#it's been like a week and a half since i started reading

[societyfolklore]

The Vet Visit

Title: The Vet Visit Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary:  A chance encounter at the vet’s office with their vastly different cats leads to an unlikely connection between Bucky and you. What starts as a shared experience becomes a tentative friendship and possibly more. Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Blood/Injury (mention) Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, Not Beta Read

A/N: My poor boy (Bean, yes that's him in the left photo) had his desexing appointment in Dec and this idea has been bouncing around since.

Bucky Barnes hated the vet. Not for himself-he could handle his own injuries-but for Alpine. His precious white cat was his soft spot, and the thought of her being poked or prodded made his stomach churn. Still, she needed her annual checkup, and he wasn’t about to let her health slide.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured as he tucked Alpine snugly inside his jacket. Her little head poked out, and she let out a soft meow, seemingly unimpressed by their destination. Her bright eyes darted around as if she knew exactly where they were headed, and her tiny paws kneaded against his chest in a silent protest. “Yeah, I know, but it’ll be quick.” He kissed the top of her head before stepping through the glass doors of the clinic.

The vet’s waiting room was already crowded when he arrived. Parents wrangled overexcited dogs, an elderly man wrestled with a squirming parrot, and at the far corner sat a woman struggling with a black-and-white cat who seemed intent on terrorizing the receptionist.

The cat hissed, swatted at the air, and yowled loudly as the woman apologized profusely, clearly exasperated. She adjusted her grip on the carrier as the cat tried swat at anything coming past the front of the carrier. Green and golden eyes glinting with displeasure. The feline was a striking black with a white chest, jaw, and paws. Its haughty demeanour was only amplified by the disdainful glare it cast at anyone who dared get too close.

“Chess,” she scolded, her voice a mix of sternness and affection. “Behave, you grumpy guts. We talked about this.” She crouched slightly moving his carrier to the floor, peering into the carrier as though reasoning with him might work. It didn’t. He let out another irritated yowl.

Bucky couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the interaction. Alpine, safely tucked away, poked her head further out of his jacket, observing the chaos with her usual calm demeanour. She let out a soft meow, almost as though she were chastising the other cat for its outburst.

The woman glanced over at the sound, her eyes landing on Bucky and Alpine. Her exasperation softened into amusement, and she raised an eyebrow. “Your cat’s… remarkably chill for a vet visit.”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Alpine’s always like this. Doesn’t mean she’s happy about it, though.” He gently scratched under Alpine’s chin, earning a contented purr that seemed to fill the room. “She which battles are worth fighting, this isn’t one.”

“Wish Chess was half as calm,” the woman muttered, casting an exasperated glance at her cat, who was now attempting to claw his way out of the carrier entirely. The sound of his nails scraping against the plastic, drawing the attention of a few others in the room. “He’s more of a… grumpy old man type, even though he’s only just hit one...” She sighed and shook her head as though used to this behaviour.

Bucky chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Looks like he’s got some fight in him. Spirited.”

“Oh, he does,” she said with a wry smile. “He was born outside to a feral cat. Though I got him inside a few weeks, he’s still..well. Even now, he’s… selective about who he likes.” She emphasized the word ‘selective’ with a slight roll of her eyes, though the affection in her voice was evident.

Bucky nodded, his expression softening as he listened. “I get that. I don’t really ‘people’ much myself.” His words were quiet, almost an afterthought, but they hung in the air like an unspoken truth.

The admission lingered between them, and the woman smiled, her curiosity piqued. “Well, maybe that’s why you two get along so well.” She glanced at Alpine again, noting how the cat’s demeanour matched Bucky’s quiet, composed nature. There was something endearing about the parallel.

For a moment, the waiting room and its chaos seemed to fade into the background. It was just the two of them, exchanging soft smiles over their vastly different but equally loved cats.

The receptionist called Bucky’s name, and he reluctantly got up, Alpine still snug in his jacket. Her tiny head shifted slightly to glance at the woman and Chess, as if unimpressed by their chaos. Bucky couldn’t help but glance back too, noticing how the woman struggled to keep Chess calm. The cat’s carrier rattled as he clawed at the door, his growls low and insistent.

“Good luck,” Bucky said, offering a rare, genuine smile that softened his usually stoic features.

“Thanks,” she replied with a laugh, brushing stray hair from her face. “I’ll need it. He’s about ready to overthrow the vet staff.”

Inside the exam room, Alpine was her usual cooperative self, a perfect contrast to the chaos outside. The vet cooed over her, praising her for being such a ‘model patient,’ and Bucky felt a flicker of pride. She purred quietly as the vet worked, her soft, rhythmic hum a soothing backdrop to the doctor’s instructions. Bucky listened intently, filing away every detail about her diet, her weight, and her follow-up care. He made a mental note to pick up the new treats the vet recommended on his way home. Alpine tilted her head at him as if approving of his attentiveness.

When the exam ended, Bucky gently scooped her back into his jacket, whispering a soft “Good girl” as she nestled in. Stepping back into the waiting room, he scanned for the woman. She was now seated with Chess perched on her lap, the cat’s tail flicking back and forth like a pendulum of barely-contained annoyance.

“Survived?” Bucky asked, nodding toward the now-quiet cat as he approached.

“Barely,” she replied, shaking her head with a mixture of relief and amusement. “He was all hiss and claw then he played dead for half the exam. It’s his go-to drama move when he’s offended.”

Bucky chuckled, sitting down beside her. Alpine stretched lazily in his arms, her bright blue eyes fixated on Chess. The black-and-white cat blinked at her slowly, his tail twitching slightly but without the hostile energy he’d displayed earlier.

“Guess they’re not mortal enemies,” she observed, smiling as Chess finally let out a long sigh and settled down. “That’s something, at least.”

“Progress,” Bucky agreed. He rubbed Alpine’s ears absentmindedly, earning a contented purr. “Looks like she’s won him over.”

The woman laughed, her smile lighting up her tired face. “She’s a charmer, that’s for sure. He usually hisses at everything that moves.” She glanced down at Chess, her hand smoothing over his sleek fur. “I think he’s just too tired to put up much of a fight now. Vet visits take it out of him.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he watched her fuss over the grumpy cat. “He’s lucky to have you. Not everyone would put up with a … selective companion like him.”

She smiled warmly at that. “Selective is a kind way to put it. But yeah, I guess we’re stuck with each other. He’s picky, but I can’t really blame him. Trust doesn’t come easy when you’ve had a rough start.”

Bucky nodded, his expression unreadable but contemplative. “I get that. Trust takes time. For people… and cats.”

Her brow arched slightly at his candid tone, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Well, looks like you found your match though. She seems pretty chill for a vet patient, though.”

Bucky shrugged lightly. “She’s used to it by now. She’s just good at hiding how she feels. Unlike Chess here.” He smirked, nodding toward the still-sulking cat.

“He’s dramatic, but he gets away with it,” she admitted with a chuckle. “Guess it’s part of his charm.”

“If you say so,” Bucky teased, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. The two sat quietly for a moment, their respective cats resting peacefully, and for a brief time, the chaos of the waiting room seemed far away.

As they prepared to leave, the woman struggled to juggle Chess’s carrier, a bag of supplies, and her purse. The cat, as if sensing her difficulty, began swaying in his carrier, further throwing off her balance. Bucky stepped in without hesitation, his movements decisive. “Here, let me help,” he said, already reaching for the bag of supplies.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” she started, but her voice trailed off as he effortlessly lifted the bag from her shoulder and steadied the carrier with one hand. The ease with which he handled the load, as if it weighed nothing, made her pause for a moment. There was something comforting in his quiet competence.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly, adjusting the bag on his arm. “I’m used to carrying stuff.”

Outside, she stopped to set Chess’s carrier down next to her car, letting out a sigh of relief. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Chess glared up at her through the carrier’s door, tail swishing with irritation. “And not just for me-I think Chess is plotting my demise.”

Bucky smirked, glancing down at the sulking cat. “Well, if Alpine ever needs a friend, maybe they can plot together.” His voice carried a subtle warmth that softened his usual deadpan tone.

She laughed, the sound light and infectious. “Sure, a playdate between the grump and the angel. What could go wrong? Though, knowing Chess, he’d probably just glare at her the whole time.”

Bucky chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small but genuine smile. “Alpine wouldn’t mind. She’s used to giving people their space.”

As she adjusted the strap of her purse, their eyes met briefly, and she hesitated. There was something in his expression-guarded but kind-that made her feel unexpectedly at ease. Bucky shifted slightly, his hand lingering on the strap of the bag he still held. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. “You know, if you ever need help with Chess… or just want to compare notes, here’s my number.”

He pulled a small note book out of his jacket pocket and scribbled down his number, his handwriting surprisingly neat before he tore out the page. Handing it to her, he avoided her gaze briefly, as if unsure of her reaction.

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised but pleased. She took the offered paper with a soft smile. “Thanks. I might just take you up on that.” She folded the paper carefully and tucked it into her pocket, her fingers lingering there for a moment as if to make sure it was secure.

Chess let out a loud, dramatic meow from his carrier, drawing their attention. She glanced down at him, shaking her head with a laugh. “Guess that’s my cue to go. He’s got a lot to complain about on the ride home.” She started to unlock her car.

Bucky nodded, the faint trace of a smirk still on his lips. “Good luck with him.” He stepped back slightly, giving her space but still holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. “And let me know if you need anything. With Chess… or otherwise.”

“I will,” she said, her voice soft but genuine. As she turned putting Chess carrier into the car, she glanced back over her shoulder, her smile lingering in a way that made Bucky feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time-hope. “And tell Alpine she’s officially my role model for good behaviour. Maybe Chess can learn a thing or two from her.”

Bucky watched her go, his blue eyes following her car until it disappeared. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, a smile that lingered longer than he expected. Alpine, still tucked snugly in his jacket, let out a soft meow as if in approval. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured to her, scratching her chin gently. Her purr vibrated softly against his chest, a soothing rhythm that mirrored the unusual calm he felt. “She’s not bad, huh?”

Alpine blinked up at him, her gaze filled with a wisdom that only a cat could possess, as if to say, What took you so long to notice? Bucky chuckled, the sound low and almost foreign to his ears. “Alright, Alpine,” he said, adjusting her snugly against him, “guess we both made a new friend today.”

As he stepped out into the crisp air, Bucky’s mind lingered on the woman-her easy laugh, the way her eyes softened when she talked about her grumpy cat, and the warmth in her smile. He hadn’t expected much from the vet visit today, least of all meeting someone who made the world feel a little lighter. For once, he allowed himself to hold onto that feeling as he made his way home, Alpine purring contentedly the whole way.

The first text came later that evening.

Hey, just wanted to say thanks again for your help today at the vets. Hope Alpine’s doing okay.

Bucky stared at his phone longer than he’d admit, rereading the message more times than necessary. He felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest as he typed his response, carefully crafting each word before finally hitting send.

She’s good. Chess didn’t stage a coup, I hope?

Her reply came almost instantly.

Not yet, but he’s giving me the stink eye. Pretty sure he’s plotting something.

Bucky stared at his phone longer than he’d admit, rereading the message more times than necessary. The simple words seemed to carry more weight than he expected, sparking something he wasn’t entirely sure how to name. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, rephrasing his response in his mind before finally settling on something that felt right.

He felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest as he carefully crafted each word, considering how his tone might come across. Was it too casual? Too formal? Shaking his head at his own overthinking, he let out a soft huff and finally hit send, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips as he watched the message disappear into the ether.

She’s good. Chess didn’t stage a coup, I hope?

Her reply came almost instantly.

Not yet, but he’s giving me the stink eye. Pretty sure he’s plotting something.

The corners of Bucky’s mouth twitched into a small smile. He wasn’t used to this- the casual back-and-forth, the ease of sharing small moments. Over the next few weeks, their conversations became a routine. Texts turned into late-night exchanges about everything from their pets’ quirks to the best spots for coffee in Brooklyn. He found himself looking forward to hearing from her in a way that surprised him. It wasn’t just her sense of humour or her empathy-though those certainly stood out-but the way she made the mundane feel lighter, easier, something he could hold onto.

One evening, after a particularly amusing exchange about Chess’s newest antics, Bucky stared at his phone for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard before typing out a message.

Ever considered a coffee break for the humans while the cats plan their next schemes?

He sent it before he could overthink it, then immediately felt the ripple of nerves that always accompanied putting himself out there.

Her reply came quicker than expected.

Sounds like a plan. Though I’ll warn you… Chess is terrible at sharing secrets. When were you thinking?

Bucky felt a small smile tug at his lips as he typed back.

Your schedule. You’re the one dealing with the evil mastermind.

Thursday afternoon? I’ll need caffeine to recover from whatever chaos he’s cooked up by then.

Bucky chuckled softly, the sound startling him with how easy it felt. Thursday it is. I know a place near the park. It’s quiet, good coffee, and they won’t judge us if we start comparing vet horror stories.

Her next message was a laughing emoji followed by. Perfect. Can’t wait.

He leaned back, rereading their exchange with a sense of quiet anticipation. For someone who had spent years distancing himself from others, keeping connections at arm’s length, he was surprised by how much he looked forward to seeing her. It felt strange but also undeniably good, like the first warmth of spring after a long, brutal winter. Her messages, filled with humour and easy conversation, had become something of a highlight in his otherwise quiet days. It wasn’t just the words themselves but the way she made him feel-seen, in a way he hadn’t been in years.

For once, stepping closer didn’t feel like a risk he wasn’t willing to take. He even found himself imagining the coffee shop they’d meet at, how Alpine might judge him for spending so much time thinking about what to say or do. Would she bring up another of Chess’s antics? Would she laugh that warm, infectious laugh he could almost hear when he read her texts?

But before they could meet, duty called. He’d barely managed a rushed call to her, apologizing as he explained he had to leave town for 'work.' The disappointment in her voice was subtle but unmistakable, and it made something tighten in his chest.

"Oh," she said softly. "That’s a shame. I was really looking forward to catching up."

Bucky hesitated, the weight of her words settling over him. He wasn’t used to people being disappointed about not spending time with him.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly. "This came up last minute."

"No, I get it," she replied quickly, her tone brightening slightly as if to brush off her earlier reaction. "Work is work. We’ll have to raincheck that coffee, though. You still owe me stories about Alpine’s kitten days."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "That I do."

Her quick recovery eased some of the guilt knotting in his stomach. “Um, I hate to ask,” he said, his voice hesitant, “but could you check on Alpine while I’m gone? Just for a few days. I’d leave food and everything she needs.”

“Of course,” she replied immediately, her tone warm and reassuring. “I’ll make sure she’s spoiled while you’re gone. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Her quick agreement caught him off guard, silencing the instinctive urge to apologize further. The ease with which she said it, as though caring for Alpine was second nature, warmed him more than he expected. She even added, “And I’ll text you updates… maybe even a picture or two, if Alpine’s okay with that.”

He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “She’ll tolerate it. Thank you. Really.” He ended the call with a quiet “Thank you,” but the gratitude lingered long after, a subtle reminder that letting someone in didn’t always have to be so terrifying.

True to her word, the updates came steadily over the next few days, it was a comfort to have something ‘normal’ while he was doing off in the trenches.

Update 1: Alpine has officially claimed me as her servant. She’s glaring because I’m taking too long to refill her bowl. The picture she sent alongside the text showed Alpine sitting regally by her food dish, her blue eyes fixed with faint disdain at the camera.

Bucky laughed softly and texted back. She’s testing you. Give her a treat and she’ll forgive you.

Her reply came within minutes.

Already ahead of you. She’s currently devouring it like the queen she is.

The next day, she sent a video. Alpine was curled up on the couch beside her, purring loudly as she absently scratched behind her ears. Update 2: She’s making me think I’m worthy of her presence. I think we’re bonding.

Bucky’s chest tightened as he replayed the video, his cat looking utterly content. He replied, You’re officially in her good graces. Not everyone gets that privilege.

It’s an honour, she texted back. How’s your trip?

The shift in the conversation-from Alpine to him-caught him off guard but warmed him in a way he wasn’t used to. He hesitated before replying. Rough, but it’ll be fine. Your updates help.

Alpine and I will keep holding down the fort.

When he returned days later, sore and visibly battered, she was there. His shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion, his jacket streaked with grime and his knuckles bruised from whatever mission had pulled him away. Bandages peeked out from under his shirt sleeves, and he moved stiffly, as if every step sent a dull ache rippling through his body. He hadn’t expected her to stay after feeding Alpine, but she’d lingered, tidying up his apartment and ensuring everything was in order. She turned at the sound of the door opening, her gaze landing on him with immediate concern.

"What happened?" she asked, her brows knitting together as she took in his dishevelled state. Her voice was soft but firm, carrying a note of gentle reprimand that made him feel seen in a way he wasn’t used to.

Bucky waved it off with a muttered, "Just part of the job," but his deflection didn’t faze her. Before he could retreat further into his walls, she was guiding him to the couch, her hands light yet insistent on his arm.

"Sit," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. He obeyed, sinking into the cushions with a heavy sigh as she disappeared briefly, returning with warm damp cloth she have found in his bathroom.

She knelt beside him, her movements careful and deliberate as she cleaned the muck off his face before reaching for his jacket. "Let’s get this off," she murmured, her voice steady but soft as if she were trying not to spook him. He hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening, but the exhaustion in his limbs won out, and he let her help. She slid the jacket off his shoulders, her hands pausing as the metal of his arm came fully into view. Her breath caught slightly, her fingers hovering mid-air, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she pressed her lips together and nodded to herself as if making a silent decision.

"Okay," she said quietly, her tone calm but deliberate. "Let’s clean this too."

Bucky watched her warily, his gaze searching hers for any hint of unease. But all he saw was determination and something else-something warmer. She reached for a clean cloth, dampened it, and began wiping the grime from the Vibranium. Her touch was as gentle as it had been on his skin, the cloth gliding over the sleek, dark metal.

"It’s… impressive," she said after a moment, her voice careful but genuine. "You don’t see craftsmanship like this every day."

He huffed a soft, humourless laugh. "I'll let its maker know, they'll be thrilled to hear that."

She glanced up at him briefly, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. "I meant it as a compliment. It’s a part of you, Bucky. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and he felt his throat tighten. She continued cleaning, her focus unwavering, and Bucky couldn’t help but marvel at the tenderness she showed-not just to him but to every part of him. She didn’t pepper him with questions he couldn’t answer; instead, she worked quietly, her presence steady and grounding. Every so often, her eyes flicked to his, silently checking if he was in pain or pushing himself too far. "You need to rest," she said softly when she finished, her fingers brushing his wrist for a moment before she pulled back. "Whatever it is you’re doing-it can wait."

The next morning, she returned with breakfast. “For you and Alpine,” she said with a warm smile, holding up a bag of fresh pastries and a small container of cat treats. Her easy attitude brought an unexpected calm to Bucky, and for a moment, he could only nod in gratitude before gesturing for her to sit beside him.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice quiet but genuine.

“I wanted to,” she replied, settling in next to him. “And besides, I think Alpine’s already expecting her morning treats from me. You’ve got some competition.” She winked, teasing, as Alpine let out a soft, approving meow.

They ate together in comfortable silence, the sounds of breakfast and Alpine’s contented purring filling the room.  Alpine weaving around their legs under the table. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle, his eyes softening as he watched their interaction.

“She’s definitely warmed up to you,” he said, reaching out to scratch Alpine’s head. “Not an easy thing to do.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she replied with a grin, her fingers brushing lightly against his as they both reached for Alpine at the same time. The brief touch sent a faint jolt through him, and he pulled back slightly, his gaze flicking to hers. She didn’t seem fazed, only smiled softly, and turned her attention back to Alpine.

For the first time in years, Bucky felt a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he was missing. Her presence filled the quiet spaces in a way that didn’t feel intrusive but comforting. There was a lightness to her-in the way she carried herself, in her laughter, and even in the way she interacted with Alpine-that seemed to chase away the shadows that usually loomed over him.

As they finished eating, she leaned back, laughing at something on her phone and sharing bits of her pastry with Alpine. Her laughter was warm, infectious, and it lingered in the room long after she stopped. Bucky’s chest tightened again-not with fear this time, but with something that felt a lot like hope. He’d spent so long convincing himself that letting people in was a risk he couldn’t afford, but with her, it didn’t feel like a risk. It felt like a promise.

“Thanks for breakfast,” he said after a while, his voice quieter, almost shy. “And for... everything else.”

She looked over at him, her eyes softening. “Anytime, Bucky. Really.”

And for the first time in a long while, Bucky found himself wondering what it might mean to let himself hope for more. She had this way of making his world feel less heavy, less bleak. Letting someone in was something he’d sworn he wouldn’t do again, but with her, it didn’t feel so daunting. In fact, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. And for the first time in a long while, Bucky found himself wondering what it might mean to let himself hope for more.

[tipsynight0]

For the life we never knew

Parings- Jeff the killer x female reader

Word count - 975

TRIGGER WARNING - Miscarriage, blood, grief, child loss, trauma.

Summary - a quiet night takes a devastating turn.

Authors note - As you can probably tell, I’m not your typical Creepypasta fanfiction writer. My stories lean more toward real-life experiences—raw, messy, and unfiltered. Writing has always been more for me than anything else, a way to process what I can’t always say out loud. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, maybe it’s just a need to put pain into words.

I know I haven’t updated in a while, and for that, I’m sorry. Life has a way of pulling us under when we least expect it. But for those of you still here, reading and supporting, thank you. It means more than I can express.

I guess I’ve always found comfort in heartbreak—in taking a story and twisting it until it feels real enough to leave a mark. So, as you read this, don’t be afraid to cry, to feel. That’s what it’s meant for. And maybe, when you’re done, we’ll both feel just a little less alone.

Hopefully, I’ll have more for you soon. Until then, take care of yourselves—and try not to cry too much.

Becoming a dad was never on the radar for Jeff. Not for someone like him—a serial killer with bloodstained hands and years of unresolved trauma. Jeff wasn’t the kind of man who would teach his kid how to throw a ball or give them advice on their first crush. Hell, he barely had any idea how to take care of himself. But when Y/N came to him that day, clutching the pregnancy test in trembling hands, terror written all over her face—not the kind of fear he was used to, the kind he relished in—it was different. This fear was raw, uncertain, vulnerable. And for the first time, Jeff felt it too.

The conversation that followed wasn’t pretty. There was shouting, tears, accusations, and a silence so heavy it crushed them both. But somewhere in that mess of emotions, there was a spark—something small and fragile. A seed of hope Jeff never thought he’d feel.

As the days turned into weeks, that seed began to grow. The thought of a child, their child, burrowed its way into Jeff’s cold, damaged heart. He found himself imagining things he never thought possible: a tiny hand gripping his finger, a toothless smile, a giggle that echoed in the halls of the mansion. He didn’t just start to accept it; he started to want it.

The house was alive with a strange excitement. Even the others couldn’t help but marvel at the idea of another child joining them—another innocent soul like Sally. Jack stole prenatal vitamins and a doppler, and Jeff had spent hours with Y/N listening to the faint sound of their baby’s heartbeat. He painted the nursery himself, his hands steady in a way they’d never been before. For once, the chaos of their lives didn’t seem so suffocating.

And then came the night that shattered it all.

Jeff barely stirred when Y/N slipped out of bed. She’d been getting up a lot lately, her small trips to the bathroom almost routine. He was half-asleep when he heard her call out, her voice trembling with something he couldn’t quite place.

“Jeff... come here... something’s wrong.”

The fear in her voice jolted him awake. He stumbled out of bed, heart pounding as he rushed to the bathroom. The sight that met him stopped him cold.

Y/N was sitting on the floor, her hands trembling and slick with blood. It was everywhere—on her thighs, pooling on the tiles, staining her nightshirt. Jeff’s breath hitched, his stomach turning in a way he hadn’t felt since the first time he took a life. Blood was supposed to excite him, but this... this made him want to vomit.

“I’ll... I’ll be back,” he stammered, his voice cracking in a way that felt foreign and wrong. “I’ll get Jack. Don’t move, Y/N. Don’t move.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, didn’t dare look back. He sprinted down the stairs, nearly tripping in his panic. He found Jack in the kitchen, dragging him by the arm before the other man could even ask what was happening. His words tumbled out, frantic and disjointed, but Jack didn’t need an explanation when he saw the scene for himself.

Jack knelt beside Y/N, his usually steady hands trembling ever so slightly as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stand up,” he said softly. “I need to see.”

Y/N obeyed, her body shaking as she clung to Jack for support. Jeff stayed rooted to the doorway, his nails digging into the wood as if it could somehow anchor him to reality.

Jack’s expression was grim as he straightened, his voice heavy when he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The words hit Jeff like a physical blow. Y/N let out a strangled sob, her knees buckling as Jack caught her and eased her to the floor. Jeff moved without thinking, dropping to his knees beside her and grabbing her hand.

“No,” Jeff muttered, shaking his head. “No, no, no. This—this isn’t happening. Fix it, Jack. Do something.”

Jack looked at him, his hollow eyes filled with something that almost resembled pity. “There’s nothing I can do, Jeff. It’s already happening.”

Y/N’s grip on Jeff’s hand tightened, her face pale and glistening with tears. “Jeff... it’s my fault,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that. This isn’t your fault.”

She sobbed harder, her free hand clutching her stomach as another wave of pain wracked her body. Jeff could only watch, helpless and furious, as the person he cared about most suffered in a way he couldn’t stop.

Time seemed to crawl, every second dragging like a knife through Jeff’s chest. He wasn’t supposed to care like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel this kind of pain. But as Y/N finally passed the tiny, lifeless form of what could have been their child, Jeff felt something inside him shatter.

He stared at the tiny, fragile thing Jack gently took away, his chest heaving as he fought to keep the scream building inside him at bay. Y/N was limp against him now, her strength spent, her sobs quieted into hollow, hitching breaths.

Jeff pressed his forehead to hers, his hand still gripping hers tightly as though letting go would mean losing her too. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

In that moment, he hated himself more than he ever thought possible. He wasn’t supposed to care, wasn’t supposed to feel this. But as he held Y/N and felt the life drain from the future they’d dared to hope for, Jeff realized that maybe, just maybe, he’d wanted to be a dad after all.

And now, he never would be.

[nowimjustastranger]

Hello; I'm really interested in your Infinity Falls au.

I was wondering if we could know more about Dipper and Mabel; do they stay in Gravity Falls full time? What do they mostly do? What're their personalities like that makes them sort of 'darker' then the typical Dipper and Mabel?

No, they don't live in Gravity Falls. Their parents have joint custody of the Pines twins even after the divorce, so they switch off on which parent they stay with until summer, which they spend in Gravity Falls. If there's ever talk of them staying with one of the parents/going elsewhere for the summer, they immediately call their Grunkles. Stan will then talk to the other parent and get them on his side before calling the current problem parent, dude is a master manipulator. No matter what, he's getting his fucking kids for three months.

There was only one memorable occasion that Ford got involved, and that was after the Pines twins had been signed up for a fancy summer camp that cost a fair amount of money when the kids were nine years old. Stan had smashed up the house in his rage when both parents agreed that too much money had been spent to simply not have them go since refunds weren't an option. Fiddleford had fetched Ford from the sub-basement before getting to work calming Stan down, the man inconsolable.

Stan's distress had put Ford in a downright nasty mood, so he ended up having a short and succinct conversation with the parents, assuring them that he would reimburse them for what they spent on the summer camp with interest. And the prospect of extra money had them agreeing to send the kids to Gravity Falls for the summer. Ford did warn them that should this happen again, then they'd never see another penny from him. Basically, he starts bribing the parents with a sum of money to ensure that they send the kids to Gravity Falls every summer.

But, once the Pines twins turn 18, they'll be moving to Gravity Falls permanently and Ford will cut all ties with and funds to the kids' parents. And, for making Stan so distressed and anxious every June after that one incident, Ford would even go as far to make their lives more difficult by pulling some strings.

In terms of personality, I basically just took their pre-existing personalities and gave them an unhinged edge.

Take Mabel for example, she hides her extremely manipulative and destructive nature under a bubbly and disarming demeanor. She's still very chaotic and impulsive, which is tempered only by her loyalty and devotion to her family. When it comes to her friends and family, her occasional manipulation is obvious. She doesn't try to hide it and will proudly confess to manipulating them if confronted, but her manipulation is ultimately harmless when it comes to her loved ones. She usually only manipulates her loved ones for their own benefit, looking out for them in her own way.

Ford is pulling all nighters again when Stan takes Dipper camping (and also to scout for new creatures)? Mabel will break out the crocodile tears and play the nightmare card to get Ford to cuddle on the sofa with her and watch an animal documentary. It only takes maybe half an hour before Ford is sleeping, aggressively snuggling Mabel. Stan starts drinking more and getting out of the house less after Ford and Fiddleford go to yet another science convention for two weeks? Mabel will ask Stan to take her places, just spending time with him. She'll even get Dipper in on it if Stan is particularly bad.

Dipper, on the other hand, is both cunning and calculating. Dipper can read people and situations then use the information he gathers to his advantage, tilting the scales in his favor. He's very aloof and cold to those outside of his social circle, distrusting of others and their intentions. Dipper isn't afraid to get his hands dirty either, perfectly willing to fight if the circumstances call for it. Dipper isn't quite as controlled as Ford, his emotions still get the better of him, so someone is always around to make sure no one can witness his temporary vulnerability.

Dipper's affection and care is far more subtle than Mabel's since he focuses more on the little things. Ford and Fiddleford never run out of coffee during the day, Dipper keeping the coffee machine running and changing out the grounds for fresh ones when needed. If Stan forgets to do a chore or two around the house because the Mystery Shack is having a busy day, Dipper will do whatever needs doing for him. Dipper keeps his shared room with Mabel clean and tidy, ensuring that Mabel can find all her knitting and art supplies.

Dipper doesn't like not knowing things or not being in control (or at least informed) of situations, but Dipper wouldn't hesitate to blindly follow along with his sister or Grunkles whims due to the absolute loyalty and trust he has for his immediate family.

[we-stan-the-stans-27]

Sleeping Beauty AU?

@sixerstanley Here had this HUGE big brain idea and I immediately sprung into action to write a little something about it.

Basically, they read a merlin fic where a spell made it seem like Merlin was dead, but he was basically asleep and aware of everything going on. Arthur was not having a good time. (trauma and pain ensues) I'm going to replicate it, based on the idea alone.

(Also, I had no idea this would turn into an almost 4k oneshot, oops! Color me inspired, I guess! I can do this, but not my actual fan fiction. LMAO!)

Suffer with me. (JK, enjoy. XD )

For the first time in weeks, Ford had allowed himself a full night's rest downstairs. Why not reward himself, just this once? The rift is sealed, the universe is safe, and things are slowly getting back to normal. Or as normal as they get in the pathetic excuse for what used to be his home.

Ford still has a hard time calling it what it is, 'The Mystery Shack' is a little on the nose, isn't it? The exhibits are hardly anything close to a mystery. They're botched taxidermy projects.

Insults. That's what they are.

A slap in the face to his life's work.

Whatever, that's not his problem right now. Coffee is the first order of business.

It's early and no one else is awake, but the coffee pot is still hot with a fresh pot. One cup appears to be missing. Stanley must be awake then.

Ford takes his time pouring the life-bringing liquid into his favorite cup (it is amazing Stanley didn't break it or lose it after all these years) and adding in ample sugar, and a dash of cream for color.

He adds a single ice cube to cool it faster, listening to the sounds of the house. It's silent, too quiet.

Ford can't help that even in a peaceful environment it puts him on edge.

The TV is off and a walk through the living room reveals Stanley isn't sitting on the couch. The first-floor bathroom light is off, door is slightly ajar, but empty.

That's weird.

He really shouldn't be looking for his brother anyway since the only good that will do is start another fight. It's too early for that.

Ford settles back in the kitchen, hovering near the window and sipping his cup watching the clock on the wall tic on. Minutes pass.

The silence is no longer just putting him on edge, it's sounding alarms.

Why? There is nothing dangerous here in the house, they are perfectly safe here now that Bill has been dealt with.

What then?

To put his own stupid mind to rest he leaves the empty cup in the sink and goes upstairs to the attic, checking on Dipper and Mabel.

They are both still fast asleep in their beds. Dipper, drooling on his pillow with half the blanket on the floor. Mabel, hair stuck up in all directions, clutching one of her many stuffed animals like it might try to escape.

Waddles is here too, curled up on its makeshift bed on the floor.

He stays just long enough to ensure they are all breathing, and sleeping soundly, before noiselessly going back downstairs.

The second floor is as empty as the first, including Stanley's poor excuse for a room. It is a mess of half-packed boxes, several trash bags, and the always-unmade bed.

Soon enough the house will be normal again.

Stanley will be gone, the kids will go home- (Perhaps they'll visit again next summer? It's a shame Dipper can't stay) and the Mystery Shack business will be over forever.

This once secluded corner of the valley will be that way again, his haven away from prying eyes. And tourists.

With the interior of the house cleared that only leaves the yard and porch.

Ford makes his way out onto the one Stanley finds the most use out of and the worry he hadn't realized to be carrying vanishes. There he is, sitting back dead asleep on the disgusting couch. How old is that thing? It appears to be growing several kinds of mold along the bottom because of the constant rain this region gets.

One hand is barely holding onto Stan's coffee cup, the arm of the couch holding it up while its owner sleeps.

"Seriously, Stanley? Being old doesn't give you an excuse to sleep anywhere, much less flash the local wildlife in little more than boxers." It's a good dig, in his opinion, and he speaks loud enough to rouse Stanley despite how hard of hearing he has become over the years.

Except no quick response comes.

Stanley doesn't so much as twitch in his spot on the couch.

The fear comes back-

Oh, don't be ridiculous!

"Very funny, Stanley." He lets the door close, quietly, before moving to stand in front of his brother, hands on either hip.

He looks, really looks, at Stan.

And sees nothing good.

The first notable, and most concerning finding, is that his brother isn't breathing. He waits, watching, assuming this to be a breath hold.

A joke.

But that isn't the only concerning evidence. Stanley's eyes are also halfway open, looking over the yard. Empty.

Not funny anymore, very much NOT funny!

Ford does not panic, not yet. He moves and picks up the cup, plucking it out of his brother's hand- It lacks any strength, like taking a toy from a child.

"Stanley? Wake up. Very good joke, you got me. Stop it now." He kneels on the couch, next to him, after setting the cup aside on the porch by their feet.

For the second time since coming home, Ford touches Stanley. This time with a kinder hold, reaching up to press two fingers along the pulse point between the jaw and collar bone, off to the side of the Adam's apple.

Nothing.

'One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten-'

He could count on one hand the number of times true panic has overtaken him in his lifetime. It isn't a luxury one can often afford when coming face to face with death constantly in the multiverse-

But what harm can come of it when someone is already dead?

His hand stays right where it is, tucked into the still-warm skin-

"No, this isn't funny-" But Ford's voice shakes and he snatches the hand away quickly. If he can't feel the lack of pulse, it's not there. Simple.

How didn't he notice? When did this happen?

What happened?

No- Ford turns, looking around the peaceful yard. Dew covers the grass, the sun peaked up about half an hour ago basking the clearing in pink and yellow hues.

There isn't any blood.

Death is messy. He has seen it countless times, but it is never, ever, peaceful. Knives, guns, cracking bones, broken bodies...

Looking back at Stanley none of that is present. The skin is still pink, and warm, eyes open but- Dead.

No. That can't be. It just can't.

Stanley looks almost peaceful, asleep. His coffee, barely a sip or two taken from the looks of it. "No."

Panic takes many different forms. Initially, instinctively, Ford looked for the cause. It had to be someone, something, who did this. Who took his brother?

But there is nothing, no one, in sight. No blood.

"Stanley, who-" His feet stop, body stalling, in the middle of turning back from the yard to look at the corpse...

He had been about to ask, to question who did this. But a dead body can't answer. A dead body, a corpse.

There is a distinction between a vessel and a person, or so Ford had always thought.

Everyone dies and until then you live inside and pilot your body. Someday, it becomes a corpse and you leave it behind.

That is such a cold and callous way to look at it, in retrospect. Because this, is Stanley. He's just- Gone.

With quick hands, Ford begins looking, almost in a frenzy, for the cause.

No blunt force trauma to the back of the head. No perforations to the abdomen, arms, nothing. There is nothing.

But that's not possible, people don't just-

Except they do. Sometimes-

No. NO! Not them, not him! Stanley Pines wouldn't just die, not without a fight!

Death doesn't play favorites, anyone can go, anytime-

"Shut up! No, he wouldn't! He wouldn't leave me!" It comes out in a shout and shakes him.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

He never allowed himself to think very far into the future, how could he? Everything was always changing and it was better to live in the now anyway. So long as you were safe now, other things could be handled later-

Except later doesn't always wait for you to be ready. Time has its own plans and you have to work around it or something-

Stanley wasn't supposed to die. Isn't! he can't be-

Except-

There are no obvious injuries, but then again there don't have to be. They may not be old, but they're old enough. Brain aneurysms take hold suddenly, killing the affected almost instantly.

Leaving barely enough time to set down a cup of coffee-

Or a heart attack?

No, Stanley would have come inside, asked for help-

Wouldn't he?

"You idiot!" It comes out in a hiss from where Ford has shifted. He's kneeling right next to Stanley, hand on either shoulder, looking at his half-open but- Dead. Dead eyes. Empty. Gone.

Soulless.

Ford isn't sure who he's talking to. Himself? or Stanley? Both?

"I would have helped you, we could have called someone, I-" He has to pull away, sinking down into the empty space of the couch to hide the tears springing up without permission.

This can't be happening. Things weren't supposed to end like this-

Oh yeah, how was it supposed to go then?

With you, kicking him out next week? Leaving him homeless, again, just like Pa?

"Stop it! I don't know, not like this!" Stanley was always the stronger between them, persevering through everything no matter what happened.

Is this my fault?

What a stupid question.

It forces him to sit up again, one hand covering his face while half peering out at Stanley.

Of course it is. What did you expect? That he would take his life being uprooted lying down?

Did he do this on purpose?

In the rush to pick up the cup of coffee Ford almost knocks it over but finds he can't hold it without spilling some of it over the sides, down onto the porch, anyway. He is left with no choice but to set it back down to avoid wasting the sample.

Maybe.

Ford takes both a physical and mental step back, leaning against one of the columns holding up the roof over the porch, to look around.

Breathing is getting a little more difficult, coming in tight short inhales and smaller and smaller exhales.

What better way to get back at me? Thirty years of a life spent learning math, science, and engineering skills well beyond any normal human's comprehension, for what?

To get a brother back who first chance he got told him to pack it up and get out?

"What kind of brother am I?"

The kind who would rather be right than-

Then apologize. Forgive. Make up. Let go.

And now, it's too late. The train left the station, Stanley is gone, and its all my fault.

"He died thinking I hated him." That realization is what breaks the decade-old dam, tears finally escaping. Ford closes the distance, sitting on the stupid couch and pulling Stanley over into a hug, even if he's not here to feel it.

The lack of strong, still buff, arms encircling him, returning the sentiment only makes him cry harder into the thin and crappy tank top Stanley must have worn to bed.

"I'm sorry." He chokes out between sobs, "I thought I'd have more time, you'd have more time. I didn't think- How could I?" Nothing he's saying is making much sense.

The ramblings of a heartbroken lunatic.

As if we really deserve to be upset, like you'd of cared if it wasn't life or death-

Maybe his own thoughts are right. If Stanley had been alive, sitting here, having his morning coffee they would have traded morning insults before going their separate ways.

But that's not the reality they live in. This one is much worse, much darker.

I spent so much time running away, trying to break apart, and be unique. No longer part of a broken pair, or what I saw as one, I-

"I never expected to miss it when the other half was gone." He is still shaking, refusing to let go, with thoughts still scrambled in a million different directions.

CPR wouldn't do any good now, although it's a nice thought. If Stanley came out here directly after preparing his coffee then that was almost twenty minutes ago, give or take-

Oh god. What about the kids?

Without letting go Ford checks the time on his watch, wincing. A few hours at most, but he'll have to call the coroner-

What does he do?

For the first time, possibly ever, Ford feels lost.

Not only because his twin is currently dead, which is already world-ending, but everything that comes with it.

Who does he say the corpse belongs to? Stanley Pines has been dead for decades-

Is that why he did this? So that Ford could slot right back into his old life, fixing the broken and shattered history? No. This had to be an accident-

Only the testing of the coffee will confirm it or not.

Ford has never had to stick around and deal with a dead body before. Moving on was easier, and necessary. He can't remember attending a funeral, other than their great aunts when they were barely seven.

That's not the same. He'll have to make arrangements, put together pictures, and give a speech-

About a life he knows nothing about.

"God, I'm sorry Stanley. I'm so sorry." It feels safe to let his voice break here. No one is around to see how completely destroyed he feels. "All you ever did was love me, and I pushed you away. I crushed it, refused, and now..."

"Now you're gone. I can't even remember the last time I told you that I love you, but I do. So much, more than I could ever handle." Ford can't let go, but he does shift back to look at his brother's face, holding his limp body with one hand and clearing his own tears with the other.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad I'm here. Thank you, for bringing me back." He has to close his eyes, fresh tear tracks spilling across both cheeks, "Even if only so I could say goodbye. I'm glad I got that, at least. If only you were here-"

With a broken voice, Ford can't stand looking at Stan like this anymore. He reaches up, closing both eyes with feather-light fingers, before leaning close to press them forehead to forehead. Just like when they were young. Before everything.

It's odd. How fast do corpses cool? Not that Ford is going to complain. It lets him pretend, just for a few more moments, that Stanley isn't gone. That they could have this again.

Too little, too late.

"I love you, Stanley." It comes out broken and cruel, like the universe is mocking him. What was the point in protecting them from Bill if death came knocking anyway?

For the first time since coming home, Ford understands.

Finally, he can see why Stanley wasted so much of his life trying to bring him back. Because he loves so much, so big. To his own detriment.

He would do anything, even destroy the world, to have Ford by his side again.

"I'm so sorry, you deserved so much better." How different could things of been?

What would Stanley of done instead? Gotten married? Had kids?

A better family, that's for sure.

Ford knows he can't stay here forever. He needs to let go, head inside, and make some phone calls. To tell Soos to close the shack for the day, get an ambulance to bring Stanley to the morgue.

He needs to prepare for when the kids wake up and figure out what to tell them.

But first, he indulges himself a little bit more by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Stanley's lips. It smells of coffee, cigars, and denture cream, but Ford can't detect any sort of drug or chemical from close proximity alone. It's nice.

Not what you'd expect from a corpse, but it's enough.

A goodbye, a real one in a weird broken way. Just their luck.

The absolute last thing Ford expects, upon starting to pull away, is to feel the body still pressed very tight to his own take in a very deep breath followed by Stanley's discarded hands coming up to grab at him.

"Stanley!" His voice is still broken, mixed with anger and joy in a typhoon of confusion.

And Stanley? He has the nerve to laugh!

"Don't think you're walking away from that so easily!" No longer locked inside his own body without the ability to do anything it's a relief to be able to breathe. But even better, he can pull Ford over on top of his lap, locking one leg in place against the side of the couch.

"Excuse me! I thought you were dead! What the fuck, Stanley! You can't just go around pretending to be dead to mess with people! What if the kids had found you, or Soos, or Wendy?! You would have scared them half to death, you scared me half to death!"

Truly, it's a complicated story. One Stan is pretty sure Ford doesn't want to hear right now when his mind is running a mile a minute.

He has other things that need to be said instead of explaining whoever that weird wizard was who came out of the forest.

Forcibly Stanley grabs Ford's face, bringing him down so they are face to face again, leaving no room for argument in their close proximity. "Shut up, will you?"

Being locked in was sort of a blessing because participating in the conversation is so much harder than he thought it would be moments ago. He steals his nerves anyway, "I love you too, I'm not dead, and I'm pretty sure forty years should have made you a better kisser than that. Otherwise, I've got my work cut out for me. Try again."

By now Ford's face is bright red both out of anger at being tricked and embarrassment at their current position. But Stanley's hands are no longer weak, holding him tightly in place. Not that he seriously wants to argue anyway.

Stan waits, but the longer Ford stares, the more unsure he becomes. Maybe he misunderstood? Or maybe Ford just has a thing for corpses and now that he isn't one, the interest is gone.

Fair enough, Stan knows he isn't much to look at. Age wasn't as kind to him as it was to Ford. All lean muscles, few wrinkles, and barely greying hair. It's stupid, really.

It would be hypocritical to go right back to being mad, wouldn't it?

Just because Stanley isn't dead now, doesn't mean he won't be next time. Or the time after that.

Anything could happen.

Ford knows he should pull away. They should talk about what the hell just happened. He should move off his brother's damn lap!

Or, he could give in to the very thing he's spent two-thirds of their lives running from. The details and tough conversation can be hashed out later, right?

It's the hold on his jaw loosening that yanks Ford out of his spinning thoughts back to the present. Stanley is pulling away, looking down-

How long was he lost in thought? It couldn't have been more than twenty seconds. Did he change his mind? No, then why does he look so-

Well. Stanley looks the same as he always does.

Oh. Briefly, for a few seconds, Stanley was being brave. He opened up and showed his hand. Let himself be vulnerable.

Idiot!

His hands had never fully left Stan's shoulders, but he tightens their grip now, shifting one up to cup along the underside of his jaw. He doesn't feel the need to say anything, because neither of them has ever really been good with words.

He leans down, surprising them both, with a much more insistent kiss.

A hello. And maybe? A new beginning.

[rivalsispunk]

Beneath The Surface (Chapter 2 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter summary: Declan grapples with the risk of hiring you while you grapple with whether or not you're good enough. Once the verdict is in, you both realise you may have jumped in feet first a little too hastily.

A/N: Things are heating up in more ways than one and I am soooo ready for you guys to meet the silently unhinged Declan... Oh, and in this universe, Declan did end up interviewing Margaret Thatcher. Also not entirely proofread so may be some mistakes. Happy reading!

Chapter Two: Beneath The Surface

“A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.”

You’ve spent the last half hour reading, then rereading, the same page of Pride and Prejudice, your creature-comfort book since you were a young teenager. Normally, you’d be able to recite the passage from memory by now, but your mind has been elsewhere than focussed on the words in front of you. It’s been over a week since your interview with Declan and you’ve heard nothing. Zilch. Nada. For days, your brain has been stuck in a constant loop of questions you’ve no answers for.

Why hasn’t he called? 

Why haven’t you heard anything? 

Did he find someone better?

That last one has been the most burning question of them all, coupled with the memory of Declan’s gravelly voice telling you, I’d be lucky to have ya.

So, why hasn’t he called?

It’s not lost on you that you sound more like a needy girl hanging out for a guy after a date than someone waiting to hear back about a job you weren’t even sure you wanted until the moment you were sat in his office. But you do want it.

The job, that is.

Taggie was none the wiser, too. She’d told you her father had barely given her an inkling of where his head was at, and that he remained suspiciously mum on the outcome of the interviews he’d had in the days succeeding yours. “I think he’s just been busy,” she countered, mentioning that Declan had been on edge in the lead up and preparation for his televised interview with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. You were well aware, and knew how much the opportunity meant to him, so you’d made a conscious effort to stay away from The Priory, as not to overwhelm Declan or put any additional pressure on him to make a decision about the assistant position. Instead, you’d met Taggie in town for afternoon tea on the days she wasn’t preparing for an event, or a meal at Bar Sinister when time called for a catch up. But the Thatcher interview was days ago now — a roaring success with both viewers and ratings — and you were getting restless for news.

Slamming your worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice shut, you reach for the phone by your bedside and dial your best friend for what feels like the fiftieth time this week. You’ve called The Priory so often in recent days that she doesn’t even say hello when she answers.

“Still no word yet,” she sighs down the line. “He’s in an awful mood tonight, though. Went straight up to his office when he got home, refused dinner. I think Mummy being away is getting to him.”

You hum in agreement, not that you have any real insight on the matter. “I’m sure he’s fine, Tag. Probably tired of putting up with that Tony Baddingam’s shit. I told you what a right arse he was to your dad when I was there, didn’t you?”

“You did. Honestly, I didn’t think about anyone else at Corinium when I suggested you work for Daddy. It’s one thing for you to be under him, but to be at the beck and call of Lord Baddingham, too?” You practically hear Tag shudder down the line. “Makes me feel ill the way he treats the women who work for him.”

You push aside any runaway thoughts elicited by Taggie’s mention of you under Declan and shrug. “It’s fine, Tag. I’ve dealt with enough Baddinghams in my time to know to tread carefully.” You pull the phone cable taut and pluck it with your finger. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve got the job anyway. I should have heard by now.”

In the room above Taggie, Declan stubs out his cigarette, reclining in his office chair as he listens to his daughter’s voice reverberate through the house. One final plume of smoke emerges from the pile of ashes and butts that have accumulated in the tray over the last twenty-four hours. He ought to be prepping for his next TV interview, a fairly benign chat with a local farmer who has grand plans for the land on the outskirts of the Cotswolds. A piece of cake, he’d told Tony earlier today when he was asked how his preparation was coming. However, he’d flicked through his notes and research God knows how many times this evening, yet couldn’t recall one lick of fact about his upcoming subject. Instead, he’d spent hours — no, days — agonising over whether he should hire you. His producer, Cameron Cook, was breathing down his neck for him to hire someone so he was spread less thin, but it’s not an easy task. On paper, you’re the perfect choice. Hell, in reality, you’re the perfect choice. Still, he prayed that one of the interviewees after you would prove better candidates (and notably male), but no one measured up to you. Sure, they were intelligent. Passionate, somewhat. But then there was you; intelligent and passionate, and looking far too delectable in that bloody skirt that belongs to his fucking wife. Yes, his wife — that’s if she still even wants to be called that — who’s been gone for weeks without as much as a phone call or letter to the house. Their son, Patrick, had mentioned that she’d phoned a couple of weeks ago to inform him she was back in the city, but spared their university-bound child the details of her whereabouts. Declan loves his Maud, despite her shortcomings — of which there are many — but he couldn’t help but resent his wife for her absence, and moreover, for the constant dull ache that had been burdening his cock since seeing her skirt on you. He rationalised that if Maud was here, he wouldn’t be up at night thinking obscene thoughts about his daughter’s best friend who had showed up to his office all smiles and curves in his wife’s long-forgotten hand-me-downs. Every time Declan closes his eyes he sees the shallow dimple that adorns your left cheek. He gets random flashbacks of that black lace bra he imagines holds perfect breasts, if he just allows his mind to wander.

He flexes his hand in an attempt to rid it of the itch that’s been daring him to relieve himself ever since you left his Corinium office. There have been countless instances over the last week where he wondered if he just gave in — just a little, just a stroke, something, anything — that the ache will go away. But there’s a bigger part of him that’s afraid that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and then how will he ever be able to face you again? Face Taggie again, knowing the pure filth that’s taken him over in the moments when he’s alone?

Cameron had demanded that afternoon that he chooses someone to pick up his slack by the weekend so help her God or she’ll stick him with an intern with more boobs for brains, and he knows — he knows — he can’t be stuck with someone with the same level IQ as a stale loaf of bread. He’d combust. So, against his better judgement, he decides as he lights yet another cigarette, that he’ll offer you the job as his assistant.

So help him God.

The phone rang just after half seven as you took your first bite of marmite toast. “Do you want the good news or the best news first?” You wince at Taggie’s chirpiness so early in the morning.

“Umm, best ‘til last,” you option. “Good news first.”

“Well, I’m making shepherd’s pie for dinner and you’re coming over.”

“Alright,” you giggle. “And the other news?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating you making shepherd’s pie?”

“No, you nitwit! We’re celebrating you! You got the job! Daddy just told me on his way out this morning.”

Your chair whines against the floorboards of your flat as you shoot to your feet. “I got the job?”

“You got the job!” Taggie shrieks down the line. “Daddy said he was going to phone you when he gets to the office but I couldn’t wait to tell you myself. I know you’ve been anxious waiting to hear back.”

“Oh, Tag, I can’t believe it! I really thought he’d found someone more suited,” you express, cheeks pinching with a grin.

“He said he was very impressed with you,” your friend continues, voice laced with pride. “He also suggested we go shopping for some new officewear.”

“So, he hated my outfit, is what you’re saying.” Him and everybody else at that bloody station.

“No, it’s not that. I think him seeing you in Mummy’s clothes freaked him out a little, is all,” Taggie confesses. “He’s been a bit all over the shop since she’s been gone and I suppose when it comes to her, out of sight, out of mind is best.”

You think back to Declan spluttering his tea everywhere during your interview, and his little explosion afterwards. It makes sense that he doesn’t wanted be reminded of the woman who stepped out on him. You were just glad his reaction wasn’t to something you had done.

You and Taggie chat for a few minutes more about potential shopping destinations and your plans for the day before she rushes through a goodbye, eager to get to the market to pick up groceries for your celebratory meal. An hour later, Declan calls.

“Morning, it’s Declan,” he says, words stifled by the cigarette between his lips. “Declan O’Hara.”

You bite down a smile at the unnecessary clarification. You do the same to thwart your enthusiasm at finally receiving his call. “Hiya. It’s nice to hear from you. How’re you this morning, Declan?”

“Yeah, good, good. Tony’s riding my arse as per usual but other than that, good.” Silence reigns as you wait for Declan to relay the good news. After a moment, he clears his throat like he just remembered you’re on the other end of the line. “Look, I don’t have long, but I wanted to give you a bell to let you know the assistant job is yours. If you want it.”

Although you were already aware of the job offer, you do a happy jig in your kitchen. “Yes, thank you! Of course, I accept.”

“Great. Does Monday work as a start date?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there. Thank you, Declan.”

“Welcome. Chat soon.”

The line goes dead not second later, and while you’re still overcome with excitement about the new job, your chat with your new boss seemed off. Declan seemed off. Far removed from the chatty, friendly man you sat across from at Corinium just days ago. But like he said, Tony was on his back. He’s probably just… tense.

It becomes clear to Declan as he watches you and Taggie move seamlessly around the kitchen while clearing up after dinner that you’re effervescent. Far more than he’s ever noticed, in all the times you’ve visited his daughter over the recent months, and it bothers him. He hated how his pulse quickened at the sight of you on his doorstep two hours earlier, David Bowie T-shirt peeking out from beneath your checkered coat. If you were at least the tiniest bit irksome or slow-witted or just plain dull, he’d be able to reckon with the fact that his reaction to you was purely chemical. Just another man taken by a young woman’s good looks. But then again, if he found you any of those things, he wouldn’t dare allow you anywhere near his work, near his research. Nor would he be impressed with his daughter adopting a friend as such, either. 

Your laughter trills, egged on by the celebratory champagne Taggie had provided, and Declan catches the tailend of his daughter flinging a handful of dishsoap suds in your direction. You were a good girl, a good friend, being there for Taggie in the last few months. Always willing to lend a hand, or an ear, certainly a shoulder to cry on more than Declan liked to think about or admit. But you were just that: a girl. A girl who was now his assistant. He’ll be damned if he were to become another man at Corinium taking advantage of that power imbalance, which is why he replaces his glass of bubbles with a full one and retires to his office after supper, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead as he goes.

You decide to sleepover at The Priory after consuming a few too many glasses of champagne for it be considered safe to drive home. Although, sleepover may be too generous of a word because you’ve barely slept a wink since sinking into bed beside Taggie over an hour ago. Your friend, however, had no trouble drifting off, only to start snoring so loudly the whole bed vibrates. You’ve already tried covering your head with a pillow and the counting backwards from one hundred trick to coax yourself to sleep, but it’s no use. You slide out from under the poppy-printed covers and tip-toe downstairs in a sweater hanging on the back of Taggie’s bedroom door. You’re swimming in the woollen brown garment. It falls to mid-thigh and is sleeves are at least half an arm-length too long, but it keeps the chill at bay when you swing open The Priory’s back door. You slide on a pair of Wellington boots sit on the doormat and step out into the biting air. In it, the inches of skin between the hem of the sweater and your long socks prickle with goosebumps, and your breath forms a fog under the soft glow of fairy lights leftover from a garden party the O’Hara’s hosted in the summer. Somewhere in the distance, a owl twoos and foxes rustle through shrubbery. When you lived in the city, the nights were overrun with sirens and drunken hooligans singing football chants down the alleyways and other racket that made it very difficult to hear yourself think. Meanwhile, out here, in the countryside, you could just be.

“Nice sweater.”

“Fuck!” The sudden verbiage shocks your shoulders to your ears. There’s no mistaking that voice, yet you have to scan the area to see where the Irish lilt is stemming from. It’s not until you hear the swish of water that you realise he’s in the hot tub that’s tucked away from the courtyard, his silhouette barely visible against the night. “Declan. You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” he croaks. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “Taggie’s snoring like a freight train.”

As your eyes adjust to the dark, you just catch Declan’s moustache quirk with a lazy smile. “Just like her mother.”

The comment coaxes you closer to the tub, waiting for Declan to elaborate, but whatever story he might’ve spieled evaporates with the steam from the water. The heated pool was just another of Maud’s extravagant buys, and Declan hated the addition when it showed up in a delivery van, during summer, of all seasons, because he knew it would be forgotten about in a matter of days once she’d found something new to obsess over. There was always something with Maud. If it wasn’t an extravagant purchase to distract herself with, it was a lover, and if it wasn’t a lover, it was a trip far, far away from the Cotswolds. Her recent truancy being case in point.

There’s hardly any light in this corner of the yard, aside from a small golden glimmer beneath the hot tub surface, but it’s enough for you to take in Declan’s form. He’s lax, whiskey in hand, with his head reclined against the lip of the pool. You notice the thick smattering of chest hair across the breadth of his torso, dark and unruly. The few men you’ve ever been with have been around your age, either trimmed or unable to grow body hair where its desired. But then again, they were just boys in the scheme of things. Declan has always been so fucking manly. His already dark hair black with water, pushed away from his face like he’s slicked it back with his hands. It hasn’t stopped miniscule curls frizzing to fruition at his temples. Declan takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass. “

If I’m being honest, I thought you’d be a tad more excited when I spoke to you this morning.”

“Oh, trust me, I was! But–“

“But Taggie had already broken the news to you by then, hadn’t she?”

You look down at your feet, not wanting to give your friend away, but Declan knows his daughter has a hard time keeping a lid on her excitement. “It’s alright,” he chuckles. “She means well.”

“She’s a good friend. They’re hard to come by.”

You’re telling me, Declan thinks, taking a one-handed inventory of his own close companions.

The frosty air hugs you and your toes seize under its bite, even through your socks and boots. “Do you mind?” You point to the hot tub. It takes a moment for it to click in Declan’s brain that you’re asking if you can join him. It would be rude for him to say no. Stupid for him to say yes. Instead, he gives a non-commital shrug and whispers Lord, help me into his glass. Over its rim, he watches you perch on the edge of the tub to while you toe off your wellies. They land with a thud on the pavement and you giggle to yourself, oops, when one ricochets into a nearby shrub. Muscles zip up the back of your leg when you peel off your socks, and Declan has to force himself to look away when the hem of your sweater — no, his sweater, one of many Taggie had stolen away — rides dangerously high on your thighs as you swing your legs over the lip of the heated pool. He’s thankful that only one of the lights below the surface is in working order because his prick rouses when a satisfied hum seeps from you as your feet kiss the warm surface. Declan’s jaw ticks. The devil on his shoulder probes that you’re purposely torturing him and his conscious bites back that he’s a sleazy bastard for thinking as much. You’re not doing anything. You’re just here.

Get a grip on yourself, O’Hara, he scolds, and chases it with a swig of whiskey he only hopes will burn away the filthy thoughts you manage to conjure for him.

“You got another one of them?” When he faces you again, you’re pointing at the glass that’s fogged up in his sweaty palm.

“The champagne not enough for ya?”

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t want to share, just say so.”

“You can’t handle this.”

“Are you really going to sit there and tell a girl what she can and can’t handle?” you press, eyes locked in on his. “You’d be surprised what I can handle, Declan.” You don’t mean for it to sound so provocative, but challenging him has set your whole body ablaze. For good measure, you quirk an eyebrow at Declan, and the subtle move has his cock doing the same in the confines of his striped swim shorts. Without another word, Declan floats across the hot tub to where you’re seated and presses his glass into your hand. You offer a thank you in the form of a gentle smile before pressing your full, blush lips to the rim. Tilting the glass to the sky, you can feel Declan’s heavy gaze on you, watching. Waiting. You allow your eyes to fall shut as the bitter prickle of the whiskey waves over your tongue, so you don’t see him slide a hand to the back of his neck. His nails dig crecsents into the skin there, both as punishment for and distraction from the fact his mind is trekking to dark places where your lips are pressed somewhere far more sinister. He can’t keep his eyes off you while you drain what’s left of the whiskey, your eyes fluttering open when you realise there’s nothing left.

“I told you I could handle it,” you tell Declan, ignoring the slight burn that stings at the back of your throat. You both reach your hand into the small space between you, fingers grazing as you pass the glass back to Declan. 

The air between the two of you is charged. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone lit a match and the whole world went up in flames taking the pair of you with it. That same pained look that took Declan’s expression over during your interview rears its head again. Before you get the opportunity to put a name to it, a door creaks in the distance and your name echoes into the night.

“Are you out there?”

Taggie.

Taggie.

There’s a flurry of movement as Declan slides to the opposite side of the hot tub again and you all but catapult yourself onto the pavement as if you’d been caught redhanded. Doing what, you weren’t entirely sure, but you were certain it wasn’t be a good look. You yank your socks over your damp feet, followed by the wellies and make a start for where the kitchen light illuminates your friend in the doorway.

“There you are!” she sighs, almost relieved, when you meet her at the step. “You alright? I thought you might’ve driven home after all.” “God, no. I’m fine! Just…” you glance over your shoulder to where the blaze of a cigarette burns in the darkness. “Just getting some air.”

Loved writing this chapter, and things are just getting started!! Reblog, share, comment: it all means the world to me!! <3

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview

[scrollonso]

Cinnamom — Strollonso (3) (prev)

A little over a week later, Lance sat at the back of Dr. Alonso’s classroom, tapping his pen absently against his notebook. His mind wasn’t on the lecture — truly, it hadn't been since they started this little arangement. It wasn’t even on the upcoming exam. Instead, his thoughts drifted to the awkward dinner he’d had with his father and the way Fernando had reassured him afterward.

It had been tense, but Lance got through it — mostly because of Fernando (and his cock.)

Now, though, things felt different.

Fernando had been more distant this past week. Professional. Careful. He still held Lance’s gaze longer than he should, still lingered when they crossed paths, but it wasn’t the same.

Lance hated it.

How could Fernando let him get so close, let him feel every inch of his body, just to suddenly decide it was too much? It wasn't fair.

“Mr. Stroll,” Fernando called from the front, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Can you answer the question?”

Lance blinked, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention — realizing half the class had passed by and he hadn't heard a word. The class chuckled quietly, and Fernando’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Maybe you’d like to join me in my office after class to review?” Fernando said, his voice casual, but his gaze intense.

Lance’s heart leapt. He nodded quickly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, sure.”

When class ended, Lance lingered as the others filed out. Once they were alone, Fernando closed the door, leaning against it.

“You’ve been distracted,” Fernando observed, his voice low.

Lance crossed his arms. “And you’ve been avoiding me.”

Fernando sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I had to. After the encounter with Lawrence… I needed to be careful.”

Lance frowned. “Careful? You said you weren’t going anywhere. You said you weren't scared.”

“I’m not,” Fernando assured, stepping closer. “But I also have to protect you. If anyone finds out…”

Lance grabbed Fernando’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “I don’t care who knows.”

Fernando cupped Lance’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently along his jaw. “You should care.”

“I only care about you.” Lance leaned into his touch. “So stop pulling away. It’s driving me fuckingcrazy.”

Fernando shook his head softly. “Language, Lancito.”

Lance smiled. “Sorry, sir.”

Fernando kissed him then — slow and deliberate, like he’d been holding back for too long. Lance melted into it, his arms wrapping around Fernando’s neck, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Fernando rested his forehead against Lance’s. “I’m done keeping my distance.”

“Good,” Lance whispered, breathless. “Because I need you.”

“And you have me,” Fernando promised, his voice firm. “Now shoo, I actually have work to do.”

Lance grinned at Fernando’s words, stepping back reluctantly. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

Fernando laughed, watching him leave with a lingering gaze. As the door shut behind Lance, Fernando sighed, shaking his head. He was already counting the minutes until he could see him again.

After his last class of the day, Lance made his way to Esteban’s dorm, texting as he walked.

Lance:

Coming over. I’m bored.

Esteban:

Perfect timing.

Charles is here too.

🍕🍕🍕

Lance smiled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. By the time he reached Esteban’s door, the two were already lounging on the couch, laughing over something on TV.

“Lance!” Esteban greeted, tossing him a soda. “Finally.”

“Miss me that much?” Lance teased, flopping down beside them.

They spent hours catching up, laughing and talking about anything but school. The sun dipped below the horizon, and before Lance knew it, the clock read past midnight.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Fernando:

Where are you?

Lance bit his lip, heart skipping a beat.

Lance:

Este's. Why?

There was a long pause before Fernando’s next message.

Fernando:

I need you.

Lance stared at the text, his pulse quickening.

Lance:

I’ll be there soon.

“Guys, I gotta go,” he announced, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

Esteban raised an eyebrow. “At this hour?”

“Yeah.” Lance shot them a quick grin. “Something came up.”

Charles smirked knowingly. “Dr. Alonso?”

Lance’s cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

Esteban laughed. “Go, go. Don’t keep him waiting.”

When Lance finally arrived at Fernando’s house, he barely had time to knock before the door opened.

Fernando stood there, eyes dark and intense. “You took your time.”

Lance stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You missed me that much?”

Fernando didn’t answer with words. Instead, he grabbed Lance by the collar, pulling him into a heated kiss. Lance melted against him, hands gripping Fernando’s waist.

As they broke apart, Fernando whispered, “Missed you.”

Lance grinned, breathless. “Good.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a smirk. “Now, let me show you exactly how much I missed you.”

Lance didn’t need any more convincing. He followed Fernando willingly, his heart pounding in anticipation.

With a shudder, Lance senses a hand breach the waistband of his sweats and descend, bold fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking. He exhales harshly, little moans slipping out between gasps as Fernando's grip becomes surer, tightening around the head of his cock and thumbing over his slit. Kicking off his clothes might be easier, but Lance feels paralyzed by his touch, unable to do more than blindly feel for the button of Fernando's pants and fumble them open.

Instinct takes over from there, and before either of them can get another full breath in, Fernando's erection is hot and weighty in the palm of his hand, and he too is uttering low groans and trembling with each circuit of Lance's roving hand.

Finding his way to the Spaniard's neck, Lance's teeth bite down, earning him a pronounced shudder and a firm pull of his cock. He makes a trail in this way, alternately using lips and teeth to provoke the reactions he craves. Beneath his assault, Fernando is uncharacteristically pliant; seemingly the only part of him still functioning on a normal level are his fingers. Maybe, just maybe, it's not that unreasonable to think he isn't used to the touch of another person. The stray thought sinks like a brick, crushing yet alluring, into the pit of Lance's stomach, and he groans into the divot of Fernando's collarbone.

Is it worse to wonder about that, or to like the idea so much?

Both seem less than honorable, but currently, Lance isn't sure he has the brainpower to debate it further. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, stroking faster until the cadence of Fernando's voice grows choppy, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath. Caught between the wall and him, Fernando's eyes finally slam shut, and his hips jut forward, fucking through the waves of release into Lance's fist. His recovery is quick, however, and before Lance can even try to finish himself off, Fernando mirrors his pace with firm strokes of his hand until he too feels the wind knocked out of him, and collapses with a moan into Fernando's shoulder. 

They remain pressed together for several long moments, feeling the collective warmth stored between them and attempting to regain their composure.

"Finally," is the first word to hit the air afterward. Lance fingers trace a lazy circle at the small of Fernando's back. "I've been thinking about this all day, Nando."

"I'm aware," Fernando mutters gruffly into the Canadian's skin. 

How could he not be? Observation is a natural strength of his, but Lance's persistence drives home the truth all the more.

"Get some sleep," he adds for good measure. Because in some ways, he's still a responsible adult.

"I'm heading back," Lance agrees. The lack of reluctance on his face makes it clear — there'll be a next time to savor — but now he has to go back to Esteban's place before his dad notices he left. He turns on his heel before leaving, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

The next day, a girl — most likely a year or two younger than Lance — stood at the front of the classroom, her hands nervously clutching her notebook. The chatter of students filled the room as they waited for Dr. Alonso to arrive, but she had only one person in her sights — Lance.

Lance sat near the back, laughing with Esteban and Charles, completely unaware of the determined look on her face. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and began walking toward him.

Esteban was the first to notice her approach, his brows lifting in curiosity. “Uh, Lance? Incoming.”

Lance glanced up, confused at first, but his expression softened when he saw her, always greeting people with a smile no matter who. “Hey, Bianca. What’s up?”

She stopped in front of him, cheeks flushed. “I need to talk to you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow, an inquisitive smile tugging at his lips. “Right now?”

“Yes.” Bianca swallowed hard, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, and… well, I like you, Lance. A lot.”

The room fell silent. Charles shot Esteban a wide-eyed look, while Jessica and Zhou exchanged awkward glances.

Lance blinked, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I know it’s a bit sudden,” Bianca continued, nervously twisting her fingers together. “But I had to say it. You’re kind, funny, and I… You know, I just think we’d be good together.”

Before Lance could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Alonso walked in, his gaze immediately finding Lance. Fernando paused mid-step, taking in the scene — Bianca standing close to Lance, the tension in the room palpable. His eyes narrowed.

“Take your seats,” Fernando said, his voice obviously more aggitated than it had been for previous lectures. "We have an exam to prepare for."

Bianca glanced at Lance, waiting for a response, but Lance only murmured, “I… we should talk later.”

Reluctantly, Bianca nodded and returned to her seat — which was, thankfully, on the opposite side of the room.

As the students settled, Fernando’s gaze lingered on Lance longer than necessary, his expression unreadable. Lance shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that stare, his heart pounding for entirely different reasons now.

Throughout the lecture, Fernando’s usual composed demeanor was tinged with an edge of irritation. His eyes flicked toward Lance more often than usual, catching Lance’s gaze every time.

When the class ended, Lance lingered, waiting for the room to empty — he didn't want Fernando to get the wrong idea.

Fernando approached slowly, his arms crossed. “So. Bianca.”

Lance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I— Nando, It's not what you think.”

“Isn’t it?” Fernando’s voice was low, laced with jealousy.

“She confessed. I didn’t say yes.” Lance stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because I’m not interested in her. You know that.”

Fernando’s jaw clenched. “She clearly doesn’t.”

Lance smirked, leaning in slightly. “Maybe I should make it clearer, then.”

Fernando’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How?”

Lance’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could start by kissing me.”

Fernando glanced at the door, ensuring they were alone before stepping closer. “You’re trouble, Lance.”

“And you love it.”

Fernando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Lance’s lips, lingering just long enough to leave no doubt about who Lance belonged to.

When they pulled apart, Fernando whispered, “I’ll make sure everyone knows.” Though, they both knew Fernando was simply exaggerating, they understood what they had had to be kept a secret.

Lance grinned. “Including Bianca?”

Fernando chuckled. “Especially Bianca.”

Lance laughed softly, resting his forehead against Fernando’s. “She really did make you jealous, hm?”

Fernando’s hands slid down to rest on Lance’s waist, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles. “You should know by now, Lancito… I don’t like to share.”

Lance’s heart fluttered at the possessive edge in Fernando’s voice. “You know you don’t have to.”

Fernando pulled him closer, their bodies pressed together. “Still, I don’t want anyone else thinking they have a chance. Especially not someone like Bianca.”

"She's your student, Nando," Lance snorted. “Plus, she’s harmless.”

Fernando’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Harmless until she confesses her feelings in front of half my class.”

“Alright, that was awkward,” Lance admitted with a grin. “But I handled it well, didn’t I Nando?” He hummed, eyes almost begging for praise.

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “By running straight into my office after?”

“I knew you’d handle the rest,” Lance frowned, wrapping his arms around Fernando’s neck.

Fernando’s expression softened as he leaned in, kissing Lance again. This time, the kiss was slower, more lingering, the kind that sent a shiver down Lance’s spine.

When they finally pulled apart, Fernando’s voice was quiet but firm. “No more hiding how we feel when it’s just us.”

Lance nodded, his gaze steady. “And outside of here?”

Fernando sighed, brushing a stray curl from Lance’s forehead. “We’ll be careful. But I won’t ever let you doubt that you’re mine.”

Lance’s cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him at the words. “I like the sound of that.”

Fernando’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Good. Now, let’s make sure you never forget it.”

Before Lance could respond, Fernando backed him up against the desk, hands sliding under Lance’s shirt. The tension between them was electric, a slow burn that neither of them seemed willing to extinguish.

Lance left Fernando’s office feeling utterly satisfied and completely wrecked. His legs wobbled slightly, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to walk normally. His jeans felt uncomfortably tight, and every step reminded him of what had just happened against Fernando’s desk — of the hands, the whispered words, the way Fernando had completely unraveled him.

As he exited the building, Lance caught sight of a few classmates still lingering outside. He straightened his back, forcing a casual expression onto his face, though he could feel their curious gazes.

“Long meeting with Dr. Alonso?” Zhou teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lance grinned, ignoring the heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Right.” Zhou shot him a knowing look before heading off.

Lance shook his head and made his way home, thankful for the quiet streets. But as he entered the house, the familiar sound of his father’s voice made him pause.

“Son?”

Lawrence stood in the hallway, glancing up from his phone. His eyes narrowed as he took in his son’s appearance — the disheveled hair, the flushed cheeks, the way Lance was walking like he’d just run a marathon.

“You alright?” Lawrence asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

Lance froze, heart pounding. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re walking funny.”

Lance swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. “Oh, uh… I tripped on the stairs at school.”

Lawrence’s brow furrowed. “The stairs?”

“Yeah. Totally wiped out.” Lance gestured vaguely toward his legs. “Banged my knee pretty bad.”

Lawrence’s eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, and Lance could feel the sweat forming on the back of his neck.

“You need to be more careful,” Lawrence finally said, shaking his head. “You’ve got to take more care of yourself if you expect me to allow you to move out.”

“I know, I will,” Lance promised quickly. “It’s nothing serious.”

Lawrence nodded, distracted again by his phone. “Good. Chloe is coming for dinner.”

As soon as his father walked away, Lance slid into the living room and his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a message from Fernando.

Fernando:

Home safe?

Lance smiled, typing back.

Lance:

Yeah.

My dad thinks I tripped on the stairs.

Fernando:

You’re terrible at lying, Lancito.

Lance:

Not as bad as you are at being subtle.

My legs are dead, old man.

Fernando:

Good.

Now you’ll think of me every time you walk.

Lance laughed quietly, shaking his head. He could still feel Fernando’s hands on him, the lingering ache a reminder of everything they’d done in such a short amount of time.

Lance:

I already do.

Next day's exam was serious — Lance could tell just by seeing the look on Zhou’s face, the way his friend’s brows were furrowed from concentration and not from arguing with people on Twitter. Everyone in Dr. Alonso’s ethics class was laser-focused, heads down, pens moving furiously across their papers. Everyone… except Lance.

He leaned back in his chair, lazily tapping his pen against the desk. The questions on his exam sheet blurred together, the words losing meaning. His mind was elsewhere — on the man sitting at the front of the room.

Fernando Alonso.

His professor looked effortlessly perfect, as always. The fitted white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the top button undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his tattoo, and Lance couldn’t help but admire the way his veins stood out when he adjusted his watch. That had become a daily occurrence since Lance had, half-jokingly, mentioned how much he loved seeing Fernando’s arms during one of their secret late-night rendezvous.

Now, Fernando did it every class.

Lance sighed, twirling his pen between his fingers before lowering it to the paper. A wicked grin tugged at his lips as he skimmed the first question.

Question 1: Define deontological ethics and explain how it applies in a business setting.

He scrawled:

"Deontological ethics is essentially following what society feels is right, like not hypothetically inviting your professor over to your house when your father is home and letting him fuck you in every position imaginable."

He glanced up, biting his lip to suppress a laugh. Fernando was scanning the room, his expression stern, completely unaware of the inappropriate content Lance was jotting down just feet away.

Question 2: Discuss the ethical implications of conflicts of interest in professional settings.

"My biggest conflict right now? Deciding whether I want to kiss you senseless or strip you out of that shirt. Let’s just say ethics is the last thing on my mind. :)"

Lance chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he moved on to the next question.

Question 3: Provide a real-life example of ethical boundaries being crossed in a workplace.

"Real-life example? Easy. You and me, Nando. Every lingering glance, every stolen moment, every touch that leaves me wanting more. We’ve crossed every boundary there is (I don’t regret a thing.)"

He glanced up again, catching a brief flicker of Fernando’s gaze meeting his. The professor quickly looked away, but Lance knew.

He knew.

Question 4: What is the importance of maintaining professionalism in high-stakes environments?

"Professionalism? You’re really going to lecture me about professionalism when you can’t keep your hands off me? Are you sure you’re qualified to teach this course with me in it? Because I’m pretty sure I’m the biggest distraction you’ve ever faced."

When he reached the final page, Lance couldn’t resist a little flourish to his signature.

"P.S. — If you don’t call me into your office after reading this, I’ll be very disappointed. But if you do… lock the door. ♡"

The clock ticked down, students began filing out one by one, but Lance took his sweet time. Finally, he stood, strolling to the front of the room, exam paper in hand. He dropped it face down on Fernando’s desk, lingering just long enough to catch his professor’s attention.

“Finished already?” Fernando asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity.

Lance leaned in slightly, his voice low and playful. “I think you’ll want to take your time with my answers.”

Fernando’s lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. “Is that so?”

Lance winked. “Oh, definitely.”

He turned to leave, heart pounding in his chest. Just as he reached the door, Fernando’s voice rang out, soft but commanding.

“Mr. Stroll?”

Lance froze, hand on the doorframe. Slowly, he turned back, his breath hitching.

Fernando’s gaze was unreadable, his expression carefully composed. “See me after class.”

The room emptied, leaving them alone. Lance approached the desk, his pulse quickening as Fernando picked up the exam, flipping through the pages. His brows lifted slightly at Lance’s audacious answers, but instead of reprimanding him, Fernando closed the paper, meeting Lance’s gaze with a smirk.

“You know,” Fernando began, standing and walking around the desk until he was mere inches from Lance, “this is highly inappropriate.”

Lance’s breath hitched, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought you liked inappropriate.”

Fernando chuckled, reaching out to trace a finger along Lance’s jaw. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want, Professor.”

Fernando’s grip tightened slightly, pulling Lance closer. “Lock the door.”

Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he reached behind him, his fingers fumbling for the lock. The soft click of the door securing echoed in the silence, and when he turned back, Fernando was still standing there — eyes dark, lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“You’re unbelievable,” Fernando murmured, his voice low, laced with amusement and something far more dangerous. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Lance shrugged, stepping closer, their bodies almost touching. “I figured you’d notice. I was counting on it.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down Lance’s spine. “So bold today, mi chico travieso.”

Lance grinned. “Only for you.”

Without warning, Fernando closed the distance between them, his hands sliding around Lance’s waist, pulling him flush against his body. Lance gasped softly as Fernando’s lips brushed against his ear.

“And what am I supposed to do with a student who writes that kind of nonsense on his exam?”

Lance tilted his head, giving Fernando better access to his neck. “You could give me detention.”

Fernando laughed, his breath hot against Lance’s skin. “I think you’ve already got me in enough trouble.”

He kissed Lance then — slow, deep, and deliberate. Lance melted into it, his hands gripping Fernando’s shirt, pulling him closer, desperate for more. Every kiss from Fernando was intoxicating, but this one felt different. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, a risk they both craved.

Fernando pulled back, his hands never leaving Lance’s hips. “You want to know what I feel when I look at you?”

Lance nodded breathlessly.

“I think about how reckless this is.” His thumb traced circles on Lance’s hip bone. “How wrong it should be.”

“But?” Lance prompted, his voice barely a whisper.

Fernando leaned in again, his lips hovering over Lance’s. “But I can’t stop.”

Lance kissed him again, harder this time, hands sliding up Fernando’s chest, feeling the muscles beneath the fabric. “Good,” he murmured against Fernando’s lips. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Fernando’s hands slipped lower, gripping Lance’s thighs and effortlessly lifting him onto the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, but neither of them cared. Lance wrapped his legs around Fernando’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer.

“This is crazy,” Fernando whispered, trailing kisses down Lance’s neck. “We shouldn’t—”

“Then don’t stop.” Lance’s voice was a plea, his hands tangling in Fernando’s hair. “Please.”

Fernando groaned, his resolve breaking completely. His hands roamed under Lance’s shirt, fingers tracing every curve and scar, committing them to memory. Lance’s breath hitched as Fernando kissed his way down his chest, pausing only to murmur softly in Spanish — words Lance didn’t fully understand but felt in his bones.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Fernando whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Lance smirked, tilting his head back as Fernando kissed a line across his collarbone. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Fernando’s hands worked their way to the hem of Lance’s shirt, fingers tugging it up slowly, teasingly, as if savoring every inch of exposed skin. He kissed along Lance’s jawline, pausing just by his ear.

“When’s your next class, mi sol?” His voice was low, husky, filled with barely restrained desire.

Lance’s mind spun, barely able to process the question with Fernando’s hands sliding under his shirt, palms warm against his skin. “Uh… I think—” He gasped as Fernando’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “I think I’ve got time.”

Fernando chuckled against his skin, pushing the shirt up and over Lance’s head before tossing it aside. “You think?”

Lance grinned, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” Fernando’s hands moved to Lance’s belt, fingers deftly undoing the buckle. “Because I don’t want to rush.”

Lance bit his lip as Fernando’s knuckles brushed against his stomach. “What if someone comes back?”

Fernando glanced up, his gaze dark and intense. “Then we’ll have to be quiet.”

Lance’s pulse quickened as Fernando leaned in, pressing a kiss just below his navel. “I’m not great at quiet.”

Fernando smirked, fingers slowly sliding Lance’s belt free and letting it drop to the floor with a soft clink. “I’ll just have to make you bite your lip then.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Or mine.”

Lance shivered, his hands resting on Fernando’s shoulders. “You really have no shame, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.” Fernando’s fingers found the button of Lance’s jeans, popping it open effortlessly. “You make me reckless.”

Lance’s heart thudded in his chest as Fernando tugged his jeans down, leaving him in just his boxers. Fernando’s eyes trailed over him slowly, appreciatively, before returning to his face.

“You’re gorgeous,” Fernando murmured, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist, pulling him into another deep kiss. Lance melted into it, fingers tangling in Fernando’s hair again, tugging gently.

As they broke apart, both of them breathless, Fernando’s hands slid lower, gripping Lance’s hips. “So… how much time do we really have?”

Lance grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, murmuring against his lips. “Enough.”

Fernando’s eyes darkened at Lance’s response, a slow smile spreading across his face. Without breaking eye contact, he reached back, pushing the contents of his desk to the side in one fluid motion.

Lance blinked, startled by the sudden movement, but before he could say a word, Fernando grabbed him by the waist and spun him around, pressing him firmly against the now-empty desk.

“Hands flat,” Fernando murmured, his voice rough with desire. “Don’t move.”

Lance shivered, his palms pressing against the cool wood. His heart pounded in his chest as Fernando stood behind him, his hands sliding over Lance’s back, tracing the line of his spine.

“You’ve been driving me mad all week,” Fernando whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of Lance’s neck. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, watching you in my class, knowing I can’t touch you? Knowing no one here knows you belong to me?”

Lance gasped as Fernando’s hands slipped lower, over the curve of his hips. “I think I have an idea.”

Fernando chuckled, his lips trailing kisses across Lance’s shoulder. “You’ve been testing my control.”

“And now?” Lance glanced back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you still in control?”

Fernando gripped Lance’s hips tighter, bending him forward slightly. “Not even a little.”

Lance smirked, arching his back slightly to press against Fernando. “Good.”

Fernando groaned, his composure slipping further as he pressed his erection against Lance, hands roaming greedily over his body. “I’m going to make you regret writing those answers.”

“Doubt it,” Lance teased, breath hitching as Fernando’s fingers brushed his bare skin. “I’ll just write more next time.”

Fernando chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet here you are, Professor.” Lance shot back, voice breathless, “bending me over your desk.”

Fernando kissed along Lance’s shoulder again, his hands steadying Lance’s hips. “And I’ll do it again.”

“Promise?” Lance asked, biting his lip to stifle a gasp as Fernando’s hands wandered lower.

Fernando smirked against his skin. “Oh, Lancito… I’m just getting started.”

Fernando let his hands slide over the perfect silk skin of Lance’s legs until he reached his university hoodie. “Looking so innocent, the perfect student, but in the meantime,” he pulls the hoodie over Lance's head, then his jeans and boxers, letting the boy lean completely naked against his desk, “fucking his professors.”

“Professor,” Lance corrects him, “only one.”

“That’s right, mmi sol,” Fernando drawls, placing his hands under Lance's thighs and turning hum aroind before hoisting him up the desk. “I am so lucky.”

Lance groans when Fernando lets his hands trail over Lance's chest and graces his nipples with his nails before taking both pink numbs between his fingers and pinching. “So pretty for me,” Fernando tells the boy and Lance throws his head back and pulls his legs up the edge of the desk while Fernando rolls the pretty brown buds between his fingers.

“Please, Daddy, I need– need–” Lance pants, not phased by the new term or his words not coming in coherent sentences. Fernando chuckles slightly as Lance spreads his legs a bit wider.

“I know, baby, I’ll give you what you need,” Fernando promises, removing one hand from Lance's chest and using it to open his belt buckle, “patience.”

He squats down again, hearing his knees crack as he leans in to lick a stripe over the perfect little hole. Lance moans, almost too loud, the walls of the offices aren’t that thick, but Fernando revels in the idea of someone overhearing them as he licks again, and again. The fingers of his left hand still work Lance's nipple, while his tongue works itself inside him and his right hand finds his own cock. Stroking himself in tandem with his movements makes Lance's arousal rise and he wants to bury himself in the boy so badly.

“Do you think you can be good for me and turn, baby?”

Lance lets his legs fall to the floor immediately and turns around, his arse perking out and his hands flat on the desk. “Like this, Daddy?” He purrs, testing the waters. 

“Perfect, peque.”

With a bit of effort, Fernando gets back to his feet and walks around the desk, opening the drawer to grab the almost empty bottle of lube. “Looks like we’re almost out,” he grins and Lance lifts his head to meet Fernando's gaze. He smirks, too, with a shrug.

“Exam stress is getting to me hard.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” Fernando muses, though he knew the last thing Lance was worried about was any work in this class — coming back behind the boy and lubing himself up before putting some on his index and middle finger to insert them into Lance with a precise push. The boy moans filthy and Fernando grins. “Let’s relieve some of that stress shall we?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” Lance moans, letting his cheek rest on the desk.

"Watch it." Fernando warns whime opening him up quickly, replacing his fingers with his stiff cock, thrusting into Lance with fervour. He leans over and takes Lance's cock in his hand, stroking him while thrusting deeply. “That better, Lancito?”

“Fuck, yes, Nando,” Lance moans, his hot breath condensing on the desk. “So much better.”

Fernando fucks him thoroughly and it’s not long after that Lance is whining out that he is coming. Fernando is not even nearly there and he lets Lance catch his breath for a second before he starts moving again. “I think we can go for another one, what about you, mi amor?”

The gasp coming from Lance is a mix of excitement and trepidation. Fernando laughs and glides his hands over Lance's back as he thrusts in again, harsh and quick. “God, you feel so good, baby.” 

“Oh, shi— shoot, frick, that’s–” Lance moans, not getting to say what he thinks because Fernando is hitting his prostate and the only thing he can mutter is ‘so good’. 

“Yeah, want to feel good baby?” 

“Yes, please” Lance croons, lifting his head slightly. Fernando slides out and turns the other around, lifting him up to the desk before thrusting back in. Lance's fierce eyes look up at Fernando and he feels the pleasure in his abdomen increase tenfold when the boy smiles at him. “Hi, Sir.”

The view is gone quickly when Fernando leans over him and takes one of Lance's nipples in his mouth, biting and sucking at it. Lance's eyes close and his head is thrown back in the sensation. Fernando can feel his already stiff cock against his abdomen and reaches for it with a last flick of his tongue.

“Hi, beautiful,” he groans, feeling his orgasm approach while he pumps his fist around Lance's hard cock and thrusts so hard that the desk is rocking. “Eyes on me.”

They shoot open and Lance sees the foggy look that has come over Fernando, making the older man smile. “Are you going to cum for me again, mi sol?”

“Nando, sir, please, too much, too–” Lance pants as Fernando speeds up his handwork and thrusts with aim to hit Lance's prostate. “Oh, fu—uck, fuck, fuck!”

White spurs over Fernando's hand but he doesn’t let go, keeping the spent cock warm with his large hand while he fucks himself to his climax. The desk scratches over the floor and Lance lies on it, spent and a happy, dazed smile on his lips when Fernando finds his release. He folds over the other man with a deep groan and a heavy sigh.

It’s silent in the room for a bit, Fernando just gathering his wits and Lance panting from the excursion. There is a hand in Fernando's hair and he smiles from the small act of sweetness from the boy.

" 'M sorry, Nano" Lance mumbled, Fernando knowing why the boy was so quick to apologize.

"Don't worry about it, Lancito" Fernando smiled, pressing a kiss to his student's cheek before pulling back to hell him dress.

[marsstyles]

Love Language

Zilla Fatu + Serene Savage (OC)

Synopsis: Serene is starting to make her ground in the NXT roster as she is going to be competing for the Women’s North American Championship title. Then, someone from her past debuts in NXT and its none other than Zilla Fatu. There’s unresolved issues between the two that hasn’t been settled prior to her move to NXT. Will they be able to resolve the past issues to work together in the same space or will it cause even more friction between the two wrestlers?

CW: Mature Language, 18+, Cursing, Friends with Benefits.

Author’s note: Hi! I hope you enjoy reading the first chapter of my first fanfic! I created the character of Serene as a fun way to develop a wrestling persona for myself. Serene is Latina (as am I) so I will have her speak Spanish. I have put numbers next to each Spanish dialogue and will leave the English translations at the bottom for the page.

Happy reading!💜

Chapter 1

NXT: Orlando, Florida -10:30am

Serene is driving in her rental car, listening to SZA’s new album, “LANA”, on her way to the performance center for tonight’s show. It’s a big night for her as she is the Number One Contender for the Women’s North American Championship title against Fallon Henley, who is currently reigning with the title. She had a Fatal Four way match against Shotzi, Sol Ruca, and Zaria, the week prior and she ended up winning the match by pinning Shotzi. It was an exhilarating moment for her because she worked hard and waited for this moment to compete for a title since she came to NXT a year and half ago.

She is nervous, but also excited for the match because this win will be a major boost to her career. Listening to SZA brought a calmer, chill vibe that was needed to ease her nerves as she pulls into the parking lot of the performance center. After parking her rental car, she takes out her headphones and connects the bluetooth to her phone to listen to the music as she gets out of the car and heads for the trunk to pull out her suitcase and bags.

Serene walks towards the entrance of the center and enters to see Shawn directing the crew on how things he would like to happen for the show. She makes her rounds saying “good morning” to the crew and heads backstage to put her belongings away. She makes her way to the girl’s locker room and sees that a few of the girls made it before her, who were also settling into their spaces and started doing their routines.

Among those that were present in the locker room were: Stephanie Vaquer, Sol Ruca, Tatum Paxley, Kelani Jordan, Guilia, Wren Sinclair and Shotzi. They all see Serene enter, some said “good morning” and others waved at her. “Good morning, ladies!”, Serene greeted back to them. She sets her stuff next to Sol who was stretching her legs on the floor.

“Hello miss number one contender, how are you feeling?”, Sol asked her, as Serene was putting her stuff down. Serene gave her a look and signed, “Well, are you asking in general or are you asking about tonight?”, she asked, sarcastically.

Sol chuckled. “Well, since you brought it up, then both.”, Sol said. Serene closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “As much I want to say I’m fine and not feeling nervous at all, you know I would be lying to myself when in reality, I’m feeling anxious as hell.”, she said. “I know what you mean. Even though I lost last week, I’m happy that you are finally getting this opportunity that you rightfully deserve.”, Sol said, putting her hand on Serene’s arm.

Serene gives her a small smile and puts her hand over hers. “Thanks. It really sucked that we had to go against each other because I would have loved to see you get that Number One spot. I know how hard you’ve worked for to get a championship title.”, she said. Sol waved her off. “Nah, don’t worry. My time will come. I mean we all deserve a chance, it’s only a matter of who got that chance first. Since it was you, I was really happy that you got the spot.”, she said.

Serene smiled fondly at Sol. She is grateful of her friendship that she has built with Sol since she came to NXT. Sol helped her settle into the new environment since it was different from the indies, became someone she confided in whenever she was feeling anxious and knowing what to say to help her calm the nerves. She appreciates everything Sol has done for her and they have been close ever since.

She looks to her side and makes a mischievous grin, “Now, if it was Zaria that had gotten the spot, then we both would’ve been fucked. Luckily, it was you that pulled through.”, she said as she gets swatted by someone that Serene didn’t see come in. “I fucking heard that, Sol.”, a female voice with an Australian accent said, in annoyance.

Serene sees Zaria put her stuff down next to where her and Sol were seated at. Sol started laughing, “That was the whole point, I wanted you to hear that. Especially, since I know I’m right for pointing out the obvious.”, she said, shrugging her shoulders and smiling at Zaria. Zaria rolled her eyes and flipped off at Sol, then turned her attention to Serene. “So, big night for you. How are you feeling?”, she asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

“As I was telling Sol, I’m feeling a bit anxious, not gonna lie. It’s been something I have been looking forward to all week since it’s my first major match to compete for a championship title.”, Serene said, as she started rolling her legs on her foam roller.

“You’ll be fine, mate. Don’t sell yourself short and doubt your potential. We’ve all seen your work and how much you’ve earned this spot. Besides, it wasn’t gonna be me who was gonna get the spot, that’s for sure.”, Zaria said, matter of factly.

“What? Why do you say that?”, Serene asked, giving her a confused look.

Zaria gave her a serious look. “Mate, it’s obvious that it was not going to be me because I had just got here, hell, it wasn’t even going to be Shotzi since she recently just got back from an injury.,” she said, pointing at the green haired female who was talking to Tatum as they were walking out of the room. “As much I appreciate the compliment of my in ring ability, the reality of it is, it was either gonna be one of you two who was gonna get the spot. Unfortunately for Sol, you got the spot.”, she said, pointing out the obvious to both Sol and Serene.

After hearing what Zaria had said, Serene knew that she had a point. It was going to be either herself or Sol getting that Number One contender spot since they have been in the company longer than both Zaria and Shotzi combined. Zaria recently debuted here to NXT back in October and Shotzi was in the main roster before getting injured earlier in the year and had just returned to help out Tatum and her friend, Gigi Dolan.

Sol gave Zaria a friendly push on her legs. “Hey, the wound is still fresh. That night was rough for me.”, she said, dramatically with putting her hand over her heart as if what Zaria said hurt her.

Zaria rolled her eyes and shook her head at Sol’s dramatic self. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll be fine. You’ll get your chance.”, she said, smirking and waving her off. Both Serene and Sol laughed as Serene had finished off rolling her legs and started rolling her back. The three continued talking to one another and took turns guessing who will win in tonight’s match card other than Serene’s match with Fallon.

As they were finished making their predictions and Serene was finishing up rolling up her back, Shotzi came over to tell them that Shawn wanted everyone around the ring immediately.

When Sol asked her why, she replied, “He just said that he has an announcement to make and he told me to get whoever is in the locker room and bring them there. He didn’t tell me anything else.” She shrugged and left the locker room.

All three women looked at each other for a moment before making their way to the door and leaving the locker room. As they enter the room where the ring is, a crew member told them to find a seat on the stands. They made their way onto the stands and Serene sees Stephanie and went to go sit with her with Sol sitting next to her. “Stephanie, sabes que esta pasando?”(1), she asked Stephanie. Stephanie shrugged and shook her head. “No, no lo se. No dijeron nada. Solamente Shotzi me dijo que Shawn quería vernos porque iba anunciar algo. Nada mas.”(2), she said. Serene nodded as they wait for everyone to enter and be seated.

When everyone had entered and was seated, Shawn went onto the ring and was handed a microphone. “Good afternoon everyone!”, he greeted. “Sorry to interrupt your training and warm up, but I wanted bring you all together because I have an announcement to make.”, he said. We all looked at each other as we anticipating what he will announce.

“Before I tell you the announcement, I wanna go over tonight’s match card so those who have their matches tonight, will know which order each match will be placed.”, he stated. He explained the order of the following matches:

Opener: Lola Vice vs Kelani Jordan

2nd: Men’s Tag Team title matcha- Fraxiom vs No Quarter Catch crew

3rd: Women’s Triple Threat Tag Team Match- Meta Four girls, Shotzi and Gigi, and special guests: Kayden Carter and Katana Chance from Raw.

4th: Wes Lee vs. Jevon Evans

Main event: Women’s North American Championship title match- Serene Savage vs Fallon Henley.

After explaining what segments will be happening for backstage and in the ring throughout the show, Shawn continued, “Now that’s all done and settled,” pausing for dramatic effect and smiled, “it’s time for my announcement.” Everyone applauded and cheered as they were all waiting for what the announcement is going to be about.

“Now, the announcement I wanted to share with all of you today is something that me and the team have been working hard to get this to happen and luckily for us this past week, it finally did.”, Shawn said, smiling with pride. “I am announcing that we have someone new coming to NXT and will be added to the roster as of tonight.,” he stated, as he hears the wrestlers whispering to one another. He chuckles. “Now, settle down. I know that you are all eager to know who will be added to the roster and you will find out soon…”, he pauses and takes a moment to think before continuing, “You know what? Let’s bring him out here! Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our newest member in NXT, Zilla Fatu!,” he announces.

Serene freezes and felt her eyes widen when Shawn announced that name. A name that she hasn’t heard from for a while, a name that she only sees and hears about all over social media, a name of a person she thought she wouldn’t have to see again until this moment. No. Fucking. Way. What is he doing here? Distracted with her own thoughts, they were interrupted by Sol nudging her as she was applauding at the arrival of the one and only, Zilla Fatu. Serene shook herself out of her shock and started applauding with the others as she sees Zilla making his way into the ring and shake hands with Shawn, then facing towards them.

Zilla was wearing a black hoodie that had picture of his late father, Umaga, black shorts with red and black shoes. Damn, I forgot how good he looked. He’s still fine as hell., she thought, I wander if he still remembers me. Zilla nodded at everyone and scans the audience to see who he could recognize from the stands. He looks at the direction where Serene is sitting and does a double take. Serene notices him smirking at her as he looks at her direction and she looks away, putting her head down to hide her blushing. Crap. Not him seeing me. Serene couldn’t pay attention to what Shawn is saying and will ask either Sol or Stephanie to recount what he said because she is too distracted with her feelings about Zilla, feelings she thought she had moved on from after the last time she saw him.

“Serene, are you okay? Por que tienes la cabeza agachada?”(3), Stephanie asked her as she noticed Serene not paying attention to Shawn. Serene, embarrassed about what’s happening, whispered to her, “Te lo cuento después.”(4) Stephanie nodded, understandingly.

Serene zoned out for the rest of the meeting as she feels her anxiety internally brewing until Shawn said, “Alright, that’s enough for now. Thank you everyone and give your best welcome to Zilla into the roster.,” Shawn announced as he concluded the meeting and everyone applauds.

Serene is eager to get the fuck out of this room to run to the bathroom because she feels sick and she can’t breathe. As everyone goes down towards the ring to welcome Zilla, Serene storms out of the stands and runs into the hallway to find the bathroom.

She is on autopilot and is not aware of Sol, Stephanie, Zaria and Shotzi running after her and calling her name. Once she was able to find the bathroom, she runs inside to one of the stalls and falls onto the floor in front of the toilet. She feels like she’s about to the throw up, but the feeling won’t come out and instead, she’s just staring at the toilet as she was trying to control her breathing.

Why now? Why all of the sudden, he decides to sign with WWE? A company that has been wanting, as well as the fans, to get him signed to when he would always dread answering any questions that involved the company. She feels tears coming down her face that she was trying to prevent from coming out. As she was trying take deep breaths, she hears the door burst open and hears voices calling her name. “I’m in here.”, Serene shakingly calls out to them to lead them to the stall she’s in.

As Sol opens the door and sees Serene on the floor panicking and crying, she sits down in the floor with her and puts her hands on her arms, rubbing them. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Close your eyes and just focus on your breathing. In and out. In and out.”, she said, helping her ease her anxiety and wiping the tears off of her face. “Shotzi, go to the locker room and get her water. Her stuff is next to mine. Quickly, please.”, Sol pleaded. Shotzi nodded and ran out of the bathroom.

This wasn’t the first time that Sol helped Serene with her anxiety attacks. She has helped her deal with them whenever she was feeling stressed and anxious, whether it was about a match or anything personal. Serene had trusted her ever since she knew what to do to help her recover from her episodes. As she is trying to control her breathing, Shotzi came into the bathroom with her water, Serene thanked her and took a sip of the water. The rest of the girls waited for Serene to regain control of her emotions and her breathing before they start questioning her.

After she felt her anxiety ease, she wipes her tears off of her cheek then looks at them, embarrassed, “Sorry, ya’ll had to see that. Anyways, go on ahead. Ask away.”, she said, knowing the girls are curious about her behavior and the reason behind it. The girls looked at each other with concern because they unsure where to begin with their questioning.

After a moment of silence, Stephanie was the first break it. “Por que tenias tu cabeza agachada cuando entro Zilla? Lo conoces?”(5), she asked. Serene paused for a moment to think about how to tell them about her past with Zilla Fatu, a past that she didn’t know she would have to relive again. She took a deep breath and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do know him. We had a…a thing together in the past.”, she said, looking down at her tumbler and playing with the cap. “What kind of thing you both had previously? Was it serious?”, Zaria asked.

Serene shook her head and shrugged. “It wasn’t supposed to be at first. It was supposed to be something that we would be both emotionally detached from. Until later on, we didn’t know it would turn into an emotional attachment, at least on my end.”, she said that last part quietly to herself that only Sol was able to hear. “We had a…friends with benefits type of thing, which at first, I did agree to having with him because why the fuck not, he’s hot as hell and he was interested in me. So, we agreed to just fuck. Nothing more, nothing less.,” she confessed, to make it clear to them the intentions they both had in the beginning.

“I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming up.”, Sol said. Serene let out a little chuckle, “Yeah there is. But, as things went on, I started developing feelings for him. It was only because he started doing things that you would do if we were in a relationship.”, she said, looking away from the girls. “It started to confuse me because I thought we were just having causal sex and nothing else. We agreed on having no strings attached, but then suddenly, he just started making things complicated.”, she said, putting her hands over her face in embarrassment.

“So, what happened next? Did you confront him about his intentions?”, Shotzi asked. Serene nodded as she dropped her hands off her face. “Yeah, i did. I was sick of him playing in my face when I saw things weren’t going anywhere. I asked him how he really felt about me and if he wanted to commit to a relationship.”, she said. “He tried to deny that he was having any feelings for me and was downplaying the gestures he did whenever we were together because it was all part of getting me ‘horny’ since we were just ‘fucking’.”, she said, rolling her eyes as she was air quoting what he said.

“Is that the reason you looked away when he came in?”, Sol asked. “Yeah. I haven’t seen him since the last time we had a conversation together. I told him that I never wanted to see him again.,” she said, coldly. “Before confronting him, I had gotten the call that I was accepted to come here to NXT. I wanted to tell him at first, but with the back and forth, I decided not to tell him and just leave.”, she explained, “I looked down because he saw me when he got into the ring and smirked at me. Fucking asshole.”, she muttered, in annoyance.

“Well, we got your back if anything. And besides, you can’t let that stop you from focusing on getting the Championship title, tonight.”, Sol softly said, holding her hands and squeezing them. That’s right. God damnit. After seeing this asshole again, it has distracted me from focusing on the Championship title match. She’s mentally kicking herself for even letting his arrival affect her that way and distract her. “You’re right. I should be focusing on tonight’s match. This might’ve been a minor setback, but I’m not letting it stop me from achieving my goal.”, Serene said confidently.

“That’s right, girl! That’s the spirit!”, Shotzi exclaimed excitedly. “Now, we’ll leave you to fix yourself for a bit. We’ll wait for you outside.”, she explained as the other girls nodded in agreement. Sol and Stephanie help Serene up to her feet, she gave them a hug and thanked them for helping her. They smiled and left the bathroom so she could have her alone time.

After they left, Serene goes to the sink to wash her face, then looks up to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and splashed more water onto her face. She paused and looks up to the mirror saying, “No matter what, don’t let him distract you. You’ve worked hard to get this match and by the end of tonight, that title will be yours and you will be the new Women’s North American champion.” She affirmed herself, giving her a boost of positive energy she needed to feel.

After fixing herself and gave one last look to the mirror, she grabs her tumbler and heads for the door. She opens the door to find all three women outside of the bathroom, chatting with one another. They stopped their chatter as they saw Serene step out of the bathroom, “Are you good now?”, Sol asked. Serene nodded her head. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s head back to the locker room. I wanna find Fallon and ask her if she is down to practice before tonight’s match.”, she said. They all agreed and started walking down the hallway to the locker room.

Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of my first fanfic! This is my first time ever writing a fanfic so I hope did good lol. I have already written 2 more chapters that I will be uploading each week. I don’t know how many chapters this fic will have as I am working on the 4th chapter right now, but I will give an update! Let me know what you think of the chapter. 💜

Shoutout to my friend, @usoinked! She had helped me out during this process and I appreciate you so much!

Dividers: @diviniyae and @dailyramona

Here are the Spanish-English translations:

1. Stephanie, do you know what’s going on?

2. No, I don't know. They didn't say anything. Shotzi just told me that Shawn wanted to see us because he was going to announce something. Nothing more.

3. Why is your head down?

4. I'll tell you later.

5. Why did you have your head down when Zilla came in? Do you know him?

[stellarspecter]

@strangerthingswritersguild Daily Prompt 1/7/25: Browser History

Pairings: steddie, platonic stobin | Word Count: 895 | Rating: M (for mentions of sexual activity)

divider by @/saradika-graphics

Read on AO3

Eddie sat down on the couch and opened his boyfriend's laptop. Since his own was out of commission for a little bit, they were sharing for the next however long it would take for him to get his computer fixed. It was weird to be using someone else's computer — especially since Steve still used Chrome, ew — but it was better than being relegated to just his phone for weeks. It felt cramped to do everything on such a tiny screen.

Eddie was, as always, looking for a new guitar, and he'd heard there was a new Les Paul model out, so he opened up a new tab and typed in ‘L-E-S’.

Autocomplete popped up with Steve's recent suggested searches:

Lesbian porn Lesbians scissoring Best lesbian porn Best website for lesbian porn Lesbian strap-on Lesbian pegging Lesbian butch on femme Lesbian femme on femme Lesbian threesome

Eddie stared at the screen unblinkingly for several seconds. He knew Steve was bisexual, but… this was a little much. Especially for a man who had confessed to being much more into men recently, due to his boyfriend of a year and half and all that. 

Maybe he was missing being with women? The thought twisted something in Eddie's stomach.

Did Steve feel like he was missing out being with Eddie? Was he unhappy? Was he looking for someone else?

The very man in question walked up behind him, a cup of coffee in his hand as he slumped down on the couch next to him.

“Hey, babe,” Steve said, and leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. “What're you — oh.”

Clearly, Steve had seen what was on the screen.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie echoed. “What's this all about?”

Steve shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Eddie finding his porn preferences. “It was for Robin.”

…Honestly, Eddie should have thought of that.

“You watch porn with Robin?” He said incredulously. He just couldn't imagine that. And how could he not know? They'd been dating for over a year. They'd talked about what porn they watched. Hell, they'd even watched some together. Steve had never mentioned Robin.

Steve just shrugged again. Did he not see how weird this was? “Yeah. Haven't you ever watched porn with your friends?”

Eddie sputtered. “Wh— Why would I — No! Of course not! Steve, I'm gay, none of my straight friends would want to watch porn with me!”

Steve paused. “Okay, that's fair,” he conceded. “But I promise it's not a weird thing for friends to do. Me and Tommy used to do it all the time.”

Eddie snorted. “And let me guess, it was an excuse to jerk each other off but say no homo because you were jerking it to women.”

Steve flushed. “No!” He paused. “Hands stay to yourself, everyone knows that.”

“Oh my god, jerking off in the same room is still not a straight guy activity!” Jocks were so dumb and gay. How did they live like this? Eddie wondered in despair.

“I'm not a straight guy! I know!” Steve countered indignantly. “And anyway, that doesn't matter for me and Robin. Obviously she doesn't want to jerk me off and I don't want to do anything she's uncomfortable with.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “But she's fine getting off in the same room as you?”

“I mean, she wasn't at first,” Steve explained. “She used to be really skittish about it. But after a while, we were both getting worked up enough while watching them and just kind of stopped caring.”

Eddie was silent for a moment. “So let me get this straight,” he started. “You and your lesbian best friend have been getting together to watch — I'm assuming just lesbian porn?” 

Steve nodded. “I mean, she doesn't really want to see guys.”

“So then why are you there — nevermind, I know you'll say something weird,” Eddie sighed. Steve pouted and mouthed something that looked like ‘emotional support jock’ to himself. “You and your lesbian best friend have been getting together to watch lesbian porn together, and sometimes jerk off in the same room together, for… some period of time that's longer than I think, probably, and you haven't even told me about it?”

Steve's face, which had been amused through Eddie's breakdown, dropped at the last line. “Oh shit, was I supposed to tell you? I'm not cheating on you! It's Robin!”

“I know you're not!” Eddie exclaimed. “It's just like… I don't know. Would be nice to know what kind of porn my boyfriend likes. Could take some pointers.” He shrugged, all of a sudden self-conscious.

Steve bundled him in his arms, kissing him pointedly on the lips. “Trust me, you don't need any pointers,” he whispered. “And I watch different stuff on my own anyway.”

“Good,” Eddie whispered, and got distracted kissing his boyfriend for a little bit. 

After they had untangled and settled back down on the couch, ready to actually look at guitars this time, Eddie finally asked, “So how did you start watching porn with Robin anyway? Seems kind of out of left field.”

Steve shrugged and leaned his head on Eddie's shoulder, watching him scroll through listing after listing of expensive guitars. “Movie night,” he said simply, like that was enough of an answer. 

And maybe for anyone else it wouldn't be, but for Steve and Robin? There was nothing else he needed to say.

[shiqingxuanz]

little reading update btw

i finished fgep and interpreter of maladies and i'm reading qjj now along with the catcher in the rye

[rpfofficial]

character wrapped 2023 💥

tagged by @davidtennantpussytulpa ^-^ i didn't know how many to do so i copied tara and did top 10. i know the severance guys are Four Of Them but i can't separate them theyre all equally important to me

will graham (hannibal), em haywood (nope), aziraphale (good omens), mark & dylan & helly & irving (severance), hawkeye pierce (mash), martha jones (doctor who), ivan karamazov (the brothers karamazov), kim kitsuragi (disco elysium), stewy hosseini (succession), ruescott melshi (andor/rogue one)

i will tag... @fagician @britomart @libraryfag @roadwhores @majorbaby @globuspolski @hadleyfraserfaggot @tenderscience if u want to ^-^

[armenelols]

Yeah I've just realised it's been months since I posted or reblogged or replied to anything on here, so. Yeah. Obligatory announcement that I am still alive and well. My mind got wiped midway through exam season at the end of january and since they then I've been vibing in a stress free world where I am not worried about anything or doing anything

[shywhumpauthor]

Hey guys, so I just wanted to say that I’m probably not going to be putting out much writing for a bit. Like right now, I’m not actively working on writing anything. I feel kinda shitty about not writing though :/

I will probably (most likely, don’t want to say “definitely” though cause I know myself) put out some more short prompts/maybe some snippets in the next while but probably not any long pieces. Maybe. I don’t know maybe inspiration will strike tomorrow and this will all be a lie. But as of now, yeah.

​please stick with me here though I promise I’ll get back to writing soon.

I was also thinking about doing whumptober again, not sure if I will do it for a new series with characters or miscellaneous fills. Let me know?

[knightzp]

finally on winter break yayyyyyyy

[seventh-district]

14 hours of good sleep let’s fucking goooooo

[mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers]

i am god’s strongest soldier (tummy hurts in a new jersey airport)

[quiescentdestiny]

me: yeah I'm capable of being normal about things for the most part now.

-reads aftg-

me: wow way to make me a liar.