#and they spend most of the time explaining what they do

[suguwu]

last light on: part one

Years after your break up, Itoshi Sae returns to Japan.

He finds he left more than just you behind.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

pairing: itoshi sae x f!reader, one-sided itoshi rin x f!reader

wc: 4k

cw: aged up characters/pro-footballer au, sae and reader have a named daughter together that reader hid from him, exes to lovers, complicated relationships.

notes: i couldn't contain myself any more. after several false starts (aka me posting and deleting while having a meltdown), here is the real thing. i owe my life to @lorelune for their input and advice on this fic—i cannot even begin to explain. anyway, i hope you enjoy this first part! please note this will have slow updates - please be patient with me, thank you!

Japan is a haunted place for Sae.

He forgets that, most days. He spends most of his time as far away as he can get. And Sae is not a man who lives in the past; he is focused on the future, on the endless horizon of upcoming days. 

Then he steps onto Japanese soil and remembers you. 

You live at the edge of his memory, gone wispy with the passing years. These days, you’re just the tilt of your lips; you’re the elegant slope of your shoulder. An outline of yourself, an imprint left behind on a foggy window. 

You’re a ghost of the worst kind: one of his own making. 

And Japan is your territory. You linger in the very air; he breathes in sea salt and thinks of the taste of your tears. It stirs something inside of him that he’s quick to ignore.

This trip is no different.

The plane lands at the first bloom of dawn, pink streaking across the sky like petals. Sae’s been up for a while, reviewing game footage on his iPad. He makes another note before he puts it away; there will be plenty of time to review more.

By the time he slides into the car, the sun is starting to peek over the horizon. The light is sweetly golden, soft and warm, and to his surprise, your smile flashes through his mind. It’s one of the things he’s never forgotten, but he keeps it tucked away, under the melon rind curve of the bitter smile you gave him when he left. 

He shakes off the memory. He starts the game footage again, his teal eyes sharp, a scalpel’s edge. He watches for a few more minutes before he sighs. He pauses it and takes out his phone, ignoring the notification from his manager. Instead, he navigates to Instagram.

It’s a relic of his past life. He’s never updated it since going pro; he can’t be bothered. He can’t even remember the last time he opened the app. Maybe to see what his PR team had posted on his official one. 

He clicks into his profile. The most recent post is almost as old as the account itself; it's the beach at twilight, the waves eating at the shore.

Right.

He'd deleted all his photos of you.

With a sigh, he navigates back to his feed. He scrolls a bit, flicking through most of the photos without a second glance. It’s all tepid, glimpses into tedious lives that he doesn’t care about. He’s just about to close the app down when something catches his eye.

It’s you.

Older now, but undoubtedly you. You’re facing away from the camera, but he knows the line of your neck, the swan’s wing curve of it. He swipes to the next photo in the set; you’re still in the background, but you’re in profile this time, lips tilted sweetly, wine-kissed. 

He swipes again, but you’re not in the next picture. When he glances at the caption, it doesn’t tell him anything, but you’ve commented. He clicks the link to your profile, but it doesn’t take him anywhere. His lips thin; he tries again and gets the same result. 

When he tries to search by your username, nothing comes up.

You’ve blocked him.

His brow furrows. It’s not entirely unexpected, but he had thought that the years might have softened you towards him. He sighs and tosses his phone onto the seat next to him before starting the game footage once more.

It’s for the best.

—

Sae does not dream often.

Or if he does dream, he simply doesn’t remember. He wakes in the morning and nothing lingers. There are only the cobwebs of sleep, which he blinks away with ease.

But tonight—his second night in Japan—he dreams of you. 

It’s hazy in that way that dreams often are. He knows it’s your first apartment, the one with the flickering porch light you always left on for him, but he can’t make sense of the rest. It fades into the background, leaving him with only the starglow of your eyes peeking over the horizon of your shoulder as you disappear from room to room. 

You weave through the apartment with easy grace. He follows until he doesn’t, watching you vanish into the kitchen—a tiny, cramped thing with plants stuck wherever they can fit. You glance back at him, half-devoured by shadows. There are tears shining on your cheeks. Your lips part, and as you start to speak—

He blinks awake. 

Sae stares up at the ceiling. He runs a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair and sits up. The hotel room is dim, the rising sun held at bay by the thick curtains. If he were someone else, he might think of the shadows that you peered out from, but he doesn’t. The dream is already fading. 

He gets out of bed. The curtains part under his hand; the sudden gleam of the sun makes him squint.

He opens the window, as he always does. The breath he takes is deep; it fills his lungs with the fresh bite of the morning air. It washes away all but the dregs of the dream. He takes another breath and buries those dregs deep.

He buries you.

—

Like all ghosts, you refuse to stay buried. 

By his fifth day in Japan, Sae has thought of you more than he has in years. He’s not sure what it is about this trip in particular; you’ve always returned to mind when he’s back, but never to this extent. 

It’s annoying.

With a sigh, he taps his pen against his notebook. He glances out the window and sees the hydrangeas waving in the breeze, tiny puffy clouds. He thinks of you, petal-bodied, and sighs again. He pulls out his phone and starts a text to his manager.

Sae has always been a man of action. 

He’ll exorcise you himself.

—

Your neighborhood reminds Sae of Kamakura. 

It’s nicer than he expected; a family neighborhood, based on the parents walking by with children perched on their hips like little birds. The houses are a mosaic of architecture, a few odd styles standing out, just like his childhood. It’s only missing the kiss of salt in the air, the sea’s eternal presence. Instead, there’s the earthiness of the park that cuts through it, pungent and grassy after the morning’s rain. 

He crosses the street as the light turns; according to Navitime, your house should be on the other side of the park. The foliage swallows him down, a verdant throat, before it spits him back out into a manicured playground. Children are laughing, bright peals of sound like summer windchimes. 

He glances at the parents lining the sides of the playground and blinks.

Sae thinks of the Instagram post from just a few days ago. He hadn’t paid much attention to who posted the pictures, but if he were to pull it up again, he knows exactly who it would be.

Rin.

Rin, who is currently staring at him from his spot next to you. 

It can only be you. There’s a ghost of the girl you were just under your skin, blooming like a spring bud. It’s in the way that you move; it’s in the way that your eyes gleam. The imprint of you that’s haunted him given new life. Made real again. 

You still haven’t noticed his brother’s early onset rigor-mortis, because your attention—your attention is on the little girl snuffling on your lap. 

She’s a tiny thing, no older than three. Her hair gleams cherry-dark in the sunlight, the faintest sheen of red shimmering through it, and when she blinks, her long clusters of lashes sweep across her cheek like clouds. She blinks again, slow and sleepy, and it’s all sunlit stained glass, her eyes a familiar shade of brilliant teal.

His shade of teal.

The world narrows. Sae takes a step forward without thinking about it. 

The little girl yawns. Her nose crinkles with it, twitching like a bunny’s. You lean down to nuzzle your nose against hers, a little smile unfurling on your lips, a night-blooming flower. She bats at you with a tiny hand before rubbing at her eyes.

Sae watches, entranced.

A shadow falls over him; a hand pushes against his chest. He glances up into burning turquoise eyes. 

“Rin,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Rin steps closer. His lean muscles are coiled tight; his lip curls back in a snarl. He’s blocked Sae’s view of you and the girl, a sheepdog circling his lambs. 

“Stay away from them,” he spits out.

Sae blinks. “Hello to you too.”

“I’m not here to say hello. Stay away from them.” 

He’d known. Sae has always had a quick mind; on the field, he needs only the smallest glimpse of information to put together the puzzle pieces, to build his strategy. He’d known as soon as he’d seen his daughter, but this—Rin and his bared fangs, Rin and the fear trembling just beneath his fiery tone—it confirms everything. 

He has a child.

“Them,” Sae muses. “So the kid is hers. Mine, too.”

Rin’s hand flexes at his side, his long fingers twitching. “Go away.”

Sae raises a brow. “It’s a public park,” he points out.

Rin scowls, moving fluidly with Sae as his brother tries to step around him. “She doesn’t want to see you,” he says. 

“She can tell me that herself.”

“Not telling you should speak for itself.”

Sae lets out a breath. “You can’t stop me, Rin.”

“You don’t deserve them,” Rin says, his turquoise eyes aflame, flaring like the auroras in the night sky. 

Sae realizes that he is not the only one you haunt.

“And you do?”

Rin goes stiff. 

Sae hums. “Does she know you’re still sniffing after her?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a no.”

“At least I’ve been there. At least she wanted me there.”

Sae’s jaw flexes. “But she still doesn’t notice you.”

“You—”

“Sae?” you say. Your voice warbles, delicate birdsong, his name sweet on your tongue. 

Rin flinches. 

A little smirk flickers to life on Sae’s lips. Rin’s fingers flex, his glare deepening, but he wavers as you step closer. It gives Sae an opening. He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he pushes past him. 

Rin makes a sharp noise, but Sae ignores him.

You're his focus now.

There was a time that your eyes lit up when you saw Sae, but as he draws closer, he sees only wariness. A wolf with its lips drawn back, giving a glimpse of teeth. Not yet bared, but the promise of a bite. 

“Sae.”

That airy warble is gone; your voice has settled into something cooler, the first kiss of winter on an autumn day. There’s a slight furrow to your brow, but Sae still knows you. There’s a tremble to your lower lip; there’s sorrow tucked up secret in the corner of your mouth.

He says your name. Watches the way you cup your daughter (his daughter) closer to you, her little face burrowed in the gentle curve of your neck. You have one hand cradling the back of her head, as delicate as a dove’s wing, your fingers splayed like feathers.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

“Looking for you.”

Something flickers across your face, a fleeting summer storm. 

“Japan, Sae. Why are you in Japan.”

He shrugs. “It’s still my home, you know.”

“Is it?”

Your daughter makes a small, musical noise, shifting in your arms. You hush her, humming softly until she falls still again, lulled back into sleep. Sae watches the way her little hand curls into your sweater, tiny fingers anchoring her to you. 

(He wonders, briefly, if she would hold onto him in the same way.)

"What's her name?" he asks.

"Why do you care?"

He sighs. "Games don't suit you," he says. "Tell me my daughter's name."

Something in you hardens, frost spiraling across a river's surface.

"Rin," you say quietly, and his brother steps in front of him again, blocking his view of you and his daughter. He flexes his fingers as Rin scoops up the little girl; she mumbles quietly before settling against his lean shoulder. It's easy, born of familiarity, and something in Sae grows teeth.

"One brother wasn't enough for you?" he asks.

Rin whips around, fury lining him like a cloak, splitting through him like a thunderclap. Your hand comes up to rest on his other shoulder, restraining him with the most delicate of touches. An owner pulling her dog's collar.

"It's fine," you tell Rin. "Can you settle her in the stroller, please?"

Rin's turquoise eyes are aflame, burning like a comet's tail through the velvet sky. He stares down Sae for another breath before he turns back to you.

He leans in close; too close for Sae to hear what he says to you.

You nod, and Rin sends Sae one last glare before he walks away, carefully cradling the little girl in his arms. Sae's gaze catches on her small form; he thinks of the sea foam that washes up onto the shore, too delicate to last.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, turning back to you.

You meet his gaze steadily. "You wouldn't have stayed."

Sae shoves his hands in his pockets; he stays quiet. You watch him, your lips curling down at the edges, like wilting leaves.

"What do you want, Sae?"

"My daughter."

"You can't have her," you say. "You'll break her heart."

"Like I broke yours?"

"You didn't break my heart, Sae."

He watches you for a moment. You meet his gaze steadily, but he sees the cracks in you. The ghost of who you were before he left you behind. The girl you’ve grown out of, her skin too small for the woman you’ve become. 

"Yes," he says. "I did."

You sigh. "Go home, Sae."

"I will," he says easily. "But not without her."

You stiffen. "You'd take her from me?"

"No," he says. "You're coming too."

"Fuck off."

He steps in close, until he can feel your body heat, until he can hear the soft breath you suck in. Longing cuts across your face, a wound torn open. It’s gone in a breath, but Sae sees it.

"You miss me," he says. "Don't you?"

"Fuck off, Sae."

"That's not a no."

Your hand comes up as he pushes closer; you splay it across his chest. The heat of it sinks through his shirt, like spring sunlight, gentle and warm. He waits, but you don't shove him away. He wraps a hand around your wrist, stroking his thumb over the tender underside. Your eyelashes flutter, a butterfly’s wing.

"You miss me," he says. "Say it."

"I miss you," you breathe.

The words are delicate, spider’s silk. They linger in the space between you, a gleaming web spun from your trembling lips.

Sae leans closer, until he can smell the honeysuckle-kiss of your shampoo. 

"Then let me in."

You let out a shaky breath. Your fingers flex against his chest, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt.  "Sae—"

"Yeah?"

"No," you say, finally shoving him away. He steps back gracefully, his face impassive. “Don’t do this to me. You won’t stay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I do.”

Sae studies you. Your eyelashes are damp; one of them has caught on your cheek, a dandelion seed. There’s an urge to reach out and sweep it away with his thumb. He shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“Do you give Rin this hard a time about leaving?” he asks.

“That’s different.”

“Not really.”

“Sae.”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

You purse your lips, a flower bud pinching shut. “This isn’t about Rin.”

He glances past you. At the edge of the playground, his brother is rocking the stroller with long, practiced movements. It’s a strange picture, this snapshot of Rin; his ease speaks of a life already lived. 

Rin leans down; he’s reaching for the girl’s foot, kicked over the side of the stroller. Sae stares at that tiny foot, cupped carefully in the palm of Rin’s hand.

“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not.”

He returns his gaze to you. 

“It’s about my daughter.”

Something flashes across your face; Sae thinks of the last days of summer, the slow swallow of them.

“You mean my daughter,” you say. “She’s not yours.” 

He sighs. “We both know she is.”

“No,” you say. “Not in any way that matters.” 

Sae was stung by a sea urchin, once. He’d stepped on it in the shallows, its prickly body hidden amid the shadowed, worn rocks of the tidepool. The spine had pierced through the bottom of his foot; he’d bled. He hadn’t been able to play soccer for a week.

But he hadn’t held it against the sea urchin. 

It was just protecting itself.

“I would say helping create her matters rather significantly.”

(Okay. He had held it against the urchin. A week was a long time to be banned from soccer.)

“It doesn’t,” you say. 

Sae tilts his head. “If that was true, you wouldn’t be so scared right now.”

You flinch.

“I’m not—”

“You are.” 

Quiet falls between you. Your eyes flash in the sunlight; Sae thinks of heat lightning, how it never touches the ground. 

“You’re right,” you say, so softly that it’s almost lost to the wind. “I’m scared.”

He waits. 

“Tell me I don’t have to be.”

Sae glances past you again. He wishes he could see into the stroller, that he could see his daughter’s face again.

“I can’t.”

Your face crumples, delicate origami crushed in a fist. 

(You have always reminded Sae of the lacquered origami that’s scattered around your bedroom like stars. Like them, you’re tough enough to protect yourself against the elements, but underneath it all, you’re still paper.) 

The creased paper edges of your devastation slice through Sae, scoring the tender underbelly of him, the part he’d thought had long hardened against such cuts. He thinks of roshambo; perhaps he should have known.

Paper always beats rock. 

But if he’s cut, you’re wounded, a deep, terrible thing. You’re curling in on yourself, just slightly, as if that can staunch the sorrow seeping from you. Your lower lip trembles, but Sae can see the anger starting to filter in, a sunset bleeding across the horizon. 

You blink away your unshed tears; the remnants of them leave your lashes glistening, the sunlight catching in them like a prism. Sae watches you piece yourself back together, your anger the glue, glowing through you in kintsugi gold. 

You take a deep breath.

“You’re such an asshole,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t bother to refute it. He knows this is where most people would apologize, but he won’t. Not for telling you the truth. 

“I want to see her,” he says instead. “Can I come over tomorrow?”

You go stiff, a marionette pulled upright by its strings. He wonders if you’re thinking of what you both know: Sae does not ask for things. He does them, consequences be damned. It’s an olive branch, one barely blooming, a twig of a thing. But it’s there. 

“No.”

Sae doesn’t flinch, but he feels his jaw go tight, his teeth clicking together, bone against bone. He flexes his fingers at his side.

“You—” he starts, voice chilled, a blade of ice. 

“You can’t just walk into her life,” you say, cutting him off sharply.  

It stops him in his tracks. He’s not used to that, not anymore. People tend to listen when he talks. The surprise keeps him from responding, giving you enough time to add: 

“And you can’t just walk back into mine.”

He doesn’t need long to recover, though. “Even though you miss me.”

Your expression twists, souring at the edges, the first hint of rot in overripe fruit. “That doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

“I don’t care what you think, Sae.”

“Yes,” he says, “You do.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, denting the plush flesh. “You’re such an asshole,” you tell him again. 

“I know.”

The wind picks up; it catches at your clothing, plucking at it with playful fingers. You smooth the fluttering fabric back down with a trembling hand. 

“You can’t see her,” you say softly. “She won’t understand.”

“Won’t understand what?”

“Why you have to leave again.”

“You don’t know that.”

You sigh. “I do,” you say. “It’s hard enough with—” 

You pause, clamping your mouth shut before you can finish your sentence. Something cold curls through Sae, a winter river that snakes between the banks of his ribs. 

“With Rin, right?” he asks. “It’s hard enough with Rin.”

You watch him for a moment, your eyes wary, a rabbit peeking out from the brush. You nod.

Sae exhales through his nose. “I see,” he says coldly.

You wince. “Sae—”

“Don’t.”

It’s not his usual calm tone. It’s shatterglass, keen-edged and ready to cut. He hates it. 

Your eyes widen. There’s something in your expression that Sae doesn’t want to name. It catches beneath his skin like a burr, sharp and unrelenting. 

“Sae,” you say softly. “I—”

A piercing cry rents the air, splits it apart like a blade. Sae blinks, but you’re already whirling around, heading for the tree Rin has settled under with the stroller. His brother is hefting the screaming girl into his arms, his big hand stroking along the slip of her spine, but she’s still wailing, a high, animal keen. She reaches for you as soon as she sees you, her chubby hands grasping at air.

She buries her face in your neck as you cradle her. Sae’s too far to hear what you’re murmuring, but her wailing starts to trail off. Your hand settles at the back of her head, cupping her close, a gentle promise. 

Sae steps forward just as Rin shifts, curling around you like a shield. There’s a flash of turquoise heat; Rin’s expression is a dare.

He should know better. Sae has never been one to back down. 

He ignores Rin and comes closer, until your voice floats to him. It’s softer now, but it’s steady. Sure. 

“It was a scary dream, huh?” you say, pressing a kiss to the crown of the girl’s head. “It’s okay. You’re awake now. Let’s go home, yeah?”

The girl’s answer is lost in the salt of your skin, her face still glued into the curve of your neck. You seem to understand the squashed words perfectly, though. You hum an agreement and adjust her in your arms. She finally peels away from the cradle of your neck. There’s silvery tear tracks mapped across her chubby cheeks. From under her wet eyelashes, there’s a peek of teal, a crescent moon of familiar color. She sobs again, low and wrenching.

Something twists through Sae, a tender bruise being pressed. He takes another step forward, but before he gets close enough to garner your attention, Rin slinks forward, blocking him.

Sae gives him a sharp look, but Rin’s thundercloud scowl only darkens. 

“Not now,” his brother hisses. “Are you stupid, you shitty brother?”

Sae glances past him. His daughter has buried her face in your neck again; only the sunset sheen of her hair is visible. You’re curled protectively around her even as you search the stroller for something. 

Sae is not one to back down, but he also knows how to pick his battles. 

He nods to Rin; his brother blinks, his scowl softening in his surprise. Rin watches him for a moment before clicking his tongue. He doesn’t nod back, but Sae doesn’t need him to. 

Sae watches as Rin turns back to you and coaxes the stroller out of your grip. 

“Let’s go,” he says gruffly.

“Okay,” you say, hushing the girl as she whimpers softly. “Got everything?”

“Yeah.”

You glance back at Sae. It’s only for a breath. For a moment, he thinks you’ll say something, but you don’t. You turn around and start down the park’s path, Rin pushing the stroller at your side.

Sae watches until the verdant throat of the park swallows the three of you up.

You don’t look back again.

[kesujo]

Chapter 15: Let's Try This

Previous chapter here.

After waking up a few times at the sensation of Irene guiding his cock back inside her, when he finally woke up the following morning, Irene was already awake, lightly grinding against his morning wood.

“Irene…?”

“Hm?” Irene directed her gaze up at Parker, greeting him with a slight smile. “Morning.” The honey-smooth, soothing quality of her voice was slightly strained, and looking at her face, Parker could tell why. “Turns out, you were right. I am soo sore down there.”

Parker scoffed. “Wha—then, why didn’t you take me out?”

“Well, I told you I would do it, and I’m a woman of my word.”

“At the expense of your own comfort and safety?”

“It’s a matter of pride, Parker.” Parker had been so preoccupied with the woman whose pussy was still squeezing his erection that he had forgotten about the other woman on the bed next to them. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But, seriously, Irene, if it’s so uncomfortable, you should get off now, right? Especially now that I’m awake.”

Irene pouted. “But, it’s such a waste of such wonderful morning wood…”

“Don’t worry, Rene, I got it.”

Jessica ended up just giving him a blowjob while Irene stood at the side, nursing the soreness in her groin while watching, and proceeding to spend most of the rest of the day recovering from the previous night at Parker’s place before heading out after dinner. A few days later, Tiffany showed up at Parker’s place, upon her insistence to ‘explain things’, as she stated.

Personally, Parker didn’t feel a need to pry: after all, they technically weren’t even dating yet, and even if they were, the kind of ‘weird’ Tiffany’s kink was, to Parker, was no stranger than the weirdness Jessica had accustomed him to. Parker briefly pondered how, in such a relatively short span of time, even such things as a cuckolding kink didn’t particularly phase him, and then he thought about how often he’s had a nearly identical train of thought in the last few weeks.

“Um…”

Now that they were in front of each other, Tiffany was considerably shier. It was understandable too—Tiffany probably didn’t intend on informing him about this tidbit about herself for some time, and now that she was thrust into this position, albeit in part by herself, she was in this position: sat on his couch, eyes directed at her twiddling thumbs, red-faced.

“It’s ok, Tiffany. I won’t judge you. If you don’t want to say any more, that’s also fine.”

“No! I—…” Tiffany sighed, then took a deep breath, nodding to herself, and continued, “…sorry you didn’t hear it from me first. I … I don’t really know why I’m like this, and I can’t really explain it either, but … I mean, I trust you a lot, and I’m only like this with a man I trust a lot—I mean, not that you’re, like, with me or anything—”

“Tiffany.” The stammering woman stopped at the firm, gentle call of her name. “Shall we make this easier, then?”

“Huh?”

“I would be more than happy to be considered ‘being with you’.”

It took Tiffany a while to process Parker’s words, and even more time for her to clasp her hands over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh my—are-are you sure?!”

Parker could only smile at that. “Why wouldn’t I be, Tiff?”

The dam of tears shattered, and Tiffany flung herself at Parker. “I-I-I-I, I, I would, I would—” Completely unable to finish her sentence due to the sobs that are erupting from her, Parker wrapped his arms around the shaking woman. He understood being happy, but … this? It feels a little over the top. Was he thinking too deeply about this?

“I’m not going anywhere, Tiff.” Maybe it was just the sheer euphoria of seeing Tiffany’s positive reaction to the question that was clouding his judgement.

“Thank you, thank you so much, I’m—I’m, I’m so relieved…”

“Tiffany…” No, he was right. It wasn’t just some small issue. Was it something he did? But then, why was Tiffany hugging him and crying like this? “…what’s wrong?” If Parker didn’t ask, he wouldn’t feel good about himself, or about any of this.

“I’m sorry, it’s stupid…”

“No, it’s not stupid, Tiffany. I’m sure it’s perfectly valid.” Her sobs had reduced to sniffles, but still, Tiffany planted her face into the crook of his neck. “It’s ok, Tiffany. I’m here for you. I won’t judge you. If it’s you, I’m sure it’s extremely understandable, what you’re feeling.”

“Sorry…”

“It’s ok. Take your time.”

Tiffany took a few more seconds to calm down before responding. “It’s just … I was so scared … that, um…” Parker stayed patient, continuing to gently stroke her hair, wordlessly waiting for her to finish her thought, “…that … you would find it so weird … that you … you, you would, that you wouldn’t like me anymore…”

In a way, Parker could see Tiffany’s point: if he were told that most people wouldn’t want to date someone who had such a kink, Parker wouldn’t have much trouble believing it. But, on the other hand, he couldn’t really empathize with it at all: if anything, it’s a massive relief to him, what with the competition with Jessica and Hunter and all. For a woman like Tiffany, it was all but given that Parker would accept such a minor quirk.

“I don’t, Tiffany. I still love you just as much as before.”

It took a good few minutes for Tiffany to calm down after that, but with a sufficient amount of tissues, she had regained her composure and continued where she left off. “Well, so, I was saying, um, that I’m only like this if the man I’m with is someone I trust absolutely, and I know that you’re not, um, emotionally attached with the other woman or anything. Something like that.” It was clear that Tiffany was beginning to waffle, but Parker’s steady gaze and encouraging nod prompted her to continue. “I … to be honest, I don’t really know. For some reason, I simultaneously find the idea of my man having s—having, um, you know, with another woman—or, I mean, a woman I also trust, like Jessica or Irene—but also want to know that my man won’t cheat on me, or leave me for her. I know it’s weird, but for me, I mean, I’m … well, I like the man I’m attracted to, and as a woman, I like my man in that way too, so … I don’t know, I only know it’s weird because I’ve picked up on it over the years, but to me, it makes sense.”

What a complicated set of conditions for Tiffany’s kink to activate, all of which just happened to be met in Parker’s circumstance. Or, perhaps another way to think about it is that it’s only because these conditions are met that he even got to know Tiffany this well in the first place. The thing that Parker took away most from that, though, was that Tiffany seemed to trust him a lot—so much, in fact, that she was confident that he would stay loyal to her even before he was her boyfriend. Knowing that reassured Parker even more about Tiffany, but still, he couldn’t shake away one thing.

“But…” the reaction Parker got from Tiffany was definitely not what he was expecting. Her body seemed to tense, as if readying herself for something. But what? “…no, I mean, I just…” it seemed to get worse the more Parker talked, and that put him more on edge. Was he saying something wrong? “…um, I don’t know. I just feel bad, still.”

“Wh-Wh-Why?”

“Tiffany, are you ok?” Parker reached out, tenderly grabbing her hand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Huh? What? No! I’m ok. Why?”

Was this just a misunderstanding? “I—…I was just saying, it still feels wrong, and now that you’re officially my girlfriend now, I … I don’t know, even if I know you’re ok with it, it still feels like … you know, continuing in the competition with Jessica isn’t something I should be doing.”

“Oh!” At the very least, it was a relief to see the tension in Tiffany’s body disappear. What it was he said, Parker had no idea. “That’s what you meant. No, you don’t have to feel bad! I mean, it’s not like you’re in love with Jessica or anything.”

“Pfft.”

Tiffany turned to Parker with wide eyes, letting out a surprised chuckle. “What?!”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not very nice to Hunter! I’ll tell him you laughed at the idea of being in love with his wife!”

“Well, Hunter’s, you know, Hunter. Those two are crazy.”

“…oh. Is he?”

“Yeah. You know, super-high achieving, really intense. Work hard, play hard. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. So is Jessica, now that I think about it.”

“They’re made for each other, right?” Tiffany nodded. “Yeah, but not for me. I want to be able to chill sometimes.”

“Yeaah, I know what you mean!”

Tiffany shared some stories about the times Tiffany had to bring a completely-crashed-out Jessica home after partying a little too hard, but Parker was feeling a little better about the whole situation. Still…

“So, we’ve established that I already am dealing with too much Jessica as is, but…”

“Um!” It was clear Tiffany had an idea but immediately realized it was a bad one, especially with how quickly the tips of her ears turned pink. “… I … if you really feel bad, I, um … I-I-I, I can show you…”

“Hm? Show me what?” Tiffany pulled out her phone, and as Parker watched her navigate to the gallery, it became clear what she meant. “Um! First, please don’t…”

Gosh, was Tiffany so insanely adorable. “I’ll still love you, no matter what you’re about to show me.”

Although Parker had a good idea what Tiffany wanted to show him, seeing it was still a little jarring. “I, um … Irene sent me these, and I, um…” with every syllable, Tiffany’s voice got quieter, and her face redder, although Parker couldn’t tell if it was because of how embarrassed she was or how hot she was getting at seeing these pictures, of his cock buried deep in Irene’s pussy. “…I saved them. Immediately.”

The following silence that elapsed, Parker could tell Tiffany’s face was just becoming redder and redder. So, for a lack of anything better to say, Parker went with, “…so, you’re saying that, as long as I send you pictures every time, it’s ok?”

“Parker!” Parker laughed as Tiffany slapped his shoulder, her face erupting into an even deeper shade of red. “…but, if you really don’t mind …”

Parker somehow heard Tiffany saying those words quietly, and when he did, his laughter intensified.

“You-You promised not to laugh!”

“I said that I’d still love you no matter what, which I still do. I’m just … just, really relieved.”

“Hmph. Never mind.”

“Don’t be like that, Tiff.” In the brief moment before Tiffany turned away from him, Parker managed to catch a glimpse of an expression of Tiffany’s that he didn’t get to bear witness to from their first night together until now: red-faced, flustered, but also, aroused. “Let me make it up to you.”

Feeling Parker’s breath on her ear, Tiffany flinched, letting out a yelp before she could do anything about it. “P-Parker!”

“Can I?”

Her ears turned even redder as Parker’s arms snaked around her waist, but she kept her face turned away from him: this time, not so much as to pretend to be mad at him but more so to hide just how flustered, and just how turned on, she was.

“Ca-Ca-Can, Can you what?”

A smile sprouted on Parker’s lips, but this time, no laughter. “Let me make it up to you, babe.” Those words uttered into her ears, combined with the feeling of Parker’s hands slipping under her shirt and caressing her stomach, caused Tiffany to let out another, louder yelp.

“W-Wa-Wai-Wait, Parker…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.”

Tiffany’s eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping her lips as Parker’s strong, firm hands gently caressed her abs. “Oh…” No longer able to pretend, Tiffany started to lean back into Parker’s touch, her arms relaxing and melting into Parker’s embrace. “Mmm…”

“Is that ok?” When Tiffany didn’t respond for a second, Parker asked again, “Is that ok, Tiff?”

“Hm?”

“Can I keep going?”

Tiffany nodded, and Parker’s hands began migrating north, stopping just short of the undergarment covering her chest. His hand gently cupped her breasts, eliciting a soft gasp from the lips of his now girlfriend, but didn’t apply too much pressure to them. The fleeting touch left Tiffany wanting more, but, being too shy to express it, only leaned into his touch in response. Parker pulled back, and Tiffany unconsciously chased him, and when he noticed this, a smile sprouted on his lips.

How long would Tiffany last before she said something? Would she continue to try to lean into his touch? Just a little bit … strangely enough, this wasn’t the first time Parker had sex with Tiffany despite only now becoming her boyfriend, but there were still many firsts ahead of them. He just wanted a little bit, a little taste of a needy, whiny Tiffany, aroused beyond belief, begging for his touch … just a hint, a tease of what it’s like.

Was this fucked up of him? Was it Jessica’s influence that he thought of this? Before, Parker felt like he never would’ve had such a desire. Maybe it’s Tiffany who is drawing the desire out from him: her innocence, her purity, contrasted by her smoking hot body and her outfit that so beautifully traces out her curves.

Push and pull—Parker would let Tiffany’s breasts fill his hands, gently kneading and massaging them, and when that happens, Tiffany starts to lean back in content, but before Tiffany could get used to it, Parker would detach his hands. And so, the cycle would continue, with the impatient whine playing at Tiffany’s lips growing louder and louder until, finally, it was audible to Parker.

“Pl-Please, wai-wait…”

There it is.

Tiffany’s voice, her infallible gentleness, a softness that made Parker want to wrap Tiffany in a warm blanket and protect her, even the subtle aroma of strawberry that lingered about her, Parker found himself falling deeper and deeper into the unescapable pit that was Tiffany’s charm.

“What is it, babe?”

“Par-Parker…”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t … don’t go…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Tiffany.”

“No, I mean … your—your hands…”

“Do you want more?”

Tiffany was irresistible though. How adorable was Tiffany? The bashful tone of her voice, the way she asked, Parker could only bear stringing her along for so long. Seeing a puppy jumping at one’s feet, trying to reach the treat in one’s hands, one can only keep the treat from it for so long before caving.

Tiffany nodded, and that was all the go-ahead Parker needed to pull the bra down and palm her bare breasts.

“Ooh!”

His fingers sunk into the plush texture of her boobs while his palm filled up with them, and as it happened, Tiffany’s soft moans and gasps slowly grew in volume and frequency. “Does it feel good?”

Both from the feeling of Parker’s hands caressing and massaging her boobs and from feeling his deep, resonating voice so close to her ear, Tiffany could only whimper out a, “y-yes~”

By now, she had forgotten all about her ‘anger’ towards Parker, her back arching and pushing her boobs into his hands as they began moving in increased fervor. His fingers made their way to her areola, and when he softly pinched her nipples, Tiffany could’ve sworn she came a little.

“G-Go—od…”

It was dangerously addictive. Even when Tiffany was whimpering, she was utterly adorable, and knowing it arose from the extremely pleasant feeling of massaging her boobs, Parker sunk further and further into it. He wanted more: feel up her boobs more, to feel her body shuddering against his, to hear her soft, silky voice let out those soft whimpers and groans as his hands did their magic on her boobs, and to hear those small sounds evolve into sharp yelps as he squeezed her swollen, hardened nipples. Tiffany had gradually shifted onto Parker’s lap until now, where it felt like she was now gradually shifting closer to his body until Tiffany’s back was pressed flush against his chest. It wasn’t until he started to feel Tiffany lightly grinding against the tent that had formed in his pants that he even realized how uncomfortably hard he had gotten.

“Tiff…”

Hearing him calling out her name, dripping with such desire, and feeling Parker pressing his erection against her ass, Tiffany nodded. “I—I, I want it.”

“Let me get a condom, babe.”

“Wa-Wait!” Just as Parker began to pull away, the sudden interjection from Tiffany caused him to freeze. “I’m on the pill. It’s ok.”

“Are you sure?”

When Tiffany turned around, Parker’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. His beautiful, kind, pure, considerate, weird girlfriend, looking at him with such an aroused expression … it would be enough to bring any man to his knees. Luckily for Parker, he was already sitting down.

“Yeah.”

“Then, should we move to the bedroom?”

Surprisingly, Tiffany shook her head. “Right-Right here. Where we had our first time.”

A smile broke out on Parker’s lips. “I didn’t know you were sentimental like that, babe.”

A blush creeped up on Tiffany’s cheeks—or, rather, a deeper blush than the one already present—but she responded anyway by saying, “I want to show you how good I’ve gotten, especially compared to last time.”

“How good you’ve gotten? Last time?”

“At fitting you. You, your…” even if you were starting to get the idea of what Tiffany was trying to say, seeing her floundering about was much too enjoyable to get you to stop her, “um, you know. You—you, your, fitting you inside me.”

Even when Tiffany’s talking about such a subject, how can she be so unbelievably adorable?! “Is that so?” Parker wanted to laugh, but the thought of the implications of her words left his mind reeling. He wanted to tease Tiffany for it, but the thought of it … but, just to make sure… “…and how did you do that?”

“Hm?”

Parker couldn’t resist. It must’ve been Jessica’s bad influence that made him want to tease Tiffany so relentlessly. Then again, it was probably Jessica’s influence that Tiffany was like this, too. “How did you get better at that?”

Tiffany’s face was just turning more and more red, and it made Parker want to push her even more. “Oh! Um…”

“Let me guess: Jessica convinced you, or did something for you?”

“…yeah…”

“What is it?”

Tiffany, in addition to looking embarrassed, was also looking a little bit guilty. However, considering everything else she had been so hesitant about, Parker wasn’t even remotely worried about whatever it was Tiffany’s mind was preoccupied with. “…promise you won’t hate me?”

Instead of responding, Parker leaned forward and gave her a peck on the lips. When he pulled away, Parker couldn’t help but smile a little at the startled expression on Tiffany’s face. “Of course not.”

“…are you sure?”

“Do you need some more convincing?”

Parker placed his hands around her waist, but before they could get anywhere, Tiffany let out a squeal and said, “N-No! It’s ok!” Parker retracted his hands, letting Tiffany catch her breath before continuing, “Um … well, Jess did help … she, um, gave me … well, she said you wouldn’t mind! And, I thought, I didn’t, I thought, that, um, that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but now that I think about it, it’s sorta weird, especially because you—”

“Tiffany.” Parker placed his hands on Tiffany’s, who subsequently looked up to meet his gaze. “It’s ok.” Her waffling and panicking melted away in an instant.

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine.”

“…um, well, Jess gave me a … um, a, a, um, a model of your … um, you know, a replica of your, your…” seeing Tiffany’s eyes flicker down clued Parker in as to what she was trying to say, but seeing her floundering about was just too adorable a sight to let him intervene. “…your, um, your—your, your, you. I mean, not like, you, but, um … it. Your pen—your penis.”

Parker only felt slightly bad for forcing Tiffany to get those words out. Only slightly, though. In his defense, however, it was far too entertaining, and far too endearing, to cut short. “I see.”

“You’re not mad?”

On one hand, Parker couldn’t help but smile, but on the other, Jessica’s words reverberated in his mind: a cautionary tale of sorts, a warning, of her past relationship that somehow ended poorly. Was this the aftereffects of that? “No. I know about the dildo molded in the shape of my penis, but I just didn’t know had more than one made.”

“Oh…”

“…so, that’s how?”

“Hm?”

Fuck.

That thought was going to ruin him.

“Is that how you ‘got better’?”

“Oh! Um … um, ye—…—yeah…”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The imagery that appeared in his mind, of Tiffany laying in her bed, with the dildo in the shape and size of his cock in her hand, slowly yet firmly guiding it between her legs, parting her glistening wet folds and slowly but steadily prying apart her walls, the sweet, musical moans that would escape her lips, kept at barely a whisper because of her embarrassment despite being secluded in the privacy of her own bedroom in her own apartment, sweat starting to form on her forehead as more and more of the dildo enters her, but fighting on regardless, steadfast and stubborn, lips parted and eyes closed, legs trembling, her bedsheets being stained with more and more of her juices …

Yeah, Tiffany may very well be the death of him.

“So, you want to try the real thing now?”

“…well, um, if you don’t mind…”

Parker tried to refrain from laughing at that, but ultimately let out a stifled chuckle. “Babe, of course I don’t mind.”

In her excitement, Tiffany spent almost an entire minute fumbling with his belt and zipper—Parker, of course, offered to do it instead, but Tiffany insisted that she be the one to take off his pants and his boxers, and when she finally succeeded, the mostly hardened cock that sprung free from its restraints nearly hits her in the face.

“Wow, it’s so…” Entranced, Tiffany’s hands are drawn towards his member, and the feeling of Tiffany’s dainty hands gently caressing his member causes Parker to let out a hiss. “…so big … and so warm…”

“Shall I return the favor?”

“Hm?” How caught off guard Tiffany is at his question makes him laugh even more.

“You took off my underwear, do you want me to take off yours?”

“It’s ok.”

On one hand, Parker wanted to help Tiffany out of her underwear, but on the other, he wanted to make sure Tiffany is as comfortable as possible. This is only their second time, after all.

The way she took off underwear off, though, made Parker think she was influenced by a certain friend of hers: turned around, with her shorts on the ground, bending over and pulling her panties down, inadvertently shoving her ass and showing off her glistening, wet, pink folds to Parker in all their glory.

But, when she turned around, Tiffany looked none the wiser. “Ok. I’m ready.”

“Did you do that on purpose?”

“Hm?” Oh. She’s just that innocent, huh? “Do what on purpose?”

“The way you took your underwear off…?” The continued, confused look on Tiffany’s face made Parker almost feel bad for her that Jessica is one of her friends. “…I could see everything very clearly.”

“Hm?” Confusion, quickly replaced by a horrified look of realization. “Oh!” Tiffany’s face was starting to return to its normal color, too, but in that one moment, her face turns back to beet red. “I’m-I’m-I’m so sorry!”

“No, don’t be. It was really sexy. You should do it more often.”

“…oh…”

Seriously, what business did Tiffany have, being this adorable, even as she was getting ready to take on the challenge, for the second time, of fitting his cock inside her?

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes!” With great haste, Tiffany turns back around and sits down on his lap. “But, um, you’ll have to help me a little.”

“Of course.” When Tiffany jumped at the feeling of his hands securing themselves around her waist, Parker instantly paused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” It’s like Tiffany is perpetually in a hurry, and the rushed way she answered Parker makes him smile a little wider. “Sorry, I just wasn’t … um, I mean, um … nothing, keep going. Please.”

“I’m your boyfriend now, babe, no need to be so polite.”

“Oh! Um, so—I mean, um, tha—thank you…?”

It was almost unbelievable, this specimen that is Tiffany Hwang, yet here she was, in his lap, asking him to help her impale herself on his cock.  “You’re so adorable, what am I going to do with you?”

“You-You, You can, you can, um, well, you can—”

“Tiffany, I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to change my mind.” Parker’s soothing voice, so close to Tiffany’s ears, simultaneously make her jump but also calm her nerves. “Go ahead, try asking me without a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’.”

“Um … th-then, honey, can you help me with—” At the predictable place Tiffany hit a roadblock, Parker patted her stomach gently, reassuring her and giving her the confidence to continue, “—with, with putting your co—your cock inside me?”

If Parker had one less ounce of restraint, he might’ve taken that as his cue to pull Tiffany onto his raging hard-on and shove it inside her wet, waiting hole—thankfully, not only was there a physical separation that made that a little bit more difficult, but the practice that Jessica unknowingly provided him with, although not explicitly training him for this, gave him the patience to reign in his sex drive.

“Of course, babe.”

Parker had to be doubly careful with guiding Tiffany backwards, lest his lust take control and cause him to hurt her, pausing right as he had Tiffany’s ass pressed flush against his erection. Tiffany let out something between a sharp exhale and a soft moan, slightly grinding against his stiff member. “Ooh, gosh…”

“Slowly, ok?” Tiffany nodded, and, taking that as permission to continue, Parker lifted her partially off his lap while Tiffany’s hand reached downwards to grab his cock, aligning it with her entrance. “I’m going in.”

“Hmmm…” The anticipation inside Tiffany having built so much that it was being forced out of her mouth, Tiffany could only watch as that cock she spent way too many nights thinking about these past few weeks get closer to her, and when it finally brushed against her labia, she let out another, louder moan. “Hnn—!”

“Remember, we’re not in any rush, babe.”

The repeated reassurances from Parker did help Tiffany put her mind at ease, especially when she started to feel his dick starting to push aside her damp labia and into her pussy. “Hnn … oh, oh my…” it was even before his tip fully entered Tiffany that she was already starting to feel it: his size, his firm hands guiding her onto his shaft, and how hot it was.

When Tiffany was practicing by herself in the safety of her own bedroom, she could take all the time she needed, and it was with a toy that she had complete freedom to maneuver; now, she had more or less surrendered control to Parker, it was both scary and extremely arousing. In her own bedroom, she could go at her own pace, but because of how intimidated she was at even the toy-version of Parker’s dick, she would find herself taking quite a while to psyche herself up to even get started. With Parker, she wasn’t granted that time to mentally prepare herself, like how she would press the phallic object against her folds and then drawing away repeatedly until gaining the courage to push it in; Tiffany knew she could say something and Parker would stop, but she just didn’t. Surrendering control of her body, feeling Parker’s cock slowly pushing her pussy lips further and further and stretching her walls more and more, what started out as a sort of stubbornness in swallowing the discomfort and anxiety for Parker’s sake gradually transformed into sheer ecstasy.

And, as Parker delved deeper inside her, she came across the thing that she figured would be the biggest difference between the dildo and the real thing: body heat. She even tried warming the sex toy up by soaking it in warm water for a bit, but that by no means prepared for how, as Parker very slowly entered her, how his body heat seemed to seep into her body as well.

“Oh my … my go-od…”

It was almost torturous, pushing himself as slowly as he was inside Tiffany, but he could feel that it was necessary; he just barely pushed his tip completely inside and was already starting to feel hints of resistance. That, and the feeling of her sticky, damp pussy lips stretching around his girth, clamping tightly around its circumference, pushed Parker’s lust ever higher.

“Fuck, Tiffany…”

The groan that arose from Parker’s lips was a result of that pent-up lust, being shoved down into his body as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, advanced inside her. Tiffany’s sincerity made it easy to keep a lid on that impatience, but there was something about the back-view of Tiffany, how her shirt came just short of her shapely ass and how fucking amazing her waist feels in his hands. There were many upsides that Parker could see with being with Tiffany: of course, she’s breathtakingly beautiful, and despite her naturally cute demeanor that makes one want to simultaneously protect her and tease her relentlessly, she also has all the right curves in all the right places. Of anyone he’s ever gotten to know, Tiffany has to be the kindest, gentlest person he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting, and on top of all of that, she’s a very driven woman who takes her career in marketing very seriously. And then, the cherry on top is how addictingly silky-smooth her skin is: without exaggeration, Parker could see himself very easily hooked on this feeling, of running his hands across her skin, and then also hearing the small moans that escape her lips when he does so.

“Are you ok?”

Tiffany nodded. “That—That wasn’t so bad…”

“Hm? Tiff, I’m not even halfway inside yet…”

“…Huh?!”

Parker let out a laugh. “I thought you practiced.”

“Well—well, I-I-I did, I did, but it’s, it’s just—…” the more she stammered the more she lost her words, and it didn’t help that Parker was continuing to slowly, steadily, push himself inside her and splitting her pussy walls wide apart as she attempted to string words together into a coherent response. “—…oh god … I … Par-Parker, oh my…”

It was tight, alright, but it was noticeably easier than the first time; whether or not Tiffany realized it, Parker could feel the results of her practice. The first time, Parker stopped before going all the way in, the resistance he was feeling being a strong enough deterrent from doing so; now, although Tiffany���s pussy still felt like it was trying to wring the life out of his cock, he could still feel her walls flexing and stretching to accommodate him; that, and the natural lubricant that she was generating and lathering his length with, made it easier.

“Almost there.”

The words were true in a sense; although Parker had no way of knowing for sure, it felt like there was probably about a third of his length to go. And, if his speculation was true, then, for some, two-thirds could be considered ‘almost there’—in this case, whether or not Tiffany considered that to be ‘almost there’, Parker whispered the words into her ears to give her the confidence to keep going, and being the stubborn woman, the type of woman who worked unnecessarily hard to please the people she loved, which held doubly true for the man she loved, it was motivation enough for her to respond with, “Gosh, Parker, I—it, it still feels too big, but, it’s—but, you’re, it’s also so hot…”

“Do you like it?”

“Mmm … mmhhmm, yes, it feels so amazing…”

It must’ve been the sheer amount of pleasure Tiffany was feeling that was making her delirious, but she didn’t even seem embarrassed to make such a bold statement. And, to know that he was the cause of it, Parker felt his chest swelling with pride. That was the positive though—the negative was a thought that creeped in: if she’s acting like this now, then how would she act while she’s bouncing on my cock, on the verge of cumming, screaming as my cock slams into her cervix with each thrust?

It was so, so damn difficult to reign himself in—in fact, it felt like the only thing keeping his pent-up lust, his desire to fuck his new girlfriend relentlessly until she couldn’t even feel her legs anymore, was how insanely tight her pussy was. It was like Tiffany’s body, itself, was keeping Parker’s rampaging hormones in check, and to that, Parker was thankful.

“I bet that toy feels nothing like the real thing, huh?”

“It … it, it’s, it feels sort of familiar, but also, that thing never scrambled my brain as much as you are right now…”

Honestly, Parker should just shut his damn mouth. With every reaffirming word Tiffany spewed, Parker’s ego ballooned and it became increasingly hard to fight against the calling of his more primal side to shove the rest of his length inside her.

“God…” muttering that was all Parker could do to keep himself in check; it had now gotten to the point where Parker had to stop for a few seconds to let Tiffany adjust before continuing, and now that he could feel that he was nearing the end, that urge pushed and pushed against the cracking dam of his willpower until—“…fuck, Tiffany, I’m sorry, but—”

“—did…” Tiffany shyly cut him off, and although there was strain in her voice, Parker also heard an almost equal amount of arousal in her voice as well. “…do you just want to, um, to, just, um, sho-shove, shove the rest inside?”

“Are you sure?”

Tiffany barely had the chance to nod before Parker followed through, eliciting a sharp, louder moan from the Korean woman as her ass finally crashed down onto Parker’s lap.

“Fu-Fuck!”

“Nng, god, you’re so fucking tight, and so warm…”

For Tiffany, it was like a shockwave jolted throughout her entire body, straightening her back, her head subconsciously tilting back and pressing against her new boyfriend’s sturdy chest. In that moment, Tiffany could’ve sworn her mind flashed white, all other thoughts, all sensations vacating her brain except the fullness and the sheer heat of Parker’s cock buried to the hilt inside her.

“Tiffany…?”

“I’m … I’m … oh god, I’m going crazy…”

Even after shoving the rest of his length inside her, the fight against his lust raged on; give her ample time to get used to his size, give her pussy ample time to stretch out fully to accommodate his girth, give himself time to enjoy the hot, tight, wet cavern his cock was burrowed inside, before starting slowly. Nothing major, just griding slowly against her ass, indulging in the soft, plush texture of Tiffany’s shapely romp pressing against his groin while his cock brushed against Tiffany’s womb, shifting around, causing the fleshy, sticky walls of her pussy to shift in kind.

“Parker…”

Now that his hands were no longer needed to guide her onto his shaft, they vacated her waist, sliding under her shirt, unclipped her bra, and pulled out the undergarment from under her shirt. “We won’t be needing this anymore.”

“Oh…” Parker couldn’t tell if Tiffany’s face was red from embarrassment or from being flushed in general. “…um, yeah, I-I, I … yeah…”

As he got his hands on them, Parker’s attention shifted from Tiffany’s pussy to her boobs—despite the insane pressure her walls were exerting on his cock, feeling that squishy, silky-smooth, squeezable texture against his palm and fingers, the addictive quality of her ample breasts, the soft sighs and the way Tiffany arched her back at his touch, a silent cry for more contact, the way her body squirmed at his touch and how she let out a sharp moan at just the feeling of his fingers brushing against her areola followed by a whine as his fingers retreated, it was all too addicting.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh m—”

Tiffany was very clearly getting overwhelmed, awash in a sea of pleasure, every pore in her body screaming out in ecstasy, any hint of discomfort or pain from Parker’s oversized member having completely vanished. Just as amazing as Tiffany’s body felt against Parker’s body, so too did the fullness of his cock inside her, the heat from his cock pulsating into her, feeling his body rocking against her, everything about Parker, it felt like, was turning Tiffany on further and further. Tiffany felt like, with the practice she had done, that she was preparing herself for this experience, failing to take into consideration the rest of Parker’s body: his muscular legs that pressed against her own, his sturdy chest that she ended up leaning her head against, his powerful arms that trapped her arms against to her sides, his hands that kneaded and rolled and massaged her tits, his warm breath that brushed against her ears and warmed her face, the warmth and heat of his entire body, smothering her like a thick blanket—

“Parker, fuck…”

What’s more, Parker could sense Tiffany losing her mind, too, and it only made him want to do more: it made him want to be more aggressive with her tits, it caused him to turn the rocking motion he was doing into a more defined bucking, it made him want to continue whisper into her ear how great of a job she was doing and how amazing her pussy felt, how amazing her tits were, how he loved the way she squirmed at his touch, how divine her ass felt grinding against his groin, and the more it happened, the louder the sound of their sex became.

The two quickly fell into a rhythm, and so deep did Tiffany sink in ecstasy that, when Parker’s hand escaped from underneath her shirt, she let out a whine, followed quickly by an, “Oh—” and closing her mouth from embarrassment at the sound she just made.

Parker, not one to miss a chance to tease his girlfriend, quipped, “Don’t worry babe, I’m just taking off my shirt. It’s getting in the way.”

“Oh, ok…”

“Should I do yours, too?”

Tiffany shyly nodded, and before long, the two of them were back at it, now completely in the nude, with Tiffany sitting on Parker’s lap, who was in turn sitting on his living room couch, slowly fucking the rather inexperienced woman, hands returning to their perch on her tits and this time, being more aggressive with the light squeezes he finally granted to the swollen, erect nipples standing proudly from Tiffany’s boobs.

“Fffuck!”

“Do you like that?”

Tiffany nodded and was rewarded with another pinch. “Mmm! Park—baby, that’s, that’s, oh my god—”

Parker was getting close, but nowhere near as close as Tiffany, whose voice kept raising in pitch and volume the more he rammed his cock into the deepest parts of Tiffany. “Don’t hold back. Let it all out, baby.”

“Please, baby, I’m so close, oh god, I’m so close—” He could feel it, too, and it only pushed him further and faster and harder. “—a-ah, ah, f-f-ffuckk!”

At that point, it felt like Tiffany’s entire body was an erogenous zone. Parker really was trying his best to make Tiffany feel as good as possible, but it also felt like everything he was doing was working. The soft clapping of her ass against his damp groin, the gentle kneading of her tits in his hands, the firm thrusts of his cock against her fleshy, hot, sticky walls, and every time his fingers squeezed her pleasure button, Tiffany responded with all the positive feedback that made Parker want to do it again and again and again and again and—

“—Parker, god, I’m, I’m cum—I’m cumming, oh, fffuck!”

And just like that, Tiffany’s body straightened, vibrating violently against his body, causing his cock to stir about inside her even more and causing her orgasm to intensify even more.

“Oh god, oh my god, I can’t, I can’t, Parker, babe, please, I can’t stop, it’s too much—”

But Parker was helpless to do anything about it either. It was only the second time, but he was already addicted to it: the feeling of Tiffany completely unraveling against him, losing control, awash with sheer ecstasy. The fact that he was the cause of it, the fact that Tiffany allowed him to lose herself like this … the natural response of his body was to desire more of it. So, he was helpless to do anything but to continue fucking her with all his strength, letting her ride out her orgasm, prolonging it until—

“Tiff…”

“Mmm, hmm, hhnnng…”

It was clear that Tiffany wasn’t of the right mind to respond to him, and with how tightly her pussy was gripping his cock, it felt like pulling out wasn’t an option either. Briefly, Parker remembered Tiffany telling him that she was on the pill—and, while he knew there still was some risk to it, he also wasn’t in the right mind to make responsible decisions. All he could think about was Tiffany’s ecstasy, and his own, and the impending orgasm that was washing over his body.

“…fuck, Tiffany, baby, I’m cu—” before he could even finish his warning, the first stream entered her womb at the apex of Parker’s thrust. And Tiffany, who was beginning to wind down from her orgasm, at the sudden feeling of her now boyfriend’s warm, sticky fluid filling her up, felt everything coming straight back up. “Fuck, Tiff, I’m so sor—”

“Oh, oh god, oh my god, I’m—I’m, I can’t again, oh my GOD—” Tiffany craned her head against Parker’s shoulder, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull as a second consecutive orgasm struck her.

“…Tiff…?”

Everything about it. The was Tiffany responded to his every touch, the way her beautiful voice expressed her pleasure, the eagerness—or was it stubbornness?—with which Tiffany seemed to act, the feeling of her body against his, and now, how easily the act of creampieing her made her come to a second orgasm so quickly—everything, everything, made Parker go crazier and crazier. Even as his refractory period was starting to hit him, Parker managed to push through, forcing himself to let Tiffany ride out his orgasm on his cock until, nearly a minute later, Tiffany finally started to calm down.

There was a pretty long period of silence afterwards—silence, not awkward, but comfortable. Basking in the afterglow, Tiffany slumped against Parker’s chest, her own chest heaving, her arms hanging by her side, hands intertwined with Parker’s hands.

“…I can feel it leaking out…”

Parker let out a chuckle. “Sorry I couldn’t warn you better.”

“It’s ok.” Parker could tell by the bashful tone Tiffany’s voice was taking again that her face was red. Which was … strange, might be an understatement to describe it, considering how his cock was still firmly wedged inside her. “It’s … wow, oh my, I can’t believe how it still feels this full, and warm…”

“Let me—”

Tiffany stopped Parker as he moved to lift her off his lap. “I like it.”

To Parker’s credit, the way Tiffany said those words—bashful, hesitant, but with some firmness—that led Parker to respond, “Oh, do you?”

Tiffany whined and slapped Parker’s arm. To say that it even stung slightly would be an outrageous lie—all it succeeded in doing is making Parker laugh. “Shut up.”

“My couch…”

“Hm?” Tiffany first looked over at Parker, then down, and when she did, a look of horror befell her face. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

“No,” Parker told her, this time being the one to stop her from dismounting him, “it’s ok. It’s quite hot, actually.”

“What?”

“Give me a few more minutes. Then, I’ll be ready for round two.”

“Hm…” there was a bit of confidence, and perhaps a hint of mischief, in her voice. Something that Parker didn’t hate in the slightest. “…make that a few seconds.”

“Tiff, I don’t—” Parker swallowed his words at the feeling of Tiffany grinding against his crotch. What he was about to say was that he needed a little bit to recover, from his abundance of experience with Jessica and her relentless energy and how much she always pushed him to go again, now, right now! “…shit…”

But something about it was different about Tiffany. The shy confidence she held, the obvious inexperience in her actions but the eagerness with which she did them … it certainly didn’t hurt that it felt like Tiffany’s ass felt fuller and feeling the cushiony, velvety texture rubbing against his groin felt like heaven on earth, and of course, the insane, sheer tightness of her pussy, but he could feel his fatigue being blown away with every rotating motion.

“A few seconds, ok? I want more.”

Tiffany couldn’t get enough. That feeling, she could’ve sworn that she could feel his cock pressing up against her stomach as she bounced, ferociously, on his lap, crying out as each thrust caused Parker’s cock to strike at the entrance of her womb. The only pause happened because of a burgeoning desire to kiss Parker that eventually spilled out over her lips, and after turning around in his lap without breaking contact, Parker’s hands found their way around her waist and on her ass as her arms looped around his nape. The warmth of each other’s faces, the feeling of their lips pressed firmly against each other, dancing, as Parker’s monster relentlessly ravaged Tiffany’s pussy, each contact creating an increasingly loud slapping noise that also grew wetter, as each thrust also deposited a little bit of the creampie still left inside Tiffany onto Parker’s lap and onto the couch itself.

It was almost a shame, Tiffany’s beautiful moans being muffled, but the fact that it was his own lips that was muffling them made it excusable. The deeper and more lost in lust Tiffany became, the wilder the kiss became, until it eventually felt like they were just trying to devour each other. Animalistic, raw, pure desire for each other, the creaking of the poor sofa, the sheer amount of heat being generated from their activities that was causing beads of sweat to form along their hairlines, but they persisted still.

It wasn’t a novel feeling, really; Parker knew that he was bigger than usual, and that he actually wasn’t compatible with some women because of his size. Frankly, Parker would’ve figured that Tiffany, being the sweet, pure, innocent angel she was, might’ve been one of those women, but in that moment, he knew that he couldn’t be further from the truth. Bordering on discomfort, the intense pressure Tiffany’s pussy was exerting on his cock overwhelmed his senses. He was lost at sea, awash with the smoothness of Tiffany’s legs wrapped around his waist, the velvety soft texture of Tiffany’s lips pressed against his own, everything, everything, was just Tiffany.

As his second climax rolled around, Tiffany was nearing her fourth, so Parker expedited it by pressing on the cheat button. This time, Parker was able to give Tiffany a more heads-up warning, but Tiffany was too drunk on ecstasy to be able to say anything but, “inside! Please, babe, inside!”

So, that’s what he did, and when their climaxes faded, the two were left with the salacious mixture trickling out of Tiffany in droves, leaving a noticeable wet stain on the cushion. Of course, Parker didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You did so well, Tiff.”

“Hmm…”

Feeling how much energy Tiffany expended, Parker had half a mind to carry her, like this, back to his bedroom, as he did the first time they fucked, but his own fatigue decided against it.

“Sleep?”

Parker could feel Tiffany nod against his shoulder, so he extracted his cock from her, making a pit-stop in the bathroom to help clean her up before guiding her, who was now wobbly-legged, barely able to stand, to his bedroom.

When he tucked her in, he expected her to be out cold, so Parker was surprised when he heard Tiffany say, “I want to tell you something.”

“Oh, I thought you’d be asleep already.”

Tiffany turned towards Parker. He had ditched their clothes back in the living room, and while he could see that Tiffany was still slightly flustered by the situation, the mind-blowing sex and the aftercare afterwards seemed to have taken its toll of her embarrassment. “Can I?”

“Of course.”

“It’s about my ex.” Parker wasn’t expecting this so suddenly. In fact, Parker was content—curious, but content—with not knowing at all what happened, and presumably, what her ex did that made Jessica so protective of Tiffany. “Did Jess tell you anything about him?”

“Just that he was a terrible person.”

Tiffany pursed her lips and sighed. “I … wasn’t a virgin when we … um, before our first time.” Parker was already starting to piece things together, but he dared not interrupt her. “It was in high school. You know how it is. There’s … pressure. To do it. I felt it, but as a guy, I guess he felt it even more.” Even now, even now, Tiffany was trying to redeem him. Paint him in a better light. Just … just how much of a saint is this woman? “So, he eventually convinced me to do it. But … I guess … I wasn’t ready…? He would get more insistent every time, and I felt like I couldn’t keep just saying ‘no’, and it wasn’t like it was like torture or anything, and I did like him that way too, but I liked him more for his other traits. It’s just, I guess, he changed.

“I guess that I kept caving to him because I hated disappointing him so much. Eventually, it got a little tiring, and I felt like I couldn’t keep up with him, and we got into an argument. He told me that he had needs, and because I was his girlfriend, I was the only one who could fulfill them. In that moment, I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I remember telling him that wasn’t the case. It was something that I caught myself thinking again and again, especially after those nights, that it would be nice to be able to enjoy it but without being the one who was … um, well, you know.”

Parker could feel how much Tiffany was tiptoeing about the topic, even more so than usual, with the normal innocence she talked with regarding the subject of sex. Now, with the added complexity of speaking about her ex-boyfriend to her current boyfriend … it can’t be easy. But, Parker could see that, with each word that came out of Tiffany’s mouth, it was like a load being lifted off her shoulders. And, as slightly uncomfortable the talk was making him, seeing that load being lifted off Tiffany’s shoulders made it all worth it.

“And, eventually, that’s how I guess I learned of this kink that I have. So, we started, I guess, ‘experimenting’ with a female friend of his. On the days I didn’t feel like it, he’d go to that female friend, and then he’d send me pictures. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that the solution felt like a band-aid over a gaping wound in our relationship. I could tell that he was happier, and that made me happier, but … I guess it was just that … he didn’t want me anymore.”

“He didn’t deserve you.”

Tiffany let out a chuckle. “Thank you, Parker. Jess told me that too.”

“Well, let this be the only time she and I agree on something. He’s a piece of shit that you were being too nice to.”

Tiffany smiled graciously at Parker. “I guess that’s partially why I turned out the way I did. Dating someone else, falling in love with someone else, terrified me. I felt like I didn’t want to lose someone the way I lost him, but I also knew that I couldn’t help but like what I liked. I knew how unfair it was, to want someone who was willing to go along with my kinks and remain absolutely loyal to me—”

“It’s not unfair, baby. To expect loyalty out of your boyfriend should be the expectation.”

Tiffany gave Parker a look for a second, then quickly closed the distance between them and buried her head in his chest. “Really?”

“Of course. If it’s what you want, as long as it’s not hurting anyone. Plus, Jessica is not someone I’d want to be with.”

“Hm?”

“She’s … way too much. Her lifestyle, her work mode, her sexual needs, everything. It’s not for me.”

“But she’s really sweet and understanding and empathetic, isn’t she?”

“…what is your play here?”

Tiffany laughed. “I’m just saying!”

“It sounds like you’re trying to sell me on Jessica.”

“I mean, she’s not that bad.”

“Don’t you dare tell her I ever said this, but yeah, she isn’t.”

“She introduced me to you, after all. So, there.”

Parker laughed, wrapping his arms around Tiffany. “You’re right. Anyone who led me to you can’t be such a terrible person.”

Welp.

… sorry for the long wait

^_^’

HOPE THE WAIT WAS WORTH IT THOUGH!! :D

[thestarsaboveme]

this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

xavier ver. | rafayel ver. | zayne ver. | caleb ver.

sylus x reader | angst/comfort

You were used to Sylus being quiet.

Not cold. Just…quiet.

So when his messages started getting shorter, when his gaze didn't linger as long on yours, when his kissed turned into brushes of habit more than affection, you didn't notice right away.

Until it started to hurt.

-

You saw them again.

Sylus and MC in the lab.

Her laughter reached you before their voices did. Sylus stood beside her, arms crossed, watching her monitor as she demonstrated something. He wasn't smiling. But he also wasn't pulling away like he did with most people. He was listening. Engaged.

You waited for him to notice you.

He didn't.

After ten minutes of watching from the hallway, you left.

-

Are you free tonight?

You messaged him later.

We haven't spent time together in a while.

He didn't reply for two hours.

Can't. Late testing with MC. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow. It was always tomorrow.

-

You told yourself you were being irrational. That he'd always been closer to MC, given their compatibility, their shared background, their synced missions. This his loyalty ran deeper than words, and if he was cheating, you'd know, right?

But your gut twisted every time you saw them together. Every time he mentioned her like she was another heartbeat.

And tonight, as you sat alone in your room again, you couldn't hold it in anymore.

You called him.

He answered on the second ring, voice calm. ''Hey. Everything okay?''

''No,'' you said, and your voice cracked more than you meant it to. ''Can you come over?''

A pause. ''Now?''

''I need to talk to you, Sylus. Please.''

A longer pause. Then: ''I'm on my way.''

-

When he arrived twenty minutes later, he looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes. His hair slightly disheveled from running his fingers through it too many times. He took one look at your expression and stepped in without a word.

You stood by the couch, arms folded across your chest.

He said nothing at first, just watched you. Waiting. Patient.

That made it harder.

''Are you cheating on me with MC?''

The words came out like broken glass.

Sylus blinked. No dramatic reaction. No flinch. Just stilness.

Then a slow, quiet, ''No.''

You let out a shaky breath. ''Then why does it feel like you're never here anymore? Why does it feel like you replaced me with her?''

Still calm, he asked, ''Is that what you think I've done?''

''I don't know what to think, Sylus!'' you snapped, voice rising. ''You've been with her constantly. You talk about her like she's in your head all the time.'' You make time for her, not me. And I sit here, waiting like I'm some background character you forgot about.''

He stepped forward slowly. ''You're not.''

''Then explain it to me,'' you whispered. ''Because I'm tired of guessing where I stand with you.''

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Quietly, heavily.

''There's nothing going on between me and MC,'' he said. ''But I haven't made that clear. That's on me.''

You swallowed hard. ''Then why have you been so distant?''

He hesitated, then moved to sit on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. Not his usual posture. He looked vulnerable. Smaller, somehow.

''I've been working with MC on some dangerous tech,'' he said slowly. ''There were…anomalies in her readings. We thought they were unstable. I needed to make sure she was okay.''

You frowned. ''So you were protecting her?''

''I was doing my job. I was trying to prevent another incident. Something like what happened to me.'' He looked up then, eyes locking onto yours. ''And I didn't want you anywhere near it.''

You hesitated. ''Why not tell me that?''

He looked away again. ''Because if you knew, you'd want to help. You'd want to be involved. And I couldn't handle the thought of something happening to you.''

Silence fell between you.

You sat beside him on the couch, not touching.

''You think keeping me in the dark is protecting me?''

''I thought I could carry it all without hurting you,'' he said. ''But I was wrong.''

You exhaled. ''You made me feel like you were slipping away. Like I was being replaced by someone who understands you better.''

His jaw tightened. ''No one understands me like you do.''

You met his eyes again. ''Then why couldn't you just say that?''

He stared at you for a long time.

And finally, he said, ''Because you're the only person who makes me feel like I'm still human. Like I'm more than what I was built to do. And that scares me more than anything.''

Your heart clenched.

''Sylus…''

''I'm not used to needing someone,'' he admitted. ''But I need you. And I didn't know how to say that without feeling like I was putting you in danger.''

''You're not,'' you whispered. ''You're just hurting both of us instead.''

He nodded, slowly. ''I know. I'm sorry.''

You reached out, brushing your fingers against his hand. He didn't move away.

''I don't want to be protected from your truth, Sylus,'' you said. '' I want to stand beside you, not behind you.''

he finally turned his hand over, letting your fingers intertwine.

''I can try,'' he said softly. ''If you'll let me fix this.''

You leaned into his shoulder, the silence between you no longer cold. But healing.

''I want to,'' you said. ''But next time…talk to me.''

''I will,'' he promised.

And somehow, in that quiet, broken space between heartache and hope, you began to believe him.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Mark Zuckerberg announces mind-control ray (again)

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Mark Zuckerberg has told investors how he plans to make back the tens of billions he's spending on AI: he's going to use it to make advertisements that can bypass our critical faculties and convince anyone to buy anything. In other words, Meta will make an AI mind-control ray and rent it out to grateful advertisers.

Here, Zuck is fulfilling the fundamental duty of every CEO of every high-growth tech company: explaining how his company will continue to grow. These growth stories are key, because growth stocks trade at a huge premium relative to the stocks of "mature" companies. Every dollar Meta brings in boosts their share price to a much greater degree than the dollars earned by companies with similar rates of profit, but slower rates of growth. This premium represents a bet by investors that Meta will continue to grow, which means that the instant Meta stops growing, the value of its shares will plummet, to reflect the fact that it is a "mature" company, not a "growth" company.

So Zuck needs to do everything he can to keep investors believing that Meta will continue to grow. After all, Zuck's key employees and top managers all take much (or even most!) of their compensation in Meta stock, which means that the instant the company stops growing, those workers' pay will plummet and they will seek employment elsewhere, depriving Meta of the workers it needs to successfully create or conquer a new market and once again become a growth stock.

This is why Zuck keeps telling stories. The most important story Zuck tells is about himself, the boy genius who converted a tool for nonconsensually rating the fuckability of Harvard undergrads into a social media monopoly with four billion users. Zuck's cult of personality isn't the product of mere narcissism – it's a tool for creating the material conditions for ongoing investor confidence:

https://www.businessinsider.com/mark-zuckerberg-shirt-latin-what-does-it-say-explained-words-2024-9

If Zuck is a boy genius, then Zuck's pronouncements take on the character of prophesy. When Zuck announced the "pivot to video," investors poured tens of billions into Facebook stock and into video-first online news production, despite the fact that Zuck was obviously lying:

https://slate.com/technology/2018/10/facebook-online-video-pivot-metrics-false.html

The "boy genius" story is an example of Silicon Valley's storied "reality distortion field," pioneered by Steve Jobs. Like Jobs, Zuck is a Texas marksman, who fires a shotgun into the side of a barn and then draws a target around the holes. Jobs is remembered for his successes, and forgiven his (many, many) flops, and so is Zuck. The fact that pivot to video was well understood to have been a catastrophic scam didn't stop people from believing Zuck when he announced "metaverse."

Zuck lost more than $70b on metaverse, but, being a boy genius Texas marksman, he is still able to inspire confidence from credulous investors. Zuck's AI initiatives generated huge interest in Meta's stock, with investors betting that Zuck would find ways to keep Meta's growth going, despite the fact that AI has the worst unit economics of any tech venture in living memory. AI is a business that gets more expensive as time goes on, and where the market's willingness to pay goes down over time. This makes the old dotcom economics of "losing money on every sale, but making it up in volume" look positively rosy:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/reality-check/

Now, Zuck has finally described how he's going to turn AI's terrible economics around: he's going to ask AI to design his advertisers' campaigns, and these will be so devastatingly effective that advertisers will pay a huge premium to advertise on Meta:

https://finance.yahoo.com/news/the-ai-revolution-is-an-advertising-revolution-morning-brief-100001467.html

This narrative is especially galling because it's literally the same story Zuck has been telling for decades: "Facebook has built a mind-control out of Big Data, and we can sell anything to anyone":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/30/dont-believe-the-criti-hype/#ordinary-mediocrities

This is a facially absurd proposition. After all, everyone who's ever claimed to have perfected mind-control – Rasputin, Mesmer, MK-ULTRA, neurolinguistic programming grifters and pathetic "pick up artists" – was a liar. Either they were lying to themselves, or to everyone else. Or both.

But many of tech's critics helped sell this narrative (and thus helped Meta sell ads). Many critics have fallen prey to the sin of "criti-hype," Lee Vinsel's term for critiquing the claims of your adversary without bothering to ask whether they are true:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/02/euthanize-rentiers/#dont-believe-the-hype

The project of convincing investors that tech's "dopamine hackers" had perfected mind-control with warmed over, non-replicable Skinnerian behavior-mod techniques and mass surveillance sold a hell of a lot of ads. After all, if there's one kind of person the advertising sector has always been able to sell to, it's advertising executives, who are the easiest of marks for a story about how easy it is to trick the public into buying whatever you're selling:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

Every ad-tech sales-bro who takes a meeting with an advertising executive finds himself pushing on an open door. Advertisers desperately wants to believe in mind-control rays. Think of the department store magnate John Wannamaker, who said, "half my advertising spending is wasted – I just don't know which half." Imagine: some advertising exec convinced John Wannamaker that he was only wasting half of his advertising spending!

I've long maintained that the threat from AI to workers isn't that AI can do your job – it's that an AI salesman can convince your boss to fire you and replace you with an AI that can't do your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/18/asbestos-in-the-walls/#government-by-spicy-autocomplete

The corollary here is that it doesn't matter if AI can design ads that work, not so long as an AI ad salesman can sell this proposition to an advertisers, and not so long as a tech CEO can sell it to investors.

AI keeps passing the worst kinds of Turing tests – for example, it's great at helping people who are prone to life-destroying hallucinations that they are talking to God:

https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/ai-spiritual-delusions-destroying-human-relationships-1235330175/

Zuck kept up his growth story with this mind control narrative for more than a decade, got caught committing a string of spectacular frauds, and then lured investors back into his stock offerings by telling the same story. This isn't just an indictment of Zuck, it's a stinging rebuke to the whole idea that markets are a kind of infallible computer for assessing and operationalizing information. The market's "thought process" demonstrably lacks the object permanence that most babies acquire by the time they are a year old. You can tell when your child has acquired object permanence by the fact that they cease to enjoy "peek-a-boo" (object permanence means they understand where you have gone when your face is hidden).

In claiming that AI will give him an infinite growth mind-control ray, Mark Zuckerberg is challenging the market to a game of peek-a-boo – and he's winning.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/07/rah-rah-rasputin/#credulous-dolts

Image:

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

After reading your comments now I'm even more excited to read the epilogue!

She's a real sweetheart, right? Writing someone who wants to work with little kids, I wanted to write a young woman who isn't without her flaws, but really embodied that kind, nurturing nature that makes for great elementary school teachers. 💗 (And the kind of inner goodness that I think Dean would find endearing too.)

I love hunter!readers, but the soft!readers really have my heart. Not that a hunter!reader couldn't be soft per say, but I just love how cutesy she is.

Buuuuut maybe he should've asked Dean if it was really ok if he pursued the reader before he stepped in. Maybe as his friend, he should've asked Dean what the hell he was doing with Lisa when the reader really needed him right now lol. Maybe that would've been the wake-up call Dean needed to get his shit together and realize he didn't really truly love Lisa. 🤔

You're so right. Benny should have asked more questions!! Benny should have had the talk with Dean and if he is Dean's best friend he should have known. It kinda makes it sadder though. But I'll bet the epilogue kinda explains that a bit too 🥰 But at the same time yes, Benny was a good guy for stepping up and stepping in.

Ahaha yes!! I knew you would catch that! Oh yeah, but that's the kind of mistake a man not used to little kids would make, I feel like 🤣

It really is. I bet that Ben/Soldier Boy would let his kid watch something too soon and then live with the consequences when he can't have sex with the reader for a month because the kid sleeps in the bed with them 🤣

I knowwww I'm sorry I almost killed Dean, but this is the first of many wake-up calls for both Dean and reader. 😭😭

Don't be sorry, near-death experiences that make people realize they love one another is the kind of angst I live for LOL

I tried to do something different with this story and make it feel more realistic, with no real "villain," except that we can hurt the people we love the most unintentionally with our actions and inaction. What we say, and sometimes more importantly, what we don't say.

It really was wonderfully realistic- all the emotions all the drama, it was beautiful! I also think that it resonates more that way- making it about the internal and external struggle with relationships rather than some big-bad to fight. Because sometimes the big-bad is the little voice inside that makes you push everything down or sometimes the big-bad is you? If that makes sense lol.

Oh you saw that, huh? 😂 Yeah, I think you remember that turned into a fun "anonymous" ask in my inbox asking why I was so "defensive" when people criticized my work. I typically have thick skin and was ready to forget the comments entirely, but when that "ask" came in it really annoyed me, not gonna lie. lol I probably should've just ignored the inbox message and deleted it, rather than spend more time and energy on replying to someone whose mind likely isn't going to be changed on how they talk to writers, regardless. 😂 I get that this AU story was "different," and messy with these relationships, but that was kind of the point. Bless you though for your thoughtful and heartwarming feedback regarding the Lisa and Benny storylines! 💗💗💗

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that happened when I was in my two weeks off period 😅 But I don't think it's so much as you not having 'thick skin' or being 'defensive'- I see it more as you being open to the criticism, but them not giving you anything constructive. If someone says 'oh that's stupid' but then don't tell you why, it becomes more about the writer than what they wrote.

But oh yeah no. The fact that they felt the need to also send in an ask criticizing you even more is just uncalled for. I don't blame you for answering it, it would have annoyed me too- especially because lately I feel like the meaner anons think they're helping writers by being super rude?

Yes exactly! The AU is "different!" It's more about the relationships and drama and miscommunication! (slightly mad at you for that last one jkjk 🤣) AU's are supposed to be different, that's literally it- alternate universe. Which is why they didn't like it, because they didn't understand it. 😬

But you're welcome! I really did enjoy it and I'll bet the epilogue is going to be amazing! 💗

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

So please let me know what you thought! 😘

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: The Epilogue

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[clairewritesfanfics]

Villain Creation System Chapter 1

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Synopsis:

You died. Literally. The process itself was nothing special. The interesting part is what happened after. Instead of the abyss or paradise, a mysterious voice strikes up a deal with you in front of your fresh corpse.

[I am the Villain Creation System, if you want a second chance at life, then you must corrupt the souls of various Mark Graysons across the multiverse.] “Do I have a choice?” [Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.] [ ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ] “...okay, sold.” [Yay!]

You successfully destroyed the lives of different versions of Mark Grayson, but when it's time to claim your prize, something goes wrong and you are stuck in this godforsaken timeline. What's worse was that they have found you.

"Come with me and we will rule the universe together." "Be my wife and bear my children. No harm will ever come to you." "After you died, no one could compare to you, not even your own corpse."

You: (•_•)

Trigger Warnings: you are literally dead, death in general, dark humor (e.g. necrophilia jokes), innuendos, mild swearing, mentions of violence and bodily harm, toxic relationships, the Marks are their own warning

The problem began when you died. 

You didn’t save a kid from a speeding truck or get murdered, no, you died just as you lived: in a remarkably boring, somewhat embarrassing fashion. You fell down the stairs.

In your defence, you just finished a brutal exam and your Red Bull:Coffee cocktail could only do so much for a brain running on 2 hours of sleep. Your eyelids were barely holding on. You didn’t see the “wet floor” sign, slipped and cracked your head on the bottom steps of the stairs. 

On the bright side, you didn’t have to study anymore. On the other hand, you were young, barely half a century old, you had a bucket list that reached the triple digits but you only got to cross out five things. You didn’t get your dream job. You didn’t even purchase your own house yet, never painted and decorated it the way you wanted. You haven’t said your goodbyes. You haven’t experienced love, real, actual, can’t-live-without love.

It wasn’t fair. You always knew that life was unfair, but it was only when you died did it really hit you. You wanted so much more. 

You stared at your corpse, with its elbows and knees twisting into awkward positions, growing colder and stiffer by the second. 

Life wasn’t fair, you knew this. But it wasn’t until you saw yourself at the bottom of the stairs did you realize that life was a bitch. 

Now, there was only one question left. Where do I go from here?

You weren’t an exceptionally good person, but you really hoped you weren't going to end up in Hell. 

Before you could fear for your eternal soul, a disembodied voice, as robotic as it was sweet, greeted you with all the cheer of a kindergarten teacher: [Congratulations on your death! You are the first person to be chosen by the Villain Creation System!]

“...”

[I can tell from that dumbfounded expression that you are confused. Please, let this system explain. Open up your ear holes because I will not repeat myself!]

The thing cleared its throat and a light screen hovered over your dead body, displaying a series of stick figure illustrations.

[As your ancestors have found out, most souls are moved to limbo after death, where they are judged.]

The stick figure in this ridiculous powerpoint presentation died, had its soul enter what seemed to be a judicial court, and was presented with two doors. 

[Depending on the verdict, the soul may reincarnate as another human or a different species, or if they’ve fulfilled all the requirements, they can enter Paradise.] 

A third door appeared between the existing two.

[In special cases, one soul out of 300 trillion is chosen to bind with systems such as I. You already know, but let me reintroduce myself, I am Villain Creation System No. 00001. You see, many fictional worlds are very much real and alive in their own pocket universes. It is a system’s job to ensure a safe and steady existence, preventing the collapse of each dimension.]

The third door moved towards you and you found yourself floating in what resembled the vacuum of space, surrounded by infinite light projections of the Milky Way. 

[Unlike your reality, these special worlds live closely to the void, because its creators–its writers tend to be finite creatures, mere mortals cosplaying as gods.]

One by one, each galaxy turned to dust and you were back at the bottom of the stairs, standing right next to your dead body.

“I think I’ve read about this before…” When you used to have a lot of free time, you would binge read Chinese web novels about protagonists who jumped from world to world, completing tasks and granting wishes, whether it be getting back at cheating husbands or avenging dead relatives. 

“I have several questions.”

[It would be odd if you didn’t.]

This thing sure could talk. “Why me?”

[You mortals truly do love that question.] The thing sighed, as though it was shaking its head at you that very moment. [There’s nothing special about you, if that’s what you’re thinking. We rolled a hypothetical die and got you.]

“ Okay.” Ow. It wasn’t like you believed in life having inherent meaning, but to be outright told by a supernatural creature that you weren’t special still stung.

You pushed the feelings of hurt aside and asked, “Why do you exist? What’s the point?”

[What a boring question. If I told you that “it is fate,” will that be enough? If I say that it is “merely for a petty god’s entertainment,” will you be satisfied? Please don’t bother yourself with such questions, you will only end up hurting your own head.]

“I feel like I’m being insulted.”

[Surely, you’re imagining it.]

You inhaled, more out of habit than anything else because your lungs were decorative now. You calmed yourself. You’d rather not piss off a mysterious entity that seemed happy with your death and had souls dancing at the palm of its nonexistent hands. “All right. What do I have to do?”

[It’s just as my name suggests, you will be sent to different so-called fictional worlds to help create the villains, after all, what’s a story without a great villain? That is a rhetorical question, by the way.]

“You make it sound so simple.” Creating villains, huh. You have watched enough cartoons, read enough books to know that there would be a lot of pain involved. 

[Ding. Allow me to add: your efforts will not go unrewarded; should you complete your tasks, the Almighty One will grant you a redo in your life. If you do everything perfectly, THEY might even give you special privileges.]

“Such as?”

[In addition to your rebirth, you could freely modify your appearance to your liking, or you may ask for knowledge unparalleled in your generation.]

You glanced down at your feet. The blood from your broken skull pooled around you as you weighed your options.

“Do I have a choice?”

[Of course! Agree to our terms, or spend the rest of eternity alone and conscious of your own nonexistence, unable to move on to the next life and barred from what your ilk calls Heaven.] 

[  ˶ˆᗜˆ˵  ]

“...okay, sold.”

[Yay!]

A second chance at life. 

Divine boons, to boot.

It sounded way too good to be true. If anything, rather than speaking with an agent of God (or God’s equivalent) you felt like you were about to shake hands with the Devil.

You totally should have known better. 

The whole thing was fishy from beginning to end, but what else was there to do? Pray?

***

[Mark Grayson of Alternative Universe No. 444 has achieved 100% Darkening. A villain is born.]

[Congratulations on another successful corruption, Host!]

This version of Mark pulled you into his arms. Those who hurt you have become meat paste on the ground around him. 

He touched your cheek, begged you to stay with tears falling like rain on your lashes. It was too late. Often, he was too late. 

“Please,” he cried, holding your face. “Please come back to me.”

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. The system pulled on your soul like the tide returning to the sea. 

[Initiating extraction … ]

[Prepare for a meeting with the Main System. We will calculate your grade and remaining reward points then.]

Finally… You could go back home. You already knew what you were going to ask first, a memory wipe before your second chance. You used your reward points early on and bought a “system cheat” to help alleviate the guilt of everything you’ve done, along with something to diminish the weight of certain emotions, but these cheat codes couldn’t be transferred to your world, the real world.

[ERROR. ERROR.]

Pain shot through every nerve and cut through every vein of your soul. This has never happened before. You writhed in the void until–

Your eyes shot open.

You gasped and sat up. Your heart hammered in your chest and you struggled to regulate your breathing. 

You looked around you. A bedroom. Your bedroom. One of its many variations. 

“What’s going on?!” You demanded from your system. 

You were done. You had just finished your last mission, the final Mark Grayson had been converted, and the system promised that it would send you to speak with its boss and its boss’ boss. You were finally going to get your second chance, free yourself from this damned multiverse. 

However, when you opened your eyes after the extraction process, you could instantly tell that something was wrong.

For one thing, you have awoken in this same bedroom in at least three other parallel dimensions. The posters and pictures on the walls might’ve changed and the bed was next to the window instead of the door, but you knew that this was your room in the many worlds of Invincible.

You yelled at the air and in your mind, “Zero-One? Zero-One, where the hell are you? Hey!” 

No answer.

You fell forward and screamed into your mattress.

You should have prayed. 

Chapter 2: Coming soon

Author's note: As someone who still hasn't finished two other works about world-hopping, I feel a bit ashamed (it's been over three years T.T) but YOU CANNOT STOP ME. Anyway, I shouldn't be doing this, but the hyperfixation gods have their claws deep in my shoulders and I can't study without publishing at least the first chapter. For those who have read my Origin series for the Mark Variants, you may or may not think of this as its direct sequel. I got a crappy memory so continuation would be hard to keep up with. But if you have any questions, feel free to message me. For those who read by my Obey Me fanfic, yeah, this system and the Secondary Character Grievance Delivery System are basically co-workers, lol.

[phantomdreamgirl]

hot for you

S4!Steve x fem!reader (18+)

So, I repurposed an abandoned fic to indulge in some summery steve goodness 😊

A crash of thunder jolts you awake. It reverberates through the house, followed by a flash of lightning. It illuminates the dark room, causing you to sit up. You groggily look around, confused by your surroundings until you remember you slept over at Steve's.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" A sleepy voice asks from beside you.

"Yeah, it was just the thunder," you explain, with a faint smile.

"Are you sure that's all it was?" He presses, also sitting up.

He reaches to tenderly cup your cheek.

"Yeah, it shook the whole house, it woke me up, I guess," you reply, still smiling faintly.

"I'm sorry, honey," he soothes, getting you to lay back down.

He drapes his arm around you as you lay, facing each other.

"I'm glad I decided to stay over," you quietly admit, snuggling closer to him.

"I'm glad you did, too," he smiles, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. "You can spend the night as much as you want since we'll have the place to ourselves."

Your skin heats up at the mere mention of getting to spend even more time alone with him.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, we can pretty much do whatever we want..." he says, leaning in to kiss you.

Your body instantly relaxes as his plush lips move with yours. He presses his palm flat against your back, pushing you closer to him. Your hand rests on the side of his face before slipping into his sleep tousled hair. Little moans escape his lips between kisses as he rolls you onto your back.

"Feelin' better?" He breathes, pulling away slightly.

You nod, gazing up at him dreamily.

"Good," he smiles, nuzzling his nose against yours, "but what if I don't wanna stop?"

"You don't have to," you softly reply.

"Mmm, so you wouldn't mind if I kept kissing you all night?" He continues, his voice low and breathy.

You gently shake your head. "No."

"Close your eyes, honey," he whispers. "I'll kiss you until you fall asleep."

You melt into his sheets as he presses kisses to your cheek. You sigh his name as exhaustion overtakes you again. He whispers how pretty you are as his lips move to your neck. He slowly and lazily licks and kisses your skin before he too falls asleep.

-

You wake the next morning, with your head resting on his chest. Your body's curled around his, while his arm holds you securely to his side. You slightly move your head and wince when the hair on his chest scratches at the side of your face. You then slowly raise your head and see he's still asleep. He's still just as gorgeous, with the most serene expression painting his features. The urge to cover his face with kisses occurs to you, but you don't want to wake him.

Your eyes just travel his handsome face, committing it to memory. Your resistance is short-lived as you carefully lean closer to him. You press feather light kisses to his cheeks before pulling away, unable to keep from smiling. Your gaze then falls to his neck, his shoulders then to his arms. You caught yourself staring at his biceps the day before when you saw him wearing a sleeveless shirt for the first time. Your mind wandered to thoughts you'd only had late at night, in the privacy of your room.

You needed to get a grip, he wasn't even actually your boyfriend yet. Although, he acted like it, you weren't official. He did invite you over for the summer, so that must mean he wants to be more than whatever you are now.

Before you can stop yourself, you're kissing his shoulder, with your lips trailing down to his toned, freckled bicep. An overwhelming need to sink your teeth into his skin takes over and you gently bite him. Its not hard enough to pierce the skin, but enough that it gets his attention.

"Mmm, honey, what're you doing?" He sleepily asks, before you look up at him wide-eyed.

"Trying to wake you up," you lie, repositioning yourself so your face is hovering over his.

"There's better ways to do that, y'know," he replies, reaching up to cradle your face.

"I know," you smile as he pulls you in for a kiss.

"Weirdo," he breathes against your lips, making you giggle.

-

Later that afternoon, you're lounging by his pool, admiring Steve as he climbs out of the water. You bite your lip as you watch him approach you with his tight, short swim trunks pulling your focus. He sits on the lounger next to yours and leans back while you're grateful that your sunglasses hide your hungry gaze. You can't help staring when you notice how his wet skin glistens in the sunlight. Despite your attempts at being discreet, he feels your eyes on him.

"Are you checking me out?" He asks, with a grin.

"Maybe..." you answer, coolly, lowering your shades.

"You should come over here and get a better look," he replies sultrily, sitting up.

Your then slowly get up and sit next to him.

He's quick to reach for you, letting his fingers lazily trace the dainty gold chain resting on your collarbone.

"This is pretty but I'd think it'd look even better with a pendant on it," he suggests, glancing up at you.

"What kind should it be?" You ask while he's still lightly scratching along your skin.

"Maybe a locket of some kind or an intial..." he replies as his hand drifts lower.

"Yeah, maybe..." you breathe as his fingers trace over the top of your bikini.

"I think a little gold 'S' would look pretty good, don't you?" His lips brush yours as he brings his other hand up to cup your cheek.

"Wouldn't we need to be dating for me to wear that?" You question, with your hands gripping the towel beneath you.

"I mean, yeah. Would you wanna be my girl?"

You're not sure if it's the heat or his breathy voice but suddenly you feel faint. He nuzzles his nose against yours before you nod.

"Yeah, it's all I've ever wanted," you reply gazing into his warm eyes.

He smiles before kissing you excitedly. His large hand perfectly cradles your jaw as he kisses you so deeply. You're so lost in him that you barely register him moving you to where you're laying underneath him. His kisses are still just as hot and messy as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"I know you wore this slutty little bikini just for me, didn't you angel?"

"I might have," you smile as he groans.

"Such a fucking tease..." he whispers so low you think you'll combust.

You think he's going to kiss you again but instead he lowers his head and focuses on your chest. He kisses all the exposed skin he can before licking the valley between your breasts. You arch into him sighing his name while he gazes down at you, his eyes burning with desire. You feel his hand trailing down your stomach, with his fingertips lingering above your bikini bottoms.

"Can I?" He asks breathless.

You nod and he slips his hand underneath the black fabric.

His long fingers trace up and down, so teasingly, collecting your arousal. He then traces little circles, enjoying how he has you already whimpering for him. His teasing doesn't last as he sinks two fingers inside you.

"This what you wanted, honey?" He asks, his mouth barely touching yours.

"Yes..." you whine as he pumps them in and out.

"Been dreaming about touching you like this..." he breathily reveals. "I've wanted you for so long, angel."

"Mmm, Steve..." you gasp as he fucks you fast and deep. "I've wanted you, too."

"I know you have, angel," he replies smug. "God, I wanna keep you like this all the time."

You whine incoherently with your hands clawing at his sweaty shoulders.

"You're my fuckin' girl now," he rasps into a kiss.

You gasp his name one last time before he pulls his hand away. He places his fingers between his lips and his eyes roll back when he tastes you. You stare up at him, in a daze, while a smile forms on his plush lips.

"I think we should cool off in the pool for a little while, don't you?" He asks, leaning over you again.

You nod, knowing full well what he means.

[apiciuscats]

hihi!! I rlly loved your sakadays fic where the reader turned into a cat and was wondering if you could do a version where they turn into a cat instead ?? ^_^

— YOU’RE A… CAT?! PT2 | Sakamoto Days

🐾 SUMMARY — After an experiment gone wrong, your partner has magically transformed into a cat! How would they deal with this predicament?

🐾 CHARACTERS — Shin Asakura, Nagumo Yoichi, Uzuki Kei, Gaku

CONTENT & NOTES — Established relationships, probably OOC characters, comedy and fluff. Bad writing, not super proud of this but it is what it is. I was intending to make each part a little longer to make up for less characters, but my mind was seriously blanking today.

WC — 1.7k total, 200-400 per character. 

💌 REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Feel free to send them in for Saka.Days after reading my pinned Request Rules !!

SHIN ASAKURA

He becomes a cute golden cat with blue eyes!

At first, he’s very stressed about the change. How is he supposed to well.. do his job? Or at least scold Lu if she puts stuff in the wrong place again? What if another assassin comes along and he can’t even do anything, helpless in his cat form? 

And he hates this form! He’s much smaller, can’t hold things, his vision, hearing, everything is different- even people’s thoughts seem louder in his head now. 

On the other hand, Sakamoto and Lu don’t even seem to be that bothered, much to his dismay. Lu even has the audacity to try and pet him and pick him up. He runs onto the counter, hoping Sakamoto can sense the urgency of this terrible situation, only for him to leisurely try to give him a pat too. Not even looking up from his newspapers. 

Surely you’d help... right? At the very least you seem to be slightly concerned about the situation. However, you’re not acting as panicked or determined to find the solution as he thought you’d be. In fact, a few minutes after he nervously presents himself to you, and Lu explains the situation, you do the same thing as them- and reach out to stroke his fur. 

He grumpily lets you do so. He must admit the feeling is pleasant. He tries to think of anything that can help him escape from this situation. Maybe Natsuki can— he always creates different gadgets.. right? Or surely one of his other friends would know. Heisuke certainly wouldn’t. Lu and Sakamoto are useless. Aoi and Hana only find his change adorable. He can’t get in touch with Natsuki. Nagumo is 100% out of the question… yeah, he’s cooked. He makes a note to remind himself to get more useful companions. 

After a few hours of pacing in the shop and running away from Lu’s petting attempts, he settles down beside you with a huff, not meeting your gaze and letting you pet him for a while. 

In the day, he vows to go on a long mission to find a way to revert his changes. He stalks out of the shop with determination in his steps. Unfortunately, his plan is foiled quite immediately. Heisuke finds him first, picks him up (much to his insistent hissing) and pets him. When he finally frees himself he finds that there is nowhere to go within walking distance for him. He looks at you for help, but you have no idea what he wants to do. 

Lu suggests he must want fresh air. You end up taking him on a long stroll through the streets instead, enjoying the weather and picking up trinkets and food from the stalls of the bustling area and vendors. Even the pedestrians want to stop and pet him. He stoops away for the most part.

He returns to the shop an hour later fruitlessly... Why isn’t anyone worried?! Instead of aiding him on his journey to find a solution, you took him to enjoy the summer weather. Fine, it’s not like he dislikes spending time with you, but he’d much rather do it while he was a human!

It would take him days to get settled. He’d try to reprimand Lu for putting things in the wrong place, whether it be meowing indignantly in his most dignified way or biting/scratching at her apron. Sakamoto started reprimanding him instead for doing the latter. He turns to you for help, but you only coo at how cute he is. He can’t wait to be back as a human. 

YOICHI NAGUMO — 

Lithe little black cat with dark brown eyes <3

First of all, he finds some way to mess with you. I don’t see him as the type to purposefully do major things like pushing vases, thankfully, but he finds other ways to annoy you. 

Also tries to hunt and bring things in for you. Shows up with a dead mouse in his mouth. Absolutely not! He droops and drops it so you let him in. 

He’s definitely not complaining about a good excuse to slack off or take a break from his job. He’s not 100% happy about his predicament— he’s weaker, and he can’t use his disguise skills anymore. Well, he can, but he can only look like other cats, so it’s kind of pointless unless he wants to mess with you. If there are bright sides— he gets to spend time with you, he gets to not do his assassin work, and he can explore new places. 

However, he sure is smug about it. He sits on your lap or on your chest, gets all the pets he wants, and refuses to get off. If you choose not to pet him? Fine. He’ll dig his claws into your shirt and stay there all day. He has nothing else to do now anyway. 

After several hours when he finally gets off, you’re utterly covered in fur and he stares at you, certainly laughing at you. 

He takes this opportunity to claim all your items too. He gets fur over all your favourite shirts and hoodies, sleeps on your objects— papers, clothes, computer, keyboard— anything you need he’ll sleep on. 

I feel like if you tried to get him toys, he would indulge you and chase them for a bit, but even he grows bored of them quite easily. Not as fun as pouncing on you. Demands attention almost 24/7. 

The cat that stays up all night. When you’re asleep, he gets so bored. He spent his entire day napping on you so now he doesn’t know what to do. He goes outside, then meows and paws at your window so you can let him in again. Not like he wouldn’t be able to find a way to get in even if you didn’t let him in, he just finds your tired, grumpy expression hilarious. 

Although he’s not in a rush to return to human form, he’d preferably want to transform back in a few days. The last thing he wants is the other Order members on his ass, or people trying to take advantage of his new form to attack him. 

UZUKI KEI — 

Veryyyy fluffy white cat with pale blue eyes eek 

Blud is NOT happy about the change. He’s completely not used to it. If the voices in his head weren't enough, now he has enhanced senses— scents and sounds pouring in, and he can’t even fight a fraction as when he was a human.

Internally, Kumanomi thinks the change is adorable. She knows much better than to even attempt to pet her boss on the head though, even if they were close. 

He supposes he can tolerate some pets from you. Admittedly, the feeling is great. He tries not to act like he‘s enjoying it too much, merely tolerating it for your sake, but you would know better. 

As time goes on, he stresses out more. He knows it’s not like his organization would utterly fall apart a few days without him— Kumanomi or Gaku can take over just fine for a bit, and everyone is a capable fighter, but this change is horrible! He feels embarrassed and rather belittled too. Their notorious and strong leader shouldn’t be reduced to this useless.. fluffy.. cat. 

After a while of pacing he tries to settle down and think, curled up beside you while he tolerates your pats. 

Even if the members of his organization didn’t mind his change, or even considered it cute, he’d never ever recover from this. Out of everybody in his group, he was the only one who got turned into such a weak cat..! How humiliating for him. It’ll take much reassurance from you just so he stops thinking about it. 

And he certainly does not want outsiders to catch wind of this. Not only is it dangerous— he could become an easy target. It would also be even more deplorable if the other assassins found out the strong and calculating Slur turned into a.. cat. 

When he finally does return to his human form, he’s never so relieved and would prefer if the incident was never mentioned again. 

GAKU — 

Slightly long-furred light blue cat with pink eyes. Yeah, the colour is unnatural for cats, but his colours are also unnatural for a human so 🤑 

Lazyyyyy cat. A bit sad that he can’t play games anymore, so he just opts to sleep instead, or watch you play games [even if you suck]. 

Despite being somewhat grateful of his new predicament and ability to skip working, his loyalty to Slur would make him still a bit irritated about the change the first day or so. 

For the most part, he walks around the area or stays beside you. He eats, for the most part, snacks. You have to feed him chips in small amounts, because you’re worried him eating too much salt in a frailer form can’t be very good for him. 

Needless to say, Kumanomi finds the change cute too and even dares to attempt to pet him.

He can’t fight now, either, which is rather annoying. No training or jobs for him, and he won‘t even attempt to budge his own mace in this form. 

Canon that he sleeps like a log, but this is no less annoying even when he’s a cat. Sleeps in the middle of hallways, and even with enhanced hearing, absolutely nothing wakes him up. The amount of times someone has tripped over him too, as he’s much smaller now, is incomprehensible. If he isn’t sleeping in the most unconventional place, he’s sleeping on or beside you, and he does not wake up easily either. Which means you'll have to tolerate him for a couple hours, or you have to manually move him, which is somehow the only way to wake him up. If you do that, he wakes up, stares blankly at you and ideally jumps back onto you and falls asleep again. 

Just like Nagumo, he’ll also sleep on your things. Consequently, you’re covered in fur as are all of your belongings by the end of day 1. 

Watches you and/or Kumanomi game while he’s bored, lazily lounging beside you and internally judging both of your bad gameplay. If he’s feeling petty he might nip you for doing a bad play. What a shame that he can’t take over anymore, because he really wants to after tolerating half an hour of your ‘terrible’ gaming skills [in his opinion]. 

please don't copy or repost/translate my works, or use it to train AI.

pawprint header: @/dogfoodvendingmachine

[synthetickitsune]

Siren!S.Coups (SVT) | Shipwreck angst | 0.9k | gn!reader tw: injuries, blood -> mermay masterlist

You’re tired. Just so tired. 

Your limbs feel like they’re made of lead. All feeling is lost in them. Your hands and feet seem to try to pull you down into the water. Is it blood loss? Well, that’s probably not helping anything but you doubt that’s all. The knife in your hand feels too heavy to hold. You need support but there’s no one to hold your hand. If the blade’s cutting into Seungcheol’s throat, he doesn’t say anything. 

Human body simply isn’t built to stand this much time exposed to the elements, to spend such a long time in water. It feels like torture. You’re cold, you’re hurt, starving and so, so exhausted. Yet you can’t even sleep. Your arms can barely hold onto Seungcheol, yet he doesn’t let you slip away. Even though that would work the best for him.

“Land,” Seungcheol grunts. You feel his muscles strain as he swims faster, his tail bumping against your limp legs. You don’t raise your head to take a look. You can’t find the strength. Neither do you get the chance to ask where you are because as soon as your body hits the ground, you pass out.

It’s a bliss you don’t get to truly enjoy. There are no worries in unconsciousness. No ocean predators, no hunger and thirst. No knife pressed against the siren’s throat to keep him from making you his dinner. Though you’d be no match for him, you suppose, despite his own wounds. 

When he found you among the shipwreck debris, he was about to devour you. He already feasted on the leftovers, on the bones the other predators left behind but it wasn’t enough. You were alive and ready to fight for your life though. He seemed to respect that. 

In the end, a deal was struck. He’d help you get back on land and you’d help him heal. In exchange, you just needed to sacrifice some of your blood to keep him going when he started getting too weak. It worked. But you couldn’t trust him while you were in such a vulnerable position.

Waking up after such a deep, long sleep is strange. The following hours stranger. A whirl of giving explanations, statements, listening to the doctor, running around - not really but it feels like it - trying your life back in order. Dreaming of home. Home. Yet even as you make your way through the town, trying to keep a low profile, the deal you made nags at your mind. Walking past the market, you see the freshly caught fish staring at you. That should work.

It’s late evening when you finally reach home, sort out everything you’ve brought, and finally step outside again.

You force yourself to remember that you’re safe now when the waves wash over your feet. The fish in your hands feels a lot like the knife - way too heavy. Like an offering to an angry god, a sacrifice that might not be enough and you could easily take its place on the god’s whim. 

What are you even doing here? You sit down. The feeling of sand, firm land under you, grounds you. You can only hope Seungcheol finds you here. Something tells you he will, something you can’t explain. Something inside you feels impatient to see him.

It’s with the arrival of the first star that he shows up. His expression is dark and unreadable, it makes the hair at the back of your neck stand up. 

You didn’t take the knife. 

“There’s more-” you manage to say before he rips the fish away from you and tears into it like the starving beast that he is. 

The sight of his sharp teeth awakes memories you don’t wish to remember. Your hands instinctively come to rub the scarred bite marks on your arms, to cover them. At first you didn’t trust him when he said his saliva will help stop the bleeding, despite it making the most sense - after all sirens do seem kind of vulnerable compared to other oceanic predators.

Watching him devour the fish, though, you feel uneasy. He never bit into you like that. And of course, he’d probably tear your arm apart if he did, but the feeling you got from his bites was more… intimate. He took care with it. Deliberately exploring your body to find the right spot. His teeth slid into your skin like sharpest blades, the first second was painless. You watched his eyes grow darker and darker as he drank your blood. Just a little. Just enough to keep him going. He trailed his lips against your skin afterwards. You thought that he didn’t really need to do that. You weren’t bleeding anymore.

You shiver, getting too lost in the memory. 

Until it wasn’t just a memory. 

Seungcheol is no longer feeding. When you come back to, you’re deeper in water, the merman nestled between your legs. Currently he’s pressing his lips against your palm, licking your skin with hunger now familiar to you. He inches closer, lips tickling your skin, nibbling on his favorite spots.

“I can get more food if you’re hungry,” you whisper. The words don’t seem to reach him. You don’t dare to move. It’s a prey behavior to run away.

“You kept me waiting,” he growls low in his throat. He kisses and nips up your arm and neck until your foreheads are almost touching.

“I came as soon as I could,” you counter. Honestly it was a miracle you escaped the interest of the public as successfully as you did.

“Not soon enough,” he rumbles. You can almost feel the vibration spreading through his body. “Now you pay.”

You’re not afraid. You’ve spent the last couple days terrified of him. And now that you’re truly helpless, you don’t feel any fear. 

You trust him, you realize.

And so bare your neck to him.

[starrythroat]

hard vs soft rant

So I had a big draft on my opinion on soft magic systems vs hard magic systems, but after giving it some time to breath I decided to make a shorter one instead

Disclaimer: I won't talk here about how I believe people should write their fictional settings or to behave with each other or what are the differences between writing for yourself vs writing for yourself and sharing vs writing for others or when criticism is appropriate etc etc. In general, I strongly believe that people should worldbuild the way they want

I don't go there, but i get this vibe from some worldbuilding communities that soft magic systems in tandem with high fantasy is for lazy or not intelligent enough people and is equal to avoiding research, because real chads do tectonic plates maps and plan out planetary system and every magic Is just a technology we don't understand etc

And I don't like this approach very much. As a person who does map plate tectonics for their settings, I'm not talking about lore writing mode itself, but rather about how it's presented to other people sometimes as something superior, especially in such discipline as writing magic systems

Yes, I agree that researching in general can make your setting more rich, because I believe the more interesting things you know the more you can share with people or ponder with yourself, and also as someone with very poor fantasy I have hard times imagining people being able to make up stuff without research. BUT i have some points of my opinion i want to share:

well-researched setting doesn't necessary mean natural sciences research or hard magic system presence. example: history of esotericism, sociology, psychology, history of sciences, religion etc etc

well-researched natural science does doesn't necessary mean this science is used as it is, for building a planet for example. instead it can be placed as a metaphor or subject of thoughts \ praise etc

hard-magic system are often praised for being more realistic, close to our universe. but in most cases i think it might feel realistic because of thought put into logic of it and because of familiar to audience pop science concepts. I don't believe something built on like university course number of hours in science research for a setting has high chances of being "realistic", especially when in final product you can see magic action and be able to immediately "understand" how It works from for example physics pov after reading only through few pages! If it was true, everyone could get up to date phd in all sciences in like one year of studies and you wouldn't need science communicators

or in other words: when you're able to explain to the reader your "science-based" magic system in a few pages of lore drop, any other fictional magic logic will do as well. yes, throwing in some stuff that reader might recognize might create a little bit of extra illusion of "ohh were speaking REAL research here" but you must realize that's a trick and not something that makes you better than other worldbuilders

humanity haven't deciphered how "our world works" if it's even possible. yet a lifetime of 24\7 studying won't be NEARLY enough for you to read about all the data we have gathered and what theories we have built, but some people believe that supplemental research for your fictional setting, often done not full-time, without doing math and studies, through pop science 20 min long videos, can somehow almost close the gap and elevate people who do that above people who spend time on other stuff in their setting

I might even argue that realistically all the "hard magic systems" should look like soft magic for at least in-universe non magic users, and for the readers themselves, unless you want to make magic manual from pov of learning wizard without any narrative, if we're playing the game at being very pedantic about this

It's not a new thought, but in my opinion, as in drawing, creating satisfying for brain magical system is about composition: harmony of order and disorder, actions with predictable outcome vs actions with unpredictable outcome in a nice proportion, weaved in narrative in a pleasing way in a same manner as any other possible event is treated in the story, because any magic will feel unnatural in the story if it's placed in a wrong place

[sharksfrommars]

asylum Ford Drabble, for your pleasure.

Dipper and Mabel’s first night in Gravity Falls.

What is up with Grunkle Ford?

Grandpa Shermie had told Dipper and Mabel that Grunkle Ford sometimes had delusions. They knew Ford had a sickness in his brain, one that made his sense of reality shaky. That’s why he lived with Grandpa Shermie, why he had to take special pills every day. It explained why grunkle Ford was a little… odd.

Ford always told the kids stories, about all sorts of strange and wonderful things. Monsters lurking in the deep forests of Oregon, beasts that live in the sea and sky. fairies, gnomes, demons and ghosts, Ford had stories about them all. Most of all, he told them the story of the town he lived in, back in the 70s. Gravity falls was a town built at the heart of all things bizarre. It attracted the freaks and the weirdos like a magnet. It was choc full of cryptids and beasts and alien life forms, if you believed Grunkle Ford.

Dipper wasn’t sure. On one hand, every one knew that Grunkle Ford wasn’t in the best mental state. They all remembered the incident at thanksgiving 2009. Or that time in the restaurant last year. Actually, there was a long list of incidents that proved Ford wasn’t of sound mind.

But some part of Dipper believed it anyway, because it seemed to make the feelings of magic and mystery he so often felt just a little less crazy. He wanted to find proof, one day. Undeniable proof of something Strange and Abnormal. He wanted that magic to be real, wanted his Grunkle to not be thatinsane.

When the twins found out that they would be going to gravity falls that summer, they were excited. They were finally going the town that Grunkle Ford always talked about! Dipper was convinced he’d find something that would prove the existence of the paranormal to his sceptical grandfather. Mabel was just excited to meet new people, and spend time with her brother. It was going to be the summer of a lifetime.

The shack they were staying in was run down, and barely standing. There were 3 people to welcome them when they entered. At the front, a man in his 20s, with a cap and a tool belt. He introduced himself as Soos Ramirez. Shermie had spoken to him on the phone, and hired him over the summer to fix up the shack. 

“I’ll be honest, son. This is a lot worse than I was expecting.” Said Shermie. Soos grinned

“Oh yeah dude. Local teens are always breaking into this place, tryna find the flayed ghost. Don’t worry though dudes. We, like, totally got it to living standards dudes. My Abuelita even cleaned the place!”

The old woman next to Soos nodded. She looked exactly like him, except an old woman. She seemed to be vacuuming the grass.

“House is very dirty.” she said, “I clean.”

Soos turned around and pointed the last person. A gangly teenage girl, with long red hair. She happened to be the prettiest girl Dipper had ever seen. She was on her phone, not paying attention.

“That dude over there is Wendy! She’s my assistant, so you’ll probably see her around.”

“Sup” said Wendy, not even looking up from her phone. 

Soos took the pines on a tour through the house. It was clean, and seemed stable enough. Really it was much better than it looked from the outside. There was still work to be done, but mostly cosmetic stuff. The kids called shotgun on the attic room, even though the roof wasn’t yet tiled, still bare insulation foam and support beams. Shermie sighed and agreed, so long as they wait for the roof to be finished. Soos put it on the top of his list.

Ford had disappeared at some point during the grand tour. Shermie went to look for him, letting the kids get settled in one of the lower rooms. 

“Do you think this place is really haunted?!” Dipper whispered to Mabel. It was an exciting prospect, that he might get to see a real life ghost. Just like in Ghost Harrassers.

“I mean this place sure is spooky enough!” Said Mabel, “I just hope it’s a hot ghost. Preferably a tweenage heartthrob, who can’t pass on until he finds the girl of his dreams.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “A ghost isn’t going to want to date you, Mabel. It’s probably going to suck out your soul of something. They do that.”

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for a hot vampire then.” 

“Oh this place is definitely haunted.” Said a voice from the shadows. It was Wendy, leaning casually against the wall. Dipper jumped up, excited.

“You’ve seen a ghost!? What was it like!?!”

Wendy smiled.

“You know an old cultist scientist used to live here, a long time ago. He did all sorts of cruel experiments on people, turned them into monsters. People say he even went as far as to eat them. They say the souls of those he killed still walk these halls. 

“There are all sorts of Ghosts, but none stronger than the Flayed Man. He was skinned alive. The scientist kept him alive as long as possible, just so he could tear the flesh from each limb. When the flayed ghost finally died, he came back as a wraith, bringing vengeance to everyone who has ever stayed here…”

Dipper and Mabel were enraptured with Wendy’s story. Dipper started blabbering excitedly to Wendy about his you can track ghosts. Suddenly, it was like they had known each other forever, as they talked and laughed.

Dipper made it his mission to capture the Flayed Man, and to talk to him. He enlisted Mabel to help. Together, the mystery twins could crack the mysteries gravity falls. 

That first night in gravity falls was quiet. Except for the low hum of machinery from far below the ground.

[vro0m]

Maybe this is my own bias wanting to see things that are not real but both Charles and Lewis strike me as drivers (at least in this current moment and season) who do care about the team overall doing well and would be ok with strategists using them to maximize team points? If they would just take fast and smart decisions, I don’t think the drivers would question it too much. But this constant hesitation and unclear calls over time also builds up a feeling of uncertainty in the drivers maybe because then you start to question what is actually taking so long, do they not know what to do, etc

Just me analyzing for you for free on the basis of gut feeling alone! You’re welcome vrooms! (Would love to hear your thoughts on this more though for real. )

I think most drivers are fairly okay with collaborating when they are in a car that's not very competitive. The closer they get to the front the less they're willing to put the team ahead of themselves. In this context it did seem to me like they were okay with swapping the cars around when needed, and could have done it better and more efficiently if the engineers weren't hesitating about it. It's like the strategy team is the one unwilling to prioritise the team, which makes no sense.

I agree with the uncertainty thing. Imo the big issue is that drivers need to trust their engineers deeply because the engineers can't spend too much time explaining stuff over radio. Look at what happened with Max and GP. GP said "stay within 5 seconds of George" and Max asked why. GP refused to elaborate, he said "just do it". And Max does what he's told in these cases because he knows he can trust GP and the team behind him.

Charles and Lewis can't trust their engineers because they don't trust that the team is making good decisions. Yesterday I brought up the first race I watched that got me into F1. It was back in 2019 and Charles was already contesting the team's decisions over radio. At length. That's an issue.

Similarly, do I remember correctly that when mclaren got back to the top they also had to adjust because suddenly we were listening to radio calls lasting several dozens of seconds?

So yeah on the one hand, they should be making decisions faster. On the other hand, for the fast decisions to be accepted by the drivers without further dicussions, they need to be able to trust that those are the correct decisions. And that's the deeper issue for me.

[mewnewew]

WOAH! Alex is here (again)

*ahem* I shall humbly request more secret relationship fics, with the one and only, Crocodile :D

Ayyyy hey thereee :33 I… hope I did justice??

Crocodile looked at you now as you were actively watching your current favourite show and mildly wondered how did he get here. How did everything become so…domestic.

Now the man was a real estate company CEO, with dealings with the underworld. Asked the right people on the street and they would direct you to people who would be willing to do contract killing for you, which was a something he was a little more focused on as a business under him. Hell, he even had the country’s most famous casino which was rivaling Vegas’ casino.

+++x+++

The way he had met you was quite ridiculous, really. He was at one of the lower floors of his building, headache already forming thanks to some mix-up by the damn receptionists and clients when he bumped into you. You looked down at the food now spilled on the floor and your papers all over the place, and you fixed him with a glare. Yes, him, the very well-known, arguably scary, mostly intimidating, 6-foot-something CEO with a prosthetic hand and an unknown scar stretched across his face, yelled at him.

“Watch where you’re walking!” You yelled, already picking up papers and taking tissues to pick up the food.

“Excuse me?” He asked, a warning glare in his tone. Unknowest to both of you, onlookers were split between praying for you and watching dumbstruck.

“You heard me. I saw you, you weren’t even looking ahead. Watch where you’re looking next time alright?” You snapped at him.

“Hey!” Called a woman behind you. Looking at her he realised you two must be siblings, having the same eye colour and hair.

“Oh Sir Crocodile, I’m so sorry I’ll take care next time please forgive us” she started to apologise for the both of you, hand pushing your head down in a bow.

He exhaled, eyes now trained on the both of you. “…..Ensure this doesn’t happen again” he spoke, walking away. His mind, however, couldn’t stop thinking about you.

A week later, you were invited to have dinner with him and two weeks after that, you were mentally apologising to your sister as you bounced on his dick, moaning as his hand pulled at your hair, his teeth leaving another hickey on your neck.

+++x+++

You were an art teacher actually. You did digital, and if they were there, physical commissions from home and came on Tuesdays and Fridays to teach at a local school. Two out of three weeks you would spend your Wednesdays at a local Art School as a professors’ assistant. That day in his office, you were trying to surprise your sister with lunch. You were honestly a breath of fresh air. Suspicious of him at first, you soon became more trusting around him. You treated him like any other, not tip toeing around him when he was brooding or what not. You pushed at his walls, and gave him one of your usual unimpressed stares when he tried to strong arm you with threats or the like. There was, one problem however. Owing to his standing in the public and in the underworld, you were in danger. He had explained so, one evening with you sitting on the kitchen counter and him standing between your legs.

“So?”

He raised an eyebrow, “So?”

“So what? Is this the explanation as to why you don’t want me telling anyone you’re dating me?”

Idly, you were playing with your phone charm. It was custom made by a friend apparently. A coin on either side of a curled Crocodile on a piece of twine tied in your phone case holes. He’d only seen you play with it when you were worried or anxious about something. Oh, you were anxious. Anxious to see whether he was actually lying for something else.

Reaching up with his prosthetic, he cupped your cheek. He leaned down and kissed your nose, watching with a pleased huff as you scrunched it. “Think I’m lying?”

You scowled, now crossing your arms “Are you?”

Now he was pushing your torso parallel to the counter, leaning over to litter kisses to your lips and face. “Never to you, dear.”

He’d ensure you were well protected. Having one of his best killers follow you occasionally just to check on you. Even had you learn a martial arts of your choosing for self defence. Like hell if someone was able to take you away from him.

+++x+++

Sometimes he’d have nightmares or thoughts of you betraying him. Throwing his love back at him as you laughed in his face, and he would wake up, sitting up as he grabbed a cigar, leaving the bed to puff away for a few hours.

All of that stopped however, when one night you padded into the home office he had in the suite. “Crocodile?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes, dressed in some shorts and one of his shirts only. Your hair was all over the place yet you looked at him with innocent curiosity and drowsiness.

Heart still thudding from his nightmare, he waved you away. “It’s fine. I’ll come in a bit. Just had to finish up some work.”

You stood quietly for a few seconds, as if processing his words, then trudged over to him, already climbing into his lap. “S’okay. You had a nightmare didn’t ya? I’ll stay with you.” You yawned into the fabric of his shirt.

He froze, and every malicious thought about you suddenly vanished. All he could see was your soft, trusting self, who was willing to trust him at every stage. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and buried his face into your hair. “Perfect, little thing. Why do you do this to me?” He asked, and only soft snores answered him. He stayed awake till the cigar ran out, before getting up with you still in his arms, cradled like you were the most precious thing to him. +++x+++ You were the only one whom he would allow to touch his scar. Willingly. You traced it as if it were some ancient famous, important writing on an old piece of rock. You explained it was interesting to you. He looked at you as if you had grown a third head. You sheepishly shrugged. Interestingly enough, you only asked once whether you could find out about his missing hand and the scar on his face. When he didn't answer, you just took it in stride, and never even seemed to care that he hadn't actually answered, till one day he did. On his birthday, you got him a painting of his casino, as well as a phone charm for him as well. When he protested, saying that he couldn't actually put it, you shrugged saying that it would still match. It hung on his keys to the casino.

+++x+++

So the both of you had a routine. He’d leave first, you much later, to wherever you had to go. If you didn’t have classes that day, you’d end up sleeping in or doing commissions at home or at a cafe.

You’d spend time with each other whenever you could, and slowly the man came to realise. He was utterly and completely yours. Even though he never said it out loud, he trusted you. You, on the other hand, seemingly knew it. You told him how much you trusted him and didn’t push when it was good.

+++x+++

There were times, however, when he’d be woken up by you suddenly burrowing your face into his chest or any part of his body closest to you. That was your way of dealing with nightmares, and he learned it quick. He’d pull you closer, and if possible, tuck your face into his neck. Away from the scary thoughts, closer to warm comfort. When medical issues took hold of you due to your commissions or otheriwse, he would take half days, working the rest from home, and staying by your side as he chided you to take breaks sometimes. Hypocrite.

+++x+++

One night you’d come home, more quieter and sullen. He had come back early, since tonight was date night. Noticing this, he waited till you had washed up and gave you space, waiting in front of the TV, playing one of your old favourite shows until you came, plopping yourself into his lap, and burying your face in his chest. He’d immediately held you close, eyes on the show but very aware of your actions and breath.

Your mother was sick. The medical procedures necessary was ridiculously high and even combined with your sister’s income and already present bills to pay off, you were anxious and tired. He rubbed your back with his hand as you told him piece by piece, cigar held by his other hand.

“I can pay them if you want.”

You froze and stared up at him. “I- what? No”

He took a puff, then asked you, eyes still half lidded like usual. “Why?”

You looked down at your hands, index rubbing the sharp edge of one of your other nails “This- I don’t want to take advantage of you-your wealth just for my sake.”

He scoffed, and grabbed your chin, tilting it upwards. “Like hell.”

You furrowed your brows “Crocodile.”

“No, you listen”

So you did. By the next two days, your mother’s and every single bill was paid off. You thanked him with a painting of Crocodiles happily sleeping in the sun with tomatoes strewn about. He framed it and kept it on his desk.

Months later, your relationship would be announced when he took your hand in marriage.

[chrxsprettygirl]

𝑻𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄!𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏!𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑺��𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚…

I like the campus library It’s quiet, big and basically always empty, I don’t know how most of the students pass their classes. Anywho it’s nice in there, that’s where im currently headed, im on the phone with Chris or should I say my boyfriend (I’ll never live it down) telling him about some study group im attending. “Psychological is not just mind games Chris it’s quite deeper than that” I say into the mic of the phone as I pack a few thing into my bag “Sure if you say so sweetheart lemme see your outfit” he says my phone lights up seeing him request to FaceTime. I accept it setting my phone up so he could see my outfit, im just wearing some shorts and a T-shirt and a zip up over it “That’s what your wearing?” He ask looking at me, I raise my eyebrow questioning him “Yeah what’s wrong with it?” He shakes his head “Nothin its just…..the shorts are a bit too short” I scoff at him taking the phone out its position throwing it on the bed continuing to pack my bag “Are you one of those boyfriends that controls what their girlfriends wear?” He laughs a bit while I put my shoes on “Nah, you can wear whatever you want im just pointing it out” I smile “well I gotta go, ill talk to you later” I tell him before hanging up and leaving to the library.

I spend about 5 hours in the library. It ended up just being me and this one guy since everyone bailing. But we stayed together, helping each other out and chatting every once in a while. I didn’t even notice the 3 missed calls and 9 text from Chris until I get back home to the dorms. I hissed pressing the call button, it rings twice before he picks up, it’s silent on his end for a few seconds “Hey” I say waiting for his response, he doesn’t say anything “Hello? Chris are you there?” I question “yeah” he says dryly “were you sleeping?” I ask him checking the time, it’s only 9 pm “nah. Kinda looked like you forgot about me” he says nonchalantly, I giggled softly “no I didn’t forget about you silly I was just busy, it ended up only being me and this one guy Raven, we lost track of time I’m sorry” I explain to him while I’m doing my nighttime routine. We stay on the phone talking (mostly me about how funny Raven is), he sounds relatively annoyed every time I speak about him but my dumbass was too oblivious to tell.

I’m brushing my teeth, halfway through telling Chris how Raven practically tutored me the entire night, when I hear him exhale sharply through the phone. Not the usual chill exhale no, this one’s irritated. “You talk about him like he’s God’s gift to the psychology department,” Chris mutters. I pause mid-brush, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” he snaps, “you’ve been on the phone with me for ten minutes, and all I’ve heard is Raven did this, Raven said that. Like damn, did he walk you back to your dorm and tuck you in too?” My jaw drops, toothpaste foam clinging to my lip. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” He doesn’t back down. “You ignored three of my calls. Didn’t even text me once. But you had time to bond with some dude for five hours?”I rinse my mouth and glare into the mirror. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I told you it was a study group.”

“Yeah, that turned into a one-on-one library date.” “Oh my god,” I groan. “It wasn’t a date, Chris. You’re being ridiculous.” “I’m being real,” he says, voice low and tense. “You walked out of here looking fine as hell in those shorts, and then went off to spend the night laughing with some guy I don’t even know. Sorry if I don’t feel great about that.” I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the phone. “You know what? I don’t need this. If you don’t trust me, then—” “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he interrupts, his voice quieter but still rough, “it’s that I know how other guys look at you. I know how I look at you. And if Raven’s not thinking about you like that, he’s either blind or lying.” The air between us goes dead silent. My stomach twists not with guilt, but with something… hotter.

Chris leans closer to the camera. His voice drops, thick and low. “You wanna talk about what I was thinking about while you were gone, looking all cute in those tiny ass shorts? How I imagined you walking in the door, coming to sit on my lap and letting me remind you who you belong to?” My breath hitches. “That’s why I was calling,” he adds, eyes locked on mine through the screen. “Not ‘cause I was mad. ’Cause I missed you. And because if you were here, that Raven guy wouldn’t even exist to you right now.” My fingers grip the edge of my blanket, heartbeat suddenly louder than anything else. “Chris…” He smirks, slow and dangerous. “Next time you decide to spend five hours with some guy, just remember what you’re coming home to.” I swallow, cheeks flushed. “Okay.” He raises a brow. “Okay?” I meet his stare, voice soft and teasing. “Okay, daddy.” Chris’s jaw tightens and the look he gives me after that? Let’s just say… I’m not getting much sleep tonight.

I stare at my screen for a second, heart hammering.“Be outside in five,” I say, already reaching for my zip-up. “You serious?” he says, eyes lighting up through the camera.“Dead serious.” He doesn’t say another word — just hangs up. That alone has my stomach in knots.I throw on the hoodie, barely bother fixing my hair, and rush down the hallway of my dorm. The second I step out, the cool night air bites at my legs, but I don’t care. Chris is already there, leaning against his car, arms crossed, hoodie hood pulled low looking like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make. He looks up when he sees me, jaw clenching, eyes scanning me like he’s checking if I’m real. “Thought you were gonna make me wait,” he mutters. I walk right up to him, staring him down. “You think I’d leave you hanging after a phone call like that?”He grabs my wrist and pulls me closer not rough, but firm. Like he’s had enough pretending. His hand slips down to my waist, holding me there as his other comes up to cup my jaw.

“I was pissed,” he says, low and serious, eyes burning into mine. “Not ’cause I think you’d do anything — but because the idea of someone else making you laugh, making you smile, even for a second, when I wasn’t around to see it? Drove me fucking crazy.” I blink up at him, breath caught somewhere in my throat. “Chris…” He leans in, barely brushing his lips against mine. “Say you missed me.” “I missed you,” I whisper, my fingers tightening in the fabric of his hoodie. “Say you’re mine.” “I’m yours,” I breathe. That’s all it takes.

His lips crash into mine — not soft, not slow, but desperate and full of every jealous, frustrated thought he had all evening. His hands slide under the hoodie, pulling me closer, like he’s trying to erase every second I spent away from him. And I let him. Because no amount of study guides or late-night sessions could touch what this feels like — being wanted, claimed, kissed like I’m the only thing that matters. When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. His forehead rests against mine. “No more library guys,” he says, smirking. “No more jealousy fits,” I counter, grinning.“Deal,” he says, then pulls me into the passenger seat. “Now get in. You’re staying with me tonight — and I’m not letting you out of my sight.

AN: this took so long I can’t

Random tags n taglist: @trevorsgodmother @tezzzzzzzz @weirdothatwritess @dykes4chris @chrepsi @chrissfavhoe @natesfavoritehoe @bamsblooming @chrissleftshoe @chrisslluut @cams-cult @chrissturnioloslvt @starrii-sturns @chriscumslut @chrisshands @chriss-prettyygirll @chrissturnioloswife88 @mattztrip @mattsleftball @mattsslvtzx @mattswrinkleton @mattsturnswife @mattsturnioloismylordandsaviour @mattsturnioloarchive @matthewsturnsgf @matthewswifeyx @matthewsturniolosactualgf @nickssidewitch @jayaluvsyu @nicksbestie @adoreechxmpion @sturnshood @sturnswiftie @sturniolotripletlover @chrissturnfavlilslut @abbystromboli @megameatymatt @zenithsturniolo @chrissweetheart

[paulinet]

For the sake of breaking a habit

Warnings: fluff, kisses, gn reader, ooc Medicine Pocket, Medicine Pocket - they/them.

Synopsis: Your lips are in a terrible state, and no amount of hygienic lipstick can save them. It's a habit that's hard to break without someone's help, right?

World count: ≈1700

From the author: Well, something uncomplicated before something complicated. I wanted something like this: soft, streamlined, and enticing.

When I have more of my story's, I'll compile them into a little masterlist.

English not my first language!

Enjoy reading!

We all know nervousness, right?

Nervous when you are working on a gigantic project, on which you spend all your energy and time. You get nervous when you present this project in front of dozens (if not hundreds) of people, explain every aspect of it, and then nervously rub the edges of the sheets in your hands and wait and wait and wait. Approval, a nod, a wave of the hand, anything to take away the aching pain under your ribs.

But you're not afraid of these people, no.

But you worry about your work as a part of yourself. Here, you have taken something from your soul, from the depths of your mind, and you put it all together in a presentation and present it to the big people. Funding for almost any project, you know, hurts you enough if it doesn't come from somewhere else.

The habit of biting your lips came quite suddenly that you didn't even realize your lips had turned into chewed mincemeat.

All of a sudden you found out that they started hurting. And when you looked in the mirror, you were stunned and wondered, when did it get so bad?

You put the stack of sheets aside, sit back in your chair, and finally let yourself relax. This day hadn't been too hard compared to the other days, when you'd been working hard to clear out the backlog of reports, but you were still exhausted.

It's after midnight and there's about three of you left here. You and two other subordinates finishing their work.

There was no need to stay so long, but man, you wanted to finish most of the stuff for tomorrow (because there will obviously be more tomorrow).

The muffled knock of the door opening into the half-empty lab didn't even make you turn around. Few interesting people would have come in this late, at most one of the other workers ran in to say "hey, idiots, it's past midnight, let's go to bed already!" Same questions for him, of course.

"Well, how long are you going to stay here?!"

Oh, right. There's a person of interest, and that person is welcome to drop by anytime.

"Sprawled out in the chair and now she's going to sleep here. Shouldn't you move the bed over here right away?" — you sigh when Medicine Pocket sit down next to you, only on the desk, disrupting your careful arrangement of papers. Ouch.

"I'm not going to sleep in here. But you're right, my strength is almost gone," — you hear the sound of sheets of paper shattering and frown. "You've ruined my meticulously organized stack of papers according to all canons of perfectionism."

"Oh, yeah? It was an accident."

"Sure you did."

You don't even turn your head away from the ceiling to pay attention to them. Not to say they don't like it, but it does make they worry.

"How many hours have you been sleeping these past few days?"

"I am a creature in no need of sleep."

"I don't think Lovecraft would praise you for parodying some of his creatures."

You laugh.

"I'm trying to get 6-8 hours of sleep..." — their face seems to lighten, but resentment catches up again in seconds. "... In 2 hours. It's not working yet, heh."

They're clearly not happy with your answer. And who would like to find out that their partner has suddenly decided to adopt their lifestyle and also sleep less than a giraffe or a horse, not even close to the numbers needed to maintain strength in the body?

"Like a child, for God's sake."

"What about you?"

"Well, you have to admit, I look a lot better after a few days without sleep than you do."

"You're such a romantic."

"But honest."

"Uh-huh."

The conversation is interrupted while their interest is piqued by your face, because over the past few days you've started to look like a person with a less than healthy lifestyle. Not a junkie, but on the right track. It's time to look for jokes on the subject and appropriate cosmetics.

Especially their eyes ran over the bags under your eyes. Goths would be jealous that you don't have to work hard on your makeup - they'll take you in, and praise you for being in character.

And their gaze stopped at your lips. And it lingered until you stared back at them in puzzlement.

Awkward pause.

"What, is there something on my face?"

"Your face looks more like a mask from the movie Scream right now. And what the hell happened to your lips?"

Oh. You have forgotten about them for the duration of your work, but they always remind you of them afterwards. On a brief inspection of you, people can't tell that your lips are suffering from a meat grater or a meat mallet. It's only when they catch your eye for a long time that you realize that things are just awful.

That's what nervousness brings people to.

"I don't know."

"How do you not know what you're doing? Are you using or something?"

"No, it's just a bad habit I picked up out of nowhere."

"You can't get rid of it? Or is it out of your hands?"

"I don't notice when I start doing it. It's fine in the morning, by the end of the day it's like kissing a grater."

"Nerves are fraying?"

"Along with the cuckoo, I suppose."

They don't say anything to that, which you can't tell by their facial expressions.

Annoyed. Again.

But instead of grumbling, silence follows. A brief hiccup before they climb off the table and hover over you in a chair. Their venomous eyes prickle you, and before you can make any sound, they take your chin and kiss you.

You don't even manage to squeak. As usual.

The feeling of fatigue was replaced by the anticipation and excitement of an unexpected kiss. And more than one. Your consciousness focused on every fleeting sensation, every tiny movement of your bodies.

Their lips are always wet. Wet and thin, like two strings, curved in irritation or sickness from something poisoning they've eaten. Cold, they leave a herd of goosebumps behind them if they kiss hotter parts of your bodies, and never warm up no matter how many times they kiss. Even after a hundred kisses before bed or in the morning. But that doesn't stop them from being persistent and not at all shy of outsiders you've already forgotten about.

They don't close their eyes most of the time, and today is one of them.

Staring point-blank, as if they were preparing to fire a gun at some animal and aiming without being distracted by extraneous sounds. In the light their eyes are like two Ilyich bulbs, and even in the darkness they will stand out with their sparkles. And they've never been embarrassed by it.

On the contrary, they like to place bets on which minute of the kiss you will avert your eyes. And it's very annoying and fun for you at the same time. It's like stepping on the same rake every time because you like it.

Their lips, although thin, are very assertive. They do not hesitate to take the initiative and apply more diverse actions. They have a different way of kissing every time, you can never guess what was intended for this time. They savor your already killed lips, push forward, don't give you a chance to get out of the situation and turn your head.

The fingers in white gloves encircle your chin and do not let you move, holding you firmly, but in their own gentle way, not forgetting to change the position of your fingers from time to time.

You hear your own heart pounding when all they has to do is run their tongue over your lips. Here's someone, but Medicine Pocket, after much practice, have gotten much deeper into kissing. And now they'll bet anything just to see the ripples of burning excitement on your face again.

They're so mean when they need something. So untouchable, but in need of that little act of appeasement. Screaming audacity in every action. You know you'll be in drool and hickeys (later) afterward, but you reach your hands behind their nape and use your fingers to part the strands of their hair.

They take it as a call and, most importantly, as a permission to take further steps.

And somehow, you know, it doesn't matter that somewhere out there the laboratory door opens and one of your coworker leaves (perhaps he couldn't stand the unexpected sexual pressure. You can understand him).

And you look away, unable to take the pressure anymore.

They love it. They love it to the point of shaking at their knees.

Like to tease you and pull you out of your frames, Medicine are happy to break them against their knee and toss them into the dark sea, to the bottom, where already lies a whole collection of what they have stepped over with indescribable pleasure. They bite your bottom lip with a mocking smile before you feel their other hand on your waist.

Under your lab coat.

And they slowly moves upward, their fingertips tweaking the fabric of the garment underneath. Carefully as they continue to run the other limb down your neck, squeezing it lightly. They're not sadistic, no, by any means, and it doesn't rob you of even a crumb of air, but the feel of long, slender fingers leaves you no choice but to succumb completely to their power. Which, by the way, they always have plenty of.

Hot breath scorches your face as they pull away - the air isn't infinite, after all - and leave a weightless kiss on your cheekbone with a sarcastic smirk and squinted eyes as if to scream "you just can't say you didn't like it."

They don't seem to be tired at all, and the air in their lungs never planned to be released, but you've been there before - once they didn't let you go for so long that you got dizzy. No, not from magical sensations, but from lack of oxygen. They've been trying to be careful ever since.

You breathe deeply, massaging the back of their neck with your fingers. They love that, especially when kissing. It makes them go crazy.

And they respond by weightlessly stroking your waist, sometimes squeezing it lightly.

But now they just slightly arch their head back before dropping their arms to the sides of your chair and moving closer again. Just a little more, and their knee will be between your legs for balance.

"I'd rather you didn't bite your lips anymore, but that's a buzz too," — they give out in one breath, still relaxed under your hands. "Your lips aren't lips, they're chewed up duct tape."

You take a deep breath. You try to keep a serious face, as if the job didn't end hours ago. Like it would have been possible to keep working if someone hadn't decided to show off and go on a "distract at all costs" mission. Who wants to be caught thinking, breath hitched just because of the person next to you who just kissed you with all the passion they're been saving up lately?

"Pff, what, so disgusting?"

"Mm-m, no, quite the opposite. 'Almost' as good as always," — they flick you on the nose, and curve up in a smile. "But you'd better not bite your lips again."

"Why would I?"

"If you want to kick the habit, you need to switch to something else, something safer."

"On you, or what?"

"You're guessing," — Medicine Pocket pull away with a noisy sigh. You cross your arms across your chest and pretend you don't want to continue. "You're going to get some kind of infection - and then what are you going to do? I'm not going to treat you."

"..."

You puff up your cheeks and don't say anything. Still in mixed feelings, it's hard to think as well as move. Your body still feels their touch at your waist. It's hard to let go.

It's hot, isn't it?

"You need to get better sleep. Otherwise you'll look like a pale grebe"

"Thanks."

"But honestly," — they shrug. They take you by the chin again and examine your swollen lips more closely. "I've got some ointment somewhere that's just right for this."

"...Can I have some?"

Not for nothing. Of course they won't give you anything for a simple thank you. Especially not to you.

And you can see their facial expressions become more condescending. You guess you're in luck.

"I will. On one condition."

Oh, right. Of course.

"And what's that?"

They poke their thumb at your lips.

"You stop biting them. And start control yourself."

Expected. But did they think it would be so easy?

"And what happens if I can't kick the habit? I don't control myself when I'm nervous."

They let you go, take a couple steps away, and spread their hands as if they're really upset about it too.

"Then don't expect me to kiss you again."

...

One second of silence.

And you burst out laughing.

"Ha-ha, can you contain yourself?"

"Let's just say it's a challenge for me, too."

Yeah, a challenge.

You roll your eyes tiredly. You know they're lying.

You know they'll break their promise tonight before they go to bed.

And yet you still listen. As if nervousness is nothing. It's just a little thing.

They're such idiots.

"Either..." — they lean closer and give you another slap on the nose. "...Remember this situation every time. What's better: biting and tearing your lips in cold, nervous, rotten loneliness or making out with a gorgeous person like me who loves and cares for you, you stupid lip-biting lover, huh?"

"...I'm gonna take that damn book of poetry away from you and throw it away, you've learned to talk too pretty."

They turn on their heels, starting to walk back towards the exit and make no response to the sarcastic comment.

"Think about it!"

And they hide behind the door.

You sighed, going back to cleaning up the mess on the table and floor. The papers were all scattered, and they hadn't even bothered to clean up after themselves. Well, nothing-nothing, you know how to retaliate terribly, he-he.

You stack the paper in an even, aesthetically correct stack and place it on the edge of your desk.

And then you meet the gaze of your remaining coworker.

...

Spark. Lightning... And the anticipation of a lump in your throat of shame.

Words cannot convey the shame and embarrassment on your part, and you just nod her and pretend that paper is the most interesting material on Earth. The best of the best. She walks by, pausing for a moment near the table, shrugging timidly.

"I'd agree to kick the habit if I were you."

And quickly retreats toward the exit. The lab is quiet and peaceful now, with only the occasional beeping of devices.

And suddenly you realize she's heard everything.

All the conversations, including...

...

You cover your burning face with your hands.

How much you love and hate that Doggo.

I already know I'm gonna need a couple days to rest. Well, you know, it's not like I'm an English-speaking person, and it takes me about... 3-5 hours? To edit this or that text and not to lose the meaning of each sentence (I just don't want to present everything in a horrible state I'm a perfectionist a bit).

That's why I post something once a week, you know, so I have enough energy to recover and +- enough energy to write something new. At least I try.

I will definitely post part 4 after «Love jinx» and part 2 «Bonus for waiting», it's just that right now they are in... A little bit in a stupor. I'm working on them, but I'm not really happy with what I'm getting. Plus I have more ideas lying around that I'd like to do, ahem, well, I'm working, just slowly...

Dividers by @petalpxl

Thanks for reading!

[kanha-ki-fangirl]

I know I'm getting hate for this.

This might not land well with everyone, but I hope it reaches the people who need it.

I was talking to @miserable-individual and it struck me that this is something worth sharing here too.

If you're feeling scared right now, you're not alone.

A lot of us are. And it's okay to feel that way. But sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to take a step back—especially from spaces like Tumblr, where fear tends to echo and multiply.

I say this gently, because I include myself in this too.

As teens, we often dive into everything—every headline, every opinion piece—and it’s easy to start believing that what we’ve gathered (especially what reinforces what we already feel) is the full truth. But it’s not always. We think the things we prophecize will definitely happen. But not all our prophecies are correct.

And the way fear spreads here can make it hard to hold onto our own sense of calm or perspective.

Most of the posts we see come from people trying to process what they’re feeling, and that’s obviously completely valid.

But here’s the thing: most posts on here are written from a place of fear. People want to express themselves, and that’s relatable and real and necessary. But when we constantly consume fear-driven content, we absorb those fears as our own—even when we’re already overwhelmed by our own emotions.

This isn’t about staying uninformed or not speaking up. Posts that explain what’s happening, that share their lived experience, that provide facts and context—those are important. They need to be here.

I’m just gently asking you to watch out for the chatter posts. The ones that aren’t really helping you understand, just amplifying panic, spreading hate. You already know which ones I mean.

You know exactly which ones I'm talking about.

So talk to people you trust. Your friends, your family, your mentors, your loved ones. Let those conversations be where you ground yourself. Let yourself gather the energy you urgently need instead of spending it on amplifying panic.

Because this is a time that asks for courage and steadiness. Not fear or silence—but courage and steadiness.

And we can help each other hold onto that.