#i would probably have never written or researched or come up with any of this without someone else asking!! so double thanks to you!! <333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[tinfoil-jones]

For Your Own Good: Intermission

Askbox? Open

If you don't know what this post is about, "For Your Own Good" or tagged as "Early Amnesia AU" on tumblr is a dialogue-only Gravity Falls fanfiction I've been working on that kinda-sorta follows a Mystery Trio -esque timeline, where Ford doesn't build the portal. To sum it up, the whole fanfiction boils down to:

Researcher Ford: I told you I never wanted to see you again.

Mullet Stan: Dude, I don't know who you are or WTF you're talking about right now, but I'm leaving this town and never coming back. You are never seeing me again after this. I'm probably going to forget you in like five minutes.

Researcher Ford:

Researcher Ford: *immediately kidnaps him*

You can consider chapters 1-10 to be Act 1 of the fanfic, and I’m taking a break for at least a week, most likely longer. The chapters so far were already written out in advance, and so was a huge reveal, but I still need to tie things together.

Here’s some authors notes/extra stuff about it, some of it might have already been put in the AO3 before or after notes. These are in no particular order:

This takes place 10 years after Ford and Stan were separated, currently they are both 27 about to be 28. Fiddleford is slightly older than them, being in his early 30s.

Ford is unironically the only person who finds Stan’s really dumb jokes funny.

Ford is the one who displays the most behaviours that would be seen from Mabel and Dipper decades later. Like Dipper, he views washing clothes as a waste of time, and like Mabel he ate an entire tube of toothpaste (granted, it was on accident)

While Ford is the more likely of the two to display traits that later present in Mabel and Dipper, it still happens with Stan as well. Stan has a similar nervous-chewing habit that Dipper displays in the OG series, but his only comes out when he’s particularly anxious. In this case, it was because he had nicotine cravings.

The 'That motherfucker is ugly' line that Stan used on Ford can be considered extra ironic because of how much the Stan Twins look like their dad.

Bill Cipher was originally supposed to speak in Times New Bastard (which is Times New Roman except every 7th letter is jarringly sans serif, a meme from tumblr), but AO3 and tumblr don’t let you change the font.

Stan goes out of his way to avoid using Ford and Fiddlefords given names- but this isn’t because he doesn’t know what they are. In the few times he has used their names, it was a sign that he was being sincere.

If you want to wonder whether or not Fiddleford likes Stan back, consider the fact that he could have walked away at any point, and either washed his hands of the whole thing, or just outright reported Stanford to the authorities. 

Bill is more like Discord from MLP - he’s just chaotic, often to the detriment of others, but he isn’t outright malicious (anymore), and he’s too busy SIMPING to cause any real harm. Basically, Bill is Fords patron for studying weirdness - he helps Ford in his research, but the cost that Ford pays is that Bill is able to possess him when he sleeps, and has unlimited access to his brain.

If Ford knew Rick Sanchez, why didn’t Rick see how similar Stan looked and put 2-and-2 together? Easy; Rick didn’t give a single shit about Ford, so he never committed his face or name to memory. Ford himself only remembered Rick because Rick was such a massive, egotistical asshole. If anything, Rick would think Ford is the lesser version of Stan.

Chapter 10 was the first concrete proof that the Stan we’ve been following likely is Stanley Pines and not some similar conman named Stan Malone. The last time Ford saw Stan would have either been when they were teens, so other than Stans commercials for his failed products there’s no way Ford would know what an adult Stan would even look like, and he’d have to use himself as a reference.

Stan has given some insight on his Thalassophobia (fear of the ocean / large bodies of water). In Chapter 10, he told Ford a number of things he escaped, including the trunk of a sinking car, and cement shoes. Cement shoes are either when you tie someone to a cinder block and throw them into a body of water, or when you literally incase their feet in cement, wait for it to dry, and then toss them into a body of water, so they’ll drown. Presumably, these are still things that would have happened to him even if he didn't lose his memories, so why would it give him a fear of the ocean now? Stan Pines in the OG still had a lot of positive memories associated with the ocean - he grew up on the coast, and had a lot of his hopes and dreams tied to the ocean. But without his childhood memories, he has no positive associations with it, only memories of times he almost drowned. 

Ford himself is not a touchy guy. The reason he hugs Stan even though it isn’t reciprocated is because from his perspective, this is his twin brother who is in pain and has been suffering all by himself for a long time. And Stan - at least how Ford remembers him - had a very touch-based love language. Fords doing it because he thinks it’d comfort him.

Stan seems pretty calm and chill for someone who’s been kidnapped by a ‘stranger’. This isn’t because he’s an overall chill guy because of amnesia, no he’s super pissed and the second he knows he’s free he will let them know that with his words, and incredible violence. He’s remaining calm because he’s been imprisoned and kidnapped enough times to know that pitching a fit or lashing out at his captors won’t do him any favours.

Fiddleford is still married to Emma-May and they do have Tate. But it's one of those lavender marriages (they're both gay and mutually bearding each other)

[ashironie]

reblogging bcs i have a lot of thoughts

i fucking HATED how Jon treated him s1, we also have to remember that before we see ANYTHING of Martin straight from the horses mouth, we see him from Jon’s pov. And Martin probably wasn’t very good at his job, but that’s reasonable since he transferred from the library to an archive, he most certainly didn’t expect to be in research 2.0. Martin has no clue how to do his job and he couldn’t let anyone know that because he wasn’t even supposed to be there. The reason i started liking Martin was because i hated Jon, and the reason i hated Jon was because he was mean to Martin. My thought process was thus; Jon’s an Ass to Martin for really no reason, so I’m going to like Martin to spite Jon

Now, i too sorta dislike s5 Martin, when i first listened i found him to be really whiny and kinda ungrateful. During my relisten a lot of the problems i had with him were lessened because i was just so unuse to this new Martin, and before, he would do everything I would, but now he was a lot different, which gave me whiplash. it’s like expecting the driver in a car to take a turn and then they just don’t, you can’t blame them but there’s a sense of wrongness in your stomach. Now again most of these problems i had were fixed when i relistened, knowing what was going to happen, and that was my main complaint with s5 in general, expecting a turn and the driver just keeps going straight

Now going back to s1 (since i realized i didn’t explain my point very well). When ever Jon talked about what Martin did it was heavily biased, and whenever we hear Martin talk it’s around Jon. Around the person he doesn’t want to get in trouble by. We heard in the beginning of s5 tapes that Sasha and Tim were a lot different then when being recorded in s1, so obviously Martin (with a more easily identifiable reason) would also be a lot different. Then when everything went down and he dropped the act a little, we do know he was still acting. The tapes we get in s3 before the Unknowing are the closest thing we get to him being genuine, and even still he doesn’t want to admit how much of an asshole he is.

Now it’s fine if you don’t like Martin, he’s specifically written as a very complex person, and that means that sometimes people just hate him for no reason. But I dislike the criticism that his personality was very touch and go, it’s just that we didn’t know what was actually going on in his head until end of s4 and s5.

Now my defense of why I like Martin is;

He has a very heavy faun response, which same, and that aspect makes him really interesting to me. Being manipulative and having a heavy faun response are the same, but are seen differently.

i detest the idea that he is never in the wrong or that he’s just a sweet cinnamon roll. Martin, early on, just follows the lead to anyone who makes it seem like they understand even a little, then does a full 180 into thinking he knows what’s right and wrong without any input from anyone. Then realizes that, he really doesn’t know, nobody does, and he still thinks he knows better more often than not, but he recognizes this in himself. There is no ends to anyone’s character arcs in TMA, they still grow and struggle with the same things, but they find new solutions and new problems. And i think all of that is really interesting! It adds to the tragedy, it’s fine if a character dies when they are finished atoning for whatever narrative sin they have be set up with, but it’s tragic when they never get to! They are told what they need to do, and try to do it, but die before they can. Sasha died before she could be anything but a memory, someone who almost just haunts the narrative. Tim died in a noble way, but ultimately pointless one, as we come to find out. He is still just as angry, and he still didn’t bring the two people he wanted to save back from the dead. He didn’t win, even if he and everyone else thought so. He could’ve healed, but he killed himself before he could. And Martin tries like hell to figure out how to listen to people without only listening to him, and he fails a lot, a LOT a lot. But he died before he could just relax. Jon was the same, he got too deep and thought that, with enough time, he could figure out a way, not out of the hole, but closer to the surface. And he would’ve, if given the time. But he was dragged back into the same bullshit by the same man and by the same fear.

sorry that one was a lot longer but yk.

Martin is also stubborn. He was endlessly patient with Jon early s5, and the idea that he’s impatient the rest of the season i disagree with. He is just very careful with what he gives his time, maybe a bit to careful, but again with him over-course correcting. But he is still very stubborn, which i feel like is a good word between perseverance and determination. He knows that they will find a way to get everyone safe, as much as possible. He is too patient to believe the easy answer, and too persistent to allow everyone else to settle for that either. He does dumb things sometimes, but when has a tma character not? but is still fiercely protective of his people and ideals. if not a bit misguided at times

I'll be so honest with y'all, I always thought Martin was written to be an intentionally dislikeable character (like s1 Jon) for like character development or something, and then I was even MORE sure of that by season 5, and then they just kinda never touched on it and the fandom was all obsessing over him and it's like?? What do y'all see in him unless you relate to him omg 😨

[ravenekrops]

Hello! For some halloween spookiness, may I ask about the characters in your modern monster world? How do they feel about the concept of halloween? Do they dress up?

ah, you hit the nail right on the head! the nail of "this definetely has the potential to be an interesting worldbuilding tidbit to write but i have no idea how to tackle it", to be more precise! i guess it's time to improv a bit...

so: let's set up the stage. this is a world where monsters have always existed alongside humans. old folktales about faeries stealing your children, dragons guarding treasures or humans that transform into unspeakable things are true, or at least somewhat based on true events, although distorted through the lenses of humans' fear to the unknown and mostly vilifying monsters and painting them as dangerous bloodthirsty creatures that are out there to get you. how would a Halloween holiday be created within this context?

let's look at the irl origins of Halloween, based on its article on Wikipedia. it originated as a christian festivity previous to All Hallow's Day, where people prayed for the souls that hadn't reached Heaven yet to get there. jack-o'-lanterns were supposed to represent the souls of these people, and people (mostly children) would go "souling" door to door, asking for soul cakes in exchange for praying for the families' dead. later on, people would start to disguise themselves so the souls who had some sort of vengeance to fulfill before ascending to heaven wouldn't recognise them. also taken from the Wikipedia article:

Eddie J. Smith, in his book Halloween, Hallowed is Thy Name, offers a religious perspective to the wearing of costumes on All Hallows' Eve, suggesting that by dressing up as creatures "who at one time caused us to fear and tremble", people are able to poke fun at Satan "whose kingdom has been plundered by our Saviour"

christianity aside, Halloween also has roots on Samhain, a celtic pagan tradition. the 1st of November was considered to be a day where the lines between this world and the otherworld blurred, so people would appease faeries with food and drink offerings so they'd have a good harvest. the souls of dead kin also roamed the lands on this day, and a spot was reserved at people's tables so they could eat with them. in here, humans disguising themselves as fae is more of a playful thing, where people in costumes would also go door-to-door, reciting verses in exchange for food

with all this in mind, let's establish some actual lore for the story. i doubt christianity regarded actual existing monsters as something good, so in places where christianity is the main religion, i see Halloween developing into mockery of monsters. "ohhh so scaryyy 🙄" kinda deal. not very respectful overall. i imagine there'd be a fraction of christians who would fear participating in Halloween because what if i'm here laughing at these things and a REAL monster appears and tears me appart "O_O, or some others that would abandon the monster-related part of it and only focus on the "helping souls reach heaven" part of it. overall a negative/mocking view of monsters

nowadays, Halloween is regarded as a fun festivity where you dress up to be "scary", ask for candy and go to costume parties. i'd say the modern view on Halloween falls more into the playful category rather than anything that's deeply rooted in religion or folklore. a more relaxed festivity, where people simply want to have fun

so. how does alllll this this affect actual monsters? since the roots of this festivity are derogatory towards them, i think it's fair to guess that they wouldn't have a high opinion on it, at least during the times where the main reason to celebrate Halloween were christianity-related. but time passes, and the meaning of things gets warped. some young monsters might enjoy participating in the fun parts of modern Halloween, but i feel like this would be a controversial thing to do in monster society. a "don't you know the REAL history behind all this fun and games?" kinda thing. like a generational discrepancy between boomers and millenials

now, to answer your ACTUAL question (sorry for the impromptu infodumping 😭😭😭), let's go over my characters' personal opinions on Halloween!

Raz: as a monster rights activist, he's very well aware of the roots of the festivity and thinks it's insensitive and mocking. humans disguising themselves as monsters and getting a laugh out of it while monsters keep being persecuted just puts salt on the wound to him. it's on bad taste. not even Eva is able to convince him otherwise, even before he started leading the monster rights movement himself. so no, he wouldn't dress up as anything for it, or celebrate it whatsoever

Donovan: he doesn't really care about the Halloween lore and all the history behind it. he just simply hates how all the costumes are so fucking ugly. and NONE of them even are historically accurate!! i go more in detail about his opinion on the matter in this post

Lee: as a scavenger generalist animonster, Halloween = free food laying everywhere as far as it concerns him! he'd definetely scavenge candy from bowls or steal sweets from unsuspecting bystanders. some brave kids might even offer food to him the same way someone would offer food to a feral/stray cat, so there's the potential to have wholesome animonster-human interactions :]

reminder that Spooky Askbox is open as a Storyteller Saturday side-event!

[ryin-silverfish]

One nerd's musing about Chinese religion and "respect"

-I try to stay away from fandom discourse, but, much like how you can smell the stench from a dumpster fire without walking into said dumpster fire, I've noticed something that seemed to come up a lot in western JTTW + adjacent fandoms: "respect Chinese religion".

-Usually as a reason for why you shouldn't ship a character, because of fucking course it's shipping discourse too.

-And my first reaction is "Man, you are taking Chinese religion too darn seriously, more than people who are born and raised in China."

-My second reaction is "I mean, most of us are atheist/agnostic by default anyways, with a good number of what I'd call 'atheist/agnostics with superstitions': people who said they were not religious, yet believed in Fengshui or divinations and burnt incense at temples for good luck."

-My third reaction: "But why do I get the feeling that when you mention 'Respect', you are thinking about something completely different?"

-Then I reread an essay from Anthony C. Yu, "Religion and Literature in China: The "Obscure Way" of Journey to the West", and the metaphorical lightbulb just lit up over my head.

(Everything below applies more to Daoism + associated folk religions, but by the time most classic Chinese vernacular novels were written, the blending of the three religions had become well and truly mainstream.)

(The conception of gods differs from dynasty to dynasty. What I'm describing here is mostly based on Ming and Qing ones; if you went back to Han or pre-Qin times, most of these would not apply.)

(I am one of the "atheist/agnostic by default" people. I just have an interest in this kind of stuff. I am also just one Chinese person, and an actual Daoist/Buddhist/Religion Studies researcher would probably have a lot more valuable information and perspective to offer when it comes to contemporary practices and worship. Like any people on the internet: take my words with a grain of salt.)

-Even in the past, when society was far less secularized, Chinese gods are not omniscient, perfect beings whose worship is a solemn, humorless affair. Some's worship are Serious Business, but that has more to do with the sort of gods they are and the patronage they enjoy, not godhood in and of itself.

-And even the ones that you are supposed to "treat seriously" are still very human. To use an analogy I've used plenty of times before: you respect and fear them in the same way you'd respect and fear an emperor's official, or the emperor himself, because if you don't, you are not gonna like the consequences.

-However, unlike Jesus, the emperor & his officials were capable of being temperamental, flawed, or an outright asshole, divine or not. Ideally, they wouldn't be, and if you were one of the "serious" believers——people who actually got an official permit, became ordained clergy, and went to live in a temple, you were unlikely to think of your gods in that manner.

-But it wasn't a complete, utter impossibility. The lower you go in the pantheon, the closer you get to popular religion, the less "serious" the gods and their worship become. By that, I mean general attitude, not sincerity of faith. You still shouldn't be rude to them, but, well, they are more likely to take a joke in stride, or participate in the "vulgar" pleasures of commoners because they weren't as bound to Confucian moral standards or religious disciplines.

-To stretch the same analogy further: you should still respect your village head, they could still give your ass a good spanking for being a disrespectful brat, but you were not obligated to get on your knees and kowtow to them like you would do in front of a provincial magistrate, the emperor's minister, or the emperor himself, nor did they have the power to chop your head off just because you were rude.

-On the other hand, the emperor would never visit a random peasant just to help them fix their broken plow or treat them to a nice meal, but your village head could, and your relationship would probably be warmer and a lot more personal as a result.

-Your respect for them was more likely to stem from the things they actually did for you and the village as a whole, instead of something owed to this distant, powerful authority you might never get to see in your lifetime, but could change its course with a single stroke of a brush.

-Now exchange "village head" for your run-of-the-mill Tudis and Chenghuangs and friendly neighborhood spirits (because yes, people worshipped yaoguais for the exact same reasons), emperor + his officials for the Celestial Bureaucracy, and you'd have a basic idea of how Chinese religions worked on the ground level.

-This is far from absolute: maybe your village head was a spiteful old bastard who loved bullying his juniors, maybe your regional magistrate was an honest, upright man who could enjoy a good drink and a good laugh, maybe the emperor was a lenient one and wouldn't chop your head off for petty offenses. But their general degree of power over you and the closeness of your relationships still apply.

-Complicating the matter further, some folk gods (like Wutong) were worshipped not because they brought blessings, but because they were the divine equivalent of gangsters running a protection racket: you basically bribed them with offerings so they'd leave you alone and not wreck your shit. Famous people who died violently and were posthumously deified often fell into this category——shockingly enough, Guan Yu used to be one such god!

-Yeah, kinda like how your average guy could become an official through the imperial examinations, so could humans become gods through posthumous worship, or cultivate themselves into immortals and Enlightened beings.

-Some immortals aren't qualified for, or interested in a position in the Celestial Bureaucracy——they are the equivalent of your hermits, your cloistered Daoist priests, your common literati who kept trying and failing the exams. But some do get a job offer and gladly take it.

-Anyways, back to my original point: that's why it's so absurd when people pull the "Respect Chinese Religion1!!1!" card and immediately follow up with "Would you do X to Jesus?"

-Um, there are a lot of things you can do with Chinese gods that I'm pretty sure you can't do with Jesus. Like worshipping him side by side with Buddha and Confucius (Lao Tzu). Or inviting him to possess you and drink copious amount of alcohol (Tang-ki mediums in SEA). Or genderbend him into a woman over the course of several centuries because folks just like that version of Jesus better (Guan Yin/Avalokitesvara).

-But most importantly, Chinese religions are kinda a "free market" where you could pick and choose between gods, based on their vicinity to you and how efficient they were at answering prayers. You respect them because they'll help you out, you aren't an asshole and know your manners, and pissing them off is a bad idea in general, not because they are some omnipotent, perfect beings who demand exclusive and total reverence.

-A lot of the worship was also, well, very "practical" and almost transactional in nature: leave offerings to Great Immortal Hu, and he doesn't steal your imperial seal while you aren't looking. Perform the rites right and meditate on a Thunder General's visage, and you can temporarily channel said deity's power. Get this talisman for your kids at Bixia Yuanjun's temple, and they'll be protected from smallpox.

-"Faith alone" or "Scripture alone" is seldom the reason people worship popular deities. Even the obsession with afterlife wasn't about the eternal destination of your soul, and more about reducing the potential duration of the prison sentence for you and your loved ones so you can move on faster and reincarnate into a better life.

-Also, there isn't a single "canon" of scriptures. Many popular gods don't show up in Daoist literature until much later. Daoist scriptures often came up with their own gigantic pantheons, full of gods no one had heard of prior to said book, or enjoyed no worship in temples whatsoever.

-In the same way famous dead people could become gods via worship, famous fictional characters could, too, become gods of folk religion——FSYY's pantheon was very influential on popular worship, but that doesn't mean you should take the novels as actual scriptures.

-Like, God-Demon novels are to orthodox Daoism/Buddhism what the Divine Comedy is to medieval Christian doctrines, except no priests had actually built a Church of Saint Beatrice, while Daoists did put FSYY characters into their temples. By their very nature, the worship that stemmed from these books is not on the same level of "seriousness" as, say, the Tiantai school of Buddhism and their veneration of the Lotus Sutra.

-At the risk of being guilty of the same insertion of Christianity where it doesn't belong: You don't cite Dante's Inferno in a theological debate, nor would any self-respecting pastor preach it to churchgoers on a Sunday.

-Similarly, you don't use JTTW or FSYY as your sole evidence for why something is "disrespectful to Chinese religion/tradition" when many practitioners of said religions won't treat them as anything more than fantasy novels.

-In fact, let's use Tripitaka as an example. The historical Xuanzang was an extraordinarily talented, faithful, and determined monk. In JTTW, he was a caricature of a Confucian scholar in a Buddhist kasaya and served the same narrative function as Princess Peach in a Mario game.

-Does the presence of satire alone make JTTW anti-Buddhist, or its religious allegories less poignant? I'd say no. Should you take it as seriously as actual Buddhist sutras, when the book didn't even take itself 100% seriously? Also no.

-To expand further on the idea of "seriousness": even outside of vernacular novels, practitioners are not beholden to a universal set of strict religious laws and taboos.

-Both Daoism and Buddhism had what we called "cloistered" and "non-cloistered" adherents; only the former needed to follow their religious laws and (usually) took a vow of celibacy.

-Certain paths of Daoist cultivation allow for alcohol and sexual activities (thanks @ruibaozha for the info), and some immortals, like Lv Dongbin, had a well-established "playboy" reputation in folklore.

-Though it was rarer for Buddhism and very misunderstood, esoteric variants of it did utilize sexual imageries and sex. And, again, most of the above would not apply if you weren't among the cloistered and ordained clergy.

-Furthermore, not even the worship of gods is mandatory! You could just be a Daoist who was really into internal alchemy, cultivating your body and mind in order to prolong your lifespan and, ideally, attain immortality.

-This idea of "respect" as…for a lack of better words, No Fun & R18 Stuff Allowed, you must treat all divinity with fearful reverence and put yourself completely at their mercy, is NOT the norm in Chinese religious traditions.

-There are different degrees and types of respect, and not every god is supposed to be treated like the Supreme Heavenly Emperor himself during an imperial ceremony; the gods are capable of cracking a joke, and so are we!

TL;DR: Religions are complicated, and you aren't respecting Chinese religions by acting like a stereotypical Puritan over popular Chinese deities and their fictional portrayals.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[puck-luck]

among the sheets | jack hughes

SEQUEL TO BETWEEN THE TILES

warnings: unprotected p in v, jealous and possessive jack, dirty talk, creampie, lots of kissing (lfg), trickery, light breeding kink (shh), mentions of masturbation (m & f), fingering, light biting, praise, ignoring the apparent repercussions of taking Plan B (cappy says that it’s bad for your body and to be real? i’ve never taken Plan B so idfk and idfc about the repercussions) pairing: frat!president jack hughes x reader summary: “Frat! Jack getting jealous watching reader get paired with another guy in their shared class together for an assignment 🤭”, “ok but reader talking to another guy in jacks frat bc she’s like whatever ur gonna act like nothing happened so will i and he gets PISSED and finally breaks telling her that he can’t stop thinking about her” wc: 6916

Three weeks. Six classes. Two Mondays, two Wednesdays, and two Fridays. One entire Thanksgiving break. That’s how long it’s been since you and Jack hooked up at his party in the beginning of November. 

December comes with a new goal for you: that you’re not going to let Jack Hughes get into your head. After all, he’s just a frat guy. It’s typical for frat boys to get what they want– laid– and then ghost their hookup. You’ve seen it happen to your roommates and close friends in years past, who always seem to fall for the frat guy that can’t commit. He’ll string them along for a fuck, convincing them that he likes them, just so that they’ll come back for more. 

Your girlfriends never stay the night, never receive aftercare, and sometimes don’t even get to come. Yet– the boy is always allowed to stay the night at her place. And he always pulls her back in, even when he’s fucking other girls and lying about it. Your mind automatically goes to Jack’s frat brother, Cole, who was the puppeteer of a miserable situationship with your close friend a few years back.

You’ve learned, just through talking with Jack during class, that he and Cole are still close friends. Cole’s his VP of Brotherhood. You don’t share the fact that you know the girl who cried over Cole every week for the better part of sophomore year. 

No, that information you keep to yourself. Although, to you, Jack’s friendship with Cole is proof that Jack is doing the same thing to you. If he asked, you probably would fuck him again. After all, he’s been nothing but kind to you since that party. But, at the same time, he’s been kind– not flirty. 

The distinction between the two is clear. Heading into finals, you’re going to keep your head down and do your work. You’ll study, you’ll prep for the second-to-last set of finals you’ll ever take, and you will not allow Jack to distract you. He’s just some guy.

You’re a little nervous heading into your first class back from break. Today, your teacher is announcing the pairs for your final project. In this class, there’s an optional written exam. Instead, there’s the required project, where you have to research and present about one of the topics that was covered this semester. With your luck, you’re expecting that your teacher will pair you and Jack together. That way, you won’t be able to avoid him. It’ll be a nightmare.

Like always, you arrive to class before Jack does. Like always, you take out your computer and your textbook, rereading your most recent notes to make sure you’re up to speed on what you’ll talk about in class today. Like always, Jack drops into the seat next to you just before the bell rings, and like always, he peers over your shoulder to look at your computer screen, snooping.

“I see you haven’t changed over break,” Jack says, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping that we’d come back and I’d get to watch you shop for a dress for formal instead of having to look at your notes all the time.”

“I’m not going to any formal,” you reply. “I’m not in a sorority.”

Jack clicks his tongue like he’s just remembering, about to retort when your professor starts class. You shush Jack, then turn your attention to your prof. 

She tells the class that today you’ll be meeting with your assigned partner and choosing a topic for your presentation. Everyone will have to move around in the classroom to do so, which is a relief– unless Jack ends up being your partner, he’ll have to leave your side. You won’t be burdened with the weight of having a man who’s seen your face when you come right beside you.

She begins to read from the list on her computer and you get lucky– Jack isn’t your partner. Instead, you get Braden Schneider, who sits across from you in the classroom, close to the back. He tucks himself into a corner every class and you’ve seen him at office hours once or twice. When you’re partnered up, he gives you a little wave and a smile.

Jack is stuck with another boy from the class, a boy named John (you think) with whom he seems to get along. 

Once the class splits into pairs, Jack raises his hand to bid you goodbye and goes to join John across the way. Braden comes and takes his seat. You don’t know Braden well, but he’s passionate about doing a presentation about the topic that you know best, so you click almost immediately. You leave class feeling confident that you will get a good grade on this final, so good that it might bump you up from a B+ to an A-... or even an A, if you can speak as well in front of the class as you can research.

You and Braden leave class together, trying to decide when it’s best to meet up outside of class and start working on your presentation. As you walk down the hall, Braden tells you that he can’t meet up on Friday because he’s going to his girlfriend’s formal– you can’t seem to escape the topic of greek life. You decide to grab coffee on Sunday morning. Outside the building, Braden leaves you with another wave and a confirmation of “It’s a date!”

Then, Jack finds you.

“How was Schneider?” He asks, eying your classmate’s retreating figure. 

“He’s good. We’re getting coffee on Sunday. I think our project will go well. How’s… John?” You reply, fixing the backpack straps on your shoulders before setting off towards the parking lot where you parked today. This class with Jack is the last of the day, so you’re ready to head home. He walks back the same way, since the parking lot is about a block closer to campus than the frat houses.

“Johnny,” Jack corrects. Then, he shrugs. “He’s fine. Why are you getting coffee with Schneider?”

You almost burst out laughing. “For the project?” You explain, like it’s obvious. “We have to talk about it.”

“Why can’t you just go to the library? Or you could work on it during class time,” Jack says. 

Now, it’s your turn to shrug. “We want to get it done and he says he works best in a more relaxed environment.”

“Of course he does,” Jack scoffs. “Those fucking Nups. They never take anything seriously.”

“‘Nups?’” You repeat. “What the fuck is a ‘Nup?’”

“Nu Upsilon Rho,” Jack says. “Our rival frat. He’s one of the brothers.”

“So… because he’s in this frat that you don’t like… you think he’s not going to take the project seriously,” you deadpan. “Do you even know him?”

“I just think he’s going to ditch you with all the work because he’s busy,” Jack says with another shrug. He fixes his baseball cap, turning it so it’s backwards atop his head. 

“Well, I have faith in him. We’ve got a plan and he seems pretty into our topic, so I think everything will be fine.” You frown at Jack, narrowing your eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Are you angry with me, or something?” Jack asks. “You seem mad.”

“I think you’re really overstepping,” you tell him. “My project isn’t your business. We’re not partners.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” You’ve reached your parking lot, so this is the part where you turn left and Jack continues going straight. You cross your arms over your chest and he stops in front of you, turning to face you. You’re crowded on the left side of the sidewalk. Other students walk past you, sometimes looking at you to express their distaste at the obstacle blocking their way. 

Jack looks at you for a minute, holding eye contact without saying anything. He looks confused at your retort, a slight frown tugging at his lips. 

Those are the same lips that kissed your earlobe, your cheek, your neck. Behind them is the same tongue that licked into your mouth and slid against yours. 

You’re flushing a bit now. It takes a lot of concentration to tear yourself away from him, to look down at his feet. He’s wearing those white AF1s that he always wears, creased and gross after years of wear and tear, and that’s enough to bring you back to yourself. 

“We’re throwing a party on the last day of classes,” Jack says. “It’s, like, a final hoo-rah before finals. The theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’ll put you on the list, if you want to come.”

“Maybe,” you say. You probably won’t go. The last time you went to one of Jack’s parties, you ended up losing your head after one drink and fucking him in the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear, just because he asked you to.

“Okay. It’ll start at nine. You can come early, too. I’ll be at the house all day.” If Jack is bothered by your uncertain answer, he doesn’t let it show. He bids you goodbye and turns away, heading towards the house. 

You watch him walk away, then you don’t think about him again until class on Wednesday. Wednesday begins exam review. Your optional exam is scheduled on the first day of finals week, in just ten days. You’ll only have two classes to summarize everything you learned this semester, since Monday and Wednesday are reserved for presentations, so it’s imperative that you pay attention. You have to pay attention in case your final project falls apart and goes completely south, the way that it seems Jack believes it will. You want to ace this final exam if you have to take it.

You barely speak with him throughout exam review on Wednesday, nor on Friday. You head to the library to work on other papers and exam reviews after your classes instead of going home, just so you don’t have to walk back with him.

If Jack’s not going to bring up the fact that you fucked, then neither are you. If he’s going to be a dick about the project, and the fact that you’re paired with one of his rival frat’s brothers, then you’re just going to ignore him.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t try to bother you during class, because he does. He’s insatiable like that. It’s impossible for him to go a class period without talking or without poking you and pouting for attention. You’re just the bigger person.

Jack’s presentation is on Monday and it goes fine. He and his partner are relatively monotone and they don’t seem to care much about their topic, so you’d say that they earned a solid C on the presentation part of the project. Hopefully their research and write-up is better and can lift their grade up to a B. You give him a high five after it’s done, just to congratulate him on completing the assignment, and he slumps in his seat. 

Your presentation is on Wednesday. You and Braden met for coffee on Sunday, like you said. He told you a bit about his girlfriend’s formal on Friday, then you got down to work. You both pulled through with your end of the research, so organizing your presentation was easy. You were in and out of the coffee shop in less than two hours, feeling fully confident that you’d be able to present well and receive an A.

On Wednesday, everything goes off without a hitch. Your professor looks impressed, scribbling only a few notes on her sheet of paper. You try not to look at Jack, lest he distract you, but he’s staring at you the whole time. He gives you a tight smile after the presentation is over and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

After class, Braden comes over and gives you a hug. You’d gotten his number before your coffee date, but he assures you that he’d love to study together in the future. You’ll have a class together next semester, anyway– the same one you’ll have with Jack, since you’re all in your last semester before graduation and everyone always ends up in the same course. 

Jack walks with you to the parking lot on Wednesday, heading home in the same direction, but his hands are shoved in his pockets and his expression is oddly blank. When you reach your normal parting point, Jack stops.

“Are you coming to the Ugly Sweater party?” He asks. 

“It’s on Friday, right?” You ask, still beaming after your successful presentation. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t think.”

“Do you have an ugly sweater?” Jack asks.

“I think I can find one.”

“I have two. You can borrow one of mine.” Jack kicks a rock to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way. “Do you want to come to the house and grab it? I know coming to frat parties early, like… isn’t fun for most people. I’ll kind of be busy before, too, so. You coming to the house now to grab it would be better. If you have nothing else to do.”

His words are jilted and awkward. You’re just as aware as he is that the last time you came to the house, you came all over his cock and he shot off inside of you. You know Jack’s thinking about that because the tips of his ears have gone red and he can’t meet your eyes.

You’d rather face the frat house now, in the light of day, than go back on a Friday night when there is a huge crowd and you can barely hear Jack.

“Yeah,” you tell him. Your answer surprises Jack, but it makes him smile. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to bite back the big grin. “C’mon.”

Together, you bypass the parking lot where your car sits. You walk together to the row of frat houses down the block. Jack swipes into the house with his student ID, holding the door open for you.

You kind of think he expects you to keep walking, but you’ve never been to his room before. You’ve only been in the dancing room– which looks like shit in the light of day, on a Wednesday afternoon– the kitchen, and that bathroom down the hall. 

Jack waves at a brother who is sitting in the living room to the right of the foyer, then guides you upstairs with a hand at the small of your back. His touch is featherlight, his fingertips pressing against the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric. 

You make it to the top of the stairs, turning towards the left. There are more doors on that side of the hall, so you expect Jack’s room is down there. There are two doors on the right.

Jack climbs the final stairs and hooks a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you gently towards the right. “My room’s over here,” he mumbles, reaching for one of the doorhandles. “The other one is the shared bathroom for the guys. If you need the bathroom during the party, you can go in this one instead of waiting downstairs again.”

You nod, not sure how to reply. You’re not sure if you can face that bathroom without wanting to repeat your encounter with Jack. 

It’s even harder seeing his bed– unmade, messy, and looking comfortable. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown around haphazardly, his pillows flat and squished like he was hugging them in his sleep.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jack offers. “I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind. My room isn’t much better.”

That’s a lie. You have a laundry basket for your dirty clothes and Jack seems to drop them in a pile in the corner. He’s got books out, whereas yours are stacked neatly on your desk. The truthful part is that you don’t mind– you didn’t expect a clean room in a frat house.

You take a seat on the edge of his bed, clasping your hands in your lap and bouncing a bit on the mattress when you sink into it. He digs through his closet, moving hangers and pulling boxes out of cubbies to try and find the ugly sweater that you’re going to borrow.

You spot a can of Zyn on his bedside table, which makes you laugh to yourself. You’re looking around the room for more when your phone dings.

You dig it out of your pocket, checking your messages. It’s Braden, who has sent you a picture of a coffee and a donut– and his girlfriend in the background– from the same coffee shop where you met up on Sunday. His message reads: “Thanks for the recommendation! Ordered your fav to celebrate our awesome presentation today. Jos says she’ll get the butter cream next time for sure :)”

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, already facing you when you look up with a truly ugly Christmas sweater in his hands.

“Braden.”

Jack’s face clouds over. His hands drop to his sides, the sweater drooping in his right. “You’re done with the project, though.”

“So what?”

“Why are you still talking to him?”

“We get along,” you explain with a shrug. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a Nup,” Jack says again, deadpanning.

You scoff and shake your head. “Jack, just because he’s in another frat than you doesn’t mean he’s not nice. I’m friends with him just like how I’m friends with you.”

“But we were friends first,” Jack complains.

“Does that mean that I’m only allowed to be friends with you?” You ask, teasing him slightly. The idea is absurd and you need to know if Jack really means what he’s implying. “Heaven forbid I have to tell my roommate that we’re not allowed to be friends anymore because the President of Pike doesn’t allow me to talk to anyone other than him.”

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t mean that,” Jack says. 

“Jack, honey,” you begin, an air of patronization lacing the pet name. “You’re overstepping again. Let me see that sweater.” You hold a hand out, making a grabbing motion at the lump of fabric in his hand.

“You can’t just look at it,” Jack says with a pout. “You have to try it on to get the full effect. That’s what my mom always says.”

A short silence hangs in the air as you both realize what he said. It’s not like you can pull this sweater over the sweater you’re wearing– you’ll be sweltering and it won’t fit right.

Jack looks so caught on the spot that you can’t help but burst into giggles.

“Jack,” you laugh. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?”

“Well, you’d put a new sweater on immediately after,” Jack says, trying to make up for his blunder. His ears are burning again, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. “I’ll even turn around.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you say, shrugging him off. You start to pull your sweater over your head, revealing the bra you’d thrown on this morning because it was on the top of the pile in your drawer. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it.

“I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it,” Jack jumps in. “You kept your shirt on when I fucked you.”

It’s so jarring when he says it so bluntly. You’d both been avoiding the mention of your… encounter… for weeks.

“Well, now you’ve seen it, so you’ve collected the full package,” you concede, pulling the ugly sweater over your head and standing to look at yourself in the mirror in the corner of his room. 

It’s ugly. That’s for sure. There’s fake tinsel, there’s a stupid Christmas saying on the front, and there’s probably a Santa hat or reindeer headband to match.

Jack comes up behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater,” You reply. “You weren’t lying when you said that.”

Jack seems to forget that the mirror shows his expression, because he bites his lip and eyes you. “Looks good on you.”

You laugh, pulling the sweater back over your head, leaving you in your bra. You go to move past Jack, approaching the bed where your old sweater lies. “I think you just like to see a girl in your clothes, J. You seem to have a possessive streak.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack refutes. 

You fix him with a look, glancing over your shoulder and seeing him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack, you don’t want me to be friends with a boy in another frat. I think you seem to believe that I’m Pike property because you fucked me once in the bathroom.”

Jack’s eyes go wide.

“Not that we’ve talked about it, because we probably should,” you point out. “We’re friends and we’ve fucked, then you acted like it never happened.”

“So did you,” Jack says, defending himself.

“I did because you did,” you tell him with a shrug. “I thought you’d bring it up during class or one of our walks. I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid of me.”

“I just didn’t think you wanted me to bring it up,” Jack says. “I thought you’d want it to be a one and done. I mean, I–” He pauses, wincing a little bit. “I came inside you. We didn’t talk about that. I didn’t know if you’d… be mad at me. So I… didn’t… talk to you?”

“I’m not mad at you for coming inside me,” you reply, shaking your head at him. “I don’t mind that. I took a Plan B afterward and everything’s fine. My period is supposed to come sometime this week. Plus, I–”

You cut yourself off, snapping your mouth shut. Jack’s not someone who you’d share your kinks with under a normal circumstance. He’s not your best friend, he’s not someone you gossip with, he’s not someone who you’re fucking regularly. It happened once, halfway in public, and that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to information about you. He doesn’t need to know that you felt feral over the way he came inside of you, with that low groan that has been replaying in your head every time you pull out your trusty vibrator and take care of yourself.

Jack cocks his head to the side. He raises an eyebrow. “You what?” He queries, expecting an answer. When you don’t answer, he takes a step forward and asks again. “You… what?”

“I’m not saying it,” you announce. 

Jack smirks. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Hmm, let’s think,” he teases, tapping his chin with his finger, pretending to think. “You didn’t mind when I came inside you, so I think you might… like that?”

You pull your sweater over your head, covering yourself up again. You seal your mouth shut and look at Jack, who takes another step forward, his smile only growing.

“You… want it,” Jack surmises. 

You hope your poker face is good, because he’s mighty perceptive. You would absolutely rather have a man come inside of you than in a condom. But, once again, it’s not something you were planning on telling Jack after just one fuck.

“You might be just as possessive as me,” Jack teases. He’s close enough to touch you now, so he does. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing against your exposed clavicle. He pushes the fabric of your sweater off your shoulder a bit, displacing it. The knitted fabric is stretchy, so it moves easily. He leans closer. “You like when I come inside of you because, well, I’m yours that way, aren’t I?”

With his hand on you and his body so close, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen up.

Yes, you think. That’s exactly it. You hadn’t been able to place your finger on exactly why before now– Jack seems to have opened your eyes. Yes, you like it when a man is so desperate and overwhelmed by the feeling of you that he has to fill you up. He’s yours. He might be marking you up in a way that claims you, but his come is a sign that he’s yours.

“And I like it,” Jack continues. “Because you’re mine.”

A shiver actually runs down your spine.

And then Jack kisses you.

It’s sensual. It makes your brain melt. He’s gentle with it, his tongue caressing your lips until you open up for him. With one hand, he cradles your cheek. His other hand slides along your waist, underneath the bottom of your sweater. It feels like he’s branding your skin with his touch– or maybe all of the ‘possessive streak’ talk is warping your brain. 

“Why did you put your shirt back on?” Jack murmurs when he pulls away. 

He’s genuinely asking, which makes you laugh and pull him in again. Your laughter has him smiling, which makes it hard to kiss him properly. It devolves into a series of sweet pecks, interrupted by a breath of laughter or a wide grin before your lips meet again.

“No, really,” Jack says between kisses. “Why’d you put your shirt back on? I didn’t get a good look.”

“You are such a goof,” you reply, touching his hip. “Obviously I didn’t know we’d be kissing by the end of this conversation.”

“I think we should do more than kiss,” Jack says.

Again, a bout of laughter escapes you. He is so blatant and honest about what he wants. It’s such a male trait– you can’t imagine being so brash.

“You don’t think so?” Jack asks.

“You’re just so– I don’t know,” you say, feeling flustered. He’s still touching you, his hands are  greedy, roaming along your middle.

“Is it– too much?” Jack asks, matching your tone. His face contorts with concern. “If you don’t want to go again, we don’t have to. I would… fuck, I want to fuck you again.”

The sincerity of his voice surprises you. You know that he’s a man and men are often fueled by their desire to have sex with a partner, but Jack’s words blossom in your stomach like a flower opening on the first warm day of spring.

“You do?” You ask, coyly goading him into saying more. 

“Baby, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jack reveals, groaning a little bit with want. “I can’t use the downstairs bathroom anymore and all the guys think it’s hilarious.”

“So is that why you didn’t want me talking to Braden?” You ask. “Because you’re jealous, seeing me have fun with another guy, meanwhile you can’t stop thinking about how my pussy felt around your cock?”

The dirty words make Jack keen in the back of his throat, tugging insistently at the hem of your sweater. 

You start to remove it, slowly, teasing him. As you watch his pupils dilate, fixing on your newly revealed skin, you continue to talk: “Have you been fucking your fist a lot, Jack? While you think about me?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice merely a whisper.

“Good boy,” you praise lowly, trying to make your voice as seductive and innocent as possible without feeling like a fool. “I’ve been fucking myself to the thought of you, too.” 

Your shirt comes off, dropping to the ground, but Jack’s eyes find your face.

He bites his lip, his eyes dancing along your features. “Fingers?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Been using a toy.”

Jack’s blue eyes are starting to look black, shadowed and heady with lust. They’re devoid of emotion– except for one: want.

“Good?” He asks.

Again, you shake your head. “Not as good as the real thing.” You bring your hands to his pants, popping the button on his jeans slowly, to build suspense or even give him a chance to kiss you again. He’s standing still, staring at you with those dark eyes, so you drag the zipper of his pants down and reach in, palming his length over his underwear. 

Jack’s eyes stay on you as you touch him, the blue of his eyes matching the navy of the midnight sky. 

You stroke him until you’re certain he can’t grow any harder. Then, you push his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach, somehow soft and toned at the same time. You scratch along his abdomen, lifting the fabric. His mouth curves up at the edges when you’re finally able to pull the shirt off of him, leaving his hair disheveled. It’s cute like this, you decide.

The air between you is tense, his gaze weighing on you. You kiss him again, just because you can, and you use the distraction to push at his jeans until they’re falling to the ground. His lips are wet against yours. He must have licked them while he was staring, while you stroked him.

One of his hands works on your jeans, but you’re much more concerned with the hand that’s petting over the clasp of your bra. He’s able to unfasten it quickly. Once your bra is loose, he acts quickly. He brings his hand to your front and pulls at the band of the delicate piece. He drops to a knee, leaving your lips behind, but kissing over your stomach as he tugs at your jeans. They’re tight around your hips, so it takes him a second to get them off, but his fervor and determination aides him.

Once he’s got you in your underwear, completely braless, he rises. He covers your skin in wet, messy kisses as he comes back up. He captures one nipple between his teeth, then moves to the other and sucks. His hands are flush against your ass, squeezing your skin and keeping you close. 

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and breathing in languorous spurts. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “But I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”

“So fuck me,” you tell him. “I want you to. I want you to fuck me now.”

Jack smiles against your skin, licking over your nipple one more time before he comes back to his height. “Music to my ears, babe.” He places a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, helping you step backwards until you’re against the bed. “Lay down. Let me touch you.”

You obey, climbing onto the messy bed and making yourself comfortable among his pillows. Jack joins you, climbing up your body and planting another kiss on your lips. He takes a pillow from beside your head and brings it under your hips, tapping your sides so that you lift up for him. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles. 

His words are quiet, but they still give you a burst of pride. 

He’s already moving to pull your panties down, biting his lip in concentration. His eyes are fixed on the point between your legs, even though his face is level with yours. His hair is falling into your space, tickling your forehead. You take a moment to take him in. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you stare at him. You know Jack’s attractive, because you look at him all the time and you like looking at him, but in this moment, he’s a work of art. You might have stopped breathing.

You gasp when he touches you. His fingertips are blunt and careful as they sweep through your wet folds. 

The gasp takes Jack by surprise, his eyes flickering to your face, and he smiles when he meets you there. “Are you always this wet when we’re together?” He asks. “I’m imagining you in class, absolutely soaked even though I haven’t touched you.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, bringing a hand to his hair again and smoothing it back. 

“That’s a no?”

“Definitely a no,” you say. “I’m not just wet because you’re around, Jack. It doesn’t work like that. This is because you’re a good kisser. And, well, because you sucked on my nipples.”

Jack brightens. “And I’ll do it again, too.”

You grip his hair before he can dip down and make good on his vow. “Slow down there, cowboy,” you say. 

Jack laughs at that, kissing your lips instead of finding your nipple. He swipes a finger against your clit, making you gasp again, into his mouth this time. 

“Mm,” Jack hums patronizingly. “Does it feel good?”

He fills you with his middle finger and thumbs at your clit, working the digits in tandem to make you whimper.

“Listen to yourself,” he says. “All that noise for me?”

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Jack. I need you to fuck me.”

“You need it?” Jack teases, sliding his ring finger inside of you, joining the other. 

“Don’t be a dick,” you whine. 

“God, and I thought it was embarrassing how bad I want you,” he simpers. “But, you make a good point. We both want it. Let’s not wait.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, the empty feeling foreign and dissatisfying. He shucks off the final bit of clothing remaining between the two of you, throwing the underwear over his shoulder comically. It’s not sexy, but he’s so charming and goofy that you swoon anyway.

Jack fists his cock, stroking himself. He aligns himself with your entrance, teasing your folds and bumping your clit with the head of his cock. He smiles to himself, gaze meeting yours before he speaks. He quirks an eyebrow, coming lower to kiss you again because he just can’t help himself. “Let’s fill you up, hm? Just like you like.”

“Just like you like,” you parrot back.

He murmurs a quiet agreeance as he pushes into you. He goes slow, sinking into you in a direct contrast with how he fucked you last time. “Still so tight,” Jack acknowledges. “You feel just as good as last time.”

You hold his shoulder, one hand twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He dips down to smear a kiss against your jugular, mouthing at the area where your pulse races. Jack starts to roll his hips, feeling you out. Even though it was the whole point, you realize suddenly that he’s bare inside of you. It’s like the piece of information was delayed and that you didn’t understand it until you felt him, felt the way his cock was weeping inside of you.

“Jack,” you moan, pulling him closer. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You don’t let up, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and his stomach is practically touching your own. You need him to be close– you’re drunk on the feeling of having him inside of you, bare and leaking.

“I know,” he soothes, rocking into you. He kisses you again, his tongue lathering your lips and petting whatever area he can touch– teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth… it’s messy, but driven completely by his desire, and you love it.

Your whines and whimpers, musings about how well he fills you, and your trembling touches fuel him. 

He fucks you deeply, making sure his cock brushes against your cervix with each thrust. You lose the ability to kiss him when he taps your sweet spot, keening in a way that has him grinning. You clench down involuntarily, which makes him choke a bit on his own breath and stutter his movements. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that, this is going to end a lot faster than I want it to,” Jack tells you, grimacing through another thrust. He snaps his hips, showing no signs of stopping even though he seems determined to last. 

“I want you to come,” you goad, practically begging. “Please, Jack, fill me up. Need you to come in my pussy, I need it.”

Jack makes a choked moan in the back of his throat, his head dipping to bury itself in your neck. He nibbles your neck, keeping his teeth in place to quiet himself as he quickens his pace. His breath is like music in your ears, panting and turning high pitched when you squeeze him again. “Baby, shit,” he moans, dropping to his elbows, bracketing your head. 

You grind up against him, your hips lifting off the bed and the pillow completely. 

He rearranges his position, shifting his weight to one arm so that he can reach down and rub circles over your clit with his dominant hand. His fingers, the ones next to your head, toy with your hair. He thrusts as hard as he can, his thick cock pistoning into your heat and making your stomach turn over from the pleasure. 

The pressure on your clit sends sparks through your body. You can feel the pleasure in your clenched fingertips, the burning tips of your ears, and in your curled toes. He’s everywhere, and his cum is seconds from marking you.

“Be mine,” you plead. You mean to say, ‘fill me up, put your cum inside me until it spills out of me, come apart like your cum belongs to me,’ but what you hear is different. You hear yourself ask him for more than just a fuck– you hear a slogan from a chalky Valentine’s heart, begging for a romantic connection.

He’s a frat boy. He won’t acknowledge this, he won’t understand what you mean. He’ll take it the wrong way and he’ll never talk to you again, even if you show up to the party on Friday. He’ll say hello, then look over you to find the next girl–

“I’m yours,” Jack replies, breathless. “All yours.”

The relief that comes with his reply washes over you. You cry out, unable to stop yourself from clenching down on his member and succumbing to the pleasure that had been building up inside of you.

You let your release take hold of you, throwing your head back and baring your neck to Jack. He takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, sucking on the skin below your jaw. His nose presses against the side of your face, his breath wet against your skin. 

“Good, baby, so good,” Jack praises as he fucks you through your release. “Y’feel so perfect around me, gonna give you what you want, just another minute…”

His hips work in a frenzy, snapping into you with lewd noises that mix with the noises falling from both of your lips. It only takes a few more thrusts before Jack is shuddering in your arms, his lips coming to smudge a messy, passionate kiss against yours. He spills inside of you, filling you with his hot, intoxicating cum until there’s none remaining in his cock.

His hips slow when he’s done, his blinks becoming longer and slower as he regains his breath. He watches himself thrust into you a final few times, his mouth open slightly and eyes trained on the spot like he’s in a trance. 

You snap your fingers by his face, drawing his attention. “My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”

Jack bursts into a fit of giggles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. He uses the leverage, and the wide expanse of his bed, to roll over so that you’re laying on top of him. He touches your hips, your ass, the smooth plane of your back, all the way up to your shoulderblades before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you there. 

He kisses you silly, cradling your cheek with one hand. Occasionally, he allows you to pull away, but you never go far. He’ll play with the strands of your hair, gazing at you with a satisfied, smug smirk on his lips. 

“It’s a date party,” Jack says eventually.

“What is?” You ask, your nose scrunching in confusion. 

“The ugly sweater party. It’s a date party. I was conning you into being my date.”

You barely stifle a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Hey,” Jack complains, pouting. “Not all of us can just say shit like ‘be mine’ in the middle of sex.”

You pat his chest, clicking your tongue at him to reprimand him for mocking your words. “Says the boy who tried to trick me into being his date for a frat function.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Jack shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss.

It’s slow, like the first one. Your lips move together until you’ve both run out of air. Jack returns to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Gonna get you a Plan B in the morning,” he says. His tone sounds like he’s wondering, still thinking about it, although you know that he’s stating a fact and formulating a plan. “But I think, if we want to keep doing this, we’re going to have to figure something out about birth control.”

Normally, you wouldn’t allow a man to tell you what to do with your body. Today, though, you concede. He’s right. The world isn’t ready for a little Jack, and you don’t want him to stop coming inside of you, so you make a mental note to call your doctor tomorrow.

Still, you can’t resist the chance to make a joke.

“Maybe we’ll get you a vasectomy instead,” you tease, touching his bottom lip with your index finger. “They’re reversible, you know.”

note: i couldn't resist posting this, since i finished it before i expected to. I LOVE YOU FRAT JACK! (am willing to skip the plan b but only if you're also down)

[luludeluluramblings]

Conner Kent's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: I saw a few people liking the Superfam stuff and finally went nuts attempting this Conner bit. I tried. I tried so hard. I added dialogue. I'm used to the YJ Conner, but this is my attempt at Comic Conner. If he's OOC, oops. Yeet. (I attempted to research, I swear.) Might edit this some later.

A/N: I write Reader with an accent. One, cause that's how I talk. Two, cause I like it like 'dat.

A/N: I'm also almost done with Part Seven, but I'm adding dialogue to that too to make the breaking point a tad bit more impactful. I've never really written dialogue before.

Warnings: Slight Yandere themes. Romantic Yandere. (Very subtle.)

Conner’s run-ins with Reader always seemed to piss Tim off. Especially after Tim started researching into Reader. He would occasionally always beg Tim to invite Reader to hang out. And, he would find himself rejected every single time. Before it was probably due to Tim being dramatic. Now, he certain of this, it's because Tim dramatic and jealous overprotective.

On other occasions, he'd just by pass Tim, leaving him to his cases (and creeping) so hecould sneak and bother reader. They’re kinda cute, in his opinion. Of course they call him a big city boy and said he clearly lived off of his daddy’s money. Which was only kind of wrong. But, they way they said it made his a trail of heat crawl down his spine.

After some time had passed, he knew that Tim and the other members of the family were suspicious about him coming to the manor so much. He never tried to hide his reasons There was no point in hiding behind weak excuses. He respected the Bats too much to even think he could fool them. Plus, lying to the Bats was a good way to get stabbed with a kryptonite knife. Even though they had made it pretty clear that they disapproved of him coming around so often, He was still going to keep visiting. Could they really blame him? It wasn’t his fault he was enamored so easily. 

He kept his distance just a bit. Like he was silently (commanded) requested. He could tell he made the newest addition to the family a bit uncomfortable. And, he understood. The clone thing was kinda freaky after all.

Well, at first he had assumed it was because he was a clone. That would make any normal person feel a bit weird. But, then he heard them keep call him that nickname. City boy. The way it rolled off their tongue and how often it was said was clearly a sign. They weren’t bothered by the clone thing. They just didn’t like his personality. He could fix that. That wasn’t that hard. He was adaptable.

So when he approached them again, for the million time, he tried to play up the cool and collected act. Going as far as to emulate the Batman. Which, surprising made the ice break. When they laughed at him.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"No, seriously why are you acting like that?" You're still giggling at how hard he was trying to play up the serious act. Cause that's all it was. You don't doubt he could genuinely be serious for a moment, but this wasn't one of those moments.

"I'm just letting you see a different side of me, is all." Conner replies, trying to keep it up even though he had been quickly caught.

"You mean the imaginary side, city boy? I didn't realize you liked to play pretend." Another teasing snort. God, how you needed that laugh.

"I'm not pretending."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yes, you are. Don't be lyin' to me now. Or, Imma start gettin' upset."

"Okay, okay... How could you tell?" He conceded after a moment. The way he scratched the back of his head suited him much more than that little Oscar performance he was putting on a few seconds prior.

"I'm observant." Comes the mock arrogant reply. It was hard to give him a cold shoulder when he just made you laugh so genuinely in the last few weeks.

"Oh, look who's playing pretend now." The snark on his tongue doesn't have any heat, but it does bring you some relief. A bit of much needed normalcy.

Maybe it's the fact that the loneliness has slowly crawled into your chest and burrowed it's self deep in that hollow part of you, but it's easy to let your guard down around him for once. You had noticed his efforts to get to know you before, and maybe you let those preconceived notions cloud your little head. But, there was no need for them anymore. The twinge of glee he sparked was enough to burn them away and make you pause before you would rebuild those walls of yours.

"Are you saying I'm not observant?"

"Yep."

"The audacity!" The outrage nothing more than a sham. A simple way to fill the air between them. Cause even if the talk was small, just the hint of it filled something in you. That didn't make your curiosity fade, however. "But, seriously, why are you impersonating Bruce? And in his own house, no less."

The brief silence that washes over you both has you already regretting this. Had it really so long since you've had a proper conversation that you were this out of practice?

When he finally speaks again, it is gives you relief and more regret.

"I just wanted to finally get your attention."

Well, doesn't that make you finally fit in with the rest of your family?

Your tongue brushes over your teeth in an attempt to get the lead coating that made your words weigh heavy in your mouth off of it.

"I'm sorry, Conner. I- I've been smallminded haven’t I?"

"No, I get it. The whole clone thing is freaky." He starts, a light flush on his cheeks. He wasn't expecting an apology, and especially one so soon and so heartfelt.

"Oh, yeah, that... Really it didn't have anything to do with it. I kinda just thought you were a typical concrete jungle flirt. Momma warned me about men like you." You try to hide your sheepishness by adding humor to your voice, praying he catches your sincerity under all the different layers.

He catches something, judging by the beaming smile Conner gives you.

"Really? I had hoped it wasn't, ya know, that."

"Nah, nah. It wasn't. Still, I am sorry." You assume silence is about to befall the pair of you again, but he doesn't let it happen.

"My family owns a farm out in Kansas, you know?" The cheeky grin on his face screams that he's going to be getting his revenge in the form of mild bullying.

"No!" The resounding smack of your palm hitting your forehead nearly echoes in the halls. "I feel even worse now."

"So much for being observant, little detective."

"I never claimed to be no detective. But, I might be more... oblivious then I initially implied..."

Now, it's Conner's turn to guffaw at you.

"The audacity."

"Don't you throw my words back at my. I can't handle it." You can't help by click your tongue. There's hardly any annoyance from your words. "I really misjudged you."

"It's fine! I figured you might still be adjusting to Gotham and the whole Wayne lifestyle. Tim mentioned you're from a pretty small town when I started bugging him about you." He's clearly playing up the charm, but you let it work on you.

"More like I'm still suffering from culture shock." Slowly, you can feel this conversation starting to shift to something deeper than surface level. Things that haven't been allowed into the open air start to ripple underneath.

And, he takes that chance to draw it out.

"Still?" Empathy mixing into his tone. Those icy blue eyes looking incredibly warm. You'd never really taken the time to look at him. Sure, you knew he was attractive. Hell, everyone that seemed to show up at the manor was attractive. But, now you were finally looking at him. Too focused were you in taking in his appearance for the first time, that you completely missed the way those eyes shined with opportunity and desperate want.

"Yeah, still. It's... different."

"Different as in the food's a little weird or different as in the people are a little weird?"

"It's all a little weird, and it's... kinda... lonely?" You can't help the wince. You really don't wanna trauma dump on someone who you had initially misjudged. He didn't deserve that.

But, as he moves closer you can't help it. That desolate part of you longing for comfort when you haven't had it in such a long time and the way he's giving you all this undivided attention when you can barely catch Alfred in the halls these days fills that acute craving in your gut.

"Lonely?" God, the concern in his voice doesn't make you want to cry, but it does make you want to choke

"I... I think it's not here that's different. I think it's me that's too different." The way he sucks a breath in after the words leave your mouth makes you want to backtrack immediately. "I'm so sorry. God damn, am I mess right now."

"No. No. No. You are fine." The reassuring words oddly sound more like a purr, but they capture your attention all the same. "I get it. I really really do."

Why does he have to give you such a disarming smile. He's practically beaming at you now. There's a festering tension blooming around them like spores.

"You are really not helping me fell less like a jerk to you now." The click of your tongue attempting to defuse the budding blooms.

"Hey, if you're feeling guilt... you could, maybe... let me take you out for dinner sometime? Just to make it up to me."

After a stunned moment of thought, you finally find the words to reply.

" Honestly, I'd-"

"CONNER!" Tim's sudden interruption sends the words crawling back down your throat.

"Tim." He calls back in a cool greeting, but he strangely doesn't step back from you. Which is nice. You haven't had anyone close to you other than Dick and a few of your remaining friends at Gotham Academy. And Damian, Cassandra, and Duke get a bit huffy, or in Damian's case murdery, when they are within an arms reach of you.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything? Conner and I had plans for the day." Tim's pleasant voice sends a wave of unease over you. He's not staring at you when he speaks. Just Conner. It's annoying how he's ignoring you despite you being right. In. Front. Of. Him.

But, then he does finally look at you and his dark grey eyes soften ever so slightly. You're not too mad. Clearly he's exhausted, judging by the bruises under his eyes. There's still a slight reflection in them as he's gaze meets yours, despite how dry the appear. Probably from looking at a computer too much.

"You really shouldn't bother with this guy. He's not worth it." The words are clearly meant to be joking. Casual banter between two close friends. But, you can't help thinking they come off a bit strong.

Conner seems to bristle at them, but he does brush them off.

"That's right, we are hanging out today. Can you blame me for getting distracted, though?" That cocky smirk of his is back, and he actually touches your shoulder. It makes you feels warm, but like a prize at the same time.

All Tim seems to do in response is twitch, but giving nothing away. His grey eyes going steely as they drift to Conner's hand.

When the moment finally passes, Conner lets his hand fall. You can feel it grazing down your back as he pulls away. Slow, like he's trying to strike a match and light something inside you.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Just think about my offer and get back to me on it!" Conner calls out as Tim storms behind him. Both heading in the direction of the library.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As soon as their in the Batcave, Conner can tell he probably pushed it too far. Not that he has any regrets. He finally got somewhere and confirmed all of his previous theories about Reader. They were so adorable apologizing to him, and so deliciously sweet about it too.

He should've realized Tim was watching them, though. Dude was a creep. He maybe his best friend, but he's still a damn creep.

As expected, the rest of the family is also giving him the patented Bat-glare when he sees them. But, as he stated, he has no regrets. He's not stupid enough to stick around, though. He saw Jason loading a suspicious looking green bullet into the chamber of his gun. And, while he knows Tim wouldn't kill him, he's not so sure about the rest of them.

He's confirmed what he's wanted, what he's already suspected. They're absolutely perfect for him and ripe and raw.

[jetii]

Few Fates Worse Than Death

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 13,780

Tags/Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, platonic Rex x Reader, kissing, found family stuff so that makes it better right?

Summary: You refused to believe that Wrecker would ever hurt you, but on Bracca, his nightmare finally comes true.

A/N: I've written angst to some degree for every member of the squad except for Wrecker, so I decided to change that. This is the first and probably only time I pull quotes/scenes directly from the show for a one-shot.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The moment Rex told you about the inhibitor chips, everything fell into place. A cold, icy dread filled you, even as the others insisted that the chips held no power over them. Everything that had happened since Kaller, since Crosshair and Master Billaba's men tried to kill you... you saw it all through a new lens, and the galaxy spun dizzyingly before you.

Like the others, you’d barely paid attention to Omega’s explanation of the chip. The idea that the Kaminoans put some sort of mind-altering device inside every clone was beyond the pale, so absurd that, even if it was true, you never thought to give it much attention. And Tech was so confident that his own research proved the chips had no such abilities. It was easier to trust Tech, who had always been honest and open with you, than to question your own instincts.

But Rex was different.

The others protested, but Rex had seen something, experienced it himself, and he wasn't willing to risk any of his brothers falling prey to it again. You can hear his fear in his voice, feel it radiating from him. His insistence that the chips be removed, one way or another, was unshakeable.

Rex looks over at you, as if expecting you to back him, but you can only look away.

You feel like you can't breathe, can't think. You take a step back and settle down on one of the barstools, your hand gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles are white. Your stomach churns with dread. What do you do? What can you do?

You’d felt it, the moment Jedi across the galaxy were cut down, like a thousand tiny shards of glass stabbing into your mind. The pain had been nearly blinding, and it had taken every bit of concentration you had to keep from screaming. But you hadn’t seen the images. Hadn’t witnessed the slaughter. That had been a mercy. You hadn't been there, hadn't seen them fall, but you still feel the echoes of their deaths in the Force, a dull, aching pain that never goes away.

The thought of what Rex had seen, what the other clones had experienced, sickens you. Being forced to witness the death of someone you care about is awful enough, but to see your own hand, your own blaster, murder the very people you are sworn to protect? You shudder, the horror of it too overwhelming to contemplate.

The others are talking now, and the argument is escalating. You watch them in a daze, barely able to focus. Your thoughts are running away with you, and you have to fight back against the urge to panic.

The clones were made to be obedient, but not this obedient. There was no way the Kaminoans, or the Jedi, or anyone would have created them with the ability to commit mass genocide at the push of a button. It couldn’t be real. It couldn't.

Could it?

"The chips make you a threat to everyone around you," Rex says, and it's like being doused in cold water. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak.

Rex's jaw tightens. "You're all ticking time bombs." 

And you realize then that he's right. Even if the inhibitor chips really do hold no influence over the clones, you can't ignore the potential threat they pose. Not after what happened on Kaller, the horror of it still fresh in your mind. You hadn’t been there after, but you’d heard what happened. If Crosshair had really wanted to kill those refugees, if his chip had made him turn on his brothers... how could the others be so sure their own wouldn’t do the same?

They're all still arguing with Rex, telling him he's wrong, but they don't understand. None of them understand.

Rex turns to you, and when he sees your face, he falters. He knows. He has to know what's running through your head, because he takes a step forward, and you hold up your hand.

"Don't—"

"She's not safe with you," Rex says, gesturing to you. His face is stony, his expression hard. "Any of you. How can you protect her from yourselves?"

Wrecker's eyes dart between you and Rex, and when his gaze settles on you, his brows knit together in a worried frown. He looks distraught, and you wish there was something you could say, something you could do to ease his fears, but you can't get your tongue to work. 

"What are you talking about?" he demands. "We'd never hurt her."

"No, you don't understand. It's not—" Rex pauses, and his expression goes from pained to resigned. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, his shoulders drooping. "What's in your head is more dangerous than you can imagine. I've seen what happens when the chip activates, and I don't want to bury any more of our brothers."

Rex meets each of the Batch's gazes in turn, then his eyes settle on you, and you know that you won't like whatever he has to say next.

"You can't keep her. She's not safe with any of you," he says quietly.

He's not saying anything you haven't thought before, but the way he phrases it sends a sharp stab of hurt through you, and the ache is only exacerbated when he continues.

"I can protect her."

"We can protect her!" Wrecker snaps, taking a step toward Rex. He glares down at the captain, looming over him, and for a moment, you're reminded of just how much larger Wrecker is than him. But Rex doesn't back down, doesn't flinch. Wrecker glances back toward you and Tech, a desperate look in his eye, and his voice goes soft. "Right?"

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. Tech doesn't speak either. He just stares at Rex, a deep furrow in his brow.

"She'll be safer with us," Hunter argues. His voice is firm, but you can tell from the way he avoids meeting Rex's gaze that he's not nearly as certain as he seems.

"It's not the same," Rex says, and he's clearly struggling to hold onto his patience. "Trust me. It is not something you can control. I couldn't. It's a risk you do not want to take."

You've heard enough. Your throat is tight and your stomach is roiling, but you can't let them continue like this. You swallow back the bile and rise unsteadily to your feet.

"Enough," you say, your voice thin.

The others turn to you, and when Wrecker looks down at you, his expression is heartbreaking. You take a deep, steadying breath, then glance up at him.

"It's okay," you whisper, and force a small, reassuring smile. "Everything will be okay."

Your words don't have the desired effect. Wrecker's brow furrows and he takes a half-step toward you, reaching out his hand. He hesitates, and you close the distance between you, reaching up to take his hand in yours. His hand engulfs yours, and his fingers close around your hand gently, like he's afraid he might hurt you. His grip is warm and reassuring, and for a moment, everything is okay.

But it doesn't last.

“General, please." Rex's voice is soft, imploring, and when you meet his gaze, there's a pleading look in his eyes. "You know I'm right.”

“I’m not a general anymore, Rex," you say, shaking your head. "And I’m not a Jedi."

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

"You can't ask this of me," you say, and a shiver runs through you. You wrap your free arm around yourself, wishing desperately for the security and comfort of the cloak you left behind. "Please. Don't."

Rex closes his eyes, and for a moment, the two of you are silent.

"Alright."

The others look relieved. Wrecker's face scrunches up and you think he's going to cry, but he's also smiling, and he wraps his arms around you and picks you up off the floor. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing as tightly as you can.

"We'll figure this out," you say, and pray the others don't notice the way your voice wavers. "It'll be okay."

Wrecker nods, but his voice is thick when he replies. "I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere," you promise. "I'm not leaving."

But Rex's words are stuck in your head, echoing relentlessly. It's a risk you do not want to take.

Wrecker sets you down, and when he steps back, there's a wet sheen in his eyes. He rubs at his face and laughs nervously. You reach out and take his hand, squeezing it lightly, and offer him a smile. It feels forced and unnatural, and Wrecker must notice, because his expression falls, and he looks almost guilty. He drops his gaze and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

You look past him to the others. Tech is standing by the door, his arms folded tightly across his chest. You can see his hands are clenched, the muscles in his arms tense. His eyes are fixed on the floor, and when he senses your attention, he lifts his gaze and meets your eyes. His brow is furrowed, and you know he wants to say something. You can see the words forming in his mind, but whatever he's thinking, he keeps it to himself. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, then looks away.

Hunter and Echo are standing together, watching you. When you meet Hunter's eye, he gives you a curt nod.

"It'll be alright," he says, and his tone is oddly final. He turns back to Rex. "How do you suggest we get them out?"

"Good question," Rex replies, and his gaze falls on you again. He frowns and tilts his head. "You're sure you don't want to leave?"

"Yes," you reply, but your voice sounds thin, even to you. You clear your throat and repeat the word more firmly, and the others all look at you. "Yes. I'm sure."

Rex hesitates. For a long moment, he just looks at you, as if searching for some sign that you've changed your mind. Then he sighs and nods, his expression grim.

"Alright. I'll be in touch."

He leaves without another word. The moment he disappears up the stairwell, Wrecker tugs you against him, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you against his chest. You squeeze him back, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his chest. Your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your temples, and your head is throbbing.

"It'll be okay," you repeat, trying to sound reassuring, but there's an uncertainty in your heart that you can't ignore. You're not sure who you're trying to convince, yourself or Wrecker, but you both need to hear the words.

You're not sure what comes next. You've only just got back to the Batch, and now this...

It feels like you're standing on a precipice.

You're not sure which way the wind will blow.

Wrecker's headaches are getting worse, and they come more frequently.

He can barely sleep, and his temper is short. More than once, he's lashed out at the others, and you can tell that it's eating him up inside. He's ashamed and frustrated, and all the more upset because there's nothing he can do. When he does manage to rest, it's fitful. You're not sure how long it's been since he slept properly, and it worries you.

Your own rest is fitful as well.

Ever since Rex's revelation, there's been a tension between you all that was never there before. It's like you're all just waiting for something bad to happen, and every day that passes is just more time spent in anticipation of a nightmare you can't stop.

It's hard to shake, and sometimes, it's all you can do not to cry. You miss the Jedi, the people you thought of as family, and the knowledge that the clones were responsible for their deaths is like a knife through your heart. It was easier when you didn't know the truth, when the deaths felt more distant. Now, every time you think about the Jedi, you can't help wondering how they felt in those final moments. If they knew.

The pain in the Force is still there, but it's different. A constant ache, a reminder of all the lives lost. Sometimes, it's too much, and the grief overwhelms you.

The worst part is knowing that the others are keeping their distance.

It's subtle. Just little things, but you can tell.

You and Omega are still spending most of your downtime together, but when you go to spend time with the others, it doesn't last as long. You've barely seen Echo and Tech, and Hunter is avoiding you like the plague.

And Wrecker.

Wrecker is pulling away, and he's doing it so slowly that you didn't notice at first. At least, not until you woke up one morning to find the bed empty. He hasn't slept beside you since that night with Rex, and he's not spending much time with you outside of missions. And the longer this goes on, the harder it is to break the ice.

When you do manage to talk to him, you try to offer support. You want to reassure him, to comfort him, but the pain in his head makes him recalcitrant. It's like he doesn't want you to know the truth of what's bothering him, and the more you press, the more agitated he gets.

One night, you try to help him with his headache. He's sitting on his bunk, leaning over and clutching his head, and you can't stand by and watch him suffer any longer.

You sit beside him and rest a hand on his back. His skin is slick with sweat, and his muscles are tense, his entire body shaking with pain.

"Can I help?" you ask, keeping your voice soft. "Will it help if I massage your temples?"

Wrecker's answer is a muffled groan, and it's impossible to tell whether it's a yes or a no, so you tentatively begin to rub your fingers in slow circles. You start at his temples and work outward, hoping that some of the tension will release.

You keep rubbing for a while, and it seems to help, a little. When his head finally slumps forward, you pause.

"How's that?" you ask softly.

"S'good," Wrecker grumbles, but the tone of his voice makes it clear that he's anything but pleased. "Thanks."

He doesn't move, doesn't relax. You're not sure what else to do, but you don't want to leave him like this. It feels wrong.

"Is there anything else I can do?" you ask, and you try to keep your voice gentle.

Wrecker shakes his head. "I'm fine."

“You’re not.” Your words are quiet, but they feel like a shout. Wrecker freezes, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. You sigh and move so that you're kneeling in front of him, and you place your hands on his knees. "Please, talk to me."

He doesn't answer. He doesn't move, his head bowed.

"Why are you shutting me out?" you whisper.

"I'm not," Wrecker mumbles. His hands come up to cover his head, and you have the feeling that the action has less to do with his headache and more to do with his reluctance to meet your gaze. "I'm just..."

His words trail off, and a tense silence falls between you.

"What's wrong?" you ask, and now your voice is wavering. The tears you've been fighting for days are threatening to spill over, but you hold them back. You take a deep, shuddering breath and lean in closer. "Wrecker. Please."

"It's nothing," Wrecker mutters, and his shoulders hunch. He doesn't look at you, and his hands clench into fists.

"It's not nothing."

You hesitate, then gently rest your hand on his cheek. He flinches, and for a moment, your stomach tightens with fear. But then his eyes flick up to yours, and when he sees your face, a pained look crosses his features. His eyes soften, and a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"You're not sleeping. I can tell."

"Neither are you," he grunts, and he tries to pull away.

"I'm worried about you," you whisper. You reach out and touch his hand. "Talk to me."

Wrecker looks away. He wipes the tear from his cheek and clears his throat. "Don't be."

"I can't help it." You reach out and touch his hand, and when he flinches, it's like being stabbed through the heart. You draw back and look away. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to pressure you."

"I know."

"Just... if you need anything. I'm here."

"I know," he whispers. He looks down at his hands, and the tears are back. He wipes them away, but not before they start rolling down his cheeks. He shakes his head. "I'm a fuckin' mess."

"It's okay."

“It’s not okay,” he snaps. He glares up at you, his brow furrowing, and the pain in his expression is so raw that it takes your breath away. His voice is thick with tears. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't," you insist, but your stomach twists and knots at his words. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Wrecker—"

"What if Rex was right?" Wrecker asks, and his words cut straight through your heart. "What if he's right? What if—what if something happens, and I..."

His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, his eyes are wet. He blinks and swallows, and when he continues, his voice is strained.

"What if the chip took control, and I hurt you? Or Omega? I couldn't..." He chokes and shakes his head, looking away. "I couldn't live with myself."

"Nothing is going to happen," you insist, and when Wrecker doesn't answer, your heart sinks. You climb up onto the bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against you. He rests his forehead against yours, and the tears are streaming freely down his cheeks. You kiss his cheek and reach up to brush away the tears, but there are too many. You wipe away a few, but the others just keep coming, and Wrecker lets out a soft, miserable noise. "Oh, Wrecker."

He doesn't answer. He turns his face into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, and buries his face against you.

"I can't lose you," he whispers, his voice thick. "Not again."

"You won't," you murmur. "I promise. You won't lose me."

You can't be sure that's true, but you don't know what else to say. Wrecker holds you tightly, and you wrap your arms around him and kiss the side of his neck, and then his cheek, his shoulder, his chest, his lips. You want him to know how much you care, how much you need him. How much you love him.

"I'm not going anywhere," you say as your own tears spill over. You squeeze him tight and bury your face against his neck. "You won't lose me."

"If anything happened to you..." Wrecker shudders, and his grip on you tightens. "I couldn't handle it. If something happened, I couldn't—"

He stops and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He presses his face into your hair and squeezes you tightly. His voice is small, almost lost in the darkness.

"I love you."

You freeze. For a moment, your heart stutters, and you feel like your lungs have stopped working. He's never said it before. Not in words, anyway. You’ve known it for a long time, but to hear him say it, even in a moment like this, is something else entirely. It makes you ache.

"I love you," Wrecker repeats, and then his face scrunches up and his words spill out in a rush. "I've loved you for so long. I love everything about you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and the thought of hurting you, or losing you, is too much. I can't. I won't."

"Wrecker." You pull back and take his face in your hands. "Look at me."

"I should have told you earlier," Wrecker mumbles. His words are so slurred together that they're almost unintelligible. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your eyes are filled with tears, and it's hard to see, but you know you need to get close to him, to offer him the same reassurance he's given you countless times. So you slide onto his lap, wrapping your arms around him, and rest your forehead against his.

"I'm not. There was never a good time, not really. But now, right now, I'm glad I heard it." You cup his cheek and brush the tears away. "And I'm glad I can tell you now. Because I love you too. So much. And I need you to know that. I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

You press your lips to his, and he responds instantly, returning the kiss with a hunger that catches you off guard. It's intense and overwhelming, and he pulls you tighter against him, like he's trying to merge the two of you together. His hand slips beneath your shirt, his fingers splayed across your lower back, and he groans into the kiss. It's the most intense and passionate kiss the two of you have ever shared, and it leaves you gasping for breath.

"I love you," you repeat, and when he looks at you, his eyes are bright. He leans in and kisses your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers. "No matter what. I promise."

"I know." You press a soft kiss to his jaw, then rest your head on his shoulder. "And I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together. I'm here, no matter what."

Wrecker doesn't reply. He just nods and wraps his arms around you, leaning back until the two of you are lying down. He pulls you on top of him, and when you shift, the movement is enough to send a shiver through him.

He presses his face into your hair and holds you close, and for a long time, the two of you stay like that, holding each other. It's a little awkward, with your legs tangled together and the bunk too small for the two of you, but it feels right. It feels good. Safe.

 "I love you,” you whisper again, and Wrecker's arms tighten around you. He kisses the side of your neck, and his breath tickles the hairs on the back of your neck. You snuggle deeper into his embrace and close your eyes.

"Love you," Wrecker mumbles. 

The way he says it is so soft, so full of adoration, that your heart breaks a little. You love him. You love him so much. You never thought you'd get to say the words, never thought it would be possible, but now that it's out there, the words come so easily, like they've always been waiting to come out. And the relief of hearing him say them back is almost dizzying.

You stay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, and you listen to the sound of Wrecker's breathing. He falls asleep eventually, and his grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. When you're sure he's sleeping, you shift, resting your head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

You close your eyes, and for the first time in a while, you feel safe.

For the first time in a while, sleep comes easily.

As soon as you arrived on Bracca, things took a turn for the worse. You'd all managed to dodge the Scrapper's Guild, but traversing the wreckage of the fallen Venator was a trial in and of itself. There was debris everywhere, and you could hardly breathe in the thick, oppressive air. Every step felt like it could be your last, and you and Hunter couldn't stop sensing something in the murky water below. Something lurking, waiting. And when Wrecker fell in...

He'd nearly drowned. He'd nearly been devoured by that dianoga. You'd thought you'd lost him.

You can't think about it.

He's safe now, and that's all that matters. He's safe, and you can finally breathe again. But the tension is still there, coiled tight in your stomach, and it's not just because of Wrecker. There's something else, something more. 

It's been there since Kaller, a feeling that something terrible is looming. You've felt it before, and it's never been wrong. The Force is trying to warn you, but the warnings are growing more frequent, more intense. Something big is coming, and there's no telling when it will happen, but you're sure it's not good.

You're standing in the back of the medbay, trying to keep out of the way as Tech works on Wrecker. He's running scans and taking readings, and the whole time, he's muttering under his breath. You cast a glance at Rex, who's standing next to you, but his attention is focused on the scene in front of him, his brow furrowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

"You've been quiet," he murmurs, his gaze shifting towards you.

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You hesitate. There's no point in keeping it to yourself, and maybe it'll help to get it off your chest.

"The Force is warning me," you say quietly, and Rex nods. "I don't know what it is, but... I can't shake the feeling that something bad is coming."

Rex frowns. "Do the others know?"

You nod, and he turns his gaze back toward the medbay. "Have they said anything?"

"Hunter knows," you say, and the words catch in your throat. "But... he's been keeping his distance."

Rex glances at you. His expression is unreadable.

"They all are," you whisper, and the admission is almost painful. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and you have to fight the urge to cry. "I don't know what to do."

"You're worried," Rex says. It's not a question.

"Yeah," you reply, and a chill runs through you. You wrap your arms around yourself, hugging tightly, and take a shaky breath. “But it’s not just that. The Force is warning me. They... they could be in danger. All of them."

You swallow, and when you speak again, your voice is quiet.

"All of us."

He studies you for a moment, then looks back at Tech. He's still working, but now he's talking, and whatever he's saying is enough to pull a groan out of Wrecker. Rex watches them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, then looks back at you. His expression is grim.

 "How bad is it?"

You don't answer at first. The truth is, you're not sure. But Rex waits patiently, his gaze never leaving your face. Finally, you take a deep breath and force the words out.

"Bad," you say at last. You can't hide the fear in your voice. "Whatever it is, I think it's really bad."

Rex doesn't reply, but you can see the worry on his face. He knows what you're capable of, and he's seen firsthand the things you can do when the Force moves through you. If you're afraid, he's got every reason to be scared, too.

The two of you are silent, and when you can't bear it any longer, you break the silence.

"Do you believe in fate?" you ask.

Rex raises an eyebrow, surprised. He looks back at Tech, then shakes his head.

"Not really. I mean, maybe. Sometimes," he admits, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "But I try not to think about it too much."

You nod. "I can't help it."

"Why's that?"

"Because... sometimes, I think it's meant to be. Like, everything that happens is part of some bigger plan, and I can't change it,” you mutter. Your eyes drop to the floor. "All is as the Force wills it, and all that. But I don't know. It's... scary. It makes me feel helpless."

Rex doesn't reply at first. His brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems troubled. He looks over at the others, then back at you, and his expression softens.

"I know what you mean," he says, his voice is gentle. "But whatever it is, we'll handle it."

His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and you look at him. His face is serious, and the look in his eyes is reassuring. But he can't give you the answers you want, and the feeling of uncertainty lingers. You turn, pulling away from him, and your gaze falls on the others.

"Yeah," you say, but the word comes out sounding weak. Your eyes meet Wrecker's, and the concern in his expression is enough to make your heart clench. You don't want to worry him. You can't. Not after everything he's been through. You force a smile and say the words you don’t mean, knowing he can hear you. "We'll be fine."

It sounds hollow even to your own ears, but Wrecker relaxes, and the look of worry fades from his eyes. You look away, unable to bear the guilt gnawing at your stomach, and the smile fades from your face.

You know that if something happens, if something goes wrong, he'll blame himself. You don't want that. You don't want him to feel guilty, but the truth is, you're scared. For the first time, you're genuinely terrified. And not just for the Batch.

You're terrified for yourself. For the first time, you have something to lose. Your life, your happiness. You've never had that before.

And you don't want to lose it.

But the truth is, there's nothing you can do. You have to face the future, whatever it may bring, and pray that things turn out okay.

Rex's gaze flicks between you and Wrecker. He can see the concern in Wrecker's face, the worry in yours. His eyes are filled with sadness. Regret.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About before. I didn't..."

His voice trails off, and his brow furrows.

"I should have been more tactful," he says finally, and the corners of his mouth twitch up. He looks away, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "It's not an easy thing to talk about."

"No," you agree. "It's not."

He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You both know there's nothing to say. There's no point in arguing or talking about what might happen. No point in making promises or predictions. There's only the present, the future unknown. So instead, Rex just squeezes your shoulder once more before letting his hand fall away. 

He moves to stand near Hunter, and the two of them start talking quietly. You watch them for a moment, but they're too far away for you to hear, so you turn your attention back to Wrecker and Tech.

Wrecker is groaning and wincing, his face contorted with pain as he hunches over. He looks miserable, and you want to comfort him, but Tech is moving him from one piece of equipment to another, and there's no room for you. 

Omega is hovering nearby, a look of concern on her face. She's wringing her hands, and her gaze darts between the two of you. She wants to help, and she's doing her best, but there's only so much any of you can do. You walk over to place your hand on her shoulder and try to give her a reassuring smile, but it feels forced.

You hate seeing him like this. You hate feeling helpless.

"Relax," Tech says as he prepares the surgical laser. "This won't hurt a bit."

Wrecker glares at him, and the look on his face would be amusing if not for the circumstances. Tech gives him an apologetic smile, then looks back at you.

"Could I trouble you to assist?"

"Of course," you say, and step closer.

"Hold his shoulders, please."

You do as he asks, moving to stand behind the bed, and hold Wrecker's shoulders firmly. He looks up at you, and the misery on his face is clear. It's hard to see him like this, but he needs you. So you do your best. You smile down at him, and when he smiles back, the tightness in your chest loosens, and the fear recedes, a little. You lean forward and press a kiss to his forehead.

"It'll be alright," you whisper. "You're going to be okay."

Wrecker takes a shuddering breath and nods, and you feel his body tense as Tech steps closer. You let out a slow, steady breath, and close your eyes, trying to impart as much calm through the Force as possible. Wrecker's shoulders relax, and his breathing slows.

Tech is talking again, and the sound of the laser whines, then there's a flash of light. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and the air around you fills with static.

"You're in direct violation of Order 66," Wrecker growls, and your eyes snap open.

He lurches forward, his face contorting, and the force of him breaking from your hold sends you stumbling backwards. Wrecker grabs Tech by the throat, the laser slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. Tech tries to grab Wrecker's hand, but Wrecker is stronger, and he shoves him backwards, slamming him into the wall hard enough that it dents.

He's staring at his brother with cold, empty eyes, and you're frozen, unable to move or speak. There's no sign of the man you love, no trace of the gentle, caring, passionate man who's loved and cherished you since the moment you met. His face is devoid of emotion, his eyes blank and dead. There's no recognition, no hint of compassion or mercy. 

Nothing but a cold, empty void.

Your blood runs cold, and your stomach lurches. This isn't him. This can't be him.

"No! Stop!" you shout. Your voice cracks, and when Wrecker's gaze snaps towards you, a cold sweat breaks out across your skin. His eyes are dark, and there's something else in his expression. Something that scares the hell out of you.

Wrecker's lips curl into a snarl, and the anger is so fierce and sudden that it catches you off guard. You take a step forward, but Rex catches your arm, stopping you. You don't look at him. You can't look away from Wrecker, from his eyes. 

His grip on Tech's throat tightens. Tech's hands scrabble at his hand, and his feet kick uselessly against the wall.

"Please! Wrecker, stop! You're killing him!"

For a moment, you think you've gotten through to him. For a moment, you see something in his eyes, a flash of recognition, a spark of life. But it's gone as soon as it appears, and he throws Tech across the room with a snarl. 

You jerk your arm free from Rex's grip and rush forward, but Echo catches you around the waist and pulls you back behind cover. You struggle against him, desperate to help, but he's too strong.

"Wrecker!" Hunter cries. "Stop! Fight it!"

Wrecker is beyond hearing. He grabs his blaster and fires wildly, narrowly missing Rex as he dives behind the crates next to you, Hunter and Omega close behind. Your heart is pounding, and you're shaking so hard your teeth are chattering. Omega is trembling too, and she's staring blankly ahead with wide, frightened eyes. She looks like she's on the verge of tears.

"He'll destroy the equipment if we don't get him out of here," Echo says, his voice strained.

"You're all traitors!" Wrecker bellows.

He keeps firing, and it's a miracle no one's been hit yet. Rex pops his head up, ducking back down just in time to avoid being shot.

"You need to run," he says to you. "He's not going to stop until he kills you, and I don't think any of us are going to survive if that happens."

You shake your head. "I can't leave him."

"There's no other way. We'll distract him, but you need to go. Now!"

"No!" You shove Echo away and lunge towards Wrecker. Hunter is in front of you in an instant, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you back.

"Stop," he says. "Listen to Rex. Please. He'll kill you. Do you understand? You have to go."

"He needs me." You can feel the tears coming, and when Hunter sees them, his face softens.

"He does," he agrees. "But right now, he's a danger to you. He's a danger to everyone. You have to go. I'll keep him safe. I promise. But right now, he's going to kill you."

He holds your gaze, and the pain in his eyes is so raw and intense that you feel like your heart is breaking.

"What if you can't stop him?" you demand, your voice cracking. "What if you die? I can't let him do this."

Hunter doesn't answer. He's not even looking at you anymore. His attention is focused on his rampaging brother, and he's getting ready to strike. You can see it in his body language, the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

"Omega, stay with Tech," he says, ignoring you. "Make sure he's alright. We'll handle Wrecker."

Omega nods, and the two of you exchange a long, sorrowful look.

"It'll be okay," she whispers. "He'll be okay."

"I... I hope so."

You're not sure how much of that you believe.

"Go," Hunter urges. "We'll find you. I promise."

"Hunter—"

"Go."

You swallow hard and nod, and then you're running, narrowly dodging the blaster bolts thudding into the doorframe as you dash out the doors. You hear Wrecker's howl of rage, and then the sound of blaster fire as the others charge him, and the sound makes you sob.

"No," you whisper, and then you're running.

You're not sure where to go, and the ship is a blur around you as you dart down the halls, tears streaming down your cheeks. You run until you can't run anymore, and then you stumble, your chest heaving and your lungs burning. Your legs are weak, and the muscles in your thighs are aching, but you push on, determined not to give up. 

You have to get away. You have to stay alive. If you're alive, you can help him.

But the further you get from Wrecker, the more you feel like your heart is being ripped out. You want to be with him, to save him, but Hunter was right. You have no chance of defeating him without killing him, and the thought of you dying, of leaving him alone, terrifies you.

So you run.

You don't stop until the sound of his blaster fire has faded, and even then, you don't dare stop moving. You're sobbing uncontrollably now, and it's hard to see. Your vision is blurred, and the tears are pouring down your cheeks. You have no idea where you are, and every corridor and door looks the same. It's impossible to tell which way leads out, or even if there is an exit. All you know is that you're lost, and for the first time in a long time, you’re alone.

You finally come to a stop and lean against the wall, gasping for breath. You feel sick, and the walls are spinning. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your head against the wall, willing the world to stop.

But it doesn't. And it's not just the room that's spinning. It's everything. Your whole world is spinning out of control, and you’re helpless to stop it. You've lost everything. You've lost your home, your friends, and now you've lost the man you love. He's been taken from you, and there's nothing you can do.

You're powerless.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest is tight, and it feels like your heart is shattering. You can't breathe. You can't think. You just stand there, crying and shaking and feeling completely, utterly useless.

After what feels like hours, the tears begin to slow. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and the knot in your stomach loosens, just a little.

There's still a chance, you tell yourself. They'll stop him. They'll get him out of there. Wrecker will be okay. Everything will be okay. It has to be.

And then you sense him.

Wrecker's warm presence in the Force is gone, replaced by something cold and empty. He’s always felt warm, bright and strong, but now there's nothing there. Nothing but a cold, hollow void. A darkness so intense that it makes your skin crawl.

Your head snaps up, and you can feel him, a shadow looming in the corridor behind you. His presence is like a black hole, sucking the life and warmth out of the room, and you can't move. You can't breathe. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Your instincts are screaming at you to run, but you can't. You won't.

You don't know if it's stupid or brave, but you turn to face him.

You move slowly, terrified of what you'll see, and when your eyes meet his, a shiver runs down your spine.

He's standing there, his breathing labored and his body tensed, and he's staring at you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. In the dim light of the wrecked ship, his face is barely visible, but his eyes are shining with a cold, cruel light. There's no recognition in them, no hint of the man you love, and for a moment, you can't believe what you're seeing.

But the hatred radiating off him is real, a tangible thing, and it's enough to make you sick. It's worse than any injury or torture. Worse than anything you've ever experienced. It's a raw, visceral hatred, and it's directed right at you.

You stand your ground, your hands shaking, and you clench them into fists.

"Wrecker," you say, and the words sound small and weak. "I'm sorry."

His brow furrows, and his jaw tenses.

"I should have done more," you continue, and the words catch in your throat. You're choking on the lump that's formed there, and you swallow, fighting back the urge to sob. "I should have protected you."

Wrecker doesn't answer. His gaze flickers over your face, taking in your tear-stained cheeks and the fear in your eyes. You can feel his hatred, the cold rage coiled tight in his muscles. He's barely holding himself back, and the tension in his body is palpable.

"Please," you whisper. "You have to fight this. This isn't you."

He doesn't reply. He takes a step towards you, and you tense, ready to defend yourself. You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to hurt him. You can't.

"Wrecker, please. Don't do this." Your voice cracks, and when he doesn't react, the tears start flowing again. "I love you. I need you. Please, don't do this."

Wrecker pauses, and his eyes widen. The hatred in his eyes wavers, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that you've reached him. But then his lip curls, and the hatred comes surging back. It's stronger this time, fueled by a rage so intense that it takes your breath away.

"Traitor," he growls, and then he lunges at you.

He moves so fast that you barely have time to react. You dodge out of the way, barely avoiding his grasp, and his hand closes around empty air. He snarls and whirls, his eyes burning with hatred. You take a step back, and the tears are streaming down your face.

"Stop this!" you cry. "Wrecker, please! I don't want to hurt you!"

He doesn't listen. He moves with a speed and grace that belies his size, and he's on you in an instant. You manage to avoid him again, but only just. He slams into the wall next to you, and the impact makes the metal buckle. The sound is deafening, and it sends a shockwave through the room. The walls creak and groan, and dust and debris rain down from the ceiling.

Wrecker's head snaps towards you, his eyes burning with a cold, cruel fire, and your stomach lurches. His lips curl into a snarl, and then he's coming for you again. 

You turn and run, darting down the corridor, and he's right behind you. You can hear the pounding of his boots on the floor, and the sound of his ragged breathing. He's gaining on you, and you don't know if you can keep ahead of him without hurting him. 

Your eyes are wide and desperate, and your heart is racing. You're terrified, but you force yourself to push that fear aside, to try and remember your training. You can't let it control you. You can't let it consume you. 

If you do, you'll never save him. You'll never get him back. You have to stay focused. You have to stay calm.

But it's so hard.

Wrecker roars, and you feel the air rush past you as he grabs at your arm. You jerk free, and his fingers close around empty air. You twist and slam your shoulder into his side, and he stumbles, hissing with rage. You reach out with the Force and shove him back, giving yourself just enough room to move, and then you're running again.

"Please," you sob. "Please, stop."

He doesn't.

You dodge around a corner, and the floor suddenly disappears beneath your feet. Your eyes go wide, and you cry out as the world drops out from under you. You tumble down the sudden drop, landing hard on your shoulder, and the breath is knocked from your lungs. You gasp, pain lancing through your shoulder, and for a moment, you're too stunned to move.

The sound of boots pounding on the floor above snaps you out of your daze, and you roll onto your back, pushing yourself to your feet. Your head whips around, taking in your surroundings, and it only takes you a moment to realize where you are. You're in the cargo bay, and the doors leading out to the planet are mere meters away.

Your heart leaps. You can get out. You can get help.

But you hesitate, and the feeling of his presence in the Force is enough to make your blood run cold. You dart behind a stack of crates just as Wrecker lands on the floor in front of you. He hits the ground hard, and the impact is enough to make the floor underneath you shake.

Your hand clasps over your mouth to hide your surprised gasp. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is racing. The tears are still falling, and you're trembling so hard that your knees are shaking.

The sudden silence is almost deafening, and the only sound is the distant hum of the ship's engines. You don't dare to breathe. You can't make a sound.

"I know you're here," Wrecker says. His voice is low and menacing. "You can't hide forever."

He steps forward, his boots crunching on broken glass. His footsteps are slow, methodical, like he's stalking his prey. He's close. So close. Too close.

"Come out, traitor," he snarls.

You shrink back against the crates. Your heart is pounding so hard that you're sure he can hear it. Your palms are sweating, and the crate next to you is slick with condensation. You have nowhere to go, and no way out. If you try to run, he'll catch you. And if you try to fight, you'll have to kill him.

"I'll find you," Wrecker growls. His voice is low and menacing, and it sends a chill down your spine. "You can't hide from me."

He moves closer, and the sound of his footsteps seems to grow louder with each passing second. You hold your breath, and your hand drifts toward your lightsaber on your hip on instinct before you clench your fist and drop your arm. You can't. You can't use it. You won't.

You won't hurt him.

You'll die first.

Wrecker moves around the crates, and his shadow falls across the wall. You can see his outline, and the hatred emanating off him is like a physical thing. It's palpable, suffocating, and it's enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You hear a thud, and a crate falls to the floor with a loud crash. You flinch, and your hand goes to your lightsaber again, but you stop yourself. You can't use it. You can't. Not against him. Not like this.

Another crate topples. And another. And another. Wrecker's getting closer. You can hear him breathing, and your heart is pounding so hard that your head is spinning. You can't see him, but you know he's there, lurking just out of sight.

He's so close.

So close.

He stops, and the room is deathly silent. You can't hear his breathing, and he's motionless, as if he's waiting for you to make a sound. The seconds tick by, and the tension in the air is so thick that it's almost impossible to breathe.

You can't take it.

"Please," you whimper, and the word comes out as a sob.

He freezes, and for a moment, everything is still.

And then the air shifts. You sense a sudden movement, and a fraction of a second later, the crate above you explodes. You yelp and dive to the side, rolling out of the way, and the crate is reduced to splinters.

 Your scramble to your feet, your back slamming against the wall, and you look up. Wrecker is standing over you, and his eyes are cold, dark pools. His hulking form trembles with rage, and he rushes towards you, his hand curled into a fist. You duck under the blow, and your hand flashes out, connecting with his chin. He stumbles, but he doesn't stop. 

He lunges at you, and you dodge, his hand catching your tunic and ripping the fabric. The sound of it tearing is deafening, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin as he growls.

"Stop!" you plead.

He doesn't.

"Traitor," he hisses. He's on you again, and this time, you can't avoid him. 

Wrecker hits you in the stomach, and the breath leaves your lungs in a rush. Pain blooms through your torso, and your knees buckle. He swings again, and you throw up your arms, blocking the blow. The force of it knocks you to the ground, and your head smacks against the hard floor.

His fingers wrap around your throat, and he lifts you off the ground with one hand. Wrecker pulls you up close to his face, and the look in his eyes is terrifying. It's pure, unbridled hatred, and it's directed at you.

"Wrecker," you manage to croak. Your eyes search his desperate to find any sign of the man you love, and he growls, his grip tightening.

"Wrecker, please." Tears stream down your face, and you claw at his hands, struggling to breathe. Your lungs are burning, and the pain in your head is almost unbearable. He's going to kill you. He's going to kill you, and there's nothing you can do to stop him.

You know that your next breath will be your last, and you feel a strange sense of peace wash over you. There are worse fates than dying by his hands. Worse things than losing your life. You're not afraid. You're not angry. All you feel is sorrow, and a deep, aching love for the man in front of you. The man who's been your whole world, your heart, and the only home you've ever known.

If this is how it ends, so be it. At least you got to know him.

"Wrecker," you choke out, your voice barely audible. "I... I love..."

His fingers tighten, and everything goes black.

Your eyes flutter open, and the world swims back into focus. There's a dull ache in your skull, and the air feels strangely thin. Your chest is heaving, and it takes you a moment to realize that you're not breathing.

No, you're hyperventilating.

Wrecker.

His name is on your lips, and you gasp before a terrible, aching pain lances through your skull. You try to move, but your body is heavy.

You're lying on your side. The ground beneath you is hard, and the air is thick and heavy. There's a bitter taste in your mouth, and your throat is burning. You try to take a deep breath, but it's like someone's squeezing the life out of you.

"Hey. Easy."

The voice is familiar. Soothing. But it doesn't register.

Someone rolls you onto your back, and the movement sends a jolt of pain through your body. You gasp, and the air burns. You can't see anything, but you feel something cool and wet being pressed against your face. It hurts, and you try to pull away, but a gentle hand holds you still.

"Shhh. Relax."

The voice is familiar, but your mind is too fuzzy to place it. Your head is throbbing, and your throat feels like it's on fire. You can't focus. You can't think. All you can do is lay there and try to breathe.

"Stay still. I'm trying to clean you up."

You try to open your eyes, but everything is blurry. A pair of dark brown eyes stares down at you, but it's not the mismatched ones you're looking for.

Rex.

He's holding something cold and wet against your face, and the sensation is painful, but soothing. You take a few shallow breaths, the air finally starting to reach your lungs. You cough, and it's like sandpaper being scraped against the back of your throat.

"Don't try to talk," Rex says. "You need rest."

Rest. The word echoes through your head. Your thoughts are jumbled, and you can't seem to focus.

"What... What happened?" you manage to croak. Your voice is hoarse, and your words come out sounding more like a growl than anything else.

"I think it's better if I don't tell you," Rex says. He's frowning, and the look on his face makes your heart clench. "Just focus on breathing."

You take another breath, and this one is a little easier. The pressure in your head is fading, and your vision is starting to clear.

"Wrecker," you rasp. "Is he...?"

"Yeah," Rex says softly. "He's... He's okay."

"Where is he?"

"We got his chip out, and the others," Rex tells you. "Tech is treating his injuries now."

There's a catch in his voice, and you can tell that something is wrong. Something terrible. You feel a sharp stab of panic, and you try to sit up, but the room spins. Rex grabs your shoulders and eases you back down.

"Just stay still," he says. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," you argue, but your voice is weak, and the effort of talking makes your head spin. Rex shakes his head.

"No, you're not." Rex sighs and presses a damp cloth to your forehead. It's cool and soothing, and the pain begins to ease a little. "Just give it a minute."

"Rex..."

"He's okay. I promise." He smiles at you, but it’s forced, and there's a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart twist. "But he's not doing well. We're all gonna need some time."

Your heart sinks. You know what that means. Rex is telling you that Wrecker needs space. That he's not himself. That he's ashamed and guilty and doesn't want to face you. It hurts. More than the physical pain, more than the headache, the exhaustion, and the fear, it's a deeper, sharper kind of pain. The kind that cuts to the bone, and you can feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

"I understand," you say, and you hate the way your voice cracks.

Rex's smile falters, and the sadness in his eyes intensifies.

"Hey, now," he murmurs. "It'll be okay."

"No. It won't." Your voice is thick, and the tears are flowing freely now. You can't stop them. You don't even try. Rex pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing.

"He tried to kill me," you choke out. "He... He was going to..."

Rex holds you, and he doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The pain is written all over his face, and he knows exactly what you're going through. He was there. He watched Wrecker lose control, and he had to watch him almost kill the woman he loves. He had to watch him almost kill his friend.

"I'm so sorry," Rex whispers. He holds you close, and his hand moves gently up and down your back, soothing you. "I'm so sorry."

You cry until your throat is raw and your lungs are burning, and when the tears finally stop, you're exhausted. Your body is limp, and your head is pounding. You lean against Rex, and his arms tighten around you.

"Come on," he murmurs. "Let's get you up."

He helps you to your feet, and you wince. Every muscle in your body is aching, your throat is sore, and the wound on the back of your head is throbbing. You feel weak, and the ground seems to sway under your feet. Rex holds you steady while the feeling slowly fades.

"I've got you," he says. Then, slowly, he leads you towards the medbay. You lean against him, and with each step, you can feel the guilt and shame and anger radiating off him in waves. It's overwhelming, and it makes your heart ache.

"Rex," you murmur. "Are you alright?"

"No," he admits. "But I will be."

"I'm so sorry," you whisper.

"It's not your fault," he says, but you can hear the bitterness in his voice, and the resentment. He blames himself for what happened. He's taking the weight of the entire situation on his shoulders.

You want to tell him that it's not his fault, either, but you're too tired. So you lean against him, and let him guide you to the medbay.

The door is open, and Tech is inside, tending to a  cut on Hunter’s face. Echo is helping, and Omega is sitting in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. She looks exhausted, tears staining her cheeks, but her face brightens when she sees you. 

She scrambles to her feet and rushes towards you, throwing her arms around your waist. The impact sends a shock of pain through your ribs, but you bite your lip and hide your wince. She's clinging to you like a lifeline, and you can feel the tremor in her body as she tries not to cry. You hold her close, stroking her hair, and the ache in your heart deepens.

"Hey," you murmur. "You alright?"

Omega nods against you, her fingers digging into the back of your tunic.

"Are you?" she whispers.

"Yeah," you lie. "I'm okay."

"You're not," she says, and the hurt in her voice is enough to make your throat tighten. "But it's okay. We're here."

She hugs you tighter, and you lean into the embrace, your heart aching. You wish it was as simple as that, but nothing is. Nothing will be. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. You hold her close, closing your eyes, and her presence in the Force is warm and bright, just like always. 

You let yourself get lost in it, and the pain begins to ebb, if only a little, before you open your eyes again.

"Where's Wrecker?" you ask. Your voice is soft, but everyone in the room hears it and the tension is palpable. They exchange glances, their expressions grim.

"He's resting," Tech says carefully. "His injuries are relatively minor, and the surgery was successful, but his mental state is... concerning."

You swallow hard. You knew it was bad, but hearing Tech say it out loud is different. It makes it real, and the weight of that reality is suffocating. You take a shaky breath and nod, but the tears are threatening again, and your voice is unsteady.

"Can I see him?"

"He doesn't want to see anyone," Echo says. His voice is low, his words measured. He's... He's not himself. Not yet."

"I know." Your voice cracks. "I just... I want him to know that I'm here. That I care. That I..."

"Give him time," Hunter murmurs, his expression pained. "He's not in a good place."

"But I—"

"No." Rex's tone is gentle, but firm. "It's not a good idea. Trust me. He needs space. He needs to figure out how to live with what he did."

"It wasn't him," you protest, but even as you say it, you know that it's not entirely true. It was him. Just not the him you know.

"I know," he says. "But it was his hands that almost killed you. And that's hard to come to terms with."

You swallow hard and nod. You know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't ease the pain in your chest or the ache in your head. You want to see him, to talk to him, but you know it's not what he needs. It's not what you need.

You let out a shuddering breath, your shoulders sagging. You're exhausted, and the world is spinning, and all you want to do is collapse into a ball and cry.

Tech approaches, and he hesitates for a moment before his hand settles gently on your shoulder. His eyes are sympathetic, but the frown on his face is deep, his expression troubled.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

"I'm okay," you answer. The lie comes easily, almost automatically. It's a reflex. One that has been well-honed over the years, but one that's not very convincing. Not anymore.

He nods and studies you for a moment. Then, he glances at Rex.

"Help her onto the cot," he says. "I'll do a quick examination and treat her injuries."

"No," you protest. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

"You're not fine," Rex counters. He's not unkind, but his tone leaves no room for argument. "You were attacked, and you have a head injury. We need to make sure that you're okay."

"I am. Really."

"We need to make sure," Tech insists.

"I'm not—"

"You're getting checked out," Rex says firmly. "And that's final."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. You know he's right. Your entire body aches, and every breath is painful. You're not fine. You know it. But the idea of hearing it from someone else is too much. It's too real.

Rex gently guides you towards the cot, his arm around your waist, and you let him. There's no point in fighting, not when the others are worried about you. So you let him help you onto the bed, and Omega sits next to you, her small hand finding yours.

Tech begins his examination, and Rex hovers nearby, watching closely. You feel small and fragile and weak, and it's a strange feeling. You're used to being strong, to fighting your own battles. But now, you can barely stand on your own. It's a reminder of how fragile you really are, and it makes your chest tighten. No matter how good of a Jedi you can claim to be, it's impossible to ignore that the only reason you're alive is because Rex stepped in and saved your life.

"You have a mild concussion," Tech reports, and his words pull you out of your thoughts. "Several bruised ribs, and multiple contusions." He pauses, and his gaze shifts to your throat. "And those bruises will need time to heal."

Your hand reaches up, and you touch the spot where Wrecker had been holding you. The skin is tender, and the contact makes you wince.

"Yeah," Rex says, anger clear in his voice. "That's going to be a tough one to cover up."

You look away.

"It could have been worse," Tech points out.

"It was bad enough,” he snaps. When you flinch, Rex's eyes widen, regret flickering across his features. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It’s okay." Your voice is quiet, almost a whisper. You swallow, but the lump in your throat remains. "I know."

Tech moves to examine the bruise on your stomach, his touch gentle.

"We can apply bacta to the worst of the bruises," Tech offers. "That will help with the healing process."

You nod, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You close your eyes and try not to think about it. About the way Wrecker had been staring at you. The coldness in his eyes. The rage. The hatred. The way his hands had tightened around your throat. The way he had been intent on killing you.

"Can I help you?"

Tech's voice is soft, and he sounds unsure of himself. It's such a stark contrast to his usual confidence, and it makes your chest tighten. This is hard for him, too. Hard for all of them.

"I'm okay," you murmur. "Really."

"You don’t have to be," Tech says. His tone is gentle, but there's an edge to it. “We understand, and we'll do our best to make sure that you're taken care of."

You open your eyes and look at him, and the sympathy in his gaze makes you want to cry. You don't want to be the one everyone's worrying about. You don't want to be the helpless victim, the one who needs to be coddled and comforted. You're a Jedi. You're supposed to be the one taking care of others, not the other way around.

But there's nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. So you nod, letting the tears spill down your cheeks, and Tech places a hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out sounding more like a sob.

"Of course," Tech replies, and there's an unfamiliar warmth in his voice. "You're one of us, and we take care of our own."

He turns back to his instruments, and you lay down, resting your head on the pillow. The medbay is quiet, save for the soft beeps and whirrs of the machines, and the familiar sounds are oddly comforting. Tech continues to examine and treat you, his movements careful and precise. He works silently, and the others are gathered nearby, their attention focused on you. It's strange, but it feels nice, being the center of their concern. It makes you feel safe, and it eases some of the pain and fear and uncertainty.

You're surrounded by your family. By the people who love you and care about you. And as the exhaustion overwhelms you, and the pain fades into a dull ache, you realize that's all that really matters. You may not be fine, but you're alive, and you have people that care about you. And that's more than some can say.

It's been three days since the chip incident, and things are... strained. You've barely seen Wrecker, and when you have, he hasn't said a word. He won't look at you. He won't even be in the same room as you. It hurts, but you're trying to be patient. Trying to give him the space he needs. But it's hard, and every day, the ache in your chest grows a little bit stronger.

You'd hesitated to say goodbye to Rex, and he'd again offered to take you with him. To keep you safe, to give you a place to heal. And again, you'd refused, promising him that things would be okay. And they would. You're certain. They had to be. 

But the entire time you'd spoken to him in hushed whispers, you could feel Wrecker's eyes on you. When you'd finally pulled away from Rex to board the Marauder, Wrecker had turned on his heel, disappearing into the ship without a word. He hadn't so much as glanced at you, let alone said anything.

The pain of that had cut deeper than the bruises on your throat, but you'd hidden it, plastering a smile on your face for the others, even though they all knew better.

The daring escape you'd made from Bracca had only served to complicate matters, and the entire team was on edge after encountering Crosshair again. The tension in the air is thick, and it seems like everyone is walking on eggshells, afraid of setting someone off. 

It's a far cry from the usual banter, teasing, and camaraderie that's typical aboard the ship, and the only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional beep from the instrument panel.

No one has spoken in hours, and the silence is oppressive. You haven't left your bunk since that morning, the high vantage point allowing you to see everything without having to interact with anyone.

It's lonely, but it's also safe.

No one bothers you, and you're free to let your mind wander. You watch the others, and the sight of them fills you with a strange mixture of emotions. You're proud of them, and the love you feel for them is almost overwhelming. But there's also a sense of loss.

What happened was a reminder that everything could change in an instant, and you're not ready for that. You're not ready to lose any of them. Not when they're the only family you have left.

You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath, and let the feeling wash over you. It's a bittersweet sort of sorrow, and it makes your heart ache. You know that they're not going anywhere, that the five of them are a force to be reckoned with, but you can't help the anxiety that lingers, the fear that something might go wrong. You've already lost so much. You can't lose them, too.

The sound of footsteps approaching the bunk pulls you from your thoughts, and you open your eyes, expecting to see Echo. But the figure in the doorway isn't him.

"I'm sorry."

Wrecker's voice is barely a whisper, but it's loud enough to startle you, and you sit up, wincing as your ribs protest. He’s standing below, looking up at you with his mismatched eyes. His eyes are wide and pleading, and he's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You can tell he's nervous, but there's a hint of something else, too. Sadness. Guilt. Shame.

"It's okay," you say automatically, but the words feel hollow.

"No. It's not." His voice is low, and there's an edge of desperation to it, and his hands squeeze into fists. You can feel the anger radiating off him, and it makes your blood run cold. He looks like he wants to punch a hole in the wall, and you have no doubt that he could if he wanted to. He could tear the whole ship apart. He could tear you apart.

You swallow, but your throat is dry, and the fear is starting to build.

"I could have killed you," Wrecker continues, his voice shaking. “I... I wanted to kill you. I was gonna..."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and his shoulders slump. The anger fades, and the shame is so intense that you feel it like a physical blow. Wrecker closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders trembling.

"I tried to kill my own brothers," he says, and his voice cracks. "And I... I almost..."

He takes a shaky breath, tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and he shakes his head. You're at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch him struggle with the weight of his emotions. You want to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but you can't. You're just as broken as he is.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Wrecker..."

He looks up at you, and the raw anguish in his eyes makes your heart twist.

"Wrecker, please, it's okay. I know it wasn't—"

"No. It's not." He shakes his head, his expression pained. "It wasn't me. But it was."

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand, cutting you off.

"I remember everything. I remember wanting to hurt you. I remember how good it felt. How right." His eyes darken, his lips curling into a snarl. "I'm a monster."

"No, Wrecker," you insist. "No. You're not."

"Yes, I am."

"You're not," you repeat, more firmly this time. You haven’t used the Force in days, but it flows through you now, warm and reassuring, and you can feel the conviction in your own words. "You're a good man. You're not a monster. I saw you try to fight it. I saw the struggle. I know what's in your heart. And it's not evil."

"I should have fought harder." His fists clench, and he hangs his head. "I'm supposed to protect you, but I... I'm the one who tried to..."

"Wrecker."

Your voice is sharp, but he doesn't respond. He's lost in his own guilt, his own self-loathing, and the weight of it is crushing him.

"Please, Wrecker, stop." You slide off the bunk, landing lightly on your feet, and you approach him, reaching for his hands. He pulls away, and it feels like a knife in your heart. "You don't have to apologize. I'm not mad at you. I'm worried about you."

"You should be." His voice is flat, his words coming out in a growl. "I tried to kill you."

"But you didn't."

"I would have." He turns away from you, his jaw clenched, his shoulders tense. "If Rex hadn't stepped in, I would have."

You reach out, laying a hand on his arm, but he flinches, jerking away from your touch. It's a rejection, plain and simple, but it's not unexpected. He's pulling away, both physically and emotionally, and it's tearing you apart.

"Don't," he says. "Just don't."

"Please," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "Please, talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?" He sounds bitter, defeated, but he doesn't pull away this time. "I'm a monster."

"No, you're not," you insist. "You're my hero."

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"It's true. You are.” He starts to speak again, but you’re faster, and your words cut him off. "You saved my life. Over and over again. You've never given up on me, even when the odds were stacked against us. You've always been there for me, no matter what."

He doesn't say anything, but you can tell that your words are affecting him. His shoulders are hunched, his body tense, but there's a tremor in his muscles, a slight shudder. You step closer, pressing yourself against his back, and you wrap your arms around his waist. You hold him tight, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, and you rest your forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I trust you, Wrecker. I know you'd never hurt me willingly. And the truth is, I could've fought back. I could've stopped you. But I didn't. Because I trust you. I trust you with my life. And I always will."

He stiffens, his breath hitching.

"You're not a monster," you continue. "You're not a liability. You're my boyfriend, and you're my best friend. And I'm not afraid of you."

You press a kiss between his shoulder blades, lingering there for a moment. Your throat is tight, your heart racing, and you're filled with an overwhelming sense of affection and devotion. The feelings are strong, almost overwhelming, and you don't try to push them down. You don't try to hide them. You just let them flow through you, let them fill the space between the two of you. 

You've held them back for so long, afraid to show your feelings, afraid to let yourself be vulnerable, but now, the dam has broken, and you're drowning in the intensity of your emotions. There's a warmth spreading through your chest, a kind of peace that you've never felt before, and it's almost euphoric. It's like the first breath after surfacing from a deep dive, and the air is sweet, filling your lungs.

"I love you, Wrecker," you murmur.

"Don't," he growls, but the tension is gone from his body, his muscles relaxing under your touch. He leans back against you, his head dropping forward, his eyes closed.

"I do," you say softly. "I love you. And I'm not afraid."

You hold him, the two of you locked together, neither of you willing to move, afraid that the moment will end. He's trembling, his breathing shallow, his fingers curling around your arms, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't reject you.

"I trust you," you whisper. "I love you. And nothing will ever change that."

There's a long, heavy silence, and then, finally, he speaks.

"I love you, too."

It's barely a whisper, but the words are clear, and the weight of them makes your heart soar. You tighten your arms around his waist, burying your face in his back, and you feel the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You’re so happy that it almost hurts, the emotions swelling in your chest, making it difficult to breathe. It feels like you're floating, the weight of everything finally lifted.

“I love you so much,” he mutters. “More than anything. But you should be with someone else. Someone safer. Someone who won't..."

"Wrecker, stop." Your voice is firm, and you squeeze him, making him gasp. "I don't want anyone else. I want you."

He takes a shaky breath, his hands moving down your arms until his fingers are laced with yours. He squeezes, his grip gentle, and you squeeze back.

"I don't deserve you," he says.

"Yes, you do."

Wrecker lets go of your hands, turning to face you, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes are wet, tears streaking his cheeks, but there's a softness in his expression that you haven't seen in a while. He reaches out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you chide gently, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I told you, it's okay."

"But—"

You shake your head, placing a finger over his lips.

"Enough." Your voice is soft, but stern. "No more talking."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his features. Then, he gets it, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nods, leaning down, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is soft, almost tentative, but there's an underlying hunger, a need that makes your skin tingle. You press closer, your arms winding around his neck, the kiss deepening, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip.

He tastes like salt, the tears still drying on his cheeks, and the familiarity is comforting, soothing the ache in your heart. He's home. He's safe. And he loves you. Nothing else matters.

The kiss ends, the two of you gasping for breath, but you don't pull away. You stay close, your foreheads touching, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"I missed you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." You nuzzle his nose, your hands stroking his cheeks. "So much."

"M’sorry."

"I know.” You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, your fingers caressing the back of his neck. "But you're not responsible for this. None of us are. The only person to blame is the one who put the chips in your heads. You can't be held responsible for what they did."

"I know, but..."

"But nothing," you say, your tone firm. "You're a victim, Wrecker. Just like the rest of us."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping, the tension draining from his body. He's still upset, the guilt is still there, but you can feel it ebbing, the darkness fading.

"I don't blame you. None of us do,” you continue. "We're all just happy that we have you back. We're a family. We take care of each other."

Wrecker gives a small nod, the sadness in his eyes fading a little, replaced by something else. Something warmer, more hopeful.

"You're my family," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "My brothers. Omega. And you."

He pulls you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. "And I will never stop taking care of you. No matter what."

You bury your face in his shoulder, squeezing him tight. You can feel the tears building again, but they're different this time. They're not a product of pain or loss or fear. They're tears of happiness, of relief, of love. You close your eyes, letting the feeling wash over you, letting yourself get lost in it. You've come so far, endured so much, but here, in his arms, you're finally home.

Wrecker's fingers curl into the back of your shirt, his breathing shallow, his face buried in your hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice thick.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

You pull away, looking up at him, a smile on your lips.

"Never."

He smiles back, the expression brightening his entire face. You can't remember the last time you've seen him look this happy, and the sight fills you with a warm glow. This is where you belong, where you've always belonged. With him. With your family.

You kiss him, long and slow and tender, and when the kiss breaks, the two of you are both gasping for breath, the flush high on your cheeks.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice rough.

"I love you, too." You reach up, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, your eyes meeting his.

"More than anything," he continues. "And I promise, I'll never let anyone hurt you. Never again."

His voice is thick with emotion, and there's a fierceness in his gaze, a protectiveness that makes your heart skip a beat. He means it. He'll keep you safe, no matter the cost. And knowing that, believing that, fills you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. It eases the pain, the fear, the anxiety, and for the first time in weeks, you feel... whole.

You're safe. You're loved. You're home. And no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, that will never change.

"I know." You lean up, brushing your lips against his, and his arms tighten around you. "And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @floofyroro

[cosmicdahlias]

Can Bill Come Out To Play?

a ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

You and Ford are cuddled up in bed when Bill takes over for a night of fun.

warnings: smut, possession, masochism, consensual torture, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, oral, spanking, choking, bruising, fainting, slapping, dubcon impreg, putting cigarettes out on you

okay y’all this one is supremely fucked up, i know i’ve written my share of dark fics but this one takes the cake if the warnings are any indication. it was a request by @thegrovesheart but i probably went way more overboard than what they were asking for. i’m sorry y’all are about to see how bad my kinks are, hopefully you’ll still enjoy the ride 🤞

It was late at night, you and Ford had just finished a long day of working on the portal. You were cuddled up in bed, him pressed up against you as the big spoon. He was lazily tracing his fingers over the curves of your body. You had been about to fall asleep, but the sensation of his hands on you was too arousing. You rolled over, facing him and slipped your hand to his cock.

You stroked him and he let out a soft moan, his eyes closed in pleasure. You kissed him deeply, when you pulled back he opened his eyes, they were different, wild and yellow with reptilian slits for pupils.

“Ford?”

He laughed, even his voice was off, higher, more sinister. He smiled wide, almost like the corners of his mouth were about to split open.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. The name’s Bill Cipher, I’m your good old boyfriend here’s muse. I figured if I’m gonna be in his mind I might as well get acquainted the little minx that occupies his thoughts when they’re not about me. That’s right, kid, the man’s absolutely obsessed with you, well, not more than me, but you’re a close second.”

“So what do you want with me?”

“Well, dollface, I’ve been taking a peek into your dreams and I gotta say, you are quite the freak. I’m honestly impressed, most humans don’t enjoy pain nearly as much as you do. Have you told Fordsy? I doubt it, honestly he’d be too much of a pussy to do any of the shit you think about. And that’s where I come in, you love fucking Ford, but he’ll never truly satisfy you in the way you want. I have no hangups about causing pain, hell I love it! If you agree, I’ll give you everything you want and more. What do you say?”

After your time researching things like demonic possession the idea of being fucked by a demon always excited you. And the fact that he’d hurt you in ways that Ford never would? Fuck the hell yes. You should have been terrified, but when you looked into those yellow eyes you only felt desire.

“Deal.”

“Ahahaha, perfect. Let’s get started.”

Ford’s hands traveled down your body, his grip rougher than normal. He put a hand to your neck and sank his teeth into your throat. You yelped as he drew blood, it seeped down your neck and Ford dragged his tongue over the crimson liquid.

“Fuck, I forgot how good that tastes.”

He got up, searching for something.

“I know sixer keeps one around here somewh- aha!” He said, pulling out a large hunting knife.

He walked back over to the bed, getting on top of you. He dragged the flat end of the blade against your skin, every so often testing the waters by poking you with the tip light enough to not slice into your flesh, not yet. Goosebumps formed from the sensation, no one had ever done anything to you like this, you were on cloud nine.

“I think you’ll like this.” He smiled.

He let the knife travel to your inner thigh and begin to cut the soft skin. You winced and moaned. Bill let out a cold laugh.

“God you’re fucked up, kid.”

He took his time carving the words “Bill’s slut” into your thigh, pearls of blood forming at the surface. Satisfied with his work he gathered your blood on his fingertips.

“Open that pretty mouth.”

You did so and his fingers entered, the metallic taste hitting your tongue. He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his lips aggressively to yours, tongue shoving its way into your mouth, searching for the taste of blood.

He pulled away. His wide smile hadn’t left his face since he took hold of Ford. He reversed his hold of the knife, gripping the sharp blade in his hand. He teased the entrance of your pussy with the hilt. You were dripping at the idea, inching yourself closer.

He shoved the handle aggressively inside you, fucking you with it. He didn’t let up on his grip, the knife sinking into Ford’s palm, blood trickled down the knife.

“Whoops, might as well make the best of it.”

He pulled the handle out of you and covered Ford’s blood in it before resuming fucking you with the hilt.

“Bet you never used blood as lube before have you? And judging by how wet you are I’d say you’re enjoying this.”

You whimpered, bucking your hips. Blood continued to drip from Ford’s hand, staining the sheets. He pulled the knife out and dragged you headfirst to the edge of the bed, tilting your head back back. He stroked his cock and thumbed your tongue.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth and I’m not gonna stop even when you choke and gag on Fordsy’s cock, sound good?”

You nodded.

“Good, just try not to puke on his dick, I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

He lined the tip up with your open lips before violently forcing his way into your mouth, holding a hand to your throat the entire time.

He thrusted relentlessly and you began to gag, saliva pooling on the floor. He pinched your nipples hard, you let out a muffled moan.

“That’s right, moan on his cock.”

He carried on fucking your mouth. Savoring your desperate attempts to breathe. He debated on covering your nose just to make things harder, he loved to see you struggle.

He pulled out, you coughed and gasped for air. He picked you up and flipped you over on your stomach, shoving your face down into the pillow and raising your ass. Ford bent over and picked up his belt. He came up behind you and brought it down hard on your ass. You moaned as a welt began to form. He continued lashing you until your legs began to shake.

“Man you really can take a beating.”

He flipped you over again, this time on your back and slipped the belt around your neck then climbed on top of you, hand tugging on the leather.

“I’ve always wanted to know what pussy feels like, Fordsy makes it sound even better than pain with the way he describes it”

He didn’t waste any time preparing you, brutally shoving his full length inside you, pumping rapidly. He moaned loudly.

“Ah ahahaha, fuck, now I see why sixer fantasizes about this all the time. It feels fucking incredible.”

He pulled hard on the belt, choking you. You tightened around his cock. Capillaries in your neck started to break, you were going to be left with one hell of a bruise. He was ruthless, fucking you with cruel intensity.

He pulled the belt even tighter, you began to asphyxiate. Finding this insanely hot, but still valuing your life you tried to tell Ford to loosen his grip, but your windpipe was being crushed. All you could manage out was a guttural choking noise as you clawed at the belt.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t quite make it out.” He said, ignoring your obvious attempts to breathe. He pulled as tight as he could, you couldn’t even gasp. “Oh well, must not be important.” He shrugged, continuing to fuck you.

Despite what felt like a threat to your life you found yourself incredibly turned on. Your vision started to go black. The last thing you heard was a maniacal laugh.

-

When you came to Ford was still fucking you.

“Whoa hey you’re back, thought we lost you for a second there.” He said with his twisted smile.

His hands found your hips, he gripped them, nails digging into your flesh hard enough to break the skin.

“Say my name, slut.” He demaned.

“Nnngh, Ford.” You moaned.

He backhanded you. “I SAID SAY MY NAME, YOU STUPID CUNT!” He shouted.

“B-Bill.” You whimpered.

“That’s better. Remember who’s really in control here, sixer will never fuck you like this.”

He pounded you into the mattress. He felt himself close to cumming.

“So you’re gonna find this hilarious, I’ve been having sixer switch out your birth control with sugar pills. That’s right, they do jack shit. I’ve always been fascinated by human pregnancy and I mean hey, you’re young and fertile. And it’s too late to stop me now. Ahahahaha!”

Before you could even think to push him off you he pinned you down by the wrists, cumming deep inside you. He bucked rapidly, ropes of hot cum shooting inside you. He grunted, refusing to stop even when his cock began to hurt. God he loved causing Ford pain. He didn’t know how humans got anything done or why they didn’t just fuck 24/7.

Ford took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Well this was fun, but it’s probably time for me to give old Fordsy his body back, don’t yo- oh wait, one last parting gift.”

He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a lighter and pack of cigarettes. He took one out and lit it up, taking a long drag and puffing the smoke in your face. He grinned wildly, turning your head to expose your neck and putting it out on your skin. You screwed your eyes shut and moaned loudly. He bent down and licked the burn.

“Oooh wee, you sure are fun. I’m definitely coming back for more, but I think I’m satisfied for now. Okay byeeeeeeeee.”

Ford’s head snapped back. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, his eyes returning to normal.

“Ugh, wh- what happened? Did I black ou- “ He looked down at you and gasped in horror, backing away from you to the foot of the bed.

You were a shaking mess, you honestly looked like you’d been through a bear attack.

“Y/N! WHAT HAPPENED? WHO DID THIS TO YOU?” He started to hyperventilate.

You sat up and took his face in your hands. “Hey hey, it’s alright, I wanted this.”

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY? SHOULD I TAKE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? SHOULD I FILE A POLICE REPORT? DID I DO THIS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ANYTHI-“ he froze. “D- did you say you wanted this?”

You kissed him.

“Look, I have been having some… fantasies and Bill and I both agreed that you wouldn’t be able to do them to me on your own.”

“You met Bill?”

“He was possessing you, but yeah I met him.”

He stared at you, looking terrified before attempting to fix his face to a more neutral expression, almost like he was afraid he would be punished for showing fear.

“That’s- that’s wonderful. I always hoped he’d let you meet him someda-“ now that the adrenaline had settled he got a good look at you. “Oh baby your neck.” He looked down. “Y- your thigh.”

Blood was trickling from both wounds. He looked at you with great concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Like I said, I wanted this.”

Without saying a word he got off the bed and left the room, he returned with a first aid kit. He sat next to you.

“Come here.” He whispered softly.

You leaned into him as he saturated a cotton ball in disinfectant.

“Now this is going to sting quite a bit.”

He applied the soaked cotton ball to your neck wound, you drew in a sharp breath at the sensation.

“I know, I’m sorry baby.”

“No it’s okay, I like the pain.”

He gave small chuckle. “So I’ve heard.”

He took a second cotton ball, wetting it with disinfectant, pressing it to the branding that Bill had left you. You winced.

Ford kissed your cheek. “Almost done, stardust. You’re doing so good.”

He pulled gauze and medical tape out of the first aid kit. He started with the bite, lining up the gauze to cover it and securing it in place with the tape. He then turned his attention to the words carved into your thigh, doing the same.

He got up and inspected you carefully from every angle until he noticed the cigarette burn.

“Ah, hold on.”

He left the room again, coming back this time with a soapy wet rag. He sat down next to you again and gently cleaned the wound.

“You can’t use disinfectant on a burn, slows the healing.”

He then dressed the burn the same way he had for your other injuries.

He had always secretly liked treating and bandaging your wounds, he found it to be quite intimate, not even in a sexual way, just that it allowed him to be close to you.

He cupped your cheek in his hand and went to kiss you when he realized he’d gotten blood on your face. He looked down at his hand and shook his head.

“Guess Bill got me too.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.” You smiled.

You took his hand, treating and dressing it just as he had done for you. As you finished wrapping is hand in tape you kissed his knuckles.

He laid back in bed and patted the space in front of him. You crawled up next to him, returning to spooning position. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck and sighed deeply. You were seconds from falling asleep when your eyes snapped open, remembering what Bill had done to your birth control.

“Oh yeah, so uh… Bill might’ve made you knock me up.”

“WHAT???”

-

In the morning Ford would make you stay in bed, insisting you needed rest. For the next few weeks he watched you like a hawk, secretly recording any possible pregnancy symptoms. He pretended to be nonchalant about you being knocked up, only entertaining the idea if you did, but deep down the thought of you pregnant excited him.

He had always imagined continuing his legacy, teaching his child everything he knew. One day he was going to be gone and someone was going to have to continue his work, and he wanted to keep it in the family. He spent his nights after working on the portal holding you, rubbing your stomach after you fell asleep, hoping, praying even that Bill had given him a miracle.

[jsprnt]

catching your boyfriend studying about your culture before he meets your parents, makes you a tad emotional

kenan yıldız x mexican! reader

A/N: hopefully my knowledge on mexican culture was portrayed correctly, did some research for it as well!! pulled myself together to write this one after being gone so long, hope it was a good comeback 😭 based on this request! 💖

W/C: 1.535

"kenan?”

you call out, stepping into your boyfriend's apartment. stopping in your steps, you listen to figure out if he'd arrived home already.

training had ended an hour ago, and he would always come straight home, waiting for you to arrive.

"babe?" you call out again, taking off your shoes by the door, before walking through the living room space.

"siri, how do you say 'delicious' in spanish?"

you furrow your brows in confusion, wondering what in the world he was doing.

"here are the results on the web for-"

"ugh! no, you-.."

you snort at the frustration in your boyfriend's voice, finally sneaking into his bedroom.

kenan is sprawled out on his bed, lying on his back, as he's holding his phone up to his face.

"do you mean deliciosa or delicioso?"

you watch him jolt from your sudden words, seeing kenan sit up, his face full of shock.

"baby?"

you grin when he acknowledges your presence, walking up to his bed and falling into his embrace. you bury your face into his neck, taking in the scent of his shampoo.

"hi..” you greet, voice muffled by his shoulder.

"when did you get here?.." he smiles, you couldn’t see, but you knew his dimples were showing.

"just now." you answer, pulling away to press a kiss to his cheek.

"i didn't hear you come in, must've gotten too distracted.." he quirks his brows up, a cheeky expression on his face.

"i heard you, don't try to hide your quarrel with siri.."

he chuckles, pushing you back against the pillows before joining you.

"I was- practicing, okay.."

"your spanish? for what exactly?"

you lift your hand, running it through his damp hair, realizing he probably showered before you arrived.

"for tomorrow. you think I'm going to make a fool out of myself- in front of my in-laws?"

you smile at his word choice, lips stretching in amusement.

"your in-laws? and how do you plan to impress my parents, huh?"

you had been dating kenan for a couple months now. of course, the beginning of your relationship was purely about learning so much more about each other. getting to know each other on a level- you could only get to if you actually dated the other person.

as time passed, and the relationship had gotten more serious, you both had come to a conclusion that you should meet each other's parents.

you had already met kenan's parents weeks ago.

though, it was a mere accident since; hanging out in his apartment, meant running into them when they visited their son.

your own family lived a couple hours away. due to the distance, you were going on a small road trip tomorrow. making it just in time for dinner.

your very loving, and hospitable mexican parents would never allow a guest, especially your boyfriend- to drive home the same day. insisting over the phone for you guys to stay over for a couple of days.

"you know, I'm trying to invest a lot of time into researching about your culture.."

"are you? any progress?" you grin, tracing your kenan’s brows. rubbing your finger along the slit in his eyebrow.

"okay, look.." he mumbles, holding back your hand so you don’t poke his eye. he sits up in a split-second, reaching for and shoving a unfamiliar notebook into your face.

you raise a brow in curiosity, reaching out to grab the object.

you hum when you flip it open. observing a multitude of scribbles, flicking to different pages, you see different spanish words along with the translation written, and a few aspects of your culture scribbled down. some having incredibly long explanations, some short ones.

you raise your brows when you notice the small printed images, a wave of emotion washing through you as you notice the long paragraphs about the things you've already taught him about.

the date and time make you realize he’s been writing since the first month you started dating.

"see?" kenan interrupts your emotional moment, making you look up.

"this is- woah.." you mumble, speechlessness taking over your senses, your bottom lip quivering for a second.

you'd never met someone so interested in learning something about you. as small as the gesture may feel to some, seeing your boyfriend study about your culture. such a huge part of your identity with such passion, pulled at your heartstrings.

"you're really sweet, you know?.." you say, glossy eyes looking into his. you take a deep breath through your nose, trying to keep it together.

you don’t know why you’re so emotional. maybe, it’s the nerves for tomorrow, or it is because, you’ve never received such a pure gesture from anyone before kenan.

"what're you- are you okay, baby?" he furrows his brows, taking the notebook out of your hands to inspect the page you stopped at.

"is it wrong? i did so much research, i thought that's how you write it. I'm sorry if i offended you, honey.." kenan immediately blurts, his hand cupping your jaw. moving your gaze to his face,

he looks into your eyes with guilt.

"no, it's not wrong.." you begin, voice low.

"it's just precious.. you're really cute, baby.." you explain, blinking moisture away from your eyes.

kenan freezes, relief flooding his body as he realizes he's not done anything wrong.

"you scared me, y/n.."

"it's not something to cry over though, schatz.." he runs his other hand over your back, planting a sweet kiss on your temple.

"It's really touching..."

"I've never had anyone show this much interest in my identity. I'm really grateful that you're such a sweet person.."

kenan coos at your last words, pulling you into a tight, warm embrace.

"c'mon that's the least I can do. I love you, and everything about you is interesting to me."

you snuggle into his chest, hand touching his bicep.

"also, did you think I was going to meet your parents with zero knowledge about your background? you've taught me a lot already, but I need more topics to talk about so your parents will like me.."

"they already like you from what I've told them.."

"well, I doesn't hurt if I become their favorite son-in-law.."

"son-in-law? you want them to like you even more than my sister husband?"

"trust me, with the research I've done, it’s easy work.”

you chuckle, looking up from his chest.

"are you just going to steal their hearts with your knowledge on our culture?"

"I'll make sure they'll understand how much I love you, and care for you as well. I have to convince them that their pretty daughter is safe and sound with me.."

"you've planned it all out, huh?" you raise your brows, analyzing his cocky, but loving expression.

"I'm still nervous, I've got to admit." kenan bites his bottom lip, looking down at your snuggling frame.

"just be yourself, they'll love you.." you reassure him, patting his bicep.

your boyfriend gives you a soft smile, pulling you down into his bed.

"cold?" he asks, already pulling the blanket on your body without waiting for your answer.

"yeah, is the air-conditioning on?"

"forgot to turn it off, hold on.."

he reaches for a remote on his nightstand, lowering the volume of the air conditioner before getting under the covers with you.

"there, comfy?"

you hum, pressing your face into his chest. kenan's arms wrapped around your frame.

"good.."

you both go silent for a moment, soaking into each other's comforting presence.

your bodies heat up from the warmth between you. your boyfriend's ears red and flushed.

"what are you thinking of?" you break the peaceful silence, lifting your gaze up to his.

"should I greet your dad with a hand? or is that too formal?"

you snort at the thought, eyes closing as you laugh at him.

"it's a serious question, babe.." he whines, placing his hand on your shoulder to pull you out of your laughing fit.

"a hand is fine.." you choke out, biting your lip to muffle your laughter.

"okay.."

"what dishes are they making?" he asks curious, a hand reaching out to poke your cheek. 

"mhm, some you already know. but I'll keep it a secret- oh!"

your sudden reaction makes kenan's eyes go wide, his brows raising slightly in anticipation.

"what?"

"you have to remember, eat the inside of the tamales, not the surrounding wrapping.."

"eat the filling only? okay, easy.."

"keep it in mind.." you tease, poking his chest..

"I know, I'll try to remember.." he grumbles, burying his face into your neck.

you'd cooked the dish only once in the past for kenan. you thought not eating the corn tusk was common sense, but you were wrong when kenan almost chocked on the first bite..

you run a hand down his back, the memory fading as you both go quiet again.

"baby.." you call out, feeling his warm breath fanning your neck.

"hm?" kenan hums, his senses overwhelmed with sleep.

"have I ever told you that my dad supports ac milan?"

you chuckle when kenan jumps up. the sleep gone from his eyes.

you know, this is going to be a long night of him complaining..

[tinfoil-jones]

Tate Pines AU 

(aka Tater McGucket is an oops baby Fiddlestan kid)

Note: LONG POST. This is me hyper fixating on a brain worm because the Gravity Falls Fandom roared back to life. This is probably misspelled in a lot of areas, and not the clearest or most concise post because this is me rambling at 2 in the morning. Also the characters are maybe OOC. Also, this is written without accents because I'm not from the Midwest or southern United States.

In this AU/Scenario, Stan is a transgender man, and 'encountered' Fiddleford during his vagabond years. It was a heavily drunk/high one-night-stand, so they never properly met or even knew each others names. This happens after Ford graduating Backupsmore University, and for this scenario to work let’s say that Fiddleford went to BMU for his undergraduate program, but then went to the local university in Palo Alto for his graduate studies.

Years later, just like in the OG show Fiddleford is Stanford's research partner in Gravity Falls, and married to Emma-May Dixon; but they don't have any children together at this time, and they got together *after* his encounter with Stan. So this isn't an affair baby scenario.

Tatum "Tate" Pines is 5 years old, living on the road with his dad, currently staying in a motel but they're about to move into a real apartment for the first time ever because Tate needs to start school soon. Stan is still a drifter and a con man, but he recently came upon a large sum of money because Tate accurately guessed the lottery number for the state they were currently in.

Stan still receives a postcard from Gravity Falls that says "Please Come", and is allegedly sent from his estranged Twin who he hasn't seen in almost 12 years. But this is roughly a few months before it would have happened in-canon.

Given Stan's disownment, no one knows that he even has a son, not even Ma Pines. Not like he'd want them to know. Having his own son and loving him unconditionally made him realize that his own dad Filbrick was a monster, who he didn't need to prove himself to. But he still wants to reconcile with Ford, so he decides to go just like in canon.

This post card, however, wasn't sent by Ford. It was sent by Fiddleford, who was watching Ford spiral in real time and hoped that if anyone could convince Ford that he was acting crazy and unstable, it was his twin brother.

While Stanford doesn't greet Stanley with a crossbow like in the original because this is before the portal test with Fiddleford, he's definitely shocked to not just see Stanley there, but Stanley with a tiny gap-toothed child in tow.

Stan doesn't know that Ford wasn't expecting them, and excitedly introduces Ford to his nephew.

Ford: Stanley, are you sure this child is yours? Stan: ...Ford, did you forget we're not identical twins?  Ford: ...Oh! Oh my, Stanley... Stan: *thinking* 'I don't know if I'm touched that you don't see me as anything other than a man... or insulted that you forgot something so fundamental about me'

Flabbergasted, Ford lets them both in; Fiddleford is welding something downstairs so he doesn't see or hear any of this. Ford plants Tate on the couch in front of the TV and practically drags Stan to the kitchen to talk to him privately; he's too surprised by Stan having a child to question why they were there in the first place.

Ford: Is there a... another parent..? Stan: ...It's just me and Tate. Always has been. Ford: How did...? Stan: I didn't plan a pregnancy... but I had no money for T-shots for months on end, and without the T, everything down stairs went to factory default.  Ford: Do you know who it is? The father- I mean, the other father? Stan: Not exactly, some southern guy, don't think I ever got his name. Ford: What happened? Stan: Funny you should ask. (FLASHBACK) Fiddleford, high out of his mind: -and that's how I won a golden fiddle. Stan, drunk out of his mind: That's crazy, dude. *grabs him aggressively by the shirt collar to pull him close* Now shut up and fuck me until I can't walk. Fiddleford, horny out of his mind: Hoo-whee, well don't you diddly-darn mind if'n I do. (END) Ford: Stanley? Stan: Hmm? Ford: Are you okay? You just said 'its funny that you ask', and then stared off into space for 10 seconds. Stan: Let's just say I never touched tequila ever again.

Eventually, Fiddleford does come upstairs when he notices Ford didn't come back downstairs, and see's the brothers in the kitchen just as Ford asks Stan why he even came here.

Fiddleford admits it was him who sent the postcard, that someone needed to 'talk some sense' into Ford, and then introduces himself to Stan.

While Stan isn't perplexed by Fiddleford because he was too drunk to remember a face- Fiddleford, who has very good memory, immediately knows he met Stan somewhere, he just can't quite place where, when, or why.

Ford does show Stan the portal, saying it's his life's work and he'll need to test it soon, and casually asks Stan if he wants to stay and help. Before Fiddleford can protest that's a bad idea and Ford should just stop, Stan agrees because he wants to reconnect (and also keep a roof over Tate's head, what were the chances they'd win another lottery?), it did hurt his feelings that Stanford hadn't reached out out to him after all, but maybe they could work on that.

While Ford hasn't exactly forgiven Stanley for the science fair incident, he can't just let his brother, a single father be homeless with a five-year-old (Stan had to drop the lease with their intended apartment to come to Gravity Falls). And... well, Ford gets attached to Tate quite early:

Tate: ... *staring at him* Ford: Can I help you with something, Tatum? Tate: Uncle, is your name "Stanford"?  Ford: Yes, but if you prefer you can call me Uncle Ford. Tate: Oh. Okay. It's funny, Stanford is my middle name. *later* Stan: Kiddo, why has your uncle been sobbing in his room for the past thirty minutes? Tate: *shrugs*

Not realizing the gravity (hehe) of the situation, Stan gets settled in the house and helps Ford and Fiddleford where he can (usually just moving heavy objects or punching paranormal creatures, or forcing Ford to shower). He does notice that Ford seems a bit... unhinged, and weirdly obsessed with some new geometry based religion, but people change after college right?

He does get unnerved by Fords weird episodes where his personality seems to shift and he goes into town to act like an absolute menace. Stan can't help but think that isn't Ford; its been years since he saw him but damnit he knew his brother and whatever entity possessed him just to slap a cops belly, *that* was not Ford. But Ford always brushed him off when he tried to bring it up, and one time 'Ford' even coldly reminded Stan that he could remove Stanley and his son from the home at any time if he wasn't going to be useful.

During this time, Stan and Fiddleford get to know each other, they get along quite well actually; Fiddleford is fond of little Tatum, who along with Stan enjoys listening to him play the banjo. One could say, given Fords obsession with his current passion project and prioritizing work over his relationships, that Stan and Fiddleford become close. 

Fiddleford picks up, however... that little Tate is a genius. Although he's a quiet kid, he has an advanced vocabulary for his age. He's able to read and write at what must be a 2nd or 3rd grade level despite not even starting kindergarten yet, and... one time Fiddleford left an 8x8 cubiks cube unattended, and came back no more than five minutes later to see that Tate had already solved it. And Stan had told him that Tate has actively predicted lottery numbers before.

He brings it up with Stan, who admits that he already knows Tate is a genius, but he also knows what academic pressure and high expectations can do to someone (referring to Ford), and he just wants Tate to live life by his own terms, not let other people dictate that for him based on his IQ.

Fiddleford... also see's resemblances between himself and Tate. Sure, Tate has browner hair like Stan, but the wavier texture is just like his own. And while Stanley does have a prominent nose, it's not as prominent as Tates, which is much more similar to Fiddlefords. 

Fiddleford begins to ask Stan about his past, specifically bringing up that he believes they may have met before.

Fiddleford: Say, Stan, did we meet before you moved here? You're so familiar to me. Stan: I wonder where you could have possibly seen my face before? *glances at the lab* Fiddleford: No. I feel like we've met before - you ever been to Palo Alto? Stan: That city in Cali? Yeah. I'd say about six years ago. I was just passing by, resupplying, and selling weed to college students. Fiddleford: You were a weed dealer? Stan: Among other things, yeah. California's *the* place to go to for weed. I don't do it anymore. Fiddleford: Did you... ever visit the university there? Stan: A couple times. Hated going there because it reminded me of... well, I think you know. Why? Fiddleford: I did my graduate studies there, maybe I met you there? Stan: You think so? I only saw buyers, did you buy weed from me? Fiddleford: No... I had a dealer, but it wasn't you. Stan: Other than that, I did get invited to a frat party once. Think they were called "SigEp" or something. Fiddleford: That's 'Sigma Phi Epsilon'. That was the fraternity I belonged to. Did I see you at that party? Stan: Probably - oh man that party was crazy. I made so many bad decisions that night. Fiddleford: Stanley... how old did you say your son was? Stan: Five, why? Fiddleford: ... Fiddleford: Stanley... *reaches out* Stan: *jerks back, before pointing away* Hey look over there, a distraction! Fiddleford: What- *looks away* Stan: *jumps out the window and makes a run for it*

Stan does not entertain any further discussions with Fiddleford about his past, and goes out of his way to keep Tate with him and away from Fiddleford. Given his criminal past, he's afraid that if Fiddleford is correct, he could make legal actions to take Tate away from him.

Fiddleford eventually goes to Ford about his suspicions.

Fiddleford: Stanford I'm going to tell you something, and I need you to promise you'll stay calm. Stanford: *doesn't look up from microscope* Are you going to tell me you suspect you're Tatum's father because you slept with my brother around the time he would have been concieved? Fiddleford: ... Stanford: Because you are. Fiddleford: What in tar- Stanford: *tosses a file folder towards Fiddleford* I have all of our DNA on file - Fiddleford: You do???? Stanford: Of course I do! I store the DNA profile of everyone who's entered my residence, just in case there's a shifter afoot. Comparing yours and Stanley's DNA to Tatum's, there is only a 0.001% chance that he isn't your biological child. Fiddleford: ... *speechless* Stanford: Congratulations, according to science you're a father.

Fiddleford does eventually manage to talk to Stan about it, and clear the air between them. Stan is apprehensive because Fiddleford is married, but he's at least relieved that Tate happened before Fiddleford was in a relationship with Emma-May. Stan allows Fiddleford to spend more time with Tate (supervised), but they agree Tate doesn't need to know just yet what Fiddleford is to him.

Fiddleford also holds back on telling his wife about Tate, he'd prefer to tell her face-to-face.

But then the portal test happens and Fiddleford gets a glimpse of the horrors beyond the portal, which traumatizes him just like in the original. This doesn't convince him to leave, because Ford is becoming dangerous and Fiddleford is worried about what would happen if Stan and Tate were left alone with him. He invents the memory gun, but holds up on using it on himself.

The relationship Ford has with both Stan and Fiddleford  becomes more explosive. Stan and Fiddleford are both telling Ford that he's messing with forces beyond his control.

To get Fiddleford off of his back about the portals, Ford instead lashes out at him about something else.

Stanford: Fiddleford... you know you're my best friend right? Fiddleford: ...Of course. Stanford: Stanley and I don't have a good relationship... we haven't in a long time. *puts a hand on his shoulder* But don't you dare hurt my brother, or nephew. I don't care how strained things are between Stanley and myself, or how close you and I are... He's my brother, and I'll always protect him, even if it's from you. Fiddleford: Do you think I would try to steal Tatum, Stanford?! *Pushes him away* Also, if you're going to threaten me, you could at least not be such a hypocrite. Stanford: How dare- Fiddleford: You say you care about Stanley? That you'd protect him? He's been homeless for over a decade! You SAW him get kicked out of home when he was still a minor! He escaped three different prisons, had extremely shady black-market top-surgery, chewed his way out of the trunk of a car, and gave birth by himself in an alleyway! He had walking pneumonia for nearly a year straight and almost died from it because he had to choose between himself and Tate over who needed treatment more!  But you didn't know any of that, did you? Because you don't talk to him or try to reach out. You still avoid him. You still treat him like he's your enemy. You're still resentful about that damn science project.  You don't know him or what he went through. You didn't even want him here, I called him up here so maybe somebody could set you straight!  Working with this portal, messing with these forces beyond comprehension and control- the only threat to Stan and our son is you! Ford: Get the hell out of my lab- and stay the hell away from my twin.

But this 'Mystery Trio'-esque era of their lives has a Bad End:

After Ford gets sucked into the portal the same way as he did in the original, Stanley decides to take over his identity; Fiddleford helps him with everything up until Stan fakes his own death.

As Tate's biological (other) father, and Stan having recently altered Tate's birth certificate to add Fiddleford, the boy is given to Fiddleford right away following Stan's 'death' and not put into foster care or an orphanage. This window of time is also when Fiddleford establishes the Society of The Blind Eye, but he chooses a leader after he founds it rather than leading it himself.

When Stan makes it clear he's going to dedicate himself to fixing the portal and bringing Ford back, Fiddleford makes a drastic decision. 

Knowing what the portal obsession did to Stanford, Fiddleford doesn't want Tate to be around if- no, when, the same thing happens to Stan. 

He uses the memory gun on Stan to make him forget about their son entirely. He does the same thing to Tate to make him forget about Stanley, legally changes his name to Tater McGucket, and takes him back to California with him.

He makes this decision because in this scenario he never used the memory gun on himself, so the memory of what's on the other side of the portal still haunts him, making him more desperate and callous, especially with a child involved.

It breaks his heart that he did this, but he doesn't want Tate to be dragged into Pines drama. He takes the boy home and tells his wife that he was conceived before they were together (looking at Tate's age, he was born at least a year before they started dating), and uses the news clipping about Stan's death to explain how he got custody without any trouble, and Emma-May adopts Tate. Tates memory gaps are excused by his young age, and the trauma of losing a parent at such a young age, so Fiddleford and Emma-May decide not to tell him about Stanley.

Stan forgets about both Tate and Fiddleford, but he has this deep sense of loss and betrayal that he can't place. He figures over the years that maybe it's just some of his feelings about Ford having gone through the portal...

Decades later, and after a divorce, Fiddleford moves back to Gravity Falls, bringing Tate with him so Tate can start his Bait and Tackle Shop somewhere quiet. Fiddleford is there to check up on the Society of the Blind Eye, and also to check on Stanley because he feels guilty about what he did. Although he knows that this is Stanley pretending to be Stanford, he says nothing to anybody about it, it's the least he could do.

When Stan see's Fiddleford again - he doesn't know why, because he's 'never met the guy', but just looking at his face pisses him off. And every time Stan see's Fiddleford from then on, whether its across the street or at the shops or what have you, he is openly hostile towards him even if he can't adequately explain why he feels this way about Fiddleford. Also strangely attracted to him, particularly his banjo playing, but its overshadowed by his hostility.

Stan meets Tate shortly after the Tate and Backles Bait and Tackle shop is opened... and he doesn't know why, but this young man he's never met makes him feel sad. But also... Relieved? Elated? Proud?? He comes by often, sometimes not even buying (or stealing) anything, he just chats with Tate (and Backle to a lesser degree).

Tate himself feels strangely fond of this frequent flier customer. Like he's met a dear old friend. He is awfully confused why Stan will sometimes call him 'Tatum', seemingly without noticing, and why he never feels like correcting him. 

Fiddleford knows why, because he never erased his own memory, and he feels so guilty. But it's been 30 years, he can't say anything without ruining his relationship with Tate (which became strained after the divorce, which in this timeline happened maybe around Tate's late teen/early adult years). 

One way that this whole thing can be revealed is when Dipper and Mabel deal with The Blind Eye society, they find two memory tubes, one labelled "Tatum S. Pines" and another labeled "Stan Pines" take it with them because it has their last name, and Grunkle Stans name, on them.

They play the one labeled Stan Pines at first, and realize it's Tates early childhood memories of Stan.

When they play the one labeled "Tatum S. Pines" they see it's all of Grunkle Stans memories of Tate, leading up to his confrontation with Fiddleford.

(MEMORY) Stan, backing up: Wait, what is that thing? Fiddleford, what are you doing with that?! Fiddleford, pointing the memory gun at him: I'm sorry Stan, I truly am. But I can't let you drag our son into this... I do care for you, and I wish things could have been different. But you're just like him!  **BLAST** (END OF MEMORY)

This horrifies them, and they have a real moral conundrum of if they tell Stan and Tate, or if they keep it to themselves to keep the peace. 

They deserve to know... but it'd be so painful. And this would take place before "The Tale of Two Stans" so they don't even know what Fiddleford was talking about to justify stealing Tate, or who 'him' is.

Eventually, it's Wendy and Soos who confront McGucket and tell him that he better be honest with Stan and Tate, or they're going to do it for him. That he's a selfish coward who ripped someone's young child from their arms.

Or, an alternative scenario; Fiddleford never stored those memories in the first place, or at least didn't store them with the Society of the Blind Eye, and it's Ford who brings this all up to Stan. Ford was already through the portal when Fiddleford decided that parental abduction was totally okay if there was amnesia involved.

Ford: Are these Tatum's children? *motioning to Dipper and Mabel*. Stan: They're Shermie's grandkids, and - who? Ford: ...Tatum? Tatum Stanford Pines? Your son. Stan: ...I don't- I don't have a son. *tears gathers in the corner of his eyes, but he either doesn't notice, or chooses to not react* And if I did, I wouldn't give him your name as a middle. Ford: Yes you do, and yes you did. You introduced us right before the portal incident. I even DNA-sequenced him to confirm that his other father was Fiddleford. Stan: WHAT? And- who?? Ford: Here, look *pulls up his DNA files from ones of his secret safes in the lab and shows it to Stanley, which not only has the DNA results but also pictures of Stanley, Fiddleford, and Tate from the time* Honestly Stanley, how could you forget a child you car-.

Ford realizes something is wrong when it's clear that Stanley is distressed, but also confused, like having a son is legitimately a surprise to him. He's so shocked he has to lie down for a bit. His eyes keep leaking tears but he doesn't know why 'Fords cruel and oddly elaborate joke' is making him so upset, because 'clearly it's not true'.

When Ford hears Fiddleford lives in Gravity Falls, he seeks him out and demands answers.

At first, Fiddleford tries to play it off like maybe Ford was remembering things wrong - but with enough pressure, and a ray gun pointed at his chest, Fiddleford finally comes clean. About what he did. Why he did it.

Ford is still angry at Stan for getting him trapped in the Nightmare Realm Multiverse for 30 years; and then stealing his name, identity, and house, but that's still his twin brother. And what Fiddleford did was to him was horrendous, especially after Stanford had already warned him years ago to not to hurt Stan or Tate. This was a crime against the whole Pines family. 

So Ford beats him up. No, he doesn't kill or maim him, but he beats the living dog shit out of him until Fiddleford promises the glass tubes of Stan and Tate's memories in exchange for mercy.

Mabel, Dipper (and Soos/Wendy) are clearly confused (because they wouldn't have seen the memories in the "The Hall of the Forgotten"). Although, this whole revelation does bring Dipper closer to Stan, because Dipper had no idea he wasn't the only transgender person in the family.

Ford shows these memories to Stan first, who is going through all kinds of emotions especially after getting Ford back and their bitter reunion. This allows Ford and Stan to somewhat reconcile early; just like how Ford lost 30 years of his life to the portal, Stanley lost 30 years with his own son because of his conviction to fix it.

Ford also has to physically stop Stan from hunting down and murdering Fiddleford (who Stan only knew as McGucket up to this point) with his bare hands. Reminding him that it's more important that he reaches out to Tate.

But Stan is conflicted. He wants to be Tate's dad again but... Tate is in his mid-thirties, he doesn't need him like he did when he was 5. And Tate already has two loving parents, both of which don't have an extensive criminal record, and who provided him with a stable home, which Stan never did because they were homeless the whole time.

Does he really want to uproot Tate's life and/or peace of mind with a revelation this big?  

This goes all the way to Weirdmageddon, where everyone gathers in the Mystery Shack for security; faced with a possible end of the world, Stan takes Tate to the side, dragging Fiddleford with them, and tells him the truth. Fiddleford confirms it all, ashamed and apologetic. Finally, they give Tate his memory tube, which he watches.

For a moment Stan and Fiddleford have a moment of solidarity; Stan can see that Fiddleford really did want to spare Tate from whatever unknown-at-the-time fate had befallen Stanford because of the portal.

Fiddleford finally faces his past mistakes, and apologizes for what he did. That what he did was wrong, and he can never make it up to them, but if they survive this maybe he could try to make things right.

This is their last family moment between the three of them pre memory-wipe.

The mind wipe thing still happens. Gravity Falls is saved. Mabel and Dipper manage to jog Stan's memory but there's no way to make him remember Tate - the glass memory tubes have already been used, and Stan didn't keep any photos from his homeless era because he couldn't afford it most of the time, and when he could he always managed to get kicked out of whatever state they were in before the photos were done developing.

Once again, Ford comes in clutch. Throughout his last journal, just like how he made entries about Fiddleford, he also made entries about Stan and Tate, including detailed sketches. How Tate liked to get into high places, exasperating Stanley who was afraid of heights. How Stan would take him to the woods to follow the creeks because Tate was intrigued by waterways. How Tate said so few words but Stan always seemed to know exactly what he wanted or needed at any given time. How Tate only liked eating the green M&M's but Stan was fine with it because he got to eat the rest. 

Now while Stan's heartwarming memories of his son come back, so does his desire to break Fiddlefords neck. 

Fiddleford still buys the Northwest Mansion and converts it to "McGucket's Hootenanny Hut", but because the Pines families are the heroes of Gravity Falls, they (Ford) manage to convince the local government to put Fiddleford on house arrest for an indeterminate amount of time as punishment for 30-something years of parental abduction and alienation (also the whole starting a Cult thing). Fiddleford accepts this, and Tate still lives with him.

Post memory-wipe Stan still reconciles with both of them, and his relationship with Fiddleford is... weird, but not entirely bad. It's like they're dating, but with a lot of emotional distance. Like, Stan still tells Ford he wants to murder him... but also tells him to never, ever, check their texting history. 

Stan still goes to sail the world with Ford on the Stan O'War II. They do invite Tate, who declines because "He'd rather just live the simple life in Gravity Falls, and not get involved in whatever supernatural gobbledygook his dad and uncle are sure to get into".

And Stan is so proud of him... because just like he said thirty years, there's nothing he wanted more for Tate than to live his life by his own terms. He video chat's with him as often as he does with Dipper and Mabel. 

Tate ends up keeping McGucket as his last name, but he changes his first and middle back to what it was originally.

And that's the end of this tale, thanks for sticking with me. Here's a passage where Ford teases Stan while they're on their sea adventure;

Ford: It was so sweet of you to give your son my name. Stan: Poindexter, I swear to Moses. Ford: Even after a decade apart. Admit it, you missed me so much. Stan: *rolls his eyes* Of course I did. Stan: Stan: But the real reason that's his middle name is because he was conceived at Stanford University. Ford: I- Ford: I really didn't want to know or think about that.

The End... Go home.

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Just For Research

Pairing: Professor! Rick Sanchez x College Student! GN! Reader.

Summary: When Rick discovers his top student is a virgin, he knows he must change that so she can write her paper on human pheromones.

Warnings: Smut, Intercourse (P in ?), Virginity Loss, Teacher x Student relationship, Age Gap, Virgin! Reader.

Writing Time: 30 minutes.

Word Count: 652.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 7.

A/N:

Woke up in the middle of the night and decided to just write this. Sorry for any mistakes, this is not proofread. I'm just really trying to make sure everything is written before October arrives so the quality is some fics might be lacking a little, this might be one of them. This is probably my shortest fic so far. Oh well.I also have completely forgotten what it was like in college. I did about 3 months of Combined Science in the UK before I dropped out for an apprenticeship instead and I don't remember anything about those 3 months. So this could be all completely wrong but tbh I really don't care.I tried really hard to keep it GN, which is getting harder and harder for me due to the lack of gender neutral terms in the English language but I'll keep managing.Hope you enjoy, I've been eager to write something for Rick for ages now.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober works.

---///---

Thoughts were swarming your head, making it almost impossible to think about what was currently happening.

'How did this happen?' You thought, 'This couldn't of been an accident, but how then did it happen?'

You let out a torn scream, but Rick was fast to cover your mouth and silence it.

"Shut up little Whore, or the whole building will hear you." He huffed.

Just a second ago you and Rick was discussing your college assignment. Your assignment was to write an essay about the human and animal pheromones that tell them to breed and compare the two. Something fairly basic for a Combined Science class and as the class's top student, Rick expected this assignment to be a breeze for you.

But he had been wrong. For a top student with a bright future in Science, you had no idea about pheromones. Especially the sexual kind. It was the one thing you hadn't studied yourself in your own time nor had you experienced it.

You had come to Rick after class to hopefully explain the subject better for you or give you good resources to look up but once Rick found out you was a virgin, what you got instead was a private lessons on pheromones that included an experimental or practical that would give you the experience.

So now you were bent over his desk taking all of him like the good little one you was.

"Please..." You whimpered, tired and stretched out to the max. It had only been a few minutes but this was completely new to a virgin.

"Please what, Whore?" Rick glared down at you, still thrusting in and out of you at an ungodly pace.

Rick didn't think this was exactly the best way to show someone who had never experienced sexual feelings what they were like, but to be honest, he didn't care. He was just looking for a reason to fuck you. His prettiest most innocent and intelligent little Princess/Prince who always sat in the front row, listening to him with wide ears.

But this had been a good lesson for you. Your sexual desire and need for Professor Sanchez now more than alive, it was insatiable.

"Please more Sir!" You cried.

Rick was a little shocked, but more than happy to oblige. And quickly increased his speed, you looked down and moaned into the once clean desk.

"Yeah? You like this cock? You want more of it, my little cocksleeve?" Rick groaned into your ears.

"Yes!" You nodded eagerly.

Obviously, you came first. You did so with a scream and giant smile. Rick came not too long after you onto your back, with just a few loud grunt.

You was pretty confident now you was gonna Ace this assignment.

[redr0sewrites]

How do you think Aaravos would act when his a s/o is on their period? (Can you tell I'm on my period and need comfort)

OOOOOO!!!! i feel SO bad i haven't written for aaravos (or tdp in general) for wayyyyyy too long tdp is still my main hyperfixation yall

🥀Cw: mostly fluff with a bit of suggestiveness/mentions of how orgasms help cramps, afab reader

🥀minors dni with the nsfw portion

sfw:

listen, aaravos is SOOO attentive. he probably has your cycle memorized better than YOU. he's always prepared for when you're on your period, and will approach you about it a few days before it starts

aaravos is amazing when your on your period as he never undermines you, and while he doesn't relate to your experience he definitely sympathizes with you and supports you any way he can

his powers come in handy a lot, and whenever your having bad cramps he can very easily heat up his hands or cool them down and become your own personal heating/cooling pad. he also gives wonderful massages and can also attempt spells/potions that may work as painkillers for you

aaravos is a FANTASTIC cuddler, he's 6,9 ft of pure warmth and loves holding you when you're on your period. if you're feeling emotional or sad in general aaravos is genuinely always willing to comfort you, as he hates seeing you in distress

he may tease you a little to help lighten the mood, but if you get upset or annoyed he'll stop

speaking of when you're annoyed, if you are especially irritable on your period, aaravos takes it surprisingly well. if you snap at him he'll just brush it off or roll his eyes, he knows your feeling shitty and that you'll feel bad later. he might get a little pouty though, and will be clingy when you two are trying to sleep

if you get headaches on your period aaravos is more than willing to accommodate you. he'll gently cup your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before getting a damp towel to lay across your eyes

as much as you want to rot in bed while you're on your period, aaravos will encourage you to be at least a little active. he might take you for calming walks where you won't run into others, or even just slow dance with you in the comfort of your own home while lofty music plays in the background

aaravos will run lavish baths for you om your period with bubbles and fancy soaps and anything your heart desires. he really does love pampering you at heart and will gladly sit at the edge of the tub and wash your hair or massage your scalp while you bathe and relax

nsfw:

during his research on how to help comfort you, aaravos stumbled upon the fact that orgasms can help relieve period cramps. he was quick to bring it up to you, for "research purposes" kinky bitch.

he'll be gentle ofc, laying a towel beneath you both and treating you with the utmost care (unless... u tell him not to.... then thats a different story)

period sex soon becomes a pretty common occurrence as its a great experience for you both. aaravos adores how sensitive you are and loves seeing how easy it is to stimulate you. he'll tease you a lot and then overstimulate you, relishing in every noise you make

it's obviously wonderful for you as well bc??? duh???? it feels amazing and aaravos always makes you feel divine

he's a lot more into praising you during period sex rather than degrading, he thinks that your something to be worshipped and absolutely loves showering you with all the praise you deserve

aaravos enjoys mirror sex in general, but especially during your period. je likes showing you how gorgeous you are during this time of the month and is not afraid to be a little mean with his praise. if theres a trait you have that your particularly anxious or insecure about, aaravos looveessss praising you over and over about it until you can't help but agree.

aaravos always does great aftercare as well when your on your period. you both often get pretty messy, so the first thing he does is conjure a wet towel to wipe you both down. then he'll run you a bath and let you relax while he changes the sheets/bedding before joining you in the bath.

yk that audio that's like "HEEEEE'SSSS BAAAACK" on tiktok? thats what i feel like rn when im posting something for tdp for the first time in like months. (i don't have tiktok but i keep seeing tiktoks on pinterest 💀) ANYWAYSSSSSS HOPE U WNJOYED!!! ive been falling back into some of my old fandoms (tdp, acotar, etc) along w some new ones so feel free to send in requests!!! i am VERY anxiously awaiting tdp s6 hehe

[nnymphie]

Hiiiii obsessively scrolled your blog in one sitting and I’m obsessed w how you write Laios it’s so sweet (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

With that, how do you think he’d handle maybe some of the more animalistic traits his partner would have? Getting used to things like hibernation, “weird” (to tall men) mating rituals, different bodily reactions due to whiskers or different strength in senses. We all know he ♡’s monsters and animals of all kinds so he’s probably not TOO surprised by it, but now he has to deal with it as the partner to someone with these traits?! Woah!

AHH thank you so much🥺🫶 I’m seriously SOOO flattered!!! I’m glad you enjoy my interpretation of Laois! He’s honestly one of my favorite characters from any franchise, and i think one of by far the best written manga/anime protags ever. Like he’s just wonderful and i wanna chew on him and hold him so gently ugHHHHH

As far as you ask:

I think he’d honestly be a damn good partner to someone with animalistic qualities. This man probably has multiple journals dedicated to every little special quirk, habit, mannerism, etc, that you have- and he thinks they’re all wonderful. He is genuinely in awe of everything about you and how uniquely you live life. He would absolutely ask as many questions as you’d allow him, and conduct all the research he possibly could. Hell, I could see him researching the specific husbandry and behavioral aspects of whatever species your beast side comes from- and trying to work some of it into his routine. Dare i say he’d even be a bit jealous that you get the privilege of experiencing some of these instincts and traits???

If you hibernate? You best believe he is helping feed you plenty before its time and making sure you have a safe comfortable nesting place. If you have special mating rituals? He’s learning them all so he can be the best mate possible to you ( he’s honored to even have the title of mate)

He’d love to test your reflexes and sensitivity to different stimuli, but also learn what you don’t like and find ways to mitigate or all together alleviate your discomfort.

I’ve talked about it before, but I firmly believe that your animal traits and beastly nature makes him understand you better. He hasn’t ever really fit in, and regular human social situations are not his strong suit or something he favors really at all. He doesn’t seem to pick up on queues the others do, his interests and passions are often not understood and mocked/judged. Perhaps in a different way than you, but he has also been a misfit outcast most of his life, he empathizes with you on that, finds a sense of camaraderie in not belonging. And even better? The very things that make you different are precisely what he’s so passionate and knowledgeable about. He is fantastic with animals and beasts alike, hell, there’s a solid chance he already knows about some of your specific behaviors and needs before you even have to tell him. And what he doesn’t know? He is eager to learn from you at any and every opportunity. He would never make you feel like a burden for the things you cannot control, rather id imagine he’d encourage you to live as naturally and comfortably as you can.

Laois is so damn amazed by you, he loves every little weird thing, and wants to keep discovering more for as long as he’s possibly able to,,,

[ofstoriesandstardust]

can't take the home out of oklahoma - ii. (k.c.)

a/n: we're soooo back! this is filled with banter and found family and all the sweet angst! also, it's come to my attention through a third rewatch that i've actually been wrong the whole time and kate's last name is in fact carter. if you catch any of my slip-ups, whoopsies! thank you to @cottagecori for letting me ramble about this one the phone for hours and to @sometimesanalice for listening to all the personal lore. i actually ended up having part iii written before i start part ii but now i think it needs a rewrite so that should be up in a few days. comments and reblog are always appreciated!

part i.

summary: You and Kate build a friendship until you stand on the precipice of something more.

warnings: swearing, alcohol, tornadoes, concussions, angst, kissing, scott is actually the villain

word count: 10.7k

Kate pushes the barn door open, a piece of toast in her other hand. 

You’ve got another cup of coffee in hand as you follow Kate inside. She stops as you take the place in. 

“This is where the magic happens?” You ask, taking it all in. The model town, the polymer tucked up at the top, extra equipment for the truck strewn about through the place. 

“Just about.” She answers. 

She hangs by the door, as you walk around, taking it all in. 

Towards the back, where some of Kate’s papers sit, are photos. There’s some of the Wranglers, some of her Mom. Others of her and Tyler, some with her and Javi. 

You nudge one of them aside, looking at one of the pictures tucked in the very corner. 

It’s a picture of an obviously much younger Kate and Javi with three others you don’t recognize. 

You think you should maybe be surprised that it’s clear Javi and Kate go back so far but in thinking about what you’ve seen from them, it feels like the signs were always there. 

There’s a comfortable ease they have with each other that can only come with so much time of knowing someone, the same one Boone has with Tyler. 

“You know, I owe Javi a lot.” Kate comments, coming to stand next to you.

“Yeah?���

She nods. “Without him, there wouldn’t be all of this. He brought Tyler and I together in a way. If he’d never convinced me to come back to Oklahoma-“ She breaks off, shrugging. 

“I get what you mean.” You say softly. 

“He’s my best friend. We’d do anything for each other I think. No matter how far apart we go, he’ll always be there. He’ll always be in my orbit.” 

“You guys complement each other in a lot of ways.” You say softly and she nods. 

It’s quiet again as you think of the conversation you’d caught on the stairs last night. 

Javi, telling Kate she should give you another chance. 

Kate, saying she doesn’t want to get hurt again.

You want to ask about these three people you don’t recognize but you know well enough that Kate probably wouldn’t tell you, would probably get annoyed at you for not having the wherewithal to not ask. 

A knock against the wooden door of the barn pulls both your attention. It’s Javi, standing tentatively at the doors. 

“Owens says we’re gonna leave in about an hour, so to be ready by then.” You nod, going to step away and Kate gestures her head, beckoning Javi in. 

You wait as Javi walks over. “Just showing her all the grant stuff.” Kate says, gesturing to the messy table next to you. There’s a white board hung on the wall, grant and sponsor deadlines in a sprawling handwriting that screams Boone. 

“That’s right, we’ve got the deadline for the proposal to talk to the governor and the senators this Friday.” Javi says, picking up a binder. “Good thing California’s got the experience writing proposals.”

“Really?” Kate asks. 

You shrug. “Nothing too impressive, just research proposals. I haven’t written many as I’ve read them — comes with the territory of working in a Writing Center for four years.” 

“The hell’s a Writing Center?” Javi asks, flipping through the binders, presumably to figure out what they should take on the road with them. 

“Place to help students with their writing on college campuses. I spent two years one in my undergrad and then both years of my Masters.”

“You’ve got a Masters?” Kate asks. 

“Yeah but not in anything useful.” You say with a shrug. 

Kate clicks her tongue. “That’s okay. I don’t even think Javi knows how to spell the word conference, so we could use all the help we can get.” 

“Hey now!” Javi defends, snapping the binder shut. “I was in the same PhD program as you!” 

-

“Agh!” Kate shouts. 

You shut the door, hand flying up to cover your eyes. 

“Sorry!” You shout. “I thought you were still in the bathroom!”

You cringe, thinking of the scar running down’s Kate thigh you gotten sight of. You think of the picture tucked into the corner of the barn, the one with three people not around. 

Kate opens the door and you spin around. She rubs her cheeks, a dusty pink covering them. “Sorry.” She says. “You just scared me.” 

You shrug. “No, it was my fault.” 

You two both stand there like in the doorway, awkwardly looking at each other until you hear heavy footsteps. You both look down to see Tyler standing at the bottom of the staircase, hands on his hips. “We’re waiting on the both of you.” He says matter-of-factly. “Hurry up. I’ll leave you here.”

He turns on his heel and you can hear the front door shut behind him. 

“He will.” Kate says. “Leave us here. So we should probably-“ 

You nod, ducking into Kate’s room to grab your bag. She waits for you and then you both walk down the stairs, Kate shouting goodbye to her Mom as she does. Cathy meets her daughter at the door and you slip out, trying to not let your heart twinge at the sight of the obvious love and care Cathy has for Kate. 

Tyler tells you you’ll be riding with Lilly and you nod, climbing into the passenger seat of her van as Lilly whoops, shouting something to Javi about finally not having hot cheeto dust all over her radio and dashboard. 

Kate leaves the house a few minutes later and your eyes meet through the windshield. She gives you a tight smile and a small wave before climbing into the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck. 

“You okay?” Lilly asks and you startle, not having realized she had opened the door. 

“Fine.” You respond. She studies you for a minute before turning the key. 

“Let’s go chase some twisters then baby!”

-

You shoot up with a gasp, feeling the sweat drip down your back as your breath comes out in short pants. Tears sting at your eyes as you take in the darkened space. 

The Oklahoma rose nightlight sits in the corner, the grey cotton sheets beneath you familiar. 

Okay. Okay. You were in Kate’s room. You were okay. You were safe here. 

You press your palms into your eyes, trying to push back the tears as someone shifts next to you on the bed. 

“Are you okay?” She asks softly and you have to bite back a whimper at the humiliating knowledge that you’d gone and woken her up. 

“Fine.” You say, pulling your hands away from your eyes. She reaches over to her side of the bed, flicking her lamp on. “You don’t have to do that.” You say quietly. “I’m sorry for waking you. You can go back to sleep.” 

Kate shakes her head but doesn’t say anything as she moves to have her back be supported by her headboard. Finally, you sigh, moving to match her position as she waits. 

“You know, I used to get them all the time too.” She says, her twang a bit more prominent at this point of night. “The nightmares.”

“How do you deal with them?” You ask quietly, chancing a glance at her. 

She sighs, shaking her head. “I don’t know that I used to deal with them per se. When I first moved to New York after it happened, I used to stay up for days at a time until I was so tired I wouldn’t dream. Some nights I’d have to spend hours reminding myself what was and wasn’t real. They’ve only gotten better since I’ve started to deal with what happened head on.”

You want to ask her what it is exactly that happened, an incident everyone but you seems to know, but you can’t bring yourself to dare to ask. She must know the questions you have though because she keeps talking. 

“I see you look at that picture of them.” She says quietly. “The one in the barn. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.” 

“I didn’t think I should.” You say quietly. 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever made it clear you could.” She responds. “They were friends of Javi and I’s. That photo in there, it’s the last photo we ever took together. We were storm chasing that day; they were helping me with my dream.” She lets out a shaky breath. “The storm we ended up in was an EF-5, not the EF-1 we had been hoping for. We tried to hide under an overpass. Praveen was taken first, he never made it. Addy and I were trying to climb up when I got cut.” You think of the scar down Kate’s thigh, the one you’d only seen that one time on accident. “Addy got hit by debris right after. My boyfriend at the time, Jeb, he helped me get up, to cling to the metal piping. He was holding on to me until he wasn’t.” She swallows. “For years, I’d see them in my dreams. I’d wake up think Jeb was telling me we were going to be okay, that Addy was chasing one more storm with me, that Praveen was still there with his cautious concern. For years, I thought it was my fault.” 

“Kate, I’m so sorry.” You whisper. “I couldn’t- I couldn’t even imagine.” 

You think of Texas, of the horrors you’d seen there. And yet it almost can’t compare to the loss Kate’s lived through. 

“It’s why I’m glad you’re joining Javi and I in DC next month.” 

“How do you mean?”

She wraps her arms around herself, a tear trickling down her cheek. You resist the urge to reach out and wipe it off her face. 

“Praveen’s parents told me after the funeral that they could never be angry with me for what happened; that they knew their son had died doing what he loved. Praveen had gotten struck by lightening a few weeks before and I don’t know, I think they knew that those were the risks he was taking after he decided to keep going back out. Addy’s parents blamed me though. Said that I encouraged her recklessness, that Addy would’ve been safe if it hadn’t been for me.” She swallows. “But Jeb’s parents- they’ve got money, the degrees in science. They’re pretty prominent in the meteorology community but they’re not storm chasers in any form of the term. They didn’t just blame me for Jeb’s death, they blamed Javi.” Another tear drips down her face. “Javi never even got close to the storm. Jeb was dating me; he’s the one followed me into the storm. He never would’ve been there if it hadn’t been for me. But they put that stain on Javi’s name too, it’s why Javi had to fight so hard to get StormPar together, it’s why he had to bring Scott on. I’m terrified it’s gonna affect what we’re trying to do here too.” 

This time, you finally reach out for Kate. You take her hand, squeezing it. “Kate, you’re testing the unprecedented out here and it’s working. You’ve got the support of all the Wranglers, all their supporters. You’ve got this. You and Javi and Tyler - you guys are going to change the game, I’m sure of it. It doesn’t matter what they say, I see it every time you guys go out into the field and cause a storm to collapse. You’re going to change the world, I just know it.” 

She gives you a watery smile as you bite back the you don’t need me for that. 

“I hope DC is going to be good.”

“It’s going to be great.” 

She sniffs, taking her free hand to wipe at the nose. “Anyways, I didn’t mean to make it about me.”

“No, you didn’t-“

She cuts you off. “Just that if you ever want to share that stuff that’s haunting you, the stuff that keeps you up at night, I’d listen.” 

-

“You guys, I thought we had a no work at the dinner table rule.” Dani says. 

She shrugs, crowding over your phone with Javi. “Technically foods not here, so it’s not dinner time.” 

You’re inside with her Mom and Tyler and Dexter, getting ready to bring out all the food for dinner. Javi chuckles as they scroll through the outline you’d drawn up earlier in the day.  

Suddenly, your phone starts ringing with a call and her and Javi shoot back like they’ve been burned. 

She doesn’t recognize the name on your phone, but she knows you haven’t spoken of the life you’d left behind nor talked to anyone from that past. 

“What do we do?” She hisses.

“Kate, just decline it.” Lilly says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

It probably is, but it doesn’t save her from pressing the wrong button and answering the call. 

Her hands fly up to her mouth, looking around the table as they all fall silent. 

Hello? Hello? Are you there? 

She can hear a man say and she glances at Javi, wide-eyed, unsure of what to do. 

Sweetheart, can you hear me? Are you there? 

Javi’s hand darts out and ends the call. 

It feels like the table lets out a collective sigh of relief when the phone starts ringing again. 

Lilly reaches around Dani this time and ends the call. Javi picks up your phone again, going back to reading the outline. 

“Kate man, you’ve got all those fancy degrees and you’re telling me you don’t know how to decline a phone call?” Boone crows from the end of the table. 

“The question should really be are we going to say anything to her.” Dani says with a smirk on her face. 

“Oh please don’t.” She groans, letting her head fall into her palm. 

“Oh fuck.” Javi mutters from next to her and she steals a glance at the phone. “Kate can’t decline a call but apparently I can’t swipe away a voicemail notification either.” 

Out of her peripheral vision, she thinks Dani’s eyes flicker up over her head. 

“Hey guys, this feels like a real invasion of her privacy.” Lilly says and she’s right. Her Mom would wring her neck if she knew what her and Javi were reading right now but it’s like a bad car wreck they can’t look away from as the voicemail transcribes itself. 

“Hey guys, she’s coming back, I’d put it away.” Boone says, shifting closer to take the phone. 

“Okay, yeah, like put it away right now.” Dani says, scooping the phone up but it doesn’t make her forget what she’s seen and she knows Javi won’t either as they share an uneasy glance. “Here.” Dani says, offering you your phone as you slide the platter down in front of her and Javi. 

She swallows, chancing a glance at you as your confusion about the obvious fuss over the phone turns into a hard look, sliding the phone into your back pocket. 

You’re quiet through most of dinner as her and Javi keep looking at each other, both unable to participate in the conversation either. 

Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. It sounded like you picked up there for a minute but maybe it’s a fluke, I don’t know. 

I miss you, darling. I miss you so much. The last six weeks have been so hard without you and I just hope that you’re safe wherever it is you’ve gone. Your sister still calls me sometimes to ask where you’ve gone and I still listen to your favorite music hoping it’ll make you be there. 

I know you’ve said we’re done, that you didn’t want to be with me anymore, but if you ever want to come home, please let me know. I still love you baby, I always will you. You can come home whenever you’re ready.

-

“Man, California, what’s all this? It’s like an art project.” 

You look up at Javi from where you’re cutting out paper. 

“I’m getting the questions for tomorrow’s video ready.” You smack Javi’s hand that’s reaching out for the pile that has Boone’s name on it. “Stop it - you don’t get an advantage.” 

Javi hisses, retracting his hand as he glances at the kitchen. “And the cookies?” 

“I got drunk and made cookies. Kate’s Mom said I could.” You pause, looking up at him. “Well, the getting drunk was all me. But Cathy did say I could make cookies.” 

Javi chuckles. “Okay California, so what I’m hearing is I’ve got to catch up to you?” He asks, pulling another beer from the fridge. 

You shrug. “Sure, but you’ve got to help me pull the cookies out to cool.” 

He nods, sitting across from you at the table as he takes a draw from his beer. “So California, I gotta ask-“ You groan. “That voicemail.”

You sigh before reaching out for your own drink (a strong dirty Shirley Temple, Boone had teased you as you’d made them for you and Dani) and taking a long sip. “My ex.” 

“Sounded like you broke his heart.” 

“I probably did.” 

“Why?” 

You sigh again, looking over at your phone that had all the questions written down on it, the Sharpie squeaking against the cardstock you’d found shoved into one of the closets. 

“It just wasn’t working. The relationship wasn’t right anymore. It probably hadn’t been right for a while, maybe ever, but I wanted to make it work.” Javi waits for more information and you sigh, capping the pen. “He was in the Navy and-“

“C’mon California, don’t you know better than to date a military man? Coming from a former military man.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You? Actually, yeah, that tracks.” 

Javi chokes. “The fuck does that mean?” He says hotly but there’s no real malice behind his words, a wide grin on his face. 

You give an unimpressed look. “Do you really need me to explain it?” 

Javi laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, I get it.” 

You nod, uncapping the Sharpie again as you start on Kate’s questions. “Anyways, he was also eight years older than me.” 

Javi makes a noise through a laugh. “Hoohoo, so you mean to tell me you were the scandalously younger girlfriend?” 

“I wouldn’t say it was scandalous. I was 22 when we met.” 

“Making him 30. That’s pretty scandalous to me.” 

“We only went on two dates and then decided to be friends so by the time we did date I was almost 24 and he 32.”

“That’s still pretty scandalous.” 

You snort, setting Kate’s questions aside. “Yeah, well, my friends would agree with you there but honestly it never really phased me.” 

Javi takes another draw of his beer. “Yeah, cause you were being groomed.” 

The deathly look you give Javi sends him into a fit of laughter. 

“I was not!”

-

“What are you guys doing?” 

You look over at Kate and Tyler from where you’re laughing at the meme Javi’s showing you. You swallow the rest of your laughter, sliding off the kitchen counter like you’d been caught. 

“California and I got drunk. We’re bonding.” 

Tyler looks unimpressed as Kate steps into the kitchen, surveying the cookies. “Can I have one?” You nod. 

“Damn California.” Tyler whistles when he sees the amount of cookies sitting in Kate’s kitchen.

You give a nervous laugh, scrubbing your forehead with your wrist. “Yeah, I know. Its my Dad’s recipe — I always forget how much the recipe makes and I even halved it.” 

“So you disappeared from the barn to drunkenly make cookies?” Kate asks, not to you, but to Javi, and your face falls. 

Right.

Right, Javi had been in the barn with Dexter and Kate and Tyler to talk science stuff. You couldn’t find your place in the conversation with Boone and Lilly and Dani as they had s’mores, so you’d come inside to make cookies. 

Javi shrugs, a lopsided grin on his face as the alcohol paints his cheeks a rosy red. “Just trying to get to know our new team member, s’all.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract him.” 

Kate shrugs as she takes another bite. “Not like it’s hard.” She swallows. “He’s like a toddler — he gets distracted by food and shiny things.” 

“Hey now!” Javi says as you hear the front door open again. “Nah, California here was just telling me about her scandalous-“ Javi pauses as Boone and Lilly come through the kitchen, Dani behind them as they wait for him to finish his sentence. He must see something on your face cause he softens. “Nah California, that’ll just be between us.” 

You give him a tight smile before turning to Tyler as the newcomers realize there’s cookies. “Owens, what time are we leaving tomorrow?” 

“1. And we need to film that video for the YouTube channel, which is what I’m guessing this all is.” 

You nod as he gestures to the table with the stack of questions on it. 

“I hope Tyler loses again.” Lilly says and Tyler gives her a face in return. The group laughs at him, presumably thinking about after he had lost the game of Twisters last week, he’d had to feed Kate’s angry rooster Mr. Biscuits, who Tyler had, up until that point, thought was a dog.

“Hell no, I’m not doing that again.”

“Um,” You say as you pull the sleeves of your (Javi’s, though he doesn’t seem like he’s going to ask for it back at this point) pullover down your arms. “Can someone make sure the cookies get wrapped up? I think I’m gonna head to bed for the night.” 

“Wait, but we were gonna watch a movie!” Dani protests. 

You shrug. “Tired.” 

It’s a weak excuse as the energy shifts in the kitchen. 

Kate clears her throat. “I can. Make sure the cookies get put away.” 

You give Kate a small smile. “Thanks Kate.” 

“No problem.” 

You turn to leave the room, various calls of goodnight following you as you walk up towards the stairs. You sigh when you reach Kate’s room, shutting the door behind you. The sleeping bag you’d gotten had migrated its way inside as you always ended up falling asleep on Kate’s floor. 

She’d offered to share the bed again more times than you could count but ever since you’d awoken her from your nightmare, you’d elected to sleep on the floor in hopes to ride them out alone. 

You all but flop onto the floor, feeling your body protest as you do. As much as you dismissed the uncomfortable sleeping conditions to the group and especially to Kate, your body protested more than anything after sleeping on the wooden floors of Kate’s house. 

Your phone dings and your stomach drops as you look down at it.

Hope you’re safe wherever you are.

You swallow around a scream, seeing Jake’s name on your screen. Your fingers begin flying across your screen without your permission.

Jake gets blocked first, then Javy. Natasha and Bradley. Pete and Bob and Sophie, Elle and Sam following. Mickey and Julia and Reuben. 

Before you can even realize it, most of the people you knew who were wondering where you were now had been blocked. Maybe you should’ve done it before now, seeing as how desperate you were to leave those memories in Texas where they belonged. 

Angry tears sting at your eyes as you resist to throw your phone, deleting photos en masse. 

As you hear laughter from down the stairs, an ache settles in to your bones. 

Six weeks gone and it still sort of felt like you were always standing at the edge of this group, never quite able to find your place. They seemed to like you more now, Kate especially, but it still felt like the bonds they’ve woven together in the last year would always put you on the outs. 

A lot of the time it still felt like you’d never really run from the memories of Texas, your past life left behind. 

-

Kate says your name softly. “Are you awake?” 

You shift in the sleeping bag, turning to face her. “Kate?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. “Seeing that voicemail- that was wrong of us. We didn’t mean to.” 

You shrug, though you doubt she can see it. “Not your fault.” 

“I know you don’t want to talk about why you left but I- it sounded like he really cared about you.” 

“Caring about me doesn’t mean our relationship was right. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t unhappy for a while before I left.” 

Kate sighs. “I get what you mean. It just sounded like he really missed you.” 

You swallow, turning back over. “Yeah.” 

“I get that we can’t make you stay.” She whispers. “But I understand how someone could miss you that much. I think I’d miss you that much if you left.” 

Your tears are resurfacing but you can’t bring yourself to respond to Kate’s words. 

After a few minutes, when it becomes clear you’re not going to respond, Kate bids you a quiet goodnight and rolls back over. 

I think I’d miss you that much if you left. 

-

“Now, you might be wondering where our fearless leader Kate is today.” Boone says through the grainy feed of the live stream. 

“And her lovely sidekick Javi.” Lilly adds from her end. 

“Tyler, why don’t you tell the viewers at home where they are?” Boone prompts, facing the camera to Tyler. 

“Well folks, they’re in DC with our lovely social media manager to talk to the governor and Senators from a bunch of the states in Tornado Alley, particularly Oklahoma. They’ll be presenting the research we’ve been done out here in the last year in hopes of getting more state budgeting allocated to tornado research and relief.” Tyler informs the livestream and you grin as you type out a comment. 

Tyler wasn’t invited because he’s not smart enough. 

Boone lets out a bark of laughter, repeating the comment to Tyler. Tyler makes Boone gesture the camera over to him, getting real close as he drives. “I know where you sleep at night.”

Hello FBI, there’s been a threat made against my life. 

The group sets off into laughter as Boone struggles to relay the message to Tyler through his laughter. 

“What are you doing?” Kate asks, sitting down next to you, Javi across from you. 

“Causing chaos in the livestream chat.” You exit it, turning your phone off. “How come you guys aren’t eating?” 

“I think I’d throw up right about now.” Kate says, looking over to Javi, who does look much paler than normal. 

“You guys can’t seriously be nervous?” You ask around a mouthful of Cheerios. 

“You’re not?” Kate asks in disbelief.

You shrug. “I’m used to public speaking. Besides, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good presenter, if I do say so myself.” 

“Great, want to present all the data?” 

You blanch. “I wouldn’t be able to make heads or tails of that. All I gotta do is talk about Tyler and well, he makes that part pretty easy.”

-

“So, it’s like I was saying, when I backed out of StormPar, a lot of these guys came over because of Kate.” Javi says as he makes introductions of his team, the ones who’ve been out in the field, using the radars to collect the data from the tornados Kate and Tyler have collapsed. 

“Javi.” Someone says and the group turns. Javi’s face sours noticeably. 

“Scott.” Javi says with a grim face before turning to you. “This is Scott, my ex business partner.” 

His eyes gloss over you as they land on Kate. “See you’re still wasting your time with Carter here.” 

Javi’s eyebrows scrunch up but you put your hand out, stopping him. “Sorry, Simon, was it?” Javi snorts. 

“Scott.” 

“Right, Sonny. Sorry. I mean- do you like take pleasure in being an asshole? That’s not a very attractive personality trait.” 

“It worked for Owens, does it not?”

“Oh, Stephen, sweetie. The internet would never make thirst traps of you like they do him.” Javi has to cough in his fist to hide his laugh and Kate has a hint of a smile on her face. “Oh, I know! You must be jealous of Javi’s sauve charm or- no, it must be because you think Kate should be in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning right? Cause women can’t have degrees.” You snap your fingers. “That must be it.” 

Scott gives you a displeased smile, turning to Javi. “When did you two get a guard dog? Couldn’t face me on your own?” 

Javi introduces you. “She’s Tyler’s new social media manager, been out there giving us a hand.” 

Scott clicks his tongue. “Maybe she’d like to meet my new investors.” Scott turns, gesturing over a woman and man, and the sight of them must mean something to Javi and Kate as they both take a step back, their faces going pale. 

Scott introduces them to you with a smirk on his face. “She’s working for Javi and Kate, figured it might be good for you all to meet.” 

The woman, in particular, has strong displeasure written on her face. “So, you decide to follow these two into a tornado?” 

You give a half shrug. “Can’t seem to think of why the decisions of a stranger would matter all that much to you.” 

She raises an eyebrow, adjusting her purse. “I just think you should be careful.” 

“I think you should mind your own business.” You say sharply, catching sight of the aide opening the door for you guys down the hall. “If you’ll excuse us, we should be going.” You touch Javi and Kate’s arms, nudging them forward. 

“And when you die for them, will it be worth it?”

It’s the man this time. 

You turn. “Excuse me?” 

“When you die for Kate and Javi, for this- this- hypothetical they believe in, like the one our son died for, will it be worth it?” 

And suddenly it all makes sense. It all clicks into place.

Kate’s words come back to you, how Jeb’s parents who were meteorologists who had money, how Jeb’s parents blamed Javi and Kate for their son’s death. 

Javi says your name softly. “C’mon, they ain’t worth it.”

“Your son didn’t die for some hypothetical. He died for research that’s working.” You say sharply. Kate grabs your wrist, pulling you back. “Maybe you should watch the YouTube channel sometime. Sounds like you could stand to learn a thing or two.” 

The aide ushers you into the conference room after that. The presentation goes smoothly, no obvious signs of how much the encounter had rattled Javi or Kate, and it’s obvious that more than a few of them are impressed with what you had to tell them. 

Until Kate asks if anyone has any questions. 

“Ms. Carter, you’re from Salpulpa, Oklahoma, isn’t that correct?” The governor of South Dakota asks. 

Kate swallows. “Yeah. That’s right, I am.”

“And six years ago, you were caught in an EF-5, right? Working on this research with your business partner here?” 

She nods, hesitancy growing on both her and Javi. “That’s correct.”

“And this research, you were doing as part of your PhD? But there was a team of five, right? What happened to your three colleagues?” 

You frown as Kate glances at Javi. “They were killed, sir.” Javi answers for her. “In the EF-5.”

“Sorry, I just- Can I ask why that matters?” You interrupt.  

The governor shifts as the one of the senators from Oklahoma turns to him. “I’d like to know as well.” 

“Well, two of my constituents are directly connected to that incident, as their son Jeb was dating Ms. Carter at the time. And they’re raising a lot of concerns about this research you’re out here doing. I mean, how are you going to ask me to sacrifice more lives and money to your data that’s not even backed?” 

Kate seems stunned, Javi too. “Well, sir-“

“Sorry, what are you implying here?” You say, cutting Javi off. 

“I’m saying that this research is led by two people who have a known history of being responsible for the death of my constituents and I simply won’t put any more time forth on this.” The governor stands, snapping his folder shut. “We’re done here.”

“So you’re saying Kate and Javi are responsible and at fault for the deaths of three equally educated researchers who willingly chose, by no influence of Javi or Kate, to go in the storm that day six years ago? Because I think that is incredibly gross and inappropriate.” 

Javi reaches out for your arm. “Stop.” He whispers. “It’s fine, we can take it.” 

You shake your head. “No, no because you’re wrong. To insinuate that what we’re doing out there is anything less than helping the people these tornados target is wrong. We use the data from the radars Javi’s team sets up to understand how these tornados are collapsing and when we can’t get to a storm in time, we’re there, on the ground, giving out food and water and helping people dig through the rubble of their lives while you sit in your fancy office, removed from the everyday struggles of these people!” 

You finally breathe, taking a step back as you pray Javi and Kate can forgive you. 

“You’re new to this team, that’s right?” 

You nod. “Been here just under three months.” 

“And how did you find yourself here?” 

You shrug. “I’ve seen firsthand the destruction and death these tornadoes cause. I’ve seen what these people can do to help. All I’ve ever wanted is to make a difference. 

“And when you die, cutting your life short, for this research?” 

You glance at your friends. “Then I’ll die knowing I gave my life helping others to change the game. I’ll died knowing I did what I could to make a difference.”

-

Her and Javi sit in their hotel room, uneasy silence between them. 

They’d invited you to come with them but you’d seemed hesitant and had retreated to your room down the hall. 

“Can we talk about it?” Javi asks finally. 

“You ever think about that voicemail we saw?” 

Javi shrugs. “Not really, I guess.” He glances at her. “Do you?”

She shrugs, pulling her shorts down. “Sometimes. Just wonder what the hell she’s doing out here when she’s got people at home who seem to care about her that much.” 

Javi shrugs. “Whatever they did to force her to Oklahoma, that cut’s gotta run deep because oh boy, she seems to be loyal something fierce.” There’s a knock on the door and Javi slides off the bed. “That’ll be our room service!” He jogs to the door, getting the food and thanking the person. He shoves a fry in his mouth, moaning around it, before he talks again. “I mean, she had the balls to stand up to the governor of South Dakota for us.” She doesn’t say anything response, running her fingers over the starchy fabric beneath her. “Kate.” 

She glances up at him. “What?” 

“C’mon, talk to me. What’re you thinking?”

“I can’t ask someone else to sacrifice their life for this.” She says softly. 

Javi sighs, sitting back down on the bed. “That’s the thing I think you’re missing Kate. You’re not asking. She’s offering.”

“But why?” She croaks. “What is any of this worth to her?”

Javi shakes his head. “That’s the part I can’t quite figure out. I don’t know, Kate.” 

-

Your head meets the table as Cathy slides a plate down in front of you. “I need three naps and an IV full of Diet Coke.” You mumble and Dani laughs into her coffee from her seat next to you. 

“So, c’mon tell us about DC.” Boone says excitedly. “You said you’d say over breakfast.” 

You can hear Javi sigh from across the kitchen at the coffee pot. “It didn’t go well.” 

“What happened?” Lilly asks around a mouthful of food. “Javi stumble over his words or something?”

“Well, for starters, we saw Scott.” Javi says as you lift your head from the table. There’s various groans and boos from the group as Javi’s grins grows. “Yeah, but she was mean to him.” 

You snort. “Yeah, I said the internet would never make thirst traps of him and he must think women belong in the kitchen. Oh, and that he must be jealous of Javi’s charm.” 

“We also saw Jeb’s parents.” Kate softly, immediately sobering your friend’s laughter. Cathy frowns, reaching out for her daughter. 

“They’re Scott’s new investors.” Javi explains as Kate looks at you. 

“They asked her if dying for me like Jeb did would be worth it.” 

Tyler scoffs. “That’s bullshit. You told them that was bullshit right?” 

You sigh. “Them and the governor of South Dakota, whose pocket they’re in. Told him it’s was gross and inappropriate to ever say Kate and Javi were responsible for the deaths of their friends.” You sigh, standing up from the table. “Sides, I know my words won’t make any difference to men like him but they didn’t go into that storm for Kate. They did it with Kate. This was something they believed in and it’s something I believe in too.” You push your food towards Boone. “Here, you can have it, I need to go to bed.” 

-

She sighs and Javi tosses her an irritating look.  

“Alright Carter, cough it up. What’s bugging you?” 

She shrugs. “Nothing.” 

“Kate, do you really take me for an idiot?” She gives him a curious look. “Look, I see how you are with her. The looks you give her when you think none of us notice. The way you’re always trying to include her in conversation, the way you always want her to be around. What gives?” 

She scuffs her heel against the asphalt of the parking lot. “Do you think she’s got a thing for T?” 

Javi sighs, rubbing his hands together. “No, I don’t.” He nudges her. “I mean that genuinely. I ain’t just saying it cause I know it’s what you want to hear.”

They both look at where you’re sitting, crowded up into Tyler’s personal space. Tyler’s arm is resting on your head obnoxiously, a cross look on your face as you elbow Ty in the ribs. To an outsider’s perspective, she could see how someone would mistake you two for something more but she knew the truth. 

Tyler Owens saw you nothing more than the little sister he had never had and had always wanted. Tyler was protective of his team, it was a given, but with you he was different. There was an innate, inherent bond between the two of you different from everyone else. And if Kate had to guess, it stemmed from where your pasts intertwined, even if they didn’t know how. 

But maybe it would be better if you did have something with Tyler. 

“Better how?” 

She blinks, turning to look at Javi. “Didn’t realize I said that out loud.” 

Javi studies her for a minute before standing. “C’mon, I need to get a jacket, come with me.” She follows as Javi shouts that they’ll be right back to the group and she catches your curious look from across the fire. 

Only once the motel door of Javi and Boone’s bedroom is shut, Javi looks at her.  “Kate, what’s up?” 

She looks at her friend before sinking to sit down on the bed. “I didn’t- I didn’t think I could ever love someone again after Jeb.” Javi’s eyebrows raise. “Ty showed me it could be possible.” She swallows, feeling tears sting at her eyes. “But I can’t ask her to love me back and to die for it in return.” 

“Wait, Kate, hang on.” Javi says, raising his hand. “You’re- Are you saying you’re in love with her?” She nods slowly. “Kate, that’s- that’s amazing.” He breathes. 

“No, it’s not Javi!” She nearly shouts and he flinches back. “Tyler nearly died for it and I saved him from that fate. But Jeb died because I loved him and so will she!” 

Javi sighs, running a hand down his face before moving to sit next to her on the bed. He’s quiet for a minute as their knees knock together. 

“Kate, look at me.” She does only to meet with a flurry of emotions. Concern like she might be spooked by his next words, love and care woven into the proudness that’s written there. “Kate, just because- just because they died doesn’t mean that we don’t deserve to love afterwards. Just because Jeb died doesn’t mean you have to suffer and pay the price for that.”

“Their deaths are my sins, their blood is on my hands.” 

Javi shakes his head, taking her hands in his own. “No it ain’t. Would you say their blood is on my hands?” 

“Never.” 

“Then you need to understand that it isn’t on yours either. What happened was a terrible stroke of luck, maybe fate. I’d give anything to have them back with us, to have stopped it from ever happening. But we can’t go back, we can’t make our homes in the past. We’ll miss what’s right in front of us. And Kate, you deserve a love as soft as hers.”

She lets out a shaky breath, feeling her shoulders let some of the tension bleed out from them. For the first time, she doesn’t have the heart to argue with Javi, to tell him that he was wrong. She wasn’t sure she could when he looked so sure and absolute in his words. 

-

You watch as Kate and Javi walk up the steps when Boone reaches over and nudges you. 

“California, when are you gonna admit you got a thing for Kate?” 

Your eyes slide over to him, giving a cool look. “Whenever you admit to the thing you’ve got going with Javi.” 

The group lets out a bunch ohs and Tyler cackles. “She’s got you there Booney baby.” 

“It’s just stress relief!” 

You look back at Boone. “You know no one believes that right?” 

“Man, stop deflecting, I was asking about you and Kate first!” 

You roll your eyes as Dani breaks into silent laughter from across the fire, Lilly’s shoulders shaking as she works on the drone in her lap. 

Tyler climbs off the truck, moving to stand behind you. You glance up at him as he does. “C’mon though. Seriously, what is going on with you and Sapulpa?” 

“Nothing.”

Tyler sighs. “C’mon California, you really expect me to believe that little lie?” 

You shrug. “It’s not a lie. I’m not denying anything I feel for her but I’m pretty sure Kate doesn’t like me in that way. Most days, I don’t even think she likes me period.”

“She likes you.” Lilly protests. 

“Kate’s just a harder read because of…” Boone trails off, looking to Tyler. 

“Because of what happened to Jeb, I know.” You say softly. “She told me.” 

“I just wasn’t- We weren’t sure.” Dani says gently. 

“But you guys always said she was a certain way with T right?” 

Dani hums. “Yeah, but they aren’t exactly who I’d take as example from considering-“ She glances at Tyler. “Well, considering their fling lasted all of three weeks before they nearly killed each other.” 

“Tyler, anything to contribute here?” Lilly says after a minute and you look back up at him. He’s got his hands on his hips, an unreadable look on his face. 

“I don’t know that I should be encouraging any inter-company dating here. Team dynamics and all of that.” 

Your eyes grow wide as you almost rocket out of your chair before gesturing to Lilly and Dani, who only laugh. You then turn to Boone, gesturing a hand at him. “Really?!”  You nearly yell. “You’re so full of shit Owens!” 

Tyler sighs. “California, I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I mean, if I tell you something wrong and it turns out to be a misstep, and shit goes wrong and one of you leaves, it’d be a huge blow.” 

Dexter shakes his head, finally speaking up. “Kate’s not leaving.” 

You can see the silent I know on the edge of Tyler’s lips, the It would be you leaving written in his eyes. 

“Hey guys,” Dani calls. “We’re all still here.  Wanna include us in whatever silent conversation’s happening over there?”

“I don’t want to get involved.” Tyler says with a wave of his hand. “Y’all are both too important to me for me to get this wrong.” 

You sigh, settling back in your chair as you see Javi’s door re-open, Kate and Javi emerging. Boone sighs, patting the spot next to him and you move, falling into the space next to him. 

“Boone, anyone ever tell you you need to shower more?” You mutter as Tyler meets Javi and Kate halfway, probably to bid them goodnight. 

“I’ll take the shot if you do.” He whispers back. You glance at him as Javi and Kate return to their original seats across the campfire. Javi’s got a strange look on his face at the sight of you and Boone and Kate’s eyes are watery as Dexter hands her a few Oreos. 

“You first.” You mutter. 

Boone gives you a wolfish grin before sliding a marshmallow into his mouth. “I’ll think about it.”  

-

“Guys, look.” Dani calls, and you and Tyler turn, seeing her hold a small puppy. 

You coo, walking over to her as she holds the dog out to you. 

“Where’d you find this little cutie?” You say, holding the little baby up, scratching underneath his chin. 

“Heard him whining under a bunch of wreckage a few blocks over. One of the firefighters helped me pull him out. EMTs said the elderly couple who lived there didn’t make it. Probably couldn’t get to safety fast enough.” 

You feel Tyler’s body deflate next to you as he kicks at a piece of wood at the ground. 

“Ty?” You ask softly as the puppy nuzzles into your collarbone. You can’t read his face but it doesn’t seem like Dani can either as he scrubs at his forehead with his wrist. 

“Could we keep him?” You ask softly. “You heard Dani.”

“We’ll find a shelter for him.”

Dani shakes her head. “Shelter here got destroyed; there’d be nowhere for him to go.” 

You turn a pleading look onto Tyler, who has a storm brewing behind his eyes. 

“We can’t have a dog on the road you guys. A dog, chasing after tornadoes? Really? Let’s use our brains here. Besides, I think Boone’s allergic.” Tyler snaps, hands falling to his hips. 

Your pout grows as you hold the puppy up to your face. “But Tyler, little Enid wants to come with us. Don’t you Enid?”

“Enid?” Tyler asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, we found him in Enid so we should name him Enid.”

“First of all, that dog is not an Enid.” Dani chokes down a laugh at Tyler’s snark as he shoots her a look. “And we are not adopting a dog.” 

“I think we should do a group vote.” You say, turning on your heel in search of the team. 

“You can’t override me!” Tyler calls after you.

“Watch me!”

You find Lilly and Dexter first, handing food out. “Group poll - should we keep this little puppy? His owners passed away. Dani and I vote for yes. Tyler votes no.” You can hear Tyler walking behind you so you drop your voice to an over-exaggerated whisper. “For the record, Tyler’s vote is wrong. Vote yes.”

“This is not a democracy!” Tyler shouts. 

“Man, just let the girl have her fucking dog!” Lilly shouts back. 

“What dog?” Kate says, appearing from the back of the van. Her face softens. “This is such a cute little puppy.” She coos, bending down to scratch at his ears. 

“I think we should keep him and name him Enid. Tyler disagrees.” You explain as Kate fawns over the puppy. 

“He seems like such a sweet little guy, and you’d have so much fun on the road with us, wouldn’t you little Enid?” She coos, taking the dog from you. 

“So that’s an enthusiastic yes from Ms. Kate Cooper.” You say, hands falling to your hips.

“Once again, this is not a democracy.” Tyler says sharply. 

“It’s an Owens-acracy.” Javi calls from down the street. “Meaning Tyler does whatever the hell he wants.” 

“Javi - Yes or no on keeping the puppy?” You shout back. 

“Aw hell yeah! Our little storm chasing dog! Our little data dog!” 

“We are not keeping the dog.” Tyler says firmly, impatience growing. 

“Is Boone allergic?” You ask Lilly, who snorts and nods. 

“Yeah but that man would die so happy covered in dogs. He loves ‘em. Had bloodhounds growing up.” 

“A dog can’t stay in most motels.” Tyler reminds the group. 

“As if he couldn’t be snuck in.” You counter. “Besides, you’re telling me that after a long day of storm chasing, you wouldn’t want to cuddle up with this little puppy here?” 

The look Tyler gives you is answer enough. 

“Somebody go find Boone and ask him if he wants to keep this dog.” 

“Aw hell yeah, we’re getting a dog?” Boone crows, walking up behind you. 

“Boone, you’re allergic.” Tyler deadpans.

“Man, I grew up hunting with bloodhounds, I’ve got like a natural resistance by this point!” 

Kate holds up the dog, smile wide. “Boone, this is little Enid.” 

Tyler sighs, turning on his heel. “We are not taking that dog and we are certainly not naming him Enid!”

“Famous last words.” Lilly mutters.

Tyler flips you all off as you break into laughter. 

-

“Man would you stop pouting, you’re ruining my vibe!” Javi exclaims, which only causes you to sink further down in your chair. 

“This is fucking stupid.” You mutter, kicking at the dirt as you do. 

“I’m not happy about this either.” Tyler says from across the fire pit, begrudgingly looking down at the dog on his chest. 

“I’m the whole reason Enid came with us and who does he want to spend time with? Oh, Tyler of course!  Smoke practically came out of his ears when he saw Enid in the truck! But nooooo, that’s who the dog wants to be with!” 

Boone’s chair creaks as he leans over. “You kinda sound a little crazy, talking to yourself like that.” 

You shoot him a glare that has him withering back in his chair. 

“I’d want a cat, I think.” Kate says thoughtfully from her seat next to you. 

“I hate cats.” You mutter, crossing your arms. “I want a dog.” 

Javi lets out a long sigh from next to you. “This is gonna get real old.”

-

You’ve been with the team for four and a half months when it happens. 

You’re in some small town, just past the border of Oklahoma into Kansas, when the second storm cell you had all been tracking touches down. 

“Hey guys.” You call, panic starting to creep into your voice. “That saying with lightning, how it never strikes the same place twice? Does that apply to tornadoes too?” 

Moments after you finish your sentence, the winds kicks up, the sirens blaring. 

It’s almost like you’re rooted to the spot, staring at the beast coming towards you as Lilly shouts from down the street to follow her to the shelter. 

“California!” Tyler shouts. “What are you doing?!” 

You sweep your gaze to him, spotting the truck as you. The unmoored truck. 

He catches what you’re looking at and he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, come on!” 

“I got it, I’m right behind you!” You shout, already darting towards the truck. 

You think Tyler curses but then he’s off down the street after the group. “Damn it, Boone.” You mutter, brushing the cookie crumbs off the console that are preventing you from getting to the switch. “The snacks have got to stop.”

Once the button has been pressed and you can hear the gears start, you throw the truck door open, sliding down to follow  Tyler. 

Except one minute you’re standing and the next, you’re on the ground, groaning. 

You blink your eyes open to see debris scattering down the street and realize it must’ve taken your feet out from under you. You push yourself up and realize you don’t know where Tyler went. Your head hurts from its collision with the ground and through the pain, you can feel yourself start to panic. You roll over catching sight of the truck locked into the ground. 

The truck. 

The truck probably wouldn’t fly. The truck had harnesses. The truck had protected Kate once. 

You crawl to the truck in hopes to avoid catching any wind, pulling yourself up and slamming the door as quickly as you can. You tug the harness on, debris hitting the car as the wind speeds pick up.

From the bed of the truck, you can hear Enid let out a bark, climbing over the arm console to curl up in your lap. He lets out a whimper, nuzzling closer to your stomach. 

“It’ll be okay, Enid.” You whisper, letting your eyes shut as your hands curl in the dog’s shaggy fur. You guys really needed to take him to a groomer. “We’ll be okay.”

-

She watches her friends filter into the shelter, panic clawing at her as everyone from the town passed through the doors with no sight of you. 

Javi’s pushes his way through the doors and he collides with her, her fingers clutching in his jacket. “Javi!” 

“She isn’t with me Kate.” He breathes out, backing her up from the doors. 

Her breaths coming in stuttering gasps as she clings to him. “Can’t be.” 

“Kate, she’s probably with T, they were together. They’re coming, don’t worry.” Boone tries to soothe and Javi confirms his words, rubbing his hands up and down her shoulders. 

Until Tyler appears through the doors, the last of the crowd. 

“Where is she?!” She’s frantic now, a sob growing as she sees Tyler round the corner. “Tyler, where is she, I thought she was with you!”

Tyler glances over his shoulder, where they’re shutting the doors. “She- She was just supposed to nail the truck down.” 

Kate’s moving towards the doors before she realizes it but she doesn’t get very far before someone’s arms are pulling on her jacket. 

“Kate!” Javi shouts. “Kate, we can’t help her now!” She looks at him, feeling her eyes sting as she looks at his defeated face.

“It’s just like last time.” She chokes out into a whisper. 

“I know.” He says softly. “I know, but there’s nothing you can do for her right now. We just need to wait.” 

The mere minutes it takes for the storm to pass drag on, the tears unabashedly slipping down her face. 

How could this happen again? 

It’s maybe only 15 minutes later she’s standing outside in the clearing Oklahoma sky but it’s felt like a lifetime has passed and when the street is empty, save for their truck at the very far end of the street, it feels like it’ll all drag on for a lifetime more. 

Her team is beside her but all she can do is wipe at her face, unable to stop the salty tears against her tongue. 

“Kate…” Tyler says gently and she whips around, near snarling at him. 

“This is your fault! You should’ve taken care of the truck, it never should’ve been her! She should’ve come with us, you never should’ve let her out of your sight!” 

Tyler swallows, eyes growing glassy. “You don’t mean that.” He chokes out. 

She doesn’t and she knows she doesn’t. 

But this loss stings. 

Lilly reaches out a cautious hand, and when Kate doesn’t push her away, Lilly pulls her into a hug. Dani joins, Boone not far behind. She thinks she can even feel Dexter join at the edge as the tears slips down her cheeks. She clings to Lilly, the girl running a hand up and down her back. 

And then Javi shouts out. 

-

You finally breathe, blinking your eyes open as you do. 

You wince, your head throbbing as you begin to take the harness off and-

You pull on the door handle, tripping out of the truck as you start throwing up onto the gravel road. 

Tears sting at your eyes, the small rocks digging into your palms as you empty your breakfast onto the ground. 

“Yo!” Someone shouts from a ways away, but all you can focus on is the throbbing in your temple. 

A hand is on your shoulder, gently pulling you up. You blink, wincing as Javi comes into focus. 

“Javi?” You breathe out, leaning into him as the sound of footsteps running towards you gets closer. “Think I- head. My head hurts. Concussion.” 

Javi doesn’t respond as another body collides with you. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of your lungs as the person trembles against you. “Thought you were gone. Thought I lost you.” Kate whispers. 

“Kate, you’re gonna get vomit all over you.” 

“Don’t care.” She whispers, still holding you. “I know you probably have a concussion, I’ll take you to the EMT’s please just- just let me hold you for a little longer.” 

You nod. Despite how tight she’s holding you and the throbbing behind your eyes, it feels like you can finally catch your breath as she does. 

“How’d you even think to hide out in there?” Lilly asks and you blink your eyes open, seeing the team standing before you. You don’t let Kate go.

“I truly was right behind you T.” You say, locking eyes with Tyler. He looks devastated, the relief of seeing you unable to loosen the tension in his shoulders. “But one minute I was standing and the next I was on the ground and you were gone. I think some debris knocked my feet out from under me and I sort of panicked. I remembered how it had kept Kate safe and it was the only place I could think of in time.” 

“You gave us all quite the scare.” Dexter says. “Glad to see you safe.” 

“Me too.” You whisper, squeezing Kate. 

“Holy shit Enid! You been in there the whole time?” Boone shouts after a minute.

“My brain hurts. Paramedics now?” You ask. “Please?” 

Kate nods, stepping back. “Yeah. Right now.” 

-

“Stop looking at me like that.” 

Tyler scoffs. “You can���t even see me.” 

You’re laying on the RV bed, eyes closed. The lights are dim, the quiet conversation from outside barely audible. 

Tyler had shooed Kate out to get dinner and told her she actually had to sit outside and eat it or he’d remove her concussion watch entirely. 

“Yeah but I can feel it.” You reach a foot out, knocking Tyler’s knee. “T.” 

He takes your foot, but must think better of whatever jerk move he’s going to pull because he lets your feet fall on his thigh softly, hand resting over them. His thumb finds your ankle bones and he rubs over it softly. 

“That feel okay?” He asks quietly and you nod. The show of intimacy, however platonic, is nice as you sit there. 

“I’m real sorry for putting you in harm’s way kid.” 

You let out a breath through your nose, resisting the urge to open your eyes. You know Tyler will just get mad if you do. 

“You didn’t. It was an accident.” 

“Kate blames me. Hell, I blame myself. It would be okay if you blamed me too.” 

“Tyler.” You say firmly. “It was an accident. You never meant any harm to come to me. I am fine, nothing more than a wittle baby concussion. The paramedics checked me out and Dani’s been keeping an eye on me the whole drive. I am fine.”

“You’re not fine!” Tyler snaps and you wince at the loudness in his voice. “Sorry, sorry. I just- You have a concussion, not to mention the bruises and cuts you’ve saddled yourself with. That’s not fine in my book.” 

“Tyler, I got hit by a car in college. What’s a little debris?” 

A smile tugs at your lips as you remember the way Dani and Javi’s eyes had gone wide as they’d sat with you as the EMTs check out you when you’d told the paramedics that story. 

They’d told you it was incredible that this was the situation you’d ended up with a low grade concussion and the other only a sprained wrist. 

“A tornado and a car are hardly the same.” 

“Technically, the tornado never hit me. Just debris.” 

“Semantics.” 

“The semantics are keeping Kate’s sanity in tact so please don’t make the difference in front of her.” You say quietly and Tyler sighs again. 

“She really cares about you, you know?” 

“Thought you weren’t getting involved?” 

“I’m not.” 

“Then stop talking.” 

Tyler pushes your feet away, scooting closer to you. “Your loss would’ve devastated her.” He says softly. 

“So I’ll be more careful next time.” 

He sighs. “You’re not listening to what I’m saying.” 

You crack an eye open. “Tyler, my brain hurts too much for this conversation. Can you please get to the point?” 

Tyler’s point never gets made as the RV door opens, Javi telling him that Dani had pulled him off concussion watch too. 

You suspected Javi just wanted to be around you but you’d take his presence over Tyler’s interrogation. Javi sits next to you on the bed as you close your eyes again. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

“No, though I wish I could call my freshman year room mate and annoy her like she did me.” 

Javi chuckles. “How do you mean?”

“She got a concussion in a skiing accident and made me talk to her for hours because she was bored and couldn’t do anything. I need payback.” 

-

Kate wrings her hands, eyes flickering around the room nervously. 

“Kate?” You say cautiously. “Are you okay?” 

“I just- I mean, are you sure you’re gonna be okay here? By yourself, you know, I could stay with you?” Her eyes roam over your body. “No, I think I should stay. I’m going to- I’ll go tell Tyler right now. I-“

You grab Kate’s wrist, cutting her off. “Kate.” You say softly. “It’s fine. It’s a baby concussion. I’m going to sit here for a few days and force Enid to snuggle me. It’ll be fine.” 

She sighs. “I don’t know, I still think I should stay.” 

“Kate, you are no use to anyone here. Anything I need, your Mom can get for me. I’ll be fine.” 

Your heart clenches at the concern swimming in your friend’s eyes and it’s going to take every minute of each one of those day to remind yourself that that concerns is only because of the losses in Kate’s past. 

She’s lost three friends before, she doesn’t want to lose a fourth.

She sighs, taking a step back. “You’re right. But- you call me if anything changes, okay?” You nod and so she takes another step back. 

You can hear Tyler shout up the stairs for the third time in fifteen minutes. “Tyler’s gonna get mad, you should just go.” You say, already taking a step back towards her bed though your eyes never leave hers. 

“Yeah, I should-“ With one last look, she slips back out the bedroom door. You sigh, pressing your hands to your eyes, willing yourself to get it together. 

“It doesn’t mean anything.” You mutter to yourself. The door creaks open and you glance up, seeing Kate stride through the door. “Kate?” 

Kate crosses the room in three steps, pulling you into a kiss. Before you can even process what she’s doing, she’s pulled back. 

Her hands fly to her mouth, a shocked expression on her face. “I can’t believe I just did that! Oh, I’m so sorry- Mmph.” 

You cut her off, crowding her space before pulling her lips back to yours.

Your hands slide down to her hips as she cradles your head in your hands. Only does she break away when Tyler shouts up the stairs, heavy footsteps on the wood. 

“I really should go this time.” She breathes. 

“You’ll come back right?” You ask, nudging your nose with hers. “I want to talk about this, I want to make this work with you.” 

She nods. “I’ll always come back for you.”

iii.

[ya-zz]

This might be a little of a challenge since you've never written for him but! I wanted to request some Lifeweaver x reader where he keeps receiving flowers everyday from a secret admirer and one day he caughts reader leaving them?

Challenging or not, I love writing for a character that I haven't written a full fic for! Thank you so much for requesting!

Lifeweaver x Reader (gen)

Word count: 1333

Niran would spend his days cooped up inside of his lab or in his room, mind focussing on his biophysics and natural sciences. His schedule was always packed with researching, experiments that worked and failed, though despite the setbacks he experienced, he was determined to fulfil his duties at bringing natural order back to the world. 

His days at the lab were long, nights were short in his room. He kept to his schedule, not wanting to deviate from it at any point. One wrong step and it throws him off balance. Stick to the routine and the research will turn fruitful, everything would blossom into something truly beautiful. 

As he worked, there was no room for distraction. Everyone knew to leave him be, not disturbing him at any point to avoid the groans and dissatisfaction that Niran would spew. He gained a reputation, though the scientist never faltered despite the hateful words that were whispered throughout the building. 

Not everyone hated him though. He had his admirers, much like anyone would. Newbies coming and going would offer their praise and thanks before Niran shut himself inside again. Their words rang on deaf ears most days, but he was thankful nonetheless. 

There was one anomaly that he couldn’t quite place, however. It wasn’t a matter of his research, no, everything was going the way he had hoped; but the one anomaly was the presence of flowers appearing in his lab. Neatly placed on his desk, whether it be on his current project, the stack of papers to the side, or resting neatly in a small test tube. Each day there was a new flower, from buds to blooms, each one unique in their own way.

He would study the flower for a moment or two before putting it to one side until eventually he had a small bouquet of flowers sitting beside his window in a small glass flask - a temporary accommodation before he found a suitable vase.

The flowers would appear each day before his arrival in the morning, yet no matter how early he seemed to get there, he never once found anyone leaving the room. Maybe it was after he left? He did the same thing, waited until he could no longer stay in the lab but nobody came. They had to be someone within the facility. Niran couldn’t for the life of him find or even figure out who this person was. 

But you knew because it was you who was leaving them. For months now you had admired Niran, the way he worked, his friendly nature when he wasn’t working, but you were just another person, someone who he wouldn’t pass a second glance at. You weren’t like him, just a student who studied under another scientist. 

Maybe leaving those flowers was a little strange. Some would probably consider it stalkerish behaviour, but what could you do? He wouldn’t speak to you if he was busy and every chance you had was always taken by someone else who just happened to need something at the same time. 

Seeing him in the lunch hall, wanting to have just one moment only for someone else to grab him and he leaves. Another chance lost. Seeing him in the hallway, wanting to call out to him but he quickly ducks into his room before anyone even has a chance to say hello. 

Niran was probably an obsession for you at this point, but you didn’t want to seem like the crazy person. So, you settle on the next best thing. He liked flowers and what’s not to love about receiving them, especially anonymously. 

While he knew he had admirers, but this feeling was something else for him. It made him feel warm inside. He wasn’t angry that someone was coming and going from his lab because he knew where everything was place. Nothing was out of place, only a flower appearing on his workspace. 

Each day that he sauntered into his lab he wondered what flower was waiting for him. A lily. A rose. Wisteria or lotus. Bluebell or snowdrop, daffodil or tulips. Each were added to the flask or laid gently next to it, his windowsill slowly being overrun by this persons flowers.

And each day that you would return, you would see them all neatly arranged, the moon barely illuminating them before you had to leave. Working late had its perks, you figured out. While many scientists finished early, Niran being one of them, you could wander the halls without any questioning. ‘Just delivering reports’, you’d say, hand holding a stack of papers which only served to hide the flower you had recently acquired. 

Nirans lab lights were always switched off, the indication that he wasn’t there, the cue to leave your flower and get out of there before anyone notices… 

Though tonight was different… 

Everything was going as it normally was; Niran had left for the night and you were out ‘delivering reports’ to the other scientists. You made your way to his lab, the first thing on your agenda. His door opened with ease - you wondered why he never locked it each time it opened. 

You were quiet on your feet, manoeuvring around the space with no effort as your eyes glance upon the growing selection by his window. It made your heart beat just that little bit faster knowing that he had been keeping them and not throwing them away. 

Tonights flower was another lotus, one that was pale pink and white. A little smaller than the previous one, but still magnificent in it’s own way. You place it down beside the stack of papers before backing away. You take two steps back before turning around, heading back towards the door. 

A blurred figure stands opposite the door before it opens and you don’t even get chance to hide before the door exposes you. Like a deer in headlights, you stand there and stare at the taller man, colour draining from your face as your body shakes and heart begins to race. 

He doesn’t say a word but peers behind you, a smug smile appearing on his face. 

“Ah, the lotus. A symbol of purity and strength. How kind.” He finally breaks that silence, walking past you. “You really shouldn’t be sneaking around in other peoples laboratories.”

You go to speak but the lump in your throat stops you. The panic and shame were rising. 

“Please, I’m not mad. I’m glad to finally know who has been leaving me such wonderful gifts.” He smiles at you as he swings his bag over his shoulder. “Come, I’m sure you have an explanation as to why you’re doing this.” 

You sheepishly nod as Niran escorts you out of his room. 

“I suppose I was in luck I had forgotten my bag. It has been such a stressful day.” He speaks as if he didn’t just catch an intruder. “It’s nice to put a face to the admirer.”

The comment makes your cheeks flush. You finally manage to find the words to speak to him, explaining to him the reasoning behind your actions. 

Niran chuckles, his chest feeling warmer as he looks down at you. Cute. 

“Perhaps you would like to get coffee sometime?” He asks, which catches you completely off guard. “There’s this really nice cafe not far from here that serves the perfect blends. They also had tea, if coffee isn’t to your liking.” 

When you accept his offer, the flush burning hotter, his smile grows bigger. 

He winks, tone more playful than serious. “Perfect! I look forward to finally getting to know my secret florist.”

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment before walking back through the halls. You had just scored a coffee date with the best biophysicists in the country. Could life get any more exciting? The smile that embraces your face didn’t seem to let up for hours. Who’d have thought that you of all people get to be that close to him…