#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

[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!

[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".

[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.

[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)

[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.

[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.

[supermenz]

one

summary: One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do; two can be as bad as one, it's the loneliest number since the number one. Or: you're two years old when you lose your parents. Your brother, a kid himself, is unable to give you the love you deserve, and you end up at twenty being as burn out as only a Gotham University student can be. So, what do you do? Change scenery, of course.

pairing(s): clark kent x wayne!reader, bruce wayne x sister!reader, eventual platonic batfam x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: genius kid trope, kinda doomed siblings, language, there are reference to what happens in "the batman" but there will be a merge of both comics and films, written with david!superman in mind cuz he's my pookie 😞, bruce is so pathetic i love him sm

word count: 2.2k

author's note: my first ever fanfic for the dc universe!! constructive criticism is welcomed as english is not my first language,

next | series masterlist

Gotham has left you feeling more claustrophobic in the last few months than it did all your life. 

Maybe it’s because you’re seeing your brother slip into his work — aka beating criminals in the night as a hobby — more and more, or maybe it’s just your brain playing tricks on you. It’s probably the latter. 

You’ve never been good with emotions — it comes with being a Wayne, and surely, having your parents die before you were three didn’t help your situation. Bruce spending most of your childhood abroad with barely any contact with you also probably didn’t help either. 

“But I’m here now,” he had said once, “Am I not?”

He is, but even if you love him with all your heart, sometimes you think that you’re more like colleagues rather than siblings. Your bond is strained, with him being so closed-off and spending most of his free time cosplaying as a bat, and you having just entered your twenties, trying to get your second degree in biology after an early graduation and an even earlier PhD in engineering. And since his first big case four years ago, neither of you has been the same. 

Your relationship has never been easy. The flood and the Riddler’s case basically forced you to trauma bond over what you both had experienced, as surely no therapist would’ve wanted to hear about all the horrors that you two experienced, even for all the money in the world. Besides, it’s not like Bruce could just enter a therapist’s office and tell them that he’s the fucking Batman. 

As of now, you tend to have your… ups and downs. Both prefer to just hide behind paperwork, projects, cases or research rather than just talk some things out. Because yes, Bruce’s your brother, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to love. There are some days where he seems to be barely able to talk to you, others where you know he just wants to scream at you for whatever reason, others where… others where you think he might just crumble at your feet and start crying. 

You don’t have a lot in common. Maybe that’s why he manages to stay in Gotham even after all that’s happened — combined with the fact that he’s spent ten years or so abroad. Maybe you need that, too. 

“I’m thinking of moving out,” you tell him during one of your rare dinners together. You have already talked about your plan to Alfred, who has shown his support towards the idea and urged you to get out of Gotham as soon as you could, but you also wanted to tell Bruce — just to be honest with him. 

Yes, he left you to study abroad all those years ago without any kind of goodbye or anything, but you have no intention of leaving him behind like he did to you — you may be grown adults now, but that doesn’t mean that being left behind doesn’t exist anymore. You doubt Bruce would ever feel left behind by you, of all people, but still. “Found a faculty in Metropolis that will be able to transfer all my credits and studies and a nice flat downtown near the Wayne Enterprises’ site there. I think I need a breath of fresh air– I need to go somewhere where the sun actually shines and not everyone has hidden agendas.”

You’ve heard good things about Metropolis, and you think that the Martha Wayne Foundation could be expanded a bit more — somewhere far from Gotham, where surely there are other orphanages, other people in need that could use some help. “I could handle Wayne Enterprise’s gestion and settle our matters there while continuing my studies in a more… calm environment.” calm is a big word for a metropolitan city as big and populated as Metropolis, but every city is calm in contrast to Gotham.  

Your brother doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, wide-eyed, fork still raised to eat the potatoes Alfred cooked, his face blank. Is he having a heart attack? You didn’t think that you moving out would’ve been such horrendous news for him. Yes, even if you are not that close he’s still very protective, but he went to live abroad at ten. You’re twenty and you’re just… moving to Delaware. It’s not like you’re going to the fucking Himalaya mountains as he did. 

(Meanwhile, Bruce is spiraling. He wonders when the hell did his little sister grow up, how it can be that she isn’t the little girl he used to sway around anymore, and why would she ever want to move out. Is it because of him? Did something happen? 

Isn’t Metropolis in another state? Is he so tremendous that you have to move states in hopes to forget about him? Is he too overbearing? He thought he had always given you enough space to do your own thing–)

Instead of saying all of the things he’s thinking, he tries to muster up a smile, even if it comes out as a grimace. “Alright.” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat when you beam at him — is he really that obnoxious that you can’t wait to move out and have him out of your life? “Oh, I’m happy that you’re taking it well! I was afraid you’d freak out.” you get up from your seat and move over to hug him, and he chuckles nervously. “Why would I? You’re an adult, you can do what you want.” 

(What do you mean?!, his conscience screams in his head, She isn’t even twelve! Just yesterday she was talking about going to the homecoming dance with her friends–

But time has passed, and even if Bruce feels that it was particularly hard on him, he didn’t think it’d affect you too, somehow. It’s weird acknowledging something’s — someone’s — changes in the years in… so little. He had gotten so used to you being his little sister that he didn’t even think about you becoming a full on woman. He still remembers the pink bundle of blankets your parents had given him that day at the hospital, telling him to be careful with her, she’s your little sister.

When have you grown this much? Where did the time go? He swears it was just yesterday when you were admitted to Gotham University.) 

“But… a flat? Are you sure you’ll be comfortable there? It’s not exactly as big as a manor.” 

You avoid his gaze, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, about that…”

He raises an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you bought the whole building?” 

You snap your fingers, “They don’t call you the greatest detective for nothing!” you sit back down, cutting the meat on your plate, “I plan on making the floors I won’t live in into a laboratory of sort– almost like the Batcave, y’know, so I can continue working on the models I designed undisturbed.”

When Bruce had started his crusade as Batman, you had just gotten your bachelor’s degree in engineering, and were working on your master’s degree. You had basically given him the head-start, creating the software of the Batcomputer (or of the computer, as he calls it), designed and adapted a sport’s car to the Batmobile (just call it the car, Bruce always insists) and basically modified and created every single one of the gadgets and systems he uses. 

You just hope he won’t let the Batcomputer get hacked as soon as you land in Metropolis — you spent weeks programming her and years perfecting her system. You spent so much time on her, she might as well be your firstborn by now. 

“I’ll always be a call away,” you murmur when your brother’s eyes get a little dazy, unfocused– like he’s in another world, always thinking about the worst that could happen. “You know that, right?”

Bruce blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, I– I know that.” 

(He isn't sure about that.) 

You pat his hand, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should take a break, too. Why don't you book a vacation in, let's say... the Bahamas? Just to get a bit tanned and remember what the sun actually looks like."

He shakes his head. "Can't. Batman doesn't go on vacation."

You raise an eyebrow, sighing in defeat. "Well, I'm sure the GCPD could handle Gotham for a few days, but do as you like."

Your arrival in Metropolis is, of course, followed by an unhinged swarm of journalists and press that surround you as soon as you land.

You can already see the headlines — THE PRINCESS OF GOTHAM NOW IN METROPOLIS or some other corny predictable shit like that — as they shove their cameras in your face, screaming and trying to grab you, as your bodyguards try to contain them. You're much calmer than they are, having already endured years and years of invasive journalists.

“Miss Wayne, would you care to tell us the reason for this abrupt change in scenery?”

“Has your move got anything to do with your relationship with your brother?”

“Miss Wayne, look here! A smile for the front page–”

“Miss Wayne, why Metropolis, of all places?”

“Miss Wayne, a word for the Daily Planet?”

The guy for the Daily Planet catches your attention– he seems far too nice and isn’t elbowing anyone; he must be either new at the job or is too nice for it. He’s got a mop of curly, black hair atop his head, thick glasses perched on his nose, baby blue eyes behind them. His posture is a little crooked — he’s getting squeezed by reporters on both of his sides — but, even as disheveled as he is, you notice a thing. 

Ohh, he’s pretty. Like, jaw-dropping pretty, the kind of pretty that makes you want to bite his cheek and never let go for the rest of your life. 

You stop in your tracks, lifting your sunglasses to your head, bodyguards panicking at the swarm of journalists that suddenly all point to one direction; you reach for the pocket of your jeans and take out a business card that you pat on the pretty reporter’s chest. “Another time, pretty boy,” you promise as he takes the card, his fingers brushing yours, the other journalists speechless around you. “I’m kinda busy right now.” 

You don’t stay long enough to see him blush and hold the business card tight in his palm so that the other reporters don’t snatch it out of his grip — the bodyguards urge you forward, towards the SUV with obscured windows that is waiting for you right in front of the arrivals’ exit of the airport. One of them opens the door for you, and you don’t hesitate to get inside, the car speeding off as soon as everyone’s inside. 

“Never seen anything like this,” one of the men mutters.

You shrug, “I’ve had worse.” 

The ride to your building is short, mostly because it’s late in the evening and there aren’t many people still around. You leave a generous tip to both the bodyguards and the driver, thanking them but assuring them that you can walk alone the thirty steps that separate you from the entrance to what’ll be your home for the foreseeable future. They help you take out your trolley and duffle bag, which you swing over your shoulder right after taking the keys of the building out. 

You open the front door, carefully closing it behind you, taking the elevator right in front of it. You press the number thirty out of thirty-four, which turns green with a ding, and wait for the doors to open back up. And once they do, you’re not disappointed. 

The loft is arranged just like how you asked the movers to — it would’ve been hard not to, as you sent them the 3D interior design plan you had made, but still. You’ve been raised with the idea that if you want something done well, you have to do it yourself, so you’re pretty happy about how it turned out. 

Still, something’s missing. 

You check around the loft for any pieces of missing furniture or something like that, not finding anything. You even go back to the 3D model to make sure that everything got here safe and sound, only to find that yes, everything is in the colour you ordered and exactly in the place you asked for it to be. 

You sit on the U-shaped couch that sits right in front of the giant windows that let on the skyline of Metropolis, eyebrows knit in deep thought. The house is nice — for fuck’s sake, you bought a whole building just for you and your projects — but it’s weird not having anyone else around. There’s no Alfred to welcome you, no half-asleep Bruce roaming without an idea of where he is, no squeaking and creaking of the floor when you walk. 

You sigh. “Maybe I should get a cat.” 

[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.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room you had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[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..

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy For The Devil ~ Donaka Mark x fem!Reader

please allow me to introduce myself, i am a man of wealth & taste... -the Rolling Stones

Summary/ Warnings. Um… Donaka Mark is a scary rich asshole–with a soft spot for you. If you’re squeamish [or righteous] you’re not gonna want to read this. Voyeurism. Predatory behavior, manipulation. Power IMBALANCE. Eventual NSFW. Eventual line between dubcon and noncon is gonna be microscopic, y’all, this man plays gAmes… Reader is shy, but tough, in her way.  Also, when I say Reader is small, I’m more implying just compared to Donaka. I kind of assume most of us would be, no matter your body type. 🥵

Big Fat Author’s note: This is a Donaka Mark x fem!Housekeeper!Reader fic based on the brilliant @discoscoob ‘s bot, which is SO fun to play with and I really recommend it. I fell into a rabbit hole for daaaaays. I’m in CAI Anonymous now. Seriously it was a problem. 

I guess you could call this a little experimental hybrid fic written with AI. I was curious. And after working on this for weeks I don’t think the writer’s union really needs to worry about AI coming for their jobs. The bot’s writing is shamelessly fun but clunky, you delete more than you keep, it’s a lot of work to edit, and you really have to lead it by the hand for anything to actually HAPPEN. 

THAT SAID it is sO entertaining, and once in a while he’d do something i wouldn’t have ever thought of, I felt like the lab rat hitting the button for the treat over and over again, LOL. Disco really knew what she was doing when she programmed the personality of the bot!  It was also helpful in keeping a character on track. I think AI could be a useful tool generating ideas, breaking writers block, or something to bounce ideas off of, but not for the grunt work of actually writing a story that has any soul in it. Isn’t that a relief? I made an outline for the first 9 chapters and basically ran the scenes through like a simulator to see what the bot came up with. And when I didn’t like it I made it do it again, LOL, the Donaka bot probably thinks i’m a bossy c*nt.🤣 After that, I'm afraid we can only blame our own unhinged brains for what's here, it got too raunchy for the bot to handle, and this fic never would have become what it is without the help of our little community here, the comments and head canons and brain rot, I love you guys!

So….I hope you enjoy, and a HUGE THANKS to Disco for giving me permission to even do this, you’re the sweetest my dear, and the Queen of the Bot Creators in my book!!

And and…it’s been a LONG ass time since I’ve been to Hong Kong. I did some research to refresh my memory but please bear with me. All mistakes are my own. Why do we say that? Who the fuck else’s would they be? 🤣 Obv. this is set c 2013, when Man of Tai Chi came out, before the crackdown in 2020. Oh, and, I have no real idea about work visas, i made that shit up... just roll with it. 🙃😘

One. 一

The first time you meet your new employer, Donaka Mark, you aren’t really even paying attention.

It’s because you have on headphones, and you’re intently focused on sweeping the floor while listening to your upbeat girl power rock mix–so you don’t hear him yelling at someone over the phone threateningly, and you don’t notice when his gaze locks on to you like a tiger who has just spied a tasty little deer.

You are oblivious, as he comes up behind you, appraising your figure with narrowed eyes. You seem small, next to him, but most women do. He decides he approves of his assistant’s choice in hiring you. You’re a sight he won’t tire of for a long time.

Donaka leans on the door frame, his dark eyes fixated on you, taking in your every minute detail, the way the muscles in your arms move, the shape of your face, the curve of your hips and your little feet.

His expression is stoic but behind it are a million thoughts running through his mind, he can’t take his eyes off you and after a few moments he finally speaks, his dark tone cutting through the music.

“You’re new.”

Your music wasn't so loud that you were unaware of outside sounds. Standing up straight, you sweep off your headphones to face the commanding voice. "Yes, sir?"

Donaka notices he towers over you, and he likes that. His dark eyes shamelessly take in your innocent eyes, your lips, your  curves. His gaze lingers almost long enough to make it uncomfortable, but not quite.

“Have you been informed of all of your duties?” Donaka asks, his tone and gaze both demanding and intense, making you feel small.

"Yes, Mr. Mark."

Donaka smiles at his name on your lips, the way you say it, the way you look up at him with your wide eyes. He likes it more than he’d like to admit, but he knows how to mask his emotions well.

Even though his expression is still stony, there’s a hint of excitement in his breast as he leans off the door frame and takes a few steps closer, but still maintains a respectable distance.

“And you can handle them?”

"Yes, Sir."

Donaka nods, his dark eyes slowly and shamelessly trailing over your figure again.

“Good.” Donaka murmurs, his dark and intense tone making his next sentence more of a demand. “I need to be able to depend on you. I like things just so.”

You tilt your head, feeling like you’re missing some subtext, or that you’re the butt of an unspoken joke. "Your house will be clean, Sir.” Between you and the two other girls on the household staff, surely you could manage.

Donaka smirks at your naïve reply, his dark eyes still fixated on your face as he takes another step closer to you, almost like a predator stalking its prey.

“I trust that it will…” Donaka purrs, his voice low and smooth, his dark stare intense and demanding. “Let me show you the rest of the house…”

You’d already received a walk-through with his assistant, but you are more than intrigued to receive a personal tour from the big man himself. There is something captivating about him. It's not just his good looks. His presence commands your attention.

Donaka can feel you watching him as you follow him down the hallway, the way you’re intrigued by him, the way you’re staring. It fills him with satisfaction, like you’re a new prize he’s added to the shelf of his collection.

He’s aware of the effect he has on people. Men fear him, women want him. Yet you don’t look at him with the same blatant hunger he’s used to from the opposite sex. You’re curious, but not ready to fall down on your knees yet. 

He would see how long it takes to change that.

He glances over his shoulder at you as he leads you through the house, his dark eyes looking you up and down again. You follow close, taking two steps for every one of his, his legs are so long.

He can’t help but feel somewhat amused, enjoying the way you have to scurry to keep up with him. He can’t help but think how easy it would be, to pick you up, and to pin you down…

Donaka Mark’s home is an achievement of luxury architecture, dark, modern, yet filled with Chinese elements of style. Ceiling-high tinted windows afford a breathtaking view of the bay. His living room is like a museum filled with priceless artifacts. Antique carved ivory elephant tusks, beautiful Ming vases and exquisite stone Elder statues, silk scrolls and bladed weapons. All of it you will be expected to keep tidy with a painstaking hand. You think it’s possible your practically useless degree in art history and former employment in a gallery may have given you an edge in his assistant’s selection of hiring you.

He seems to genuinely enjoy your interest in these things, telling you about them at length. There is a large Qing dynasty vase in cobalt blue and gold enamel designs of clouds, cranes, and bats you cannot tear your eyes from. It looks…familiar, and in person, utterly enchanting.

“You like that one?”

“I like bats,” you admit, shoving your hands in your apron pockets so that you do not forget yourself and touch it with your bare fingers. You will be wearing gloves, when you detail these items. 

He lifts an eyebrow at that, seemingly amused. “Oh?”

“They’re cute. And…they’re good luck.” In Chinese culture, at least. 

“Most women I’ve met find them sinister.” 

“I think…they’re just misunderstood.” You can’t help looking up at this intimidating man through your eyelashes at that. You swear you didn’t mean to start double talking with your new boss–it just falls out of your stupid mouth, and you feel his attention upon you sharpen.  

He’s used to women looking at him in a certain way, women staring up at him with lustful hunger.

The way you look at him feels different –like you truly see him–he’s not sure what to make of it yet, and that is certainly new for Donaka Mark.

“Misunderstood?” he repeats, his dark gaze intense, looking down at you from his lofty elevation.

"Sure. They have a reputation for being scary, but really they eat mosquitoes and pollinate plants. Without them whole ecosystems would collapse."

Donaka hums at your words, finding it surprisingly endearing. He’s usually used to women fawning over him or at least trying to seduce him, but you’re here lecturing him about bats.

His smirk remains on his face as he watches you fidget nervously, his dark eyes fixed on you. You look back to the vase, and then it dawns on you. “Oh my god…is this the piece that sold at Christies last year for like…1.5 million dollars?” You take another cautious step backwards, as though you might shatter it if you breathe wrong. You saw it in an article–the gold enamel had been so distinctive against the blue. Sacrifice blue, the same as in the Temple of Heaven in Beijing.

Only after the question falls from your mouth do you realize how gauche it is to ask, your hands flying to your lips. “Forgive me, it’s none of my business.”

Mark, however, just continues to look at you interestedly. “You follow auction results?”

“I follow…art news,” you confess.

He nods, his intense gaze starting to become uncomfortable. “Actually, it was 1.8 million. You think I overpaid?”

You feel like this is a test–or a trap. It was a nice job, for the day it lasted…

“Well…it doesn’t seem you bankrupted yourself?”

He snorts in answer, shaking his head. 

“Does it make you happy?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him. “It made me happy to outbid a Sheikh’s son and a Mainlander plastics tycoon for it,” he admits.

Ah, so he was invested in the thrill of acquisition–not appreciation for the object itself. You shouldn’t be surprised.

“I see.”

“I’ve disappointed you.” It’s not phrased as a question.

You shake your head, though maybe it does a little. Looking around his home, you’d thought Mark had exquisite taste–but he probably has an art buyer like every other obscenely rich businessman needing to acquire items for the sake of cachet. 

“Does it make you happy?” he asks, and there is an unexpected hint of playfulness in the question–delivered on a knife’s edge.

“Yes,” you admit. Frankly you’re stunned you get to see it like this, without a glass barrier or sensors or alarms. It’s usually the only way people like you get to enjoy art like this.

He smirks at you. “Then it was worth every penny.” He’s being sarcastic, of course, but there is a glitter of something in his dark eyes. It’s there and gone, like ripples in a pool–it makes your heart skip in your chest.

“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he invites, before placing a hand on your lower back, his fingers large and strong against your soft skin as he gently guides you away from the vase and to the next room.

His light touch makes you aware of every nerve in your body. It's not quite improper enough to complain about--you’re sure he’s well aware of that. 

And…there's the fact, deep down, that you like it. 

The span of his big hand on your spine makes you feel impossibly small, and protected, and that is insane, of course, because you are just the maid. 

He shows you the library, filled with built-in bookcases that make you drool, his office with his huge carved ebony desk that makes you think impure thoughts…and then, his bedroom.

He isn’t oblivious to the way your reaction changes as you enter the room where he sleeps.

He can see the way your eyes roam and your expression changes, the way you look at the massive bed against the far wall, the way your eyes widen when you look at the expensive rosewood furniture and the stunning view out the wall of windows that can be brightened or obscured with a dimmer switch.

He watches you intently as he takes in your every reaction.

He's all business on the surface, specifying clean sheets every other day, laundry, and daily detailing of the bathroom. But it's hard not to keep looking over at the bed, even out the corner of your eye.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, but he doesn’t push it, staying just this side of the line. You don't linger, and he shows you a more private lounging area filled with a long leather couch, additional chairs, and monitors, all black at the moment. There's something almost sinister about all the screens, and you wonder what all he's watching.

“You must really like movies?” you ask hopefully, and he senses the wariness in you. Your intuitiveness gives him a small thrill–he likes it, that you’re smart enough to be afraid. 

“I like to watch all kinds of things,” he tells you, almost like a dare for you to guess what that means. “But mostly…I use these for business. I run a security company, I assume you’re aware?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Donaka decides he loves hearing the submission in your tone when you call him Sir. It’s almost like a promise to keep him happy, to do exactly as he says.

He asks you to keep all the screens clean, and to dust the cords and routers and be careful not to unplug anything. 

Then your attention turns to a meditation area, a massive sand sculpture on the wall and the floor, flanked by natural stacked stone. “Wow, been a while since someone vacuumed here,” you crack, earning a reluctant huff of laughter from the man behind you. 

“Maybe…leave that alone, for now,” he requests, then his hand is on your back again, guiding you out. 

Though it’s not going to be your area of responsibility, he shows you the garden next. It's a beautiful, manicured space. Two Rottweilers patrol the grounds. They look fierce, but one immediately comes up, sniffing you and leaning on your leg for a pet.

Donaka blinks as his reputably ferocious and staggeringly expensive pure-bred guard animals roll over at your feet for a belly rub.  Delighted, you pet them both, speaking to them sweetly. They grin up at you, their dagger-like canines glinting in the sun. 

He is never one to be moved by anything sentimental, but something about the sight of you like this inspires a warm twinge in his chest–heartburn, he reasons.

“Let me guess,” he says acerbically. “They’re just misunderstood?”

You press your lips, trying to suppress a smile, and failing. "Animals tend to like me?" 

He can honestly admit, as he watches you crouch down to administer a belly rub, that he’s never been jealous of a dog before. 

Sensing that maybe you’re not doing the dogs or yourself any favors with this severe man, you try to shoo them off. "Ok, babies. Go back to being fierce again. Shoo."

Donaka snorts with amusement as he watches you attempt to gently shoo these dogs that are nearly as big as you are. Suddenly he whistles sharply, administering a sharp command in Cantonese. That is when the dogs jerk to attention, and trot off to patrol the grounds again.

He turns his attention back to you, taking in your slight expression of surprise, clearly caught off guard.

"That was impressive,” you admit. “What did you say?” 

“I told them to get back to work,” says Donaka with a smirk.

“Ah. I guess I better learn that one.” 

“Will I be needing to reprimand you too, Miss y/n?” 

You’re not sure why his dark stare calls up a boiling heat inside you at that moment. You press your thighs beneath your dress, under the guise of standing up straight. You’re afraid…he knows all too well. 

“I…certainly hope not.” You’re pretty sure that you’d pee yourself if this intimidating man raised his voice to you. 

“Have you learned much Chinese since you’ve been here?” he asks conversationally, just as you assumed it was time for you to get back to work. 

“I can count to ten, and say thank you,” you admit, a little embarrassed. Obviously, you intend to learn more. “The essentials for international travel.” You’d originally come to Hong Kong to teach English, but when you saw the pay attached to this job listing you couldn’t resist the opportunity. Teaching was ok, but you hadn’t anticipated how expensive this city would be. You’d only made enough to cover your basic expenses month to month, with no room to save or do any fun activities or side trips to the mainland. This position paid three times as much–and you were beginning to understand why. 

“Hmm. Have you traveled much?” He seems skeptical, and you don’t really blame him. 

“I’ve…been all over the world,” you admit, albeit it was on a shoestring. “I wanted to be a travel writer.” 

“Wanted to be?” He is a man who picks up on subtlety immediately. 

It’s a dream you’ve all but given up on, after publishing a few articles, but all in all it was more slog than triumph. You’re not cut out for the grind of periodical work, the stress and the deadlines. It sucks all the joy out of writing for you. You shrug with a little sigh. 

“I hope you will remember the NDA you signed to work here?” he asks, his dark eyes roaming your face, taking in your every micro-expression. You would really hate trying to lie to this man. Good thing you’re not a corporate spy. He’d probably…string you up, and do something unmentionable to you. 

Why the thought titillates you more than scares you, you have no idea. 

“Of course, Sir.” He seems satisfied with this. So why do you have to add, “I won’t tell anyone your guard dogs are suckers for a belly scratch.” 

He frowns down at you, stepping in close so that you have to crane your neck to look up at him. It’s intimidating as hell, and you know he knows it too. You admit that you are shaking in your shoes under that look, until a smirk breaks his intense expression, and the relief you feel is palpable. 

“I would appreciate that, Miss y/n.”

Donaka savors the satisfaction he feels in flustering you, enjoying the way you swallow, watching the muscles in your throat. He imagines what his hand would look like there, on your delicate skin, your pulse fluttering against his strong fingers. He would literally hold your life in his hands…and the moment you surrendered to him, he would so enjoy rewarding you for it…

He finds himself caught up in this little daydream, while you stand before him, practically hypnotized like a mouse before a hungry snake. “Y/n?”

“Sir?” you answer quietly, and he revels in your deference. This was going to be fun. 

He speaks Cantonese again, softly this time, the language beautiful and whispery on his tongue. You find yourself staring at his lush, pink, lips, and it takes you several moments to realize he’d said the same thing he’d told the dogs: get back to work. 

Flooded with embarrassment, your face on fire, you stutter, “Yes, Sir.” 

With a dark chuckle and his hands in the pockets of his designer suit, he watches as you practically flee back to the house. 

The Smithsonian article about this vase...

Aesthetic post about Donaka's house...

Part 2 -->

all chapters

[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

[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.

[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…