer from the little floating cooler, and pops the tab with a sharp hiss.

Jake grins, arm slung lazily over the side of the tub. “This feels like senior summer all over again,” he says, eyes half-closed. “The bonfires, the lake… remember that night Sam tried to light fireworks off the canoe?”

Josh bursts out laughing. “Tried? He did light them! Just not in the direction he meant to. Dumb shit.”

Everyone laughs. You laugh too, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, but it’s automatic, and your eyes flick toward Sam before you can stop them.

Fuck. He’s already looking at you.

And for a second, there’s that old warmth. It’s the kind that makes your chest ache and your head swim with those old memories. It’s short lived before he blinks, looks down, and takes a long pull of his beer.

Skyler leans forward, chin in her hand. “Oh my god, and remember that party at The Point? When Y/N convinced the cop she was Charles Westam’s cousin so we wouldn’t get in trouble for trespassing?”

Josh nearly chokes on his drink. “That was insane. You had him wrapped around your finger.”

“Hey, I was protecting your asses,” you say, laughing despite yourself. “You were the ones swimming naked in a no-swim zone.”

Jake smirks. “That’s called living.”

“Living is not getting arrested,” you shoot back.

Sam finally speaks, voice quiet but edged with something you can’t place. “You were always good at talking your way out of things.”

It’s not quite an accusation, but it lands heavy. Everyone chuckles lightly. You know they don’t hear it the way you do.

You look at him, slow. “Guess I had to be,” you say softly, swirling your wine around in the glass.

Josh throws an arm around Jake’s shoulder, oblivious. “God, we were so stupid back then.”

Jake laughs. “Speak for yourself.”

“No, seriously,” Skyler says, smiling between all of you. “You guys were like—” she gestures vaguely “—the core four. Always together. I used to think you’d all move into a house together and just… never grow up.”

That one hits harder than you expect.

You look away, toward the dark water below the deck, and try to breathe around the tightness in your chest. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Guess life had other plans. We aren’t kids anymore.” It was true, though. Before you even met Quinn and Skyler, you, Jake, Josh and Sam were inseparable. You tagged along with them anytime you could, always being down for whatever they had dreamed up for the day. All through high school, you were part of their bad decisions. ‘The fourth brother’, as Jake always called you.

Sam’s gaze finds you again, quiet and unreadable, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting off something — regret or anger, you can’t tell. Probably a mixture of both. 

Josh doesn’t notice any of it. “Well, cheers to the reunion,” he says, raising his bottle. “To old friends, bad decisions, and somehow surviving our fucking twenties.”

Everyone clinks glasses, laughing again. You join in, but your hand shakes a little as you set your drink down.

When you glance across the tub again, Sam’s still looking at you with that same flicker of something deep and sad behind his eyes.

You hold it for just a second before you force yourself to look away. The laughter swells around you, but it sounds far away.

Josh finishes his beer and claps his hands together. “Alright, this nostalgia trip is giving me too many feelings. We need a game. Something classic. Something stupid.”

Jake smirks. “Like what? Truth or dare?”

Skyler perks up. “Never have I ever!”

“Oh god,” Quinn groans, but she’s already refilling her wine. “Fine. But if anyone brings up anything that happened before 2018, I’m walking straight into the lake and never coming back out.”

Josh grins, quickly pressing his forehead to Quinn’s. “Rules are rules. If you’ve done it, you drink. No lying.”

Everyone murmurs in agreement, glasses and bottles ready. You’re sunk halfway into the hot tub, warm water against your skin, watching the little circle of faces glow under the string lights.

You can feel Sam’s presence across from you… The sound of his thumb flicking at the label on his bottle, the way he’s deliberately not looking at you.

“Okay,” Skyler starts. “Never have I ever… skinny-dipped.”

Everyone groans and drinks immediately.

Josh laughs, pointing at her. “You were literally there! That doesn’t count!”

“I didn’t go in!” she says, laughing into her cup. “My loss, apparently. But at least I didn’t almost get arrested.”

“Your turn, Jake,” Quinn says.

Jake thinks, smiling lazily. “Never have I ever… gotten a tattoo I regretted.”

Skyler drinks without hesitation. Quinn gasps. “You regretted what?!”

“Not the tattoo itself, just the font choice,” she says solemnly. “It was a dark time and Roman numerals were cool.”

Laughter bubbles through the circle again, easy and warm, until it’s your turn.

You glance at your drink, then at Sam. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t.

“Never have I ever…” You hesitate, feeling your pulse in your throat. “Kissed someone that I absolutely shouldn’t have.”

The air goes taut.

Jake raises his brows and clears his throat, Skyler bites her lip to keep from laughing, and Josh just groans. “Oh, we’re going there already?”

But no one misses the way Sam’s jaw tenses before he takes a slow, deliberate sip of his beer.

Your stomach twists. You follow suit just to even it out, to make it look casual… but your fingers tremble slightly on the glass.

“Ooooh is this recent, Y/N?” Quinn teases, bumping your shoulder. “Come on, spill.”

You shake your head. “Not a chance.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Leave her alone,” Sam cuts in, his voice low but firm.

Jake gives him a curious look, but before anyone can ask, Josh leans in, desperate to smooth over the tension. “Alright, my turn,” he says quickly. “Never have I ever—uh—thrown up in a moving vehicle.”

Everyone groans again, chaos restored for a beat. You laugh, too, a little too hard, a little too fake.

But the air never really clears.

When it comes back to Sam, he doesn’t look up. He just swirls his drink and says, “Never have I ever… lied to someone I cared about.”

The laughter dies instantly.

You drink. Slowly. And you feel his eyes on you the entire time.

Skyler’s grin is devilish as she points at Josh. “Never have I ever… hooked up with someone at a party.”

Josh chugs instantly, laughing. “Guilty as charged.”

Quinn giggles. “Did it feel as good as you imagined, or better?”

Josh smirks, eyes glinting. “Better.”

The circle laughs, and the hot tub bubbles, steam curling around your skin. You feel warm, not just from the alcohol but from watching everyone’s carefree energy, especially Sam, who’s sitting a little too still, jaw tight with whatever nerves he’s fighting off.

Josh clears his throat, turning directly to his twin. “Never have I ever… hooked up with someone at prom… who wasn’t my prom date.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up as Jake’s eyes fly quickly to yours, then back to Josh. They have a five-second stare down before Jake takes a quick drink, swallowing it a little too hard. “Next question.”

You shake it off, and try to qualm the tension again. “Never have I ever… regretted a last-minute decision.”

You don’t dare look up. At anyone. You keep your eyes fixated on the water. But you take note–Sam and Jake both drink.

Skyler giggles and leans in, smirking at Sam. “Never have I ever… gotten someone off in public.”

The words hang in the air. Your stomach drops. Everyone else laughs nervously. Sam tenses like he’s been stabbed. His hand tightens around his beer, knuckles white. You notice that Jake, too, takes a drink. 

“Uh…” Sam mutters, trying to sip quickly.

Josh leans forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Ohhh, that’s not like you. Come on, tell us Sammy. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Sam freezes, glaring daggers at him. 

Josh leans back, teasing, ignoring the anger. “Dude, I see the blush. Come on, tell us. Or… should I just guess?”

Your heart thuds violently, a mix of dread and something else that makes your pulse race. Sam’s eyes flick to you — just for a heartbeat — before snapping away. His jaw clenches.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growls, voice low and tense.

Josh laughs, teasing harder. “You’re sweating, man. This is gold. Are we talking serious… or just a one-night thing?”

Sam’s entire body stiffens. His nostrils flare. And then he bolts from the hot tub, splashing water everywhere. “You know what? I’m done.”

The water sloshes against the sides, hot tub hissing like it knows the tension is only getting hotter. It’s quiet for several seconds, the awkwardness growing rapidly. You stand, trying to stay casual, but your thighs ache from the adrenaline. “Yeah… you know what, me too,” you murmur. “I think I’ve had enough heat for tonight. And probably a little too much to drink.”

“Good night baby girl!” Skyler calls, oblivious to the storm brewing.

You climb the steps, ignoring the curious and slightly smug glance Jake throws over his shoulder. Once inside your room, the door clicks shut, and you lean against it, heart hammering.

You peel off your damp swimsuit and step into a towel, wrapping it around your body, but the warmth from the hot tub hasn’t left you. Not really. Not after Josh asking that damn question. Not after seeing Sam storm out. Not after catching that flash of anger in his eyes, and the curiosity in Jake’s.

Everything had happened way too fast. And with not enough warning.

Then, the door flies open. Your towel slips slightly as your chest tightens. Sam’s there, in the doorway. His breath is heavy, his eyes dark, storming with anger and raw heat that makes your stomach clench in ways you haven’t felt in months.

The bedroom door slams behind him like a goddamn bomb, rattling the frame, and you spin, towel pressed to your chest. “What the fuck, Sam?”

“They have no fucking clue, do they?” he spits, his eyes full of fire. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice already shaky. 

“Them! Your friends! You never told them anything about last year, did you?” he yells.

“No!” you retaliate. “I never told them shit! That was the agreement, remember? Secrets upon secrets upon secrets…”

He grits his teeth and runs his hands through his damp hair, his chest red with anger. “You’re telling me you never even hinted to them that we had something going on? Never at all? Even during all your little private woman conversations?”

“No! Why would I tell them?! It was between me and you, and I kept it that way, just like you wanted,” you jump back, still clutching your towel at your chest.

“Then why did they just act like they fucking knew?! They put me on the fucking spot, Y/N! If you’re telling me you never told them, then why in the fuck would Skyler ask if I’ve ever gotten someone off in public? She looked at me and asked!”

You shrug, at a loss for words. “I truly don’t know, Sam. It had to have been a coincidence, because I never told her about that. I swear on my life.”

He laughs through a forced breath, shaking his head in maddening disbelief. “Coincidence or not, she just made me look like a fucking fool in front of everyone.”

“Then why didn’t you tell them? Why didn’t you tell them it was me? Let it all out, tell the whole fucking truth… we kept it bottled up for so long, they’re bound to find out sometime…”

“No!” he lurches again.

“Yeah, you know what? Matter of fact, let’s go tell them all right now. Let’s go admit it all… Tell them all how we snuck around behind their backs for months…”

“Hey, stop!” he growls, and you can feel the rage literally radiating from him. “You’re being fucking ridiculous, it’s our first night here, and you want to ruin the whole week by telling them that we lied to them all!? Sounds like a great fucking plan, Y/N…”

You cross your arms, your jaw grit tightly as you shake your head from side to side. “Sometimes the truth is better off shared, Sam… I’m sick of lying to everyone… to myself…”

“Yourself? What do you mean to yourself?”

“I’m sick of telling myself that you didn’t completely mind fuck me in the matter of a week last year. That you disappearing didn’t completely wreck me, okay?” you yell in his face.

“Oh, me? I was the one who left?! Stop fucking kidding yourself, Y/N! God, just like you to never get your fucking story straight…” he spits, his hands flying up between your faces. 

You could almost feel the redness of the blood flooding your face. “Be so serious, Sam. You left me! I gave you a glimpse of how I felt and you panicked! You disappeared for weeks, ignored me like I was some—some nothing! And now you waltz in here thinking we can act normal? Like— all of that never happened?!”

He laughs, sharp and bitter. “I didn’t…leave you, and you fucking know that…” he snaps, stepping closer, the heat of him making your skin tingle with old, dangerous memories. “Do you have any idea how fucked up I was that night? After everything?”

You freeze, chest tightening, heat creeping up your neck. “Don’t—don’t start with that,” you hiss, gripping the towel tighter.

“Oh, we’re going there,” he says, voice low, teeth grinding. “You remember? You, me, the bathroom in the venue… I fucked you against the wall until your lungs gave out, and fuck, you were so goddamn perfect, god, you were perfect, and I thought—shit, I thought I could handle it all, but then you said all that… made it real. I couldn’t!”

“Handle what?!” you spit, eyes blazing. “You left! You left me, Sam! Half naked, trembling and alone in there, trying not to fucking cry while I thought—what, that you’d care? That you’d tell me you felt the same? That you’d come back and help me get fucking dressed?”

“I didn’t leave you!” he growls, fists clenching. “I went to think! I went to—fuck, I went to figure out how not to ruin everything, because every goddamn second I was with you, I was losing my mind. Losing my fucking mind Y/N!”

“Oh, so it was all about you!?” you yell, tears starting to sting your eyes. “Everything we had, all the nights sneaking around, the lies, the—everything, and it was just about you and your ego? All you wanted me for was for the thrill of it? You selfish prick!”

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite!” he shouts back, stepping closer, so close you can feel the heat off him. “You ignored me! You disappeared on me for weeks! You didn’t answer my calls, my texts! You think that didn’t tear me apart? Huh? You think I liked being ghosted by you, Y/N?”

“Oh, don’t act like you were suffering! I was nothing more than a glorified booty call!” you fire back, voice breaking, anger and pain colliding in every word. “You were enjoying the ride just like me! We both knew it was dangerous, thrilling, toxic, and guess what? I let myself fall all the way in while you—fuck—you were just… playing around while I was falling for you!”

“Playing around?!” His voice cracks, raw and sharp. “You think this was a game? I didn’t play, shit! I loved you!”

“You ‘loved’ me?!” You laugh, sharp and hollow, anger twisting in your stomach. “You loved me but couldn’t even admit you had feelings for me?! The one time I begged you to let me in you refused. You just zipped up your pants and left me there like a whore, Sam. You vanished like a ghost. I didn’t hear shit from you until you were ready to get your rocks off again. That’s not love.”

“Yes! I walked away. I was scared Y/N! I didn’t know how to fucking handle it!” He shouts, voice breaking, trembling with fury and desperation. “I didn’t know how to deal with us! With everything! It was all too fucking much. And yeah, I hurt you, I’m not denying that. But you, you’re no angel in this! You ignored me, too! You acted like my absence was nothing to you!”

“Oh, don’t even start with that!” you scream, shaking with fury. “I was trying to survive, Sam! I had to survive because you were a tornado! Cocky, arrogant, selfish, and holy fuck… you still are! And somehow, I let myself fall for you anyway, every goddamn time!”

“Because you’re insane Y/N!” he snaps, voice raw, and for a second, he just stares at you, eyes dark with grief and desire. “Because we’re both insane!”

For a split second, you almost want to laugh, because damnit, if he isn’t fucking right. 

His voice calms, but just a touch. “Yeah, we destroyed each other, and yeah, it was the most intoxicating, awful, delicious thing either of us has ever felt—but we’re still here, yelling like idiots, because apparently we can’t let go! Apparently there’s still something here!”

Tears finally slip down your cheeks. “I hated myself for it, Sam! For loving you… ugh, that wasn’t supposed to happen. You were just my… my friends’ kid brother. Always getting on my fucking nerves until one day… you just didn’t. One day you weren’t 19 anymore. You were grown, and smart, and mature, and and…” you can’t even find the words, so you just let your hands gesture to him.

You watch as he bites his lips in, his chest shuddering in as you make your admission. 

“You grew up right before my eyes and I didn’t even notice it… fuck, you were irresistable to me, Sam. You were like–like a secret rendezvous that I never wanted to end. Of course I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. I wanted you to stay mine, but at the same time I knew I couldn’t have you, not for real. And now, I’m glad I never told anyone. I’m glad I kept it in. Even though I hate myself for it.”

“You hate yourself for falling for me?” he hums, almost solemnly.

“Yes! For letting you in, in the first place! And now, now you’re here, acting like nothing happened, like I’m the problem! Because I didn’t tell everyone you broke my heart?!”

“You think I slept fine those nights after everything? You think I didn’t think about you every goddamn second? You think it didn’t kill me to not touch you, to not hear you laugh, to not—”

“Enough!” you yell, sobbing now, voice raw and ragged. “I can’t, Sam! I fucking can’t do this right now!”

“I—!” His hands slam against the wall, the wood rattling, and his chest heaving. “I—shit, Y/N…”

The air between you is thick with anger, grief, love, and longing. You can barely breathe, chest tight, heart raw and ragged.

“I need… I need to shower,” you choke, grabbing your clothes with shaking hands as you try to wipe away the tears clouding your vision. This can’t be fucking happening, right now.

Before he can respond, you bolt to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. You rip off the towel, and let the shower water hit you with scalding heat. The water feels like a cleansing fire, washing over you as you cry like you haven’t in months. The memory of him, the absence, the love, the heartbreak, all crashes through you at once, leaving you raw, trembling, and broken.

The sobs shake your body, unrelenting, leaving no room for anger, only the scorching ache of love lost and love still alive.

After a few minutes, you hear a light knock on the door, followed by the voice that once comforted you for so long.

“Y/N, can I–can I come in and–”

“No, Sam,” you cut. “Don’t fucking bother.”

—

You step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around your body, cheeks still wet with leftover tears, eyes puffy and red. The room is dim, lit only by the small lamp on the nightstand between the two beds. Everything else is shadowed. The silence is heavy, almost suffocating, and every movement feels like it might shatter something between you.

You halfway thought that Quinn and Skyler would have snuck down here by now to see what the hell had everyone bolting from the jacuzzi so fast, but they didn’t. And really, you didn’t blame them for wanting to just let it be.

You slide onto the bed, pulling the covers tightly around you, your hair still damp, your skin cooling from the shower. The dim lamp casts half his face in shadow. You can feel him staring, but neither of you speaks. The silence presses, heavy and electric, the kind that makes your chest ache with everything unsaid. Or said, but way too damned late. 

Finally, he shifts. “You’re quiet,” he murmurs, low and sharp, almost accusing.

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight. “I’ve got nothing left to say to you, Sam.”

“You’ve got plenty to say,” he snaps, a little louder this time. “You’re just too stubborn to say it out loud.”

You bite back a laugh, bitter and dry. “Oh, please. I said plenty just now, did I not? You think you get to accuse me of being stubborn? You disappeared, Sam. You didn’t call for days, didn’t show up anymore after that. You left me figuring it out on my own. It is what it is, now we can just drop it.”

He flinches, and you know you hit a nerve. “I didn’t disappear! I… I had my reasons. You think I wanted to stay away? You think I wanted this to happen?” His voice cracks slightly, the anger mixing with something vulnerable that he rarely lets anyone see.

“You think that excuses it? You think you get a free pass because you had… ‘reasons’? You were gone, Sam. Gone when I needed you. Gone when I… when I thought we were…” Your voice falters, and you clench the sheets, nails digging in. “I thought we were something, even if we never called it that. But I guess I was sadly mistaken.”

“We were something,” he spits, voice low and jagged. “We were intense. And yeah, it was complicated. But you—you just shut me out the moment I tried to… to…” He stops, jaw tight. “You ignored me! You didn’t answer when I reached out. You’ve been silent for months. Months!”

“Because you left! Left me in that fucking venue bathroom like I was some cheap hookup…” you hiss back. “You think I wanted to ignore you? I was fucking hurt by that, Sam! And pissed! I had to protect myself!”

His eyes flash, stormy and dark. “Protect yourself? Or protect your ego? You didn’t want to admit that you were still… that you still wanted me.”

“Of course I wanted you!” you snap, your voice breaking despite yourself. “I wanted you, Sam, I wanted you then, and you left me twisting in my own head like I was nothing! You don’t get to act like I’m the bad guy!”

He rolls to face you, voice dangerously low, each word cutting like a knife. “I left because I knew you’d never want all of me. My life, my mess, the shit I can’t explain—it’s too much for you, always will be. You think you’re some innocent bystander in this? You weren’t—you were part of it, and you didn’t want the truth. You didn’t want me, really. You wanted the fantasy, the thrill of the idea of me.”

Your chest tightens, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “You think this—whatever we had—was a fantasy?”

“Maybe,” he snaps, the heat of his anger radiating through the space between you. “Maybe it was just a game…a fling. I don’t know anymore, and I sure as hell don’t know if you ever really gave a shit about me.”

You swallow hard, voice trembling but sharp. “You think I didn’t care about you? Did you not hear everything I admitted to you just now? You think I didn’t feel every single goddamn thing that happened between us? You think this”—you gesture wildly, encompassing the room, “wasn’t real for me?”

His eyes soften slightly, but only for a moment, a flicker of something buried beneath the rage. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” he mutters, and there’s a pause so heavy you can feel it in your bones. “I don’t know if any of this was ever real. Or if it was just me making a fool out of myself. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

The room feels smaller, the air thick with hurt and unsaid words. You press your face into the pillow, shoving tears back, refusing to let him see how broken you are.

Finally, he exhales, almost inaudible. “Earlier… in the kitchen…” His voice is barely a whisper, hesitant, like he’s afraid to break the glass barrier between you.

You lift your head slightly, voice flat but curious. “What?”

“The text,” he says again, sighing. “From the girl. Natalia. She’s… it’s not—”

Your heart hammers, as you shake your head. “That’s not my business, Sam.”

“But it is… Fuck—” he repeats, fumbling for words, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not… we aren’t seri—”

“I told you, Sam. Not my business. You don’t owe me anything. We are done. You can do what you want,” you cut him off, rolling over to face away from him, trying to regain composure though you feel the same fault line in your heart cracking wide open. “Goodnight.”

“Y/N,” he pleads, his voice a breathy whisper. 

When you don’t respond you hear the lamp turn off and his head settle on the pillow. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and the weight of it crushes you in a way that nothing else has tonight.

—

You’re not sure when the dream begins, only that it feels too vivid to be a memory and too familiar not to be. The air around you hums with leftover sound from the show, the bassline still thrumming somewhere deep in your chest. The hallway is narrow, washed in the amber light of the backstage bulbs, and he's there. Sweat slicked and grinning like sin, his suit jacket long gone and his eyes on you. 

“Waiting for me?” he murmurs, his voice rough from the set. 

“You took your time.”

He laughs low, stepping close enough for the scent of him to surround you. Incense, adrenaline, and heat. Your world seems to blur at the edges. Like watercolor blurring together. You remember the sound of the people backstage, the distant laughter in the corridor, a road case rolling by and the way he looks at you like you're the only thing still moving. 

He smirks at you, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “God, you’re insatiable,” he mutters as you pull him into the bathroom; but he doesn't pull away. His hand slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him as you twist the lock behind the two of you. “Thinking about this since I stepped on stage, haven't you?”

“Worse,” you tease, and without hesitation you drop to your knees, sliding his suit pants over his hips. His dick springs free, already half hard, and growing. “Since soundcheck.”

He tilts his head back, a low sound caught in his throat as you sink lower between his legs. The air shifts, heavy and electric, the kind that feels like lightning before it strikes. His hand finds your hair, tentative at first, then certain… a silent rhythm passes between you, wordless and slow. You let your tongue flick out over his tip, his length fully hard in your hand now as you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes. 

Your mouth envelops him. You taste salt, warmth, and want. He groans, one hand bracing against the bathroom wall, the other holding the back of your head as you slide your tongue against the underside of his length.

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re ruining me,” he whines, low and strained. “I needed this. Needed you.”

You sink your mouth over him over and over, slick and needy, one hand clutching his thigh as you work him. You pull away, a trail of spit falling from your plush lips. “Needed you more, Sam. Couldn’t stop thinking of this.”

“Fuck you feel… so good,” he groans, pressing further down your throat as your mouth works to take him all. The sounds echo lewdly through the small tiled bathroom, a cacophony of wet noises. “You’re fucking messy as hell and I love it.”

You hum around him, teeth grazing and tongue dragging over every inch of his cock. Desperate, wet and hungry. You devour him completely, like it’s the first time, everytime. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”

“You’re making it impossible to think at all,” he says, his hand gripping tightly against your scalp, the other slung loosely around your throat as his thumb presses into your skin. “I’m gonna lose it if you keep–”

You moan around him, the vibration pushing him further, your own body trembling, positively dripping with desire, unable to hold back your need. You swallow around his tip at the back of your throat, your eyes filling with tears as you look at him. His thumb presses firmly to your throat, feeling the fullness there as he fucks your mouth. 

“Fuck, Y/N– I’m…so close… fuck–” he growls, a dark, dangerous version of himself slipping through the cracks. “I’m not gonna last–not like this. I’m going to fuck you. Right here. When I cum it will be inside you. ”

You pull back, your eyes meeting his, dark and hungry. Your breath is hot and your voice is trembling. “Do it. Use me, Sam. I want you.”

His eyes darken, his pupils blown as heat radiates from him. He pulls himself from your mouth and yanks you up by your throat, spinning you around to press you against the cold tile wall. He slides his hand beneath the slit in your dress, hitching it up around your hips. His hand slides between your thighs, shoving your panties to the side with a low, feral growl. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice wrecked and thick with lust. “So fucking wet for me. Trembling and desperate…I could bury myself in you and not give a fuck about anything else for the rest of my life.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please, Sam…”

He smirks, “You’re pathetic like this. Wet and dripping…You make it too easy, baby.”

He fists himself, dragging his tip through your wetness, locking eyes with you as he positions himself at your opening. He thrusts into you hard and fast, his nails digging into your hips as your bodies crash against the wall. It’s perfect and volatile at the same time. 

“Sam…oh god, fuck!” you cry, biting your lip as you rock against him.

“You’re mine,” he snarls, thrusting deeper, his voice rough and commanding. “God you feel so fucking good for me, baby. So tight… so needy…so fucking greedy for me.”

His hand moves to the top of your dress, roughly pulling down the cup at your chest. His mouth finds your neck as his fingers pinch your nipple between his thumb and finger. A soft moan slides against your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin. Your body writhes beneath him, a sheen of sweat beginning to coat your skin in the humid bathroom. “You wanna cum for me sweet thing? Right here in this bathroom? With everyone right outside? That’s naughty, baby. Naughty and I fucking love it.”

“I want it— yes right now,” you plead, feeling your orgasm approaching quickly as his words swirl through the air. 

“That’s it, fuck yeah…you were made for this. For me…” he whispers, goosebumps rippling down your body. 

Your muscles begin to tighten, your body shivering as your orgasm begins to crash through you. Your wetness is slick between you and you've truly never felt so raw, so completely undone. 

“Yeah, baby, that's it. Just like that,” he groans. He thrusts faster, harder, mercilessly, his hands gripping your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin. “You love this, don’t you? Love being taken like this? You’re mine…all mine… messy little thing,” he growls, his hips slamming against yours with brutal precision.

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” you cry out, your fingers threaded through his sweaty hair. “I’m yours, Sam…please… don’t stop!”

“My turn now…” he warns, “Want to give you all of it. Every fucking inch. You hear me?”

You whine in response, his hips punctuating each word. You feel him deep inside you, despite the angle. His eyes meet yours, piercing into you, you couldn’t look away if you wanted to. You wanted to know what he was thinking. If he was feeling the same way you were. You wanted to ask. But you don’t. 

He groans, deeper, darker, finally shuddering. “God… shit…fuck, I’m– Fuck!” his release rips through him, hot and heavy, spilling into you as he grits his teeth, his hands still tight on your hips.

You gasp, trembling, slick and clinging to him as your chest heaves. “Oh god, Sam…”

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard, his voice ragged. “Jesus, you’re fucking insane, baby,” he mutters, letting his hips slacken slightly, still holding you closely. “Messy, needy, greedy, god I can’t believe how much I want you… all the fucking time.”

You shiver, pressed to him, trembling through the aftershocks. “I want you… always,” you whisper, voice broken and needy. “Dont go this time…stay here with me… let’s—tell them…”

He doesn't answer, just grinds against you once more, his lips brushing yours briefly before pulling back slightly, breathing heavily as his dark eyes meet yours. “No I—Not tonight,” he says quietly. “You got your fill.”

You shiver against him, eyes wide for the first time since the night began, a flicker of unease crossing your mind. 

“My fill? What do you mean?” you spit, your voice hoarse.

He smirks, that cocky infuriating grin that always makes your blood rush, and leans closer letting his forehead brush yours. “What do you mean? You know exactly what we’re doing,” he mutters, his voice thick with heat. His hand slides down your side, dragging you flush against him again. 

You push back slightly, heart pounding with a mix of lust and frustration. “No, I mean us. This… whatever this is. I mean, surely we’re– we’re more than just fucking.”

Sam’s gaze darkens, his fingers gripping your waist like he might crush you, as he leans in until his lips are barely brushing yours. “Maybe we are just fucking,” he pauses, “don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“I do,” you admit, biting your lip as your hand tangles in his hair, “but– I need…I need to know if there's more. If we’re– anything beyond…that.”

He snorts softly, a sound that is part amusement and something sharp. “You asking for a reason, baby? You asking because you think I’m gonna say the right thing?” he presses his palm harder against your hip, tilting you against the sink. “You think I’m the kind of guy who does that?"

Your chest tightens, frustration growing. “I just…I need–” you stop, catching yourself. You know you shouldn't beg, shouldn't push, but the words spill out anyways. “I need to know where you stand, Sam. I can’t keep…doing this. Not without knowing how you feel…about me. Us.”

“This?” His hands tighten like iron around you, pulling you flush against him again, his hips pressing into you. “This? You mean this messy, hot, goddamn wild shit we do? Thats us. Thats what I feel.” his voice dips, low and rough as he leans close, whispering into your ear. “You wanted this. You wanted me, didn’t you? Every damn part of it, every filthy second, and now you want it all laid out like it's some– tidy little fairytale where there is a label and— an us?”

You can feel your pulse hammering in your ears. The heat between your thighs, the way your body reacts to his touch…it's overwhelming. “I wanted you,” you whisper, "but I also… want more than just this. I can’t just–”

“You want more,” he repeats. “You think I can be your everything, baby? You’re still wet and dripping on me and thinking about love? Think I’m gonna be the one to give you the world?”

You stare at him, chest heaving as your body fills with anger. “I don’t know! I just– Jesus, Sam! I can’t do this with you if I don’t know how you feel!”

He freezes, his jaw tight, and for a second, the smoldering heat in his eyes wavers, replaced by something unreadable. “I don’t know either,” he says quietly. “Maybe that's the point.”

The weight of that hangs between you like a knife. You swallow hard, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes, and his hands slide down, finally releasing you. You stumble back slightly, breath shaky, staring at him. “So… that’s it? That’s all this was? Fucking?”

Sam shakes his head, a harsh, bitter laugh escaping him. “I didn’t… I didn’t say it would be anything else.” He turns, zipping his suit pants, avoiding your gaze. “Don’t make me say more, okay? Just… let this go.”

Your chest aches, the sting of his words mingling with the memory of what just happened. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, voice trembling. “You always fucking do this. Let me in, Sam! Don’t leave me guessing!”

“I didn’t leave you anything,” he snaps back, sharper than before, finally locking eyes with you. “You’re the one who thinks you need more, not me.”

The tension between you is electric, the small bathroom shrinking even smaller, your chest pounding with both lust and heartbreak. You swallow the lump in your throat, backing toward the door. “I can’t do this with you,” you say softly, almost breaking.

“You don’t really have much of a choice,” he mutters, voice tight, almost pleading. “At least not tonight. What’s done is done.” He runs a hand over his messy hair as he glances at himself in the small vanity mirror. He catches your eyes, quickly filling with tears.  “Clean yourself up before you come out.”

And then he’s gone, slipping out the door before you can respond, leaving you alone in the grimy venue bathroom, the echoes of the past few hours swirling around you. 

The harsh smell of dark roast wakes you from your sleep, making you rustle in the stiff sheets and unfamiliar bedding. It’s only a few seconds before you remember where you are, and a whole minute before you remember everything that happened last night. 

You shuffle in the bed, letting your legs stretch before opening your eyes to the sunlight, your breath already hitching as you prepare yourself to look over to Sam’s bed. Luckily, it’s empty. 

Your eyes adjust to prove to you that he isn’t just buried in his own sheets, and you finally feel confident enough to let out that breath you were holding. You sit up, the weight of everything that had gone down last night hitting you like a freight train, followed up by the memory of the utterly ground-shaking memory dream you’d just experienced. God. You hate when that happens. It’s often, believe it or not… your ability to re-live that horrific night again and again in your subconscious. It’s something you’ll never escape, you guess. 

But the fact that you actually had to wake up this morning and he potentially be the first person you see had your body and mind screaming in unison. Thank god he’s already awake.

Your feet hit the hardwood floor beneath you, cold but welcoming, and you stand to throw on your sweats and slippers. That coffee smell that woke you up now has you gravitating toward it with your mouth watering… especially since the indulgence of wine last night combined with the harsh cry session has left you with a sizable headache. 

You glance over to Sam’s unmade bed and his unmistakable dark gray pillowcase that he’s never traveled without, and your heart sinks. That argument last night, your admission. The way his face fell when you half-drunkenly mentioned that you hate yourself for letting yourself fall for him. And now, you have to go downstairs and put on a happy face for him. For his brothers. And for your best friends. 

You check your appearance in the mirror and decide it’s as good as it’s gonna get, and you let your slippered feet carry you to the stairs. You hear conversation and laughter, and Josh’s bellowing voice already bouncing off the timber walls. You step onto the landing, willing yourself to put on a brave face. 

Gathered around the table, you find Josh, Quinn, Sam, and–

Who… is that…

“Good morning, sunshine!” Quinn breaks their conversation to greet you, standing immediately to grab a mug near the coffee pot. 

“Hi,” you mutter, your eyes skittering around looking for an open chair. The only open chair, next to–

“Hey, Y/N! I’m Natalia, Sam’s girlfriend. I’ve heard so much about you!” Her hand is reaching out to yours to shake, her nails painted a pale pink and her wrists littered with thin gold chains. 

Girlfriend.

The words hit like a punch beneath the ribs.

Your breath snags. Your fingers curl in your sleeves. You feel the floor tilt, the air thinning to almost nothing.

Instinct tells you to look at Sam. To search his face for denial, for an apology, for anything that doesn’t confirm this is real. But you won’t give him that. Not now.

You keep your gaze locked on her instead, rigid and unblinking, like if you don’t acknowledge him, none of this can touch you.

Her hand remains extended between you, waiting.

Your lungs burn. Your knees wobble. You are one second, one blink, from breaking.

And for a terrifying, airless moment, you think you might shatter right there.

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[gretavanmoon]

ENTER: SANDMAN - I

Jake x female AU

Words: 11.8k

'And this has been my fate for much longer than it has been yours, if you’ll recall who trained you in the art of dream selling. I deserve this. I deserve some happiness…’

+ Alone and forgotten in his quiet, crumbling realm, The Sandman has nearly given up all hope that he will ever receive another summoning. But just as he is about to succumb to the darkness, he receives a call that turns his world on its axis, thrusting him into a fate he never saw coming.

Thanks for reading, hope you guys like ;)

Warnings: 18+! Alternate Universe/Realm , An Aware Unconscious Mind, Realistic/Lucid Dreaming

Angst: Cursing, Unclean Thoughts

Smut: Heavy Flirting, Dirty Talk, Touching, Fingering (F! Receiving), Begging

- Prologue -

++++++++++++

Five hundred years may seem like only a blip of time in the grand scheme of our world, but when one has been present for the entirety of five millennia, the blip draws itself out into a map that scrolls beyond all comprehension, beyond all conception of time itself– especially when one is only alive for a fraction of it. 

I was cursed with a destiny that I never saw coming… a fate that was put onto me while I was taking my dying breath at the young age of 29– a choice offered up to me in exchange for death, and I took it. I agreed, right then and there, to take on the responsibility of being one who imposes rest & repose to those mortals who seek it. And so I have been, for the last five hundred and one years. 

It isn’t a tough job, but rather one that can sometimes be daunting, watching the unconscious minds drift in and out of worlds created between the synapses of the brain and the experiences they have. I can weave them, I can supply them, I can create them… I can even change them. When mortal humans lie in wait in their beds for unconsciousness to finally befall them, begging anyone who will listen to bring them some reprieve, I am there. When they sleep dreamless for nights on end, wishing for their unconscious mind to take them away to another world that is unexplainable, I am there. And when those who lie alone at night are burdened with wishing and praying for someone, or something to come and provide them with some type of physical release, I am there.

My colleague Rook and I, of course.

Rook is a raven, but he hasn’t always been. He was a man just like myself up until about eighty years ago, when he made a choice so pivotal and profound that it shifted our world into a brand new routine, changing our lives as we knew them, altogether. Unfortunately, Rook was bestowed a fate worse than the one he had already received when he became a Sandman. And it was all at the hands of a mortal woman. 

Nearly eight decades ago, now, Rook and I were living our lives as normal, traveling between realms and tending to sleepless humans day in and day out, business as usual. Rook, though, returned home one early morning to tell me of a visit he’d had, one that had struck him in such a way that I felt it from our realm, myself. 

‘She’s beautiful,’ he’d said, his opalite eyes glowing and shining in the warm glow of the sunrise bouncing off the ocean below us. I could feel his happiness, I recognized his elation. His hands gripped onto my shoulders as I watched him smile like I’d never seen him smile before. ‘Never have I encountered a visit like this, Jacob. Never… in all my years…’

‘Tell me, tell me all about it…’ I’d requested, my interest piqued to hear every last detail about this certain visit. Though we could communicate through one another’s thoughts, we still lacked in the fact that we couldn’t feel one another’s emotions, nor see what the other was seeing. ‘Was the visit simply for sleep? Or for…’

He’d licked his lips as he fought back his devious grin, overjoyed at the fact that he could share such an experience. 

‘Yes, the orb had glowed red,’ he’d replied, letting me know that this summoning was one of a certain kind.

‘The sex, Jacob… unlike anything I have ever experienced. Ever. In my time as mortal and immortal… It was almost as if I could feel her, too… as if I didn’t ever want it to end…’

‘You could feel her, too?’ I’d pressed, surprised. 

‘In every sense of the word.’

I’d looked at him in disbelief, but also believing, wholeheartedly, everything he said.

‘Have you ever felt… anchored, after a… session?’ he inquired, his faceted eyes still reflecting. 

‘Anchored…’ I repeated.

‘Yes. Stuck, grounded… unable to even fathom the thought of going on to the next summoning… as if an anchor was tied to your body, not willing you to leave the bed of the one you were with?’

The idea had struck me as I tried to remember if I’d ever felt that way before, if I’d ever had a problem with pulling myself from the sheets of the one whom I had spent the night with. 

‘No,’ I’d replied honestly. ‘I don’t believe I have. In this life, or my life as a mortal…’

He’d paced, letting go of my shoulders to flit around the room as if he had wings attached to his ankles. I could feel the sheer happiness radiating off of him, a new notion for the both of us. 

‘It was… unexplainable, Jacob,’ he’d whispered, sitting down to stare into the orb. ‘I’ve never felt… the way she looked at me… it was as if she was awake, as if she knew who I was in my soul, in the bones that made me a man when I was still as such…’

I’d nodded, trying to understand. 

‘I can’t find the words to describe it… It was as if she was truly present, and not just dreaming me up…’

His words had struck me again, his sudden and newfound vulnerability making me take a seat beside him.

‘That’s… different…’ I said. ‘Did she perhaps see through the third wall, realize her paralysis at just the right time?’

He’d shaken his head. ‘It was as if she never even got there… never let her sleep overtake her, at all. She saw me, Jacob. She saw me.’

‘Will you return to her?’ I’d asked, suddenly on board with everything he was feeling.

I still remember the look on his face, to this day. Excited, confused… and happy. His body was visually vibrating with elation. 

‘I told her to call upon me again,’ he’d whispered, biting his thumb nail. ‘We’ll see if she holds up her end of the deal…’ 

The two of us had sat there in silence for minutes on end, basking in this new emotion together as the sun shone bright orange beams into our dark cave that hovered above the sea. 

‘I kissed her, Jacob,’ Rook finally spoke, hushed. 

‘Rook, no…’

‘Rather, she kissed me… I couldn’t stop her, I couldn’t stop myself,’ he blabbed, his hands writhing against each other as he processed. ‘Mortals don’t do that… they don’t display that kind of intimacy with a supernatural being who–’

Rook stopped. He didn’t need to explain it to me. I was very aware of the fact that during those special sessions it was so rare for a mortal to even fathom sharing an act of intimacy so personal as a kiss, that it never even happened. Ever. It wasn’t even ever a passing thought for them. 

‘She kissed you…’ I’d repeated with surprise. ‘She…’

‘And I kissed her back. God, I know this is bad, this could be so bad, Jacob…’

‘We don’t know that, Rook. It–it will be fine…’ I tried to reason with him as he suddenly showed signs of panic. Truly, I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know what a human breaking through to an immortal like this could mean. 

‘What if it isn’t, Jacob? What if… if it causes something bad to happen… I don’t know.’

‘Can you stay away from her, if she calls upon you again tonight?’ I’d asked.

His eyes shifted, looking down into the glass orb between us, swirling with inquiring minds. 

‘I don’t think even the pull of gravity itself could stop me from going back to her…’

I’d swallowed, realizing the weight of the gamble in front of us. But his pure joy overstepped any boundary that made itself to the forefront of our shared thoughts. 

‘Then return to her, you will.’

. . .

…But it was bad. 

Horrible, life-altering, and gut-wrenching, actually. 

Night after night, Rook returned to her. Fed her what she needed, made love to her again and again, ignoring all the calls to the other inquiring visits. He’d become obsessed with her, in every sense of the word. At first, it was fine… manageable. But then I began to notice that I wasn’t able to keep up with the demand all by myself. Try, I did, but after so long it became straining. 

I was spending days upon days away from home, unable to return for more than a minute before the next priority call made its way to the orb, yanking me away again for another summoning.

Rook was barely there. All his time spent with her… barely leaving enough time to even meet half of our quota. 

‘You do realize that this is your job, right?’ I’d pressed one night after finding him, surprisingly, relaxing across his bed. ‘I can’t fucking do this all by myself…’

‘Don’t be so loud about it, Jacob… I’ve made ten calls in the last three days–’

‘And I’ve made sixty! Sixty, Rook! You do realize that we have an obligation…’

‘An obligation?!’ he yelled, moving to stand. ‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember signing up for this…’

My rage was apparent, and my aggravation had finally come to a head. It wasn’t fair. If I’d had a heart, my pulse would have been like a stampede. 

Suddenly he was on his feet, rushing me until his nose was jutting up against mine. His eyes were no longer opalite. His skin was no longer cool. All I could feel was an emanation of something I’d never felt before, radiating against me like a magnetizing force.

‘You’re just jealous…’ he gritted, his eyes delving deeply into mine. 

‘Jealous?!’ I’d jumped back. 

‘Yes, jealous. Jealous that I’ve found this happiness, and you still have to spend your time chasing the high I get to feel whenever I’d fucking like…”

I could feel the rage boiling in my stomach. ‘Chasing a high?! Are you crazy? This is our fate, Rook! This isn’t some fun game!’ I’d yelled back in his face, raising my arms high into the air as night had begun to fall. 

He shoved me, obviously thrown off by my retaliation. ‘And this has been my fate for much longer than it has been yours, if you’ll recall who trained you in the art of dream selling,’ he yelled as I stumbled backward. ‘I deserve this. I deserve some happiness…’

‘Our feelings do not matter, Rook! You know this! We aren’t even supposed to have them…’ I charged him, shoving him back. ‘Do not insult me, and keep your fucking hands off of me.’

‘So you are jealous…’ his tongue jutted out across his teeth, his eyes suddenly turning black. ‘You won’t keep me from her, Jacob. Try as you might… I will always go back to her… She satisfies my every need, and I give her what no mortal man can…’

‘You aren’t even supposed to have needs, Rook… Do you not remember that?’ I’d asked him after one last powerless shove to my shoulders. ‘Sex means nothing to us… nothing but an exchange for immortality…’

He stood again, towering high above as he made his presence known. His eyes pitch-dark, and his skin so pale and paper-thin, I feared even touching him. 

‘It isn’t just sex, Jacob!’ His voice was quiet but deafened me, his whisper powerful enough to reverberate off the walls. 

My limbs went loose and my mouth went dry, the realization hitting me enough to knock me off my feet. 

‘You’re in love with her…’

Rook took a quick, deep breath, letting every ounce of breath escape his lungs as his eyes finally met mine. Defeated, scared. He didn’t speak. 

‘You are, aren’t you…’ I repeated. 

He shook his head. ‘I think I am.’

‘Fuck,’ I muttered, finding my footing again as I pulled my chair out from under the table. I sat down, and Rook joined me. ‘We aren’t supposed to feel love, Rook… We aren’t supposed to feel anything…’

‘You don’t think I know that, Jacob? I–I’m terrified… I’ve never been able to feel a mortal this closely before. Everything about her… her touch, her breath, her skin… I cannot lose her, I physically can not be apart from her…’

‘Rook, this doesn’t make sense. You are not of earth, how do you expect to care for someone who you will never be able to provide for? She is a human being…’

‘I–I don’t know, I– She feels the same, I know she does…’ he complained, his tone suddenly falling from angry to anxious. ‘She told me.’

‘That doesn’t matter, Rook. You only exist in her dreams, you are only a figment of her imagination, you have to remember that…’ I’d reasoned, trying to be logical in the face of the situation at hand. 

His voice was hushed as the wind had stopped blowing outside, suddenly gifting us with a calm, quiet atmosphere. The air felt heavy, and I noticed that Rook was near tears. ‘She sees through it, Jacob. She sees me, I told you that. From the very first summoning, she’s seen me. How can I walk away from that?’

I was speechless. 

‘I’m shackled to her, Jacob… My roots are in her home, in her bed… I can not fathom a day without her, I can not comprehend a world in which she is not mine…’

‘But you aren’t real to her, Rook. You’re a dream, a fantasy. That’s all we are, that’s all we will ever be…’ 

I took Rook’s hands in mine, warm and bony as his dark, hooded eyes stared into mine. His skin was pale and his face was hollow… he looked nothing of his strong, normal self. ‘Do you… do you feel okay?’ I’d asked him, suddenly a bit worried. 

‘M’fine,’ he’d replied, his mouth dry as his skin began to darken. His neck twitched, and his voice changed to something sinister. Suddenly, his hands squeezed mine, and his head fell onto the table with a hard thud. 

‘Rook!’ I’d exclaimed, standing to pull him back up. His head swirled on his neck, completely devoid of any muscle mass at all. His eyes were switching from opalite to dark, his eyelids barely able to stay open for more than a second’s time. ‘Rook! Wake up!’

I shook his shoulders and pulled him back up to sit, finding that his skin was like brittle sandpaper in my hands, falling off and disintegrating like ash. My panic suddenly found me. He looked like he was dead. 

‘Rook!’ I screamed again, reaching under him to lift him and lay him on the ground. Barely, he held on, his skin and bones suddenly rupturing and splintering, the sounds they made burying themselves forever in the back of my mind. He made no sound, only long, chopped exhales fell from his lips as I did my best to hold him, hold on to him… anything to save him… ‘You’re okay… I’m right here…’

Within mere seconds, Rook was reduced to nothing, a pile of ashen sand in the shape of his body lied there on our floor, his boots and robes the only indication that he was ever there, at all. 

My face flushed, my hands shook, I could not comprehend what had just happened. My body convulsed from pure panic. He was just here, he was just in front of me… what is happening?!

‘Rook!!!’ I’d screamed, my voice blood-curdling. My sand-covered hands swept across his clothing, finding nothing at all to hold on to. My breath picked up as panic set in, frantically searching through his clothing as if maybe, just maybe, my eyes were deceiving me. I picked up his boots and turned them upside down, watching as nothing but dusty sand fell out onto the floor below me. 

No. No no no…

I’d stood from my place on the floor, my hands brushing through my hair as fearful tears pricked at my eyes. I looked around the room, seeing nothing but the blurred images of our belongings around us. Where is he?! I repeated his name over and over, stumbling outside and into the mist of the ocean waves to scream his name, hoping that maybe wherever he was, he would hear me. 

. . .

The minutes ticked by that night as I lied across my bed, flipping my hourglass over and over again. I watched as each grain of sand fell through it, reminding me that with each passing second, it became more real that Rook was really gone. Disintegrated, right in my hands. I couldn’t even fathom it. 

I ignored the orb, not caring one way or the other if I made the quota that night. Our home was silent, and my body was exhausted. I had no thoughts, only confusion and heartbreak. Nothing made sense, and the scenario replaying through my mind only terrified me even more. I have no one… not even another being in this world of ours to run to, to cry to. My chest heaved with every single breath, a heaviness that I had only felt a handful of times when I was a mortal. I was lost, confused, and utterly gutted beyond all recognition. What in the hell happened to him?

Apparently, something closely related to what I would call sleep had found me, for my memory was blank for the next few hours. But suddenly and harshly I was awoken, a strange sound coming from a high corner of our lair.

‘Jacob?’ 

I shot up, my senses now totally awake, second guessing what I had heard. ‘Hello?’

‘Jacob… it’s me…’

I stood from the bed, sand sprinkling across my boots. 

‘Rook! Where– where are you?!’ I spun around the room, my eyes adjusting in the darkness as I tried my best to follow his voice. 

‘Here–up here…’

My gaze traveled to the high corner, finally adjusting and resting on a piece of jutted stone. And there, perched on it, was the most beautiful and majestic raven I had ever laid my eyes upon. It’s feathers were iridescent… reflecting shimmers of black and blue and green. Its size, something to be afraid of. It’s eyes- blacker than coal, and darker than midnight. I stopped dead in my tracks. 

It was then that I realized that I wasn’t hearing the bird talk to me, but instead, I was hearing Rook’s voice in my thoughts.

‘Oh my god… Rook, is–’

‘It’s me, Jacob… It’s me…’

+++

Eighty years, now, Rook and I have lived alongside each other, me in my immortal state and he in that of a Raven. It took us a while, but we soon learned exactly why he had met this unimaginable fate, and that returning back from it was not going to be in the cards for him. 

He’d met the utmost punishment at the hands of falling in love with a mortal, his body being taken from him and replaced with that of a bird. A powerful and intelligent bird, but yet. We realized that crossing the boundary line between our realm and the realm of the living gave a punishment more dire than death– a fate worse than one could imagine.

And the worst part of it all– he could never return to her, even in her dreams.

It was hard at first, adjusting to our new lifestyle while trying to learn what Rook still could and couldn’t do, meanwhile I had to take on the weight of tending to all of our summons, even the special service ones, all by myself. I’d gotten used to the work overload while he was away with her, of course, so not much changed. 

It took us a while to learn that Rook could still be of assistance in this realm, bringing omens and tokens of good fortune to those in search of better rest. We dug deeply into our old texts, reading accounts from the Sandmen of the past, learning from them and studying what we called their journals. Never once had we come across another speaking of this type of occurrence, though. It seemed as though Rook was the first. 

After some slower nights spent fingering through the texts, we had come up with a list of tasks that Rook could still perform in his new form, many of them including letting his birdsong be a lullaby, or his presence be a guide to those who knew where to look. Trial and error, trial and error… We, together, learned that Rook’s fate wasn’t the end of his life in the business of selling dreams, had he only change his perspective. 

+++++++++++++++++++

Jacob

My feet trudge up the path on the hillside, gritty and graveled underneath my heavy footsteps. It’s cold. Really fucking cold, but I have never cared. The moon isn’t full tonight, leaving me with only a dull glow from the waning crescent to provide me with enough light to make it back to my home. The pines sway around in the chilled breeze as the waves crash against the rocks below me, signaling high tide.

I’m weak and exhausted, and I’m positive that I have never felt this kind of fatigue in my life. My lifeless muscles strain to take every step, and it feels as if my lungs are full of stones. It takes every ounce of energy I have just to make it past the crest of the hilltop, letting the wind behind me give me a last push over the threshold. 

Rook caws in the corner, acknowledging my arrival. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” I reply back to him, reading his thoughts. “I’ll be dust before dawn if I’m not careful. But I had to get out of this goddamned cave.”

It’d been some time since Rook and I realized that we were thriving, visiting the hundreds of other realms ten times a night to bring dreams and slumber to those who needed it most, only to meet up again at dawn to rest. Back then, we were on top of the world, ruling our universe with strong hands, thriving off of the thrill of the next summoning, relishing in the fact that a few of these calls weren’t just for sleep. 

Many a night, we’d receive three or four calls of a special type, invitations from those who wish for something a little more stout to help them to reach a place of rest. They’d beckon for something to take them away from it all, to fulfill their every fantasy while they balance on that horizon between sleep and consciousness. It was the best of times, indulging not only those who beckoned for a little extra, but indulging ourselves, as well. The two of us unable to age past our prime, slyly shifting our way through the minds of those who just wanted a little companionship, someone to know how to please them, someone who they didn’t have to remember the next morning. 

Rook caws again from his perch, obviously worried about me in my sullen and sunken state as I slump into my velveteen chair, absolutely spent, and fearing for my own existence. 

“I know, I know, you wretched creature… but what am I supposed to do about it? The orb hasn’t glowed for a summoning in months…” Rook is upset, worried for me, I can tell. I can hear his thoughts, and he can hear mine, allowing us both the favor of knowing where the other is at all times. We have no secrets and we never have, the two of us bound together in profession and fate, each other’s best companion for the last 500 years.

I hear his feathers brush against one another and hear him groan under his voice, irritated and anxious with the thought that I might not wake up tomorrow. Neither of us have been apart from each other since we were cursed with this profession; I would be worried, too, if the tables were turned. 

But I refuse to let these thoughts and weaknesses get the best of me as I rest my head in my hand, staring into the summoning orb perched perfectly on its table, barely glowing a dark gray. The smoke inside it swirls around like storm clouds, tiny shards of light bouncing through it as it shows the thoughts of those mortals who think about calling upon us, but never follow through with the thought. 

‘What do you think could be the problem? What has changed?’ I hear Rook’s thoughts ask. 

“Your guess is as good as mine…” I mutter, my eyes falling heavy onto the orb.

‘Strange… in all these years, after all this time… this busy time… and now, nothing,’ he goes on. 

“There is no good explanation,” I reply solemnly. “Times have changed, I suppose. Sleeping pills, drugs, good sex… they don’t need us anymore…”

He caws. ‘If only I could somehow help you, taunt them with the kind of slumber that only our sand can bring… then pass them along to you… Curse this damned state I’ve found myself in. I can hardly even perform what I was destined to do… it’s all my fau–’

“Don’t think that way, Rook, for god’s sake, you do plenty,” I say, standing from my chair with jerked movements and weak knees. I pull my cape around me, feeling the bitter cold coming off of the icy waves smacking against the rocks outside. “The last thing I need is you feeling sorry for me over something that happened 80 years ago.”

‘But it is my fault this happened… my fault I ended our reign. I was selfish…’ Rook admits. 

“You fell in love, Rook. Neither of us knew the circumstances of your punishments. You cannot continue to blame yourself for that…” I growl at him, turning to glare in his direction after having had this same conversation so many times. 

‘Yes, but only if I’d have–’

“Stop!” I yell, feeling my ribcage vibrate under the bellow of my voice. “Do not place blame upon yourself! I can not fathom your guilt just as much as I can not fathom my own shortcomings…”

I shuffle over to my bed and lie back, pulling my cape and red velvet covers over myself. I stare up at the dark wooden bedframe above me, adorned with ancient writings about the thrills of sleep, or something. I sigh, listening in silence as Rook preens himself. It’s just been so quiet…

‘Maybe I can go place some omens, drop some protection prophecies… hell, maybe I can go hunt for the dream thieves–’

“No,” I reply blankly. “You needn’t waste your energy when no one is going to light the orb to summon us, anyway. 

‘But you’re weakening, Jacob, I can’t just sit idly by and watch you wither away… You need summoned, let me go place the bait before you lose yourself altogeth–’

Just then, as my eyes have begun to close and my chest feels as if it cannot house another breath, I see a light forming from behind my eyelids. Warm, at first, then brighter. My eyes slowly open as I had begun to lose all hope… and I see it. 

‘Jacob!’ I hear Rook. ‘The orb!’

I summon all of my strength and sit up, rubbing my eyes just in case they have decided to deceive me in my weakened state. And just as I had thought– the orb is glowing.

Not only is it glowing, it is radiating.

“My god…” I whisper in disbelief as my last energy sources pull me from my bed and over to the glass orb. My hands land on it, touching its surface as if me letting go of it might cause it to float away. “I don’t believe it…”

Months…

‘You have to go, Jacob. You have to go now…’ I hear Rook’s wingsound as he flies down and perches on my shoulder, pecking at the side of my head to rush me. 

“Get on now, you old fowl,” I wave him away as I hear him chittering a laugh. I stare at the orb, watching as the light inside it glows a warm, luminous gold, sparkling with silver metallic flecks. “Oh, they’re really in need…”

‘Yes, I see that…’ Rook agrees, acknowledging the way that the orb has decided to glow, mirroring the mind of the one who has summoned. ‘An interesting mix, too… see the streaks of silver and black… and the way that the light is falling like snowflakes… Wow, Jacob, this one is–’

Rook’s thoughts are cut short as we stare into the orb, watching as the dreamlike thoughts of the summoner tell us more and more about them. Suddenly, those streaks of silver turn into a light shade of pink… and a few seconds later, a deep red. 

‘Oh…” Rook whispers, and the two of us share a moment of disbelief. 

The deep red streaks suddenly grow and multiply, turning the entire orb into a dark, swirling glow of dark, crimson red. 

‘Ohhhh…’ Rook snickers. 

I bite my lips in and look at him perched on the table beside me. “Is this a joke?” I ask him rhetorically. 

‘The orb doesn’t lie, my friend,’ he laughs again. 

“You’re telling me that after months of quiet without a single summoning, the one that breaks the hiatus is this kind of call…” 

My cheeks blush as I turn and run my hands through my hair. I simply can’t believe it.

“I barely have the strength to walk, let alone perform this…” I complain when I truly don’t have the room to. 

‘Come on, Jacob, where is the audacious man I know? This is good news! But you have got to hurry…’ Just as Rook’s sentence ends, the orb begins to brighten, the specks of silver now burning with a hot orange glow, reminding me more of fire than anything.

“Quick, Rook, what is their name…” I beg of him, twisting on my heels to return to holding the orb in my weak hands. 

Rook pauses for a second as I listen to his thoughts float through a million realms. 

‘Her name is Y/N.’

“Y/N,” I repeat, committing the name to memory.

‘I can see her… my god, Jacob, she is… You have to hurry, you’ve got to go… the orb is nearly on fire…’ He’s not wrong, I feel it heating in my hands. It isn’t often that the pull of a mortal physically changes the orb like this, but when it does, it is for good reason. 

This summoner knows exactly what she wants. And she is desperate for it.

‘Find the strength, Jacob… you’re in for it tonight…’ Rook jests, reminding me that it has been quite some time since I have had to respond to something like this. To a person with this much sexual pull. I feel my body begin to shift with emotion, the chemicals inside me fully switching into something carnal, completely against my will. I embrace it, knowing that I will need the strength to tap into this side of myself after waiting for so long. 

My brain goes devious, fully imagining myself in full performance, just to get my head on straight. If she can dream it, I can do it. 

‘Good luck, I’ll try not to listen in!’ I hear Rook’s thoughts as I feel myself beginning to float away, letting the forces of the uncountable realms pull me straight to her.

Y/N

How long has it been?

You toss. You turn. You sigh. You try and force yourself to sleep. To think, to dream… anything to stop your mind from having all these aggravating, frustrating thoughts. 

Eight months? Ten months? Hell… probably more. 

You can’t even remember the last time, it’s been so long. You’re not even proud to admit the fact that you would probably take a 4 home, at this point in the game. Anything to get some of this anguish out of your system. 

Your mind shuffles from thought to thought as you contemplate pulling your toy from your drawer and letting an inanimate object get you there again, but fuck, your body is in need of so much more. You’re craving something real, something that can react to you, and you to it. You not only need a release, you need touched, you need felt. You need used, in the worst possible ways. Touch starved is an understatement.

You haven’t slept well in weeks, and you wholeheartedly believe it’s because of the situation at hand. The sleep deprivation had begun to weigh on you just as much as the sexual frustration had, and it had also begun to reflect in the actions of your daily life. 

Every night, you’ve found yourself reading a book or story in hopes that it will suffice, and even though it’s satisfying for the time being, it only returns the next night, full force. You wish that someone would come in and completely rock your world, taking your mind away to a place where you can feel free to lose all control, where you can allow yourself the freedom to be overtaken by another force, completely. 

“Never gonna happen, I guess,” you mutter to yourself as you set your phone down on the nightstand, adjusting yourself and burying your body down in your bedsheets. You pull a pillow up between your legs, wishing that it was the body of someone else. Someone you could lie beside and have just an inkling of hope that there could be a happy ending to your dirty, all-consuming late-night thoughts. 

You try to relax it all away, letting the sound of old-timey TV shows playing in the background of your otherwise quiet home lull you off to sleep. 

‘Oh Mr. Sandman,

Bring me a dream

Make him the cutest

That I’ve ever seen…’

The old song strikes a chord in your memory as you know you’ve heard it a hundred times over the course of your life. Still, it makes you smile, the audacity of the song to play at such an ironic fucking time. Still yet, you hum along, wishing that the pleading song could be true.

‘Sandman, 

I’m so alone

Don’t have nobody to call my own…’

Your body is still being ravished by a heat that you’re positive is more than just body sweat, and frankly, you downright refuse to pull your toy from the drawer. You’re too damn exhausted. You settle down further into your black silk sheets, feeling them stick with static to your sweat-sheened skin.

“Unnghhh…” you groan with animosity and aggravation.

Finally, you feel the teasing hands of sleep begin to tickle at you, working their way into your body and mind as you welcome them with open arms. You’re uneasy, though, as the sleep grips at you with an ominous premonition. This sleep feels different… It feels rushed, chaotic, and pressured, and you’re unsure where your mind even is. The lust that has ravished you is still very much present, making your emotional state even more heightened. You’re so unsatisfied. And you’re scared that it’s going to take over your entire being. 

Your hands wrap themselves into your sheets as you pull them tight, willing them to drown you in a comfort so mellow that you’re inevitably drawn away from the madness.

Your eyes roll back with the beginning stages of sleep, and you relinquish all control, letting the slumber overtake you. Finally, finally. You feel yourself roll over to your back, your hands still gripping into the sheets as you pull them up and around you. Your vision goes completely black and you feel a heaviness surrounding you, dropping you further and further into the depths of a slumber that you so crave. 

The beginning scenes of a dream begin to inch their way into your psyche, slowly at first as dark images of trees and ocean waves start to skim their way through the back rooms of your mind. Wind on water, moonlight on mountaintops… All the images flying around as you try to make sense of them. 

The very pillows that you’ve rested your head upon feel like they’ve been stuffed into your ears, muffling your hearing as soundless airwaves bounce like echoes off velveteen blankets. Muddled and low, distant and bellowing as your mind flips around with wild imagery. 

Just as the images begin to slow down, your heart rate begins to pick up, skipping beats every few seconds. Suddenly, you feel a cold chill wrack through you… your skin, your insides, your bones.. All iced over with a coldness like you’ve never experienced.

You feel yourself pull the sheets higher to try and warm yourself, and when you feel them rake over your skin, you realize your body is still lustfully aching with every single move you make. Your once slow, steady breathing is becoming labored and chopped as the air feels like a blizzard around you, and the blackened images behind your eyelids are still taking on their arcane auras. You’re terrified, but also, you’ll take any kind of sleep that you can get. 

Your visions slowly begin to turn into something more sinister as the once peaceful images begin morphing into scenes of terror and fear, gripping at your skin as you try to run away from them. Vines are tightening themselves around your ankles and wrists, pulling at you and trying to slow your efforts to flee. The images quickly switch to tall fields of wheatgrass, giant thunderclouds floating above you as hundreds of black birds circle overhead. You can hear them cawing. 

You can’t run. You’re moving in slow motion. You fall repeatedly, physically feeling the mud and rocks below piercing your skin as you crawl to get yourself back up again. The thundercloud bellows above you, shaking you all the way to your core as lighting shocks vividly across the sky.

”Stop running,” you hear, ceasing your movements and stream of thought. The voice sounds like it belongs in another realm completely, jarring you so deeply that it almost wakes you up. The sound of it nearly stops your heart, frightening you even in your sleep. You know that it is simply your mind playing tricks on you, so you stand to run again, the thick wheat grasses now turning into forceful currents of water that reach well over your waist. You wade over rocks and mud again, the current pulling at you from every which way as you try to keep afloat in the rushing waters. You’ve never drowned before, but you’d imagine that this is what it would feel like. 

”I said.. Stop running,” the voice orders again, this time sounding as if it is inside the room with you. The sound of the voice makes all of the bones in your body feel like glass, waiting to be shattered at any given second. Just the discordant sound of it encourages you to answer, to call back out, but you hold steady, still trying with all your might as the water around your legs begins to rise… higher and higher toward your chest. You’re panicking, your legs becoming less and less able to keep you upright as you kick and fight to stay at the surface.

You hear the voice again, except this time it doesn't form words in a language you’re familiar with. It’s only a grumbling sound of aggravation, or some type of mark of an ancient tongue you don’t recognize. You feel fear again, but the fear doesn’t make you want to surrender; instead, it encourages you. 

“No,” you say, feeling the water rising up around your shoulders and neck, freezing cold and rushing as the visions of the dark clouds and birds above you begin to blur. 

”Don’t make me stop you myself,” the voice says again, feeling so near that it sends a chill through every bone in your spine. You spit and swallow, the water now feeling more like the hands of a hundred beings around your neck, squeezing at your throat.

“Stop now, and I’ll give you everything you want,” it says, the sound of the voice suddenly sounding less intimidating as it swirls its tendrils around your neck, slinking itself into your ears like a comforting song. “I promise… everything…”

And so, you stop. The deal suddenly seems too sweet to pass up, even in your sleep. 

“Everything, huh?” you ask, the water around you receding and morphing into warm, soft cushiony clouds.

‘That’s right,” it replies, and it hits you that you seem to be having a very realistic conversation within this crazy dream of yours. 

Your body relaxes as you feel yourself take a deep, centering breath, letting the sweetness of sleep overtake you again. After a few seconds of quiet and relaxation, your body reminds you that you are in your bed, safe and sound as you become comfortable again.

“Don’t let your mind drift too far away from me, now,” the voice startles you again, but still asleep you stay. “Wouldn’t want you forgetting why I’m here in the first place, hmm?”

Even in your slumber, you feel confusion, wondering why this ancient voice is still trying to have a conversation. Here in the first place?

You decide to continue to play along, the visions dancing behind your eyelids now just a blurred mix of dancing colors. 

“Why are you here, then?” you ask, feeling your hands begin to let go of the silk sheets around you, and drift overtop of your tits and stomach.

“Because you asked me to come,” it replies. Suddenly, the reality that you are having a conversation with a very much aware entity makes you feel a bit uneasy.

“I didn’t ask anyone to join me in my dream–” you cut.

"Oh, but you did. You’ve opened a door most never find, and most never survive. But, I’m feeling generous tonight."

Against your will, and with true fear beginning to enter your bloodstream, your eyes shoot open. There, standing at the foot of your bed, is a man more ethereally appealing than any living thing you’d ever laid your eyes on. Brooding and handsome, eyes hollow and dark as they shoot daggers right through you. He’s cloaked in a heavy dark robe, and his hands are clasped at his waist, eyes studying you. His hair is long and falls in strings across his face, and his lips are the most alluring shade of pink. His eyebrow cocks when he notices you looking at him, smirking a little as he realizes that you aren’t looking away.

In the room around you are stars suspended in time, the air thick and heavy with smoky air. There is no floor, only space, as if the walls themselves are made up of the surfaces of empty, stardusted planets. Everything floats, and the air glitters, and you’re positive you’ve transported to another place and time, completely. 

JACOB

She looks terrified, petrified, but she has another emotion on her face. Entranced? Confused? Yes, but something else… I tap into her thoughts to prove myself right, she is intrigued by me. 

”Survive?!” she squeaks, pulling the covers up higher over her chest as I finally make eye contact with her for the first time, lifting my hand to brush the smoke-like air from my line of view. I watch her eyes grow ten times in size as she shies away at first, then finally forces herself to look at me fully. I can feel her heartbeat in my own chest, and I can feel the anxiousness rising in her belly. “You’re not going to–”

”I’m not going to hurt you,” I growl. “Not unless you’d like for me to.” I smirk when I feel a new emotion trail over her. I hear her breath hitch, and I take that as a cue to move over to get closer to her on the bed. “But I know that’s not why you called me here, tonight.”

“I didn’t call you at all, I don’t know who you are, what you are–”

”The song,” I reply matter of factly. “You asked me to bring you a dream…” I watch her wheels turn before her lips purse together, shuddering as she whimpers in fear.

“Sandman,” she whispers, so quietly that I barely make out my own title. 

I watch a singular tear run down her face, realizing that back in her own realm, she is crying in her sleep. I move in closer, so close now that I can hear her breathing, feel her body heat. I reach back in my mind to hear her thoughts again, listening as she bargains with herself to wake up! But still asleep, she stays. 

“Mm, that’s correct, little one. But the kind of dreams I bring aren’t always… peaceful…”

She glances down to my hands, one balancing on my lap and one placed delicately on the bed beside her. In my mind, I listen to her take account of the numerous silver rings that adorn my hands, the thick chains that hang off my wrists, and the heavy silver medallions that hang loosely from around my neck. Her tear-welled eyes then travel up, taking in my chest, my neck, my jawline…

“You’re afraid of me,” I accuse, watching her lip quiver as her hands stay tightly wound up in her protective coverings. “Everyone always is.” 

I squeeze my right hand, feeling the cold metal of my rings dig into my fist before I stretch my fingers out again, slowly raising my hand toward her face. She pulls away slightly, a tight whimper sitting just at the back of her throat. Fear? No, something else… I feel the side of my middle finger brush at her soft skin, catching the singular tear that is nearly dry on her face, wiping it free from her cheek. “Fear is only distrust in opportunity. And you, my dear, have just been gifted with it.”

I watch as she tosses my words over in her mind, her heart still beating like a metronome racing through time, terror still painting her face. Her eyes well with thick tears again, a manifestation of her pure, complete panic. “If I shouldn’t fear you, then why is everything in me telling me to run?” she whispers. “You’re just a bad dream, a nightmare–”

“NO!” I yell, standing from the bed and turning away from her, my robes rushing behind me in a shadow of clouded darkness. I hear sand fall below me. 

That word. I hate it. There is no other descriptor that I loathe more than that, no other name to connect me to that I despise more than that very one. 

I feel her heart rate rise again, likely surprised by my raging outburst. My hand reaches to cover my forehead, displeased with myself for losing my composure at just the utterance of a singular word. I curse myself once more before stiffening my expression, turning to face her again. “I’m not a… A nightmare,”  I grit through my teeth. The word tastes like poison as I spit it, and I feel the venom of it sitting on my tongue for a split second before I force it away. 

“So what are you, then? A demon? A dream?” she shrieks.

In under a second, I am close in her presence again, mere inches from her face. “That’s right, love. A dream come true.” I can’t help it, I can smell her scent in these close quarters, I can feel the fear radiating from her bones as her chest heaves so beautifully up and down, her cheeks flushed and crimson. I feel my eyes darken as they travel to her lips, so plump and pouted. I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch them, kiss them, for I know if I give in too soon, all my efforts will have been for nothing. Restraint. If only for a little bit longer. 

As if she knows I am studying her, she pulls her lips between her teeth, biting them so harshly that I am positive that there will be blood, only worsening the ache I have begun to feel for her. But she releases her lips, only to let her bated breath fall across them, returning my gaze as I realize that maybe she… isn’t afraid of me. 

She swallows, but doesn't speak. Her white-knuckled grip on her covers suddenly loosens, lowering the top of them enough to expose more of her chest. Her barren chest. A thin, shiny silver chain rests across her collarbones, catching the light of the swirling stars around us as she breathes. Every few seconds, the herringbone gleams, catching my eyes and distracting me from the way her breasts are rising and falling. 

Carefully my hand reaches again, just as slowly as it had when I caught her tear, to touch the chain. “Like minds,” I murmur, my opposite hand quickly gripping the various charms hanging from my own chains. My fingertips grace her collarbone, light as a feather as I glide them up over her shoulder, then back down again, slowly, until they are rested at the top of her sternum. Like frozen embers, my fingers dare to stay right where they are, hesitant to explore, yet so taken with her erratic heartbeat that I contemplate wrapping them around her throat right then and there. But I stop myself. I feel her skin flush beneath my touch, goosebumps covering her every inch as I realize that this time, she didn’t cower away. 

“Ethereal,” I compliment her, the words escaping me without me even giving it a second thought. 

“Me?” she asks, her voice small, still yet. 

“You,” I confirm, letting my hand travel just a bit again to the back of her neck. I know my touch is cold, but she doesn’t show that it bothers her, so instead I decide to embrace the fact that she seems as though she is getting more comfortable with me. A quick one, tonight. 

“You know, usually when I’m summoned by someone, they run away in horror when I present myself… they make themselves wake up, tell themselves it's all a bad dream, and I never hear them call for me again. But you… you seem to be enticed by the unknown…” I gloat, knowing that my words will either infuriate her, or she’ll agree. Either way, I’m eager to see her response. She scrunches her nose at my words, and I let my fingertips tickle at the nape of her neck, sending a visible shockwave through her. Yes. 

She doesn’t look away. Instead I feel her body lurch, and a quick breath escape her lungs as the light touch of my hand has already made her tits visibly perk under the silk sheets she covers herself with. I take the opportunity, slowly leaning in further to her, my lips barely grazing the shell of her ear. 

“I know you lie here every night… wishing that someone could take the place of your hand… praying that someone will come into your world and do the work for you… You’re so tired of it, so unenthused with succumbing to your desires all by yourself… aren’t you?” I ask on a whisper, slowly treading her waters. My lips barely brush the skin of her ear, and I have to resist biting it, letting my tongue explore the column of her neck… 

She’s silent. 

But I can hear her slow, ragged breathing.

“It must be exhausting, dreaming all day long about having your every fantasy fulfilled by someone who… Knows how to fulfill them… Without you having to guide them… Someone who will make your body shake… tremble… Make you cry out until your lungs are screaming for oxygen… Hm?” I go on, letting my lips travel down her cheek now. Fuck, she’s going to be delicious. 

I feel her nod, just barely, as I know that I am slowly breaking her subconscious walls down. 

“The touch of someone who can make you come undone in seconds… Have you begging for more when you know you’ve had enough… Pleading for a slow fuck… Am I right?” I ask, my voice now a growl as I nip at her jawline.

Suddenly her back arches, her chest pressing into mine as I hear her inhale, obviously finally loving it all. 

“You’re right…” she says, letting the covers fall down a little more. 

“Mmm,” I grit. “Exactly what I thought.” I can barely hear her clouded thoughts, now, as they are mixing in deliciously with my own desirous ones. I tap into her mind, seeing erotic visuals bounce through, and I must admit, the ones that are flowing through her thoughts are topping mine by a landslide. But I know that I must continue, for if I stop now, she may start to come back to reality and realize that this is all a dream.

“Let me see you,” I demand, pulling back only a little bit as I leave my directive hand on the back of her neck. I motion to her covers, the only bits of material shielding her otherwise completely naked body. “Show me.”

Her expression is pensive, but the still chopped breaths falling from between her lips tell me that she is still in concordance with the reason that I am here in the first place. I squeeze my fingers just a bit at the base of her skull, making her pull in a sharp inhale. 

Her grip loosens and the covers fall, exposing her perfect chest, inch by delicious inch. I feel myself tighten in my pants, an action that not many have caused me to do this early on in the game. “Fuck,” I mumble, only sending a spur of confidence straight through her. 

“Lie back,” I command, snapping my fingers after removing them from her neck. I rip the rest of the covers from her body, exposing her completely. She gasps back in surprise, but instead of grabbing them to cover herself up again, she lets them pool at the bottom of the bed, right where I want them. Her hands do come up to cover her breasts, though, and her legs bend up on themselves out of sheer sudden exposition, but her expression stays true. Fixated. Right onto me. 

“I didn’t come here for games, love. I came here to give you exactly what you want. What you desire,” I bark, watching as her hands begin squeezing at her tits. I stand, my movements like dead leaves on the wind as I make my way to her side of the bed. Tufts of smoke rise around me and sand falls at my feet as I move, fast, yet calculated. 

Her eyes follow me as I round the room still suspended in time and space, blown out and blasted as they are filled with anything but tears, now. I know she is giving in, I know she is submitting to her own desires. And I, though her energy seems like one that is more addictive than any drug, plan on fulfilling them. 

I am towering above her now, my cloak floating up and around me as it feels my body preparing to do its job. She’s heaving, her hands still gripped hard on her breasts as she stares back up at me with a brooding uncertainty… laced with a full-on craving to be satisfied. 

Her hands land on her knees, balancing with a stern grip until she gives me the okay to move. 

“Is that what you want? For me to fuck you?” I ask with finality, knowing good and well that she still has the opportunity to end all this, had she just change her mind. 

Her hands fall from her breasts to grip the headboard behind her as she nods, blinking away any indecision she may have left in her. “Yes… Yes, that’s what I want…” she purrs, her voice sending me into a frenzy of mixed emotions. Never has the voice of a summoner enticed me so intensely. 

I feel a devious smirk pull at the corners of my lips as I concur, tightening the grip on her knees just a bit to slowly pull them apart. “Hmm, that’s what I like to hear…” I grit, joining her on the bed now as I position one knee between her legs. I watch as her legs fall freely, separating slowly as her grip tightens on the headboard behind her. “Fucking gorgeous…”

Her lips bite between her teeth again as I hone back in on her thoughts, knowing that her subconscious is going to let them fall more freely, now. She’s internally writhing, inwardly begging for me to touch her, to control her, to devour her. 

But unfortunately for her, though I am in the business of bringing dreams to life, building repeat customers was how I stay alive, how I keep myself fed enough to stay satiated to exist in my world. Little did she know that when I received her call, I was quickly withering away into nothing, waiting on one last summoner to save my life. 

And save my life, she had. 

I move myself to crane over her, my heavy cloak following and flowing around us, completely shrouding the both of us in soft, silky darkness. I can feel my body beginning to yearn more heavily for her as her body reacts, pensive, yet comfortable. My hand balances beside her head as she leans back, her neck craning as I begin harshly pressing my lips on the undersides of her tits. “So beautiful… so fucking sexy…” I praise her, feeling her body starting to move beneath me. 

Blindly, I reach up to her hands still gripped on the rails of the headboard, wrapping my still yet weakened hand around them, urging her to keep them there. “Don’t let go, keep them right there. You hear me?”

“Yeah…” she breathes out as I take her nipple between my lips, her skin hot and fiery on my tongue. I swirled it around and pop it, making her chest huff with a breath of pleasure. 

Her chest is heaving even more heavily now as I plant more harsh kisses along her sides, biting lightly at her stomach and her hips as she begins to elicit sounds that I know have the potential to make me forget every single rule Rook and I live by. 

I raise my knee to between her legs, feeling the heat absolutely radiating from her. I apply pressure, knowing that teasing her is going to get her right where I need her. 

“Fuuuuc–” she cries out, her head falling back even further as I feel her grip on the rails tighten under my hand. 

“Sss– I know you want me to, baby… I know you do,” I soothe, running the heat of my tongue across her hip bones, barely teasing at the top of her mound. Her hips jut up from the close contact. Fuck, I want to taste her. I’d give anything to know how she’d feel with her hips on my jawline, how the sounds she’d make could wake the dead… Could bring a man out of the depths of hell… But, restraint. 

“Please– Please, Mr. Sand–” she pleads, stopping herself short when she realizes what she is actually asking. “God, I just need you to…”

I can hear her pounding heartbeat in my own chest, in my mind… see the visuals she is praying for me to show her dancing across her brainwaves and disappearing again as quickly as she could dream them up. I can feel the heat in her bloodstream, the essence of her already pooling for me, waiting and ready for my touch. And it has me ravenous.

“Need me to what, little one?” I ask through clenched teeth, my cloak still covering us with warmth.

“T–touch me, please… I–” she breathes, knowing that I am nothing but a figment of her imagination, and she is lying here begging me to give her what she wants.

“Touch you…” I reiterate, “Here?” 

Finally, I let my free hand drift to between her legs, where she – and I– have been aching for him to touch the most. I graze my hands between her thighs first, letting myself enjoy the softness of her skin as she quivers at my touch, responding to me with perfect ease. When my fingers finally make contact, I feel as though I could crumble into nothing, just like the sand that falls at my feet. “Fuck, baby… fucking soaked for me…” 

For a split second, I lost my composure. The sound that fell from her lips was torturous, making me lose any and all sight of the right decisions. My chest blossomed with desire for her, and time stood still as I listened to her whimper her way through the initial feeling of my hand on her, a being who did not, and would never belong in her world. 

I begin moving my fingers between her folds, slowly finding all of the places that make her react the most as I watch her expressions contort into a million different looks of twisted pleasure. Her hands grip tighter on the railing, her stomach heaving in on itself as her legs switch back and forth between falling further apart, and gripping around my hips to bring me in closer. 

‘No, no, no,’ I think to myself, ‘not this soon…’

Her tongue shoots out to lick at her lips, and I want nothing more than to taste it, to lick into her mouth and taste her, but I know that doing so would change everything. 

Intimacy is not allowed. 

I let a single digit finally slip inside, her warmth completely coating me up to my knuckle as she cries out, strained and helpless as I begin pumping in and out. 

“More… please…” she begs on an inhale, so I heed her request. I let my two adjoining fingers slip inside her, slowly and languidly pressing them as deeply as they will go. “Ah, god Sandm– fuck…” 

In nearly one thousand years, she was by far the sexiest and most alluring specimen I have ever laid eyes on, ever had the pleasure of assisting… The feeling of her lying beneath me feels different than anyone else before her, as if our very natures are made of the same matter. 

I’ve only just met her, have only just let myself be captured into her dreamstate, and I am already regretting ever having heeded her call, at all. I want to look at her, study her, watch her as her body lurches and stretches for me, and I curse the darkness that my cloak provides; not even a shred of light is allowed through it. That was the whole point, of course. 

In an attempt to force my harrowing thoughts away, I bend down to bite into her neck as her hips begin rolling on my hand, her body begging for what she couldn’t say out loud. I forcefully bite into her skin, unable to stop myself from the notion of devouring her. It’d taken over my mind, enveloping my very being as my teeth sink in, and she doesn’t even wince from the pain. “Take me, baby… yes,” she assures me as my teeth lay into her skin again and again. I let my thumb come up and massage her clit, mixing the movements together into a delicious concoction, sending her into a whole other world of pleasure.

I feel her soak my hand over and over as her body tightens and relaxes, her muscles shaking and rolling as waves of pleasure rush through her. I want to taste more than just her skin… I want to lay claim to her every crevice and atom of skin that I can… but I know the rules.

My hand fucks into her, making her breath escape her lungs with every thrust. I can feel her coming undone, but I know that once she does, a whole new world is going to create itself, for the both of us. We’ll forever be tied– two realms separating two beings who could never experience one another in anything but a dream state.

Her eyes stay clenched shut, only her mouth falls open as whispers of moans fall between them. Louder and louder they become, and more and more attention I give her.

“Look at me, Y/N,” I grunt, feeling her legs squeeze around my torso. I never use the names of my summoners, it is a rule I wrote into the book myself. But I have to admit, hearing it fall across my tongue felt like sealing a fate I didn’t even foresee coming. And it tasted delicious.

Her eyes shot open, her pupils thick and hollow as I know that her wet dreams are being fulfilled just as she wanted them to be. But when they met mine, they locked together into a stare more fierce than anything I have ever experienced before, in any world I have ever visited, in any fornication I have ever taken part in. Lock and key, I can’t look away. She stares a hole right through me, down into the very depths of the soul I don’t possess, into the bones that are made of nothing but sand. 

“You know my name…” she breathes in disbelief. 

“I do,” I reply, not once slowing the movements of my hand. Her hooded eyes skim up to meet mine, staring so deeply that it chokes me.

“Say it again,” she demands, sincerity wrapped around the three words as if the very fiber of her being depended on the sound of my voice.

My chest caves in. Damnit. 

“I–” I stop myself, knowing that this is a grave… fucking… mistake. 

“Please… I want you to say my name when I come for you… please, Sandman…” she begs, staring so deeply into me that even the darkness surrounding us seems brighter than the sun.

“I–I can’t give you what you want tonight, little one…” I admit, ready to feel the sting of disappointment from her. Though I want to. I want to more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my time, but I just…

“But, please, I’m so close– just don’t stop–” her voice drips like honey beneath me, her entire body rigid and begging for its release. 

“I won’t stop… come for me, baby… “ I glance to the hourglass necklace sitting on the table beside us, the last few grains of sand slowly making their way to the bottom half. My time is almost up. I continue my pace, curling my fingers deep inside her as her strangled moans become more and more pathetic. “Come on…”

Finally, as if every single planet decided to shift on its axis at the same time, I feel her release… And without a second thought, I attach my lips to hers, kissing into her with a passion that I’ve not felt in all my years, a connection created by the universe itself. Unbreakable, now, as her body shakes beneath me, her tongue begging and burying itself alongside mine. The taste of her– otherworldly… because, in fact, she is.

I know I’m not supposed to kiss her; that was the golden rule. After all, it was that very mistake that got Rook into the position he is in now- cursed, and never again able to answer a call. Never once have I ever even thought about breaking it, but then again, never once have I felt like… this… during a summoning.

I curse myself, memorizing the feeling of her lips on mine as her pathetic moans fall into my mouth, sweet as sugar but laced with a most lethal poison. Forcefully, I rip myself from her and tear my own world in two, collapsing into a regret that would only haunt me as the last grains of sand slip slowly through the glass.

When they’ve finally landed, I rip the necklace from beside me, forcefully breaking off it’s top to open it completely. I glance at her with a sorrow I’ve never felt before, regret already eating away at my very being. I bring the hourglass to her face, sprinkling every last drop of sand into her eyes, watching as she quickly slips away into a final, peaceful slumber.

I take one last look at her as my chest begins to cave, and my body begins being pulled back to my own realm. I let it take me, though every last fiber of my being is begging me to stay.

Y/N

Just as you catch your breath, just as the feeling of sweet oxygen reenters your bloodstream and the blinding white light leaves your vision, you wake up, fully aware and alert as you lie atop your silky, black sheets, soaked with sweat and basking in the afterglow of what was the most beautiful orgasm of your entire life, completely alone. 

He is gone.

Everything you had experienced was nothing but a figment of your imagination. A dream you had thought up in your mind. An experience you had concocted in your deepest, darkest thoughts.

You can still feel him on you, can still feel the touch of his hand between your legs, his fingers buried deep inside you. You can still feel the featherlight brushing of his fingers across your neck, and the wet kisses he’d laid all over your body. But most of all, you can still taste him on your tongue. 

Bitter yet sweet as burnt sugar, you lick your lips, memorizing the taste to the best of your abilities.

Your eyes adjust to the sunlight beaming in through the window, nearly cooking your completely nude body as the rays pierce the window. ‘Where is he?’ you wonder… ‘Was that all just a dream?’

Confused, and a bit embarrassed, you stand from the bed and sleepily waltz into the bathroom, turning on the light to splash cold water onto your face and take a look in the mirror. But what you see throws you for a loop– your torso is absolutely covered in light purple love bites. Still fresh, still throbbing.

He was here. He was real. 

You didn’t imagine it, at all. 

Your hands come up to touch your wounds, still hot and stinging with recent injury. “No,” you cry, your voice in complete disbelief. “It fucking can’t be…”

No amount of afterthought could explain this away, and no amount of hindsight could get you to believe anything besides the fact that your experience last night was, in fact, very real.

You felt him.

You needed him.

You tasted him.

And tonight, you’ll sing that song again, until your lungs beg for air. 

++++++++++

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[britney-gvf]

Saigneur- chapter four

Jake x oc Sam x multiple ocs Josh x oc

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Clara and Jake visit the local vampire bar to try to solve the latest murder in Bon Temps, Sam has a very interesting experience with vampire blood.

Warnings: murder, vampires doing vampire shit, police, police raids, interrogation, drug use, hospital, OD, racism, slut shaming, sexual harassment

All Clara could see was Dawn’s lifeless body lying on the bed. The rest of the room, with lamps knocked over, the scarfs wrapped around the headboard of the bed, the full length mirror shattered in the corner, didn’t register to her at all. All she could see was Dawn and all she could hear was the blaring alarm that made it hard to think straight. She gingerly walked over to her, examining the strangulation marks and the unmistakable vampire bite on her chest.

“Oh, sweetie…” she muttered. She pulled the sheet covering Dawn’s legs over her chest to give her a little bit of dignity in death. The room was quiet, other than the alarm, until Clara heard glass break. She turned around in fright. Sam stood there, a glass of wine shattered at his feet, face in complete shock.

“Oh my god, Sam,” Clara rushed over to him and pulled him into an embrace.

He awkwardly patted her head. “It’s okay..”

“Like hell it is! She’s definitely not okay!!” Clara shouted, pulling out of the hug. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at his face.

“Well shit, yelling at me ain’t gonna change it!” Sam said. He kept looking at the body, eyes wide, sweat beads forming on his hairline, jaw slack.

“Dawn?! I heard yellin’,” a voice called from the living room. Of course it was the elderly neighbor from the night before, still in her nightgown. As her eyes found Dawn, she said, “sweet lord in Heaven…”

She made the sign of the cross, then stepped over the broken glass to examine her body. A beat passed before she turned to Sam, hand to her chest, and said in an accusatory tone, “what did you do?”

“Me?” Sam said, taken by surprise.

“I found her, Mrs. Lefolt. Sam just got here,” Clara said softly. Mrs. Lefolt didn’t acknowledge her.

“I saw you last night, Sam Stackhouse! I heard y’all fightin’, then she took a shot at you and you ran off! And now she’s dead?!” Mrs. Lefolt spat. Clara turned to Sam.

“Is that true?”

“Yeah, but I came here to apologize!” Sam said, gesturing to the flowers on the floor.

“She shot a gun at you and you came back to apologize?” Clara asked. She was skeptical. As much as she didn’t want to believe Sam would do this, the behavior was off.

“Clar, I didn’t do this! You gotta believe me!” Sam said desperately.

“Well,” Mrs. Lefolt said, walking briskly past them. “I am calling the police!”

“Well call ‘em!” Sam shouted as she walked past. His desperation was turning into panic and anger.

“I did not do this,” he said to Clara, pointing at Dawn. He pushed past her, walking out to the porch.

He needed air. The second woman. The second that he slept with that ended up dead. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He sat down on the steps, trying to collect himself. Trying not to break the fuck down. Someone was killing women— and framing him for it.

****

The neighborhood gathered outside of Dawn’s house, all wanting just a scrap of information about what happened to her. Rene, Tammy, and Hoyt had gathered around their cars, leaning against them and talking about the latest murder.

“I don’t get it,” Hoyt said, fiddling with his fingers. “She was so pretty.”

Tammy shrugged, twirling her hair. “Maybe…it was just her time.”

“Blah!” Rene scoffed. “She was 23 years old! Ain’t no 23 year old in the world who’s time has come.”

Hoyt’s mother, an older church lady and the biggest gossip in town, walked up, fan in hand, ready to get real comfortable watching what was happening. “Hey, y’all! What’d I miss?”

“Dawn’s dead, Mama,” Hoyt said sadly.

“I know! What a shame,” she said, hardly containing her glee. “Who they got in there?”

“Clara and Sam Stackhouse!” Tammy said. “She found the body, but they think he might’ve done it!”

“Well he didn’t!” Hoyt said defensively.

“Then who?” His mom asked.

“Probably the same person that killed Maudette,” Hoyt said.

“I’ll tell ya one thing, me. This too small a town to be losing girls one after the other like this,” Rene said. “Whoever it is, I hope they fry the fuck!”

“Rene!” Tammy scolded. Rene turned to Hoyt’s mom.

“Excuse my language, Ms. Maxine,” he said. She shook her head.

“No need to apologize, Rene! We’re all excited,” she nodded. “To be a fly on the wall in that house right now.”

Inside the house was much more serious, much more quiet. The arm had been turned off, the only background sound was the clicking of cameras by the crime scene unit. Sam sat on the couch, arms crossed, eyes wide in shock. Clara sat on a chair, with Sheriff Dearborn across from her on the coffee table, answering his questions.

“Now I realize you’ve been through a lot and you’re scared, but I need you to remember when you got here,” he said in a measured tone, the one police so often use when interviewing people. “Was the door open or just unlocked?”

“Open, I think?” Clara said nervously. She could hear Andy’s thoughts.

Pisses me off every time she calls me Andy and calls Bud Sheriff they better call me detective goddamnit when am I gonna get some respect around here-

And Sam, who was sweating, his eyebrows furrowed, nervously adjusting himself on the couch.

Fuck! What am I gonna do?! I already got out of this once no way they gonna let me go again. I’m too damn pretty to go to prison.

“Clara?” The sheriff asked loudly. She focused again, turning her attention to him.

“Sorry, what was the question?” She asked.

“Is that the exact position you found her in?” he repeated.

“Well I covered her up with a sheet but I don’t think I touched her,” she said.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Dearborn sighed.

“Well next time I find a friend of mine dead I’ll try to remember that,” Clara said sarcastically.

Andy was interviewing Mrs. Lefolt at a small table on the other side of the room.

“So this fight you heard Sam and Dawn having- were you able to make any of it out?” He asked.

“Just the tail end of it, right before the gunshot. He called her…a very bad word,” Mrs. Lefolt said politely.

“Uh huh. And what was that word?” Andy asked.

“Well…it starts with a b,” she said shortly.

“Alight,” Andy said, sighing. “That’ll be all. Thank you, Mrs. Lefolt.”

“Awww, you’re welcome, Andy,” she said sweetly rubbing his arm, much to his annoyance.

More people gathered outside to watch the scene unfold. Andy walked Sam out in handcuffs, pulling his arm while Sam stared down at his feet. He opened the door of his car and shoved Sam roughly in the backseat.

The car had been baking in the sun for hours. Sam cursed at how hot it was. “Hey! If you’re gonna make me wait in the car, can you at least turn on the AC?!”

Andy put his glasses on as he made a point to ignore Sam. Sam leaned his head back on the seat, resigned to being hot and uncomfortable…then he remembered the V in his pocket.

He panicked. If they searched him, which they definitely would, he’d be in even deeper shit than he was right now. Luckily he was handcuffed in the front of his body and he was able to grab the vial from his pocket. He pulled the cap off and swallowed the entire vial, then quickly stuffed the vial in the crack of the seat right as Andy opened the door and got in.

“Couldn’t hear me yellin’?” Sam muttered. “Car’s hotter than hell.”

“Shut up,” Andy replied.

Dearborn followed Clara out of the house, thanking her for her help as he walked to the car to take Sam to the station. She didn’t respond, only continued to watch the spectators who had gathered outside. From the crowd, Josh emerged, the only person showing any sort of actual concern. He walked up to her and took his glasses off.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, taking a seat next to her on the steps. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her.”

“Somebody was gonna have to find her eventually,” Clara said sadly, seemingly accepting that this was her role to play.

“I don’t even recognize this world we’re living in,” Josh said. “Maybe I should shut down the bar for the day.”

“All that’ll do is deny people a good, stiff drink on the day they’ll need it the most,” Clara said.

“Yeah, but-“

“I know it’s supposed to be my day off and all but the last thing I need right now is time alone with my thoughts,” Clara said. Josh nodded, understanding her like he always seemed to do.

“Alright then,” he said. “We’ll open.”

“I might be late though I have to tell Gran what’s goin’ on,” Clara said.

“Oh, it’s Bon Temps, she already knows,” Josh said.

“Still, with Sam and everything-“

“Excuse me, Mr. Kiszka, they tell me you’re the landlord?” A deputy behind them said. Josh confirmed it so, and he explained they needed a key to a building. Josh got up and grabbed his keys. Before he left, he placed a gentle kiss on top of Clara’s head. She was about to get up herself, when a voice came from the door.

“Uh, excuse me, miss, can you let us through?” It was a small, skinny kid with the coroner's office.

Clara moved out of the way. Him and Mike Spencer carried out the body bag containing Dawn. It was strange to know that she was in that bag, gone. It was even weirder that Mike Spencer was smiling, greeting Clara like they ran into each other at the grocery store. They loaded Dawn into the back of the van and shut it hard. As it drove away, Clara tried to remember the fun, vivacious, sweet person Dawn was in life and not the way she met her death.

****

Sam found himself in the same cluttered conference room, sitting at the same table, across from the same detective that he was talking to merely days ago. First Maudette, now Dawn. But the difference this time? Sam knew he didn’t do it. There was no prank, no video, just the absolute fact that he did not kill Dawn.

“So you had a fight,” Andy recapped. “She took a shot at you, and you just left? Didn’t see her again till you came back this morning with flowers and booze and found her dead?”

“That’s my story and it ain’t gonna change,” Sam said shortly, licking his fingers while eating a honeybun they gave him.

“Except it just did change,” Andy smirked. “You just admitted you’re the one who found her, not your sister.”

“What? No I didn’t!” Sam said, shocked. “You’re trying to trick me! It don’t count if I get tricked! Does it?”

“Make you hot, Sam? Killing girls and sticking it to them?” Andy said slyly. Dearborn gave Andy an annoyed look.

“No!”

“See, I think it does,” Andy growled. “I think it turns you on.”

“Sounds to me like it turns you on,” Sam shot back. Sheriff Dearborn laughed, much to Andy’s dismay.

“Tell me, is that how you do it?” Andy continued, his voice had a different edge to it now. “Kill them then fuck them? Or do you fuck them then kill them? Oh, I know, you strange them as you fuck them, you sick fuck?!”

Sam wasn’t listening to him. Something was happening to him…his dick was getting hard. Not just a normal hard, he wasn’t even turned on. It was uncomfortable and painful, and he was struggling to pay attention.

“How many other women did you do this to besides Dawn and Maudette?” Andy asked.

“Maudette?” Sam said, voice strained as his dick got harder and more swollen. “I gotta..use the bathroom.”

He didn’t wait for permission, he waddled out, trying to hide himself with his shirt, struggling to walk. He walked into the bathroom, checking to make sure he was the only one in there before he unzipped his pants.

“What the fuck?” He whispered. He pulled it out, determined to rub one out before he went back so it would go down.

It didn’t work. In fact it was so painful he screamed a little too loudly, alerting Andy and the Sheriff to it. They ran out of the conference room and Andy knocked on the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Andy yelled.

“I’ll be out in a minute!!” Sam choked out. Andy kept pounding on the door and trying to get into the bathroom. “I said in a minute!”

The door of the sheriff’s department swung open behind Bud and Andy. Ruby waltzed in, a fierce look on her face.

“Sheriff Dearborn? Andy? I hear you brought Sam in,” they turned to her in surprise.

“So?” Andy said, uninterested.

“Are you charging him with anything?” She said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Not yet,” Dearborn said over Andy muttering something about asking him some questions.

“I assume he’s been properly mirandized?” She asked. They both made noncommittal noises. “Please tell me you’ve informed him of his right to have an attorney present?!”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter cause he’s got you here now,” Andy gave her a sarcastic smirk and scoffed.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Is that funny cause I’m a woman or cause I’m a black woman?”

“I-I thought it was funny cause you talk like a lawyer but you ain’t one,” Andy replied sheepishly.

“How you know all this anyways? You taking night classes?” The sheriff asked.

“School is just for white people lookin’ for other white people to read to ‘em. I figured I’d save my money and read to myself,” Ruby said. Sam opened the door to the bathroom, hunched over and sweating. He looked at Ruby in surprise.

“Ruby?”

“I’m getting you outta here,” Ruby said confidently.

“Like hell you are!” Andy spat.

“Are you charging him with anything?” Ruby asked. Sam pushed his way through Dearborn and Andy to stand next to her.

“She’s right,” Dearborn relented. “We can’t hold him.”

“He can’t say where he was last night the least he coulda done was make some shit up,” Andy said darkly.

“I told you where I was! I was home alone, sleeping!” Sam said defiantly.

“You never sleep alone, Stackhouse!” Andy said.

“Guys, he was with me,” Ruby lied, looking at Sam, urging him silently to go along with it.

“Say what now?” Andy said, looking between them, eyeing Sam suspiciously. “If y’all were together last night how come he don’t seem to know it?”

“Cause I asked him not to tell anyone about us! He’s just surprised to hear me be the one blabbing about it, aren’t you, baby?” Sam glanced over to her, slightly confused, but went along with it.

“Uh, yeah,” he muttered.

“Are you buying this?” Andy turned to Dearborn.

“People think just because we got vampires out in the open now race isn’t an issue anymore but have you seen the way people look at mixed couples in this town? Race may not be the hot button issue it once was but it’s still a button you can push on people,” Ruby explained.

“Will you go on record with that?” Dearborn asked.

“Yea,” Ruby said quickly.

“Understand that if you’re lying you’ll be guilty of-“

“-purjury, I know,” she finished. “You gotta Bible and I’ll swear on it right here. Sam and I were together last night and it was a beautiful thing.”

Sam and Ruby looked at each other, smiling. Sam nodded his head, deciding the less he said, the better.

“Okay,” Dearborn said. “You’re free to go.”

“Jesus!” Andy said, looking at Dearborn. He was visibly annoyed.

“Come on, baby, let’s get you home,” Ruby said, grabbing Sam’s hand and turning towards the door.

“Okay, baby,” Sam said. He gave the sheriff and detective a nod before he followed her out, hardly believing his luck.

****

Clara walked through the front door of her house and made a beeline to the kitchen where she found Gran by the sink, looking downtrodden as she finished the dishes.

“Hey Gran,” she said softly.

“I heard,” Adele said sadly, turning to her and turning the water off.

“About Sam too?” Clara asked. Adele nodded.

“He didn’t do it, you know,” Adele said fiercely.

“I know,” Clara said.

“Sam may be many things but he’s not a murderer,” Adele said.

“I know,” Clara agreed.

“The thing is though, Clara, in all my years in Bon Temps, I can’t recall but 2 or 3 murders and now there’s 2 in one week? People are not gonna stand for it. And if the police can’t find the person who did it, they’re gonna find Sam,” Adele warned. “He’s gonna need your help.”

“Gran, how am I supposed to-“

“Use your gift God gave you. Listen in on people, keep your ears open, you’re bound to hear something,” Adele said. “Whatever it is you use to listen, use it! He is your brother, Clara.”

Clara nodded, resolved to help Sam, “okay.”

“Good girl,” Adele pulled her into a desperate, tight hug before she let her run up to her room and change.

****

Clara’s shift at Kiszkas that night was a fact finding mission. Unlike other nights, where she’d concentrate on not hearing anyone’s thoughts, she kept her mind open…and it was eye opening.

I wonder if he had sex with her before he did it. Seems like a waste not to. She sure was pretty.

I wonder how much better could an orgasm with a vampire could be? Was it that much better?

…if God wanted races to mix, he’d make us look the same. It ain’t good.

I don’t know what everybody’s so upset about if you ask me those whores had it coming hanging out in vampire bars like they did it ain’t natural and it ain’t right.

Clara sat the salad she was carrying down on a table. The woman at the table was smirking at her.

She sure seems sad about it. I wonder if that was her friend. She’s probably next. Fuckin fang bangers. Crazy every last one of you. Like those women who write to serial killers.

Clara rushed away from the table, overwhelmed with these horrible people and their horrible thoughts.

“I asked for ranch dressing!” The woman called out behind her. She put her tray down at the bar, struggling to keep it together.

“Two margaritas,” Tammy said as she approached the bar. She was frazzled and annoyed. “That Dawn sure left us high and dry!”

Clara turned to her angrily. “It’s not like she chose not to be here.”

“Yeah but if she didn’t spend her nights off at that vamp bar in Shreveport she still would be!” Tammy said.

“Did I just hear you right, Tammy?” Clara snapped.

“Oh, please, ain’t there even a little part of you that thinks she had it coming?” Tammy replied.

“No, not a single part,” Clara said. She grabbed the ranch off Tammy’s tray. “I’m taking this!”

Ruby walked in past Clara, flustered. Josh had been tending the bar in her absence and he was thoroughly annoyed about it.

“You’re late,” he said as she tied her apron around her waist.

“Sorry, boss,” she said a little too formally.

Josh backed up, and said softly, “we should probably talk about last night.”

“What about last night?” Ruby grumbled.

“You’re gonna make this hard on me aren’t you?” Josh asked, sighing.

“No, actually I’m gonna make this very, very easy,” Ruby said, turning to him. “Nothing happened between us last night. And if anybody asks, you didn’t see me at all, okay? I’m telling people I spent the night with Sam.”

“Sam Stackhouse?” Josh asked.

“Yes and if they hear anything different they’re gonna haul both our asses into jail,” Ruby said.

“You lied to the police for him?” Josh asked, frustrated. “Shit, Ruby, I know you carry a torch for the guy but I don’t get it, I really don’t.”

“There’s more to him than meets the eye,” Ruby said defensively. “Deep down he’s a very good person!”

Ruby stormed off to the back, leaving a confused and disappointed Josh to continue to tend the bar.

Clara continued to serve the vultures of Bon Temps, who continued to stare at her with judgement and thoughts of you’re next. Throughout the negative noise, however, she heard one person’s thoughts that give her a glimmer of hope.

It ain’t gonna be the same without Dawn here. She had the prettiest, nicest smile. Why was I so scared to talk to her? I didn’t even know what her voice sounded like. She probably sounded like an angel

Clara turned to him. “Hoyt?”

He looked up, grinning and slightly confused.

“I just want to say thank you,” she said, giving him the first smile she had all night.

“For-for what?” He said awkwardly. She answered by giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Okay! Alright then!”

He grinned, completely taken aback. She wanted to continue the conversation, but Sam walked through the door, still pulling his shirt down, still sweating, still in pain. But none of that mattered to Clara. Not right now.

“Did you do it?” She asked quickly.

“What? No!” He said. He looked around and lowered his voice. “Look, when Maudette died, I thought I might’ve done it. And it turned out I didn't. With Dawn, I know I didn’t do it!”

“Are you sure?” Clara said.

He sighed in frustration. “Well with the way you’re acting it sounds like you want it to be me!”

“Sorry,” Clara said. “Gran asked me to listen in on folks to see if I can’t clear your name and sometimes it’s hard to-“

“I’m gonna have to stop you cause it sounds like you're revving up for a long one and I really need to see Lafayette,” Sam said uncomfortably. He gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Talk to ya later.”

He rushed back to the kitchen where he found Lafayette cutting up peppers. He leaned into the doorway and said, “what the fuck, Lafayette!”

“What’s your problem?” Lafayette asked, not looking up.

“My problem is my dick!” Sam said. He had spent the last 2 hours furiously trying to get it to go down. Not only did it not go down, it seemed to get worse. Lafayette looked up at him, surprised. “It’s been hard since 3 o’clock! Now there’s something wrong with that vamp blood you-“

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Lafayette warned harshly. He stopped cutting, his full attention on Sam.

“Sorry,” Sam said sheepishly.

“With your loud ass,” Lafayette said. “Ain’t nothin wrong with the shit I sold you.”

“Then what the hell is it?” Sam said through gritted teeth.

“How much you take?” Lafayette asked.

“The whole thing!”

Lafayette laughed. “You took the whole thing? You a dizzy motherfucker, I said one drop, two at most and you took the whole thing?”

“Look I was in the back of a cop car, I had it on me, and I panicked. Now give me something to make it go away, I don’t care what it costs!”

“Ain’t no antidote to V, boyfriend,” Lafayette said, resuming his cutting of the peppers. Sam waddled through the kitchen,

Clutching on the side of the table and the sink.

“When my grandpa was alive, he had a gout and he said just the weight of a sheet on his big toe was too much to bear. So help me God, that’s exactly what this feels like,” Sam said desperately.

“Maybe you should try rubbing one out,” Lafayette said.

“Are you listening to me? I have gout of the dick!” Sam shouted.

Jake entered the dining room of Kiszkas having no idea what he was walking into. The vibe was tense, people seemed more amped up than usual. Heart rates were higher, guards were up. Jake looked around for Clara but didn’t see her. He took a seat at the nearest open booth, trying not to let the dozens of eyes boring into him bother him too much. Tammy looked for Clara as well, who was busy tending to a booth in the far corner. Tammy took a deep breath and reluctantly approached Jake for his order.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

“A bottle of O negative please,” Jake said politely.

“A negative’s all we got,” she said shortly.

“Ok…A negative then,” Jake said. She wrote it down quickly. “It’s pretty crowded here tonight, is something going on?”

She left before he finished his sentence. She went up to the bar where Ruby had been listening.

“Josh just ordered O neg we have plenty of each,” she said.

“Fuck him!” Tammy said. “And don’t microwave it neither! He can have it cold.”

“You are so bad,” Ruby said, annoyed. She walked over to the fridge and got the blood. She sat it down on Tammy’s tray as Clara walked over. She looked down at the tru blood, confused.

“Are we out of O?” She asked.

“Blood is blood,” Tammy said, chuckling nervously. “What difference does it make?”

“He prefers O,” Clara said. “I’ll take it to him if you like.”

“Good, he gives me the creeps!” Tammy stormed off as Ruby went to replace the tru blood with his preferred type.

Clara carried the blood over to Jake. She sat it down without a word, then grabbed his hand and pulled him back out of the bar. They walked into a dark area of the parking lot so she could talk freely.

“You know my friend that works here? Dawn? Someone killed her last night,” Clara said.

“How?” Jake said quickly. That wasn’t the reaction Clara wanted.

“Say you’re sorry!” Clara chastised.

“Excuse me?”

“If you want to fit in with people, you have to say you’re sorry when people die. You don’t even have to mean it, lord knows they don’t most of the time,” Clara said, gesturing towards the bar.

“I am sorry,” Jake said softly.

“Thank you. Anyway, I’m the one that found her, strangled. Cops think it’s my brother,” she said.

“Did he?” Jake asked darkly.

“No, he’s not capable of that!” Clara said, offended.

“I’ve been around long enough to know that just about anyone is capable of anything,” Jake responded.

“He didn’t do it,” Clara said firmly. Jake nodded. “I’ve been listening to people’s thoughts trying to sus out who might’ve done it and apparently there’s this vampire bar where Maudette and Dawn used to hang out in Shreveport. You know it?”

Jake rolled his eyes, looking down at his tru blood. Then he looked back at her. “Fangtasia.”

Clara raised her eyebrows at that corny name. “Fangtasia?!”

“You have to remember most vampires are very old and puns used to be the highest form of humor,” he said with a smile.

Clara suppressed a laugh. “W-well, I was thinking if I went there I could do some sniffing around. You think you can take me?”

Jake looked almost excited. “How about tonight?”

“The sooner the better I just have to tell Josh I’m leave then run home and change,” Clara said.

“I’ll meet you there,” Jake said, his voice lighter and slightly flirty.

“Jake, I’m asking you as a friend this is not a date!” Clara said, barely containing her smile.

“Fine,” Jake said with a smirk.

“It’s not a date, I’m serious!” Clara laughed.

“As am I!” Jake said. She scoffed and practically skipped back into Kiszkas, with Jake looking on behind her.

Clara opened Josh’s office door gingerly, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. He was counting cash at his desk and looked up when she walked in.

“Hey, Josh. Can I take the rest of the night off? I want to go to that vampire bar in Shreveport to clear my brother’s name and Mr. Compton has agreed to take me,” Clara said nervously.

Josh heaved a deep, frustrated sigh. “Mr. Compton? Jesus, Clara, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“I’ll be fine!” Clara said defensively.

“See you saying that just shows how not fine you’re gonna be. Vampires think about one thing and one thing only: drinking your blood,” Josh said intensely.

“Oh, like humans aren’t bloodthirsty? All those people want to see my brother hanged for a crime he didn’t commit. Is that what you want?” Clara said angrily.

“No, Clara, I’m not saying don’t help your brother-“

“Frankly, Josh, I’m surprised at you. I thought you were for the vampire's right amendment!” Clara continued.

“I think vampires should have their own bars. I just don’t think people oughta go there.” Josh explained.

“So you want to return to the days of separate but equal?”

“I don’t give a shit about equal. Hell, give them more than we got. As long as it’s separate,” Josh said darkly.

“Well I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m going,” Clara said defiantly.

Josh paused for a moment. “Well I can’t stop you.”

“No,” Clara said. “You can’t.”

****

Jake drove them down the long stretch to Shreveport in his 69 Chevelle SS. Old blues played through the speakers, filling the car with the sounds of Robert Johnson. Clara and Jake were silent, but Jake kept glancing over towards her with a strange look.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clara asked.

“I thought you liked not knowing what I’m thinking?” Jake said.

“Most of the time I do,” she said.

“You won’t care for it,” Jake sighed.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know,” Clara said curiously.

He looked her up and down then said, “you look like vampire bait.”

She scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“I promised your grandma no harm would come to you tonight but I don’t know if I can keep that promise with you dressed like that.”

Clara was wearing a low cut white dress with red flowers on it. Her hair was cleared out of her face with a white headband. She looked down at herself. “Are you saying I look nice?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. This isn’t a date, remember?” Jake smirked.

****

Ruby heaved a crate of tomatoes to the fridge. She was annoyed. She’s a bartender, not a bus boy. She balanced the crate on her knees while she opened the door then proceeded to hold the door open with her back while she hauled them in.

“Don’t turn around,” said a weak voice. Naturally, she turned around. Sam was on the floor, his pants down by his ankles, and a massive steak covering his groin.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked. He groaned.

“I think I might have ODed,” he admitted.

“Oh my god, on what?” She sat the tomatoes down, bending her knees to get to his level.

“On V…”

“You’re going V now?” Her concern turned to annoyance.

“Well it was my first time,” Sam winced.

“And where on earth did you find it in this town?”

“Lafayette?” Sam offered.

“My cousin? Fucking idiot,” Ruby said. “Well that explains why I saw you dancing around in that Hillary Clinton mask yesterday. Cause I gotta tell you without a reason, that was some fucked up shit.”

Sam laughed nervously. Then she said, “alright, lemme see it.”

“Huh?”

“How long have you had the erection?” She asked.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“I read. You’re not the first vain asshole to overdo the V and have an acute case of priapism,” Ruby said. “Now lift the ribeye and let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

He lifted the steak. Her eyes widened with shock, her voice shook as she said “oh my god, Sam!”

“I know it’s bad!” Sam cried.

“We gotta get you to a hospital,” Ruby said.

“No! No hospitals!”

“Do you wanna keep your dick or not?!”

****

From the outside, Fangtasia looked like a run down building. The doors were open, and loud music and light spilled into the gravel parking lot. Jake had his hand on Clara’s back, keeping her close as they walked in. At the door was a pretty blonde woman in a leather strapless dress, a neutral smile on het face that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Jake,” she said in a thick southern accent. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m mainstreaming,” he said.

“Good for you,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Who’s the doll?”

“Clara, Pam,” Jake said.

“Nice to meet you!” Clara stuck her hand out. Pam looked down at it, then to Jake with a raised eyebrow. Jake gently pushed Clara’s arm down, shaking his head slightly.

“I need to see your ID,” Pam said to Clara.

“Oh!” Clara laughed, pulling it out. “That’s so funny, getting carded at a vampire bar.”

Pam glanced at Jake then back at Clara as she took her ID, like she was judging his choice of guest. “I can no longer tell human ages. We must be careful as we don’t serve minors in any capacity. 25, huh? How sweet it is.”

She handed Clara back her ID with a sly smile and with that, they entered the bar.

The entire bar was painted red, with black leather chairs, booths, and tables. There was a merch table, with Fangtasia tshirts, post cards, and pens. The dancers were seductive vampires themselves, dancing normally then adding in body modifications no human could do without breaking bones. As Clara walked further in, she saw what looked like the kid that worked with a coroner dressed in leather at the bar. He noticed her as well and scurried away as she got closer.

“This feels like what a vampire bar would look like if it were a ride at Disney World,” Clara said thoughtfully.

“Don’t get too comfortable. It tends to get more…authentic as the night goes on. Do you want a drink?” Jake asked, pointing towards the bar. She nodded. As they approached the bar, the vampire behind the bar greeted them.

“How’s it going, Jake?” He said. He was native, his hair long, wearing a leather vest.

“Very well,” Jake said.

“I’ll say it is,” he said, looking Clara up and down. “This your meal for the night?”

“This is my friend, Clara,” Jake said. “Clara, this is Longshadow.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clara said. He stared her down. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

“And I’ll have a bottle of O neg,” Jake said. “Longshadow, Clara would like to ask you a few questions. Would that be acceptable?”

“I just have a couple pictures I’d like to show you,” Clara said, pulling out pictures of Maudette and Dawn. “Have you seen these two here?”

“Yeah, they’ve been here before,” Longshadow said as he made her drink.

“Great, and do you remember who they were with?” Clara asked.

“That’s something we don’t notice here and neither will you,” Longshadow said darkly.

“Thank you so much, I appreciate you taking the time,” Clara said politely.

Longshadow then picked up the picture of Maudette. “This one…she wanted to die.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone who comes here does, in their own way. That’s what we are. Death,” Longshadow said. Jake gave him their money and took Clara to sit down at a table. As they sat there she tried to listen to the human’s thoughts.

Oh my god he’s so powerful so beautiful the closer I get the more beautiful he gets

A middle aged man was staring intensely at the stage in the back. Clara followed his gaze to a man sitting on an old throne. The man was right: he was beautiful. Tall, his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. His long, black, curly hair stretched down in front of his chest. His features were perfect, intense, without even trying. He looked, in lack of better terms, like a god.

The man approached him in an effort to get closer. He fell to his knees, worshipping but not touching. Jake noticed Clara staring.

“Who’s that?” She breathed. Jake almost rolled his eyes.

“You noticed him, did you?” Jake said.

“No, it’s not like that-“

“Everyone does,” Jake said. “That’s Daniel. He’s the oldest thing in this bar.”

Then the man made a critical mistake. He placed his hand on Daniel’s thigh. With no effort whatsoever, Daniel kicked him across the bar, the man’s head connected to a table as he landed on the floor. It gave him a gash across his forehead, drawing blood. All at once, every vampire in the bar turned their attention to this injured man, fangs out, hissing and ready to dine. One vampire got to him before the others, a beautiful redhead in a tight dress.

“Hey, I’m Taryn,” she said, offering him a hand. He looked at her in wonder, then took her hand and they ran off.

“Still think you’re in Disney World?” Jake asked, smirking.

****

“You say this has never happened to you before?” The doctor flashed a light in Sam’s eyes, checking for deeper causes.

“No sir,” Sam said nervously.

“Well there’s no sign of hypertension,” the doctor said, rolling back on his chair to the counter in the exam room. “Now I’m gonna ask you a question, son, and I’m gonna need you to be honest with me. Have you taken any drugs today?”

“Nope, that’s a negative,” Sam lied. The doctor wasn’t convinced.

“No marajunia then? Cocaine? Meth?” Sam shook his head to all of them. “Vampire blood?”

“What? No, that’s sick! To even suggest that is-“

“Yeah, yeah, you’d never do anything like that,” the doctor said sarcastically. “Alright let’s have a look.”

He rolled back over to Sam and lifted up the blanket. “Oh, boy. I’m sure glad I’m not you! It looks kinda like an eggplant…with that color and how it’s swole up at the end.”

Sam and Ruby both winced. Ruby sat in the corner, trying to not think about how incredibly awkward this all was.

“Can you fix it?” Sam asked.

“Well normally we’d like to treat this in stages, the least radical would be an injection of anti-inflammatory drugs into the penis,” the doctor explained.

“That’s the least radical thing you can do?!”

“Yes. But you’re to the point where I don’t think you’d benefit from that at all. In my opinion, we need to aspirate. I need to drain the blood out of your penis,” the doctor said.

Sam stared at him in complete shock. A baby cried in another exam room, representing Sam’s current state of mind quite well.

Ruby picked up her purse as she saw the doctor pull out the needle. “I’m just gonna go.”

Sam grabbed onto her arm in a panic. “Don’t leave me.”

He gave her a pleading look, like a sad scared puppy. She melted and sighed. “I ain’t never gonna be the same after this.”

“Alright, son, you ready?” The doctor came over with the needle.

“You’re not gonna put me out?!”

“I don’t think we can afford the time,” the doctor said. “Just lean on back for me.”

Ruby prompted Sam to take deep breaths as he laid down. He was shaking and scared. He held onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Alright, you’re gonna feel a stick,” the doctor said. “In 3, 2, 1…”

****

“Josh I hate to ask, but would you mind walking me to my car?” Tammy asked. Josh had been staring at a picture of Dawn, wondering who had done this to her.

“Of course and don’t hate to ask,” Josh said. “Just get the lights for me?”

Tammy turned off the lights. As Josh went to leave, he grabbed a pair of disposable gloves.

He turned off the radio and the last thing he looked at as he walked out was a picture of him and Dawn hugging.

****

Clara tried to find answers at Fangtasia by listening to the humans there but no one was thinking about killing. Everyone was thinking about—

“Sex, sex, sex,” Clara said.

“Well you don’t need to be telepathic to pick on that,” Jake laughed. Clara looked around nervously, trying to find something, anything.

“Uh oh,” Jake muttered, looking over to Daniel, who was staring at them.

“Uh oh?! Vampires aren't supposed to say ‘uh oh’!” Clara said.

“It’s Daniel, he’s scanned you twice. He’s gonna summon us,” Jake said.

“He can do that?”

“Oh yeah,” Jake sighed, nursing his blood. And with that, Daniel lifted up his hand and motioned them to come over. Jake offered Clara his hand to take and they walked through the crowd towards him.

“Jake Compton,” he said softly. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” Jake said stiffly.

“How’s mainstreaming?” He asked in a mocking tone. Pam grinned behind him. “I heard.”

Jake said nothing and continued to stare at him. Daniel’s eyes moved to Clara as he said, “I see that’s going well for you.”

“This is-“

“Clara Stackhouse,” Daniel said with a smile.

“How do you know my name?” Clara asked.

“I never forget a pretty face,” Pam said. He pointed to her head. “You’re in my vault.”

“Great. That’s just great,” Clara said, turning to Daniel. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” Daniel said with a grin.

“Not really,” Clara said. Jake nudged her softly.

Daniel kept the arrogant smirk on his face. He turned his head slightly towards Pam and spoke to her in German, which she responded in kind. Then he said to Clara, “I heard you have questions about some of my customers.”

“Yes I have.”

“If you have anything to ask, you should ask it of me,” he said firmly.

“Alrighty,” she said. She pulled out the pictures. “Do you recognize either one of these girls?”

Daniel took the pictures out of her hand and studied them. He pointed to Maudette. “This one offered herself to me, but I found her too pathetic for my attention.”

He pointed to Dawn. “This one, however, I have tasted.”

“I remember them both,” Pam said.

“On account of the vault?” Clara said. Jake squeezed her hand in warning.

“Never had either of them, though,” Pam said. She eyed Clara closely. “They weren’t really my type.”

“Well then if that’s all” Clara began.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” Daniel said. His face softened. Just barely. “Please. Sit.”

Jake glared at him as Clara took a seat next to Daniel.

“So, Jake, how attached are you to your friend?” Daniel asked.

“She is mine,” Jake said loudly.

“Yea, I am his,” Clara concurred.

“What a pity…for me,” Daniel said with a smile. Then he said to Jake, “sit with us! We have catching up to do, you and I. It’s been too long!”

“Yes,” Jake said, taking a seat on the opposite side of Daniel. Then Clara heard it…from a man in a baseball cap that was awkwardly dancing.

Where the fuck are they backup was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago I can’t handle all these vampires by myself

“We have to leave,” Clara warned.

“Clara-“ Jake began.

“Daniel, the cops are coming, there's gonna be a raid!” Clara said. Daniel’s eyes furrowed with suspicion.

“Tell me you’re not an undercover cop,” Daniel spat.

“No but that man in the hat is!” She pointed towards him.

“Even if you’re right,” Daniel said, sitting back. “We do nothing illegal here.”

As if on cue, Clara got the image of Taryn feeding on a middle aged man in the bathroom as he begged her to open him up…

“There’s a vampire named Taryn feeding on that man you kicked in the bathroom.”

“How do you know this?!” Pam asked. Before Clara could answer, the sound of “POLICE” came through. The entire bar started panicking as police in riot gear barged in.

“Follow me.” Daniel led them through the back door swiftly. He didn’t seem phased or flustered. As they went through the back door, Jake picked Clara up to run.

“I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Stackhouse,” Daniel said, as he started to glide away. “You will come again.”

****

No one truly understood Ruby’s crush on Sam. Truthfully it went back to when they were children.

Her mom was drunk, again. She had thrown out the liquor in the house and her mom was chasing her through the streets, threatening to beat her. Ruby ran to what seemed to be the only safe place in town. The home of her best friend. She ran up the step, her mom not far behind, and she knocked on the door frantically.

“Clara!” She cried. But the person that opened the door wasn’t Clara, it was Sam.

“She ain’t home,” he said.

“Let me in!” Ruby pushed past him. He shielded her as her mom raced up the steps.

“Is there a problem here?” He puffed his chest up and lowered his voice, trying to be as intimidating as a 12 year old boy could be.

“You bet your skinny ass there’s a problem! That little bitch hid my captain Morgan!” Lettie Mae yelled.

“I didn’t hide it, mama, I threw it out!” Ruby spat. Lettie Mae lifted her fist up.

“Look, my Gran’s at the market and I’m not supposed to let anyone in while she’s gone,” Sam said.

“You let her in!”

“I know her!” Sam said. Lettie Mae grabbed him by his shirt but it didn’t phase him. “Maybe I should call sheriff Dearborn and have him haul you off to jail where I can guarantee there ain’t gonna be no captain morgan waiting for you.”

Ruby nodded her head behind him. Lettie Mae let go of him as he stared her down

“This ain’t over,” she warned. He shut the door in her face.

Ruby thought about that moment as Sam snored in her passenger seat, grateful for him, smiling at the memory of him defending her in a way no one had before.

****

Clara and Jake were once again silent on the way home, the only sounds were the old blues tracks he so enjoyed.

“Can you turn that down,” Clara asked.

“You don’t like it?” Jake asked.

“I just…can we pull over a minute? I need things to stop,” Clara said.

Jake pulled over in a small drive. He left the car running. He didn’t push her for an explanation of her feelings.

“I just need a couple of minutes of silence then we can go,” Clara said. “I’m sorry if I got you in any trouble tonight.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jake said softly. “We’re always in some sort of trouble. I’d rather be in it with you.”

The air was electric. They started to gravitate to each other for a kiss…

Then sirens and lights. They pulled away. Jake was angry, grumbling to himself.

The officer approached. Jake was steeling himself. The officer tapped on the window. “Open up.”

“Let me do the talking,” Clara muttered as Jake lowered his window. He looked dangerous.

“Hello officer,” Clara said.

“Evening, miss. What’re you doing out so late?” The officer asked. Jake kept his eyes on the dash.

“Coming home from a date,” Clara said politely.

“We’re raiding a bar not too far from here. Y'all coming from there, by any chance?” The officer asked, shining his light in the car.

“Nope, not us,” Clara said.

“Uh huh. Called Fangtasia, that ring any bells? How bout you, son? You seem awfully quiet” the officer pointed his flashlight at Jake, who was getting more angry by the second. “Can’t you talk?”

“I’m a man of few words,” Jake said in a slow, measured tone.

“‘Man of few words.’ I like that,” the officer said. “Miss, can I shine this light on your neck?”

Jake slowly turned to her so the officer couldn’t see when he lowered his fangs.

“N-not at all,” Clara said nervously. She pulled her hair back to reveal her neck.

“Why don’t you ask her if you can shine it between her legs?” Jake said dangerously.

“Jake!”

“Vampires like to sometimes feed from the femoral artery. The blood flows more freely down there so one doesn’t have to suck as hard,” Jake said, slowly turning to the officer. “Or so I’ve been told.”

The officer pulled his gun out and pointed at Jake.

“I like your gun,” Jake said, staring into the officer’s eyes. “Can I have it?”

“Jake, stop this right now!” Clara cried. For the first time, she was scared of him. Jake ignored her.

“Sure, I guess,” the officer handed Jake his gun.

“It’s heavier than I imagined,” Jake said. “Is it loaded?”

“Well yes. Yes it is,” the officer said.

“Jake you’re freaking me out!” Clara said. Jake ignored her again and pointed the gun at the officer.

“I don’t appreciate you shining your light in the eyes of my female companion,” Jake said. The officer put down the flashlight. “And as I have more than a hundred years on you, I do not take kindly to you calling me son. So the next time you pull somebody over on suspicion of being a vampire…you better pray to god that you’re wrong. Because that vampire might not be as kind to you as I’m about to be. I’m not going to kill you but I am going to keep your gun. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes,” the officer said blankly.

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir.”

“There ya go,” Jake said. Just like that, he let go to the glamor he had been doing. “You have a nice night.”

He turned the car on and drove off. The officer did not move. He stood in the clearing, whimpering in fear.

****

A gloved hand carefully removed the crime scene tape, then quietly unlocked the door of Dawn’s house with his landlord key. Josh entered the house only turning on the bathroom light to not raise suspicion. He took a sniff of the air. Then he leaned over and sniffed her duvet. Then he got on the bed and sniffed the sheets. He smelled the pillows, everything and rolled around in the bed, like he was trying to get the scent onto his body as much as possible.

There was much more to Josh Kiszka than meets the eye. And he intended to use that to find her murderer.

[britney-gvf]

Saigneur- chapter four

Jake x oc Sam x multiple ocs Josh x oc

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Clara and Jake visit the local vampire bar to try to solve the latest murder in Bon Temps, Sam has a very interesting experience with vampire blood.

Warnings: murder, vampires doing vampire shit, police, police raids, interrogation, drug use, hospital, OD, racism, slut shaming, sexual harassment

All Clara could see was Dawn’s lifeless body lying on the bed. The rest of the room, with lamps knocked over, the scarfs wrapped around the headboard of the bed, the full length mirror shattered in the corner, didn’t register to her at all. All she could see was Dawn and all she could hear was the blaring alarm that made it hard to think straight. She gingerly walked over to her, examining the strangulation marks and the unmistakable vampire bite on her chest.

“Oh, sweetie…” she muttered. She pulled the sheet covering Dawn’s legs over her chest to give her a little bit of dignity in death. The room was quiet, other than the alarm, until Clara heard glass break. She turned around in fright. Sam stood there, a glass of wine shattered at his feet, face in complete shock.

“Oh my god, Sam,” Clara rushed over to him and pulled him into an embrace.

He awkwardly patted her head. “It’s okay..”

“Like hell it is! She’s definitely not okay!!” Clara shouted, pulling out of the hug. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at his face.

“Well shit, yelling at me ain’t gonna change it!” Sam said. He kept looking at the body, eyes wide, sweat beads forming on his hairline, jaw slack.

“Dawn?! I heard yellin’,” a voice called from the living room. Of course it was the elderly neighbor from the night before, still in her nightgown. As her eyes found Dawn, she said, “sweet lord in Heaven…”

She made the sign of the cross, then stepped over the broken glass to examine her body. A beat passed before she turned to Sam, hand to her chest, and said in an accusatory tone, “what did you do?”

“Me?” Sam said, taken by surprise.

“I found her, Mrs. Lefolt. Sam just got here,” Clara said softly. Mrs. Lefolt didn’t acknowledge her.

“I saw you last night, Sam Stackhouse! I heard y’all fightin’, then she took a shot at you and you ran off! And now she’s dead?!” Mrs. Lefolt spat. Clara turned to Sam.

“Is that true?”

“Yeah, but I came here to apologize!” Sam said, gesturing to the flowers on the floor.

“She shot a gun at you and you came back to apologize?” Clara asked. She was skeptical. As much as she didn’t want to believe Sam would do this, the behavior was off.

“Clar, I didn’t do this! You gotta believe me!” Sam said desperately.

“Well,” Mrs. Lefolt said, walking briskly past them. “I am calling the police!”

“Well call ‘em!” Sam shouted as she walked past. His desperation was turning into panic and anger.

“I did not do this,” he said to Clara, pointing at Dawn. He pushed past her, walking out to the porch.

He needed air. The second woman. The second that he slept with that ended up dead. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He sat down on the steps, trying to collect himself. Trying not to break the fuck down. Someone was killing women— and framing him for it.

****

The neighborhood gathered outside of Dawn’s house, all wanting just a scrap of information about what happened to her. Rene, Tammy, and Hoyt had gathered around their cars, leaning against them and talking about the latest murder.

“I don’t get it,” Hoyt said, fiddling with his fingers. “She was so pretty.”

Tammy shrugged, twirling her hair. “Maybe…it was just her time.”

“Blah!” Rene scoffed. “She was 23 years old! Ain’t no 23 year old in the world who’s time has come.”

Hoyt’s mother, an older church lady and the biggest gossip in town, walked up, fan in hand, ready to get real comfortable watching what was happening. “Hey, y’all! What’d I miss?”

“Dawn’s dead, Mama,” Hoyt said sadly.

“I know! What a shame,” she said, hardly containing her glee. “Who they got in there?”

“Clara and Sam Stackhouse!” Tammy said. “She found the body, but they think he might’ve done it!”

“Well he didn’t!” Hoyt said defensively.

“Then who?” His mom asked.

“Probably the same person that killed Maudette,” Hoyt said.

“I’ll tell ya one thing, me. This too small a town to be losing girls one after the other like this,” Rene said. “Whoever it is, I hope they fry the fuck!”

“Rene!” Tammy scolded. Rene turned to Hoyt’s mom.

“Excuse my language, Ms. Maxine,” he said. She shook her head.

“No need to apologize, Rene! We’re all excited,” she nodded. “To be a fly on the wall in that house right now.”

Inside the house was much more serious, much more quiet. The arm had been turned off, the only background sound was the clicking of cameras by the crime scene unit. Sam sat on the couch, arms crossed, eyes wide in shock. Clara sat on a chair, with Sheriff Dearborn across from her on the coffee table, answering his questions.

“Now I realize you’ve been through a lot and you’re scared, but I need you to remember when you got here,” he said in a measured tone, the one police so often use when interviewing people. “Was the door open or just unlocked?”

“Open, I think?” Clara said nervously. She could hear Andy’s thoughts.

Pisses me off every time she calls me Andy and calls Bud Sheriff they better call me detective goddamnit when am I gonna get some respect around here-

And Sam, who was sweating, his eyebrows furrowed, nervously adjusting himself on the couch.

Fuck! What am I gonna do?! I already got out of this once no way they gonna let me go again. I’m too damn pretty to go to prison.

“Clara?” The sheriff asked loudly. She focused again, turning her attention to him.

“Sorry, what was the question?” She asked.

“Is that the exact position you found her in?” he repeated.

“Well I covered her up with a sheet but I don’t think I touched her,” she said.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” Dearborn sighed.

“Well next time I find a friend of mine dead I’ll try to remember that,” Clara said sarcastically.

Andy was interviewing Mrs. Lefolt at a small table on the other side of the room.

“So this fight you heard Sam and Dawn having- were you able to make any of it out?” He asked.

“Just the tail end of it, right before the gunshot. He called her…a very bad word,” Mrs. Lefolt said politely.

“Uh huh. And what was that word?” Andy asked.

“Well…it starts with a b,” she said shortly.

“Alight,” Andy said, sighing. “That’ll be all. Thank you, Mrs. Lefolt.”

“Awww, you’re welcome, Andy,” she said sweetly rubbing his arm, much to his annoyance.

More people gathered outside to watch the scene unfold. Andy walked Sam out in handcuffs, pulling his arm while Sam stared down at his feet. He opened the door of his car and shoved Sam roughly in the backseat.

The car had been baking in the sun for hours. Sam cursed at how hot it was. “Hey! If you’re gonna make me wait in the car, can you at least turn on the AC?!”

Andy put his glasses on as he made a point to ignore Sam. Sam leaned his head back on the seat, resigned to being hot and uncomfortable…then he remembered the V in his pocket.

He panicked. If they searched him, which they definitely would, he’d be in even deeper shit than he was right now. Luckily he was handcuffed in the front of his body and he was able to grab the vial from his pocket. He pulled the cap off and swallowed the entire vial, then quickly stuffed the vial in the crack of the seat right as Andy opened the door and got in.

“Couldn’t hear me yellin’?” Sam muttered. “Car’s hotter than hell.”

“Shut up,” Andy replied.

Dearborn followed Clara out of the house, thanking her for her help as he walked to the car to take Sam to the station. She didn’t respond, only continued to watch the spectators who had gathered outside. From the crowd, Josh emerged, the only person showing any sort of actual concern. He walked up to her and took his glasses off.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, taking a seat next to her on the steps. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her.”

“Somebody was gonna have to find her eventually,” Clara said sadly, seemingly accepting that this was her role to play.

“I don’t even recognize this world we’re living in,” Josh said. “Maybe I should shut down the bar for the day.”

“All that’ll do is deny people a good, stiff drink on the day they’ll need it the most,” Clara said.

“Yeah, but-“

“I know it’s supposed to be my day off and all but the last thing I need right now is time alone with my thoughts,” Clara said. Josh nodded, understanding her like he always seemed to do.

“Alright then,” he said. “We’ll open.”

“I might be late though I have to tell Gran what’s goin’ on,” Clara said.

“Oh, it’s Bon Temps, she already knows,” Josh said.

“Still, with Sam and everything-“

“Excuse me, Mr. Kiszka, they tell me you’re the landlord?” A deputy behind them said. Josh confirmed it so, and he explained they needed a key to a building. Josh got up and grabbed his keys. Before he left, he placed a gentle kiss on top of Clara’s head. She was about to get up herself, when a voice came from the door.

“Uh, excuse me, miss, can you let us through?” It was a small, skinny kid with the coroner's office.

Clara moved out of the way. Him and Mike Spencer carried out the body bag containing Dawn. It was strange to know that she was in that bag, gone. It was even weirder that Mike Spencer was smiling, greeting Clara like they ran into each other at the grocery store. They loaded Dawn into the back of the van and shut it hard. As it drove away, Clara tried to remember the fun, vivacious, sweet person Dawn was in life and not the way she met her death.

****

Sam found himself in the same cluttered conference room, sitting at the same table, across from the same detective that he was talking to merely days ago. First Maudette, now Dawn. But the difference this time? Sam knew he didn’t do it. There was no prank, no video, just the absolute fact that he did not kill Dawn.

“So you had a fight,” Andy recapped. “She took a shot at you, and you just left? Didn’t see her again till you came back this morning with flowers and booze and found her dead?”

“That’s my story and it ain’t gonna change,” Sam said shortly, licking his fingers while eating a honeybun they gave him.

“Except it just did change,” Andy smirked. “You just admitted you’re the one who found her, not your sister.”

“What? No I didn’t!” Sam said, shocked. “You’re trying to trick me! It don’t count if I get tricked! Does it?”

“Make you hot, Sam? Killing girls and sticking it to them?” Andy said slyly. Dearborn gave Andy an annoyed look.

“No!”

“See, I think it does,” Andy growled. “I think it turns you on.”

“Sounds to me like it turns you on,” Sam shot back. Sheriff Dearborn laughed, much to Andy’s dismay.

“Tell me, is that how you do it?” Andy continued, his voice had a different edge to it now. “Kill them then fuck them? Or do you fuck them then kill them? Oh, I know, you strange them as you fuck them, you sick fuck?!”

Sam wasn’t listening to him. Something was happening to him…his dick was getting hard. Not just a normal hard, he wasn’t even turned on. It was uncomfortable and painful, and he was struggling to pay attention.

“How many other women did you do this to besides Dawn and Maudette?” Andy asked.

“Maudette?” Sam said, voice strained as his dick got harder and more swollen. “I gotta..use the bathroom.”

He didn’t wait for permission, he waddled out, trying to hide himself with his shirt, struggling to walk. He walked into the bathroom, checking to make sure he was the only one in there before he unzipped his pants.

“What the fuck?” He whispered. He pulled it out, determined to rub one out before he went back so it would go down.

It didn’t work. In fact it was so painful he screamed a little too loudly, alerting Andy and the Sheriff to it. They ran out of the conference room and Andy knocked on the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” Andy yelled.

“I’ll be out in a minute!!” Sam choked out. Andy kept pounding on the door and trying to get into the bathroom. “I said in a minute!”

The door of the sheriff’s department swung open behind Bud and Andy. Ruby waltzed in, a fierce look on her face.

“Sheriff Dearborn? Andy? I hear you brought Sam in,” they turned to her in surprise.

“So?” Andy said, uninterested.

“Are you charging him with anything?” She said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Not yet,” Dearborn said over Andy muttering something about asking him some questions.

“I assume he’s been properly mirandized?” She asked. They both made noncommittal noises. “Please tell me you’ve informed him of his right to have an attorney present?!”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t matter cause he’s got you here now,” Andy gave her a sarcastic smirk and scoffed.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Is that funny cause I’m a woman or cause I’m a black woman?”

“I-I thought it was funny cause you talk like a lawyer but you ain’t one,” Andy replied sheepishly.

“How you know all this anyways? You taking night classes?” The sheriff asked.

“School is just for white people lookin’ for other white people to read to ‘em. I figured I’d save my money and read to myself,” Ruby said. Sam opened the door to the bathroom, hunched over and sweating. He looked at Ruby in surprise.

“Ruby?”

“I’m getting you outta here,” Ruby said confidently.

“Like hell you are!” Andy spat.

“Are you charging him with anything?” Ruby asked. Sam pushed his way through Dearborn and Andy to stand next to her.

“She’s right,” Dearborn relented. “We can’t hold him.”

“He can’t say where he was last night the least he coulda done was make some shit up,” Andy said darkly.

“I told you where I was! I was home alone, sleeping!” Sam said defiantly.

“You never sleep alone, Stackhouse!” Andy said.

“Guys, he was with me,” Ruby lied, looking at Sam, urging him silently to go along with it.

“Say what now?” Andy said, looking between them, eyeing Sam suspiciously. “If y’all were together last night how come he don’t seem to know it?”

“Cause I asked him not to tell anyone about us! He’s just surprised to hear me be the one blabbing about it, aren’t you, baby?” Sam glanced over to her, slightly confused, but went along with it.

“Uh, yeah,” he muttered.

“Are you buying this?” Andy turned to Dearborn.

“People think just because we got vampires out in the open now race isn’t an issue anymore but have you seen the way people look at mixed couples in this town? Race may not be the hot button issue it once was but it’s still a button you can push on people,” Ruby explained.

“Will you go on record with that?” Dearborn asked.

“Yea,” Ruby said quickly.

“Understand that if you’re lying you’ll be guilty of-“

“-purjury, I know,” she finished. “You gotta Bible and I’ll swear on it right here. Sam and I were together last night and it was a beautiful thing.”

Sam and Ruby looked at each other, smiling. Sam nodded his head, deciding the less he said, the better.

“Okay,” Dearborn said. “You’re free to go.”

“Jesus!” Andy said, looking at Dearborn. He was visibly annoyed.

“Come on, baby, let’s get you home,” Ruby said, grabbing Sam’s hand and turning towards the door.

“Okay, baby,” Sam said. He gave the sheriff and detective a nod before he followed her out, hardly believing his luck.

****

Clara walked through the front door of her house and made a beeline to the kitchen where she found Gran by the sink, looking downtrodden as she finished the dishes.

“Hey Gran,” she said softly.

“I heard,” Adele said sadly, turning to her and turning the water off.

“About Sam too?” Clara asked. Adele nodded.

“He didn’t do it, you know,” Adele said fiercely.

“I know,” Clara said.

“Sam may be many things but he’s not a murderer,” Adele said.

“I know,” Clara agreed.

“The thing is though, Clara, in all my years in Bon Temps, I can’t recall but 2 or 3 murders and now there’s 2 in one week? People are not gonna stand for it. And if the police can’t find the person who did it, they’re gonna find Sam,” Adele warned. “He’s gonna need your help.”

“Gran, how am I supposed to-“

“Use your gift God gave you. Listen in on people, keep your ears open, you’re bound to hear something,” Adele said. “Whatever it is you use to listen, use it! He is your brother, Clara.”

Clara nodded, resolved to help Sam, “okay.”

“Good girl,” Adele pulled her into a desperate, tight hug before she let her run up to her room and change.

****

Clara’s shift at Kiszkas that night was a fact finding mission. Unlike other nights, where she’d concentrate on not hearing anyone’s thoughts, she kept her mind open…and it was eye opening.

I wonder if he had sex with her before he did it. Seems like a waste not to. She sure was pretty.

I wonder how much better could an orgasm with a vampire could be? Was it that much better?

…if God wanted races to mix, he’d make us look the same. It ain’t good.

I don’t know what everybody’s so upset about if you ask me those whores had it coming hanging out in vampire bars like they did it ain’t natural and it ain’t right.

Clara sat the salad she was carrying down on a table. The woman at the table was smirking at her.

She sure seems sad about it. I wonder if that was her friend. She’s probably next. Fuckin fang bangers. Crazy every last one of you. Like those women who write to serial killers.

Clara rushed away from the table, overwhelmed with these horrible people and their horrible thoughts.

“I asked for ranch dressing!” The woman called out behind her. She put her tray down at the bar, struggling to keep it together.

“Two margaritas,” Tammy said as she approached the bar. She was frazzled and annoyed. “That Dawn sure left us high and dry!”

Clara turned to her angrily. “It’s not like she chose not to be here.”

“Yeah but if she didn’t spend her nights off at that vamp bar in Shreveport she still would be!” Tammy said.

“Did I just hear you right, Tammy?” Clara snapped.

“Oh, please, ain’t there even a little part of you that thinks she had it coming?” Tammy replied.

“No, not a single part,” Clara said. She grabbed the ranch off Tammy’s tray. “I’m taking this!”

Ruby walked in past Clara, flustered. Josh had been tending the bar in her absence and he was thoroughly annoyed about it.

“You’re late,” he said as she tied her apron around her waist.

“Sorry, boss,” she said a little too formally.

Josh backed up, and said softly, “we should probably talk about last night.”

“What about last night?” Ruby grumbled.

“You’re gonna make this hard on me aren’t you?” Josh asked, sighing.

“No, actually I’m gonna make this very, very easy,” Ruby said, turning to him. “Nothing happened between us last night. And if anybody asks, you didn’t see me at all, okay? I’m telling people I spent the night with Sam.”

“Sam Stackhouse?” Josh asked.

“Yes and if they hear anything different they’re gonna haul both our asses into jail,” Ruby said.

“You lied to the police for him?” Josh asked, frustrated. “Shit, Ruby, I know you carry a torch for the guy but I don’t get it, I really don’t.”

“There’s more to him than meets the eye,” Ruby said defensively. “Deep down he’s a very good person!”

Ruby stormed off to the back, leaving a confused and disappointed Josh to continue to tend the bar.

Clara continued to serve the vultures of Bon Temps, who continued to stare at her with judgement and thoughts of you’re next. Throughout the negative noise, however, she heard one person’s thoughts that give her a glimmer of hope.

It ain’t gonna be the same without Dawn here. She had the prettiest, nicest smile. Why was I so scared to talk to her? I didn’t even know what her voice sounded like. She probably sounded like an angel

Clara turned to him. “Hoyt?”

He looked up, grinning and slightly confused.

“I just want to say thank you,” she said, giving him the first smile she had all night.

“For-for what?” He said awkwardly. She answered by giving him a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Okay! Alright then!”

He grinned, completely taken aback. She wanted to continue the conversation, but Sam walked through the door, still pulling his shirt down, still sweating, still in pain. But none of that mattered to Clara. Not right now.

“Did you do it?” She asked quickly.

“What? No!” He said. He looked around and lowered his voice. “Look, when Maudette died, I thought I might’ve done it. And it turned out I didn't. With Dawn, I know I didn’t do it!”

“Are you sure?” Clara said.

He sighed in frustration. “Well with the way you’re acting it sounds like you want it to be me!”

“Sorry,” Clara said. “Gran asked me to listen in on folks to see if I can’t clear your name and sometimes it’s hard to-“

“I’m gonna have to stop you cause it sounds like you're revving up for a long one and I really need to see Lafayette,” Sam said uncomfortably. He gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Talk to ya later.”

He rushed back to the kitchen where he found Lafayette cutting up peppers. He leaned into the doorway and said, “what the fuck, Lafayette!”

“What’s your problem?” Lafayette asked, not looking up.

“My problem is my dick!” Sam said. He had spent the last 2 hours furiously trying to get it to go down. Not only did it not go down, it seemed to get worse. Lafayette looked up at him, surprised. “It’s been hard since 3 o’clock! Now there’s something wrong with that vamp blood you-“

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Lafayette warned harshly. He stopped cutting, his full attention on Sam.

“Sorry,” Sam said sheepishly.

“With your loud ass,” Lafayette said. “Ain’t nothin wrong with the shit I sold you.”

“Then what the hell is it?” Sam said through gritted teeth.

“How much you take?” Lafayette asked.

“The whole thing!”

Lafayette laughed. “You took the whole thing? You a dizzy motherfucker, I said one drop, two at most and you took the whole thing?”

“Look I was in the back of a cop car, I had it on me, and I panicked. Now give me something to make it go away, I don’t care what it costs!”

“Ain’t no antidote to V, boyfriend,” Lafayette said, resuming his cutting of the peppers. Sam waddled through the kitchen,

Clutching on the side of the table and the sink.

“When my grandpa was alive, he had a gout and he said just the weight of a sheet on his big toe was too much to bear. So help me God, that’s exactly what this feels like,” Sam said desperately.

“Maybe you should try rubbing one out,” Lafayette said.

“Are you listening to me? I have gout of the dick!” Sam shouted.

Jake entered the dining room of Kiszkas having no idea what he was walking into. The vibe was tense, people seemed more amped up than usual. Heart rates were higher, guards were up. Jake looked around for Clara but didn’t see her. He took a seat at the nearest open booth, trying not to let the dozens of eyes boring into him bother him too much. Tammy looked for Clara as well, who was busy tending to a booth in the far corner. Tammy took a deep breath and reluctantly approached Jake for his order.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

“A bottle of O negative please,” Jake said politely.

“A negative’s all we got,” she said shortly.

“Ok…A negative then,” Jake said. She wrote it down quickly. “It’s pretty crowded here tonight, is something going on?”

She left before he finished his sentence. She went up to the bar where Ruby had been listening.

“Josh just ordered O neg we have plenty of each,” she said.

“Fuck him!” Tammy said. “And don’t microwave it neither! He can have it cold.”

“You are so bad,” Ruby said, annoyed. She walked over to the fridge and got the blood. She sat it down on Tammy’s tray as Clara walked over. She looked down at the tru blood, confused.

“Are we out of O?” She asked.

“Blood is blood,” Tammy said, chuckling nervously. “What difference does it make?”

“He prefers O,” Clara said. “I’ll take it to him if you like.”

“Good, he gives me the creeps!” Tammy stormed off as Ruby went to replace the tru blood with his preferred type.

Clara carried the blood over to Jake. She sat it down without a word, then grabbed his hand and pulled him back out of the bar. They walked into a dark area of the parking lot so she could talk freely.

“You know my friend that works here? Dawn? Someone killed her last night,” Clara said.

“How?” Jake said quickly. That wasn’t the reaction Clara wanted.

“Say you’re sorry!” Clara chastised.

“Excuse me?”

“If you want to fit in with people, you have to say you’re sorry when people die. You don’t even have to mean it, lord knows they don’t most of the time,” Clara said, gesturing towards the bar.

“I am sorry,” Jake said softly.

“Thank you. Anyway, I’m the one that found her, strangled. Cops think it’s my brother,” she said.

“Did he?” Jake asked darkly.

“No, he’s not capable of that!” Clara said, offended.

“I’ve been around long enough to know that just about anyone is capable of anything,” Jake responded.

“He didn’t do it,” Clara said firmly. Jake nodded. “I’ve been listening to people’s thoughts trying to sus out who might’ve done it and apparently there’s this vampire bar where Maudette and Dawn used to hang out in Shreveport. You know it?”

Jake rolled his eyes, looking down at his tru blood. Then he looked back at her. “Fangtasia.”

Clara raised her eyebrows at that corny name. “Fangtasia?!”

“You have to remember most vampires are very old and puns used to be the highest form of humor,” he said with a smile.

Clara suppressed a laugh. “W-well, I was thinking if I went there I could do some sniffing around. You think you can take me?”

Jake looked almost excited. “How about tonight?”

“The sooner the better I just have to tell Josh I’m leave then run home and change,” Clara said.

“I’ll meet you there,” Jake said, his voice lighter and slightly flirty.

“Jake, I’m asking you as a friend this is not a date!” Clara said, barely containing her smile.

“Fine,” Jake said with a smirk.

“It’s not a date, I’m serious!” Clara laughed.

“As am I!” Jake said. She scoffed and practically skipped back into Kiszkas, with Jake looking on behind her.

Clara opened Josh’s office door gingerly, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. He was counting cash at his desk and looked up when she walked in.

“Hey, Josh. Can I take the rest of the night off? I want to go to that vampire bar in Shreveport to clear my brother’s name and Mr. Compton has agreed to take me,” Clara said nervously.

Josh heaved a deep, frustrated sigh. “Mr. Compton? Jesus, Clara, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“I’ll be fine!” Clara said defensively.

“See you saying that just shows how not fine you’re gonna be. Vampires think about one thing and one thing only: drinking your blood,” Josh said intensely.

“Oh, like humans aren’t bloodthirsty? All those people want to see my brother hanged for a crime he didn’t commit. Is that what you want?” Clara said angrily.

“No, Clara, I’m not saying don’t help your brother-“

“Frankly, Josh, I’m surprised at you. I thought you were for the vampire's right amendment!” Clara continued.

“I think vampires should have their own bars. I just don’t think people oughta go there.” Josh explained.

“So you want to return to the days of separate but equal?”

“I don’t give a shit about equal. Hell, give them more than we got. As long as it’s separate,” Josh said darkly.

“Well I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m going,” Clara said defiantly.

Josh paused for a moment. “Well I can’t stop you.”

“No,” Clara said. “You can’t.”

****

Jake drove them down the long stretch to Shreveport in his 69 Chevelle SS. Old blues played through the speakers, filling the car with the sounds of Robert Johnson. Clara and Jake were silent, but Jake kept glancing over towards her with a strange look.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Clara asked.

“I thought you liked not knowing what I’m thinking?” Jake said.

“Most of the time I do,” she said.

“You won’t care for it,” Jake sighed.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know,” Clara said curiously.

He looked her up and down then said, “you look like vampire bait.”

She scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“I promised your grandma no harm would come to you tonight but I don’t know if I can keep that promise with you dressed like that.”

Clara was wearing a low cut white dress with red flowers on it. Her hair was cleared out of her face with a white headband. She looked down at herself. “Are you saying I look nice?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. This isn’t a date, remember?” Jake smirked.

****

Ruby heaved a crate of tomatoes to the fridge. She was annoyed. She’s a bartender, not a bus boy. She balanced the crate on her knees while she opened the door then proceeded to hold the door open with her back while she hauled them in.

“Don’t turn around,” said a weak voice. Naturally, she turned around. Sam was on the floor, his pants down by his ankles, and a massive steak covering his groin.

“What the hell are you doing?” She asked. He groaned.

“I think I might have ODed,” he admitted.

“Oh my god, on what?” She sat the tomatoes down, bending her knees to get to his level.

“On V…”

“You’re going V now?” Her concern turned to annoyance.

“Well it was my first time,” Sam winced.

“And where on earth did you find it in this town?”

“Lafayette?” Sam offered.

“My cousin? Fucking idiot,” Ruby said. “Well that explains why I saw you dancing around in that Hillary Clinton mask yesterday. Cause I gotta tell you without a reason, that was some fucked up shit.”

Sam laughed nervously. Then she said, “alright, lemme see it.”

“Huh?”

“How long have you had the erection?” She asked.

“How did you know?” He asked.

“I read. You’re not the first vain asshole to overdo the V and have an acute case of priapism,” Ruby said. “Now lift the ribeye and let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

He lifted the steak. Her eyes widened with shock, her voice shook as she said “oh my god, Sam!”

“I know it’s bad!” Sam cried.

“We gotta get you to a hospital,” Ruby said.

“No! No hospitals!”

“Do you wanna keep your dick or not?!”

****

From the outside, Fangtasia looked like a run down building. The doors were open, and loud music and light spilled into the gravel parking lot. Jake had his hand on Clara’s back, keeping her close as they walked in. At the door was a pretty blonde woman in a leather strapless dress, a neutral smile on het face that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Jake,” she said in a thick southern accent. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m mainstreaming,” he said.

“Good for you,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Who’s the doll?”

“Clara, Pam,” Jake said.

“Nice to meet you!” Clara stuck her hand out. Pam looked down at it, then to Jake with a raised eyebrow. Jake gently pushed Clara’s arm down, shaking his head slightly.

“I need to see your ID,” Pam said to Clara.

“Oh!” Clara laughed, pulling it out. “That’s so funny, getting carded at a vampire bar.”

Pam glanced at Jake then back at Clara as she took her ID, like she was judging his choice of guest. “I can no longer tell human ages. We must be careful as we don’t serve minors in any capacity. 25, huh? How sweet it is.”

She handed Clara back her ID with a sly smile and with that, they entered the bar.

The entire bar was painted red, with black leather chairs, booths, and tables. There was a merch table, with Fangtasia tshirts, post cards, and pens. The dancers were seductive vampires themselves, dancing normally then adding in body modifications no human could do without breaking bones. As Clara walked further in, she saw what looked like the kid that worked with a coroner dressed in leather at the bar. He noticed her as well and scurried away as she got closer.

“This feels like what a vampire bar would look like if it were a ride at Disney World,” Clara said thoughtfully.

“Don’t get too comfortable. It tends to get more…authentic as the night goes on. Do you want a drink?” Jake asked, pointing towards the bar. She nodded. As they approached the bar, the vampire behind the bar greeted them.

“How’s it going, Jake?” He said. He was native, his hair long, wearing a leather vest.

“Very well,” Jake said.

“I’ll say it is,” he said, looking Clara up and down. “This your meal for the night?”

“This is my friend, Clara,” Jake said. “Clara, this is Longshadow.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clara said. He stared her down. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

“And I’ll have a bottle of O neg,” Jake said. “Longshadow, Clara would like to ask you a few questions. Would that be acceptable?”

“I just have a couple pictures I’d like to show you,” Clara said, pulling out pictures of Maudette and Dawn. “Have you seen these two here?”

“Yeah, they’ve been here before,” Longshadow said as he made her drink.

“Great, and do you remember who they were with?” Clara asked.

“That’s something we don’t notice here and neither will you,” Longshadow said darkly.

“Thank you so much, I appreciate you taking the time,” Clara said politely.

Longshadow then picked up the picture of Maudette. “This one…she wanted to die.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone who comes here does, in their own way. That’s what we are. Death,” Longshadow said. Jake gave him their money and took Clara to sit down at a table. As they sat there she tried to listen to the human’s thoughts.

Oh my god he’s so powerful so beautiful the closer I get the more beautiful he gets

A middle aged man was staring intensely at the stage in the back. Clara followed his gaze to a man sitting on an old throne. The man was right: he was beautiful. Tall, his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. His long, black, curly hair stretched down in front of his chest. His features were perfect, intense, without even trying. He looked, in lack of better terms, like a god.

The man approached him in an effort to get closer. He fell to his knees, worshipping but not touching. Jake noticed Clara staring.

“Who’s that?” She breathed. Jake almost rolled his eyes.

“You noticed him, did you?” Jake said.

“No, it’s not like that-“

“Everyone does,” Jake said. “That’s Daniel. He’s the oldest thing in this bar.”

Then the man made a critical mistake. He placed his hand on Daniel’s thigh. With no effort whatsoever, Daniel kicked him across the bar, the man’s head connected to a table as he landed on the floor. It gave him a gash across his forehead, drawing blood. All at once, every vampire in the bar turned their attention to this injured man, fangs out, hissing and ready to dine. One vampire got to him before the others, a beautiful redhead in a tight dress.

“Hey, I’m Taryn,” she said, offering him a hand. He looked at her in wonder, then took her hand and they ran off.

“Still think you’re in Disney World?” Jake asked, smirking.

****

“You say this has never happened to you before?” The doctor flashed a light in Sam’s eyes, checking for deeper causes.

“No sir,” Sam said nervously.

“Well there’s no sign of hypertension,” the doctor said, rolling back on his chair to the counter in the exam room. “Now I’m gonna ask you a question, son, and I’m gonna need you to be honest with me. Have you taken any drugs today?”

“Nope, that’s a negative,” Sam lied. The doctor wasn’t convinced.

“No marajunia then? Cocaine? Meth?” Sam shook his head to all of them. “Vampire blood?”

“What? No, that’s sick! To even suggest that is-“

“Yeah, yeah, you’d never do anything like that,” the doctor said sarcastically. “Alright let’s have a look.”

He rolled back over to Sam and lifted up the blanket. “Oh, boy. I’m sure glad I’m not you! It looks kinda like an eggplant…with that color and how it’s swole up at the end.”

Sam and Ruby both winced. Ruby sat in the corner, trying to not think about how incredibly awkward this all was.

“Can you fix it?” Sam asked.

“Well normally we’d like to treat this in stages, the least radical would be an injection of anti-inflammatory drugs into the penis,” the doctor explained.

“That’s the least radical thing you can do?!”

“Yes. But you’re to the point where I don’t think you’d benefit from that at all. In my opinion, we need to aspirate. I need to drain the blood out of your penis,” the doctor said.

Sam stared at him in complete shock. A baby cried in another exam room, representing Sam’s current state of mind quite well.

Ruby picked up her purse as she saw the doctor pull out the needle. “I’m just gonna go.”

Sam grabbed onto her arm in a panic. “Don’t leave me.”

He gave her a pleading look, like a sad scared puppy. She melted and sighed. “I ain’t never gonna be the same after this.”

“Alright, son, you ready?” The doctor came over with the needle.

“You’re not gonna put me out?!”

“I don’t think we can afford the time,” the doctor said. “Just lean on back for me.”

Ruby prompted Sam to take deep breaths as he laid down. He was shaking and scared. He held onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Alright, you’re gonna feel a stick,” the doctor said. “In 3, 2, 1…”

****

“Josh I hate to ask, but would you mind walking me to my car?” Tammy asked. Josh had been staring at a picture of Dawn, wondering who had done this to her.

“Of course and don’t hate to ask,” Josh said. “Just get the lights for me?”

Tammy turned off the lights. As Josh went to leave, he grabbed a pair of disposable gloves.

He turned off the radio and the last thing he looked at as he walked out was a picture of him and Dawn hugging.

****

Clara tried to find answers at Fangtasia by listening to the humans there but no one was thinking about killing. Everyone was thinking about—

“Sex, sex, sex,” Clara said.

“Well you don’t need to be telepathic to pick on that,” Jake laughed. Clara looked around nervously, trying to find something, anything.

“Uh oh,” Jake muttered, looking over to Daniel, who was staring at them.

“Uh oh?! Vampires aren't supposed to say ‘uh oh’!” Clara said.

“It’s Daniel, he’s scanned you twice. He’s gonna summon us,” Jake said.

“He can do that?”

“Oh yeah,” Jake sighed, nursing his blood. And with that, Daniel lifted up his hand and motioned them to come over. Jake offered Clara his hand to take and they walked through the crowd towards him.

“Jake Compton,” he said softly. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” Jake said stiffly.

“How’s mainstreaming?” He asked in a mocking tone. Pam grinned behind him. “I heard.”

Jake said nothing and continued to stare at him. Daniel’s eyes moved to Clara as he said, “I see that’s going well for you.”

“This is-“

“Clara Stackhouse,” Daniel said with a smile.

“How do you know my name?” Clara asked.

“I never forget a pretty face,” Pam said. He pointed to her head. “You’re in my vault.”

“Great. That’s just great,” Clara said, turning to Daniel. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” Daniel said with a grin.

“Not really,” Clara said. Jake nudged her softly.

Daniel kept the arrogant smirk on his face. He turned his head slightly towards Pam and spoke to her in German, which she responded in kind. Then he said to Clara, “I heard you have questions about some of my customers.”

“Yes I have.”

“If you have anything to ask, you should ask it of me,” he said firmly.

“Alrighty,” she said. She pulled out the pictures. “Do you recognize either one of these girls?”

Daniel took the pictures out of her hand and studied them. He pointed to Maudette. “This one offered herself to me, but I found her too pathetic for my attention.”

He pointed to Dawn. “This one, however, I have tasted.”

“I remember them both,” Pam said.

“On account of the vault?” Clara said. Jake squeezed her hand in warning.

“Never had either of them, though,” Pam said. She eyed Clara closely. “They weren’t really my type.”

“Well then if that’s all” Clara began.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” Daniel said. His face softened. Just barely. “Please. Sit.”

Jake glared at him as Clara took a seat next to Daniel.

“So, Jake, how attached are you to your friend?” Daniel asked.

“She is mine,” Jake said loudly.

“Yea, I am his,” Clara concurred.

“What a pity…for me,” Daniel said with a smile. Then he said to Jake, “sit with us! We have catching up to do, you and I. It’s been too long!”

“Yes,” Jake said, taking a seat on the opposite side of Daniel. Then Clara heard it…from a man in a baseball cap that was awkwardly dancing.

Where the fuck are they backup was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago I can’t handle all these vampires by myself

“We have to leave,” Clara warned.

“Clara-“ Jake began.

“Daniel, the cops are coming, there's gonna be a raid!” Clara said. Daniel’s eyes furrowed with suspicion.

“Tell me you’re not an undercover cop,” Daniel spat.

“No but that man in the hat is!” She pointed towards him.

“Even if you’re right,” Daniel said, sitting back. “We do nothing illegal here.”

As if on cue, Clara got the image of Taryn feeding on a middle aged man in the bathroom as he begged her to open him up…

“There’s a vampire named Taryn feeding on that man you kicked in the bathroom.”

“How do you know this?!” Pam asked. Before Clara could answer, the sound of “POLICE” came through. The entire bar started panicking as police in riot gear barged in.

“Follow me.” Daniel led them through the back door swiftly. He didn’t seem phased or flustered. As they went through the back door, Jake picked Clara up to run.

“I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Stackhouse,” Daniel said, as he started to glide away. “You will come again.”

****

No one truly understood Ruby’s crush on Sam. Truthfully it went back to when they were children.

Her mom was drunk, again. She had thrown out the liquor in the house and her mom was chasing her through the streets, threatening to beat her. Ruby ran to what seemed to be the only safe place in town. The home of her best friend. She ran up the step, her mom not far behind, and she knocked on the door frantically.

“Clara!” She cried. But the person that opened the door wasn’t Clara, it was Sam.

“She ain’t home,” he said.

“Let me in!” Ruby pushed past him. He shielded her as her mom raced up the steps.

“Is there a problem here?” He puffed his chest up and lowered his voice, trying to be as intimidating as a 12 year old boy could be.

“You bet your skinny ass there’s a problem! That little bitch hid my captain Morgan!” Lettie Mae yelled.

“I didn’t hide it, mama, I threw it out!” Ruby spat. Lettie Mae lifted her fist up.

“Look, my Gran’s at the market and I’m not supposed to let anyone in while she’s gone,” Sam said.

“You let her in!”

“I know her!” Sam said. Lettie Mae grabbed him by his shirt but it didn’t phase him. “Maybe I should call sheriff Dearborn and have him haul you off to jail where I can guarantee there ain’t gonna be no captain morgan waiting for you.”

Ruby nodded her head behind him. Lettie Mae let go of him as he stared her down

“This ain’t over,” she warned. He shut the door in her face.

Ruby thought about that moment as Sam snored in her passenger seat, grateful for him, smiling at the memory of him defending her in a way no one had before.

****

Clara and Jake were once again silent on the way home, the only sounds were the old blues tracks he so enjoyed.

“Can you turn that down,” Clara asked.

“You don’t like it?” Jake asked.

“I just…can we pull over a minute? I need things to stop,” Clara said.

Jake pulled over in a small drive. He left the car running. He didn’t push her for an explanation of her feelings.

“I just need a couple of minutes of silence then we can go,” Clara said. “I’m sorry if I got you in any trouble tonight.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jake said softly. “We’re always in some sort of trouble. I’d rather be in it with you.”

The air was electric. They started to gravitate to each other for a kiss…

Then sirens and lights. They pulled away. Jake was angry, grumbling to himself.

The officer approached. Jake was steeling himself. The officer tapped on the window. “Open up.”

“Let me do the talking,” Clara muttered as Jake lowered his window. He looked dangerous.

“Hello officer,” Clara said.

“Evening, miss. What’re you doing out so late?” The officer asked. Jake kept his eyes on the dash.

“Coming home from a date,” Clara said politely.

“We’re raiding a bar not too far from here. Y'all coming from there, by any chance?” The officer asked, shining his light in the car.

“Nope, not us,” Clara said.

“Uh huh. Called Fangtasia, that ring any bells? How bout you, son? You seem awfully quiet” the officer pointed his flashlight at Jake, who was getting more angry by the second. “Can’t you talk?”

“I’m a man of few words,” Jake said in a slow, measured tone.

“‘Man of few words.’ I like that,” the officer said. “Miss, can I shine this light on your neck?”

Jake slowly turned to her so the officer couldn’t see when he lowered his fangs.

“N-not at all,” Clara said nervously. She pulled her hair back to reveal her neck.

“Why don’t you ask her if you can shine it between her legs?” Jake said dangerously.

“Jake!”

“Vampires like to sometimes feed from the femoral artery. The blood flows more freely down there so one doesn’t have to suck as hard,” Jake said, slowly turning to the officer. “Or so I’ve been told.”

The officer pulled his gun out and pointed at Jake.

“I like your gun,” Jake said, staring into the officer’s eyes. “Can I have it?”

“Jake, stop this right now!” Clara cried. For the first time, she was scared of him. Jake ignored her.

“Sure, I guess,” the officer handed Jake his gun.

“It’s heavier than I imagined,” Jake said. “Is it loaded?”

“Well yes. Yes it is,” the officer said.

“Jake you’re freaking me out!” Clara said. Jake ignored her again and pointed the gun at the officer.

“I don’t appreciate you shining your light in the eyes of my female companion,” Jake said. The officer put down the flashlight. “And as I have more than a hundred years on you, I do not take kindly to you calling me son. So the next time you pull somebody over on suspicion of being a vampire…you better pray to god that you’re wrong. Because that vampire might not be as kind to you as I’m about to be. I’m not going to kill you but I am going to keep your gun. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes,” the officer said blankly.

“Yes what?”

“Yes sir.”

“There ya go,” Jake said. Just like that, he let go to the glamor he had been doing. “You have a nice night.”

He turned the car on and drove off. The officer did not move. He stood in the clearing, whimpering in fear.

****

A gloved hand carefully removed the crime scene tape, then quietly unlocked the door of Dawn’s house with his landlord key. Josh entered the house only turning on the bathroom light to not raise suspicion. He took a sniff of the air. Then he leaned over and sniffed her duvet. Then he got on the bed and sniffed the sheets. He smelled the pillows, everything and rolled around in the bed, like he was trying to get the scent onto his body as much as possible.

There was much more to Josh Kiszka than meets the eye. And he intended to use that to find her murderer.

[hailthegodsong]

Noo nope nope not okay absolutely not

[inky-sun]

[britney-gvf]

Saigneur- chapter three

Jake x oc, Sam x oc, Josh x oc

18+

A/n- sorry for the slight delay!! A quick thank you to my buddies @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon and @bathinginstardust for their continued support, encouragement, and editing

Playlist: Apple Music

This is a retelling of True Blood. The plot and situations follows the show’s first season ❤️

Trigger warnings: unprotected sex, prostitution, vampire shit, blood, violence, parental abuse, alcohol, alcoholism, drug use, drug dealing, death, murder, guns

“Maybe you oughta come on inside,” the vampire with the ponytail said with a twisted smile. He looked deep into Clara’s eyes, keeping eye contact with her.

“Are you trying to glammor me?” Clara asked. The vampires stopped hissing in unison. All three stared at her dumbfounded.

“Yes,” he said quizzically.

“That doesn’t work on me,” Clara said, unconsciously straightening her posture. She took a sort of pride in the fact that she wasn’t like other humans.

“Why not?” The bald one asked from behind her. He was southern too, as backwoods as Clara had ever heard. She turned her head to face him.

“I dunno, it just doesn’t,” she shrugged. All the vampires were staring at her in shock. This had never happened to any of them. She got back to the reason she was there. “Is Jake available?”

“Let her in,” she heard from inside the house. His voice was low and commanding. The female vampire placed her free hand on the door frame, stopping Clara from coming in.

“Diane!” Jake said loudly.

Diane rolled her eyes, “ugh, fuck him!”

“You have,” the one with the ponytail said, his mouth forming into a smirk. They reluctantly moved to the side, finally allowing Clara into the house. With no electricity, it was dark, only lit by candles on sconces and tables in strategic spots in the foyer. The inside was as dilapidated as the outside; the stained paint was peeling off the walls, floorboards were missing or damaged, covered up by oriental rugs. Diane followed behind Clara, intimidating and mocking her with biting motions and giggles.

Clara tried to ignore her as she walked into the living room which was lit by candlelight like the foyer. There were two dark red velvet couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. In the corner, in a chair in the dark, was Jake, watching Clara intently but not moving. On the couches were two people that Clara could hardly find the words for. A woman who looked as if the very life had been drained out of her. Her eyes were heavy, bags underneath like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her hair was stringy and thinning, her skin sallow and dull. The young man on the other couch was different. He was playing a role. He eyed the older vampire with the ponytail seductively as he rubbed his hands over his shirtless body. He was full of life, of potential. And unlike the woman, he wanted to be there.

The three vampires followed Clara closely, as if they were afraid their new snack would get away from them. She was nothing more than prey to them, like a mouse that a cat would play with. It was unnerving, to say the least. Nevertheless, Clara took a sharp breath and tried to speak to them calmly and confidently.

“If you guys would excuse me and Jake for a moment,” Clara said, trying to not think about what they wanted and how desperate they seemed to get it. “I have things to discuss with him.”

They didn’t just ignore her request, they defied it. Diane and the bald vampire closed in on her. Diane brushed her ponytail off her neck softly, revealing Clara’s arteries.

“Where’d you find this one?” She asked, eyeing Clara up and down.

The bald vampire sniffed the air like a pie was being baked, “she smells fucking sweet!”

“Doesn’t she, Liam?” Diane said. Clara could hear Liam behind her, breathing on her, his breath acrid like death.

“And to think,” the ponytailed vampire said, stepping out from behind them and looking at Jake directly. “You were just telling us you were mainly living on synthetic blood. Liar.”

Clara kept looking at Jake, pleadingly wordlessly with him to intervene. Frustratingly, he didn’t move. He continued to let these vampires play with her.

“I don’t know, Malcom,” Diane said. “She smells like a virgin to me.”

“That’s none of your damn business, you nosey bitch!” Clara snapped. Diane grabbed her by the back of her neck gruffly and pulled her head back. Liam laughed behind her.

“It is my business, cupcake. You wanna know why? Because virgin blood is the best tasting blood there is,” Diane said in a sinister voice

Liam pulled Clara into him, then pushed her head to the side. Her artery was fully exposed, waiting for them to bite. Diane proclaimed first dibs, readying herself to bite.

“Stop!” Jake had risen from his chair. His face was harsh and angry, his voice rough and commanding.

Diane froze with a small gasp. Then Jake said the words that saved Clara’s life:

“Clara is mine.”

Diane pushed Clara away, pouting. Liam let go, walking to the other side of the room with an annoyed look on his face.

“Well, if you're Jake’s I certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt your little arrangement,” Malcolm proclaimed. There was an air of unseriousness in his tone, as if the only thing that truly kept him from ripping her apart was Jake’s presence. Still, he smiled at the man on the couch as he approached him. “That’s why I always bring Jerry with me wherever I go. He’s like mad money.”

Malcolm plopped onto the couch and Jerry went into action immediately. He straddled Malcolm’s lap and they began to kiss passionately.

Liam gruffed a command towards the woman on the couch. There wasn’t any pretense about what she was there for. The woman got up, completely expressionless, and went to do her master’s bidding.

Clara was shocked and the disgust was evident on her face. Diane took a look at her from the arm of the couch she was sitting on and laughed. “Aw, she’s innocent!”

“She’s mine!” Jake snapped, still standing in the same spot, avoiding Clara’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking get it,” Diane grumbled. She turned back to Clara. “And why aren’t you serving your master? Can’t you see how hungry he is?”

“Uh, Jake, if you’re hungry you’re more than welcome to have some of Jerry,” Malcolm offered like Jerry was nothing but a plate of fries.

Jerry hopped off his lap and walked over to the other couch that Jake was standing behind. He offered Jake his neck and Jake couldn’t resist, his instincts as a vampire stronger than anything else in his head. He was starving and there was a free and willing meal. He let his fangs down and gave Clara an apologetic look, but all Clara could hear was Jerry’s thoughts.

Yeah, bite me you fucking vampire. Let’s see how you like being infected with hep D. Come on, do it!!

“STOP! He has Hep D!” Clara cried out. Jake pulled away from him as every vampire’s furious attention landed on Jerry. Malcolm stood up, his fangs out, his eyes filled with animalistic rage.

“You fucking bitch!” Jerry turned his attention to her and launched himself on top of her before anyone else could react. He pushed her onto the coffee table, trapping her, tears forming in his eyes as he wrapped his hands around her throat.

How did she know that? I didn’t tell a soul! Those motherfuckers killed Marcus he would’ve never left me if it wasn’t for them-

All Jerry’s pain was etched into his face, all his fury coming out through his hands. He squeezed tight, cutting off all airflow. He lifted his hand to swipe at her. Before his hand could land, however, Jake had grabbed it and pulled it back so forcefully that it broke Jerry’s arm and sent flying into the couch. He passed out from the pain next to a furious Malcolm.

Jake turned his attention to Clara. He sat next to her on the table, leaning down to her. He caressed her cheek as she coughed and gasped for air, his once steely expression was one of worry and regret.

“Well,” Malcolm sneered, his jaw clenched in now repressed anger. “This has all been very illuminating. We have a long ride to Monroe and I’m sure we’ll all wanna have a little talk with Jerry when he wakes up.”

He said his name with as much venom as he could muster. He grabbed Jerry by the arm and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman carry and headed towards the door.

“Well Jenelle, we’re being evicted,” Liam said to his human in resignation. He motioned for her to follow him and they headed towards the door.

“Hey!” Diane snapped, not moving to leave. “Isn’t anyone the slightest bit interested in how this little bitch knew about Jerry?”

Malcolm and Liam turned to Clara, looking for an answer to a question they hadn’t thought of.

“You can’t speak yet, can you sweetheart?” Jake said softly. The look on his face said it all: do not tell them. It is not safe. Clara shook her head quickly. Diane didn’t buy it. She was there in the blink of an eye, leaning over Clara in a rage.

“I can make her talk,” she hissed.

Jake turned to her, his tone measured but his face angry. “Diane. You forget.”

“Yeah, yeah. She’s yours. Whatever,” she angrily got up and walked to the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Jerry, you stupid bitch,” Malcolm said as he opened the door and walked out. The other three followed, shutting the door with a force that shook the house, leaving their unanswered questions behind.

Their car roared to live in the driveway. Clara could hear their tires crunch on the gravel as they backed out and drove off. Jake relaxed in relief. He pulled Clara up to face him gently. He went to pull her into him but she pulled away and stared at the ground.

The danger of the situation she was just in was overwhelming, to say the least. She didn’t expect other vampires to be like Jake exactly, but it was shocking to her how cruel and mean they actually were. Clara was playing the whole evening in her head. Jake sensed how uncomfortable she was. He stood up and walked towards the door. He looked through the window to make sure their car was completely gone. When he was sure, he turned her.. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. Their visit was unexpected”

Clara was still getting her bearings. She was still breathing heavily, running her hands over her throat. Unlike earlier, where she felt like she had to stand tall and present confidence, she let herself feel small and vulnerable. She paused for a beat then asked, “what’s Hep D?”

Jake leaned against the door. “Hepatitis D is the only blood born pathogen that we’re susceptible to. Malcolm must be furious.”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Clara said, realizing there was so much she just didn’t know.

“We’ve kept it out of the media. It’s a mutation relatively harmless to humans,” Jake said.

“And it makes you sick for a year?”

“No, just makes us weak for about a month or so. The biggest danger is being captured and staked during that time,” Jake explained.

“And what the hell did you mean ‘Clara is mine’?” Clara said, suddenly irritated as she remembered.

“I was communicating to the other vampires that you were my human and I was the only one that could feed on you,” Jake said, his voice rising in defense of himself.

“You certainly cannot feed on me!” Clara snapped, crossing her arms.

“Well of course I can’t, Clara, but if they knew that they would’ve considered you fair game and there would’ve been nothing I could do to stop them! It would’ve been 3 against 1 and Malcolm is much older than me and quite strong-“

“And you and Diane dated?” Clara asked quietly.

“We…had sex once,” Jake admitted. “Just after she made vampire in the 1930s”

“What? Gross,” Clara said. “Jake, she’s- they, they’re all so mean so-“

“Evil?” Jake finished. “Yes, they are. They share a nest. When vampires live in nests, they become more cruel, more vicious. Whereas vampires such as I…we live alone. We’re much more likely to hang on to some semblance of our humanity.”

He stepped closer, and she stepped back. She then stepped by him, towards the door. Jake followed her and reached out to her. She pulled out and handed him a piece of paper with a couple of names and phone numbers on it.

“Two electricians are willing to come out at night and give you a quote,” she said sharply. “I have to go.”

She made for the door when he asked, “can I kiss you goodnight?”

“No,” Clara said, tears welling up in her eyes, disgust on her face. “I couldn’t stand it after them.”

She turned and walked out, very aware of Jake’s eyes following her. He was angry. Not at her, never at her, but at the other vampires.

***

Josh cut off the sign on the front of Kiszkas, indicating that they were now closed. He walked behind the bar to restock the cooler when he saw Ruby there. She was wiping glasses slowly, obviously stalling.

“What’re you still doing here?”

Josh asked as he placed beers in the cooler.

“Don’t wanna go home,” Ruby said shortly.

Dawn walked out from the back. She headed towards the front door, the last employee there besides Ruby. “‘Night!”

“‘Night!” Ruby and Josh said in unison. Dawn shut the door, leaving them alone.

“Can I have one of those?” Ruby asked, gesturing to the Budweisers Josh was holding.

“As long as you’re not on the clock,” Josh said, handing it to her. She used the bar towel she was holding to open it, then took a large gulp.

“Do you think Clara is getting serious about the vampire?” She asked. Josh wasn’t keen on the topic. He tried to look disinterested as he continued stocking.

“I think she’s getting to know him,” Josh said. “Once she does, I don’t think she’ll get too serious about him.”

“I think he’s getting pretty damn serious about her,” Ruby scoffed. She dropped any pretense of working as she leaned against the counter behind the bar.

Josh looked up, his interest piqued. “How so?”

“I was over at the Stackhouses last night. He came over to call on Clara, all cleaned up and smellin’ nice. Lookin’ like he just stepped out of some piece of shit movie about pirates and shit,” Ruby said, clearly annoyed.

“How did Mrs Stackhouse seem to feel about a vampire being interested in her granddaughter?” Josh asked.

“Josh,” Ruby said. “It seemed like she was in 7th Heaven. It was fucking weird.”

Josh groaned, picking up more beers and placing them in the cooler. He could feel his chance slipping away. If he had the approval of Adele Stackhouse he was afraid the writing was on the wall.

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Ruby said like she read his mind. “It’s obvious you’re carrying a big one for Clara. I’ve known it since I met you!”

“Well it’s not any of your business now, is it?” Josh said, getting deeply annoyed and a little embarrassed. He turned over to the bar, trying to distract himself by putting glasses away.

“She’s always been…well, peculiar around men. She’s not gonna make the first move,” Ruby said, ignoring his irritation.

“Do I need to remind you that I’m your boss?” Josh snapped.

“Come on, Josh. Don’t pull any of that workin’ for the man shit with me. You should've said something and you know it,” Ruby said.

“How come you haven’t said anything to Sam?” Josh retaliated.

Ruby smiled and took a sip of her beer. “Cause I’m comfortable with him being right where he is. Unattainable. Which is a part of my whole fucked up thing: low self esteem, childhood trauma, blah blah snore.”

She left out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “What’s your excuse?”

“Not everyone likes to lay their guts out on the table like that, Ruby,” Josh said.

“They may not like it but they all dream about finding someone they can do it with,” Ruby said wisely. He had to agree with that.

“Y’know,” Josh said, turning to Ruby. “Funny thing is, I did kinda let Clara know the night before last.”

“If I were you I’d get in there while you still have a shot,” Ruby encouraged.

“No you wouldn’t, you just said so yourself,” Josh said. He paused. “She can’t hear his thoughts.”

“For real?” Ruby laughed. “Well, hell that explains everything!”

“I told her she can listen to my thoughts whenever she wanted to-“

“No see, that's the thing, she doesn’t want to hear anybody’s thoughts,” Ruby cut him off. “That requires constant work on her part. And now she’s met somebody and she can drop all the effort and just relax? Aw, man, you don’t stand a chance. Sorry, but you don’t.”

“You can go home anytime you want, Ruby,” Josh said darkly.

“No, I can’t,” Ruby said, draining the last of her beer. “Seriously.”

****

Clara couldn’t get out of the car just yet. She was tired, she was traumatized, and she was heartbroken. She checked herself in the mirror, wiping the tears from her swollen eyes, determined to not let her Gran see just yet.

When she was finally ready, she got out of her car. As she walked to the house she pulled out her keys and started looking for the right one. She lifted her head towards the door and yelped. Jake was standing there on the porch.

“Goddamnit, Jake! I told you not to do that!” She said, her heart palpitating.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he walked down the steps. “I just got here. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

She tried to hear his thoughts. She put all her effort into it. There was nothing. “Why can’t I hear your thoughts? Do you even have thoughts?”

“Oh, I have thoughts,” he said solemnly. “Many lifetimes of thoughts.”

“Then why can’t I hear them?”

He sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t have brainwaves.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m dead,” Jake said patiently.

“No, you’re not,” Clara said. “You’re standing here talking to me.”

“I have no heartbeat. I have no need to breathe. There’s no electrical impulses in my body. What animates you no longer animates me,” Jake said, stepping closer.

“What animates you then? Blood?” She couldn’t wrap her head around him. Around his existence. Around anything that was going on around her. It didn’t make any sense. “How do you digest it if nothing works?”

“Magic,” Jake offered.

Clara scoffed. “Come on, Jake! I may look naive but I’m not! And you need to remember that!”

“You think it’s not magic that keeps you alive?” Jake said passionately. “Just because you understand the mechanics of the way something works doesn’t make it any less of a miracle. We’re all kept alive by magic, Clara. My magic is just a little different than yours, that’s all.”

“I-I think we need to stop seeing each other,” Clara muttered. She turned and walked up the steps, the old wood creaking underneath her shoes.

“Why?” Jake asked, annoyed. He followed behind. He was tired of the back and forth, of the fact that she couldn’t wrap her mind around him and his existence. It was an exhausting conversation.

“Because you don’t breathe! Because you don’t have electrical whatever it is! Your friends would like nothing more than to rip my throat out. And because vampires killed that preacher and his wife and kid! You look me in the eye and tell me they didn’t!” Clara explained. The preacher’s death had weighed on her mind since she heard about it. After seeing the way other vampires acted, how easy it was for them to kill and maim, there was no doubt in her mind that they did it. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tightened. She could see his jaw clench, the same way it did when Sam said they didn’t deserve special rights.

“Humans have killed millions and millions in senseless wars and I don’t hold you responsible for that!” Jake said, his anger rising.

“Jake, the other night I had to bury my bloody clothes so my grandmother wouldn’t know I was almost killed. And tonight I was almost killed again. Why on earth would I continue to see you?” Clara asked.

“Because,” Jake walked up the steps, closer to her. “You will never find a human man you can be yourself with.”

Clara said nothing. The tears welled up in her eyes at the harsh truth that was previously unspoken between them. She turned to go inside, ready to be done with him and the night. He touched her shoulder, a silent plea to stay with him, to resolve their disagreement. She pulled away.

“Don’t touch me!” She snapped. He let go immediately. She opened the creaky screen door and sighed and said softly, “Just…go. Please.”

She slammed the door in his face. Jake stood there for a moment, processing the way the night had gone so far. This wasn’t over, at least not for him. With his night suddenly freed up, he took his leave to Monroe, intending to deal with the vampires that might’ve ruined his chances with Clara.

****

Josh and Ruby sat on the porch of his trailer next to the bar. It was old, in constant need of repairs, but it was enough for Josh. Ruby made herself at home, propping her feet on the railings of the porch, sipping whiskey that Josh had graciously offered to her. She let the calmness of the night and the warmth of the whiskey in her belly calm her body and spirit. Josh was thankful for someone to talk to that didn’t ask or want anything from him.

“Why can’t you go home?” Josh asked Ruby.

“This right here,” she held up her glass of whiskey. “My mama’s a drunk. Not just a slur her words kinda drunk, a waking up in her vomit kinda drunk.”

Josh looked at her with kind, sympathetic eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“I just can’t be around her when she’s gone like that. I know she might end up dying, lighting herself on fire with a lit cigarette, but I can’t. I won’t. So not only is the whole situation horrible, my guilt about it makes it that much worse,” Ruby said in a sad voice.

She downed the rest of her whiskey as Josh said, “why don’t you get your own place?”

“Why don’t you give me a raise?” She said, winking.

Josh laughed a little. “Has she ever tried AA?”

“She don’t need AA,” Ruby said. “She has Jesus.”

Josh nodded in understanding, then Ruby said, “can I ask you a personal question?”

“Just..hold on,” he smiled and downed the rest of his whiskey, relishing in the burn going down his throat. “Alright.”

“Are you lonely?” She asked. He wasn’t expecting that one. He thought on it for a moment, the alcohol swirling around in his system making him feel a bit vulnerable.

“Yes,” he said truthfully. “I am very lonely.”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” Ruby said. Josh laughed a little. “Plenty of the women in this town would go for you.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Josh said.

“You’re hot, you have a job, you’re not a serial killer,” Ruby said, her words starting slur.

“Who says that?” Josh laughed. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“We’re not talkin about me right now,” Ruby said. “Don’t deflect!”

“I have a hard time opening up is all,” Josh shrugged.

“Oh please,” Ruby scoffed. “What do you have to hide that’s so fuckin bad? In this fuckin town?”

“I said I have a hard time openin’ up, I’m not gonna do it,” Josh slurred.

“Don’t you ever get horny?” Ruby said. The mood was starting to change. Friendly conversation moving into a more intimate territory.

“Sure-“

“How long has it been since you had sex?” Ruby asked boldly. Josh had to admire how straight forward and unafraid she was.

“Few months, you?” He answered.

“8 months, three weeks,” Ruby said.

“That sucks,” Josh whispered.

“You don’t know!” Ruby said. Then laughed. “Well…I guess you do.”

They laughed together softly then josh asked, “you want another one?”

“I’ll need at least 3 more,” Ruby said. He grabbed their glasses and walked inside.

Ruby thought to herself. The night was getting late, he was hot, she was hot. She took her ponytail down and separated her braids all nice and pretty. What if…?

She followed him inside. The trailer was cozy, a bit run down. The furniture was all old, about as old as the trailer itself. Every surface had books stacked haphazardly on top of each other. It was clear that the time he spent here was time spent alone. He had sat the glasses down on the counter and was pouring Jameson into each when she proposed her idea.

“So maybe you and I should sleep together.”

He scoffed, screwing on the top of the bottle. “Yeah…right.”

“Nah, I mean, we’re grown ups,” Ruby said as he handed her the whiskey. “No strings, friends with benefits.”

“Ruby, I'm your boss,” Josh reminded her. It didn’t deter her at all.

“Aren’t you tired of not getting laid?” Ruby asked. “I know I am.”

“Yeah but that don’t mean we oughta-“

“You got condoms?”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Josh said softly.

“Alright, whatever.” Ruby said, walking over to the couch. She laid down on it. “I am not looking for a boyfriend. It’d be a one time deal. Hell we wouldn’t even have to mention it again.”

“No,” he said simply.

“Suit yourself,” she said, taking a swig.

He sighed and looked her over. A beautiful woman lying on his couch, offering to have sex with him. Her braids cascading over her shoulders, her skin absolutely perfect, her smile was so pretty. Finally he said, “Are you sure you could forget about it? Not let it effect work?”

“I’ve had to do much harder things in my life than that believe me,” she said.

“Cause if it got weird I’d have to let you go,” he said.

“You didn’t wanna hire me in the first place,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly smile.

He licked his lips and looked her up and down, “okay.”

She finished off her whiskey as he walked over. He crawled up between her legs.

“You smell nice,” he whispered.

“I know I do.”

He caressed her torso as he leaned in for a kiss. It deepened quickly, both of them searching for something within each other. He tangled his other hand into her hair, then cupped her cheek as things got hotter and heavier.

****

A ‘91 Camaro pulled up to the old mill house with Sam’s Ram still parked outside. Dawn got out of her car, excited and giggling. Sam was still there, probably tied up, definitely ready to have his way with her. She couldn’t wait. She practically skipped up the steps. As she pushed open the door and stepped through the threshold, she sat down her purse on a large rattan trunk at the entrance. She padded her way through her dark living room and into the bedroom, expecting to see him on the bed, waiting on her return.

But he wasn’t there.

She looked around for just a second before someone jumped out in front of her with a stocking on their head. She rolled her eyes and laughed as she tried to push them aside. They didn’t budge.

“Come on, Sam,” she said, smiling, rubbing their bare chest. They shook their head.

“You kept me waiting,” they said gruffly. “I don’t like to wait.”

Her smile faded, annoyed now. “This isn’t funny, stop.”

The person brushed up against her, caressing her cheek with their hand. She lifted her hand to the stocking and pulled it off. It was Sam, a big grin on his face.

“You fuckin idiot,” she laughed.

“Just think of it as foreplay, baby,” Sam said, pulling her into a fierce kiss.

They let their want lead their bodies, hands grabbing, pulling, and teasing every inch of each other. They fell upon the bed. Her shirt pulled over her head, his jeans on the floor, her bra unclasped, his hands pulling her thong off to gain access to her core.

Once inside her, he fucked her hard, something he’d been looking forward to all day. His body was ready, wanting nothing more than to ravish her all night….

But all he could think about when he saw her were vampires. All he saw when he looked at her were vampires. How she had been with them, how they fucked her, how they drank from her…and his cock softened. He stopped with a frustrated sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Dawn asked. She looked confused. He got off of her, settling down into the bed. She cozied up next to him.

“I hate that you’ve been with vampires,” he admitted.

She went from concerned to annoyed. “And how exactly is that any of your business?”

“Well they’re fucked up, Dawn, they’re fucking freaks. They’re dead!” He said angrily. “What’s wrong with you, letting something nasty like that even touch you?!”

“For your information it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” she said. His eyes widened. “And who are you to judge, you’ll fuck anything with the space in between its legs!”

“I thought I was the best sex you ever had!” He cried. “You told me I was!”

“Yeah and then you stopped callin’! And comin’ to Kiszkas and then I met that vampire!” She said, defensive.

“Which vampire? Tattooed? Bald headed? Crazy?” Sam asked.

She laughed. “No, actually he had a lot of hair. I met him in Shreveport at the vampire bar.”

“And you just let him bite you?” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah and I’m not ashamed of that!”

“You oughta be,” Sam said, seething.

“You oughta get off your high horse,” Dawn snapped.

“Is that who you thought I was tonight?” Sam asked.

“No, baby, I knew all along it was you,” she said, rubbing on Sam’s chest, trying to defuse the situation.

“You’re a lyin’ sack of shit,” Sam snapped. “You woulda fucked that vampire and let him bite you if he showed up tonight.”

“Ok this,” Dawn said, rolling over and sitting up, “is getting boring.”

She stood up, pulling her panties up. “I think you should leave.”

He laughed. “You gonna throw me out? I don't think so.”

“This is my house!” Dawn said, pulling a tank over her head.

“And I ain’t going nowhere!” Sam said, putting his hands behind his head.

“Ugh, just because you lost your hard on doesn’t mean you have to have a fucking meltdown!” Dawn said, pulling her robe on. “Believe it or not Sam, the world doesn’t revolve around your dick!”

“Where’re you goin?” Sam asked as she walked into her closet.

“To get a cigarette!” She shouted, then continued on. “Its not like I don’t know you’re a great fuck. It happens to every guy!”

“Stop talking about it!” He said, embarrassed. He lifted up the blanket, cursing his dick for betraying him.

Then she returned not with cigarettes, but with a gun. She pointed it at him with a smirk. “Every guy except for vampires.”

He laughed hard. She cocked her eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m laughin’? You do not own me, Sam Stackhouse. And if I want you outta my house, you better get your sorry ass outta my house!”

“I ain’t going nowhere,” he said defiantly.

“Oh, yes you are!” She pointed the gun at the ground and fired a warning shot.

He panicked, hopped up, and began to put his pants on. She walked slowly towards the bed, pointing it back at him.

“You are obnoxious, and full of yourself, and dumber than a box of hair, and now you can’t even get it up? I don’t think we should be seeing each other anymore,” she said as she climbed onto the bed. She was on her knees, still pointing the gun at him.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he muttered.

“You bet your sweet ass I am, now go,” she warned.

“Lemme get my pants on,” he said, hopping into a leg.

“Hmm, I don’t think I feel like waiting,” she pointed the gun at the ground and shot again.

He grabbed as much as he could and ran out, holding his pants up. She followed him out with the rest of his stuff.

“Limp dick motherfucker!” She yelled, throwing his stuff into the yard.

“Crazy bitch!” He yelled back, gathering his things. Her neighbor, and older lady, came out to see what was happening. They met eyes.

“You heard me! Your neighbor is a crazy bitch!” He said. She gasped and went inside. He threw his things into his truck and sped off.

****

Someone approached the Compton house. They opened the door quietly, padding into the foyer. Jake was reading in the candlelight, immersed in his book. As they got closer, Jake sensed their presence. He turned towards them quicker than they anticipated, fangs out, ready to defend himself.

But it wasn’t an enemy. It was Clara, dressed in a soft white nightgown, her hair down around her face, looking enamored, scared, and confused. He relaxed.

“Clara, don't ever sneak up on a vampire,” he warned. “What’re you doing here?”

Clara took a deep breath and blurted out, “okay, here’s the deal and this is a little embarrassing…I’ve never been with a man intimately for reasons we’ve already discussed but I feel things when I’m with you that make me think and I know this could be a huge mistake, one that I could regret forever, but it feels like you’re the one I’m supposed to, you know, do it with and I’m really nervous about it and frankly I’m scared to death of you so can we just get it out of the way already so I can relax and get a good night’s sleep?”

He placed a hand on each shoulder and she added quietly, “just don’t bite me, okay?”

Their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss, bodies entangled in each other craving one another. Jake slowly pulled her nightgown down, revealing her breasts. He cupped them gently as he moved down her body, to her core. She gasped and moaned….

Then she opened her eyes, back in her own bed with her cat staring at her while she pleasured herself. She looked down at Prue.

“Stop that,” she whispered, embarrassed. She spent the rest of the night thinking about Jake and all the things she wanted him to do to her….

****

Sam arrived back home. His parents' house before they died. He didn’t change much since he moved in, just added a small television on top of their old television, the fridge wasn’t filled with fresh ingredients but with beer, and it could use a good deep clean. He walked in and grabbed one of the beers from the fridge, frustrated, annoyed, and embarrassed.

Not being able to perform wasn’t something that happened to Sam. No, he was a stallion, he was a god in bed…as he took a swig of the beer he decided to distract himself.

He went into the living room and plopped down on his dad’s recliner and turned on the tv.

A vampire movie. Of course. “You gotta be kidding me.”

He changed the channel.

“The vampires assassinated my father because of his campaign against the vampire agenda,” a suited up younger man said. It was the reverend’s son, who was also a reverend, giving an interview to church members.

“Theodore Newland is a hero,” the other man said. “The first casualty in World War III”

“It’s Armageddon,” the son added solemnly.

“Amen!”

“Amen!” Sam mocked, then changed the channel. A show about vampire bats.

Sam leaned back and put his hands in his hair in frustration, then grabbed the remote and turned the TV off entirely. He couldn’t get away from them no matter how hard he tried. He took another swallow of beer, finally resigned to silence.

****

“Aww, Malcolm, come on baby!” Diane cooed. The vampires had returned to their home, a retro ranch with old school furniture and their coffins out in the open. Candles were scattered about, setting the mood. Malcolm laid his head on Diane’s lap, who was nursing a glass of blood.

“Damn,” Malcolm said sadly. “Ya know, I really liked Jerry.”

“Don’t worry,” Diane said sympathetically as she stroked his hair. “We’ll find you another hot little blood bag.”

“Let’s go down to LSU tomorrow night! Raid us a frat house!” Liam suggested.

“Oooooh, yes!” Diane exclaimed. “I’m in the mood for something dumb, thick, and juicy.”

Malcolm sat up quickly right as there was a knock on the door. He jumped over the couch and opened the door. Jake walked in, expression dark.

“Oh, look,” Malcolm announced. “It’s everyone’s favorite buzzkill!”

“Hey baby!” Diane said, a smile stretched across her face.

“Oh, Mr mainstream! Thirsty?” Liam offered Jake a pitcher of blood.

“No, Jake said shortly. Diane approached him, a hunger in her eyes he was all too familiar with.

“Hungry for something else?” Diane looked Jake up and down. “I remember you having a very sizable…appetite.”

Jake sent her flying and she crashed through a wall across the room. She got up, eyes wild, fangs out, and livid.

“The three of you will stay away from me and Clara from now on,” Jake declared. The three of them looked on, angry.

“I’m your elder,” Malcolm said, circling Jake. “You have no authority here.”

“There are higher authorities,” Jake pointed out.

“I’m not afraid of Daniel,” Malcolm smiled.

“Higher than him,” Jake said.

“Then she can speak to me,” Malcolm snapped.

“She can suck on sunlight for all I care,” Diane added walking back over to them, grabbing her glass of blood and drinking.

“You’re gonna hurt our cause,” Jake said, trying to appeal to them.

“Not everyone wants to dress up and play human, Jake,” Diane said, gesturing to him.

“Yeah,” Liam said. “And not everyone wants to live off that Japanese shit they call blood, either. As if we could.”

“We have to moderate our behavior now that we’re out in the open,” Jake said, leaning on the couch.

“Not everyone thinks it was such a great idea and not everyone intends to toe the party line,” Malcolm said darkly. He took Jake’s hand. “Honey, if we can’t kill people, what’s the point of being a vampire?”

“Where Jerry?” Jake asked.

“We left him on the side of I20. Well, most of him, anyway. I kept a souvenir or two,” Malcolm said mischievously.

“Jenelle felt so bad about what Jerry did, she made the ultimate sacrifice,” Liam said, sipping on his pitcher of blood.

Jake turned around. He could see her from another room. He walked closer, the other three following behind, Diane cackling.

Jenelle was hung from a rack upside down, much like a deer or a cow being hung up to be processed. Her throat had been cut, and blood was being collected in buckets underneath her on the dirty floor.

“Y’all make me sick,” Jake said quietly.

“You used to be fun,” Diane said. “This all on account of that little blonde breather?”

“If you insist on flaunting your ways in front of mortals, there will be consequences,” Jake said. He turned his heel and walked out of the house.

“Asshole,” Malcolm muttered as he slammed the door shut. This wasn’t the end for them. Not by a long shot.

****

Ruby made her way home after a long night of bad sleep. Every time she almost dozed off, Josh barked or growled in his sleep. She hadn’t been with a lot of men, but she’d never experienced that before.

She was hoping to sneak into her room, get underneath her warm blankets and squeeze in a nap before work. But as she crept through the door threshold, she felt something connect with the back of her head, hard. Her mom was hiding behind the door, Bible in her hand and infuriated.

“Where the HELL you been, you dirty whore?” Lettie Mae yelled, holding the Bible up.

“Mama!” Ruby cried, holding her head.

“Out all night doing god knows what! You the devil, child! You ain’t no child of mine!” Lettie swung the Bible again. Ruby moved out of the way. In her drunken stupor Lettie fell to the floor, holding onto the coffee table that was littered with liquor bottles.

“Oh Jesus-“ Ruby began.

“Jesus ain’t gonna help you!” Lettie yelled.

“Yeah that’s been clear for quite some time,” Ruby said, her voice quivering.

“You sass the lord and I will kick your skinny ass!” Lettie said.

“You can’t even stand up! You pathetic, ugly old bitch!”

She regretted it immediately. Her mother started wailing, grabbing at her heart dramatically. Ruby cursed under her breath and sighed then she began to help her mom up.

“I ain’t ugly,” Lettie cried. Ruby tried to help Lettie Mae up, resolving to once again help the woman that hurt her so much. But as Lettie Mae got to her knees, she grabbed a liquor bottle off the table and hit an unsuspecting Ruby in the forehead.

That was it. That was the final straw. As Ruby checked to see if she was bleeding, her mom laughed.

“Alright,” Ruby said, steeling herself. She turned to Lettie Mae. “You may have carried me, nursed me…but now you seem intent on killing me. And if I have to choose between me and you, guess what? You lose.”

Ruby grabbed her keys and slammed the door behind me, leaving her mother alone with her demons.

Ruby got in her car and drove. Normally she’d go to Clara, but seeing as she just slept with Josh and Clara had her hands full with Jake, she went to the next best person.

Ruby rapped on Lafayette’s door hard. She needed a place to stay, a place to calm down.

“I’m comin’ stop knocking on my fuckin’ door!” Layfette said, annoyed as he opened up. Ruby barged in.

“She hit me with a fucking liquor bottle!” Ruby said. “My head is bleeding!”

“I got a guest, he’s in the shower,” Lafayette said. Lafayette’s home was as colorful and unique as he was. Walls of royal purple, beaded curtains hung on every doorway. Two couches, one red and one leopard print, religious artifacts of all sorts. On the coffee table were all sorts of drugs, weed, and liquor. There wasn’t much Lafayette didn’t dabble in, but he always kept his wits about him.

“Do you think I need stitches?” Ruby said. Lafayette examined her head.

“Nah,” he said. “Put some peroxide on that. Then take some Vicodin, with a big glass of red wine and some badass ganja, baby. By the time you wake up, mm! All healed.”

He handed her two pills. She poured herself some vodka to swallow them down. “You mind if I stay here?”

“Does it matter if I mind?”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” He handed her a joint. As she sucked in the smoke, Lafayette’s guest appeared. An older little white man seemed very nervous and introduced himself as Duke.

“Oh, boyfriend you’re so not a Duke,” Lafayette laughed. “Duke” alluded to money left in the bedroom and made his way out.

“The hell was that?” Ruby asked after he shut the door.

“That was a state senator,” Lafayette said, leaning into his couch, grinning.

“You’re a prostitute now?”

“I’m an entrepreneur,” Lafayette corrected. Ruby gave him a look. “What? I’m supposed to be satisfied being a short order cook and workin on the road crew, which is basically one step from the chain gang? But I ain’t complaining, it gave me this body and this body is my ticket out of this podunk town. I already got an onlyfans.”

“What’s wrong with us? You’re a state senator fucking prostitute and I’m a bartender in a redneck bar that fucks her boss…who’s completely in love with her best friend,” Ruby said.

“Just take another hit off this,” he handed her the joint they’d been passing around. He went to walk away, then it hit him what she said. “Wait a minute, you slept with Josh?”

“You know what? He barks in his sleep,” Ruby said.

Lafayette took a sharp breath in, “oh damn white folks are all fucked up.”

****

Clara spent her morning feverishly finding new ways to distract herself. She mowed the lawn, she raked, she weedeated, all before 9am. She now sat at the kitchen table with her grandmother, who insisted that she come inside for some food.

“Do you think I should continue dating Jake?” She asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” Adele said. “I can tell you that I think he’s a smart, handsome, charming young man but then again he’s gonna put his best foot forward for me so I don’t stand in the way of his courting you.”

“He scares me,” Clara admitted.

“Well it is scary,” Adele said. “Opening your heart up to somebody.”

“I think it’s a little scarier when it’s a vampire,” Clara said nervously.

“I suppose. Jake is the first vampire I’ve ever met.”

“Not scared that he’d ever hurt me…scared because I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Clara said quietly. Adele took her hand in hers.

“I can’t imagine that would be such a bad thing for you with your ability,” Adele said.

As Clara took her plate to the sink, Adele said, “you know, your grandfather used to know things.”

Clara perked up, “what things?”

“Oh you know, if someone was having money troubles, running around behind their wife’s back, sick, that sort of thing. Personal things that no one would tell anyone about.”

Clara turned around, “see, I hear everybody’s deepest, darkest secrets! That’s just too much information!”

“But then Earl’s brother, your great uncle Francis, came back from Korea in real bad shape, all torn up from the things he’d seen. Earl knew he was thinking about killing himself. He went over there in the middle of the night just as he was about to kick the chair out from under himself,” Adele said. “Earl talked him out of it. I just think there’s a purpose for everything that God creates, whether it’s a unique ability or a vampire. God will reveal that purpose when the time is right.”

Clara was so grateful for her grandmother's wisdom. She walked over and gave her kiss on the cheek before going upstairs.

****

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“I’m coming, shit!” Lafayette was getting real tired of people banging on his door. He opened it to someone he didn’t expect. Sam Stackhouse standing there in all his glory.

“Hey, Lafayette,” Sam said, grinning. “I, uh, need your help.”

“Hello hotness,” Lafayette said, cocking his head to the side. “It’s about time you figured out that truth.”

Sam laughed nervously and looked down. “You’re- uh, wearing gold pants.”

Lafayette looked down. Shirtless, gold pants, sexy as hell.

“So I am.” Lafayette invited him in, gesturing towards the couch. They sat together, Sam hugging on a pillow, the air kind of tense and awkward.

“What do you need?” Lafayette asked

“Do you have viagra?” Sam asked quietly.

Lafayette was taken aback, “you need what?!”

“Viagra,” Sam said. “Do you have any viagra?”

Lafayette laughed, “no I don’t have viagra!”

“But you have everything!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sam, puppy dog, viagra is legal. You can buy it in the drug store,” Lafayette said.

“But I need it now,” Sam whined. “Look if there’s anything that can make it-“

“-so hard a saw couldn’t cut through it?” Lafayette chimed in.

“Yeah that sounds good…I guess,” Sam said nervously.

“Yeah, I do,” Lafayette said. “But it’s very expensive.”

“Well how much?” Sam was expecting a couple hundred.

“$600 a quarter of an ounce.”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Sam scoffed. “What the hell’s worth that kinda money?”

Lafayette walked over to a mini fridge and pulled it out. A small vial of a red substance.

“When did you start dealing V?” Sam asked softly.

“When I realized there was a market for it,” Lafayette said. “Now I don’t want this getting out, motherfucker, do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“The vamps don’t take kindly to the juice dispensers,” Lafayette said.

“How’d you get it?”

“Let’s just say I have a little arrangement with a life challenged individual who appreciates my multifaceted talents,” Lafayette said slyly.

“God. Is there anybody these days that aren’t fucking vampires?” Sam asked.

“Lemme ask you something,” Lafayette said. “Do you wanna get it up and keep it up and have the best sex you have ever had for both you and your miss?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Despite Sam’s misgivings, this was exactly what he wanted. And he didn’t care that it came from a vampire at this point.

“Take one, maybe two drops of this, no more!! Anymore and things might get intense and not in a good way,” Lafayette warned.

Sam smiled and grabbed the vial out of his hand. “Thanks man, ‘preciate it.”

Sam went to get up, but Lafayette grabbed his arm. “Ain’t nothin free in my world.”

“Can I pay you later? I gotta go to the bank,” Sam said, going to get up.

“Motherfucker, who do you think I am? I don’t run a layaway program and I’m not interested in instituting one,” Lafayette walked over to the door and locked it.

“Come on, Lafayette, ain’t there some way you’ll let me pay you this afternoon?”

The solution Lafayette came up with was…creative.

“I hate cameras.” Sam was in his underwear, standing in front of a phone on a tripod and Lafayette smoking a joint and smiling.

“You know how much money you’d make if you had your own onlyfans? Queens would pay good money to watch you jack off,” Lafayette said.

“Hey you said I just had to dance!” Sam cried.

“Okay,” Lafayette said shortly. He turned on the music. A dance track. “Dance.”

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment, snapping his fingers and moving a little then asked, “is anyone I know gonna see this?”

“Probably,” Lafayette said. “There’s a lot of pervs in this town.”

“No way,” Sam said, grabbing his clothes.

“Do you want the V or not?” Lafayette said. He grabbed a Hillary Clinton mask and threw it to Sam. “There.”

Sam put the mask on and started letting loose. He danced around, wiggling his hips, smacking his ass, showing off his muscles.

Ruby peaked out from behind the doorway and muttered “what the fuck?”

“Oh, lover, you’re gonna make me clutch my pearls,” Lafayette said, grinning.

****

It was still daylight but Clara approached Jake’s door anyway. She looked through the window beside it, taking in all his furniture, his faintings of old family, his love of red velvet upholstery and gothic furniture. She had been grappling all day with her situation with him, torn between common sense and desire.

She walked back down and sat on the steps. She could still feel his blood running through her, making everything more magical, brighter, more sensual. She was running her hands along the inside of her thigh when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Clar, it’s Josh, can you do me a favor?”

“Um, sure, maybe.”

“Well we’re supposed to open up for lunch in 20 minutes and Dawn hasn’t shown up for her shift-“

“Oh, Josh, I really need my day off!”

“No, no, I’m not asking you to come in. Can you just run over to Dawn’s and wake her up? She probably just overslept.” Josh said.

“Alright,” Clara sighed.

Clara pulled up to the row of mill houses and parked outside of Dawn’s. Her car was still out front.

Clara knocked on the door to not answer. “Dawn? It’s me, Clara! Honey, you overslept!”

Clara opened the screen door and knocked on the door, hoping it would be louder. There was no answer. Clara tried to open the door and it was unlocked.

She could hear Dawn’s alarm going off from her bedroom. “Dawn?”

She walked through the living room. Dawn’s purse was by the door, her things scattered around her lived in home. There was something very, very wrong.

“Are you home?” She knew there would be no answer.

Clara walked slowly into her bedroom. Furniture was knocked over, lamp shades askew, things thrown around.

Dawn was there, lying on the bed, eyes open and unseeing, her neck bruised from strangulation….

Clara screamed.

[britney-gvf]

Saigneur- chapter three

Jake x oc, Sam x oc, Josh x oc

18+

A/n- sorry for the slight delay!! A quick thank you to my buddies @gretavangroupie @gretavanmoon and @bathinginstardust for their continued support, encouragement, and editing

Playlist: Apple Music

This is a retelling of True Blood. The plot and situations follows the show’s first season ❤️

Trigger warnings: unprotected sex, prostitution, vampire shit, blood, violence, parental abuse, alcohol, alcoholism, drug use, drug dealing, death, murder, guns

“Maybe you oughta come on inside,” the vampire with the ponytail said with a twisted smile. He looked deep into Clara’s eyes, keeping eye contact with her.

“Are you trying to glammor me?” Clara asked. The vampires stopped hissing in unison. All three stared at her dumbfounded.

“Yes,” he said quizzically.

“That doesn’t work on me,” Clara said, unconsciously straightening her posture. She took a sort of pride in the fact that she wasn’t like other humans.

“Why not?” The bald one asked from behind her. He was southern too, as backwoods as Clara had ever heard. She turned her head to face him.

“I dunno, it just doesn’t,” she shrugged. All the vampires were staring at her in shock. This had never happened to any of them. She got back to the reason she was there. “Is Jake available?”

“Let her in,” she heard from inside the house. His voice was low and commanding. The female vampire placed her free hand on the door frame, stopping Clara from coming in.

“Diane!” Jake said loudly.

Diane rolled her eyes, “ugh, fuck him!”

“You have,” the one with the ponytail said, his mouth forming into a smirk. They reluctantly moved to the side, finally allowing Clara into the house. With no electricity, it was dark, only lit by candles on sconces and tables in strategic spots in the foyer. The inside was as dilapidated as the outside; the stained paint was peeling off the walls, floorboards were missing or damaged, covered up by oriental rugs. Diane followed behind Clara, intimidating and mocking her with biting motions and giggles.

Clara tried to ignore her as she walked into the living room which was lit by candlelight like the foyer. There were two dark red velvet couches facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. In the corner, in a chair in the dark, was Jake, watching Clara intently but not moving. On the couches were two people that Clara could hardly find the words for. A woman who looked as if the very life had been drained out of her. Her eyes were heavy, bags underneath like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her hair was stringy and thinning, her skin sallow and dull. The young man on the other couch was different. He was playing a role. He eyed the older vampire with the ponytail seductively as he rubbed his hands over his shirtless body. He was full of life, of potential. And unlike the woman, he wanted to be there.

The three vampires followed Clara closely, as if they were afraid their new snack would get away from them. She was nothing more than prey to them, like a mouse that a cat would play with. It was unnerving, to say the least. Nevertheless, Clara took a sharp breath and tried to speak to them calmly and confidently.

“If you guys would excuse me and Jake for a moment,” Clara said, trying to not think about what they wanted and how desperate they seemed to get it. “I have things to discuss with him.”

They didn’t just ignore her request, they defied it. Diane and the bald vampire closed in on her. Diane brushed her ponytail off her neck softly, revealing Clara’s arteries.

“Where’d you find this one?” She asked, eyeing Clara up and down.

The bald vampire sniffed the air like a pie was being baked, “she smells fucking sweet!”

“Doesn’t she, Liam?” Diane said. Clara could hear Liam behind her, breathing on her, his breath acrid like death.

“And to think,” the ponytailed vampire said, stepping out from behind them and looking at Jake directly. “You were just telling us you were mainly living on synthetic blood. Liar.”

Clara kept looking at Jake, pleadingly wordlessly with him to intervene. Frustratingly, he didn’t move. He continued to let these vampires play with her.

“I don’t know, Malcom,” Diane said. “She smells like a virgin to me.”

“That’s none of your damn business, you nosey bitch!” Clara snapped. Diane grabbed her by the back of her neck gruffly and pulled her head back. Liam laughed behind her.

“It is my business, cupcake. You wanna know why? Because virgin blood is the best tasting blood there is,” Diane said in a sinister voice

Liam pulled Clara into him, then pushed her head to the side. Her artery was fully exposed, waiting for them to bite. Diane proclaimed first dibs, readying herself to bite.

“Stop!” Jake had risen from his chair. His face was harsh and angry, his voice rough and commanding.

Diane froze with a small gasp. Then Jake said the words that saved Clara’s life:

“Clara is mine.”

Diane pushed Clara away, pouting. Liam let go, walking to the other side of the room with an annoyed look on his face.

“Well, if you're Jake’s I certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt your little arrangement,” Malcolm proclaimed. There was an air of unseriousness in his tone, as if the only thing that truly kept him from ripping her apart was Jake’s presence. Still, he smiled at the man on the couch as he approached him. “That’s why I always bring Jerry with me wherever I go. He’s like mad money.”

Malcolm plopped onto the couch and Jerry went into action immediately. He straddled Malcolm’s lap and they began to kiss passionately.

Liam gruffed a command towards the woman on the couch. There wasn’t any pretense about what she was there for. The woman got up, completely expressionless, and went to do her master’s bidding.

Clara was shocked and the disgust was evident on her face. Diane took a look at her from the arm of the couch she was sitting on and laughed. “Aw, she’s innocent!”

“She’s mine!” Jake snapped, still standing in the same spot, avoiding Clara’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking get it,” Diane grumbled. She turned back to Clara. “And why aren’t you serving your master? Can’t you see how hungry he is?”

“Uh, Jake, if you’re hungry you’re more than welcome to have some of Jerry,” Malcolm offered like Jerry was nothing but a plate of fries.

Jerry hopped off his lap and walked over to the other couch that Jake was standing behind. He offered Jake his neck and Jake couldn’t resist, his instincts as a vampire stronger than anything else in his head. He was starving and there was a free and willing meal. He let his fangs down and gave Clara an apologetic look, but all Clara could hear was Jerry’s thoughts.

Yeah, bite me you fucking vampire. Let’s see how you like being infected with hep D. Come on, do it!!

“STOP! He has Hep D!” Clara cried out. Jake pulled away from him as every vampire’s furious attention landed on Jerry. Malcolm stood up, his fangs out, his eyes filled with animalistic rage.

“You fucking bitch!” Jerry turned his attention to her and launched himself on top of her before anyone else could react. He pushed her onto the coffee table, trapping her, tears forming in his eyes as he wrapped his hands around her throat.

How did she know that? I didn’t tell a soul! Those motherfuckers killed Marcus he would’ve never left me if it wasn’t for them-

All Jerry’s pain was etched into his face, all his fury coming out through his hands. He squeezed tight, cutting off all airflow. He lifted his hand to swipe at her. Before his hand could land, however, Jake had grabbed it and pulled it back so forcefully that it broke Jerry’s arm and sent flying into the couch. He passed out from the pain next to a furious Malcolm.

Jake turned his attention to Clara. He sat next to her on the table, leaning down to her. He caressed her cheek as she coughed and gasped for air, his once steely expression was one of worry and regret.

“Well,” Malcolm sneered, his jaw clenched in now repressed anger. “This has all been very illuminating. We have a long ride to Monroe and I’m sure we’ll all wanna have a little talk with Jerry when he wakes up.”

He said his name with as much venom as he could muster. He grabbed Jerry by the arm and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman carry and headed towards the door.

“Well Jenelle, we’re being evicted,” Liam said to his human in resignation. He motioned for her to follow him and they headed towards the door.

“Hey!” Diane snapped, not moving to leave. “Isn’t anyone the slightest bit interested in how this little bitch knew about Jerry?”

Malcolm and Liam turned to Clara, looking for an answer to a question they hadn’t thought of.

“You can’t speak yet, can you sweetheart?” Jake said softly. The look on his face said it all: do not tell them. It is not safe. Clara shook her head quickly. Diane didn’t buy it. She was there in the blink of an eye, leaning over Clara in a rage.

“I can make her talk,” she hissed.

Jake turned to her, his tone measured but his face angry. “Diane. You forget.”

“Yeah, yeah. She’s yours. Whatever,” she angrily got up and walked to the door, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

“Jerry, you stupid bitch,” Malcolm said as he opened the door and walked out. The other three followed, shutting the door with a force that shook the house, leaving their unanswered questions behind.

Their car roared to live in the driveway. Clara could hear their tires crunch on the gravel as they backed out and drove off. Jake relaxed in relief. He pulled Clara up to face him gently. He went to pull her into him but she pulled away and stared at the ground.

The danger of the situation she was just in was overwhelming, to say the least. She didn’t expect other vampires to be like Jake exactly, but it was shocking to her how cruel and mean they actually were. Clara was playing the whole evening in her head. Jake sensed how uncomfortable she was. He stood up and walked towards the door. He looked through the window to make sure their car was completely gone. When he was sure, he turned her.. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. Their visit was unexpected”

Clara was still getting her bearings. She was still breathing heavily, running her hands over her throat. Unlike earlier, where she felt like she had to stand tall and present confidence, she let herself feel small and vulnerable. She paused for a beat then asked, “what’s Hep D?”

Jake leaned against the door. “Hepatitis D is the only blood born pathogen that we’re susceptible to. Malcolm must be furious.”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Clara said, realizing there was so much she just didn’t know.

“We’ve kept it out of the media. It’s a mutation relatively harmless to humans,” Jake said.

“And it makes you sick for a year?”

“No, just makes us weak for about a month or so. The biggest danger is being captured and staked during that time,” Jake explained.

“And what the hell did you mean ‘Clara is mine’?” Clara said, suddenly irritated as she remembered.

“I was communicating to the other vampires that you were my human and I was the only one that could feed on you,” Jake said, his voice rising in defense of himself.

“You certainly cannot feed on me!” Clara snapped, crossing her arms.

“Well of course I can’t, Clara, but if they knew that they would’ve considered you fair game and there would’ve been nothing I could do to stop them! It would’ve been 3 against 1 and Malcolm is much older than me and quite strong-“

“And you and Diane dated?” Clara asked quietly.

“We…had sex once,” Jake admitted. “Just after she made vampire in the 1930s”

“What? Gross,” Clara said. “Jake, she’s- they, they’re all so mean so-“

“Evil?” Jake finished. “Yes, they are. They share a nest. When vampires live in nests, they become more cruel, more vicious. Whereas vampires such as I…we live alone. We’re much more likely to hang on to some semblance of our humanity.”

He stepped closer, and she stepped back. She then stepped by him, towards the door. Jake followed her and reached out to her. She pulled out and handed him a piece of paper with a couple of names and phone numbers on it.

“Two electricians are willing to come out at night and give you a quote,” she said sharply. “I have to go.”

She made for the door when he asked, “can I kiss you goodnight?”

“No,” Clara said, tears welling up in her eyes, disgust on her face. “I couldn’t stand it after them.”

She turned and walked out, very aware of Jake’s eyes following her. He was angry. Not at her, never at her, but at the other vampires.

***

Josh cut off the sign on the front of Kiszkas, indicating that they were now closed. He walked behind the bar to restock the cooler when he saw Ruby there. She was wiping glasses slowly, obviously stalling.

“What’re you still doing here?”

Josh asked as he placed beers in the cooler.

“Don’t wanna go home,” Ruby said shortly.

Dawn walked out from the back. She headed towards the front door, the last employee there besides Ruby. “‘Night!”

“‘Night!” Ruby and Josh said in unison. Dawn shut the door, leaving them alone.

“Can I have one of those?” Ruby asked, gesturing to the Budweisers Josh was holding.

“As long as you’re not on the clock,” Josh said, handing it to her. She used the bar towel she was holding to open it, then took a large gulp.

“Do you think Clara is getting serious about the vampire?” She asked. Josh wasn’t keen on the topic. He tried to look disinterested as he continued stocking.

“I think she’s getting to know him,” Josh said. “Once she does, I don’t think she’ll get too serious about him.”

“I think he’s getting pretty damn serious about her,” Ruby scoffed. She dropped any pretense of working as she leaned against the counter behind the bar.

Josh looked up, his interest piqued. “How so?”

“I was over at the Stackhouses last night. He came over to call on Clara, all cleaned up and smellin’ nice. Lookin’ like he just stepped out of some piece of shit movie about pirates and shit,” Ruby said, clearly annoyed.

“How did Mrs Stackhouse seem to feel about a vampire being interested in her granddaughter?” Josh asked.

“Josh,” Ruby said. “It seemed like she was in 7th Heaven. It was fucking weird.”

Josh groaned, picking up more beers and placing them in the cooler. He could feel his chance slipping away. If he had the approval of Adele Stackhouse he was afraid the writing was on the wall.

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Ruby said like she read his mind. “It’s obvious you’re carrying a big one for Clara. I’ve known it since I met you!”

“Well it’s not any of your business now, is it?” Josh said, getting deeply annoyed and a little embarrassed. He turned over to the bar, trying to distract himself by putting glasses away.

“She’s always been…well, peculiar around men. She’s not gonna make the first move,” Ruby said, ignoring his irritation.

“Do I need to remind you that I’m your boss?” Josh snapped.

“Come on, Josh. Don’t pull any of that workin’ for the man shit with me. You should've said something and you know it,” Ruby said.

“How come you haven’t said anything to Sam?” Josh retaliated.

Ruby smiled and took a sip of her beer. “Cause I’m comfortable with him being right where he is. Unattainable. Which is a part of my whole fucked up thing: low self esteem, childhood trauma, blah blah snore.”

She left out a humorless laugh and shook her head. “What’s your excuse?”

“Not everyone likes to lay their guts out on the table like that, Ruby,” Josh said.

“They may not like it but they all dream about finding someone they can do it with,” Ruby said wisely. He had to agree with that.

“Y’know,” Josh said, turning to Ruby. “Funny thing is, I did kinda let Clara know the night before last.”

“If I were you I’d get in there while you still have a shot,” Ruby encouraged.

“No you wouldn’t, you just said so yourself,” Josh said. He paused. “She can’t hear his thoughts.”

“For real?” Ruby laughed. “Well, hell that explains everything!”

“I told her she can listen to my thoughts whenever she wanted to-“

“No see, that's the thing, she doesn’t want to hear anybody’s thoughts,” Ruby cut him off. “That requires constant work on her part. And now she’s met somebody and she can drop all the effort and just relax? Aw, man, you don’t stand a chance. Sorry, but you don’t.”

“You can go home anytime you want, Ruby,” Josh said darkly.

“No, I can’t,” Ruby said, draining the last of her beer. “Seriously.”

****

Clara couldn’t get out of the car just yet. She was tired, she was traumatized, and she was heartbroken. She checked herself in the mirror, wiping the tears from her swollen eyes, determined to not let her Gran see just yet.

When she was finally ready, she got out of her car. As she walked to the house she pulled out her keys and started looking for the right one. She lifted her head towards the door and yelped. Jake was standing there on the porch.

“Goddamnit, Jake! I told you not to do that!” She said, her heart palpitating.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he walked down the steps. “I just got here. I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

She tried to hear his thoughts. She put all her effort into it. There was nothing. “Why can’t I hear your thoughts? Do you even have thoughts?”

“Oh, I have thoughts,” he said solemnly. “Many lifetimes of thoughts.”

“Then why can’t I hear them?”

He sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t have brainwaves.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m dead,” Jake said patiently.

“No, you’re not,” Clara said. “You’re standing here talking to me.”

“I have no heartbeat. I have no need to breathe. There’s no electrical impulses in my body. What animates you no longer animates me,” Jake said, stepping closer.

“What animates you then? Blood?” She couldn’t wrap her head around him. Around his existence. Around anything that was going on around her. It didn’t make any sense. “How do you digest it if nothing works?”

“Magic,” Jake offered.

Clara scoffed. “Come on, Jake! I may look naive but I’m not! And you need to remember that!”

“You think it’s not magic that keeps you alive?” Jake said passionately. “Just because you understand the mechanics of the way something works doesn’t make it any less of a miracle. We’re all kept alive by magic, Clara. My magic is just a little different than yours, that’s all.”

“I-I think we need to stop seeing each other,” Clara muttered. She turned and walked up the steps, the old wood creaking underneath her shoes.

“Why?” Jake asked, annoyed. He followed behind. He was tired of the back and forth, of the fact that she couldn’t wrap her mind around him and his existence. It was an exhausting conversation.

“Because you don’t breathe! Because you don’t have electrical whatever it is! Your friends would like nothing more than to rip my throat out. And because vampires killed that preacher and his wife and kid! You look me in the eye and tell me they didn’t!” Clara explained. The preacher’s death had weighed on her mind since she heard about it. After seeing the way other vampires acted, how easy it was for them to kill and maim, there was no doubt in her mind that they did it. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tightened. She could see his jaw clench, the same way it did when Sam said they didn’t deserve special rights.

“Humans have killed millions and millions in senseless wars and I don’t hold you responsible for that!” Jake said, his anger rising.

“Jake, the other night I had to bury my bloody clothes so my grandmother wouldn’t know I was almost killed. And tonight I was almost killed again. Why on earth would I continue to see you?” Clara asked.

“Because,” Jake walked up the steps, closer to her. “You will never find a human man you can be yourself with.”

Clara said nothing. The tears welled up in her eyes at the harsh truth that was previously unspoken between them. She turned to go inside, ready to be done with him and the night. He touched her shoulder, a silent plea to stay with him, to resolve their disagreement. She pulled away.

“Don’t touch me!” She snapped. He let go immediately. She opened the creaky screen door and sighed and said softly, “Just…go. Please.”

She slammed the door in his face. Jake stood there for a moment, processing the way the night had gone so far. This wasn’t over, at least not for him. With his night suddenly freed up, he took his leave to Monroe, intending to deal with the vampires that might’ve ruined his chances with Clara.

****

Josh and Ruby sat on the porch of his trailer next to the bar. It was old, in constant need of repairs, but it was enough for Josh. Ruby made herself at home, propping her feet on the railings of the porch, sipping whiskey that Josh had graciously offered to her. She let the calmness of the night and the warmth of the whiskey in her belly calm her body and spirit. Josh was thankful for someone to talk to that didn’t ask or want anything from him.

“Why can’t you go home?” Josh asked Ruby.

“This right here,” she held up her glass of whiskey. “My mama’s a drunk. Not just a slur her words kinda drunk, a waking up in her vomit kinda drunk.”

Josh looked at her with kind, sympathetic eyes, “I’m sorry.”

“I just can’t be around her when she’s gone like that. I know she might end up dying, lighting herself on fire with a lit cigarette, but I can’t. I won’t. So not only is the whole situation horrible, my guilt about it makes it that much worse,” Ruby said in a sad voice.

She downed the rest of her whiskey as Josh said, “why don’t you get your own place?”

“Why don’t you give me a raise?” She said, winking.

Josh laughed a little. “Has she ever tried AA?”

“She don’t need AA,” Ruby said. “She has Jesus.”

Josh nodded in understanding, then Ruby said, “can I ask you a personal question?”

“Just..hold on,” he smiled and downed the rest of his whiskey, relishing in the burn going down his throat. “Alright.”

“Are you lonely?” She asked. He wasn’t expecting that one. He thought on it for a moment, the alcohol swirling around in his system making him feel a bit vulnerable.

“Yes,” he said truthfully. “I am very lonely.”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?” Ruby said. Josh laughed a little. “Plenty of the women in this town would go for you.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Josh said.

“You’re hot, you have a job, you’re not a serial killer,” Ruby said, her words starting slur.

“Who says that?” Josh laughed. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“We’re not talkin about me right now,” Ruby said. “Don’t deflect!”

“I have a hard time opening up is all,” Josh shrugged.

“Oh please,” Ruby scoffed. “What do you have to hide that’s so fuckin bad? In this fuckin town?”

“I said I have a hard time openin’ up, I’m not gonna do it,” Josh slurred.

“Don’t you ever get horny?” Ruby said. The mood was starting to change. Friendly conversation moving into a more intimate territory.

“Sure-“

“How long has it been since you had sex?” Ruby asked boldly. Josh had to admire how straight forward and unafraid she was.

“Few months, you?” He answered.

“8 months, three weeks,” Ruby said.

“That sucks,” Josh whispered.

“You don’t know!” Ruby said. Then laughed. “Well…I guess you do.”

They laughed together softly then josh asked, “you want another one?”

“I’ll need at least 3 more,” Ruby said. He grabbed their glasses and walked inside.

Ruby thought to herself. The night was getting late, he was hot, she was hot. She took her ponytail down and separated her braids all nice and pretty. What if…?

She followed him inside. The trailer was cozy, a bit run down. The furniture was all old, about as old as the trailer itself. Every surface had books stacked haphazardly on top of each other. It was clear that the time he spent here was time spent alone. He had sat the glasses down on the counter and was pouring Jameson into each when she proposed her idea.

“So maybe you and I should sleep together.”

He scoffed, screwing on the top of the bottle. “Yeah…right.”

“Nah, I mean, we’re grown ups,” Ruby said as he handed her the whiskey. “No strings, friends with benefits.”

“Ruby, I'm your boss,” Josh reminded her. It didn’t deter her at all.

“Aren’t you tired of not getting laid?” Ruby asked. “I know I am.”

“Yeah but that don’t mean we oughta-“

“You got condoms?”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Josh said softly.

“Alright, whatever.” Ruby said, walking over to the couch. She laid down on it. “I am not looking for a boyfriend. It’d be a one time deal. Hell we wouldn’t even have to mention it again.”

“No,” he said simply.

“Suit yourself,” she said, taking a swig.

He sighed and looked her over. A beautiful woman lying on his couch, offering to have sex with him. Her braids cascading over her shoulders, her skin absolutely perfect, her smile was so pretty. Finally he said, “Are you sure you could forget about it? Not let it effect work?”

“I’ve had to do much harder things in my life than that believe me,” she said.

“Cause if it got weird I’d have to let you go,” he said.

“You didn’t wanna hire me in the first place,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly smile.

He licked his lips and looked her up and down, “okay.”

She finished off her whiskey as he walked over. He crawled up between her legs.

“You smell nice,” he whispered.

“I know I do.”

He caressed her torso as he leaned in for a kiss. It deepened quickly, both of them searching for something within each other. He tangled his other hand into her hair, then cupped her cheek as things got hotter and heavier.

****

A ‘91 Camaro pulled up to the old mill house with Sam’s Ram still parked outside. Dawn got out of her car, excited and giggling. Sam was still there, probably tied up, definitely ready to have his way with her. She couldn’t wait. She practically skipped up the steps. As she pushed open the door and stepped through the threshold, she sat down her purse on a large rattan trunk at the entrance. She padded her way through her dark living room and into the bedroom, expecting to see him on the bed, waiting on her return.

But he wasn’t there.

She looked around for just a second before someone jumped out in front of her with a stocking on their head. She rolled her eyes and laughed as she tried to push them aside. They didn’t budge.

“Come on, Sam,” she said, smiling, rubbing their bare chest. They shook their head.

“You kept me waiting,” they said gruffly. “I don’t like to wait.”

Her smile faded, annoyed now. “This isn’t funny, stop.”

The person brushed up against her, caressing her cheek with their hand. She lifted her hand to the stocking and pulled it off. It was Sam, a big grin on his face.

“You fuckin idiot,” she laughed.

“Just think of it as foreplay, baby,” Sam said, pulling her into a fierce kiss.

They let their want lead their bodies, hands grabbing, pulling, and teasing every inch of each other. They fell upon the bed. Her shirt pulled over her head, his jeans on the floor, her bra unclasped, his hands pulling her thong off to gain access to her core.

Once inside her, he fucked her hard, something he’d been looking forward to all day. His body was ready, wanting nothing more than to ravish her all night….

But all he could think about when he saw her were vampires. All he saw when he looked at her were vampires. How she had been with them, how they fucked her, how they drank from her…and his cock softened. He stopped with a frustrated sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Dawn asked. She looked confused. He got off of her, settling down into the bed. She cozied up next to him.

“I hate that you’ve been with vampires,” he admitted.

She went from concerned to annoyed. “And how exactly is that any of your business?”

“Well they’re fucked up, Dawn, they’re fucking freaks. They’re dead!” He said angrily. “What’s wrong with you, letting something nasty like that even touch you?!”

“For your information it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” she said. His eyes widened. “And who are you to judge, you’ll fuck anything with the space in between its legs!”

“I thought I was the best sex you ever had!” He cried. “You told me I was!”

“Yeah and then you stopped callin’! And comin’ to Kiszkas and then I met that vampire!” She said, defensive.

“Which vampire? Tattooed? Bald headed? Crazy?” Sam asked.

She laughed. “No, actually he had a lot of hair. I met him in Shreveport at the vampire bar.”

“And you just let him bite you?” Sam scoffed.

“Yeah and I’m not ashamed of that!”

“You oughta be,” Sam said, seething.

“You oughta get off your high horse,” Dawn snapped.

“Is that who you thought I was tonight?” Sam asked.

“No, baby, I knew all along it was you,” she said, rubbing on Sam’s chest, trying to defuse the situation.

“You’re a lyin’ sack of shit,” Sam snapped. “You woulda fucked that vampire and let him bite you if he showed up tonight.”

“Ok this,” Dawn said, rolling over and sitting up, “is getting boring.”

She stood up, pulling her panties up. “I think you should leave.”

He laughed. “You gonna throw me out? I don't think so.”

“This is my house!” Dawn said, pulling a tank over her head.

“And I ain’t going nowhere!” Sam said, putting his hands behind his head.

“Ugh, just because you lost your hard on doesn’t mean you have to have a fucking meltdown!” Dawn said, pulling her robe on. “Believe it or not Sam, the world doesn’t revolve around your dick!”

“Where’re you goin?” Sam asked as she walked into her closet.

“To get a cigarette!” She shouted, then continued on. “Its not like I don’t know you’re a great fuck. It happens to every guy!”

“Stop talking about it!” He said, embarrassed. He lifted up the blanket, cursing his dick for betraying him.

Then she returned not with cigarettes, but with a gun. She pointed it at him with a smirk. “Every guy except for vampires.”

He laughed hard. She cocked her eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m laughin’? You do not own me, Sam Stackhouse. And if I want you outta my house, you better get your sorry ass outta my house!”

“I ain’t going nowhere,” he said defiantly.

“Oh, yes you are!” She pointed the gun at the ground and fired a warning shot.

He panicked, hopped up, and began to put his pants on. She walked slowly towards the bed, pointing it back at him.

“You are obnoxious, and full of yourself, and dumber than a box of hair, and now you can’t even get it up? I don’t think we should be seeing each other anymore,” she said as she climbed onto the bed. She was on her knees, still pointing the gun at him.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he muttered.

“You bet your sweet ass I am, now go,” she warned.

“Lemme get my pants on,” he said, hopping into a leg.

“Hmm, I don’t think I feel like waiting,” she pointed the gun at the ground and shot again.

He grabbed as much as he could and ran out, holding his pants up. She followed him out with the rest of his stuff.

“Limp dick motherfucker!” She yelled, throwing his stuff into the yard.

“Crazy bitch!” He yelled back, gathering his things. Her neighbor, and older lady, came out to see what was happening. They met eyes.

“You heard me! Your neighbor is a crazy bitch!” He said. She gasped and went inside. He threw his things into his truck and sped off.

****

Someone approached the Compton house. They opened the door quietly, padding into the foyer. Jake was reading in the candlelight, immersed in his book. As they got closer, Jake sensed their presence. He turned towards them quicker than they anticipated, fangs out, ready to defend himself.

But it wasn’t an enemy. It was Clara, dressed in a soft white nightgown, her hair down around her face, looking enamored, scared, and confused. He relaxed.

“Clara, don't ever sneak up on a vampire,” he warned. “What’re you doing here?”

Clara took a deep breath and blurted out, “okay, here’s the deal and this is a little embarrassing…I’ve never been with a man intimately for reasons we’ve already discussed but I feel things when I’m with you that make me think and I know this could be a huge mistake, one that I could regret forever, but it feels like you’re the one I’m supposed to, you know, do it with and I’m really nervous about it and frankly I’m scared to death of you so can we just get it out of the way already so I can relax and get a good night’s sleep?”

He placed a hand on each shoulder and she added quietly, “just don’t bite me, okay?”

Their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss, bodies entangled in each other craving one another. Jake slowly pulled her nightgown down, revealing her breasts. He cupped them gently as he moved down her body, to her core. She gasped and moaned….

Then she opened her eyes, back in her own bed with her cat staring at her while she pleasured herself. She looked down at Prue.

“Stop that,” she whispered, embarrassed. She spent the rest of the night thinking about Jake and all the things she wanted him to do to her….

****

Sam arrived back home. His parents' house before they died. He didn’t change much since he moved in, just added a small television on top of their old television, the fridge wasn’t filled with fresh ingredients but with beer, and it could use a good deep clean. He walked in and grabbed one of the beers from the fridge, frustrated, annoyed, and embarrassed.

Not being able to perform wasn’t something that happened to Sam. No, he was a stallion, he was a god in bed…as he took a swig of the beer he decided to distract himself.

He went into the living room and plopped down on his dad’s recliner and turned on the tv.

A vampire movie. Of course. “You gotta be kidding me.”

He changed the channel.

“The vampires assassinated my father because of his campaign against the vampire agenda,” a suited up younger man said. It was the reverend’s son, who was also a reverend, giving an interview to church members.

“Theodore Newland is a hero,” the other man said. “The first casualty in World War III”

“It’s Armageddon,” the son added solemnly.

“Amen!”

“Amen!” Sam mocked, then changed the channel. A show about vampire bats.

Sam leaned back and put his hands in his hair in frustration, then grabbed the remote and turned the TV off entirely. He couldn’t get away from them no matter how hard he tried. He took another swallow of beer, finally resigned to silence.

****

“Aww, Malcolm, come on baby!” Diane cooed. The vampires had returned to their home, a retro ranch with old school furniture and their coffins out in the open. Candles were scattered about, setting the mood. Malcolm laid his head on Diane’s lap, who was nursing a glass of blood.

“Damn,” Malcolm said sadly. “Ya know, I really liked Jerry.”

“Don’t worry,” Diane said sympathetically as she stroked his hair. “We’ll find you another hot little blood bag.”

“Let’s go down to LSU tomorrow night! Raid us a frat house!” Liam suggested.

“Oooooh, yes!” Diane exclaimed. “I’m in the mood for something dumb, thick, and juicy.”

Malcolm sat up quickly right as there was a knock on the door. He jumped over the couch and opened the door. Jake walked in, expression dark.

“Oh, look,” Malcolm announced. “It’s everyone’s favorite buzzkill!”

“Hey baby!” Diane said, a smile stretched across her face.

“Oh, Mr mainstream! Thirsty?” Liam offered Jake a pitcher of blood.

“No, Jake said shortly. Diane approached him, a hunger in her eyes he was all too familiar with.

“Hungry for something else?” Diane looked Jake up and down. “I remember you having a very sizable…appetite.”

Jake sent her flying and she crashed through a wall across the room. She got up, eyes wild, fangs out, and livid.

“The three of you will stay away from me and Clara from now on,” Jake declared. The three of them looked on, angry.

“I’m your elder,” Malcolm said, circling Jake. “You have no authority here.”

“There are higher authorities,” Jake pointed out.

“I’m not afraid of Daniel,” Malcolm smiled.

“Higher than him,” Jake said.

“Then she can speak to me,” Malcolm snapped.

“She can suck on sunlight for all I care,” Diane added walking back over to them, grabbing her glass of blood and drinking.

“You’re gonna hurt our cause,” Jake said, trying to appeal to them.

“Not everyone wants to dress up and play human, Jake,” Diane said, gesturing to him.

“Yeah,” Liam said. “And not everyone wants to live off that Japanese shit they call blood, either. As if we could.”

“We have to moderate our behavior now that we’re out in the open,” Jake said, leaning on the couch.

“Not everyone thinks it was such a great idea and not everyone intends to toe the party line,” Malcolm said darkly. He took Jake’s hand. “Honey, if we can’t kill people, what’s the point of being a vampire?”

“Where Jerry?” Jake asked.

“We left him on the side of I20. Well, most of him, anyway. I kept a souvenir or two,” Malcolm said mischievously.

“Jenelle felt so bad about what Jerry did, she made the ultimate sacrifice,” Liam said, sipping on his pitcher of blood.

Jake turned around. He could see her from another room. He walked closer, the other three following behind, Diane cackling.

Jenelle was hung from a rack upside down, much like a deer or a cow being hung up to be processed. Her throat had been cut, and blood was being collected in buckets underneath her on the dirty floor.

“Y’all make me sick,” Jake said quietly.

“You used to be fun,” Diane said. “This all on account of that little blonde breather?”

“If you insist on flaunting your ways in front of mortals, there will be consequences,” Jake said. He turned his heel and walked out of the house.

“Asshole,” Malcolm muttered as he slammed the door shut. This wasn’t the end for them. Not by a long shot.

****

Ruby made her way home after a long night of bad sleep. Every time she almost dozed off, Josh barked or growled in his sleep. She hadn’t been with a lot of men, but she’d never experienced that before.

She was hoping to sneak into her room, get underneath her warm blankets and squeeze in a nap before work. But as she crept through the door threshold, she felt something connect with the back of her head, hard. Her mom was hiding behind the door, Bible in her hand and infuriated.

“Where the HELL you been, you dirty whore?” Lettie Mae yelled, holding the Bible up.

“Mama!” Ruby cried, holding her head.

“Out all night doing god knows what! You the devil, child! You ain’t no child of mine!” Lettie swung the Bible again. Ruby moved out of the way. In her drunken stupor Lettie fell to the floor, holding onto the coffee table that was littered with liquor bottles.

“Oh Jesus-“ Ruby began.

“Jesus ain’t gonna help you!” Lettie yelled.

“Yeah that’s been clear for quite some time,” Ruby said, her voice quivering.

“You sass the lord and I will kick your skinny ass!” Lettie said.

“You can’t even stand up! You pathetic, ugly old bitch!”

She regretted it immediately. Her mother started wailing, grabbing at her heart dramatically. Ruby cursed under her breath and sighed then she began to help her mom up.

“I ain’t ugly,” Lettie cried. Ruby tried to help Lettie Mae up, resolving to once again help the woman that hurt her so much. But as Lettie Mae got to her knees, she grabbed a liquor bottle off the table and hit an unsuspecting Ruby in the forehead.

That was it. That was the final straw. As Ruby checked to see if she was bleeding, her mom laughed.

“Alright,” Ruby said, steeling herself. She turned to Lettie Mae. “You may have carried me, nursed me…but now you seem intent on killing me. And if I have to choose between me and you, guess what? You lose.”

Ruby grabbed her keys and slammed the door behind me, leaving her mother alone with her demons.

Ruby got in her car and drove. Normally she’d go to Clara, but seeing as she just slept with Josh and Clara had her hands full with Jake, she went to the next best person.

Ruby rapped on Lafayette’s door hard. She needed a place to stay, a place to calm down.

“I’m comin’ stop knocking on my fuckin’ door!” Layfette said, annoyed as he opened up. Ruby barged in.

“She hit me with a fucking liquor bottle!” Ruby said. “My head is bleeding!”

“I got a guest, he’s in the shower,” Lafayette said. Lafayette’s home was as colorful and unique as he was. Walls of royal purple, beaded curtains hung on every doorway. Two couches, one red and one leopard print, religious artifacts of all sorts. On the coffee table were all sorts of drugs, weed, and liquor. There wasn’t much Lafayette didn’t dabble in, but he always kept his wits about him.

“Do you think I need stitches?” Ruby said. Lafayette examined her head.

“Nah,” he said. “Put some peroxide on that. Then take some Vicodin, with a big glass of red wine and some badass ganja, baby. By the time you wake up, mm! All healed.”

He handed her two pills. She poured herself some vodka to swallow them down. “You mind if I stay here?”

“Does it matter if I mind?”

“Nope.”

“Alright.” He handed her a joint. As she sucked in the smoke, Lafayette’s guest appeared. An older little white man seemed very nervous and introduced himself as Duke.

“Oh, boyfriend you’re so not a Duke,” Lafayette laughed. “Duke” alluded to money left in the bedroom and made his way out.

“The hell was that?” Ruby asked after he shut the door.

“That was a state senator,” Lafayette said, leaning into his couch, grinning.

“You’re a prostitute now?”

“I’m an entrepreneur,” Lafayette corrected. Ruby gave him a look. “What? I’m supposed to be satisfied being a short order cook and workin on the road crew, which is basically one step from the chain gang? But I ain’t complaining, it gave me this body and this body is my ticket out of this podunk town. I already got an onlyfans.”

“What’s wrong with us? You’re a state senator fucking prostitute and I’m a bartender in a redneck bar that fucks her boss…who’s completely in love with her best friend,” Ruby said.

“Just take another hit off this,” he handed her the joint they’d been passing around. He went to walk away, then it hit him what she said. “Wait a minute, you slept with Josh?”

“You know what? He barks in his sleep,” Ruby said.

Lafayette took a sharp breath in, “oh damn white folks are all fucked up.”

****

Clara spent her morning feverishly finding new ways to distract herself. She mowed the lawn, she raked, she weedeated, all before 9am. She now sat at the kitchen table with her grandmother, who insisted that she come inside for some food.

“Do you think I should continue dating Jake?” She asked.

“I can’t tell you that,” Adele said. “I can tell you that I think he’s a smart, handsome, charming young man but then again he’s gonna put his best foot forward for me so I don’t stand in the way of his courting you.”

“He scares me,” Clara admitted.

“Well it is scary,” Adele said. “Opening your heart up to somebody.”

“I think it’s a little scarier when it’s a vampire,” Clara said nervously.

“I suppose. Jake is the first vampire I’ve ever met.”

“Not scared that he’d ever hurt me…scared because I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Clara said quietly. Adele took her hand in hers.

“I can’t imagine that would be such a bad thing for you with your ability,” Adele said.

As Clara took her plate to the sink, Adele said, “you know, your grandfather used to know things.”

Clara perked up, “what things?”

“Oh you know, if someone was having money troubles, running around behind their wife’s back, sick, that sort of thing. Personal things that no one would tell anyone about.”

Clara turned around, “see, I hear everybody’s deepest, darkest secrets! That’s just too much information!”

“But then Earl’s brother, your great uncle Francis, came back from Korea in real bad shape, all torn up from the things he’d seen. Earl knew he was thinking about killing himself. He went over there in the middle of the night just as he was about to kick the chair out from under himself,” Adele said. “Earl talked him out of it. I just think there’s a purpose for everything that God creates, whether it’s a unique ability or a vampire. God will reveal that purpose when the time is right.”

Clara was so grateful for her grandmother's wisdom. She walked over and gave her kiss on the cheek before going upstairs.

****

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“I’m coming, shit!” Lafayette was getting real tired of people banging on his door. He opened it to someone he didn’t expect. Sam Stackhouse standing there in all his glory.

“Hey, Lafayette,” Sam said, grinning. “I, uh, need your help.”

“Hello hotness,” Lafayette said, cocking his head to the side. “It’s about time you figured out that truth.”

Sam laughed nervously and looked down. “You’re- uh, wearing gold pants.”

Lafayette looked down. Shirtless, gold pants, sexy as hell.

“So I am.” Lafayette invited him in, gesturing towards the couch. They sat together, Sam hugging on a pillow, the air kind of tense and awkward.

“What do you need?” Lafayette asked

“Do you have viagra?” Sam asked quietly.

Lafayette was taken aback, “you need what?!”

“Viagra,” Sam said. “Do you have any viagra?”

Lafayette laughed, “no I don’t have viagra!”

“But you have everything!” Sam exclaimed.

“Sam, puppy dog, viagra is legal. You can buy it in the drug store,” Lafayette said.

“But I need it now,” Sam whined. “Look if there’s anything that can make it-“

“-so hard a saw couldn’t cut through it?” Lafayette chimed in.

“Yeah that sounds good…I guess,” Sam said nervously.

“Yeah, I do,” Lafayette said. “But it’s very expensive.”

“Well how much?” Sam was expecting a couple hundred.

“$600 a quarter of an ounce.”

“Get the fuck outta here!” Sam scoffed. “What the hell’s worth that kinda money?”

Lafayette walked over to a mini fridge and pulled it out. A small vial of a red substance.

“When did you start dealing V?” Sam asked softly.

“When I realized there was a market for it,” Lafayette said. “Now I don’t want this getting out, motherfucker, do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“The vamps don’t take kindly to the juice dispensers,” Lafayette said.

“How’d you get it?”

“Let’s just say I have a little arrangement with a life challenged individual who appreciates my multifaceted talents,” Lafayette said slyly.

“God. Is there anybody these days that aren’t fucking vampires?” Sam asked.

“Lemme ask you something,” Lafayette said. “Do you wanna get it up and keep it up and have the best sex you have ever had for both you and your miss?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Despite Sam’s misgivings, this was exactly what he wanted. And he didn’t care that it came from a vampire at this point.

“Take one, maybe two drops of this, no more!! Anymore and things might get intense and not in a good way,” Lafayette warned.

Sam smiled and grabbed the vial out of his hand. “Thanks man, ‘preciate it.”

Sam went to get up, but Lafayette grabbed his arm. “Ain’t nothin free in my world.”

“Can I pay you later? I gotta go to the bank,” Sam said, going to get up.

“Motherfucker, who do you think I am? I don’t run a layaway program and I’m not interested in instituting one,” Lafayette walked over to the door and locked it.

“Come on, Lafayette, ain’t there some way you’ll let me pay you this afternoon?”

The solution Lafayette came up with was…creative.

“I hate cameras.” Sam was in his underwear, standing in front of a phone on a tripod and Lafayette smoking a joint and smiling.

“You know how much money you’d make if you had your own onlyfans? Queens would pay good money to watch you jack off,” Lafayette said.

“Hey you said I just had to dance!” Sam cried.

“Okay,” Lafayette said shortly. He turned on the music. A dance track. “Dance.”

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment, snapping his fingers and moving a little then asked, “is anyone I know gonna see this?”

“Probably,” Lafayette said. “There’s a lot of pervs in this town.”

“No way,” Sam said, grabbing his clothes.

“Do you want the V or not?” Lafayette said. He grabbed a Hillary Clinton mask and threw it to Sam. “There.”

Sam put the mask on and started letting loose. He danced around, wiggling his hips, smacking his ass, showing off his muscles.

Ruby peaked out from behind the doorway and muttered “what the fuck?”

“Oh, lover, you’re gonna make me clutch my pearls,” Lafayette said, grinning.

****

It was still daylight but Clara approached Jake’s door anyway. She looked through the window beside it, taking in all his furniture, his faintings of old family, his love of red velvet upholstery and gothic furniture. She had been grappling all day with her situation with him, torn between common sense and desire.

She walked back down and sat on the steps. She could still feel his blood running through her, making everything more magical, brighter, more sensual. She was running her hands along the inside of her thigh when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Clar, it’s Josh, can you do me a favor?”

“Um, sure, maybe.”

“Well we’re supposed to open up for lunch in 20 minutes and Dawn hasn’t shown up for her shift-“

“Oh, Josh, I really need my day off!”

“No, no, I’m not asking you to come in. Can you just run over to Dawn’s and wake her up? She probably just overslept.” Josh said.

“Alright,” Clara sighed.

Clara pulled up to the row of mill houses and parked outside of Dawn’s. Her car was still out front.

Clara knocked on the door to not answer. “Dawn? It’s me, Clara! Honey, you overslept!”

Clara opened the screen door and knocked on the door, hoping it would be louder. There was no answer. Clara tried to open the door and it was unlocked.

She could hear Dawn’s alarm going off from her bedroom. “Dawn?”

She walked through the living room. Dawn’s purse was by the door, her things scattered around her lived in home. There was something very, very wrong.

“Are you home?” She knew there would be no answer.

Clara walked slowly into her bedroom. Furniture was knocked over, lamp shades askew, things thrown around.

Dawn was there, lying on the bed, eyes open and unseeing, her neck bruised from strangulation….

Clara screamed.

[bebs-art-gallery]

Apparition at a Grave (1916)

— by Josef Mandl

[britney-gvf]

Saigneur- Chapter Two

Jake x OC, Sam x OC

Chapter One

18+

Word count- 9.4k

Playlist- Apple Music

A/N- thank you so much for the interest in this story! You guys made me feel so welcomed in this community. Just a reminder, this is a retelling of True Blood. While most of the plot is more or less the same I have changed a few details.

A special thanks to @gretavanmoon @gretavangroupie and @bathinginstardust for their editing and encouragement! I truly couldn’t do this without them.

TW: death, violence, vampires, unprotected sex, light bondage, cops, interrogation, sexual harassment, blood

“Now tell us exactly what happened.”

“Andy—” Sam began, his voice already tinged with exhaustion, but Andy cut him off for about the thousandth time that day.

“Detective Bellfleur!”

“Whatever! I’ve gone through it about a dozen times! Why do y’all need me to tell it again?”

Sam’s eyes were raw from staring at the same outdated wood paneled walls of the cluttered conference room for what felt like eternity, telling them what happened the night before as best as he could remember it.

The acrid smell of Andy’s stale coffee and Sheriff Dearborn’s Marlboro reds had been insulting his nostrils, giving Sam a nasty headache. He nursed the room-temperature water they slid his way when he got in, wishing he had a Coke or a beer.

With each retelling, Andy’s patience grew thinner. More than once, the man got into Sam’s face. Yelling, spitting, and threatening him, only to stop when Dearborn stepped in.

“I don’t believe it was accidental, Stackhouse. Who the hell accidentally strangles someone?” Andy spat, hands splayed out on the conference table as he leaned towards Sam.

“Me, I fucking guess, detective,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes. He’d already admitted it. He didn’t understand all the anger and he was rather tired of it. “Y’all said you had video. You can see my reaction! Pull it up, damnit!”

Dearborn sighed deeply then left the room, leaving Andy and Sam alone. Andy straightened himself out, puffing his chest to make himself look bigger. Sam thought it made him look pathetic.

“You’re not getting away with this,” Andy said darkly. “I won’t let you.”

Sam let out a humorless laugh, “Clearly,” he said, eyes deadpan, each syllable weighed down by hours of accusations.

Dearborn returned with a laptop and Andy was itching to get a hold of it. Dearborn shooed him away and sat down across from Sam. Dearborn was a man in his 60s and not really good with technology, so it took him a good five minutes to figure out how to turn the laptop on. Eventually he relented and asked Andy to help, who happily obliged. After a few more minutes of puttering around with it, Andy and Dearborn turned it so they could all watch the evidence of Sam killing Maudette together.

It was by far the most awkward thing Sam had ever endured. The distorted video played out in painful detail. Every second watching himself fuck and strangle Maudette was excruciating and the magnitude of what happened was really starting to hit him. He took her life away and there was no way to bring her back.

In the video Sam grabbed his things, threw on his clothes and ran out, looking panicked and scared. The door slammed, and then- silence.

Then, Maudette laughed.

She let go of the chain and grabbed her chest as she kept laughing at the prank she just pulled. Maudette walked over to the laptop and it shut off. Dearborn and Andy looked as surprised as Sam was.

“I didn’t do it,” Sam said, laughing. “I didn’t kill her! Oh my god! I didn’t do it!”

Andy’s expression twisted into something sour. “Well someone did.”

The words hit like a backhand. Sam grew quiet at the reminder that she was still very much dead. He thought for a moment, racking his brain, then he remembered.

“What about the vampire? She had bite marks on her leg! Maybe he came back to kill her,” Sam suggested. He twisted the cap off of his now warm bottle of water and took a long pull, trying to steady the tremor in his hand.

“Would this be the same vampire your sister’s messin’ around with?” Dearborn asked pointedly.

Sam bristled, sitting up taller in his seat. “Well first off, she’s not messing around with no vampire. She doesn’t mess around! And second, I don’t know. I’ve never met him. I hope to god I never do.”

“What did this other vampire look like?” Andy asked gruffly. He was far less reactionary now and looked almost disappointed that it wasn’t Sam.

“Bald headed, weird skeleton tattoo, and crazy as fuck,” Sam said, thinking back to the video. It gave him chills just thinking about the vampire. “Actually wait…there’s a video. Didn’t you see it?”

“There was only one video on that laptop,” Andy said suspiciously. “Like the killer only wanted us to find this one.”

Sam nodded in agreement, “Yeah, like they wanted to set me up!”

“Or,” Andy said, a slight smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. “The killer only wanted us to find this one because it supposedly clears him of a crime that he came back later to commit?”

Sam took a moment to think on it, then came to the realization that Andy still thought he did it. “Come on, Andy! I’m not that smart!”

****

Clara lay crumpled on the gravel of the Kiszkas’ parking lot, coughing up blood. No one was around but her attackers, who took turns hitting her and insulting her. She could taste the metallic blood in her mouth and felt the sharpness of a chipped tooth. Her vision was blurry and her eyes burned but her head, especially, was in excruciating pain. Her breath hitched in her chest as she struggled to overcome the broken ribs and collapsed lung. Tina White lifted her boot to land another blow, but Jake had other plans for her and her husband.

Randy flew past her so quickly he was only a blur. He was thrown so hard against an old large tree that it shook as he landed. Disoriented, he let out a guttural moan. It would be the last sound he ever made. Jake cleared the space between them, and broke his neck so severely that he died instantly.

Tina twirled around wildly, switchblade in hand, looking for the culprit. She knew exactly who and what it was, but Tina wasn’t about to show the vampire that she feared him. But she was absolutely terrified and knew deep down there was no getting away from him.

She didn’t see the attack coming; before she knew what was happening she was flying through the air. The velocity of her ascent sent her above the trees and for a moment, she could see the entire Parish. It was her final moment of peace before she came crashing down to the ground, hitting several branches on her descent. Her body landed mangled, broken, and bloody mere feet from her dead husband.

Clara was limp, barely alive and barely conscious, when Jake scooped her up and took her out of the parking lot. He found a small pond behind the trees, out of the way of any prying eyes. Jake then lunged down, allowing her body weight to be held up by his leg, then let his fangs down. He bit into his wrist, the blood erupting from the wound, and brought it up to her face

“Will I be a vampire?” she said weakly. He was frustrated with the question. She didn't have a lot of time.

“No! Damn it, you gotta drink before the wound closes!” he said in a panic.

He brought his wrist to her mouth and she recoiled. He used his other hand to push her head closer. Reluctantly, she began to drink. At first slowly, then with a drunken fervor. She relished every drop, holding his arm to her mouth and caressing it tenderly, until her body couldn’t physically hold anymore. She fell into unconsciousness as her body began to heal.

Her eyes fluttered open, no longer burning. Jake was leaning above her and his head moving slowly. She could feel fresh wetness on her forehead and his tongue tenderly dragging across it. As odd as it felt, she wasn’t scared or upset. She found it oddly sweet.

“Do I taste different from other people?” she asked curiously. He stopped licking her and brought his eyes down to hers.

“Yes,” he said, as if looking at her for the first time. “What are you?”

“Not dead apparently,” Clara said, propping herself up on her elbows. He moved back and sat on the ground next to her as she positioned herself against a tree. She could feel the wound on her head repair itself on its own. No stitches, no hospital.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Jake asked. Clara’s mouth stretched into a smile at the ridiculousness of that question.

“You were just licking blood off my head,” she said. “Doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“How do you have a social life with men your own age? Their only thought must be-“

“I don’t,” Clara said shortly. She had tried. Oh, how she tried. Typically her dates only lasted a few minutes. In that time they would think about what her body must look like, or the disgusting things they’d like to do to her, or how they had another girl lined up for later that night…

“They were all pigs,” she added, absentmindedly picking at the grass, trying not to think about it too hard. “Always ends up the same.”

“Do the people close to you know about your...abilities?” Jake asked.

“Yeah. We don’t talk about it but they all know. I try to shut them out. Everyone else thinks I’m a psychic or crazy,” Clara said. She didn’t want to impose on the people closest to her. Their private thoughts deserved to be just that— private.

Jake had never met anyone like Clara. There was a pregnant pause between them, both wishing they knew what the other was thinking, both wanting desperately to know more about the other, neither knowing how to go about it.

Clara shifted uncomfortably. While it was a great relief that she couldn’t hear Jake’s thoughts, it was also something she wasn’t used to. Considering that he just killed two people without so much as breaking a sweat, it made her somewhat uneasy.

“I should probably get going,” she said awkwardly. She began to get up when she realized that she wasn't just a little healed, or mostly healed…she was completely healed. She felt for the chipped tooth and it had grown back. She took a deep breath with no pain at all. Her vision was, if anything, better than it was before.

“I’m completely healed!” She said in complete awe. “Do doctors know that v blood can do this?!”

“No and we’d like to keep it that way,” Jake replied firmly. He stood up and held out his hand. Clara took it and he pulled her up to her feet with incredible ease. They walked leisurely to her car, neither wanting their time to end just yet, but knowing that it needed to.

“How old were you when you were turned, if you don’t mind me asking?” Clara asked.

Jake felt a wave of nostalgia and sadness, thinking about his human life all those years ago. About his wife and his daughter that he didn’t get to meet, about sailing the Gulf of Mexico with Jean Lafaye, about his final journey through the bayous in an effort to get back home…

“I was 29,” he said, opting not to open up to her just yet. “I was turned in 1820, trying to come home from sailing with Jean Lafaye.”

“Wow, you look younger than that!” Clara said. “You were a pirate? Do you think you could come talk to my grandmother’s historical society? It’s just a bunch of old people meeting and talking about how life was like back then.”

It wasn’t exactly how Jake expected or wanted to spend an evening, but one look at Clara’s expressive, hopeful face was enough. “Would it make you happy?”

“Yes, it'd make my Gran so happy,” Clara said, beaming.

“No,” Jake said, looking into her eyes. “Would it make you happy?”

Clara’s cheeks turned red and she smiled at his directness. “Yes it would.”

“Then I’d be happy to meet your grandmother,” he said. They made it to her car and stopped. “When can I call on you?”

“Well I’m off tomorrow night,” she said.

“Right after dark, then,” Jake said. Clara turned to unlock her car then turned back around to say her goodbyes. He was gone, with no sound, with no announcement.

“That’s so creepy,” she muttered as she got into her car. It roared to life, the radio blasted Neil Young as she drove away.

****

Ruby pulled into the driveway of the run down duplex and she was full of dread. She had a good night at Kiszkas: her tips were decent and Josh was a good boss. But home was not a warm, inviting, loving place. It was quite the opposite.

She didn’t know what awaited her when she walked through that door. If her mother was awake, she would be berated, she’d be told that she was the devil’s child, she would be called every name in the book. If her mother was passed out on the couch, she’d be tasked with cleaning her up and getting her to bed.

Ruby made her way up the old wooden porch, past the dead plants that were bought with good intentions, the crosses that had no business at home like this, and opened the screen door. The front door was not only unlocked but opened, inviting anyone who wanted to inside.

She stepped into the modest living room. The TV was blaring on some home shopping network and her mom was on the couch, mouth agape, fully passed out. Ruby walked around the coffee table towards her and picked up the empty vodka bottle she had dropped in her drunken stupor.

She pulled out her phone and dialed as she made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and the milk from the fridge as the line trilled. As she sat down to pour herself a bowl of cereal, the person picked up.

“What’s up, bitch?” Lafayette answered. Ruby could hear the road noise in the background, so she knew he was out. She decided to shoot her shot.

“What’re you doing?” She asked, pouring the milk into the bowl. She mixed the lucky charms around in the bowl and took a bite.

“Going to a party and hell no I’m not picking your needy ass up,” he said, pulling on the cigarette he had in his mouth. “Why don’t you get Sam Stackhouse to pick you up”

“Fuck you, you old raggedy bitch! Just pick me up, please,” Ruby said. “She’s passed out on the couch. I can’t deal with cleaning her up and putting her to bed. It's too goddamn depressing.”

He sighed, acting like he wasn’t already on his way. “Fine. But you’ll have to find your own ride home in case I get lucky.”

“If?! Your standards are so low you always get lucky!” Ruby said, laughing.

“You know that’s right,” he laughed. “Hallelujah!”

The party was in someone’s backyard, full of people Ruby didn’t know. Kevin Gates blared from a Bluetooth speaker in the corner, while everyone piled up their plates full of seafood boil. Lafayette worked the crowd, introducing himself to the people he didn’t know, joking and laughing with the people who he did know, and flirting with every man with a pulse.

Ruby sat on an old torn up couch in the corner, completely alone. She sipped on a beer she picked up on the way in. She wasn’t much for parties, but people watching was entertaining at the very least. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the most obnoxious man with an unearned ego saunter over to her. He was decked out in a matching green outfit and a pick in his hair. She smiled at him as he approached, but he didn’t know what he was in for.

“Now,” he said, taking a seat on a chair next to the sofa. “What’s a fine little thing like you sitting over here all alone for?”

She pointed to Lafayette, who was trying to talk up a man who was visibly uninterested. “Watching my fool cousin trying to talk up the straightest man here.”

“Alright, alright. Except I’m the straightest man here,” the man said with a haughty laugh. “Just ask any one of these honeys. I’m Tyrell.”

“Mm. Ruby,” Ruby replied. “Just so you know, I’m married.”

“Oh that isn’t a problem for me,” Tyrell said, bringing his hand up to his chest. That wasn’t a shock. She expected it.

“My husband’s mercenary,” Ruby lied easily. “Yeah, backwater. Now he ain’t worth me but if he caught me with another man, he’d kill us both.”

Tyrell scoffed as she made her lip quiver. She continued. “I hope he kills me first. He shot one guy in the nuts just for buying me a drink!”

“Bitch you crazy,” Tyrell said, as he got up and walked off. Ruby laughed to herself. She was back where she started and where she was most comfortable— alone.

****

Knock, knock, knock. Dawn woke with a jolt. She picked up her phone. 3 am. She groaned as she pulled on her robe and padded through the bedroom and living room of her small mill house as the person continued to knock, louder and louder til she finally swung open the door. Sam pushed his way through, not caring what she was doing or what time it was.

“Sam.” She was exasperated and tired and he walked right by her. She stood there in her robe and underwear, annoyed.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through today,” he moaned as he fell onto the couch. She sat beside him, willing to hear him. “Bud and Andy waited 12 hours to show me a video that proved I didn’t do it! I spent all day thinking I really killed Maudette!”

He hugged her and she stroked his hair. A few minutes passed and he slowly slid down till his face was between her breasts. She moaned a little then giggled, knowing good and well she wasn’t getting sleep that night.

The sex with Sam was exactly what she needed. Dawn loved getting picked up and thrown around, making a mess of her room, exhausting her body with pleasure, and Sam? Well he was the perfect man for that.

They started on the bed, then he picked her up, still inside of her, and threw her on the dresser and fucked her into the wall. She moaned loudly as he crashed his body into her with an insatiable need to fuck his frustration away.

He turned them around back onto the bed. Sam ran his hands along her thigh as he buried all his thoughts and worries into her pussy, hiking her leg up and furiously fucking her and she giggled and moaned. Their orgasms came together and they crashed into a deep sleep, their bodies finally giving out.

Sam opened his eyes and for a split second, he forgot where he was. The last 36 hours of his life was a whirlwind, more exciting and terrifying than anything else he’d ever experience. He remembered coming over to Dawn’s house and smiled as he recalled fucking her silly. He turned over to her, who was still fast asleep. He couldn’t help but notice how naturally gorgeous she was. As she breathed deeply, he soaked in the sight…

Until his eyes landed on her neck. Two little puncture marks, her skin raised just a little around the wound. Insecurity, jealously, and curiosity swirled in his mind until he finally peeled himself out of bed and put his clothes on, quickly sending her a text as she slept that he was going to work.

****

Across town, the kitchen television blared with the news. Usually it wasn’t something Clara paid any mind to, but the topic of discussion centered around the Vampire Rights Amendment. A beautiful, professional looking vampire by the name of Nan Flanagan for it, and a Preacher Newman, who led a very specific anti vampire church, against it. Newman went on and on about how vampires were of the darkness, demons, sins against God while Flanegan calmly tried to speak to him. As intolerant as he was, so many people agreed with him.

“You know, I don’t think Jesus would hate vampires,” Clara said as her Gran, Adele, walked into the kitchen. She went to the stove, grabbed a pan full of eggs and doled some out on Clara’s plate.

“I don’t think he would either, dear,” Adele said with a smile. Clara bit into her sausage and it was the best thing she had ever put into her mouth.

“Did you do something different with the sausage?” Clara asked. Adele’s eyes widened in concern.

“No, do you think it’s gone bad?” She asked, picking up a piece of her own plate and sniffing it.

“No! It just tastes so much more complex. I can taste every spice, I can even taste the grass the cows ate!” Clara said as she took another bite. Adele gave her a puzzled look as Ruby walked into the kitchen just as she had done a thousand times before.

“Hey, Ruby!” Adele pulled out a chair for Ruby to sit. She always loved Ruby as if she was her own. When her mom would have particularly bad days Adele was there to help, with a meal and a bed to sleep in. Ruby sat down after hugging Adele, who went off into another room.

“You look awful,” Clara said, worried. Ruby was wearing the same clothes she was in the night before. Her braids were pulled into a quick ponytail and she was visibly tired.

“I feel worse,” Ruby sighed as she grabbed a piece of toast.

“Yes, you can take a shower here and borrow some of my clothes,” Clara said with a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks,” Ruby said, spreading homemade strawberry jam onto her toast. “Have you heard anything about Sam?”

“Yeah we heard from Everline Jameson, they let him go last night,” Clara said matter of factly.

“Good. I knew they would,” Ruby said.

“I didn’t,” Clara said.

“Well,” Ruby said. “I’m glad you’re still alive. You obviously didn’t hook up with that vampire last night.”

Clara’s face said it all. Ruby sighed in frustration. “Clara, I swear!”

“Shut up!” Clara hissed. “I’m lucky Gran was asleep when I got home last night!”

“Did he bite you?!” Ruby asked, glancing at her neck.

“No!” She decided to keep what really happened from Ruby, knowing the truth was worse.

“Are you sure? You know they can hypnotize you!”

“I know he didn’t,” Clara said firmly. Ruby scoffed and was about to respond when Adele came in to make a new pot of coffee.

“You must be glad they let Sam go, huh, Ms. Stackhouse?” Ruby said over her shoulder.

Adele pursed her lips. “I can’t even believe they arrested him to begin with! I have half a mind to call Bud Dearborn and chew him out! Sam’s a good boy, everyone knows that!”

Clara and Ruby exchanged knowing looks as the phone rang. It was Everline again with the last town gossip. Just as Adele walked out of the room to take the call, Sam walked in the house, ready to eat.

“Am I too late for breakfast?” He asked as he beelined to the fridge. “Hey Ruby!”

“Hey Sam,” Ruby said, smiling ear to ear. “I’m so glad they let you go!”

“Uh, yeah. Me too!” He came out of the fridge with a bowl of leftover sausages and started eating. “I don’t even know why they suspected me. I think somebody heard I’d been with Maudette.”

“Had you?” Clara asked.

“No,” Sam said a little too quickly. Clara raised her eyebrows as she turned to him

“Are you sure? She was a woman,” she said slyly. He scoffed.

“That’s funny,” Sam said with no amusement in his tone. “At least she was human”

Clara gave him a dirty look as Adele practically ran into the kitchen to deliver the latest news and it was a big one.

“Y’all won’t believe what happened! Hey Sam, sit down I’ll get you some breakfast,” she practically shoved Sam into his seat as she headed towards the stove. “Apparently there was a tornado over at four tracks corners. It turned over that red trailer in the clearing, you know the one? Killed the couple that’s been staying there.”

“Randy and Tina white?” Sam asked. Clara’s heart started beating quickly.

“Yes, them. Trapped under there. Mike Spencer said they’d been crushed to a pulp,” Adele said, shaking her head as she made Sam’s plate.

Clara headed over to the trailer after breakfast. The sun was already high in the sky and not a cloud in sight. As Clara got out of her car she could feel it hot on her skin. She walked under the crime scene tape. She knew Jake was strong but she could’ve never predicted this.

There was farm equipment still there from where they pulled the trailer back upright trying to get the bodies out. It was completely wrecked; the roof collapsed into the trailer itself, windows shattered, the back was completely flat. Trees were uprooted and smashed apart, power lines and poles were broken…it was a lot to take in. He was so strong and it scared her. Deeply.

She heard someone pull up and turned around to find the coroner van pulling up the long driveway. The sheriff and Mike Spencer hopped out. They looked surprised to see her. The annoyance was etched in Dearborn’s face as they approached her. Mike Spencer smiled at her and waved.

“Clara Stackhouse! You remember me?” He said.

“Of course I do. You buried my parents,” Clara said shortly.

“I got a new job! Parish coroner. Of course I still got the funeral home,” Mike said, turning around to show her the huge CORNER across his back. Truthfully he always gave Clara the creeps.

“How convenient," Clara said bluntly.

“Clara, this is still a restricted area,” Dearborn said in a measured tone. He looked tired and worn out, like this was absolutely the last thing he needed.

“Oh yeah, well when I heard what happened I had to come see for myself!” Clara said, gesturing towards the trailer. Dearborn didn’t seem convinced.

“I heard you didn’t get along too well with the Whites,” Dearborn said. Clara didn’t break eye contact. She knew exactly what he was getting at and she wasn’t about to give him any reason to look closer at her.

“Where’d you hear that?” Clara asked.

“My niece is an emergency room nurse in Monroe. Said someone busted up Randy pretty bad a couple nights ago. Said that somebody was you,” Dearborn said suspiciously.

“Yeah, they were hurting a friend of mine,” Clara said casually.

“Would that be that vampire you’ve been hanging around with?” Dearborn asked. Vampires, vampires, vampires…sure he actually did it, but it annoyed Clara that that was the first place he went.

“Your grandmother lets you associate with vampires?” Mike cut in. Clara snapped.

“I suggest you take that up with her, Mike! I’m sure she’d love to hear that someone thinks she’s not taking proper care of me!” She retorted. She turned back around to Dearborn. “They were draining him of his blood. That’s against the law, ain’t it? I was doing my civic duty by helping him.”

“And now they’re dead,” he said.

“Yeah! Killed by a tornado,” Clara scoffed.

“Tornadoes hop,” he said, making a hopping motion with his hands. “This didn’t land anywhere else and no one around here saw or heard anything like a tornado last night,”

“Are you seriously telling me that you think one man did all this?!” Clara asked.

“He’s not a man,” Mike said. There was a beat of silence before Clara replied.

“You know they’re not much different than you and me if you bothered to get to know one,” she said defensively.

“Clara,” Dearborn said, taking a softer tone. “You’re a good girl. I’d hate to see you go down this path.”

“Well lucky for you, Sheriff Dearborn, no one’s forcing you to watch,” she said, walking towards her car. “Now if y’all will excuse me, I gotta go.”

She got into her car, turned the ignition, and backed up and out of the driveway, very aware that they were staring at her as she drove off. She knew she probably did more harm than good by arguing with them.

Clara walked through the front door of her Gran’s farmhouse. It had been clear that Adele had been working all day. Not a single book, trinket, or blanket out of place. The house was cluttered, but neat. There were things that had been gifted and collected over the years. Sheet music at the piano that Adele sometimes liked to play; a handmade quilt folded over the back of an overstuffed armchair; a Bible that had been passed down through the family. Adele was vacuuming the area rug, running over it several times to make sure there wasn’t a spec of dirt.

“You know he sleeps on the ground. I don't think he’s gonna care all that much,” Clara said as she leaned against the wall.

Adele turned off the vacuum and turned around to see her. “Oh I’m not doing this for him, I’m doing it for me! So I can be proud of my home,” she said. “And how do you know where he sleeps?”

“I don’t, actually,” Clara said with a giggle. The house smelled of cleaner and apple candles but there was something else. Something small. Something rotting. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?” Adele said, looking around trying to find the one thing it could be

“Like…something rotting? Like rotting food,” Clara said.

“Well, find it,” Adele said. Clara walked over to the piano. Under the bench was the source of the smell…a small crumb of cracker. She picked it up.

“You don’t…smell that?” Clara said slowly. Adele shook her head, looking alarmed. “I’ll just throw this out.”

On the way out of the living room Adele said, “Oh, Sam and Ruby are gonna be there tonight as well.”

“Gran…” Clara whined. Sam and Ruby would just ruin the whole mood. Especially Sam, who would most definitely play the big brother card.

“Well! Sam said he wanted to meet the vampire for himself and Ruby said she might as well come too,” Adele said.

“Why is everyone making such a big deal over a stupid vampire?” Clara pouted, crossing her arms. She didn’t like being treated like a small child. At 25 years old she didn’t feel like she needed anyone’s approval on who she dated. Except, maybe, her Gran.

“Did you want to be alone with him?” Adele asked quietly. Although she wanted to protect Clara, she didn’t want to push her away.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Clara said sheepishly. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to be careful?”

Adele smiled in complete and total confidence in her granddaughter. “You’re always careful about what counts, Clara.”

****

Twilight brought anticipation and tension as everyone gathered to wait for Jake to arrive. Clara had picked out a simple white summer dress and clipped her curled hair back. She sat on a stool with Sam and Ruby in the kitchen. The air was thick with tension and Jake hadn’t even arrived yet.

“I’m just saying,” Sam said, twisting the cap off a beer and taking a swig. “You want a vampire sucking blood outta you?”

“I don’t know? I’m just trying to get to know the man, that’s all,” Clara said defensively. It seemed all she was doing these days was defending herself and her choices and she was about at her wits end.

“That’s where it’s gonna end up, always does,” Sam said definitely.

Clara scoffed. “And what do you know about vampires?”

“More than I’d like to!” Sam snapped.

“Oh please, Sam, shut the hell up,” Clara said, getting off the stool and walking out of the kitchen. Her anxiety was buzzing around in her body like a swarm of bees. She opened the front door and stepped out. She grabbed the porch boom that was leaning against the house and began sweeping in an effort to calm her nerves. She was looking down, not paying attention to her surroundings, not paying attention to how dark it had gotten.

She turned around to sweep the dirt off the porch and almost ran into Jake, who had quietly stepped onto the porch.

“Jesus, I hate when you do that,” Clara said as she clutched her chest.

“I’m sorry I’ll try not to again,” Jake said, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

“Well, since you’re already here,” she said, turning around. He reached past her and opened the screen door to allow her in. She turned around to usher him inside but he didn’t move. “What is it?”

“You have to invite me in,” he said. “Otherwise it’s physically impossible for me to enter a mortal’s home.”

“That’s so weird!” Clara giggled. “Come on, try!”

“I can’t,” Jake said. “I can’t even try, it's impossible.”

She gestured with her hand and said “Oh, Jake , would you please come in?”

Jake began to walk in, but Clara stepped in front of him quickly. “So if I took back your invitation would you have to leave?”

Jake paused for a moment and said, “Yes.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” she said quietly as she stepped aside.

He gingerly walked through the threshold into the farmhouse. It was full of life and warmth and people he felt the need to impress. Clara led him into the living room, where her grandmother, brother, and best friend were waiting to greet him. Or to interrogate him, judging by the glare her brother was shooting Jake’s way.

Clara and Jake sat across from Ruby and Sam while Adele passed around sandwiches she had made for her guests.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” Jake said when she got to him. There was a brief pause before she realized her mistake.

“Oh, right! How silly of me!” She laughed as she sat the tray down on the table. She made herself comfortable in the chair next to him, eager to learn more about his life.

“So your family was from around here?” She asked.

“Yes, the Comptons,” Jake said politely, trying to ignore the irritated stares from the other couch.

“Well I’m afraid old Jesse Compton died last year,” Adele said.

“That’s why I’m here,” Jake explained. “If the VRA passes and I suspect it will-“

“Yeah I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Sam interjected. The tension in the room was thick. “Some people don’t think that you deserve special rights.”

“They’re the same rights that you have,” Jake said firmly.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sam said, sitting up in his seat. “There’s a reason things are the way they are.”

“It’s called injustice,” Jake said darkly.

“It’s called this is how we do it!” Sam said, his voice raising. He leaned forward, ready to pounce.

“Sam! This is my house and you will treat others with respect!” Adele said. Her eyes were sharp and her lips thinned, a stern warning in of itself. Sam sat back in his chair, pouting like a little boy.

Adele turned to Jake, ready to move on with the conversation. She smiled sweetly. “Did you know the Stackhouses?”

Jake thought for a moment, then replied, “Yes! I was 16 when Jonas and his family moved here. Bon Temps was just a dirt road. Is this the house he built? At least in part?”

“Yes, it is!” Adele said, completely enamored and charmed by Jake.

Ruby had been silent up until that point, sitting low on the couch, observing Jake with critical eyes. So it was a surprise when she said loudly, “Did you own slaves?”

“No, I did not,” Jake said firmly. “That wasn’t something I believed in.”

“Hmm,” Ruby crossed her arms and said nothing further.

“What did you do for work?” Adele asked, ready to change the subject.

“Well, I was a farmer,” Jake said, thinking back to his human life. “But then, that got boring, so I left for New Orleans and sailed as a pirate under Jean Lafaye.”

“Oh that is fascinating!” Adele said. “I can’t wait for you to speak at our historical society!”

“I would be honored to,” Jake said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I was hoping to take Clara on a stroll?”

“It’s alright with me if it’s alright with Clara,” Adele said, looking to Clara for her approval. Clara nodded.

Sam stood up, chest puffed out, “Now I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Clara spoke up her patience with Sam running out, “I don’t think it’s any of your business!”

Before Sam could respond, Adele interjected, “She’s right, Sam!”

“I’m the man in this family!”

“You are a man in this family! I’m the oldest and this is my house! You better respect me, boy!” Adele said. Jake stood up and came up behind her.

“Actually, I think I’m the oldest,” he said with a smile. He was trying to defuse the situation the best he could. Adele laughed while Sam mocked him behind his back. Clara stood up as well, fitting her hand so neatly in his and let him lead her out.

Clara felt almost clumsy walking along with him as he seemed to glide with ease. The mood away from the others was much lighter, much easier.

“I visited the Whites’ trailer today,” Clara said. Jake met her gaze with a strange look, like he wasn’t used to someone directly speaking to him about his power.

“I told you I was strong,” Jake said in a measured tone. He wasn’t quite sure how she felt. She seemed calm, at the very least.

“I didn’t quite gauge the extent of your strength,” she said.

“The older we get the stronger we are,” Jake explained. “And the more skilled we get at hiding what we’ve done.”

“Well you should remember for next time, tornadoes hop. They don’t just land in one spot,” Clara said smiling. “Have you…killed a lot of people?”

Jake thought for a moment about whether or not he should lie. He lied. “A few by accident when I was first turned. I tried not to. But now, we have Tru Blood, the blood bank in Monroe, and I can glamor people into letting me feed for love.”

As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the familiar dog from the Kiszkas bar. A dog that was more than he seemed, who was way too invested in the conversation they were having. He turned his attention back to Clara as she spoke.

“Did you feed on the Whites?” She asked.

“Yes, after you drank my blood. You drank a lot of it,” Jake said. “I had to get my strength back.

“What will it do to me?” Clara asked. She felt like she already knew the answers.

“Well, you’ll have keener senses,” Jake said. Clara thought about the sausage from that morning and how incredible it tasted, how she could smell the piece of cracker in the living room that was smaller than her fingernail. But there was more.

“What else?” She pressed. She could feel her core pulsating. She could feel the systems in her body working. Truly, she had never felt more alive.

“Your uh…libido will be stronger,” Jake said awkwardly. “And I’ll be able to feel you from now on. So anytime you need me or you’re in trouble I can get there more quickly.”

Clara could sense from his eyes that he hoped maybe that last part would bring her a small point of comfort. But it didn’t. In fact, knowing that he could sense her did the exact opposite. She walked ahead of him, needing a moment to process the information she was given.

They walked through the rusted gates of the cemetery between their houses. It was the most comforting area of Bon Temps for Clara. In the overgrown grass of the old graves she spent her days looking at the headstones, wondering what their lives were like, what their hopes and dreams were. She’d walk to the newer, better kept areas and sit down at her parents’ headstones, telling them about her life. It was truly the most peaceful place to get, where the world wasn’t constantly buzzing. Or thinking.

“You mentioned glammoring, what’s that? Like hypnosis?” Clara asked finally after several minutes of silence. Jake was grateful for the question, he was starting to feel as if he blew it.

“Similar. All humans are susceptible to it,” Jake said. Clara thought through all their time together, trying to piece together if she felt like she was in control the whole time.

Clara stopped suddenly and turned to him. “Have you done it to me?”

“What? No!” Jake said as if the question was offensive. Deep down he knew it wasn’t. “And I never will.”

“Really? Try it!” She squared up to him, ready for him to hit her with it.

“No. I don’t feel comfortable with that,” Jake began to walk away.

“Scared?” Clara said. She was smirking. He stopped and turned to her. He stared at her intently and started walking towards her.

“Clara,” he said, focusing all his attention and energy on getting into her mind. On controlling her.

“Yes?” She said breathlessly.

“Do you feel my influence?” He asked. She stared at him blankly for a moment, as if she wasn’t thinking at all.

Then she laughed hard. “No! No, not a bit.”

Jake was confused as she continued to laugh. He hadn’t failed at glammoring someone since he was a baby vampire. “This is very strange!”

“What’s the matter?” She said playfully, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. “Upset you can’t control me. That’s not a very attractive trait, Jake!”

Jake let her pull him and commented quietly, “you’re not like other humans. You’re not very squeamish about vampires.”

Clara stopped and turned to him, completely serious and sincere. “Who am I to be squeamish towards anyone for being different?”

Clara thought back to when she was 7 years old. Her and Sam were playing in the sprinkler outside and she went to sit in front of her mom on a towel. Her mom looked worried and she began thinking about how they were gonna pay their mortgage, how they were gonna make it through the week. Sweet Clara offered to bust open her piggy bank to help them.

This led to tests in which she was asked to tell the psychiatrist what the psychiatrist was thinking. When she said it correctly, her parents were told that she had ADD. But they knew. Her parents knew.

Her parents passed in a flash flood when she was 8, leaving her to be raised by her Gran.

They reached the end of the cemetery and walked through a small field towards a large house in the distance. It was a faded and dirty white and window shutters were broken on the ground. The wrap around porch was missing some boards. But still, one of the prettiest houses Clara had ever seen.

“Wow, you live here?” Clara asked. Jake nodded, a proud smile etched into his face.

“I’ve been doing renovations myself but I can’t get an electrician to call me back,” Jake said.

“I’ll call around for you!” Clara saud.

Jake paused for a moment looking at the woman before him. She was beautiful, practically glowing in the light of the moon. He stepped forward and said, “Take the clip out of your hair.”

Clara reached back and pulled out the clip that was keeping her hair out of her face. She pulled it down and separated the curls so it framed her face perfectly. Jake reached up and touched her cheek with his cold hand, caressing it ever so slightly. Clara moved closer, closing the space between them.

The kiss started slowly, then deepened with passion that took over their bodies. Jake tangled a hand in Clara’s hair while she grabbed onto his hip, pushing him closer towards her. There was a hunger, a deep longing that they communicated through their bodies.

Then as quickly as it had started, Jake pulled away. Clara opened her eyes and almost jumped. His fangs were jutting out of his mouth. He turned away out of embarrassment but also out of a need to control the impulses that were urging him to do his worst.

“I-I think I should take you back to your grandmother’s,” he said in a low voice.

Clara nodded her head, not sure of what to do or what was happening. In these moments she wished her telepathy worked on vampires. “Alright.”

They didn’t speak much on the way back, the only sounds were the cicadas and the rustling of leaves. As they approached the old farmhouse, Jake turned to Clara, his demeanor much more relaxed now that his fangs had retracted.

“I hope you know that I would never hurt you,” Jake assured her.

“I believe you,” Clara said.

Clara grabbed both of his hands and gave Jake a sweet kiss. Not enough to set him off, but just enough for him to know that she wasn’t scared. She let go and walked up to the farmhouse, where her grandmother was waiting to make sure she got home alright.

****

Dawn primped her hair in the mirror above her dresser and made sure her jewelry was just the way she liked her. Her work uniform, a form fitting white Kiszkas tshirt and a pair of black shorts, hugged her body just right. She was almost done, but he kept begging her to stay.

“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t ya like me?”

Dawn looked at Sam through the mirror as she was applying her lip gloss and smirked. They had spent the morning in bed, finding new ways to make each other cum. She had him tied up to the headboard with her scarves, waiting for her to come back and continue the fun.

“Oh of course I like you, Sam. I wouldn’t tie just any man to my bed,” she said, stepping back and smoothing out her shirt.

“So? Call in sick, Josh won’t mind,” Sam said while checking out her ass in her black shorts.

“Ok one, Josh would mind,” she said. She turned around and sauntered towards the bed. “Second, we’ve already had sex like three times today. At this rate we’ll burn out by the end of the week.”

She got down to his level, face to face and said in a soft voice, “you’re gonna get all weird and closed off and I’ve already been down that road with you, baby.”

“But I’m horny,” he whined.

“Well I’ll be back by midnight,” she said with a smile.

“Hey wait,” he said, realizing what she meant. “You’re not gonna leave me like this?!”

She giggled and gave him soft kisses, “You should count yourself lucky that’s all I’m doing to you.”

She got up and grabbed her purse and walked out. “Consider it foreplay.”

“Foreplay? No this isn’t-“ he heard the door shut- “this isn’t funny!” He heard the car turn on as he pulled on the scarves trying to get out “DAWN?! Goddamnit! Bitch!”

****

“Sugar, get me another side car,” the middle aged woman’s speech was slurred as she swayed ever so slightly in her bar stool. Ruby turned around, narrowly avoiding one of the cooks delivering beers to the small fridge behind the bar.

“Jane, you’re drunk,” Ruby said in a low voice as she leaned over the bar. She had no patience for drunks, especially ones who relied on their kids to clean them up. “Ain’t none of these men you’ve been flirting with gonna take you home and we’ll have to call your son to pick you up, even though it humiliates him to death.”

Jane’s smile faded, “What did you say to me?”

“I said any particular brand of cognac?” Ruby said loudly, turning towards the rows of bottles.

“Anything that’s good and cheap,” Jane said softly. As Ruby started making her drink, Josh came from the back.

“Ruby, I told you where you can buy a uniform,” Josh said, sliding past her.

“How come you don’t wear a uniform?” Ruby asked pointedly.

“Because I own the place and I can wear what I want to,” Josh said, annoyed.

“Then how come Terry Bellfleur don’t wear a uniform?” Ruby asked loudly as she poured orange juice in the mixer.

“I’ve worn enough uniforms,” the cook said. Terry was a quiet, nice guy, a marine veteran with PTSD.

“Nah,” Ruby said as she finished making the drink. “It’s because Josh don’t feel the need to sexualize the men in his employment like he does the women.”

Josh rolled his eyes and sighed, deciding this was a battle he wasn’t gonna fight. “Fine, you don’t have to wear a uniform.”

“Thank you,” Ruby said, smiling.

“Remind me why I hired you again?” Josh asked.

“DEI,” Ruby said, sitting the drink down in front of Jane, who sheepishly picked it up. Terry laughed behind her.

Clara was at the other end of the bar, taking an order from a group of young guys. One in particular was eyeing her and making it very difficult to concentrate on her job.

“So, loaded skins and a pitcher of bud, anything else?” She asked with a smile.

You can serve those skins off those perfect titties, there’s nothing I love more than licking food off a girl’s tits

Clara turned around trying to get away from him.

That’s a fine lookin ass too- he grabbed her ass but as she turned to respond, Rene came up from behind the guy, twisted his arm and pushed his shoulder on the table.

“Gonna let go of the lady, you?” Rene said calmly. “Or do you want me to knock you into next week?”

“Damn it, you’re about to break my arm!” The guy said breathlessly.

“Apologize to the lady,” Rene said. The guy looked up to Clara and muttered an apology. Rene let him go.

“Maybe go find someone else to eat, yeah?” He said. It was a command, not a question. The young man and his friends slid out of their booth, none of them making eye contact with Clara or Rene.

“You should’ve let me handle that myself!” Clara exclaimed.

“Nah, Kiszkas is a nice place. We’d like to keep it that way, yeah?” Rene said. He walked up to her and brushed her hair out of her eye. “Besides, you remind me of my baby sister, you. I hope to god someone would stick up for her if some asshole ever did her that way.”

Clara didn’t know what to say. With everything that just happened her mind was going a mile a minute. She turned around and quickly walked to the back. Tammy was back there as well, her back turned to the dining room.

“Tammy tell Rene I said thank you for dealing with those guys. I was so flustered I think I seemed ungrateful,” Clara said. Tammy didn’t hear her, she was too deep in her own thoughts.

Oh lord please let me get my period soon! Rene wants one of his own but I don’t think I’m ready yet.

Against all of Clara’s good sense she went up to Tammy and engulfed her in a hug. Tammy immediately pulled out of it.

“Were you listening to my thoughts?” She asked angrily.

“I’m sorry, I’m just not real focused tonight,” Clara said. Tammy didn’t want to hear it.

“My private thoughts are none of your business!” Tammy stormed off. Before Clara could process everything, Josh called her into his office.

“I swear I try not to listen but I can’t always keep my guard up,” she said, sitting on an ottoman.

Josh wasn’t angry, he was empathetic. He leaned against his desk and asked, “Is it true you can’t hear the vampire’s thoughts at all?”

Clara paused, wondering how in the hell he knew that, but answered nonetheless, “That’s right.”

“God, that must be very relaxing for you,” Josh said, sitting down in the desk chair. “Not having work so hard not to hear.”

“Yes,” Clara said softly. Truthfully she was a little confused by the entire conversation.

“Can you hear me?” Josh asked curiously.

“I don’t want to hear you,” Clara said.

“Come on, why?”

“I’d have to quit if I read your mind and I like it here!” Clara said.

“You wouldn’t have to quit-“

“Josh, I’ve had to quit every job I’ve had because I could hear my bosses thoughts,” she said.

“You might be surprised at what you find,” he said, smiling.

“Not all surprises are good!”

“You should try it sometime!” Josh said as he put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you have a job here as long as you want it.”

Clara could feel the tension between them. He was so sweet, so open, but he was first and foremost her boss. She nervously excused herself and headed back into the dining room, with him wondering if he completely blew it or not.

As Clara walked by the kitchen, Lafayette yelled out for her, “Baby girl, don’t let nothing get you down.”

She walked back, “Don’t let what get me down?”

He gave her a smile as if he knew her troubles, her worries, her anxiety, “Don’t let nothin’ get you down. It’s the only way to live.”

Ruby filled a pitcher of beer as Dawn waited for it. She brought it over and set it on the bar, “How’s Sam?”

Dawn laughed, “Probably pissed off at me right now. Hell he probably deserves it.”

“You know I have to say,” Ruby said, leaning against the bar. “I’m surprised yall got back together.”

“No more than I am, baby, believe me,” Dawn said with a smile, picking up the pitcher.

“Think it’s gonna last?” Ruby asked.

Dawn cocked her head to the side, suspicious as to why Ruby cared, “Is there a reason you wanna know?”

“No, ever since I’ve been friends with Clara I’ve just gotten a kick outta watching his escapades with women, you know,” Ruby said, brushing it off.

“Mmhm, sorta,” Dawn said with a sly smile as she turned away.

“God only knows what happened to my tables,” Clara muttered to herself as she walked behind the bar. The television was turned onto the news and it caught her eye.

It was about a traffic accident on the interstate. But that wasn’t the interesting part. The interesting part is that among the casualties were the pastor she watched on the news that morning, his wife, and their child. Her blood ran cold, and she was determined to ask Jake about it when she saw him after work.

****

Clara pulled up to the Compton house, numbers in hand for electricians that would work for Jake. As she got out she saw an older car with the license plate “FANGS1” on it. It was almost laughable how corny it was. Still, she paused, wondering if she could go inside. But if Jake knew them, they must not be bad…right?

Old music was so loud inside that she could hear it. As she approached the door, her anxiety grew. She lifted her fist, but the door opened before she could knock.

It wasn’t Jake. A beautiful woman in a short, revealing dress answered. Hair big, like she had stepped out of 1975. She leaned against the door, popping her hip out so she took up the entire frame.

“Well hey there, little human chick,” she said seductively.

“Hi, I’m here to drop off some information for an electrician for Jake Compton? Is he here?” Clara said with all the strength she could muster.

“Maybe,” the vampire said. Another vampire, not Jake, came up from behind her. An older male with a ponytail and a silk red shirt on and a thick southern accent.

“She smells fresh,” he said as the lady vampire laughed. They both let down their fangs.

Clara took a shaky step back, too late.

There was third behind her, bald headed with a strange spinal tattoo and blood dripping from his mouth. His fangs were drawn as well. They all hissed and slowly approached her, ready to devour.

They closed in slow and deliberate, like cats circling a mouse.

Clara froze. This wasn’t a drop off. It was a trap and she’d just walked into their den.

Clara Stackhouse was in deep, deep shit.

[gretavangroupie]

Petrichor - III

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Angst, Touching, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, and More.

Listen to the Playlist: Apple Music

A/N: Thank you. More soon.

It starts with a headline.

You’re in line at a coffee shop in the East Village, airpods in, scarf knotted high against the February wind, when you glance at the TV mounted in the corner above the espresso machine. The sound is off, but the words stop you cold.

Greta Van Fleet to Perform on Fallon — Live from NYC This Week

The camera cuts to a clip from an old performance, Josh wailing into the mic, Danny and Sam holding down the rhythm, and Jake. Jake in black, hair wild, eyes narrowed, fingers flying across the fretboard like he’s trying to conjure lightning.

Your chest goes tight.

He’s here.

In the city.

For a second, your first instinct is to text him. You even pull your phone out of your coat pocket. But what would you say? ‘Hey, saw you on TV. Want to meet up between soundcheck and fame?’

Still, something in you stirs. Something louder than pride. You send the message.

Saw the announcement. You’re in New York?

He doesn’t reply right away. But he does reply.

Yeah. Flew in last night. Filming tonight.

Your heart thuds hard. You bite your lip. Then type.

Want to get coffee? Or something.

The typing dots appear. Then disappear. Then come back.

Yeah. I want to.

You stare at the screen, hopeful as he types.

But it’s chaos. Label stuff, press junkets, rehearsal. They’ve got us back-to-back until the taping. I’m sorry.

You stare at the message for a long time. Then reply.

It’s okay. I get it.

But the ache in your chest says otherwise. 

Later that night, curled up on your couch in your small Brooklyn apartment, you flip the channel and watch the performance. He’s dazzling.

Confident. Electric. Everything you knew him to be when no one else was watching. But now everyone is watching. And none of them know what his voice sounds like first thing in the morning. How he sleeps with one arm flung over his eyes. How he holds you tighter when it rains. You tell yourself this is what it was always going to be, two lives orbiting too close to avoid the pull, but too far to ever settle.

Still, when he steps forward during the solo, head thrown back, hair falling in his eyes, you swear, just for a second, he looks right into the camera.

And it feels like looking at you.

—

You’re still half-awake when the phone rings.

2:07 AM.

Your first thought is, Emergency.

Your second is, Jake.

You fumble for your phone on the nightstand, heart already pounding. And when you see his name on the screen, it doesn’t stop.

You hesitate, then swipe to answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause on the other end. You hear street noise, distant laughter. A car door slamming. Wind through the receiver.

“Hey.”

His voice is quiet. Hoarse. Like he’s been yelling over loud music or smoking too much. Or both.

“Jake,” you breathe, sitting up. “Is everything okay?”

Another pause.

“Yeah. I mean… no. I don’t know.”

You close your eyes. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere in Midtown. Just left the after party.”

You picture him walking the streets in his stage clothes, hair tousled from the lights and sweat, eyeliner still smudged beneath his eyes. Alone.

“I should’ve called you earlier,” he says, words rushing now. “I wanted to. I meant to. I kept thinking I’d have time. But it was all cameras and handlers and meetings and they kept pulling me in different directions. And I just…” He trails off.

You sit in the dark, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I should’ve asked to see you the second the plane landed.”

The ache behind your ribs pulses. “I wanted to see you too,” you admit softly.

He exhales. “I figured you did. But I didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want to make it harder.”

“Holding back made it harder.”

There’s silence for a long moment. The kind that hums with everything neither of you is saying.

“I’m only in town for today,” he says eventually. “We fly to Toronto tomorrow morning. I—I don’t even know what I’m asking. I just didn’t want to leave without hearing your voice.”

You close your eyes. His voice wraps around you like a thread being pulled tight.

“I’m glad you called,” you say, and it’s the truth.

He swallows. “Can I see you?”

Your breath hitches. “Now?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless you’re asleep or it’s too late or—fuck. It’s too late, isn’t it?”

You should say yes. It is too late. But your hand is already reaching for your sweater.

“I’m awake,” you murmur. “Text me the address.”

Another heartbeat. 

“Okay.”

And just like that, the call ends. A second later, your screen lights up with a location pin. You stare at it, pulse thrumming in your throat. Then you stand. You brush your hair back and pull on jeans and a jacket. You tell yourself this doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

You’re already halfway to the door when you realize you didn’t even put on shoes.

—

The car drops you off in front of the kind of hotel you wouldn’t normally walk into unless you were meeting someone famous, or running straight into your past.

You stand there for a second under the awning, watching the city reflect off the gold trimmed glass doors. Your stomach twists. You haven’t seen him in almost a year. You told yourself you were over it, over him, but suddenly it all feels too close again. Too unfinished.

The lobby is quiet, just a pair of night staff at the front desk and a security guard by the elevators. It smells like clean linen and wood polish, and the marble floors echo with every cautious step you take.

You text him when you reach the elevator.

I’m here.

The elevator dings open a second later, and you step in alone. Floor 23.

You keep your eyes on the glowing numbers as they climb, heart rattling behind your ribs. When the doors finally slide open, the hallway is silent. 

His door is cracked.

Not enough to invite you in, but just enough to say he’s watching. Waiting. You lift your hand and push it open and there he is.

Jake.

Barefoot, in black jeans and a white t-shirt, hair longer than it was the last time you saw him, but cleaner somehow, neater, like he gave up trying to look like he didn’t care. There’s a small hoop in each ear you don’t remember. A few new rings. A line of muscle down his forearm that wasn’t there before. He looks grown in a way that hurts.

And the moment his eyes land on you, something in his expression flickers. Like relief or maybe disbelief. Like he’s seeing a ghost that he used to touch.

“You…” he starts, but it trails off.

You shift under his gaze, suddenly aware of everything you changed about yourself since you saw him last. Your hair, your posture, the way you carry yourself now like a person who wrote something real and put it out into the world. He takes it all in, and his throat moves like he’s trying to swallow a sentence. Neither of you moves.

Then, he takes a step forward. You do too.

He pulls you in, arms wrapping around your back like he never plans to let go. Your fingers fist into the soft cotton of his shirt. He smells like clean skin and expensive hotel soap, and something beneath it that hasn’t changed. Something familiar. Something Jake.

You stay like that for a long time, both of you silent, breathing each other in. Then he murmurs into your hair, “You cut it.”

You lean back just slightly, enough to see him. “You grew yours out.”

His lips quirk at one corner, but there’s something hesitant in his eyes. “You look incredible.”

“You too,” you say, a little hoarse. “You look… tired.”

He chuckles, low and embarrassed. “That obvious?”

You shrug. “I know what late nights and afterparties do to you.”

That makes him laugh softly. “You’re still you, aren’t you…”

You arch a brow. “You still playing the martyr?”

He groans and pulls you back into him. “God, I missed your mouth.”

There’s tension still, humming under the reunion. Not just sexual, though that’s there too, but emotional. He feels different under your hands, but he’s still him. The way his chest moves when he breathes. The warmth of his hands on your back. You know this and it terrifies you.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually come,” he admits.

“I didn’t know if I’d want to,” you reply.

His hand slides down your arm, fingers brushing yours. “Do you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“Fair.”

You look up at him. His eyes are softer than you remember. Or maybe just more vulnerable.

“I didn’t call you for a second chance, Y/N,” he says. “I just didn’t want to leave this city without… seeing you again. With my own eyes.”

Your throat tightens. You nod, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Can I offer you a drink you won’t finish and a hotel room you won’t stay in?” he asks, lips twitching in that familiar half grin.

You laugh, wiping your cheek. “You got any bad wine?”

“Only the worst,” he deadpans, backing toward the minibar.

You follow, but slower. The distance between you has changed, but the gravity hasn’t. It’s still pulling you in. It’s only a matter of time before one of you lets it happen.

—

The wine sits unopened on the table between you.

You’re perched at the edge of the hotel’s oversized couch, legs tucked under you, jacket still on. Jake is beside you, one arm draped across the back cushion, fingers idly curling and uncurling like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

The silence between you is familiar. Not comfortable exactly, but intimate. The kind that’s heavy with everything that hasn’t been said yet.

“You’ve been quiet,” you say softly.

“So have you.”

“I think I’m scared to talk too much,” you admit, eyes fixed on the rim of your glass. “Like I might ruin the fact that we’re actually sitting in the same room again.”

Jake leans forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not going to ruin it.”

You glance at him, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is. What it’s supposed to be.”

“Neither do I.”

“But it still feels like something.”

He nods, slowly. “Yeah. It does.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Then he turns his head, eyes locked to yours, and asks quietly, “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question is so direct it makes your breath catch.

You shake your head. “No. I’ve been… focused. Busy. And maybe a little ruined, if I’m being honest.”

He swallows. “Same.”

You study him. The quiet behind his eyes. The weight of his voice.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your tone delicate. “Because if there’s someone—”

“There isn’t,” he says, sharper than intended. Then softens. “There hasn’t been anyone since you.”

Your heart twists. “Jake…”

He reaches for your hand, brushes his thumb across your knuckles. “I didn’t come here to confuse you. I just—”

“You just couldn’t not.”

His mouth lifts slightly. “Yeah.”

The room stills around you. And then, with a slow, careful shift, he closes the distance. He doesn’t lunge, doesn’t pull you in, he just moves closer, breath grazing your cheek.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low, almost hoarse.

You nod. “Yes. Just… slow.”

“Of course.” His hand rises, tentative, brushing your jaw with the backs of his fingers. You lean into the touch before you even realize it, eyes fluttering shut. His thumb skims the corner of your mouth.

Then finally, he kisses you.

You shift, rising up on your knees so your body presses more fully to his. His hands slide under your jacket, fingertips grazing your waist through the thin fabric of your shirt. When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are dark and unreadable, searching yours.

“We don’t have to,” he says, voice rough. “If this is just…”

But you shake your head, silencing him with a kiss, firmer this time.

“I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t stopped wanting to.”

Then Jake rises, hands curling around your thighs, and pulls you gently into his lap. You straddle him on the couch, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, your hands braced on his shoulders. Your foreheads touch again, breath mingling in the small space between you.

“This okay?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

His hands slide up your back, slow and steady. He peels off your jacket, your shirt, baring inch by inch. 

“You’re even more beautiful now,” he says.

“You’re biased.”

“I may be,” he corrects, smiling faintly. “But not blind.”

You laugh softly, leaning forward to kiss him again. The tension melts, gives way to something deeper. The kind of warmth that spreads low and slow, winding through your veins like heat in the winter.

You feel him growing hard beneath you as your hips begin to move, slow and deliberate. The friction makes both of you gasp quietly. But neither of you rushes it. This is a reintroduction. This is a promise not to forget how it felt to be close.

“Still want to go slow?” Jake breathes against your throat, kissing the soft skin there.

You smile. “I want to feel everything.”

“Then let me give you everything.”

You nod, and as your hands tug at the hem of his shirt, you realize something important. This isn’t the beginning. It’s not the end, either.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs into your neck, voice husky. “Missed you.”

You grind your hips down, slow, letting him feel just how warm and ready you are, even through the layers of denim. He groans low in his throat, head dropping to your collarbone.

“I think about this more than I should,” you whisper, fingertips slipping under the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his torso. “More than’s probably healthy.”

“Tell me,” he says, leaning back so you can lift his shirt over his head. “What do you think about?”

You bite your lip, pretending to consider as you rake your eyes down his chest. “How your hands felt on me. That first morning in the cabin. How you looked when you were buried inside me, like nothing else in the world existed.”

Jake exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips. “Fuck.”

“You said you haven’t been with anyone since,” you say, brushing your lips along his jaw.

He turns into your mouth, kisses you harder. “I haven’t. Couldn’t. No one’s you.”

Your hand slides down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. “So you’ve just been waiting?”

“For this,” he says, meeting your gaze. “For you.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, teasing. “You gonna make it worth the wait?”

He smiles, all heat and hunger. “Take your pants off and find out.”

You stand slowly, unbuttoning your jeans, not breaking eye contact. His gaze tracks every movement, languid and hungry. You slide them down your hips, underwear with them, and toss them to the side. Jake’s tongue slips over his bottom lip, and he groans.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You step between his knees and tug at his jeans. “Lie back.”

He does, reclined against the plush hotel couch, arms behind his head like he’s surrendering. You pull his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his black briefs, and even through the fabric, he’s hard, impossibly so.

You straddle him again, letting the heat of your bare center press against him. His eyes flutter shut.

“Please,” he whispers, breath catching.

You grind again, slow, lazy, slick against the cotton of his briefs. He curses under his breath and grips your hips like he’s holding back from flipping you over right there.

You lean down, lips grazing his ear. “Still want slow?”

His eyes open. “Want you. Any way I can have you.”

You reach between your bodies, slide your hand under the waistband, and wrap your fingers around him. He’s hot, thick, and pulsing in your grip. His jaw clenches hard.

“Take ‘em off,” you murmur, already moving to kiss his neck.

He shoves the briefs down and kicks them off. You settle back into his lap, lining him up, teasing the head of him against your entrance.

Jake looks up at you, completely undone. “Don’t tease me.”

“You deserve it.”

“I deserve you.” His voice is rough now. “So let me have you.”

You sink down slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated inside you. You both go still, breathing hard, eyes locked.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, thighs trembling.

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your nipples. “You feel so good. Better than I remembered.”

You start to move, rolling your hips, and his head falls back against the cushion. “Fuck, just like that,” he growls. “Keep going. Let me watch you.”

You ride him slow, then faster, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his hands guiding your rhythm. Every movement sends sparks up your spine, your body already burning.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs. “Look at you, fuck. You’re mine like this.”

You moan and lean down to kiss him, hot and wet, tongues sliding together. He thrusts up into you now, deeper, harder, hitting exactly where you need it. You break the kiss with a cry.

“Jake, don’t stop–”

“I won’t,” he growls, gripping your ass and driving up into you again. “You’re so close. I can feel you clenching around me. Let go, baby.”

Your body arches, the orgasm ripping through you hard enough to shake. You cry out, grinding against him, clutching his chest like you’re afraid you might shatter.

Jake watches, awe in his eyes. “That’s it. Fuck. You’re so beautiful.”

He flips you then, gently, but quickly, laying you back against the couch, still inside you. He kisses your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. “Can I come inside you?” he whispers. “Please.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Jake.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before he groans, spilling into you, hips grinding deep, mouth pressed to your shoulder. His entire body trembles with the force of it, and for a moment, everything stills.

Just breath. Just skin. Just you and him. He collapses beside you, one hand finding yours between the couch cushions. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

He turns his head to face you. “I never stopped.”

You thread your fingers through his. “What now?”

Jake’s eyes search yours. “I don’t know. But this… this isn’t over. Not if I have any say in it.”

And in that quiet space, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you believe him.

Even if morning still looms.

—

You’re wrapped in a cocoon of hotel sheets when you feel a hand stroke gently down your back.

Then the softest whisper against your shoulder. “Hey. Wake up.”

You make a low sound of protest, burying your face into the pillow.

He chuckles softly and presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t make me leave without a proper goodbye.”

That gets your attention. You blink your eyes open, still heavy with sleep, the room barely lit by the gray of early morning. Jake is leaning over you, shirtless, hair still a little damp from a quick shower, already dressed in jeans and his favorite boots.

Your stomach twists. “What time is it?” you murmur, sitting up slowly, the sheet slipping from your bare chest.

He lets his eyes drag over you one last time and exhales through his nose, like it physically hurts to pull away.

“Too early. My flight to Toronto leaves in a couple hours. Van’s downstairs.”

You nod, trying to swallow the ache in your throat. “Right.”

Jake reaches out, and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers at your jaw, his  thumb brushing your cheek.

“I didn’t want to leave without seeing you awake,” he says softly.

You lean into his touch, eyes searching his. “This feels unfair.”

“I know.” His voice cracks a little. “It’s not what I want either.”

There’s a soft knock at the door. Three sharp raps.

Jake sighs and stands. “That’s my brother.”

You blink. “Josh?”

“Yeah.” He glances back at you, smiling faintly. “He’s been waiting in the hallway for ten minutes. Refused to come in.”

“You told him?”

Jake hesitates at the foot of the bed. “Not everything. Just that I had someone I needed to see while we were here. He figured it out.”

You nod, pulling the sheet tighter around you as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Don’t ever doubt that.”

You catch his wrist before he can turn. “Will you call me?”

He hesitates. Just for a second. Then nods. “Yes.”

“Will you mean it?”

His lips part, but the words don’t come right away. You see the uncertainty in his eyes. The ache. The reality. The world he has to get back to.

“I’ll try.”

You nod. That’s all you can ask for. 

One last kiss. Deep, and slow, with the promise of something neither of you can name.

Then he slips out the door. And just like that, he’s gone.

—

You hear from him, at first. Not often. But just enough to make it worse.

The messages come at odd hours, late, fleeting things that land with a thud in your chest.

Toronto’s a blur. Miss the quiet.

I saw something today that reminded me of you. Thought I should tell you.

I’ve been writing again.

You reply, sometimes. You try not to say too much. You fail.

It’s raining here. I miss the cabin.

The story’s stuck. I think maybe I am too.

I can’t stop thinking, either.

But slowly, the space grows. The pauses between texts stretch further. Days. Then weeks.

You follow his tour without meaning to, secondhand glimpses on fan accounts and tagged videos, stage lights flaring off his guitar, his face caught in grainy filters and screaming crowds.

He’s dazzling. Distant. Untouchable again.

Your lives start to feel like radio signals out of sync. You tell yourself not to wait. You stop checking your phone so often. You almost believe yourself.

Then, months later, a headline catches your eye.

Greta Van Fleet to perform on the Tonight Show

Your breath hitches. You type his name into the search bar. You shouldn’t. But you do.

There he is, hair a little shorter, face sharper, confidence humming beneath his movements. A ghost and a stranger, all at once.

You don’t text him. 

But he does, the clock reading 2:14AM.

Are you awake?

Three words. That’s all. But they fracture something. You stare at them too long. 

You almost reply. You almost don’t.

I am now.

You wait as he types.

Then, he stops.

Nothing.

The silence feels familiar now. Like an old bruise. Or a closed door. And somewhere in that soft, aching pause, between the messages, the airports, the missed calls, and maybe next times, you start to wonder if timing was the only thing that ever went wrong.

—

You don’t hear from him after that.

Not for a while.

And still, he’s everywhere.

You catch pieces of him in places you wish you didn’t. In the secondhand buzz of a stage clip you weren’t looking for. In the way your chest tightens when you pass someone in the airport wearing a Greta Van Fleet hoodie. In the opening notes of a song you don’t let yourself skip anymore.

You don’t know what you’re expecting. An apology? An explanation? An invitation?

You never get one.

And still, you write. Not about him. Not directly.

But he’s there, always, between the lines. In the cadence of your sentences. In the way your main character hesitates before speaking. In the quiet spaces between chapters, where longing lurks.

You finish the book. Somehow.

It’s better than the first one. Everyone says so. Your agent cries. Your editor calls it your best work yet. They talk film rights. National tour. Glossy press. Late-night appearances.

Everyone asks what inspired it.

You never tell them.

—

You move through the next few months in a blur of airports and microphones, bookstores and tiny hotel soaps. Your calendar fills and your inbox floods. You’re grateful. Exhausted. Lonely in a way you can’t quite name.

Every so often, you open your phone and stare at the messages you never deleted and you wonder if he’s doing the same. You wonder if he regrets it, letting go without ever really saying goodbye.

Maybe he does.

Or maybe he meant to text you back, and the moment passed. Maybe the timing really was just off. Or maybe he said everything he had to say in a cabin in the woods with rain on the windows and your name still fresh on his lips.

—

It’s nearly a year later when you find yourself in Nashville. A stop on your book tour. A signing. You’ve got a sharpie in your hand and a line out the door. Your photo’s on a poster out front, a stack of hardcovers stacked beside you. You’re answering questions, thanking strangers, smiling through the ache of long days. 

You’ve done a dozen of these signings by now.

Different cities, different bookstores, different faces. But they all blur together in the same rhythm. Fluorescent lighting, stacks of books, the soft murmur of pages being opened and closed. Sharpies uncapped. Your name written again and again until it barely looks like yours anymore.

Still, Nashville feels different.

Maybe it’s the heat outside, heavy and humid, curling your hair at the edges and sticking your dress to the backs of your knees. Maybe it’s something else.

You smile through it.

You thank people for coming, for reading, for caring. You laugh when they ask where you got your inspiration. You sidestep it gracefully. You’ve gotten good at that.

They ask if it was based on a true story.

You tell them the characters are fictional, but the emotions are real.

That’s enough truth for now.

The crowd moves steadily. Readers approach with sticky notes on their pages and kind eyes. Some are nervous. A few gush. One woman cries and you try not to cry with her.

Your handler refills your water. Someone adjusts the stack of hardcovers to your right. The smell of fresh coffee wafts in from the café around the corner, and for a second, you’re back in Dunhaven, barefoot on a kitchen floor, watching rain collect on a windowpane while someone moves quietly behind you.

You blink it away.

“Who should I make this one out to?” you ask the next person in line, voice steady.

“Brooke,” she says. “And could you write something about holding on, even when it’s hard?”

You nod. “Of course.”

You write, ‘Hold on, even when it hurts. Especially then’ above your name.

There’s a lull after that. The line stretches toward the back of the store, but something shifts. You take a breath. Stretch your fingers. Glance toward the door. And that’s when you feel it.

Not recognition, not yet.

Just… a static pull. The sense of something arriving. A presence before it becomes a shape. You glance down again, try to ground yourself. But your chest tightens, suddenly too full. Your ears ring faintly, your heartbeat rushing in. Then you look up, and there he is.

Your heart stutters. Time folds in on itself.

At first, your brain doesn’t register it. Just another face in the crowd, another person waiting patiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. But something in you stills. The air changes.

It’s not until your eyes settle on his, those familiar, gold-threaded eyes, that your stomach drops.

Jake.

He’s standing in line. At your book signing. Your heart lurches like it’s trying to catch up to the moment. Like it’s forgotten how to beat for anyone else. You blink, unsure if you’re imagining him, some ghost your brain conjured from exhaustion and longing. But no, he’s real. Solid. Just a few feet away now.

He looks… different. Not completely, but noticeably. His hair is a little shorter, tucked behind his ears. He’s wearing a dark jacket over a soft gray t-shirt, something effortless but intentional. A few days’ worth of scruff covers his chin and upper lip. He looks older. Sharper. Softer, too.

He’s holding your book. He’s in your line.

You’re pretty sure your name is being called, someone trying to hand you the next copy to sign, but you can’t look away. Because he’s still beautiful. 

And now he’s here, in front of you, in a space where you never thought you’d see him.

Where you are the one behind the table. And he is the one waiting.

You tear your gaze away before he notices you staring too long. Or maybe he already has.

You look down, fast. Your hands are shaking slightly, so you press your palms to your thighs beneath the table. Breathe in. Out. Again.

You can feel your face flushing, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The book in front of you blurs. Someone says your name, twice, but it takes a second for the words to register. You manage a smile, scribble your signature and say thank you. Your voice doesn’t crack, but it feels like a miracle.

Don’t look back up.

Don’t scan the line again.

Don’t—

You do.

He hasn’t moved much. Just a few steps forward now. Still holding your book. Still watching you.

Your breath catches. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him like this. Not through a screen, not filtered through foggy memories or stage lights or imagination,but here. Tangible. You wonder if he can hear how loud your pulse is from across the room.

You wonder what he’s thinking. And somewhere in the rush of it, beneath the nerves, the confusion, the low hum of fear, you feel something else spark to life.

Hope. Stubborn and unreasonable, fragile as glass.

But still, hope.

The line moves forward.

And then he’s there. Right in front of you.

Up close, he looks even more like himself than you remembered. Not the version you saw onstage or in grainy videos. Not the one that lived in your drafts or under your skin. But him. The man who brought you coffee in the rain. Who kissed you like it was a promise. Who held you like he didn’t want to let go.

He clears his throat, just barely. “Would you sign it?”

His voice is lower than you remembered. Rougher. Like he hasn’t used it much lately.

You look down at the book. Your book. The one he’s holding. You nod slowly, trying to will your hand to work, to lift the pen, to stop shaking. “Sure,” you manage, fingers curling around the Sharpie like it’s a lifeline.

“Who should I make it out to?” you ask before you can stop yourself. It’s a reflex. A joke, maybe. 

Jake huffs a quiet laugh, one you feel more than hear. “Surprise me.”

You don’t write at first, you just look at him. His eyes are softer now, like whatever he’s carried this past year has worn him down in some places and made others glow.

“You look good,” you say before you can stop it. It slips out. Honest. 

“So do you,” he replies. He looks at you like he means it. Like it guts him a little to say it out loud. The silence stretches on again, thick with everything you’re not saying.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you whisper.

“I didn’t either,” he says. “Not until this morning.”

You press your lips together to keep them from trembling. Your pen finally touches the page.

To Jake,We never really said goodbye, did we?-Y/N

You slide the book toward him, and your fingers graze. He doesn’t pull away. He takes the book from your hands gently, his thumb brushing the edge of the page where you wrote his name. Where you told the truth in the smallest, safest way you could. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, neither of you says a word.

Then he clears his throat. “No. We didn’t,” he pauses, “You’ve got a line.”

You glance over his shoulder, more readers waiting, polite but curious. You nod slowly.

“I do.”

Jake steps back, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be around. If you want.”

Your heart stutters.

“Yeah,” you manage, the word sticking to your tongue like honey. “I do.”

He moves away quietly, slipping between shelves and toward the back of the shop, giving you space to finish. The rest of the signing passes in a blur.

You smile and thank people and scrawl your name across copies of Petrichor, but your mind drifts constantly to the man in the back of the store, tucked just out of sight. You feel him there like a magnetic field, pulling at the corner of your attention, at the thrum in your chest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the last person finally steps away and your handler announces you're done for the evening. You cap your Sharpie, flex your aching fingers, and glance toward the quiet corner of the shop.

He’s still there.

Leaning casually against the end of a shelf, book tucked under his arm, watching you with a softness that turns you to dust. You walk toward him slowly, heart in your throat. The room feels quieter now.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, like he’s trying to remember everything all at once.

“You stayed,” you murmur, a little breathless.

Jake shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t want to interrupt the show.”

You smile, tired and warm. “It wasn’t the same kind of stage.”

“No,” he says, voice low. “But you still stole it.”

You laugh then, more from nerves than anything else. “You want to get out of here?”

Jake’s smile returns, slow and sure. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

The air outside is soft with the kind of warmth that settles in your skin. Not quite summer, not quite fall, just that in-between sweetness Nashville holds close in the evenings. The streetlights flicker on one by one as you step onto the sidewalk beside Jake, the hum of traffic and distant music bleeding into the background. For a few moments, you just walk.

Neither of you rushes. There’s a quiet comfort in the silence, the shared awareness that something is happening, even if neither of you has named it yet.

Jake slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “So,” he says finally, glancing sideways at you. “Famous author now?”

You smile, soft and a little shy. “Something like that.”

“I read it,” he adds after a beat.

Your breath catches. “You did?”

He nods. “Twice.”

You look over at him, surprised. “Why?”

Jake’s mouth tilts in that way it does when he’s being honest and doesn’t quite know what to do with it. “Because the first time hurt too much. And the second time felt like coming home.”

The words hit you squarely in the chest. You don’t say anything for a minute, afraid of unraveling too soon.

Instead, you ask, “Was it weird? Reading it?”

Jake huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. A little. I didn’t expect to be in a bookstore in Cleveland and see your name on the damn front table.”

You glance over at him. “Cleveland?”

He nods. “Tour stop. Middle of the night. Couldn’t sleep. Found a 24-hour book store near the hotel and there it was. Just sitting there. You, just… sitting there.”

You exhale a shaky breath, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “And you bought it?”

“Of course I bought it. It’s a signed copy now,” he says, patting the book under his arm. “Collector’s item.”

You shake your head, laughing.

He nudges your shoulder gently with his. “You really did it, you know.”

Your voice is quieter now. “So did you.”

He looks at you and something in your chest flares bright and hot. The way he looks at you has always undone you. Even now, with a city between the past and present, he still sees the softest parts of you.

“I missed this,” he says.

“What?”

“You. The walking. The talking. The…” He trails off, mouth twitching. “The pretending we’re not both completely broken.”

You smile, even though it aches.

“Me too.”

A few more steps in silence. Then:

“You hungry?” he asks.

You glance over. “Are you offering to feed me again?”

Jake smirks. “I’m offering to catch up properly. Not a bar. Somewhere quiet. Or—” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, “—we could just go back to my place. If that’s not too weird.”

Your heart kicks and you nod. “It’s not weird.”

“You’ve never been there.”

“No,” you say, “but I want to be.”

His eyes flicker over you for a beat, full of something that feels a lot like relief.

“Alright then,” he says, unlocking the same old Jeep you remember from Dunhaven. “Let’s go home.”

The doors shut with that familiar clunk, sturdy, and little too loud in the still of the evening. He starts the engine, and the Jeep hums to life, headlights casting long beams down the quiet street.

It smells the same. Like old leather, rain-damp flannel, and something faintly woodsy that’s probably been baked into the seats from years of campouts and late-night drives. You settle into the passenger seat, watching his hands as they grip the wheel, loose and capable, a silver ring catching the light every time he turns.

Jake glances over. “You cold?”

You shake your head. “Just… thinking.”

“Risky,” he says, smirking.

You let out a soft laugh. “You have no idea.”

The windows are cracked just enough to let the air move. Nashville glows outside, neon reflections off puddles, the faint sound of a guitar spilling out of a bar as you pass. You wonder if anyone in that bar knows who’s driving the Jeep. You wonder if Jake likes being recognized.

“You live far?” you ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“Not really. Just over the river,” he says. “It’s quiet. Got a little backyard, lotta trees.”

You nod. “That sounds nice.”

“It is.” A beat passes. “I wrote a lot there. After everything. When you left I couldn't bring myself to stay.”

You glance over, watching the side of his face in the soft glow from the dash. “Lyrics?”

Jake shrugs. “Eh, I tried. Josh still does most of that. I have notebooks full of half-thoughts and melodies I can’t let go of.”

You smile faintly. “Sounds like a familiar problem.”

He chuckles, then goes quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like he’s working up to something.

“I almost texted you a hundred times.”

You look at him. “You did. A few.”

“Yeah, but I mean really texted you. Called you. Shown up.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t know what I’d say.”

“I didn’t either,” you admit. “Still don’t.”

He turns onto a quieter street. The houses here are close, dark windows throughout. His voice drops a little lower, more thoughtful. “Sometimes I’d start a message and delete it before I finished the first sentence.”

You nod. “I started writing you letters. I never sent them.”

“You still have them?”

You glance out the window, lips twitching. “Maybe.”

He smiles, the air between you hums with old warmth and fresh nerves. Then he exhales, low and soft, like he’s letting go of something heavy.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, just above a whisper.

He pulls into a gravel driveway. The headlights sweep across a modest house tucked beneath tall trees, the front porch lit by a single bulb. Cozy and quiet. He parks and cuts the engine.

Neither of you moves for a second, then he looks at you, one hand still on the gear shift.

“You ready?”

You nod, heart already racing. “Yeah. I am.”

The door creaks as he opens it, just wide enough to gesture you through.

“Watch the step,” Jake murmurs, hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you step over the threshold.

His house is dim, lit mostly by the porch light spilling through the windows and a small lamp in the corner. It smells like cedar and clean laundry and something vaguely herbal, like he lit incense hours ago and forgot about it. You catch a faint undertone of coffee and the smell of sage. Definitely him.

It’s not what you expected. And somehow it’s exactly what you expected.

Vinyl records are stacked neatly on a shelf. Guitars are resting in stands along the far wall. A heavy bookshelf is lined with fiction, old notebooks, and something that looks suspiciously like your book, dog-eared and well-loved. A worn leather couch, a throw blanket draped carelessly over one arm. Mugs left out. A flannel tossed over the back of a chair. It feels lived-in. Soft around the edges. Like him.

You turn slowly, taking it all in. “This is… really nice.”

Jake shrugs out of his jacket. “It’s quiet.”

“You said that already.”

“I meant it both times.” He smiles a little, padding into the space like it’s nothing, barefoot now, sleeves pushed to his elbows. “I like quiet. You know that.”

You nod, stepping further in. “It suits you.”

He disappears into the kitchen for a moment and returns with two glasses of water, handing you one without a word. The silence is different now. No longer unfamiliar. More like a conversation.

You sip and let your eyes roam again. “You have my book on the shelf, too.”

Jake follows your gaze, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’ve got a few copies.”

You lift a brow.

“There’s also one in the bedroom,” he adds, which makes your stomach twist in a way that feels both dangerous and electric. You look at him, standing in the soft glow of his own living room, and suddenly the past year collapses in on itself.

Jake watches you for a beat. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just… adjusting.”

He sets his glass down on the edge of the bookshelf and steps closer. You feel his warmth before you feel his hand, fingers ghosting along your wrist, your forearm. 

“I don’t want to rush this,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s a lot. I just—” He exhales. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You look up at him.

“Me too.”

His thumb brushes your knuckles, featherlight.

Then: “You want to sit with me for a bit?”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

And when you both sink into the worn leather couch, closer than strangers, not quite lovers again, you know it’s only a matter of time. Something is still burning here. But for now, it’s a slow, quiet fire.

You both settle in, and it’s quieter than it should be for two people who haven’t spoken face-to-face in nearly a year. The silence isn’t heavy, but it is full. Of everything you left unsaid. Everything you wrote around. Everything you thought time might erase but didn’t.

Jake stretches his arm along the back of the couch, close but not touching you, like he’s giving you space to lean in if you want to. He stares ahead for a moment, at nothing in particular, then glances over.

“You still write in the mornings?”

You smile. “When I can. I still forget to eat, too.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Some things never change.”

You turn to him slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. “And you? Still staying up too late and drinking too much coffee?”

He shrugs. “Some nights. Depends what I’m trying to avoid.”

You tilt your head. “What are you avoiding now?”

His gaze meets yours for a beat too long. “Letting go of things I probably should’ve let go of by now.”

The words hang there. They don’t sting. But they land. “Did you ever… think about reaching out? Like really reaching out?”

He looks down at his hands. “Every damn week.”

You swallow. “Then why didn’t you?”

Jake leans back, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Because I didn’t know if I’d be pulling you back into something you were finally free of. I told myself I was being respectful. Giving you space. But I think—” he pauses, then meets your eyes again—“I think I was just scared you’d moved on.”

You shake your head. “I never really did.”

He’s quiet. “I read Petrichor and thought, God, she wrote me into every page and still doesn’t want to call.”

You laugh once, a breathy, broken thing. “I thought if I heard your voice again, I’d come undone.”

Jake nods like he knows exactly what you mean. Because maybe he does. The old lamp buzzes softly in the corner. Outside, the street is still. You can feel the moment starting to shift.

You watch him for a second. His jaw. The slope of his shoulder. The way his thumb taps absentmindedly on his knee. It’s all familiar. But it’s not the past.

It’s now.

You lean your head on the back of the couch, closer to his shoulder. “I missed this.”

His eyes flicker to you. “I missed you.”

He pauses, “Are you seeing anyone?”

You look up at him. “No. You?”

He shakes his head. “Not even close.”

The air crackles again. Like something’s about to give.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whisper, “but I think I want to find out.”

Jake’s thumb brushes the side of your hand, slow and sure, the way someone might coax a shy animal out of hiding.

“Then stay,” he says softly. “At least tonight.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The words settle between you like dust in sunlight. Your throat tightens.

“I want to,” you whisper. “I do. But…”

Jake’s eyes flicker to yours. He hears it. The fear beneath it. The scar tissue. The part of you still at the cabin, watching him fade in the rearview mirror.

“But what?” he asks, voice low.

You shake your head, not sure how to say it without falling apart. “I don’t know if I can survive leaving again.”

He exhales slowly, his jaw ticking once before he answers. “Then don’t.”

Your eyes snap to his.

“Don’t leave like that again,” he says, a little more sure now. “Not unless you have to. And even if you do, I’m not gonna disappear on you this time. I’m not gonna be another person who drifts out just because the timing sucks.”

You blink, and he leans in, closer, voice softer now. “I’ve done a lot of waiting, but I’m done pretending I’m okay with letting you go. I want you here. I want this. Not the memory of it. Not the what-if version.”

He pauses, and takes a breath. “You’re the one thing that never stopped feeling real.”

Your chest cracks open like a thundercloud.

“I’m scared,” you say, small.

“So am I,” Jake says, brushing your hair back, eyes steady on yours. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

You’re already moving before you realize it, reaching for him, the decision spilling out of you like a dam finally breaking.

“Okay,” you murmur against his mouth. “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it’s not tentative. It’s everything you both meant to say months ago. Every word that died on a screen. Every flight not taken. Every door left closed. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like a beginning wrapped in the warmth of a memory. The kind you don’t walk away from.

His lips move against yours with more purpose now, less hesitancy, more heat. The tension that’s lived between you for nearly a year finally finds a shape, pressed into the way he grips your hips, the way your fingers sink into his shoulders.

You shift in his lap, and he groans into your mouth. It’s instinct to chase the friction, but something about the way he stills your hips tells you he’s not in a rush.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you. His chest rises and falls under your palms. “Not here.”

Your breath hitches. “No?”

Jake’s hands glide slowly up your back. “I want you in my bed.”

The room stills around those words. You nod, lips parted, pulse roaring in your ears. “Okay.”

He kisses you once more, then shifts you gently off his lap and stands, offering his hand.

The hallway is dim, lit only by the warm spill of light from the kitchen. You follow him barefoot, your fingertips grazing the hem of his shirt, the soft cotton of his sleeve. The air between you buzzes with a quiet that feels sacred.

Jake opens the door to his bedroom and steps aside for you to enter first. The space is simple, dark walls, low light, unmade sheets in charcoal gray. A few books stacked on the nightstand, one of them yours. A guitar in the corner. A window cracked open just enough to let in the hum of crickets and distant traffic. It smells like him.

He closes the door behind you and leans against it for a beat, watching you in the low light. Then he speaks, voice rough, “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this.”

You walk to the edge of the bed and turn to face him. “Then show me.”

He crosses the room in a few slow steps, and suddenly his hands are on your face again, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, mouth capturing yours in a kiss that sears straight through the center of you.

This one is messier. Hungrier. Full of everything unsaid. You reach for the hem of your shirt, but Jake gently stills your hands.

"Can I take this off?" he murmurs.

You nod, and he peels your shirt over your head, eyes dragging over every inch of newly revealed skin like its treasure. His hands follow, thumbs grazing the curve of your breasts, then sliding down to the soft swell of your hips.

You let out a breath. “You always look at me like that.”

Jake hums. “Like what?”

“Like I’m made of something rare.”

He leans in, mouth brushing your jaw. “That’s because you are.”

He undresses you with the kind of patience that makes you ache. Every zipper, every button, every inch of skin unveiled is met with his hands, his mouth, his whisper. He drops soft kisses along your ribs, the curve of your stomach, the inside of your wrist. His fingertips trail down the curve of your waist, slipping between your thighs as if to test the heat there, groaning softly when he feels how wet you are for him.

When you reach for his shirt, he lets you pull it over his head. His body is warm under your palms, broad shoulders, a strong chest, the soft dip beneath his sternum, the trail of hair that disappears below his waistband. You run your hands over the lines of muscle, the firm curve of his hips, and he shudders beneath your touch.

“Lie back for me,” he says, voice low.

He crawls over you with the kind of focus that feels holy. He kisses the inside of your knee, your hip, your belly, working his way up with deliberate slowness until you’re trembling. His hand presses your thigh open gently as his mouth dips lower, lips brushing against your center. He moans as he tastes you, one hand splayed across your stomach to steady you while his tongue moves in slow, intentional strokes.

You arch, breath catching, hands tangling in his hair. His name falls from your lips, breathy and desperate.

He murmurs things between kisses, your name, sweet nonsense, fragments of feelings too big to name. And when you come apart beneath him, thighs quivering, body slick with sweat and pleasure, he holds you through it, kissing your thighs like they’re holy ground.

You pull him up, lips crashing into his. “I need you. Now.”

He groans. “You have me. You always have.”

When he finally pushes into you, your breath shudders out of you. He’s thick, hot, and the stretch is everything. You feel every inch of him, the slow, deliberate way he slides inside, bottoming out with a deep moan that curls through your spine.

"God, you feel so good," he rasps, burying his face against your neck. "So fucking tight. You always take me so well."

You whimper, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re so deep. I forgot—”

He kisses your throat. “I know, baby. I know. I missed this. Missed you.”

He sets a rhythm that’s unhurried and powerful, grinding deep with each thrust, making sure you feel every long drag of his cock inside you. The way he moves is reverent, precise—his hips rocking into yours with a delicious grind that keeps your nerves lit and needy.

“Look at me,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “I need to see you come for me.”

Your eyes flutter open and his gaze locks with yours. It undoes you.

“You’re so beautiful like this," he breathes. “So perfect.”

You’re moaning his name with every breath now, your body wound so tight you’re seconds from breaking again. He shifts, angling his hips just right, and you cry out.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Right there, isn’t it? You love that. I can feel it.”

You nod, trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, kissing you hard.

You fall over the edge together, mouths open, breath stuttering, bodies slick with sweat and heat. He groans as he comes inside you, hips grinding deeper, slower, as if trying to make it last. You pulse around him, gripping him tight, your own orgasm rippling through you in waves. Neither of you moves. Not yet. His forehead rests against yours, your breath mingling.

You whisper, “I don’t want this to end.”

He brushes a kiss against your lips. “Then don’t let it.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in the quiet aftermath, your head resting on his chest, his fingers running slow patterns along your spine. His heart beats steady beneath your cheek, grounding you in the kind of calm you haven’t known in ages.

He speaks first, his voice a whisper in the dark. “I kept your book in my suitcase.”

You lift your head slightly, brows drawing together. “You did?”

He nods, eyes on the ceiling. “Every hotel, every flight. I couldn’t leave it behind. I read it on planes. On tour buses. When I couldn’t sleep. When I missed you.”

You swallow. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

His mouth pulls into a tired, rueful smile. “Because I didn’t know how to talk to you without saying too much. Without falling apart. I thought if I said the wrong thing, you’d pull away again.”

Your hand finds his, threads your fingers through his. “You should’ve said it anyway.”

“I know.” He looks at you now, really looks. “You said the new story was stuck. You were right. Because it wasn’t finished. Not until now.”

You blink, tears blurring your vision.

He reaches up to brush them away. “I never stopped thinking about you. About us. I tried to write you out of my system. I really did.”

“And?”

Jake’s thumb drifts over your cheekbone. “Didn’t work. You were in everything I came up with.”

You lie there in silence, your body still warm from him, your heart full to the point of ache. It’s quiet for a long time, the kind of silence that says more than either of you can manage out loud.

Finally, he speaks again. “I think I’ve been waiting for this night since the last time I saw you. Since New York.”

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Then let’s not waste it.”

He takes a deep breath, voice lower now, hesitant. “There’s something else I should probably tell you.”

You lift your head. “What?”

Jake hesitates, rubbing a hand over his mouth “The cabin. In Dunhaven...”

“Yeah,” You blink. “What about it?”

“I um, I own it,” he says, eyes searching yours. “Actually, I own all three of them. Privately. I use a property manager in town to handle the bookings. Kept my name out of it. The idea was that it would be a private retreat for me and the guys. Josh’s is the one you stayed in. Sam’s was supposed to be the other. But…” He pauses, mouth twisting into something bittersweet. “They never really used them. I was the only one who kept going back.”

You stare at him, stunned. “You—you own them? Wait, you–you’re the landlord?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. I didn’t want you to know. Not right away anyway. I was going to tell you, but…everything happened and then I felt– I thought… if you knew, it would change something. Or worse, you’d leave.”

You sit up slightly. “So you had a key the whole time?”

Jake’s expression softens. “I did. Still do.”

“So when you went out in the rain to try and unlock my door…You said you couldn’t get it. That it was stuck.”

“I lied.” 

You narrow your eyes slightly, “Why?”

His expression shifts, softens. “Because I was drawn to you the second I saw you. I didn’t want to just be the guy who opened the door and walked away. After we talked I wanted… more. And some part of me, some selfish, stupid part, hoped that if I let it play out, if I just let the moment breathe...”

You’re quiet, lips parted slightly in surprise.

He looks away. “I know it’s messed up. I should’ve just opened the damn door.”

You touch his arm gently. “But instead, you invited me in.”

Jake nods, meeting your eyes. “I did. And by the time you walked through that door… I knew I wasn’t going to be able to let you go.”

The silence that follows is thick and full, suspended between guilt and grace.

You reach for him, your hand sliding over his chest. “You should’ve told me.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I was afraid it would change how you saw me.”

You tilt your head, eyes soft. “It does. But not in the way you think.”

Jake swallows hard. “So… you’re not mad?”

You lean in and kiss his shoulder. “No. A little surprised. A little overwhelmed. But… not mad.”

A breath of relief leaves him, and he wraps his arms around you again, drawing you in close.

You shift slightly in his arms, forehead pressed to his collarbone, and murmur, “So this means we can go back?”

Jake tilts his head, looking down at you with a slow, unreadable smile. "Do you want to?"

You hesitate, your fingers brushing softly over his chest. "I don’t know. Part of me is scared it won’t feel the same. That going back will undo all of this."

He pulls you in closer, presses a kiss to the top of your head. "It will. It’ll feel better. Because we’re not who we were then. And I don’t want Dunhaven without you."

You shift again to look at him, eyes searching his face. "Really?"

Jake nods. "I’m not going back without you. I can’t."

Your breath catches. "So we’d go back… together?"

"Together," he echoes, voice a soft vow. "Whenever you’re ready. When your book tour is done, when my tour is done, when life slows down a little. I’ll be waiting. I want that place to be ours."

You press your hand to his cheek, overwhelmed by how easy it is to believe him now. How deeply you want it, too.

And then you whisper, "Then let's make it ours."

He kisses you again, slow, and lingering, and neither of you says anything more, because there’s nothing left to prove. Just promises made in whispers and warmth, with the quiet faith that this time, you'll get it right.

You fall asleep not long after, curled into each other beneath the hush of the sheets and the hum of the city outside. The sound of his breathing lulls you into something peaceful, something that feels like safety.

When you wake, the light is soft and gold across the bed. Jake’s still there, one arm slung over your waist, his hair a messy halo across the pillow.

He stirs when you shift. Eyes opening slowly, smile lazy and warm. "Morning."

You trace the curve of his shoulder. "We’re really doing this, huh?"

Jake nods, sleep still in his voice. "We are. Finally."

And for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no ache, no hesitation. Just two people, choosing each other again.

This time, for good. 

I turn the last page and stare down at it for a long time. The words blur a little, not from tears exactly, but from something heavier. Something harder to name. The room around me is quiet. The New York hums outside the windows, distant and unbothered, but I’m frozen in place, still half inside the world I wrote. Or maybe the one I remembered.

Petrichor.

There it is. My name stamped beneath the title. Black ink, neat and final. A thing that’s finished.

But it doesn’t feel finished.

Because it was never just fiction.

It was ours.

Every line, every pause. Every breath between scenes. I lived it. I bled it. I folded us into the pages in ways no one else could see, at least, not fully. But I think he’ll recognize it. If he ever reads it.

I think he’ll feel the moment I walked into the cabin that night. I think he’ll know the way his voice sounds in chapter two is exactly the way he spoke to me when he was half-asleep and honest. I think he’ll see what I couldn’t say out loud.

I wrote him into permanence.

And now, someone else, maybe you, has read it too.

You think it’s just a story.

But it’s not.

It’s a map.

A love letter.

A key.

To the place where it rained, and I got locked out, and he didn’t open the door. To the night I found him anyway.

To the version of us that dared to try again. 

And again.

I close the cover gently, hands trembling just a little.

Outside, thunder rolls across the city, soft and slow. The scent of petrichor rises from the pavement like memory.

And I wonder, wherever he is, if he feels it too. 

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