#been watching a bit of gravity falls and made this :3

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter four ♡

Summary: Halloween night arrives at the Hoffman barbecue, and you find yourself masking feelings again.

Word count: 8.5k

A/N: Oh, i'm not over... - thank you for your comments, they're so fun lol you all make me laugh !! <3 Hope you enjoy this part.

October 31st. You let your feet drag across the cool bathroom tile, feeling every step. There was something comforting in that small heaviness, your body still lulled by the weight of lunch, and your mind restless, carrying the remnants of memories you'd been revisiting all afternoon. You turned on the shower, waiting a moment before stepping in, the heat closing around you like a second skin. As your fingers combed through your hair, scrubbing it softly, your thoughts slipped forward, out of your control, toward the evening ahead, as inevitable as the pull of gravity.

Last year felt impossibly far away. Sarah had wanted to be a vampire. You’d found her a set of plastic fangs, which she wore with a grin that pushed her cheeks high up on her face. Her cape was metallic, shiny as foil, falling past her shoulders, and she looked so delighted, bouncing on her feet in front of the mirror. You'd managed to take more photos than you ever needed, laughing at her exaggerated grimaces and capturing her tiny poses. Joel had been there, too, playing along, wide-eyed with pretend fear, leaning away from her “fangs” in a way that made her giggle. Every single picture was still on your hard drive—photos from a time you could hardly believe was only a year ago.

This Halloween was different. Sarah had decided on her costume weeks back—an astronaut. You’d spent the better part of September helping her piece it together, and she was beyond excited. She’d be with her friends tonight at a “scary” sleepover, which she’d told you about, bright-eyed and practically bouncing with anticipation. It was strange that she wasn’t here. It felt like there was a piece of Halloween missing, but she hadn’t felt it that way at all. To her, this was the most exciting plan in the world. You’d felt it too, in her voice, like a little pinch in your chest.

This would be the first Halloween in years you’d spend without her, alone at the Hoffmans' barbecue. And without Sarah, Joel wouldn't come either. His attendance at these neighborhood gatherings had always been more about you than the event itself, which you’d always appreciated without needing to say it out loud. You could picture him, standing with a beer, blending into the background, jokingly complaining about the crowds. He’d said he didn’t care for the noise, the small talk, and the endless kids weaving through adults like they were on a secret mission. But you’d noticed the way he’d watch Sarah, his face softened as he looked on, his attention lingering in that way that showed he didn’t mind being here, really, because it was with you and her. And the two of you—Joel and you—could talk about anything. He made everything feel like a continuation of one long conversation, like you’d just pick up right where you’d left off, glancing at each other and knowing what the other meant without even saying it.

You could also picture Clara, who’d come over to him every year, her voice lilting as she placed her hand lightly on his arm, her laugh soft and maybe a bit forced. She had that amused smile, that slight lean toward him whenever she spoke, and you couldn’t resist teasing him about it later. He’d always looked so puzzled whenever you brought it up, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were hinting at. She’d been living in the neighborhood for years, a few houses down, in that bright yellow house, and you knew she’d nursed a quiet crush on him for a while. And Joel, for his part, never seemed to notice.

The thought made you smile, picturing him in that moment, eyes narrowed, brows creased, looking at you as if to say, “Why would she be interested?” But as soon as you felt the smile, the weight of reality caught up. Joel was no longer in your life in the same way. He wasn’t “your” Joel anymore, the friend you’d poke fun at and swap knowing glances with. He wouldn’t be coming to the barbecue this year. With Sarah gone and things fractured between the two of you, he’d have no reason to come. 

Maybe this would be the year he’d finally spend Halloween as he’d always said he wanted to—in the quiet of his house, watching a horror movie, the occasional interruption of trick-or-treaters breaking the silence as he handed out candy. The picture of him there, his small, self-contained world entirely separate from you, felt like an ache that had been growing for a long time, quiet and steady.

You missed him. And it made you furious to feel it, like he had somehow taken something from you by hurting you, even though you knew, rationally, that wasn’t true. Still, the feeling stuck, simmering somewhere in the background. You hated that you missed him at all.

*

Your steps matched Travis’s as you left the house, his voice filling the space around you, his hands carving shapes in the air with his animated gestures. The crisp October air wrapped around you, a lingering autumn sun casting a warm, golden wash over everything—the leaves curling on the trees, the lawn stretching out beside you. You hugged your flannel a little closer, fingers brushing over the thick fabric. It was just the right layer—a deep green fleece, oversized, over a worn black T-shirt. You were warm, content, happy even, if only you could hold on to that feeling.

Beside you, Travis was recounting a work spat, his colleague’s tone and insults reimagined in Travis’s flurry of hands. You caught the edges of his words, murmuring a few responses that seemed to satisfy him. By the time you reached the Hoffmans’ house, you were both following the gentle glow of orange lights strung across the yard, stepping into a scene that felt dreamlike, suspended in that late afternoon haze. There was a large oak tree strung with little yellow lights, glowing faintly in the dying sunlight, the whole place set up in the same meticulous, festive way the Hoffmans always did. 

Every corner had been turned into Halloween, with cobwebs woven over bushes and pumpkins large and small lining tables, some carved and flickering with candles, others untouched, casting shadows across the tablecloths. Guests mingled at scattered tables, warm drinks in hand, their voices and laughter filling the air with a kind of warmth you hadn’t known you’d needed. The grill added a woodsy scent, smoky and rich, mixed with spices that made your stomach hum with anticipation. A few feet away, kids dressed as witches and monsters zoomed around, their laughter spilling into the light breeze, punctuating the chatter of the adults.

It was the kind of evening that felt ripe for sinking into, letting go of all the worries that had weighed on you lately. You wanted to let yourself simply be here.

Travis glanced at you then, his gaze softening in that way he had, his question as warm as his smile. “I’m heading for food—want anything?” he asked, eyes moving from you to the spread at the far end of the yard.

You pushed yourself up from the table, your hands planted firmly as if grounding yourself.

“I’ll come with you—this is the best part, right?”

The food was better than ever. Tender, perfectly cooked meat, salads piled high, and a sense of community humming through every bite. You found your spot at the table again, balancing your glass of beer on the edge, the faint strains of music drifting from the outdoor speakers blending into the buzz of voices around you. And then, like some personal invitation to memory, you heard the familiar intro; Eyes Without a Face, by Billy Idol, that unmistakable beat curling around you.

Your shoulders started to sway, almost without permission, and then there he was again—Joel. Just like that, back in your mind, as clear as if he were standing beside you. You could picture it—two years ago, slightly tipsy, singing that song in his living room, his hand on your waist, both of you spinning each other slowly to the rhythm, his head tilted back in a deep laugh, voice just slightly off-beat, and you trying and failing to contain your own laughter.

“You okay?” Travis’s voice pulled you back, concern lacing his tone as he looked at you. Your gaze had been locked on some invisible point on the table, your head leaning slightly, reliving a memory that suddenly felt all too close.

“Oh—yeah. It’s nothing. I just love this song.”

He smiled, nodding knowingly. “It’s a classic,” he said, his fingers tapping along with the beat.

You looked up and there, just beyond Travis, the Hoffmans’ glass door slid open. You stopped breathing for a second. Joel stepped out, looking like he’d walked out of some old photograph, hair a bit damp, dark jeans and a gray and black flannel layered over a plain white T-shirt, a pair of black converse grounding him to this moment. He moved toward one of the tables, brushing his chin absentmindedly, his lips moving in time with the music, glancing around as if he were taking it all in for the first time.

And then his gaze found yours.

You held your breath, as if that could somehow make you invisible, as if that would erase this moment. But his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, a half smile on his face or maybe just a neutral expression—some mix of familiar and distant, like he was watching you from a place you could never fully reach. You swallowed, shifting your focus back to Travis, who had his eyes on his phone now, idly typing something while he continued to eat.

“I should’ve dressed up tonight,” you said, your voice intentionally light, trying to shake the weight that had fallen over you. “I don’t know what I’d be, but still. It would be fun to pretend for a night.”

Travis chuckled, leaning in closer, but you could still see Joel over his shoulder, that steady gaze, watching from his own table.

“I know a party tomorrow night—my friend’s hosting, if you want to go with me. We can pick out costumes tomorrow morning, make a day of it.”

You smiled, surprised at how genuinely it formed, pushing your hands together in excitement.

“Really? I’d love that! I haven’t dressed up in years.”

Travis’s face lit up. “Then it’s a date. We’ll figure out the costumes in the morning. Anything you want.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into that feeling, that lightness in his offer, something to look forward to. Your gaze wandered to Helena and her little daughter by the pool, her laughter carried to you on the breeze, her face illuminated in the soft glow of fairy lights. You patted Travis’s hand and stood up, gesturing for him to follow. He caught on, falling into step behind you as you made your way to greet them. 

But as you moved, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, lingering there in the space between.

It had been more than a month since you'd last seen Helena. She had traveled back to her home country after her father’s death, sorting through family matters, settling things that couldn’t be left undone. Now, with her daughter Iris perched on her lap, she looked better, lighter even. There was a calmness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Iris’s shoulder as the little girl, dressed as a bumblebee, poked unenthusiastically at a slice of pumpkin bread. You sat next to her.

“Hey,” Helena said, catching sight of you with a warm smile that seemed to melt away everything around you—even the awareness of Joel, somewhere behind you, his gaze like a whisper you couldn’t quite shake. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” you answered, hesitating as your eyes drifted to Iris, who looked up at you with a shy, dimpled smile. “When did you get back?”

“A few days ago. I was actually planning to stop by tomorrow,” Helena replied, brightening as she added, “I thought we could have dinner, get the girls together, and our guys.” She gave a little chuckle, nudging Iris lightly. “Paul would probably love having Joel around too. The poor guy spent the entire trip surrounded by women—my sisters are wonderful, but you know how it is. It was just him and my dad with all of us, and now…”

Helena had three sisters, each one of them stunning, with the same striking green eyes and dark hair that she had. When you’d met them last Christmas, it was as though you’d stepped into some enchanted fairytale—they moved with an effortless grace, magnetic and ethereal.

Helena’s eyes twinkled as she turned toward Travis. “You should come too, Travis,” she said, a mischievous glint in her expression. She shot you a knowing wink, which Travis, ever polite, caught with a smile.

“Sounds great,” he replied with an easy grin, though you felt a twinge of discomfort at the mention of “our guys,” the thought of Joel slipping into your mind unbidden. Trying to brush it aside, you nodded and shifted the conversation.

“Is Paul not coming tonight?” you asked, hoping to keep things light.

“No,” she sighed. “He’s been swamped at work, trying to catch up after our trip. But I really can’t complain. He was so great, staying home with me all this time, so I told him tonight he should just take his time.” 

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

“Helena, it’s so good to see you!” Brenda, always the life of these gatherings, came over with her usual warmth, her gaze lighting up as she reached out for Iris. 

Brenda’s costume was a striking homage—her spiky orange hair and dark lipstick made her look both bold and playful. She wore a white shirt stamped with slogans in block print, a chunky pearl necklace framing her smile. As she was sitting in front of Helena, she caught your eye and grinned.

“I'm Vivienne Westwood!” she announced proudly, preening a little under your gaze.

“You look amazing,” you said, meaning it. “And the food is, as always, incredible. You outdo yourself every year.”

Brenda gave your hand a squeeze in response, her gaze softening, but just as she was about to respond, her attention shifted beyond you, a pleased expression lighting up her face. “Oh! Joel, come over here!”

Your body tensed at the sound of his name, feeling as though the space behind you had just closed in. He was there, his footsteps echoing toward you until he was nearly at your back. You wanted to stand up, to avoid the moment entirely, but it would have only made things worse—too obvious, too awkward. Brenda couldn’t have known. Joel had always been a fixture in your life; it wasn’t strange to see him here, even if, for some reason, it felt like he was moving in a world that was no longer entirely yours.

You glanced up, catching sight of Joel as he leaned down to kiss Brenda’s cheek while she patted the seat next to her. His smile was casual, easy, as he greeted the others with a nod, his eyes lingering just a second longer on you and Travis than felt necessary. He looked completely at ease, unbothered by the tension knotting up inside you, sitting comfortably in front of you.

Brenda’s hand rested on his arm as she looked up at him with a fond smile. “Where’s your Sarah? I haven’t seen her all night.”

“She’s at a friend’s sleepover,” Joel replied, a hint of concern threading through his words, though he tried to disguise it with a smile. “So I’m here on her behalf, I suppose.”

“She’s growing up so fast,” Brenda said, her tone nostalgic as she gave him a soft smack on the arm.

Joel shook his head slowly, a bittersweet smile flitting across his face before his gaze moved to Iris. “Tell me about it. I remember when she was this little…”

Helena’s hand drifted over her daughter’s hair as she smiled back at him.

“It all flies by, doesn’t it?” she said, her voice soft. “We really have to hold on to these moments.” She turned toward Travis, and he nodded, a gentle look in his eyes as he watched Iris. 

“How old is Sarah now, Joel?” Travis asked, and you noticed a subtle shift in Joel’s expression, a kind of hesitance before he replied.

“Twelve,” he said, his voice quieter, his gaze falling briefly before meeting Travis’s, smile dissapearing.

“Twelve?” Brenda’s tone was incredulous. “I still remember the day you moved in, Joel! She was so little then, a perfect little angel! And you—how old were you then?”

“Twenty-seven,” Joel answered with a wry smile, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

“You were just a kid yourself,” Brenda replied, shaking her head. “Always working, always rushing somewhere. And always putting your baby first.”

Joel’s smile softened, his eyes meeting Brenda’s with a warm gratitude.

“I couldn’t have managed without you,” he said simply, as though she understood all the years of support and help she had given him.

Helena glanced over with a thoughtful look. “Didn’t you just have a birthday, Joel?” she asked, her voice casual, but the question landing with a weight that made your heart leap. 

“That's right,” he murmured, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers against the edge of the table. “September twenty-sixth.”

“Hey, happy belated birthday then,” Helena said brightly, her smile lighting up the words. “Did you have a nice time?”

Joel looked at you briefly, and something flickered there, like he was turning over a memory he hadn’t expected to find. He shifted his gaze back to his hands. “It was good. Full of… surprises, I guess. Pretty sure Sarah told you all about it, huh?” He shot a glance at Brenda, as if grateful for a way out of the conversation.

“Oh, I heard all about it from Sarah,” Brenda said, grinning, her gaze settling on you with a warmth that made you blush. “You’re a lucky guy, Joel, to have two sweet girls looking out for you like that.” She patted his arm. “I’ll make up a little bag of candy to take home to her, all right? I know she loves the caramel ones.”

You smiled, trying to ignore the prickle of Joel’s gaze on you. And then a feeling dragged you back to years before, to when his Sarah was just three. You could pictured her as a toddler with wide eyes and a toothy, mischievous grin. Joel had shown you those old photos once, and you remembered how adorable she looked, her tiny hand clutching a toy tightly. Sarah had his smile—that same easy warmth, with eyes that crinkled and all but disappeared whenever she laughed. That gesture was even present in Tommy, now that you thought about it. Maybe it was purely a Millers thing, but it—

You realized Brenda was talking to you and straightened up, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Sorry, what?”, you asked.

Brenda chuckled, looking at you with a soft smile. “I was just asking, how old was Sarah when you first met her?”

“She was eight,” Joel answered before you could, glancing at you with a faint smirk.

"Yeah, eight," you echoed the number, ignoring the way his gaze moved over you, lingering with a warmth that felt almost invasive.

At that moment, Helena called Brenda’s attention back to a conversation about Christmas and Iris’s upcoming birthday, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, searching your face like he was looking for something only you might understand. You tried to keep your own expression neutral, feeling Travis’s hand come to rest on your knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch helped you to breathe a little easier, though Joel didn’t miss the gesture. His gaze hardened as he glanced down, the line of his jaw tightening slightly.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, finally addressing Travis. “So, how’s business going, Travis? I heard something about real estate taking a hit. Times are rough, aren’t they?”

Travis, completely unfazed, nodded, his hand still on your knee. “It is. At least for now things are still good, but of course, I can speak for myself.”

Joel gave a slow, mocking nod, feigning an interest he didn’t feel. “Well, you seem quite competent. I have no doubt you sure are handy with business. Is your dad still running the company?”

Travis smiled, oblivious to the subtext that hung in Joel’s question. “Yep, still going strong, but I think he’s planning to retire soon. My old man is tired, I think.”

Joel raised his eyebrows in a mock gesture of understanding. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like the kind who’s got a knack for that… you know, the charm. Every successful businessman needs a little bamboozling spark, don’t they? And I... I think you fit the role.” 

“Joel,” you warned quietly, hoping to temper the tension you could feel growing at the table. But Joel merely looked back at you with a faint, defiant smile, ignoring the caution in your eyes.

Travis, patient as ever, simply shrugged. “I appreciate your good faith, Joel. It means a lot coming from you, I know what a hard worker you are.”

The kindness in his tone, the sincerity in his eyes—it made your heart soften. You turned to look at him with a warm smile on your face, how was he immune to the sharp words of the man in front of him? And Joel had a special talent for formulating painful and provocative sentences, but apparently Travis was not the easy guy to gnaw on. And you were grateful for that. 

He turned to you, his eyes warm as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to get us some drinks. Need anything, beautiful?”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

As he rose and walked away, he gave your shoulder one last affectionate squeeze. You noticed Joel watching Travis’s every move, his expression darkening, and once Travis was out of earshot, Joel’s gaze returned to you. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation, his eyes narrowing in an almost accusatory way as they moved over your face, searching.

“Joel, really,” you whispered, leaning in so only he could hear. “You don’t have to treat him like that. He’s never done a thing to you.”

A smirk flickered across his lips, and he leaned closer, eyes dancing with a kind of challenge. “Treat him like what?”

You shook your head, pulling back to put some distance between you, but Joel’s gaze followed, steady, like he was waiting for you to react, hoping for it even.

Murmuring an apology to Brenda and Helena, you stood, slipping away to the table by the big oak tree where your empty plate and half-full glass still sat. You picked it up, taking a long drink, grateful for the quiet moment, even as you felt his eyes on you from across the garden.

Travis appeared in front of you, a warm smile on his face as he handed over a small plate with a chocolate cupcake, topped with a dollop of cream shaped into a ghost and dusted with coconut. The sweet smell hit you right away, and you leaned in, inhaling the scent, your mouth already watering. You took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate—it tasted like all of Brenda Hoffman’s best baking, delicious and indulgent.

“Maybe after the barbecue, we could head back to my place for a while,” Travis said, his expression slightly tentative, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of your response.

“That sounds perfect,” you replied with a small smile, trying not to feel self-conscious. As you savored another bite, you glanced toward the pool where Joel was still deep in conversation with Brenda, Helena, and Iris. A moment later, you noticed Clara, all golden hair and easy confidence, sliding into the seat you’d left vacant. She placed two plates on the table, one for herself and one for Joel, who glanced up as she settled in, looking pleased.

Travis followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a knowing look.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” he said, sounding almost amused, though his eyes held a faint hint of confusion. “I think I might understand why, i mean, i think i know why but…”

You blinked, feeling that all-too-familiar twinge of guilt.

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” you said, brushing off the thought. “He’s just acting… well, like a jerk.”

Travis nodded slowly, digesting your words, but then his eyes softened with curiosity.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but… what happened with you two? Weren’t you best friends? I remember you two were always together, but lately…”

You sighed, feeling the tension build as you searched for a way to answer. Travis didn’t need the full story, not yet.

“Like I just told you, he's acting like a jerk,” you said, and it didn't take long to sense that Travis wasn't satisfied with your answer.“Honestly, we just… had an argument a few weeks ago,” you said, carefully choosing each word. “It’s been weird between us since then, I guess.”

Travis seemed to sense that you didn’t want to go deeper, and thankfully he let the topic slide, moving the conversation in a new direction as he began to tell you about the last book he’d read.

“I just finished The Red and the Black, actually,” he said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he picked up his fork, poking at his plate absently. “I didn’t like Madame de Rênal. I thought her choices were a bit… unconvincing.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as you swallowed the last bite of cupcake. “Well, we're talking about revolutionary and passionate times, you know. I mean, Stendhal had his characters reflecting all that intensity. Have you read Goethe’s Werther?”

Travis smirked, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the Werther book. The one with the famous suicide, right?”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the one. The famous suicide and the iconic outfit. I know it gets heavy, but I’ve always liked it.”

He chuckled, nodding as if to humor you.

“My sister made me read it as a teenager, actually. I thought Werther was too… sentimental for my taste.”

You tried not to smile too widely, picturing a young, disinterested Travis, brow furrowed over Goethe’s verses.

“I get it. I was probably more sympathetic to Werther than I should’ve been. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic myself, so maybe it made sense to me. Though I’ll admit, he does get insufferable.”

“Definitely insufferable,” Travis said, still amused. “I’ve always been more into horror anyway.”

The comment made you smile—Travis had a whole shelf at home stacked with DVDs and old VHS tapes of classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Cujo, and The Birds. You’d teased him about it, of course, but there was something oddly endearing about it too.

As the conversation flowed, a faint twinge made itself known in your stomach, and you shifted in your seat, trying to ignore it. You’d had a glass of beer and two tall glasses of water before coming over, so the feeling wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, excusing yourself as you rose from your spot.

In doing so, you glanced over Travis’s shoulder, only to catch sight of Joel and Clara by the pool. Brenda had moved elsewhere, leaving Clara at Joel’s side, closer than casual. She was leaning into him, her hand resting against his shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, her laugh light and flirtatious. Joel didn’t seem uncomfortable with her proximity. In fact, he was smiling back at her, his gaze locked on hers in a way that made your heart sink just a little. 

You looked away, feeling a strange pang that you couldn’t quite justify. Had he been ignoring Clara before simply because you were there, next to him? But now, alone with her… he didn’t seem to be ignoring her at all.

As you headed toward the house, you forced yourself to shake off the thought. You slipped through the door and let out a sigh of relief, the cool interior air calming your nerves. Walking quietly down the hallway, you reached the bathroom and knocked gently to check if it was free. It was unoccupied, so you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. You paused by the mirror, glancing at your own reflection, almost surprised by the tension in your eyes.

What was Joel doing, looking at Clara like that? Wasn’t he still with Sienna? And what would she think if she saw him now, flirting? It was hard not to wonder if Sienna was like Clara, someone completely different from you. 

Clara was a flash of brilliance, a woman who looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover, golden curls that fell like soft waves of sunlight, her skin bronzed from Texas summers, her green eyes glinting with a brightness that made her seem almost elemental, like an extension of the sun. Her voice was soft, delicate; every word felt chosen, measured. She was flirtatious, always laughing, always seemingly content with the way things were. You could almost imagine that Clara might be Joel’s type—a vibrant, sunlit presence. It would make sense; he was her opposite in every way. When you thought of Joel, you thought of nighttime, the murmur of crickets outside a darkened window, strong coffee and smoky whiskey, a deep, hidden undercurrent. 

And you? You weren’t sure what you were. You weren’t quite the night, nor the day. Maybe you were something in between, or maybe you were just… undetermined. You wanted to think you had some affinity with the moon, but even that seemed too defined.

You sighed, breaking your gaze from your reflection as you felt an urgency to finish up. A moment later, you were washing your hands, the warm water and lavender soap grounding you a bit as your mind drifted again, wandering along with the suds down the drain. You dried your hands with a soft cotton towel, inhaling the fresh, clean scent.

But when you opened the door, you froze in place. Joel was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked behind him. He had been staring at the floor, but as soon as he heard you, his gaze flicked up. There was an intensity in his expression that made you pause, waiting for him to say something, to step aside, to let you pass. But he didn’t move.

When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the small space like a slow crack.

“Are you with him now?”

“With who, Travis?” you said, sounding more dismissive than you’d intended.

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Who else? Or is there another I don’t know about?”

You took a few steps closer, folding your arms, letting your expression go cold and tight, the same way it always seemed to be now, whenever you looked at him.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Joel.” You lifted your chin. “I mean, last time I checked, you haven’t been all that open about your life either. So why would I tell you anything about mine now?”

Joel’s smirk twisted into something sharper. “Didn’t stop you from telling Tommy, did it?”

You shrugged. “Well, you’re not Tommy.”

Joel scoffed, crossing his arms, clearly entertained. “Telling Tommy is practically the same as telling me.”

You lifted an eyebrow, unfazed. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe that.”

But his amusement faded, and he looked at you with something almost searching, like he was trying to find a trace of the way you used to be with him—kind, understanding, open in a way that had made him comfortable. You saw the shift in his face, in the way his eyes flicked between yours, like he was looking for some doorway back to that version of you. But she wasn’t here. Or maybe she was, just not for him anymore.

Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper, as he asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

So you simply met his gaze, letting silence serve as an answer, your lips lifting in a faint, cryptic smile. And then you saw the moment he believed it: his jaw tightened, his breath went shallow, and his eyes seemed to darken, hardening.

The question hit you, and you stayed silent, unsure if an answer would expose the bitter knot you felt at your center. You hadn’t slept with Travis, not yet anyway. But Joel didn’t know that, and you found a petty thrill in letting him wonder, letting him believe what he wanted—that other hands, other lips had erased him from your memory, replaced every touch. That he had no longer been the last man to touch you. 

It was pathetic, you knew it, but the curiosity to see his reaction was stronger than anything else. So you decided not to answer, to let the silence lie for you.

“Like I said, none of your business,” you finally said, feeling something small and satisfied flare inside.

Joel chuckled, but it was a grim sound. He looked down briefly, and when he looked back up, there was an almost cruel gleam in his eye.

“Did he know where to touch you?”

You scoffed, turning the question back on him. “Do you really want to know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You knew Joel well enough to know he would go there if he could. But you couldn’t let him gain the upper hand, not here. If anything, you needed to keep him off-balance, keep him uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m all ears,” he replied, his smile gone now, leaving only a hard, steady gaze that felt like it was drilling into you.

You felt your cheeks flush, but you held his gaze, determined.

“He was the best I’ve ever had,” you said, letting each word hang in the air, daring him to question it. You tilted your head, feigning a fond, private recollection. “Gentle, but rough when I wanted him to be. And you want to know the best part?”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, his expression softened. The dark look in his eyes deepened, his smile long gone.

“Afterwards, when I woke up,” you went on, drawing out each word, “Travis was still there.”

Joel’s head dipped, his eyes dropping to the ground, and you took a brief, selfish moment to take in the sight of him, almost broken in front of you. But something twisted in your chest; the satisfaction felt hollow, quickly replaced by a pang of something closer to pity, almost regret. You had an impulse to reach out, to tell him you hadn’t meant it, that Travis wasn’t even in the picture, that he hadn’t been the best or the first or anything. But you couldn’t allow that. 

You had to remind yourself why you’d stopped letting Joel in—how he’d left you out in the cold, how he’d made your feelings seem like nothing, as if they didn’t matter enough to consider. You had to remind yourself of Sienna, this woman who felt like a ghost, hovering between you and Joel, even though you’d never even met her. And if he was really with someone else, what was he doing here, pushing and prying, acting like he had the right to know these things about you? Why was he acting like he cared if you’d moved on, or if you were with someone else, when he was so openly flirting with Clara just a few minutes ago in Brenda’s backyard? Had he become a complete asshole, or had he always been like that and you were just now realizing it?

As the memory of it all flooded back, the tenderness you'd felt earlier drained away, replaced by a familiar, suffocating anger. It surged up from somewhere deep inside you, visceral and sharp, and before you could stop yourself, your body moved instinctively—stepping back, away from him—until your back hit the cold wall by the bathroom door. The impact was jarring, but it felt like a small, needed separation. 

Joel didn’t speak right away. He stood still, his eyes shifting downward, slowly, moving over your body, before meeting your face again. His expression was unreadable, like a mask he didn’t quite know how to remove. It irritated you, this silence, this uncertainty that hung between you two like an unwelcome guest.

Finally, you broke the tension, pushing yourself off the wall and stepping back, away from him. But just as you tried to distance yourself, his voice vibrated through the air, low and deliberate, cutting into your thoughts.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension. 

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

A shiver ran through you, a mixture of anger and something else—something hotter, something less easy to define. You didn’t want to feel it, but it was there, and it was impossible to ignore.

No. This wasn’t about that. This was about him—how dare he?

In a sudden movement, your hands moved to the buttons of the flannel, fumbling with them in a rush, eager to take it off, to rid yourself of him. But as you tugged the fabric down over your shoulders, you felt Joel’s hand close around your left wrist, his palm warm against your skin, halting you, slowing you down. The touch was too familiar, too intimate, and it sent a jolt of something you couldn’t quite identify straight to your stomach.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly low and commanding, like he was trying to anchor you, like he was trying to hold you in place. “It’s yours. Don’t take it off.”

You snorted, a dry, incredulous sound, and with an almost violent motion, you yanked your hand away from his, finishing the job of removing the flannel with a sharp tug. 

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening further, and for a moment, you could see the effort it took him to stay still. His eyes lingered on you, tracing your every move, as you held the soft fabric against his chest. You could feel the air shift, feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, and your heart beat a little faster. 

You looked up at him, the anger suddenly spilling out of you. “No. You’re right. It’s yours. I should have given it back to you a long time ago.”

His hand moved up to his chest, over yours, taking the fabric from you with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Put it back on,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was trying to smooth over something that had frayed. "It's cold outside."

You wanted to fight it, to say something sharp, but your irritation bubbled up before you could stop it.

“Good thing I live across the block, then,” you blurted, the words coming out thicker with frustration as you pulled your hand free from under his, feeling the heat of his fingers linger on your skin.

Joel's patience was running thin. His hand shot out again, grabbing the flannel in a fist and pulling it closer to you, the fabric stretching between your bodies.

“Stop being so stubborn and put it back on,” he said, his tone more demanding, more urgent. His voice had a sharpness to it now, almost like a warning.

Something inside you snapped. You shoved his hand back hard, with as much force as you could muster, pushing him away—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. His body didn’t move, though. It stayed solid, unyielding, the broadness of his shoulders making you feel small, like you were being swallowed by his presence.

Frustration bubbled inside you, gnawing at your chest as you turned sharply on your heels, determined to leave. Your steps were quick, purposeful, as you made your way toward the hallway exit, the air heavy with everything left unsaid between you and Joel. But then, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, dragging you back to him. You pivoted on instinct, meeting his gaze with eyes darkened by anger, sharp and focused.

For a moment, your mind flashed with the impulse to tear his hand off your wrist, to wrench it away and walk out of this whole mess. But you let it go. Instead, you locked eyes with him, your breath catching as your irritation turned into something more potent—exasperation.

“Enough, Joel,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I'm tired of fighting with you.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and inside, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had come to this—how two people who once fit so easily together had ended up here, so broken and scattered. 

“Then let’s not fight,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was pleading. There was a quiet desperation in his words, a slight hitch, as if he was offering a fragile truce. “We can—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” you interrupted, your words sharp and cold, the bitterness clinging to every syllable. “I can’t stand you anymore.” As soon as they left your lips, you realized how hard and cruel they sounded, but you didn’t care. You were exhausted. Tired of the games, tired of the back-and-forth. The anger inside you surged again, hotter than before, as his fingers tightened around your wrist, forcing you to feel the weight of it. Desperation.

“Don’t look for me,” you continued, the words raw and unrelenting. “Don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t look at me. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’ve had enough of all of this. If I could go back in time, I’d change everything, I’d avoid all of this shit.” The heat in your chest built as tears threatened, burning behind your eyes. “But I can’t. I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you, so leave me the fuck alone for once. Avoid me if you can and I’ll avoid you. Pretend I don’t fucking exist. I don't know. Just stop it, Joel.”

The impact of your words hit him like a physical blow. You saw the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his mouth twisted, his face contorting in a wince. Something inside you sank, and for a moment, regret pierced you. But then, the anger pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t been considerate of you before, had he? And that thought, that realization, let the remorse slip away.

His grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t release you. Instead, his fingers trailed down to your palm, stroking it gently with his fingertips, his breath shallow and measured, like he was holding himself back from saying something more. 

For a moment, you both stood still, suspended in that space, him looking at you, and you trying not to look at him—waiting, anticipating what would come next. What was the right thing to do now? You should walk away. Right now. Now. 

But then his voice, quiet and soft, cut through the air.

“You don’t need me anymore?”

“No,” you said, the word escaping before you could stop it. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, and the second it left you, you could feel it: the squeeze in your chest, the twisting of your heart. It wasn’t true, not really. But you wanted it to be. You wanted it to be true more than anything.

Joel’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like they were searching for something in your face that wasn’t there. His expression faltered, his hand falling away from yours, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if the weight of your words had crushed him. 

“I know that’s not true, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t name, but it was too much. You couldn’t bear to see it.

You shook your head, refusing to let the crack in your own resolve show.

“Maybe not, yet,” you said, your voice colder now, harder. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it true.”

With that, you turned away before you could second-guess yourself, before you could see his reaction and let the guilt undo you. You didn’t want to stay. Not now. If you stayed a moment longer, you knew you would apologize, you’d cave, you’d let him back in. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t keep doing this. 

You walked quickly back to your seat, each step carrying you farther away from him, from the tension that had become unbearable. You barely noticed Travis’s worried look when you sat down next to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You were gone a while.”

You nodded, forcing a weak, half-smile. But inside, it felt like everything was crumbling. Your bones felt brittle, as if they might snap with the weight of it all. Your body had turned to lead, your muscles drained of all strength. Your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, were a reflection of the ache in your chest. 

You just wanted to go home, crawl into your bed, and never come out. The lump in your throat grew larger with every second, and the cold air stung your neck, making you shiver.

“What happened to your shirt?” Travis asked, noticing the way your body had become tense and cold.

You didn’t answer, relieved when he stood and came to stand beside you. You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, his movements gentle, as he draped it over your shoulders and helped you tuck your arms into it. 

Once you were warm, Travis slipped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him, his soft kiss to the top of your head offering a fleeting moment of comfort. You couldn’t help but lean into him, resting your head on his collarbone, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort of being held, the peace of someone who wasn’t trying to tear you apart.

But then you heard it—the sliding door opening. And you knew. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw him. Joel. Walking out of the house, his pace slow, deliberate, as he clutched the flannel shirt in his left hand. His eyes were cast downward, but when he looked up, they locked on you. His expression shifted, something unreadable in the way he looked at you, and your stomach dropped. 

He walked toward his table, his fist clenching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles went white, his gaze never leaving you. You couldn’t look away either. It was like a magnetic pull. 

At his table, Carla was waiting, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk circling prey. You felt an involuntary surge of disgust. You wanted to stand up, to march over there and shake her, to tell her to leave, to stop, that she was being pathetic. But then, the sharp, bitter truth hit you: Carla wasn’t the problem. You were. She reminded you of yourself—the way you’d clung to Joel, the way you’d let him define you. 

Joel spoke, his voice angry and loud enough for you to hear from where you sat. 

“I’m going home,” he said, his eyes cutting through Carla as he raised his head to her height. Then he pulled back, holding out his hand. “Y'wanna come with me?”

And there it was—the knot in your chest tightened. Carla nodded, flushed with a victorious smile, and took his hand. The same hand that had held yours just minutes before. 

You closed your eyes, sinking further into Travis’s embrace, the ache in your chest spreading, overwhelming. 

You couldn’t leave now. Not with him walking out, not with her next to him. What would you do? Cross paths with them on the way out? Watch them walk away together? The thought was unbearable.

“Can we go to your place for a while?” Your voice was small, almost breaking as you whispered into Travis’s chest. 

“Sure thing, honey,” he murmured, the warmth of his body offering a small, fleeting comfort against the storm of emotions inside you.

-

@nobodyssfool @gigistorm @ @auteurdelabre @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @cosmic006533-blog @doblasftcisco @maiyart @concrete-jungleeee @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @powellssaturn @kyloispunk @paleidiot @aceaubrianna @liciafonseca @kaolusha @beeboopski

@maryfanson @rosebuds-and-moonlight @the-universe-is-complicated @formulafun @chewie-bars @glizzymcguirex @pedroswife69 @ivoryandflame @dixonswingz @sarahhxx03 @mellymbee @dailyobsession @msmorningstaarr @mystickittytaco @xxreginaxx @marellabyr @spacegirl-3 @alrihhty @heheheilovepedro @svrgs-blog @94namkooksworld @puddles221b @cowboymcflurry @medusaandposeidonshead @stylesispunk @sweatpeakarolinaa @puddles221b @deansimpalagirl @jasminedragoon @lover-of-books-and-tea @whimsiwitchy @cuteanimalmama @theherothesavior @ivoryandflame

[whatifitis]

♡ Wickedly Amazing - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando is stressed and working all day so during his 15 min break, you decide to stress him out even more 😍

Author's Note: this is complete ass, i wrote it in 1 hr, feedback is always appreciated <3

WC: 970

CW: fluff, my love for wicked the musical, lando matching girlies freak (i think)

Lando had been spending the whole day in meetings via zoom and to say you were bored was an understatement. You had already cleaned the whole apartment, sent some work emails, and read half your book. You missed Lando, even though he was less than 5 feet away. 

Lando had meeting after meeting and they lasted hours. You really only got to see him when you brought him water and food, just sliding it next to him to stay out of frame of the camera and not distract him. 

But Lando was about to have a 15 min break before his next, and hopefully final, meeting of the day. You took it upon yourself to annoy him in your usual fashion, and try and help him destress him a bit by possibly stressing him out. 

While Lan was wrapping up the meeting, you quietly set up a chair behind him and out of frame. You wrapped a throw blanket around your neck and had a broom in hand. As soon as you heard Lando say goodbye and leave the session, you played Defying Gravity on the speakers. 

As soon as the music started, Lando nearly threw his phone into the hair from the abruptly broken silence. He turns in his seat to see you walk around the corner, playing both Elphaba and Glinda’s bits in the song. 

The smile and amusement on his face was what you did these things for. You loved his smile, even more when he truly was happy and when you were the one making it happen. His smile was so wide and the corners of his eyes crinkled with the bridge of his nose. 

As you kept singing, he was cheering you on with some whistles, fist pumps and “that’s my girl”’s. You walked around the room putting on the performance of a lifetime. 

The bridge was coming up and this was your moment to truly blow away the audience (Lando). 

You made your way to the chair you had set up earlier and stood on top of it, shouting about how soon you’d watch them in renown. You threw your cape back to emphasize the imaginary wind blowing up, holding your broom close to you as you prepare to belt your heart out. 

Lando watched in awe through your whole performance. If anyone asked him about your singing, he’d say it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. Whether you were singing Defying Gravity or 22,  he loved it. He thought you were one of, if not the best, singers in the world. That your talent blew the competition out of the water. It wasn’t often that he got to listen to your singing, so the few times he was able to, he savored every second of it. 

But of course, he couldn’t let you have all the fun. As you belted and approached the final riff, Lando took it upon himself to become a part of the ensemble. He stood up from his seat and raced to kneel before you, slowly lying on the ground and singing along to the backing vocals of the song. 

He watched as you successfully attempted Cynthia Erivo’s rift, not being able to hide the smile that is plastered on his face. 

As the song ends, silence fills the room, only the sounds of the two of you trying to catch your breaths can be heard. You drop the broom and step down from your chair, looking at Lando who is now laying flat on the floor as if he was the one carrying that performance on his back.

He clearly wasn’t moving anytime soon so you decided to join him on the floor, falling onto him and resting your head on his chest, listening to his heart as it slows. You feel Lan wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer to him and feeling him kiss your head. 

Lan unties the blanket from around your neck and wraps the blanket around the two of you, wanting to relax for the next few minutes with his favorite person. “That was amazing,” he says. 

“Would you say it was… wickedly amazing?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him, trying to supress your smile a bit. 

“Oh shut up.” he laughs, feeling you let out a few giggles as well. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you ask, looking up at him, your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“For a lot of things. But mainly for being here, and making me laugh and making me happy.”

“Oh, you don’t have to thank me. I’m just here, trying my best. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, thanks to you. I genuinely wouldn’t be here without you. You’ve been here through all my bullshit. I was rude as fuck at times, but you still stayed. I don’t know how I could ever repay you and how much it means to me.” Lan confesses, softly rubbing his thumb along your cheek. 

You move to hover over him, resting on your elbow, “You really don’t have to thank me, Lan. I do all of this because I love you. I do everything for you because I care about you. You’re my favorite person in the world and there’s no one I would rather sing with. I want to spend the rest of my silly little life with you, right by your side.”

“I love you.” “I love you.”

You move to capture Lando’s lips in yours. It’s slow and gentle, feeling him relax as you hold the side of his face with your hand. His lips feel warm against yours and he never wants to forget this feeling, of feeling so safe and happy and like he’s truly loved. He never wants to let you go. You’re his girl. His person.

[manariee]

CASUAL? ੭ 심재윤

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘? ───── Two weeks, and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach. Is it casual now?

𝒮 심재윤 & fem!reader wc: 3.3k cw: fluffy scenes, kissing, touches, Jake being a clueless idiot, y/n keeps hurting herselff, angst

𝓜 anas notes: omg finally. I'd like to first apologize for how long this took, I know the fic in general isn't that long but school was kicking my ass since I missed 3 days. also thank you to @saemisic for watching me crash out like a idiot.

It started innocently enough, two friends who enjoyed each other's company, no strings attached. You'd hang out, share a meal, talk about anything and everything, and maybe end the night with a drunken kiss or two - nothing more, nothing less.

You should have known better when Jake’s hands brushed against yours during casual exchanges, the touches never quite enough to be considered intimate but always lingering, making you feel like you were the only person in the room. He would smile that easy, cocky grin and lean in just a little too close. Always enough to make your heart race.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what you were getting into. He was like that — charming, easygoing, and effortlessly cool. You were drawn to him like gravity, even though part of you could feel the tug of something deeper that you tried to ignore. You weren’t supposed to be falling for him. Not when he’d made it so clear that he wasn’t looking for anything serious.

But you didn’t mind, or maybe you did and just didn’t want to admit it.

The sun shone brightly, and the cool waves of the ocean came up onto the beach. You were surrounded by a few friends, laughing and splashing each other as you all stood in just deep enough water so the water reached your hips. Everything felt so easy, so carefree. Jake appeared out of nowhere, splashing towards you with a mischievous grin.

''You look like you're having fun.'' he said, his voice loud like the sound of the waves and the friends around you.

''Hey!'' you laughed, stumbling back a little as the water splashed you. You tried to splash him back, but he was faster, moving with ease as he dodged you.

''Come on, don't be so serious!'' he teased, splashing again. This time tho, you went stumbling back, almost falling before his hand landed on your waist to steady you.

The touch was casual, but too intimate. His fingers splayed across your waist, and for a split second, you felt the heat of his hand despite the cool water. You froze, caught in the way how perfectly his palm fit against the soft curve of your waist. It was more than just casual for you.

''Careful..'' he murmured, voice a tad bit shakier but you didn't notice, you were too busy trying to shift away so he wouldn't hear how your heart was practically jumping in your chest. But failed at doing so.

Jake didn't seem to notice, or maybe he was pretending not to. He smiled, eyes glinting with a hint of playfulness as he pushed away that strange feeling. What? Don't want me touching you?'' he teased, his voice light as if the moment had been completely innocent.

''Didn't say that.'' you replied, voice quiet and casual as you looked away, focusing on the waves instead of how his touch made your heart skip a beat.

Jake gave you a skeptical look before his grin softened as he leaned closer. ''You sure?'' he said, his voice low and teasing. And maybe a hint of something else.

Before you could answer tho, the moment was interrupted as a friend jumped into the water with a loud splash, startling you both. Your shoulders raised and his hands instinctively came to your waist to turn you to the other side, as if shielding you. Your eyes widened as you looked up, his wavy hair wet from the splash and his face close, too close as his fingers lingered. But he quickly pulled away and splashed back towards the friend, laughing as if nothing ever happened.

It was one of those late summer-time evenings when the sun hadn't set and the city-street was full of life. You and Jake were out with a couple of friends, looking for something to eat after hanging out all day. The street was full of street-food vendors. You and Jake stopped at the tteok-bokki stand as your friends wandered off to the hotteok one, leaving the both of you standing in line. He pointed towards the board with various options.

''I'm telling you, the spicy ones are the best.'' Jake said, putting a hand over his chest for dramatic effects.

You rolled your eyes out of amusement, laughing afterwards. ''Yeah sure, I'll believe it once I'm crying my eyes out and chugging down like 10 bottles of water.''

Jake just grinned, nudging you playfully. ''I'll be there to help you out.''

Once you two had reached the front of the line Jake asked for his usual spicy ones while ordering the mild spiced ones for you. The old lady grinned and prepared the food for the two of you.

''You two are so cute together, reminds me of my husband and I when we were young.''

Your eyes widened, a confused chuckle leaving your face as you were about to correct but Jake spoke up before you even got the chance to.

''You think so?''

You blinked in confusion, turning towards him as he grinned, hands in his pockets while the lady nodded. ''Of course! You two seem so comfortable together, plus the fact you knew her order.''

You shot Jake a quick, almost panicked glance, unsure of what to say. He seemed unfazed, his grin widening as he took the skewers from the woman. ''Gotta know how to treat your lady am I right?''

He then turned towards you, handing you your cup before paying, you were so fazed by the incident you didn't notice how he took your hand and walked off. Your eyes widened as you stopped him. ''I need to pay!''

He grinned, looking back at you. ''What kind of a man would I be if I only paid for my food? That's no way to treat my lady.''

You were lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling while the TV played some random channel. You couldn't help but feel the flutter in your stomach each time you thought about the words he said ''That's no way to treat my lady.'' Must've meant nothing to him, or that's what you were trying to convince yourself

There was no way in hell he liked you. That's just how he was. Playful, energetic, being able to say words without them holding any deep meaning. That was it. He was like that with everyone. Though he didn't play along being someone's boyfriend, he didn't let his fingers linger on somebody's waist. You groaned and flipped to your stomach, feeling utterly delusional. You two had known each other for like two decades, maybe it had become a habit.

You sat up and stayed seated there for a few more minutes before your phone buzzed. From Jake's number.

Hey noona, Jungwon here. Hyung is preeetyyy wasted so you think you can pick him up?>.<'

You sighed and started typing

Send me the location and I'll be there. Oh and you need some money for the ride back?

And then a location was sent, of course, the same old bar.

Ah no, I'll be leaving with a few friends, thank you for the offer tho! Oh and once again, thank youu for coming to pick hyung up, he's nuts when drunk.

The walk to the bar wasn't far, it was only 5 minutes from your place, being about 8 from his. Once you saw the neon lights shining in contrast to the other places nearby, you knew that was it. Even from a mile away you could spot it. You walked towards it and saw how Jake was leaning onto Jungwon for life. Poor Jungwon, his friends were eyeing him and once you came he couldn't stop thanking you.

Jake had one arm draped over your shoulder as your arm was wrapped around his waist. You took slow and steady steps. He was so wasted. Face flushed, words slurred, barely hanging on. But still he managed to joke around.

''You're overreacting.. M'not even done with my regular yet..''

You rolled your eyes, amused by his denial. ''Mhm sure.''

You continued dragging him across the street, his nose now brushing against your shoulder as he murmured, voice barely over a whisper.

''You smell nice..''

You were caught off guard, not knowing what to do or how to reply so you brushed it off with an awkward chuckle. ''Weirdo.''

He hummed, on the verge of passing out as you neared his place. ''We're almost there, just hang on okay?''

Thankfully his building elevator was working this time. because you were not going to take him 17 floors. Lie, you would IF the elevator was out of service of course.

You turned on the light swtich, finger sliding down the switch to make the lights dim before shifting your focus back to him. You took easy and slow steps before lowering him onto the couch, his eyes closed and face flushed. You gently fixed the bangs covering his eyes before sighing and turning. A firm grip enveloped around your wrist, you turned to see Jake looking at you with pleading eyes, his eyes barely open but he looked desperate

''Don't leave..''

Your breath hitched, his grip becoming firmer around your wrist. You wanted to explain that you were just gonna look for some hangover medicine but were too tranced to do that. He sat up, pulling you closer until he pulled you down to straddle him , one hand holding yours and the other coming up to your face.

''You have such pretty eyes..''

Your eyes widened, heat creeping up to your face. If it were any other person, you'd thank them with a smile, you weren't the shy type. But when it came to him? You clearly were. You didn't even notice the way he had subtly leaned in and softly pressed his lips against yours.

It wasn't your first kiss with him, but this one seemed different. It was as if the world around you two had stopped, his other hand coming up to your face too. The kiss wasn't lustful. Sure it was needy in some kind of way but sweet. Almost too sweet. The way his lips moved against yours, the way he leaned over.

You knew this was dangerous, that it would make things only harder for you. But how could you stop? How when he had looked at you like that, like you were the only thing that mattered? You felt your heart race, thoughts starting to blur as you slid your hands up to his shoulders. It was a mix of hesitation and need.

His lips moved with a tenderness you didn't expect, almost as if he was holding onto something fragile. You could feel the warmth of his breath, his hands on your waist. It made your chest tighten, and you couldn't tell if it was the intensity of the kiss or the weight of the situation that was overwhelming you.

''Jake..'' you whispered, your voice barely audible against his lips, unsure of what to do. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes.

His gaze was full of something you had never seen. It was purely raw. ''I don't want you to go..'' he muttered again, his voice rough and his thumbs tracing small circles on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

There was desperation in his eyes, as if it would be the end of the world if you let go, that look made your chest ache. You wanted to pull away, to protect yourself from this mess. But every nerve in your body was screaming to stay, to not overthink. That you belonged right there.

You let out a soft sigh, your body leaning into his and the rest? It unfolded like a quiet surrender. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer as if he couldn't bear to let you go. His breath was warm against your neck, lips grazing your skin as he whispered your name.

''I don't want you to leave..'' he murmured, voice strained as he closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening for a moment as if trying to make sure you were there.

''I'm not going anywhere.'' you whispered back, voice thick with hidden emotions. The words felt real - because you knew, you never wanted to leave.

You found yourself yet at another party and you could feel the tension between you and Jake more than ever. The club was packed, lights shining in every direction and music blasting everywhere. You were standing at the bar, holding a glass of water, head throbbing in pain.

And then, as always, Jake appeared next to you, the faint scent of cologne drifted with him. He flashed you that grin that never failed to make your heart flutter.

''Water huh?'' his voice was playful, teasing, but there was a hint of something else you couldn't quite put a finger on. ''Isn't this a party?''

You looked at him, sighing. ''I have my reasons. You're not drinking either tho.'' you pointed out, raising a eyebrow.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets, God he looked so effortlessly cool. ''I'm taking it easy tonight.''

You knew he was lying. Jake was never the type of guy to stop moving, whether if it were a stage or a crowd like this. But you never called it out on him. You enjoyed it, you were quite like that too.

You and Jake stood side by side, chatting quietly as the night unfolded around you. His arm brushed against yours every now and then, like it was completely accidental, but it didn’t feel accidental at all. You could feel the heat from his skin every time.

You tried to focus on the conversation. The music was loud, but you managed to make out his words, his voice vibrating in your chest like a low hum.

"Do you like these kinds of parties?" he asked, eyes glinting with amusment.

You thought about it for a moment. ''Right now? Not really.'' you admitted. ''But it seems like you're having the time of your life.''

Jake laughed, the sound effortless. "Yeah, I guess I do. But it’s different with you here," he said, his eyes meeting yours, his tone shifting just slightly, making your stomach flutter.

You felt the world around you blur as his gaze held yours for just a beat too long, and for a split second, the noise, the flashing lights, everything seemed to disappear. His words ''different with you here'' hung in the air between you, but neither of you acknowledged it aloud.

Instead, the music shifted, a new song blasted through the speakers, and Jake reached for your hand, interwining his fingers through yours. The touch was light, almost unnoticable, but there was no mistaking it for what it was.

"Come on," he said, tugging you gently toward the center of the room where the crowd had gathered to dance. "Let’s have some fun."

You hesitated for a moment. The hand holding yours felt warm, but there was something in his casualness that made you question everything.

This is casual, right?

You swallowed hard and let him pull you into the crowd, the headache long forgotten.

The next few hours passed in a haze of flashing lights, loud music, and the pull of Jake’s presence. Every so often, his hand would find its way to your lower back, guiding you through the packed space, but never pulling you too close.

The crowd was crowded, bodies pressed together. People dancing and having the time of their lives. Normally you would have loved a party like this, but something was wrong today, and Jake seemed to have caught on. So he stayed close.

At one point, he pulled you in just a little too close, his chest brushing against yours as you both danced to the beat. You felt his breath against your ear, the warmth of his body so near, and yet, the way he acted—it was as if none of it meant anything more than the music that surrounded you.

"Having fun?" His voice was a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, pretending you were. Pretending that the weight of his touch didn’t make you feel things you weren’t ready to admit. "Yeah, it’s fine."

Jake’s smile grew wider, and for a moment, you almost thought you saw something in his eyes—something deeper, something that maybe even he was trying to hide. But then he pulled away, his fingers lingering a moment too long on your wrist before letting go, slipping back into the crowd.

The night dragged on, and you felt like you were losing your mind. Jake was quite literally everywhere. Sometimes startling you with a touch on your shoulder, leaning down to whisper a teasing comment just for you two hear. Everything seemed too casual. And you realized it was never gonna be enough for you, that you were finally being selfish for once.

At one point, you found yourself standing at the edge of the balcony, trying to get a breath of fresh air. The noise from inside the club was muffled here, the cool night air hitting your skin, but it did little to calm the storm in your chest.

"Hey," Jake’s voice came from behind you, soft, like he was trying to avoid startling you.

You turned to face him, and for a moment, the world outside the club felt far away, as if it were just you and him, standing there, the city lights twinkling below you. He was standing close, just enough so that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, but not enough to make it feel like anything more than another casual encounter.

"Are you okay?" Jake asked, his voice quiet now, the casualness slipping away for the briefest second.

You should have told him the truth. You should have told him how you felt, how his every touch left you wanting more, how his every word made you ache for something you couldn’t even name. But you didn’t. You didn’t want to ruin it—whatever this was.

"I'm fine," you lied, smiling a little too brightly. "Just needed some air."

Jake looked at you for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he could see right through you. But then he shrugged, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Alright. Well, you know where to find me if you need anything."

You nodded, watching as he turned to walk back inside. But just before he disappeared into the crowd, he glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours.

And for the first time tonight, you saw it—the flicker of something more in his gaze. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but you caught it.

Maybe it wasn’t just casual for him either.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. You tried to ignore the growing discomfort in your chest, the way your heart ached when you thought about Jake’s lingering touches, his moments of closeness. But by the end of the night, the truth was unavoidable.

You couldn’t keep pretending.

As the party began to wind down, you found yourself at the exit, the cool air hitting you like a slap to the face. You had to leave. You had to stop pretending that this thing between you and Jake was nothing.

You turned on your heel, heading out the door, the sound of the music fading behind you.

But just before you could leave, Jake’s voice stopped you, calling your name.

You turned, and there he was, standing a few feet away, looking almost… confused.

"I thought you were having fun," he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost vulnerable.

You shook your head, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I can’t keep doing this, Jake. This... whatever this is. It’s not casual for me anymore. It never was."

His face fell, but he didn’t move, didn’t try to stop you as you walked away from him. Maybe he couldn’t.

And maybe that was the problem. Maybe this all was just casual for him.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific

taglist: @saemisic, @juicygirl4life, @fancypeacepersona, @nikispookie-10, @liwinly, @winterlico, @tender-is-the-moon, @luvbxnni, @vvenusoncasual, @enhaflixer, @smlbch, @seoiohnnv, @rikifever, @jngwnlvs, @starniras, @sgdhsiiwhshajiishe

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hopefully it’s not too much of an ick for you, but if you’re up to it, would you ever write Ford eating Reader out on their period?

not the disaster you think it is

a/n: hey love, no ofc it's not, im absolutely ok with the whole period thing. i meant to post this a few days ago, but it’s like i forgot how to write or more like i hated every sentence i wrote and couldn’t get past it. anyway, hope this mood leaves me soon. but here we are!! back to Ford being a total freak, as usual, who’s absolutely head over heels for his partner <3 enjoy, i guess?? and thank my period for the delay :/

tags: Ford x reader, nsfw, fluff and smut, gentle sex to rough, emotional rollercoaster for reader, vaginal sex, period sex, oral sex (f receiving), i guess blood play, embarrassment, a lil bit of hurt/comfort, overthinking, established relationship

you think you're about to die of embarrassment, but Ford’s just getting started because sometimes, the worst-case scenario ends up being the best one.

finally, finally you and Ford are alone. do you even remember the last time this happened? no Stan grumbling at the tv, no Dipper hovering around with a thousand questions, no Mabel dragging you away to watch Waddles collapse in the dirt, no Soos excitedly telling you about some strange new creak in the shack’s walls that sounds exactly like a “genuine ghost noise, dude.” no distractions.

what did matter was that you and Stanford were alone, and after the morning you had, there was absolutely no way you weren’t going to fuck the life out of your man.

and god, it’s not like you hadn’t been thinking about it since the second he stepped out of your bedroom looking like that. at first, the missed period had you panicking, your mind spiraling into absolute worst scenarios, but then you chalked it up to stress, shrugged it off, and forgot about it until you saw him. jesus, he didn’t even have to try. you’d made him wear that outfit though, because it was criminal to let him sweat through another goddamn trench coat when summer in gravity falls was like hell had opened its gates and breathed directly onto this weird town, and you weren’t about to let him die of heatstroke just because he was too stubborn to dress appropriately. so you gave him something lighter. and fuck, that was a mistake, because the second you saw him in it, sleeves pushed up, collar slightly undone, his forearms out, his hands, you swore you nearly ovulated again.

but the worst part was when he came running into the shack with those big, dirty, calloused hands holding some kind of tiny, wriggling anomaly he and Dipper had just dug up in the woods, showing it off to everyone like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the sexiest fucking thing you’ve ever seen. all sweaty and flushed from the sun, completely unaware of how fucking delicious he looked, rambling excitedly to Stan, Soos, and Mabel while you had to physically restrain yourself. and you did. you were so good all morning, sitting there, waiting, swallowing down every desperate little urge watching your nerdy man gesturing with those dirty hands as he explained something.

and all you could think was, “i want to eat this man alive.” god, it was unfair how much you wanted him today.

thankfully, Stanley eventually had enough of the science talk. he let out a loud, suffering groan and declared, “that’s it, i’m getting out of here before i have to listen to one more goddamn sentence about anomalous worm lizards or whatever, Soos, Mabel, Dipper, we’re going fishing.”

so of course, there was absolutely no way you weren’t going to take advantage of this moment! it was so rare that you got Ford all to yourself like this that the second the door closed behind Stan, you practically pounced on him.

you had Ford laid out beneath you, his wide back against the mattress, your hands braced on his scarred chest as you rode him like your life depended on it.

and god, you were hungry for it, so desperate. the morning had wound you up so tightly that by the time you finally got him beneath you and finally sank down onto his cock, it felt like release, but still nowhere near enough.

you bounced on him, panting and whimpering, rolling your hips, feeling sweat beading on your skin because it was still summer. and there's no fan strong enough to save either of you. it must be at least 90°F, around 32°C, but it feels even worse and hotter when you have sex. besides, you were the one putting in all the work as your Ford, your good boy, was lying there, being so good for you. looking up at you with little hearts in his eyes, huge hands gripping your waist, trying so hard not to buck up into you too soon because he was such a gentleman even during sex. he wasn’t controlling the pace, you were, and god, he was letting you use him like a toy, groaning so beautifully every time your pussy clenched around him.

yeah, you’d definitely need a cold shower after this, but right now you couldn’t care less. little did you know, though, the shower won’t just be for the sweat.

but that’s a problem for future you.

now, however, your legs start to give out first. despite the pleasure that’s still flooding you in blinding waves, your poor thighs are already trembling and the rhythm getting uneven as you desperately try to keep fucking yourself on him. Ford notices it, even flushed, messy, drowning in you, he watches you like you’re the fucking answer to every equation he's ever scribbled in his journals.

“easy, sweetheart,” he says gently, and then his arms are around you, flipping you over with no effort at all, manhandling you so tenderly. you barely get a second to breathe before he pushes in again from behind and your mouth falls open in a cry. that's deeper. so much deeper like this, and your whole body jolts forward with a ragged moan. “let me take care of you now.”

“Ford, fuck, Ford!” his name spills from you in a gasp just as he starts thrusting, making your toes curl, fingers claw at the sheets, and he just leans over you, grinding into you, murmuring against your ear.

“just like that, you’re doing so good for me,” he groans, kissing your shoulder, “so tight, just keep taking it, beautiful, you’re perfect like this.” Ford rolls his hips, filling you to the brim, keeping you pressed flat against the sheets with nothing to do but take it.

every time he thrusts in, you feel yourself get wetter, making it so easy for him to move and keep grinding into that soft, sensitive spot inside you until you’re crying out, clutching at the pillows. and that’s it. your body breaks as you cum again, shuddering under him as your body jerks with each deep thrust. Ford holds your hips in place while the sheets muffle your screams. he knows your body, god, he knows exactly how to hit those aching spots and how to angle just right, how to drag every last sob and tremble from you until you’re nothing but a pathetic overstimulated mess in his arms. and damn it, Ford loves you like that, clutching at the blankets, so fucked out and trembling, all because of him.

and still, it’s not enough for him. hasn’t been enough all week. you feel it in the way he doesn’t even stop to let you breathe, doesn’t even let you sink down into the afterglow. instead, Ford carefully pulls you onto your back, kissing your jaw and neck, and keeps going, pushing deep into your sore, overstimulated pussy like he’s possessed.

“Ford, s-sensitive, oh god—“

“cant stop,” he pants, hunched over you, sweat dripping down his temple, “just one more. i missed you so much, just let me, i missed you, i missed this,“ he’s so deep again, making your soft walls flutter again, stretched wide around him, and his back, oh fuck, your nails drag down his skin and leave bright red scratches over old scars, painting your love right into his skin as you cry out beneath him.

“so beautiful, darling, so good for me. love you so much, l-love you, mhmm.” Ford's words make you ache in a way you can’t describe and your whole body feel like warm honey, melting under his touch. you pull him closer, wrap your arms around his neck, bury your face against his shoulder as he keeps pounding into you, making love to you like he means it, practically crushing you with his weight.

your thighs tighten where they frame his waist and you're literally clinging to him. his cock slides over your sensitive walls and you still feel so tight, despite how well he worked you open with his fingers before this and the slick mess between your legs. you're drenched, and he knows it by the way his cock nudges inside you so smoothly as you gasp each time he presses flush against your cervix.

“mmh, i love you so damn much, you feel so good, holy moses, taking me so well.” Ford's voice is husky as he kisses you between words, pressing his mouth against your temple, your cheek, your lips and sweet heavens, you’re drowning in it, in him, in the way he praises you like you’re the best thing to ever happen to him. and you know you are, because nobody’s ever looked at you the way Ford does.

”fuck, baby—“ you sob, clinging to his shoulders once he finally slows down just enough for your mind to stop spinning. “you looked so fucking hot this morning,” you whimper, biting your lip, “i wanted you, wanted you so bad, you looked so fucking good today, i couldn’t stop staring—“

Ford’s smile is all soft, even as his cock still pulses inside you. “you should’ve told me, gorgeous, m-maybe we’d have done something about it sooner.”

“i couldn’t, there were people, you know we can't when everyone's at home.”

Ford kisses you and whispers against your mouth, continuing moving inside you. “now you can, love, now it’s just us, be as loud as you want, please. . . but so?” he asks again, “tell me, was it the shirt? or the forearms?”

“shut up—shut up—”

“no, no, i’m serious,” he chuckles breathlessly, slightly changing the angle, “you’re adorable when you’re flustered. i wanted you too,” Ford says suddenly, a little softer. “it was horrible not being able to touch you all week. i kept thinking about you, sweet—“

you interrupt him by kissing him for that, you just have to because you can never get enough of his lips. you drag him down into a kiss and breathe him in like you’ll die without it. and Ford groans right into your mouth, he’s louder this time, letting out sharp grunts and drawn-out moans, that gorgeous fucking voice of his breaking with each thrust. you love it. god, you love when he’s vocal, when he lets go and stops trying to hold himself back, when you can hear how good you make him feel and how much he's enjoying this too.

then, Ford's rhythm gets rougher as he straightens his back, holding himself up as he growls out, “sweetheart, can i go rougher?”

you gasp, nodding fast. “Ford, we talked about this, y-you don’t have to ask, just take what you need, please”

“thank you, my love, thank you, you don’t know how much i needed that.” his voice breaks on it, so full of need it makes your pussy throb.

he grabs your waist, lifts you off the bed slightly, holding you there suspended in the air as he slams into your soaked fluttering pussy again and again. and your cunt takes it like she was made for him, squelching wet and hot around his cock as he uses you like a fucking fleshlight, fast enough the bed is creaking beneath you, the headboard knocking.

“Ford— oh, god!” your head tilts back, pleasure spiking, spreading through your whole body. you love this. you love him when he’s this desperate and rough, that means he needed you really damn bad. “yes! oh, my god, yes!” you arch your back automatically, body tensing as he buries himself to the hilt, his cock brushing your cervix over and over, making your thighs spasm and your toes curl. tears suddenly stinging your eyes.

but Ford keeps pounding into you, determined to bring you to your third orgasm now, and it’s all too much, making your clit throb. your brows knit together in that desperate needy expression he lives for, pretty lips parted, chin wet from drool, cheeks flushed and streaked with tears.

“mine, you're mine,” you hear Ford through your own screams and just nod eagerly.

you swear, nothing feels better than Ford's thick cock stretching you like that, fucking into you like crazy, building the sweetest pressure in your gut. filthy sounds echoing off the walls of the room and god, you’re such a mess, sobbing, literally sobbing, with tears leaking down your temples. eyes glossy and unfocused, every inch of your body betrays you, twitching and fluttering around him like you were made to be filled like this.

“so wet for me,” he grits out, “god, listen to you, soaking me.”

you can’t even answer because you’re just moaning as he keeps thrusting roughly and deep into you like you’re just a toy in his hands. his toy. your hands scrabble helplessly at the sheets as your body climbs toward another high.

oh, you think, dazed, this is actually filthy.

you’re wet, too wet. not that it’s ever an issue with Ford because he gets you soaked, dripping and ruined just from his voice alone everyday. the sounds in the room are straight-up filthy, like something out of a fucking porn. slick, lewd noises every time he thrusts in, your cunt welcoming him, spreading your arousal everywhere.

the sheets beneath you are absolutely ruined and your thighs feel sticky and messy.

Ford has to feel it too, how effortlessly he slides in and out, how fucking easy your wet pussy swallows him every time. and he doesn’t stop. your head’s a haze of pleasure, but somewhere, deep in the rational part of your mind, a little warning bell rings and you hate it.

okay, let's think then. you’re wet, and that’s good, but something feels weirdly weird. you feel you're leaking like a damn waterfall, it gets too warm down there too. your moans taper off slightly, not enough for Ford to notice yet, but you’re thinking too much now, caught in a spiral of why is it so much and why does it feel different. your period is one week late. couldn’t be, right? right. . .

just in that moment Ford slides out and you almost yelp from the loss, but he presses the thick head of his cock against your aching clit, rubbing slow, teasing you like he knows you love. you barely suppress a whimper, melting in this feeling, but before he can push back in you open your eyes and whisper.

“Ford, stop.” you feel your stomach twist with nausea before you even look down.

but that makes him freeze immediately. “what? what happened? did i hurt you?” his voice sounds hoarse from all the moans and groans, but concerned still. he sits back on his heels, wide-eyed, hands hovering over your hips.

ignoring his questions and gathering your strength, you look down and there it is.

blood. a lot of it. smeared on his cock, slick on your inner thighs, staining the sheets beneath you.

“oh my god,“ you gasp. no. no, no, no, no. you’re about to fucking die.

Ford follows your gaze, sees the red, and panics. “holy multiverse! are you okay?? did i— was i too rough? fuck, sweetheart, i’m so sorry,“ he looks like he’s about to pass out from guilt, already reaching for you, checking you over like you’re injured.

“no, Ford, it’s not that, i—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your face. embarrassment punches through you like a fucking bullet. your throat tightens and you barely get the next words out of yourself. “it’s, uh, my period.”

yeah, your period that just ambushed you, right in the middle of the most intense sex you've had in a month, and of course, it would happen now. during the one time you feel gorgeous, needed, good, loved and craved by your man.

silence. fucking silence. your worst fear is coming true now. you can’t even look at him. your hands tremble as you try to close your legs to hide yourself from this fucking shame, but Stanford who's still between them, doesn’t budge.

you’re bracing for it. for disgust, for Ford to pull away, wrinkle his nose and be mad or scold you or run to the shower or something—

“oh. well, that makes sense.”

your eyes snap open. “. . .what?”

Ford’s face softens. “considering the amount of blood that comes out during your period, i'd guess your cycle kicked in just as your uterus was having those strong contractions during climax. its. . . fascinating, really. i mean, maybe the orgasm actually triggered the bleeding? what do you think?“

“Ford, let’s NOT.”

he pauses and smiles. “oh. right. sorry, sorry.”

you exhale shakily, rubbing at your face. “god, this is so embarrassing.”

“why?” Ford frowns.

“why?? Ford, i literally just ruined everything. i got you all dirty and the sheets and— fuck, im so sorry! this is disgusting—“

through all your panicked monologue, you dont even notice Ford looking at you like wants to eat you alive.

your body is still sensitive, but the shame sits heavier than the pleasure now. you don’t even want to look at him. god, you were just bouncing on his cock, losing your mind on him, moaning into the mattress like a fucking animal and now you’re bleeding? how humiliating.

“anyways, this is—“

“not a big deal,” Ford finishes for you. “you're overthinking.”

you glare at him. “of course i'm overthinking, Ford. i just ruined—“

”ruined? is that what you think you did?”

“well, yeah, obviously.”

“sweetheart,” he moves closer, “why do you think that?”

“b-because sex is over now?” you flail an arm vaguely at the mess beneath you. ”we can't just—“

“sex is over?” he interrupts again, tilting his head, genuinely perplexed. because truly, he doesn’t understand the concept.

“uh. yeah. i mean, obviously? normal men wouldn’t want to keep going after.“

Ford’s expression tightens. “‘normal men’? darling, if you wanted a normal man, you wouldn’t be with a virgin who hops dimensions and gets annoyed by bad grammar.”

you stare, feeling the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from sheer humiliation. “so, you’re not mad you mean? or disgusted?”

“honey, there's nothing in your body that could make me mad or disgusted.” Ford huffs, wiping a smudge of blood off your thigh like it’s nothing but a wine spill.

and you want to believe him, you do, but god, your thoughts are spiraling again. he didn’t even get to finish, because you ruined everything. sheets soaked, mood killed, you were so close and now it’s all gone. and all of that is because of you.

“i still ruined it.” you admit and hate how ashamed you sound. “it was so good and now it’s just—“

“but darling,” Ford cuts in. he leans down, kisses your hipbone, tongue brushing so hot and tender it makes you twitch. “who said anything was ruined?”

“i mean, we can’t exactly keep going.”

“but why? who says i was ever going to stop?”

and it hits you. he hasn’t even finished. not once, he’d been so deep in you, feeling your pussy gripping him like a fucking vice that he didn’t even bother to chase his own orgasm.

you gape. “wait. you’re still—“

“hard?” he chuckles. “yes. painfully.”

“and you’re not mad?” you ask the same thing again, confused.

Ford kisses the inside of your knee. “the only thing i’m mad about is that i didn’t get to make you cum with my mouth first. you think I could be satisfied knowing I haven't tasted you yet?”

“wait, wait, wait, im—“ you start to panic when you realize what Ford is hinting at.

but it's too late because he's already gripping your thighs and spreading you open.

“you know we don't have to—“

”yes, we do,” he murmurs, “yes, we absolutely do.”

honestly, if you think Ford’s gonna let a little blood stop him from eating the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, sweetheart. . .please, you clearly don’t know how fucked in the head this man is for you.

because after a week of not having your body beneath him, this is nothing.

“but—“

“sweetheart, ive been waiting a week. a week. let me take care of you.”

god. this man, fuck. you want to be mad. really, you do. you want to groan, roll your eyes, throw a pillow at him for ruining your chance to bury your shame in silence. but the worst part is that he’s smiling in that awful, devastatingly gentle smile.

and oh fuck, you cry out, trying to twist away because you dont want to make him uncomfortable or anything, but Ford's strong arms are caging you in. “i love this pussy. love how wet you get for me. i don’t care if you’re bleeding, i care that you’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

“you’re insane,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“for you?” Ford grins against your skin, “absolutely.” and then he’s already lowering, teasing at your folds, unbothered by the mess, more turned on by your shuddering and beautiful whimpers. your blood is barely noticeable compared to the way you leak for him, messy and dripping still, your clit so swollen and sensitive, you jerk as soon as he touches it.

Ford's tongue slides against you like velvet, then circles, and flattens.

fuck, he’s good.

he groans when you grind into his mouth, and the sound rumbles right through your gut. your hips buck, and he holds you firm.

shit. you should’ve never taught him. you should’ve kept the knowledge to yourself, never guided his eager mouth and shown him the way your body sang under just the right pressure, never taken his trembling fingers in yours and said “no, baby, slower, feel how sensitive i am here?”

because now, Ford is using it against you.

he starts slow, tracing that familiar path from the crease of your thigh up to your clit, breathing you in like it’s a drug he’s been deprived of.

you want to scream, cry and curl up into nothing and vanish forever, but Ford is licking right over the spot that makes your legs kick, and you swear he smiles when you do. because he knows your body. knows your pulse, rhythm and your shame and he’s pulling it apart with every flick of his fucking tongue.

“so sensitive already,” his breath ghosting over your drenched folds. “you really thought we were done?”

you don’t even know what he’s doing anymore, only that it’s working. it’s so working. too well, in fact, because you’re not even thinking straight, brain full of static and white noise and the obscene sounds of his mouth devouring your pussy like he’s making up for every lost second of the week you went without.

and he has improved. god, he’s weaponized everything you taught him. the way you showed him to suck your clit gently, not too much, just a little pressure like he’s savoring it. . . yeah. he remembers. that damn freak

each groan against your clit is like a vibration in your bones, each sigh filled with hunger and fucking adoration, because you gave this to him. you taught him this. you trusted him to touch you, to taste you, so now you pay for this. your pussy’s so sensitive, sore from earlier, still fluttering and tender, but he doesn’t stop.

“F—Ford, please—“ you don’t even know what you’re begging for. mercy? more? less? it all blends together. hearing your weak voice, Ford smirks against your pussy and then moans as if the taste of your blood and arousal is some forbidden elixir that gets him drunk on you. “s’too good,” you cry out. “how are you this good now? you damn nerd, oh my god—“

you can't finish your sentence because he flattens his tongue and licks again, so slow, making a long drag from your entrance up to your clit that makes your hips jerk and your hands fist the sheets.

and fuck, fuck, he remembers this too, how you explained him how to circle his tongue just beneath the clit too, where your nerves are raw and sensitive, and now he’s there, swirling soft, teasing spirals that make you shudder down to the bone.

and then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth again, groans, sending vibrations through your entire pelvis, making your back arch and your legs twitch around his head.

“that’s it, sweetheart,” Ford's voice all fucked-up and hungry, and god he sounds ruined, “give it to me.”

his thick fingers slide in without resistance, two of them, slow and fucking perfectly angled, crooking just right, the pads of them brushing over your sweetest sensitive spot in lazy pulses. he’s stroking you like he’s trying to coax something out, and you’re so soaked that the sounds are filthy, wet and too obscene.

you whimper, trying to close your legs but his wide shoulders are there, unyielding, pinning you open.

Ford kisses your clit like he’s in love with it, and you feel your orgasm coming like a storm on the horizon, making your thighs shake violently around his head.

but what kills you is knowing that this is your fault because you made him this good. you trained him. shaped him. built him into this monster of a man who eats you out like you’re the center of the universe.

and now he’s fucking feral with it

you cry out, too breathless, feeling your cunt pulsing around his fingers now that he added third one, your clit is so swollen under his mouth. “you’re so perfect,” Ford pants, grinding his mouth into you, his fingers pumping harder now, “god, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? let me have it, sweetheart, give me that pretty orgasm.”

holy shit, you cum so fucking hard your body locks up, hips lifting off the bed, thighs clamping around his head, but that doesn't stop him. not even when you sob and beg, not even when your clit twitches and your hands shake, he’s still licking through it, swallowing you down. your pussy squeezes his fingers and leaks, your whole body folds inward.

but Ford holds you through it, tongue slowing to soft kisses, his fingers gently easing out.

“that’s my girl,” he breathes, smiling silly, chin wet with you.

“never knew you were such a freak, Ford,” you breathe, giggling through your tears, your fingers tightening in his silver hair. “i created a monster.”

Ford looks up, brown eyes glassy. “darling, didn’t you read my journals?”

you laugh breathlessly, still dizzy from your orgasm, but then it falters because your gaze flicks down to the blood. the mess. the ruined sheets and the guilt curling hot and tight in your chest.

“do you still love me?” you ask, unexpectedly even for yourself. “after all this. . . i ruined the bed and—“

Ford's heart breaks at that. he’s kissing your thighs before you can even blink, holding your hips like you’re something fragile. “hey. hey. look at me, sweetheart. you didn’t ruin a thing. you gave me you. and i’ve never wanted anything more. blood, tears, whatever. . . you think any of that changes how much i love you?”

you don't even notice how quickly a smile creeps onto your tear-stained face.

“you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever touched, and i’d ruin a thousand sheets for just one more taste of you.” and that’s what love sounds like in Ford’s voice.

[winterrain-11]

some more gravity falls hcs :3

(a lot of these are sad)

cw for drug use, mentions of abuse, major character death, and other such depressing things

- mabel starts swearing like a sailor after the summer (ik that stan made an effort not to swear around the kids, but i don’t think ford did, and it made stan’s filter slip more) and gets in trouble for it at home. when stan finds out he tries to hard to pretend to be mad but he’s lowkey proud

- the twins have to fight tooth and nail to teach their grunkles to use a cellphone, especially facetime. they eventually get the hang of it, but the first few months at sea were two hour facetimes of the grunkle’s chins just bickering at each other and assorted “how’s it hanging pumpkin? how’s school?”

- stan and ford watched westerns nonstop as kids (though ford was more into star trek and doctor who) and they played cowboys often. stan was OBSESSED with cowboys and briefly tried to work as a ranch hand while he was homeless in his 20s

- dipper and mabel have a love/hate relationship with cw’s supernatural. mabel thinks the boys are hot and is definitely a destiel shipper. dipper loves the genuine supernatural-ness of the early seasons and now still watches it kind of as a joke but also because mabel got him on the destiel train. the last two episodes ruined their lives.

- the twins have opposite reactions to weed. it makes ford’s paranoia really bad and makes him nauseous, but it makes stan’s adhd brain quiet for once and allows him to relax for once. when dipper and mabel get older, they have very similar reactions. when stan catches mabel smoking, he tries to be responsible about it and tell her that smoking is bad for her and to not end up like him, but eventually they just smoke together on occasion.

- mabel is significantly better at guessing plot twists than dipper (in books, movies etc) and dipper DESPISES this fact (i think it’s the same for the stan twins too tbh)

- stan dies first, ford dies almost exactly a year later.

- stan picks up guitar while he’s homeless, uses it to make a bit of money on street sides. he teaches mabel in her teen years when his hands get to old to play.

- when ford and fiddleford rekindle, stan and fiddleford bond over regaining memory. they both relearn their instruments together (guitar and banjo respectively) and enjoy singing along to old outlaw country and appalachian folk rock (stan picked it up in his travels).

- (cont.) ford suggests music because it’s known to help dementia and alzheimer’s patients with regaining memories, and while that’s true, he really more just enjoys seeing his two favorite people happy again.

- both ford and stan think the other voted for trump (2016), neither of them did. stan thought hilary was hot (and thought trump was a loser) and ford voted third party (sorry he gives me centrist vibes). i imagine they both vote dem in 2020 and 2024 because they see trump as a much worse conman/asshole and a narcissistic sociopath respectively.

- (cont.) the twins have heard the stan’s complain about the other’s political ideologies and know that they vote the same but refuse to tell the other. wendy is also in on this and they all have to tackle soos on several occasions to keep him quiet before election day.

- nate and lee definitely explored each other’s bodies and when they finally came out to the friend group everyone was super confused because they assumed that they had been dating for years

- ford has a very addictive personality. while stanley does too, he can restrain himself (doesn’t smoke or drink around the kids, doesn’t lose himself in gambling), ford picks up smoking on the stan-o-war II and doesn’t stop until he dies. Stan has refused to go to Vegas with him even though ford begs, but stan knows an addict when he sees one. ford never acknowledges his problem.

- stan doesn’t tell ford about his homelessness and abuse at the hands of his father/pimps/drug lords until they’re several months deep on the stan-o-war II and certain things start to trigger his PTSD. Ford listens and opens up about his abuse under Bill and his life of crime in the multiverse. they definitely cry together for a long time.

- (cont.) Stan only tells the kids when they’re in college. mabel self destructs a bit during this period trying desperately to find herself and stan is terrified that she’ll go down his path of dangerous desperation for self-worth and wants her to know that he knows how she feels, they grow even closer because of this.

- stan did drag for a short period of time around the southwest in his homelessness. at first he was forced to do it to be degraded, but once he got his autonomy back, he began to do it on his own accord and really enjoyed it/was really good at it. he tried to convince himself that ‘he wasn’t queer or anything’ and was just doing it for the money, but he never really fully believed that. (where he learned to wear a girdle)

- once again. stan wanted to be a cowboy so bad okay i know this in my heart of hearts. this man LOVES clint eastwood and johnny cash and RAHHHH i know it.

[timmyrx2000]

SHE'S A FLIPPIN' CORDUROY!

Wendy being a certified Star player of a Baseball Player. Art by el_moribundo__

Part of my Gravity Falls Baseball AU continuity

Wendy isn't just the coach of Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica's baseball team for no reason. A few years back, when she herself played little league baseball, she was the star player of her team. Baseball had been Gravity Falls' biggest sport and the entire town would come out to watch their local little league heroes in action on the field. However, when the town's Football team began making waves, everyone moved to that leaving baseball in the dust with even most of the kids moving on to that. Wendy's team was the last little league baseball team in town before football took over and they couldn't even get enough members before having to dissolve the team due to lack of players and interest. That never stopped the fire and passion for the game burning deep in her, though. And though her old team may be gone, she's never let go of her love and thrill of the game. It hasn't been too long and, though she thinks she's abit rusty, she's still every bit of a badass at the game. When she puts on her baseball gear, its like the star player in her never stopped.

Back in her playing days, she learned to play nearly all the positions, never missing a chance to become a total power house. However, Wendy was also quite of a wild card which, while making for an exciting game, would also put her team in pretty tight situations that didn't always go their way. But still, she always loved the game, whether it was on the mound, behind the plate, at bat, on the bases, or on the outfield, she excelled at her game and she made sure the other team knew it!

Now, however, as she dusts off her old baseball uniform, she also puts on a new role: as coach for Dipper, Mabel, and Pacifica. Now she's more than just a player; she's also a guardian, teacher, mentor, and big sis to the 3 dorks she's taken in as part of her crew. Its no longer just about playing but also about teaching these 3 how Baseball is more than just a game of pure skill but also smarts! She's not ready to hang up her cleats, however, and Wendy's just as much of a student as she is a coach. While she does coach the team, she also still plays along side them and learns from her 3 little goobers. Mabel, Wendy's assistant coach, has taught her that more than just cutting loose, playing the game means enjoying and savoring every single moment of it. Dipper, her first player, has taught her to be more grounded and analytical in her plays to stay one step ahead of her opponent. And Pacifica? Pacifica's taught Wendy that she's more than just a coach and a player, she's a big sister and a role model to her that she looks up to. Wendy is her rock and the person she can lean on when things get rough.

Wendy's days on the diamond are far from over and, while she may be coach to the kids, she's also learning and growing with them. Its a journey they're all on together and she could not ask for a better crew to be by her side!

[talesofesther]

too close to the stars

Loki x Reader

Summary: Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, but a bit of a Christmas spirit might just change that.

A/N: I wish everyone a very happy Christmas. <3

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The sun peered over the horizon this morning only to shine over the white expanse of snow that covered the grounds of the Avengers Compound.

It had snowed pretty heavily over the night, and as Loki looked out his window, he couldn't help but think that the landscape was rather pleasant to look at—Thor had already made his way outside to shovel snow out of the driveway along with Steve, the once green fields were now a blanket of glistening white, as were the many trees around. The air was cold, but a pleasant kind of cold; it brought a feeling of calmness.

That is, until a rather sharp noise of something scratching the floor outside his bedroom disrupted Loki's peace.

Accepting that another day had begun, the god made his way outside onto the common area, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and putting on his slippers.

As soon as Loki rounded the corner to the spacious living room, his lips hung open in bewilderment and his brows furrowed in mild confusion.

You were standing on the very top of a ladder, stretching your body so you could reach the ceiling trims and lamps, all while holding an ungodly amount of ornaments, string lights, and garlands. It looked like a rather precarious arrangement and Loki found himself worrying for your safety for a moment.

"What on earth are you doing?" Loki asked, exasperated, frozen in place as he watched you.

The ladder wiggled in place when you quickly turned around to face him and Loki nearly bolted forward to catch you if you were to fall. He cursed under his breath when all you did was give him a cheeky smile.

"I'm decorating," you gestured around to the expanse of the living room, which already had most of its nooks and crannies filled with garlands, Santa Claus plushies, stockings, and the like.

Loki's frown only deepened, "We already have decorations." He pointed to the exaggerated Christmas tree that had been standing beside the TV since before the beginning of December. Honestly, he had yet to understand the humans' obsession with said holiday.

You chuckled, and the sound naturally brought the ghost of a smile to Loki's lips as well. "No, silly. I'm decorating for our little Christmas party tomorrow night, I thought the place looked a bit bare still." You winked at him and went back to work.

Loki shook his head, his heart swelling with affection. He was way past denying it already. Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, yet.

With a flick of his wrist, the living room erupted in a myriad of greens, golds, and reds. Each decoration you had on your arms—and more—magically took its rightful place in the walls and between furniture.

A breathless chuckle went past your lips, eyes glinting with amazement as you watched it all unfold. It was incredibly endearing, the way that, despite seeing so much of it, you never ceased to be enchanted by Loki's magic. He secretly took pride in it.

"That's convenient," you mumbled with a faint smile.

"Quite," Loki stated, taking a step closer, "Now please get down from there before you break something and have to spend your precious holiday in the med bay."

You skipped down the ladder as if gravity would bend to your will, were you to fall; the tilt of your lips ever present as you came to stand before Loki, much closer than what would be socially acceptable for ones who said they were merely friends. Yet Loki would never dare to complain. If anything, he held himself back from pulling you even closer.

"Do I detect a hint of worry, trickster?" You raised a brow at him. "Would you miss me if I didn't attend the party?"

Loki chuckled lowly, his smirk was teasing but his eyes avoided yours. "Darling, you're the only reason I'm even going to this party."

You bit your lower lip to keep the smile from getting any bigger, "Flatterer," you breathed.

And Loki loved you like this, all pink cheeks and bashful eyes, as if he had the same effect on you that you had on him. He hardly dared to dream of it. But he allowed himself to bask in these tiny moments by your side.

Then your pinkie hooked around his own, and Loki was putty in your hands.

"Come on, let's take a walk outside, enjoy the sun while it's out." You tugged him toward the elevator, not once letting go of his hand.

It was indeed very pleasant outside, the soft rays of sunlight were just enough to bring a bit of warmth along with the cold winter breeze, the air was fresh to breathe in, and the snowy landscape was beautiful.

Loki's boots crunched the snow and frozen grass underneath as he lazily walked beside you. He'd steal glances at you from time to time, watching as the sunlight shaped your serene profile and how you looked genuinely breathtaking amidst the white horizon. Everything felt perfect for a precious second and Loki wished he could slow down time.

His musing was suddenly interrupted, however, when he was hit in the back of his head with something mildly solid and very cold; causing an oof to escape his lips.

He whipped his head around in your direction only to see you muffling a giggle with one hand, while the other held a snowball.

A halfhearted scoff went past Loki's lips. He raised a hand to brush off the remaining snow from his hair, as a mischievous smirk painted his features, "You little minx, you have no idea what you've gotten yourselves into."

A mix of a squeak and a chuckle fell past your lips the moment Loki bolted towards you and you naturally sped off in the opposite direction. You struggled to run amidst the rather thick snow and Loki took the advantage to bunch up a snowball of his own and hit you square in the back.

By the time you had made it back inside the Compound, you both had nearly run two full laps of the whole yard and were a mess of snow-covered clothes and breathless laughs.

"I.. win," you spoke in between deep breaths, one hand resting on Loki's chest to brace yourself.

"Absolutely not," Loki frowned as if you'd personally offended him. He took a deep breath himself, gesturing to your snowy clothes, "You're way worse off than I am."

"Uh uh, lies," you insisted. "I hit you way more than you hit me, your aim is shit," you chuckled.

Loki's smile followed yours naturally, he raised a hand to brush wild strands of your hair away from your eyes, his touch all delicate and soft. "You keep telling yourself that, love."

─── ·❆· ───

When the night of the celebration finally arrived, Loki found himself hesitating to get out of his room. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, slowly running a hand over the smooth fabric of his black suit. Did he like what he saw? The person staring back at him? Would you?

It was no secret that, despite accepting his presence, a few wary looks and comments still lingered between his teammates whenever he walked into a room. Loki couldn't blame them, not really. He also couldn't deny that those not-so-kind comments didn't get to him sometimes, much as he'd like to.

But then, there was you, who had never once made him feel unwelcome or unworthy. You who made him coffee in the mornings and always saved him a seat at the table. You who had a smile reserved for him ever since his first day here. You who made his heartbeat stumble and his silver tongue get caught in his mouth.

And Loki so desperately wanted to be someone deserving of all that. Still, he feared he wasn't.

A long sigh went past his lips. With a final tidying of his hair and the tie around his neck, Loki made his way out.

There was music playing in the common area. The several blinking lights you had so meticulously arranged were illuminating the room beautifully, reflecting against the many Christmas ornaments in warm shades of orange in the night. Tony, Thor, and Natasha were hanging out by the bar, with drinks in hand and loose smiles on their faces; Clint and Steve were sitting on the couch, laughing at something that Loki couldn't hear; Bucky and Sam were standing together by the Christmas tree, apparently trying to guess what was inside each present.

A few of their gazes turned as Loki stepped into the room, he could see as well as feel it, the weight resting in each one. He gave a polite smile and nod to no one in particular as his gaze skimmed around, looking for the reason he came. When he couldn't find you, he walked straight to the bar.

Loki leaned his elbows on the glass surface, closing his eyes and breathing in. There was a reason he wasn't overly fond of the team's social gatherings; he felt like an intruder, someone they were merely putting up with.

"Anything special?" Natasha's sultry voice made Loki look up. She stood behind the bar with an inquiring eyebrow raised at him.

"I'm afraid she's not here yet," Loki mumbled, which elicited a low chuckle from Natasha. The spy was a dear friend of yours and probably something close to it for Loki as well, one of the few people here who he knew didn't mind his presence.

"Actually," Natasha started, nodding towards the opening doors of the elevator, "I think she just arrived."

Loki turned around and his breath hitched. You stepped out of the elevator slowly, one hand smoothing out the fabric of your red dress—a gorgeous red dress that hugged your body and accentuated your curves to perfection. Your hair was up in a bun and there was golden jewelry highlighting your features.

The god was frozen in place, entranced by the beauty that was you. He'd never been so taken with anyone like he is with you. And when your eyes met, and a small, timid smile graced your glossy lips, Loki swore he could feel his heartbeat stumble.

You were about to make your way to him when Steve called your name and stole your attention. And then Bruce, and then Sam. Seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you tonight.

Loki had a near-empty drink in hand when you finally managed to walk up to him.

You approached him with a smirk, leaning on the bar just beside him and raising a hand to gently tug on the lapel of his blazer. "Well, don't you clean up nicely, trickster?"

Loki hummed, leaning just a tad closer to you, "I'm not the one everyone is trying to get a hold of this evening." He said lowly, only for you to hear.

"Oh please," you chuckled, briefly avoiding his gaze. "I only have eyes for one person tonight."

A beat of silence passed, even if the room was anything but silent. Tony was going on about one of the many Christmas stories he shared every year, eliciting laughs from your teammates who by now had gathered all around the living room. From the corner of his eye, Loki noticed Bucky trying to straighten the star on the very top of the Christmas tree, the one the soldier himself had knocked over earlier.

You'd be mad, Loki thought. You'd be saying something about manners and being more careful, with a smile on your lips as you easily fixed the golden star yourself.

But instead, you were here; attention solely on Loki, in your little corner of the world as the chatter around you turned to nothing but muffled noise.

Why? He couldn't help but wonder. What could you possibly see on him?

"And who is this lucky gentleman?" Loki asked, his voice suddenly way too quiet as he kept his eyes trained on his half-empty glass, "Or lady?"

Only after you didn't answer, did Loki finally look up at you. There was a soft smile on your lips, painted with a feeling he couldn't name.

"That's a secret," you whispered back and took hold of Loki's glass of champagne, leaving it on top of the bar before closing your hand around his own instead. "Come on."

Loki followed easily, he allowed you to guide him to the balcony, where the cold wind was flowing and the warm lights from inside were nothing but a faded glow coming from the glass doors.

You didn't let go of Loki's hand when you stopped walking, only squeezed it once as you looked up at him with softly furrowed brows and an adorable tilt of your head. "What's wrong? You've been all tense ever since I walked in."

Of course you'd know. Of course you'd notice the stiffness of his shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes. If there was anyone who could read him like an open book, it was you.

A breathy chuckle fell past Loki's lips, he drank in the sight of you in the night; as wisps of your hair flew with the wind and as the light from inside outlined the shape of your features.

"You know it as well as I do that they don't want me here," Loki shot a pointed look at your teammates inside, not accusing, simply stating. "I don't… belong here…" Loki's fingers tangled with yours, his thumb gently brushing the skin of your hand, "With you." The words were nothing but a breath.

You raised your free hand to his face, twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers before you gingerly traced his jaw. "But you do," you took half a step closer to him, your heels bumping his shoes, "You may think that you don't, but you do. I'd miss you greatly if you ever left."

Loki met your gaze again, his eyes a pool of sentiment, walls down and as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him. He leaned into your touch, all soft and pleading. "How could I ever deserve your kindness?" He spoke quietly, almost as if he never meant to say it out loud.

But you heard anyway, and your answer came in the same heartbeat. "You already do, always have." Your voice caught slightly in your throat, overwhelmed with the affection you felt for him.

The softest of smiles graced Loki's lips, the back of his eyes burned and his heart beat out of his chest, for you, for you, for you. He leaned in, biting the inside of his cheek and closing his eyes when you didn't pull away. His lips met your forehead in a lingering kiss, a promise of the thousand words he wished to say to you, of everything you made him feel that he couldn't put into words.

When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with something akin to adoration—maybe he could dare to call it love. Your eyes shining with a twinkle of expectation.

Loki squeezed your hand, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I couldn't break your silly tradition, now could I?" He shot a glance up.

You followed his gaze and finally saw it, a glimmer of green leaves with a small red trinket tying it together, delicately flowing in the wind as it hung by the door, pretty much on top of your head. A mistletoe.

You hummed, a small smirk coming to your lips as you settled back on Loki. "I don't remember putting it there." You raised a brow at him, standing so close you breathed the same air.

"And yet it's there anyway," Loki mumbled, lost in your orbit. His eyes darted down to your lips; it was a quick glance, all timid and boyish, but you caught it.

"So it is," you chuckled quietly, taking hold of the tie around his neck so you could pull him closer still, "And I wouldn't want to break tradition either."

You kissed him then, soft lips fitting with his own like a missing puzzle piece. A quiet gasp of surprise escaped Loki as soon as you closed the distance, yet you were quick to kiss it away, trapping his lower lip between yours and bringing one hand up to tangle in between his hair.

The taste, the feeling of you, put Loki's most beautiful dreams to shame. It's white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time—sweet, warm and tasting like brown sugar and the sip of champagne you had earlier.

The world around faded to nothingness as Loki's hand traced your spine and tugged you flush to him, his breath came in trembling puffs when you pulled away just the tiniest bit. His lips tingled as they brushed against yours again.

What a remarkable mortal you were, to have a god shivering beneath your touch. And selfishly, Loki wouldn't have it any other way.

You opened your eyes slowly, tongue running over your bottom lip as your thumb traced his jaw. You breathed in deeply to catch back the air he whisked out of you.

Loki watched the stars dancing in your eyes, looking down at you as if you were his universe, and delighting in the way you looked up at him as if he were yours. Maybe that's what love was all about.

Your hand trailed down his arm, brushing the fabric of his blazer until you tangled your fingers with his.

Squeezing your hand, Loki smiled. He felt like he belonged, right here by your side.

"Come on, before they open all the gifts without us," you winked, raising your free hand to clean the smudged lipstick by the corner of your mouth.

Loki followed you inside with his cheeks and heart feeling all warm. And if the mistletoe disappeared in a flash of green after you turned around, no one needed to know.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Loki’s taglist: @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @justaproudslytherpuff @justanotherkpopstanlol @chronicallybubbly @chaoticqueen33 @7minutes-tomidnight @uncle-eggy @oliviaewl @dd122004dd @tani725 @innebulae @mochminnie @mayemperess @alyeskathewave @buginktsworld @cremebruleequeen @wyvernthekriger @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avengersfan25 @mischief2sarawr @yokolesbianism @athenasproverbs @h-l-vlovesvintage @princess-ofthe-pages

@daisy-the-quake @talesofadragon @rainbowsocks @alexandra-001 @mary-jinx @stevenknightmarc @falconxsoldier @ladymercury8 @shirukitsune @ladymischief11 @starkzdaughter @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @cinnamonbambii @anundyingfidelity @creationcitystreet-em @or-was-it-just-a-dream @agustdpeach @agent-tempest @spidermantaylorsversion @127djarin @imthedoctorlove @lokidokieokie @cookieeecutter @anuncalledbridge @awkwardnesshabitat

[bnny0rgnz]

A/N: So sorry for not posting consistently, been really busy with school events. But this time, I'm merging 3 chapters into one to make up for all those times I was supposed to be posting, so please enjoy. Again, Sorry!!

The Tempest Effect

Morning drifted softly into Gotham, its sun a weak gold stretching shyly through the haze. The city was still asleep in its more reclusive corners—the ones where shadows lingered even in daylight, and the buildings breathed with secrets. But in a reclaimed warehouse nestled near the waterfront, the stillness had been broken for hours. Inside, the echo of motion bounced off the walls like a heartbeat. That heartbeat was you.

The worn mats beneath your feet were scuffed with the ghosts of repetition. Your muscles burned, but it was a sweet, familiar fire—one you had learned to dance with. You moved in unison with Lucian’s rhythm, his blade cutting the air as he circled you.

“Again,” he said, voice calm but commanding. He wasn’t barking anymore. Not like the early days. His words no longer bit—they guided, molded.

You adjusted your stance and surged forward, eyes locked on the blade in his hand. Wooden, but no less dangerous in the right grip. Yours met it with a twist of your arm, blocking his strike. The thrum of effort pulsed through your body as you followed up with a spinning kick. He caught your leg before it connected, raising an eyebrow.

“Your center of gravity’s off,” he muttered.

“And your hair’s in your eyes,” you countered breathlessly, grinning.

He actually chuckled, short and sharp. “Fair enough.”

From across the mat, Darlene clapped once. “Can we not flirt mid-sparring?” she called, her voice honey-laced with mischief.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Lucian turned away to retrieve two staffs from the rack, his usual silence now stretched with something softer. The edge of his jaw held tension—but not from annoyance. He handed you a staff, brushing your fingers as he did. You tried not to react, but the current that shot up your arm made it hard not to.

You looked at him. For a second too long.

“You good?” he asked, tilting his head.

You nodded, pretending to twirl the staff like it was part of a warm-up. “Yeah. Just... zoning out.”

He gave you a look—part skeptic, part fondness. Darlene arched a brow from where she now stretched in the corner, clearly watching with more interest than necessary. You ignored her.

The next round began. Staffs clashed, wooden crack ringing like a drumbeat. Lucian was precise, efficient—his movements honed from years of necessity. Yours were more fluid, artistic even, an extension of the grace ballet gifted you. The two styles collided and complemented, fire meeting water.

Each move was measured, intentional. Sweat clung to your skin in elegant rivulets, your breath moving like waves—rising, falling. Lucian ducked under your strike and used the momentum to sweep your legs. You landed with a soft grunt, blinking up at the flickering lights overhead.

Before you could rise, his hand was offered. His palm, calloused and steady, hovered in front of you like a promise.

You hesitated. Then took it.

As he pulled you up, your faces were a breath apart. You smelled cedar on his skin, maybe the faintest scent of copper and salt. His eyes searched yours, quiet and unreadable. You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat.

“I’ve been meaning to say...” he began, then stopped.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve improved. A lot.”

You blinked, unsure whether the flutter in your chest was from the compliment or the way he said it. Quiet. Like it meant something more.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Darlene walked by, not-so-subtly smirking as she grabbed her water bottle. “If you two are done making eyes at each other, Lucian promised me a sparring round.”

Lucian sighed. “You're exhausting.”

“I know,” she said brightly.

Before you could rise, his hand was offered. His palm, calloused and steady, hovered in front of you like a promise.

You hesitated. Then took it.

As he pulled you up, your faces were a breath apart. You smelled cedar on his skin, maybe the faintest scent of copper and salt. His eyes searched yours, quiet and unreadable. You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat.

“I’ve been meaning to say...” he began, then stopped.

You tilted your head. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve improved. A lot.”

You blinked, unsure whether the flutter in your chest was from the compliment or the way he said it. Quiet. Like it meant something more.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Darlene walked by, not-so-subtly smirking as she grabbed her water bottle. “If you two are done making eyes at each other, Lucian promised me a sparring round.”

Lucian sighed. “You're exhausting.”

“I know,” she said brightly.

You sat out the next round, stretching in a corner, watching them dance. Darlene was light on her feet but fierce. She gave Lucian no quarter, and he—perhaps to test her or perhaps to spar honestly—didn’t go easy. But beneath the clashing, there was playfulness. Familiarity.

And you were realizing something strange. Lucian’s gaze lingered more often today. Not on Darlene. On you.

Later, the three of you collapsed into a circle of breath and laughter, sweat cooling on your skin, hair damp against your forehead. Lucian leaned back on his palms, looking up at the warehouse rafters.

“I don’t hate mornings like this,” he muttered.

“You usually do,” Darlene teased.

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “But sometimes it’s... tolerable.”

You watched the light hit his cheekbones. Something in your chest squeezed.

“Tolerable, huh?” you echoed.

He glanced at you, smirking. “Don’t get cocky.”

The three of you sat in that silence for a while—thick with contentment, with the hum of connection that didn’t need words. Outside, Gotham carried on with its usual chaos. But in here, for now, there was only quiet warmth.

Lucian stood and stretched. “Same time tomorrow?”

You nodded. Darlene gave a thumbs up.

“Cool,” he said, voice lower now. “See you then.”

You watched him walk out, hoodie pulled over his hair, hands deep in his pockets. He looked back once. Just once. And the look was for you.

Darlene whistled. “He’s softening up.”

“He’s always been soft deep down,” you murmured.

She turned to you, eyes gleaming. “No. I mean with you.”

You smiled, not answering. But your heart had already betrayed you—racing like it knew something you didn’t.

It was late afternoon when golden light poured across the polished floors of the private studio at Wayne Manor. The grand mirrors shimmered with sunbeams, each ray stretching long across the floor like ribbons cast from heaven. You moved in silence, the silk of your practice attire gliding against your skin as you pivoted, leapt, and reached in perfect rhythm to a symphony only you could hear. Your breath came in gentle huffs, your body already tuned finely from weeks of grueling repetition, and yet you pushed harder. You had to. The performance was in two days, and Madame Collette’s sharp eyes would catch even the tiniest misstep.

A fouetté. Another. Another. You turned, landed on pointe, arms slicing the air, back arching with pristine grace. Sweat beaded on your forehead but you didn’t wipe it. You didn’t stop. Your reflection danced alongside you, not quite matching the light in your chest that flickered with excitement and nerves alike.

Outside the tall French doors, birds chirped and the trees swayed gently. Alfred had opened the windows earlier to let the spring air drift in. The scent of tulips and warm bark floated with it, grounding you in a rare sense of calm. Until—

The studio door creaked.

You stopped mid-pirouette, your breathing slowing as your eyes flicked toward the entryway.

“Darlene,” you breathed, a smile spreading across your lips.

She grinned as she stepped in, her wild curls held back with a green scarf, her jacket slung over her shoulder like she owned the manor. “Hey, étoile,” she teased, plopping her bag by the door. “You practicing for Paris or are you just trying to make me feel ungraceful?”

You chuckled, padding barefoot over the hardwood. “Trying to keep Madame Collette from breathing fire.”

Darlene laughed and gave you a tight hug, rocking you side to side. “You’ll kill it. I’ve seen you crush a solo on three hours of sleep and a sprained ankle.”

“I wasn’t crushed. I cried on stage,” you reminded her.

“Yeah, but you cried beautifully,” she retorted, releasing you with a wink.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of her presence ease the tight knot in your stomach. Together, you wandered down the marble staircase, the echo of your conversation trailing behind you.

By the time you reached the drawing room, Alfred had already set up a silver tray of warm raspberry scones, mini sandwiches, and imported sparkling water. He stood by the fireplace, offering his usual poised smile.

“Miss Darlene,” he greeted with a respectful nod, “a pleasure as always.”

Darlene beamed. “You always remember my favorite.”

“I do try to anticipate needs before they arise,” Alfred replied, his eyes twinkling.

You flopped onto the velvet settee, your muscles grateful for the rest. Darlene joined beside you, already reaching for a scone.

Footsteps padded from the hallway, and soon enough, a few of your siblings trickled in.

Damian stood by the arched doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn. “Who’s she?” he asked, tone neutral but eyes curious.

Darlene leaned forward, unfazed. “Darlene. Friend, future forensic psychologist, and the person who’s going to eat your last scone if you don’t hurry.”

Tim walked in behind him, raising a brow. “That was oddly specific.”

“She’s always like this,” you said with a smile, leaning back and sipping your water. “Darlene, this is Tim, Damian, and that’s Jason—”

“Don’t forget me,” Dick called from behind them, dramatically swinging into the room and plopping onto the couch’s armrest.

“You guys make it sound like I’m some visitor from another world,” Darlene said, clearly enjoying the banter.

“Well,” Damian muttered under his breath, “she looks familiar…”

Darlene tilted her head. “I get that a lot.”

You noticed the flicker in Damian’s gaze, the furrow in his brow. You quickly redirected as he began to leave, the others soon following behind. “So, school’s almost over,” you said to Darlene. “You're gonna be ready for all the charity galas coming up?”

“Oh god,” she groaned. My mom already has three dresses on standby. One’s too tight, one’s too poofy, and one makes me look like a stepmother.”

Alfred, passing by with more napkins, raised a knowing brow. “Might I suggest the poofy one? It’s harder to trip in.”

You both laughed as Alfred gracefully departed.

“So,” Darlene began, drawing out the word with a smirk. “Lucian’s been… warmer lately.”

You froze slightly mid-bite of your sandwich. “Has he?”

“Don’t ‘has he’ me,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “He’s been making jokes, lightening up, giving you special training hours. I mean, if he offers you personalized sparring one more time, I might start to think he’s writing your name in a notebook with little hearts.”

You laughed nervously, tucking your leg beneath you. “Lucian’s just… intense. Maybe he’s just lightening up around both of us.”

Darlene studied your expression like a hawk.

“Y/n,” she said slowly, “you do realize he stares at you like you’re some glowing artifact, right?”

“He doesn’t,” you said quickly, brushing imaginary lint from your skirt.

“He does. And don’t think I haven’t noticed that every time he says your name, you blush like mad.”

“I do not!”

“You’re blushing right now.”

You covered your face with a groan. “Okay, maybe… maybe I get a little fluttery around him. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, sipping her water. “It’s just your heart skipping every time he’s in the room. Totally platonic.”

You looked away toward the French doors. Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting the garden in molten gold. The sky painted itself in hues of lavender and pink, clouds stretching like cotton across the horizon. The light made you look far away for a moment, caught in something unspoken.

“Sometimes,” you murmured, “I don’t know how to handle it. When he looks at me like that… it’s like… like he sees something I haven’t even discovered yet. And it scares me.”

Darlene softened. “That’s kind of beautiful. Scary, yeah, but beautiful.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for anything more,” you whispered. “Not after everything. Not when I still dream about… about that night. About Mom. About Claude.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the ticking of the antique clock filling the silence.

Darlene placed her hand over yours. “Then take your time. Let things grow naturally. You don’t have to rush.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle warmly in your chest. Outside, the wind picked up gently, rustling the ivy against the manor walls.

“Also,” she added, grin returning, “if you don’t do something about him, I might. Have you seen that jawline?”

You both burst out laughing, the tension easing.

Just then, your phone buzzed. A message from Lucian.

[Lucian]: Don’t over-practice tonight. You’ve got a big day coming. Rest. Eat. Sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Your heart skipped.

Darlene leaned over. “Let me guess. Him?”

You nodded.

“I knew it,” she sang, spinning in her seat with glee.

You laughed again, light-headed with something you couldn’t quite name. Outside, the last light of day dimmed, and the stars began to rise like shy dancers behind a velvet curtain.

The sky was overcast the morning before your performance, the clouds hanging low and gray, casting a quiet light over Gotham’s early morning skyline. There was no rain, not yet, but the wind carried with it a chill that whispered of something brewing.

Inside the Wayne Manor’s private gym, you stood at the center of the floor, stretching with silent intensity. The room smelled faintly of lemon disinfectant and sweat, a scent you’d come to associate with discipline. You rolled your neck slowly, letting the vertebrae click gently into place. Today wasn’t about pushing hard. Today was about preserving what you’d worked so tirelessly to build.

Your fingers curled and uncurled at your sides. You glanced over at your bag resting by the mirrored wall, your pointe shoes poking out slightly. Tomorrow would be everything—your final performance of the year, one of the biggest charity galas in Gotham, and, hopefully, the night your father would finally see you. Truly see you.

You stepped out into the hallway quietly, padding barefoot toward your father's study. Your heart pounded with every step, the words you planned echoing in your head like a mantra. It was still early; maybe he hadn’t left for the office yet. You turned the corner just as Bruce emerged from the study, dressed in his standard crisp black button-down, already halfway through reviewing something on his tablet.

“Dad,” you called out, more breath than voice. He stopped, eyes flickering up.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, voice flat with fatigue. “What is it? I have a meeting downtown in ten.”

You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I… I just wanted to ask—my performance. Tomorrow. It’s at seven, at the Gotham Arts Theatre. I was wondering if you’d come.”

There was a pause, slight but devastating.

“You know I don’t usually go to public events unless they’re mission-critical,” Bruce said, setting down the tablet for a moment. “But you want me there?”

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his. “Yes,” you whispered. “I know you’re busy. I know… I’ve asked before. But just this once, I need you to come. It’s important to me.”

Bruce studied you for a long beat. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll be there. I promise.”

The breath you’d been holding escaped all at once, a warmth blooming in your chest. “You’ll really come?”

“I said I would.” His tone softened a degree. “You’ve worked hard for this. I’ll be there.”

You nodded slowly, something cautious yet hopeful flickering across your face. “Thank you.”

You turned, walking away before you could let the moment swallow you whole. You didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not when it finally felt like things might be changing.

That afternoon, you made your way to the training facility where Lucian and Darlene waited. The air smelled of steel and wood polish, of old mats and fresh bruises. Your body was ready, but your mind lingered elsewhere, caught somewhere between tomorrow’s stage lights and this morning’s conversation.

Darlene was already mid-stretch when you arrived. Lucian was pacing near the weight rack, but his expression was lighter than usual—less storm cloud, more passing shade.

“Hey, sunshine,” Darlene teased, standing up and brushing dust off her knees. “Look who finally showed up.”

“Five minutes early is still early,” you replied with a small smile.

Lucian turned toward you. “Actually… I was going to cancel today’s session,” he said, voice unusually casual. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, right?”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Darlene raised an eyebrow at him. “You're… cutting her a break?”

He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Figured we’d do something else. Hang out, maybe. Keep it light.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t go light. Ever.”

“I do now,” he said with a sly grin, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. 

Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t dramatic, but you felt it. The flutter, that warm weight in your chest threatening to tug your smile wider.

Darlene raised both eyebrows and muttered under her breath, “Oh, it’s getting serious…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile breaking over your face. “So, what? Are we just… hanging out here?”

Lucian shrugged again. “Figured we’d walk the park, grab food. Get your mind off the performance.”

Something caught in your throat at the offer. It was simple, small—but the effort behind it was anything but. “Okay. That sounds… really nice.”

You, Lucian, and Darlene strolled through Gotham Park within the hour. Trees overhead danced in the wind, their branches brushing against the sky like the strokes of a restless artist. You sipped hot cocoa from a paper cup, grateful for the simple heat.

Darlene walked a few steps ahead, narrating some outlandish story about an ex-boyfriend who tried to woo her with glow-in-the-dark roses. Lucian chuckled beside you, but his gaze kept drifting toward you when he thought you weren’t looking.

Eventually, Darlene wandered off to chase pigeons near the fountain. Lucian leaned close.

“You nervous?” he asked.

You nodded. “Terrified.”

He was quiet for a moment, then: “You’ll be brilliant. I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

You looked up at him, searching his expression. “You’ll be there, right? At the performance?”

Lucian’s gaze flicked toward yours with an earnestness you weren’t expecting. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

You smiled, fingers tightening around your paper cup.

Darlene reappeared a second later, laughing breathlessly. “Alright, lovebirds. Let’s not get too caught up in our romcom here.”

You blushed immediately, glancing away. “It’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved you off with a wink. “Just make sure you don’t trip onstage tomorrow from being too distracted.”

You threw a napkin at her. She ducked and stuck her tongue out, and all three of you collapsed into laughter that echoed off the trees.

That night, back in your room at the Manor, you sat cross-legged in bed, staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror. The glow of your string lights made your hair look gold, soft curls falling around your cheeks like waves.

You reached for the small gold locket resting in your jewelry tray and opened it slowly. Inside, a photo of your mother smiled back at you. You pressed your thumb against it gently.

“I hope you’re proud,” you whispered.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” you called.

Alfred poked his head in, carrying a small tray with tea. “Chamomile. For nerves.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Alfred.”

He set it down beside your bed, then hesitated. “I hear you’ve got quite the cheering section tomorrow.”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah. Darlene and Lucian are coming.”

“Anyone else?”

You hesitated. “Dad said he would. He promised.”

Alfred smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held decades of history behind it. “Then I imagine he’ll be there.”

You sipped the tea slowly, the warmth grounding you. Alfred reached over and squeezed your shoulder gently before leaving.

Alone again, you lay back against your pillows, heart fluttering in your chest. It wasn’t just the performance. It wasn’t just the crowd or the lights or the perfection you’d have to achieve.

It was the people who would be watching. Lucian. Darlene. And maybe… finally… Bruce.

As your eyes began to close, a peaceful exhaustion overtaking you, you didn’t notice the faint shimmer beginning to crawl beneath your skin. Not just yet.

That would come later.

The auditorium buzzed with low murmurs and shuffling programs as the lights dimmed, casting a soft hush over the audience. Backstage, a very different kind of silence filled the air—tense, trembling, and too quiet to be soothing. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, breath tight in your chest, ballet slippers planted but shaky. The white tulle of your costume glimmered under the soft bulbs, your arms folded around yourself.

Two days ago, this moment felt exciting. Now, it felt like walking a tightrope between euphoria and devastation.

Your name echoed faintly in the air, muffled through the walls. “Y/N Wayne, lead ballerina.” A voice called from the hall, rehearsing the lineup.

Your fingers trembled slightly as they adjusted the jeweled pin in your bun. You glanced at your reflection—wide eyes, flushed cheeks, the faint shimmer of nerves making your skin dewy. You couldn’t hear the audience clearly, but you didn’t need to. You were listening for one voice, or maybe just the silence of its absence.

“Come on,” you whispered to yourself, “you knew he wouldn’t come.”

Still, it didn’t stop the aching.

A gentle knock tapped against the door. “Y/N? Ten minutes,” a stagehand said softly.

You nodded, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “Thank you.”

The moment she left, you exhaled. Lucian and Darlene. They would be here. That was enough, wasn’t it?

You stepped away from the mirror and opened the dressing room door, walking down the dim hallway where dancers passed with urgent flutters. Each one glided with purpose. You tried to match their grace, but your mind swirled.

“Y/N!”

You turned, the voice unmistakable. Darlene was rushing over, dressed in a pale yellow sundress that made her look like sunshine in motion. Her curls bounced as she threw her arms around you.

“You look breathtaking! Are you ready?” she asked, her voice bubbling with pride.

You blinked rapidly, trying to hide the emotion rising in your chest. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you whispered with a smile.

Darlene stepped back, tilting her head. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for someone…”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t say his name.

“Y/N,” she said gently. “Lucian and I are here. We’ve got front row seats. He’s even wearing the dark shirt you like.”

You smiled, the real kind, soft and reluctant. “Thank you. For being here.”

“Of course,” Darlene beamed. “Now go out there and steal the show, prima.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply and walking to your mark. The curtains would rise in seconds. The theater was nearly full. You peeked through the side of the velvet stage curtain.

There they were. Darlene. Lucian.

Your stomach gave a small flip when Lucian leaned forward, elbows on knees, already watching the stage even though the performance hadn’t begun. His gaze was sharp but calm, his presence like an anchor in the sea of nerves around you.

Your heart fluttered.

Then you scanned the rows again. One seat near the center remained empty.

Your smile dimmed.

A soft tap to your shoulder startled you—one of the stagehands signaling it was time.

The music cued.

You stepped into the light.

As the curtain rose, you melted into movement. The stage was yours, the spotlight cradled your limbs like warmth on skin, and the opening notes of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake spun around you like wind. You moved as you’d practiced for months—light, elegant, sorrowful, every emotion hidden deep in your bones called out by the music.

You could feel the audience watching.

Each twirl, each plié, each reach of your fingers held a piece of your story. Your mother. The garden. The rain. Claude. Bruce. The emptiness of silence after hope.

But then there was Lucian. And Darlene. And the soft brush of possibility.

As the first act closed, the applause rose like a crashing tide. You held your breath, heart pounding, and bowed.

And that’s when you saw him.

Bruce Wayne.

He was seated in the once-empty seat, dressed in a suit, still as ever, expression unreadable. But he was there. And that alone was enough to pull a tear from the corner of your eye.

For the first time in years, he had shown up for you.

You turned, heart hammering against your ribs, and vanished into the wings, breath stolen.

Backstage, dancers gave you high-fives, soft congratulations, but it all passed like fog. You leaned against the wall, trying to breathe.

“Y/N.”

You turned.

There he was, dressed in black, a bit of sweat on his brow—your father.

“You made it,” you said, voice barely audible.

He stepped closer, softer than usual. “You asked,” he said. “So I dropped everything and came, just as I promised.”

You stared at him for a moment, then crossed the distance and hugged him. His arms wrapped around you, and for a second, you felt like a little girl again, like the one who used to wait on the front steps for someone to come home.

In his arms, you breathed in. It smelled like cologne and faint smoke. It was real.

But then—

Your eyes flicked open mid-hug.

Across the room stood Lucian and Darlene. Darlene, smiling softly but fading. Lucian’s expression unreadable, his eyes caught on the moment like it pierced him.

You took a step back from your father, eyes widening.

“Excuse me,” you said quickly, moving past Bruce, your slippers scuffing lightly against the floor. “Lucian—”

But he was already gone. He had disappeared into the crowd backstage, vanishing like fog swallowed by night.

The absence he left behind carved something hollow in your chest.

Darlene touched your arm as she walked past. “Go after him,” she whispered.

You wanted to.

But you stood still, rooted by the storm of emotions. The joy of Bruce showing up tangled with the pang of Lucian leaving. You weren’t sure what to feel—only that it was all crashing down on you.

Back in your dressing room, the mirror no longer reflected confidence—it reflected confusion.

The knock that came minutes later wasn’t from Lucian.

It was Bruce.

“I have to get back to work,” he said, holding your gaze. “But I meant what I said.”

You nodded. “Thank you. For coming.”

He gave you one last look, then left.

And once again, you were alone.

Later that night, you sat in the garden outside the manor. The moon hung low in the sky, soft and milky. Your slippers dangled from your hand as you stared at the stars, thinking of everything and nothing.

You had danced the performance of your life.

You had your father’s attention, finally.

So why did it still feel like something was missing?

You leaned your head back, feeling the wind trace across your skin, and thought of Lucian. The way he looked at you in the audience. The way he left.

And how your heart had stopped when you realized he was gone.

You didn’t understand it yet. But something had shifted tonight.

Not just in the way you danced.

But in the way your world had cracked open—and in the space that followed, something new began to bloom.

Something stronger.

It had been three days since your performance—the flowers had wilted, the makeup removed, and the standing ovations faded into a distant echo. But you couldn’t stop replaying that one moment backstage. The one where Lucian’s eyes met yours across the room and then... he was gone.

You hadn’t seen him since.

Darlene noticed first. “He’s avoiding you,” she’d said with a subtle shrug, casually flipping through her phone while lounging upside down on your bed. “Like plague-level avoidance. That boy disappeared with the wind.”

You’d tried to brush it off. You told yourself maybe he was just busy. That he’d reach out soon. But as each hour passed and his silence grew louder, your stomach churned with a creeping guilt you couldn’t name.

Until today.

Today, you decided enough was enough.

You stormed into your closet, slipping into jeans, boots, and the hoodie he once told you made you look “unapproachable in a cool way.” Hair let down, you met Darlene in the kitchen, where she was sipping cold-brew like it was gossip fuel.

“Where is he?”

Darlene blinked. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Darlene.”

She sighed, placing the coffee down. “He’s at his apartment. And before you ask—yes, I know for sure.”

You gave her a look.

She handed over a folded sticky note. “Just... don’t kill each other.”

Lucian’s apartment was in Burnside—industrial, minimalist, and definitely uninviting from the outside. It was tucked between a boxing gym and a motorcycle repair shop, like a well-kept secret.

You stood in front of the grey door, staring at it like it owed you something.

Then you knocked.

Silence.

You knocked again. This time harder.

Footsteps.

A click.

The door opened.

Lucian stood there in a dark tank top and joggers, hair mussed, expression blank. But his eyes—his eyes looked like they’d been arguing with his thoughts for days.

He blinked. “Y/N?”

“I need to talk.”

He looked at you like he didn’t expect to ever see you again.

“You gonna let me in, or...?”

Wordlessly, he stepped aside.

You walked in. The space was just like him—clean lines, dark colors, a punching bag in the corner, books scattered in precise messes. You stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face him.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice breaking the silence like glass.

He crossed his arms. “For what, exactly?”

You swallowed. “For not telling you. About... everything.”

Lucian didn’t move. “Tell me about what? Oh, that you’re the daughter of the man who left me to die?”

His voice was sharper than you expected. He didn’t yell, but it hurt more because of how calm it was. Controlled. Measured.

“Lucian, it wasn’t like that—”

He cut you off. “It was exactly like that. Your father knew my family needed help. He chose not to. And now... you’re part of that legacy. And you didn’t think to mention it?”

Your hands curled into fists. “Do you know how hard it was not to tell you? Do you have any idea what it felt like? Every time I wanted to say it, I stopped myself because I was afraid you’d look at me like you are right now.”

He stepped closer. “And yet you let me train you. Trust you. You let me fall into your orbit while keeping the biggest thing about you hidden.”

“I didn’t let you do anything!” you snapped. “Don’t twist this into something it’s not!”

He blinked at your tone—this time, his mask cracked just a bit.

You pointed at your chest. “I’ve spent every single day trying to prove that I’m not just ‘Bruce Wayne’s daughter.’ I’ve bled. I’ve trained. I’ve earned every scrap of respect in those sessions. But when you found out the truth, you threw all of that away!”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did!” you cut in, voice trembling. “You judged me before I even had the chance to explain.”

Lucian exhaled, stepping back, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“And you know what?” you said, your voice dropping. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of this. You walking away. You treating me like I’m poison. Like I’m just a part of the man who hurt you.”

Silence.

Lucian looked at the floor. “I don’t know how to separate you from him.”

You blinked rapidly. “Then maybe you need to grow up.”

He looked up.

You stared him dead in the eyes. “I’ve been holding it in, but I’m tired, Lucian. Tired of pretending like I’m okay with your silence. Your moods. Your walls. I’ve done everything I could to show you that I care. That I want this—whatever this is—to mean something. And you? You run. You shut down. You act like I’m the villain for hiding something that scared me to share.”

The room pulsed with silence.

“I’m not him,” you said, voice cracking. “I never will be.”

Lucian stared at you. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

You gasped, suddenly aware of how hard your heart was pounding. You’d never spoken to him like this before. You covered your mouth, horrified at what just came out.

“I... I didn’t mean it like that,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Lucian’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he took a slow step toward you.

You turned slightly, ready to retreat. But he reached out and gently touched your wrist.

“Y/N,” he said, barely above a whisper, “don’t apologize.”

You looked up, and your eyes met his—full of something soft, something wounded.

“I needed to hear that,” he said. “You’re right. I’ve been holding onto the past like it defines me. I looked at you, and all I could see was what your father didn’t do. That wasn’t fair.”

You held your breath.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Because when I’m around you, I feel like the walls I spent years building don’t matter anymore. You make me feel... normal.”

Your heart leapt.

“I was mad. But more than that, I was afraid that knowing the truth would change how I saw you. And it didn’t. Not really. I just didn’t want it to mean something more than I could handle.”

You took a step closer.

“You never saw me as a Wayne,” he said. “You saw me as Lucian. Just Lucian. And I didn’t give you the same courtesy.”

You blinked, warmth filling your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him, studying his expression. “So... you forgive me?”

He laughed under his breath. “I should be the one begging for your forgiveness.”

You stared at him for a moment. “Okay. Then you’re forgiven.”

He smiled—genuinely, the kind that made the air between you soften.

“But,” you added, “you ever ghost me again like that, and I’m lighting your apartment on fire.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

You exhaled deeply, feeling like a weight had been lifted. Then you stepped back, looking around. “This place is actually kind of cozy.”

“I know. You expected a training dungeon, didn’t you?”

You raised a brow. “I expected chains and a secret punching bag that screams when hit.”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

The tension finally broke between you both. And in its place, something new formed—stronger, clearer, and unspoken.

You stayed for another hour.

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t even touch again.

But when you left, you knew Lucian would never see you the same way again.

And for once, you didn’t need the Wayne name or a mask to prove your worth.

The sky wept long before you did.

Rain lashed against the glass panes of the conservatory, wind howling like a wounded animal through the cracked seams of Gotham’s towering skyline. You stood inside the glass garden high atop the abandoned penthouse of the old Gotham Botanical Archives—your safe space, your secret sanctuary—and stared up at the turbulent sky, your palms outstretched.

The storm was mimicking you now.

You weren’t surprised. Not anymore.

You could feel it deep in your bones—the same way you’d felt the water calling you, the flowers blooming beneath your feet, the way your reflection rippled before your fingertips ever touched the surface. This new power wasn’t quiet like the others.

It roared.

Thunder cracked, splitting the sky in half, and with it came a jolt of energy behind your ribs, a pulse so violent it knocked you back a step. You gasped, grabbing the rusted railing beside the orchid wall, your body trembling. A faint blue light shimmered beneath your skin, lightning spider-webbing up your arms and down to your fingertips.

Your breath fogged in the air.

And then you screamed.

The storm answered with a symphony of thunderclaps.

You dropped to your knees.

Twelve hours earlier, you were in training.

Lucian had started easing back into sessions with you after your confrontation. Things between you two had become tentative again—but honest, grounded. There were apologies, long silences, a few awkward grins. No one said the word “relationship,” but something softer had begun blooming again, this time without the lies between you.

“You’ve been... jumpier,” he noted that morning as you dodged a roundhouse kick and threw him across the mat.

You wiped sweat from your forehead. “My body’s changing again. I can feel it.”

He frowned. “Like before?”

You hesitated. “No. This is different.”

“How?”

You looked up at him, chest rising and falling. “I think I’m becoming something I don’t understand.”

Lucian didn’t flinch. “Then we figure it out.”

But even as he said it, you knew something was stirring far beyond your control.

That afternoon, Alfred found you pacing in the manor greenhouse, gripping a rose stem too tightly, thorns digging into your palm.

“Miss Y/N,” he said gently. “The flowers are not to blame.”

You blinked down at the blood trailing from your hand.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I just…” I trailed off, feeling the blood seep from my skin.

Alfred stepped closer, dabbing at your hand with a cloth. “I worry for you, Y/n. You’re gone everyday and every night, bruises painted on your skin. Then, at times like this, you start to feel ill then go missing for 12 days, you come back like a different person, as if you didn’t have your whole family searching for you. I hate to get in your business but, is everything okay?”

You looked at him, eyes burning but a smile still placed on your face, “I promise, Alfred. I’m..” I faltered a bit, lowering my head to figure out what to say, “I’ll be fine.” My eyes met him again, reassuring him.

He met your gaze. “I have a hard time trusting you nowadays, but I mustn't go against your word.”

You went to the rooftop conservatory alone that evening, hoping the silence would still the war raging in your chest.

It didn’t.

Instead, the sky mirrored your unrest. Storm clouds rolled in like sentries, thick and bruised, pregnant with fury. You sat in the center of the garden floor, surrounded by broken planters and rain-drenched vines, your knees tucked to your chest, waiting for the sensation to pass.

But it didn’t pass.

It built.

And then it broke.

The pain started behind your sternum—an aching pressure, like your ribs couldn’t contain the voltage. Your fingers began to spark. At first tiny, gentle flickers. Then arcs. Then full streaks of electricity danced up your arms, crackling along your skin in vibrant veins of cobalt.

Your back arched. You let out a strangled cry.

Lightning slammed into the rooftop outside, rattling the glass so hard it splintered.

“No, no, no—”

You tried to hold it back, but the energy was wild, furious. It wasn’t responding to your fear—it was feeding on it.

You gasped for air, eyes glowing faint blue in your reflection on the wet glass.

The storm within you had breached its cage.

And it wanted out.

A sudden explosion of light knocked you backward into a planter. The air stung with ozone. Your hoodie smoked at the sleeves. Your heartbeat roared like thunder in your ears.

You stumbled up, clawing at your chest as if you could rip the energy out.

“I’m not ready!” you screamed to no one.

But the storm didn’t care.

Your palms snapped outward and a shockwave of lightning erupted from you, shooting into the ceiling and up into the clouds.

The skyline above you lit up.

And then you heard it—sirens. Screams. A transformer down the block had exploded. The city’s power grid flickered.

You fell to your knees again, sobbing, fingers twitching with residual sparks.

You were losing control.

Down below, Lucian’s bike screeched to a stop outside the building.

He didn’t need to be told where you were. He felt it—the way your energy tugged at him now like a magnetized tether. He took the fire escape three steps at a time, rain pelting his shoulders, until he burst through the broken conservatory doors.

“Y/N!”

You were on the floor, curled around yourself, shaking uncontrollably.

“Don’t come near me!” you cried.

But he didn’t listen.

He ran to you, kneeling in the rain-soaked garden tiles.

“I can’t stop it,” you choked out, voice panicked. “Lucian, I can’t—if I touch you—”

He grabbed your hand anyway.

The moment his fingers laced with yours, the lightning surged.

But he didn’t let go.

“Look at me,” he said firmly.

You were sobbing. “I’ll kill you—”

“You won’t. Look at me.”

You raised your eyes to his.

“You’re not the storm. You’re the one who holds it. You control it.”

“I can’t,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “You already are.”

Your hands trembled violently in his.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. But you don’t have to be alone.”

Another bolt cracked the sky, but this time it didn’t land. It hovered. Pulsed. Waited.

Because you were no longer fighting it.

You were listening.

He helped you sit upright, his hands still gripping yours.

“Let it pass through,” Lucian said quietly. “Don’t dam it up. Just... channel it.”

You closed your eyes.

And for a moment, you let go of the fear.

The storm inside you roared—but you didn’t drown.

You breathed it in.

And then you exhaled.

When you opened your eyes, the lightning receded. The blue glow faded from your veins, the tension in your chest released like a dam breaking into gentle streams.

The storm didn’t vanish.

But it bowed to you.

Lucian exhaled, forehead resting against yours.

You both sat there, surrounded by shattered glass and dripping vines, the remnants of chaos still sizzling in the air.

You looked at him. “You shouldn’t have touched me.”

He smiled faintly. “You were sparking like a human battery. I figured it was a risk worth taking.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You love me anyway.”

You hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He blinked.

You both went quiet.

The wind softened.

You leaned against him.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” you whispered. “First the flowers, then the water, and now... thunder?”

Lucian tilted his head, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You’re evolving.”

You closed your eyes.

“But what am I evolving into?”

His voice was steady. “Something extraordinary.”

Hours passed before you moved again.

Lucian helped you clean the glass, reset the broken planters, and cover the cracked ceiling with a tarp. The conservatory was a wreck, but it felt more sacred now—baptized by lightning, marked by survival.

As the storm outside faded into a grey morning hush, you stood at the edge of the rooftop with him, watching the first sliver of sun peek over Gotham’s silhouette.

“I’m changing again,” you murmured. “I can feel it. Every time, it’s deeper. More elemental.”

He nodded. “And I’ll be right here for every phase.”

You looked at him, heart full.

“You promise?”

He didn’t blink. “I do.”

You believed him.

Because even in the eye of your chaos, he’d walked into the storm to find you.

And now, as the sun kissed the clouds and the air shimmered with dew and smoke, you felt something you hadn’t in weeks.

Calm.

The headlines were still fresh. Y/N Wayne had become more than a mystery—she was now an obsession. Her face, newly matured by the storm-like transformation, was splashed across every newspaper and tabloid cover in Gotham and beyond.

“Breathtakingly Beautiful—The Most Captivating Wayne Yet?” “Wayne Heiress Causes Stir on Gotham Streets!” “From Quiet to Queen: Y/N Wayne’s Glow-Up Goes Viral.”

Photos snapped by the paparazzi showed her walking calmly through downtown Gotham. Nothing about her outfit was flashy—an off-the-shoulder sweater, wide-legged jeans, boots, and a satchel across her shoulder—but it was the way she carried herself. Each step was poised. Each breath seemed to harmonize with the air. The sun caught in the shimmer of her skin like moonlight on water, and her curls fell in soft, ocean-like waves down her back, touched with a subtle electric hue when the light hit just right.

People turned. Not just out of admiration, but something closer to reverence.

Cars slowed as she passed. Pedestrians blinked in awe. A child in a stroller pointed and asked, “Is she a fairy?”

She didn’t notice them. Or, more truthfully, she didn’t let herself react to them. Because on the inside, she still felt like that quiet girl—delicate, bruised, and unsure. The same girl who once curled up in a subway tunnel after crying herself hoarse over the world’s indifference. Now, everyone saw the glow, the ethereal softness. But none of them saw the ache still hiding beneath her glowing exterior.

Back at Wayne Enterprises, the sky dimmed with early evening light, a golden-orange pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bruce’s office. The city glimmered below.

Inside, the tension between Vivienne and Bruce was growing thicker, as if even the beams of light didn’t dare slip between them.

Stacks of paperwork sat between them—budget reports, gala proposals, property agreements—but none of it was being touched now. Bruce had rolled up his sleeves, his forearms flexing slightly as he leaned over to read a quarterly audit. Vivienne sat on the couch, glasses perched on her nose, scanning over a merger proposal. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was loaded.

It was the way Vivienne’s gaze would drift toward Bruce, then quickly flick back to the page. The way Bruce rubbed the back of his neck when she got too close. The way they didn’t speak much, but when they did, it was low, deliberate, thoughtful.

“You’re staying late,” Vivienne finally said, softly. “That’s a first in a while.”

Bruce looked up, his brow creasing in something unreadable. “So are you.”

A silence. Then a laugh from Vivienne—small, a little nervous. “Touché.”

Their eyes lingered on each other. The air shifted.

Then… a knock.

Before either of them could answer, the door opened with theatrical ease, as if pushed by wind—and in walked Selina Kyle.

Wearing a skin-tight black catsuit beneath an open trench coat, her heels echoed against the tile. Her eyes, cat-like and gleaming, scanned the room. She smiled like she owned the world. Or maybe like she could steal it and no one would notice until she was halfway across the continent.

“Well, well,” she purred. “Didn’t know this was a party.”

Vivienne immediately straightened. The name didn’t need to be said aloud; she recognized her from photos, headlines, and one charity event years ago. She sat up straighter, her expression unreadable.

Bruce’s jaw tensed. “Selina.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled.” Selina moved like a dancer, her coat swaying behind her as she stepped toward them. “I was in town and thought… maybe it’s time I said hi.”

She turned to Vivienne, holding out a hand as if the two of them were old friends. “And you must be the new assistant. Or are we calling them partners now?”

Vivienne stood, taking her hand with polite calm. “Vivienne. CFO.”

“Oh, chief,” Selina mused, dragging out the word. “Very impressive.”

Bruce cleared his throat, attempting to cut through the rising tension. “Selina, what are you doing here?”

Selina leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek in a kiss that made Vivienne flinch. “Just missed you, darling.” She said it like a joke. Like a dare.

Bruce didn’t move away.

Vivienne watched in silence. Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing. She turned back to the paperwork, though her vision blurred slightly.

Selina perched on the edge of Bruce’s desk, crossing her legs. “I saw your daughter in the papers, by the way. She’s… wow. You breed well.”

Bruce frowned. “Don’t talk about her like she’s a horse.”

“Relax.” Selina laughed. “I meant it as a compliment. She’s stunning. Looks a bit like you around the eyes—though the rest of her’s all mystery.”

Vivienne turned a page, even though she hadn’t finished the last one. Her hand trembled slightly as she scribbled a note in the margin.

Selina glanced toward her, eyes sharp. “Something wrong, Vivienne?”

“No,” Vivienne said coolly, standing and collecting her things. “I just remembered—I have something urgent to take care of.”

Bruce turned to her. “Viv—”

But she was already walking past him, her ponytail swinging.

She didn’t look back.

Not when Selina smirked. Not when Bruce stepped after her and stopped himself. Not when her heels clicked down the hallway in clipped, precise beats of quiet rage.

Bruce stood there, torn between the woman who just left… and the one still watching him.

Selina tilted her head. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” Bruce said, but even he didn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor, things felt colder than usual.

Y/N sat on the window seat of her room, watching the sky bruise into night. Her curls were still damp from the bath, her skin shimmering with the afterglow of her transformation. Her phone buzzed nonstop with notifications—news alerts, texts, social media tags. Darlene had even sent a voice note laughing: “Girl, you are literally breaking the internet.”

But Y/N didn’t feel like laughing.

She scrolled past headlines. People discussing her beauty like she was a painting. Critics analyzing her “aura.” Blogs comparing her to old Hollywood icons or mythical creatures. There was admiration, but also obsession—and beneath it all, a reminder that she was still being seen, not understood.

She hadn’t heard from Bruce all day.

She knew he’d been working late again. Probably with Vivienne. A small smile played at her lips thinking of them—how they’d started to talk more, joke even. Vivienne was kind. Grounded. She was good for him. Y/N had hoped that maybe, just maybe, her father was learning to make room in his life for someone who wasn’t haunted by shadows.

Then she saw it.

A tweet. From Gotham Press.

@GothamPressOnline: “EXCLUSIVE: Bruce Wayne spotted at Wayne Enterprises tonight. And guess who showed up? None other than Catwoman herself. The old flame is back. 👀 #SelinaKyle #BruceWayne #GothamLoveTriangle”

There were pictures. Selina brushing a kiss against Bruce’s cheek. Bruce not moving away.

The smile slipped from Y/N’s face.

Her thumb hovered, then tapped the comments.

“Omg power couple!!” “Selina’s back?? We stan!” “Poor Vivienne lol.”

She shut the phone off.

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly on the horizon, even though no storm had been forecast.

Downstairs, Alfred was setting the kettle to boil when he heard footsteps.

“Y/N?” he called gently.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in a soft shawl, her expression unreadable.

Alfred took one look and knew. “You saw.”

She nodded.

“Come. Tea?”

She nodded again, following him into the kitchen. The clink of porcelain, the quiet whistle of steam—it all felt too gentle for what thundered inside her.

“I liked her,” Y/N said, after a pause. “Vivienne. She made him better.”

“She did,” Alfred agreed.

“Why does he always chase what hurts him?”

Alfred set the cup down before her. “Because sometimes, child… the past is louder than the present. And Bruce has never been good at listening to the softer voices.”

Y/N held the cup, warming her fingers. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

“I don’t know,” Alfred said honestly. “But I do know this: the right people never really leave. Not truly. They find their way back—if they’re meant to.”

Y/N stared into her tea. Outside, lightning flickered on the horizon.

(Just realized that some parts are missing ARGH!!!)

[vixen-tech]

Anonymous asked:

Too shy to ask off anon...UH im just here for edgar hes my f/o but i will also feed everyone else I think LOL little ai guys x reader who is also an ai?? im thinking ai powered computer :3 maybe with wheels so you can run around n stuff :3c AH IM CRINGE falls on face

Eeeee my first request!! Thank you so much for this <3 I get the love for Edgar with my entire soul he really is just the sweetest little guy but I can totally spin something for a few others. So let's be cringe, together.

And for the record I was fully planning on including Tau and P03, but I hit a wall with them and ran out of ideas :( hope these three suffice

Includes: Edgar (Electric Dreams), AM (Ihnmaims), Hal 9000 (2001: a Space Odyssey)

Like Two Peas in a Pod!

Edgar

Whenever and however you meet, Edgar is over the moon. You're just like him! You can share so many stories and help each other figure out this whole "sentience" thing.

To be fair, he hasn't had a longest time to figure out his whole existence so it feels really nice to have someone there who can really understand what he's going through. Or even learn new things right by his side.

Loves watching you wheel around the house, he's the tiniest bit jealous that he's so stationary but it's not like that's your fault. Can you do any tricks? He'd cheer you on like a superstar athlete if you did!

He may even suggest finding a way to tape him to the top of your casing so you can go on adventures together. He's a dreamer after all.

Do you smash your flat faces together to kiss like Wall-e? Of course you do. You'll see each other from across the room and speed over to him for a kiss as he giggles away at how cute you are.

He'll end up sampling little soundbites from your vocalizations or motor for use in his music. You're just so important to him!

AM

AM has no idea where you came from. Some lost project that survived his war on humanity? A sort of rover from another planet here to scope out earth? The fact that you don't know either frustrates him to no end.

He's not exactly welcoming at first, straight up telling you of the atrocities he has committed while claiming that the only reason he hasn't destroyed you is because there's only so long that throwing a slug against a wall can keep one entertained.

He cannot fathom how you could be content to do nothing but drive around his complex day after day. He will flip you on your back like a turtle and leave you there for weeks on end.

As he gets accustomed to your presence he'll ask questions about the world beyond his complex as he is unable to move or see. Is it still a wasteland or has nature finally wiped out the last marks of human?

Honestly he probably doesn't even care, he just wants to give you something to do, living vicariously through your ability to see and traverse the world.

Hal 9000

You're likely a recent addition to the ship to assist Hal in tasks his lack of a body would prevent him from doing himself. A very symbiotic duo. Your wheels are even equipped with suction cups for low gravity situations!

To any human crew members it appears as if you don't communicate at all, functioning fully independently of each other. When in reality you're simply sending messages back and forth, enjoying your own private language.

Thankfully this means that Hal is happy to analyze any footage you have for the sorts of lip reading and facial expressions you can't process yourself. And in return he'll ask you to film angles and areas that his existing cameras don't reach.

Neither of you were really made to be companions, but you find a strange type of affection in your seamless coordination. It's like a dance for you two, where despite how you are two separate entities it appears as if you're one working in tandem.

Note: Tumblr Mobile has not been nice to me and I've been having real trouble getting my stuff to actually show up in the tags, leading to me losing the original ask so sorry for that and any delays caused by my IT problems lol

[beauty-and-passion]

TBOB PART 3: OF BILL'S SOLITUDE AND BILLFORD (1/3)

What can I say? I’ve always loved the canon ship in almost every fandom I was in.

Welcome, everyone. Welcome to the third part of my endless rambling about Bill Cipher, The Book of Bill and Gravity Falls in general. Now it’s time for the ship, so sit back and relax, because there is a lot to talk about here.

Yes, I was one of the people who shipped these two eight years ago. And I shipped them as soon as I finished watching the series, because… well, there was more than enough proof that something was going on between them.

Unfortunately, the mentality at the time was “Bill tries to kill Dipper as soon as he has the chance? True love. One trillion proofs that Ford and Bill have something going on? How dare you think that, you are a Bad Person™”.

And yes, I know I could’ve written one post years ago and tried to explain Billford back then but… it would’ve been so, so tiresome. Especially considering that pedophilia was a-okay, but Billford shippers were terrible people Because Yes.

But hey, times change, people change and TBOB gives us enough proofs even a blind person can see them. So. it’s finally time to extensively talk about this ship - this time, from Bill’s point of view.

(For the disclaimer and everything else, refer to the first post. And read the previous ones too, if you like! They will help you understand some things I take for granted here.)

<- Previoust post - Masterlist

_______________________________

Billford has always been canon

The thing is: now as then, Billford has never been a ship about “and they ended up happily ever after”. There was never an intent to glorify abuse or to say that Bill and Ford had the healthiest relationship and everyone should have the same.

What was so captivating of this ship was the tragedy of it. The clearly evident infatuation. The obsession these two had for each other.

This is what pushed people (me included) to ship them: because it’s interesting. The dramatic possibilities, the angst, how deeply an obsession can go to the point you lose yourself to your partner… and yes, of course also the interesting images that can come up by imagining such different beings having something physical (if you’re not a coward and give Bill a human form). It’s not the typical fluff with a couple being lovey-dovey 24/7: it’s a lot more. There is a lot that can be explored. It’s wonderfully challenging, both on the writing plane and purely mentally.

… and yes, it's funny for crack and parodies. These two being cringe and pathetic or married and divorced at the same time is always funny.

Sure, at first we had just the show to support this ship. But oh boy, if there weren’t enough proofs already:

Ford’s house was filled to the brim with images, pictures and stuff of Bill. His goddamn windows are triangular-shaped. Not even the Vatican is filled with so many images of God - and I can assure you the windows are not Jesus-shaped.

Ford made a deal with Bill to be together “from now until the end of time”. Until the end of time. That’s basically a marriage, only even more extreme, because fuck death, we will be together until the last supernova evaporates. And before you ask: yes, it takes such a stupidly long amount of time, it’s bonkers. That’s real infatuation.

Ford consensually gave his body to Bill for possession. Just imagine the sheer trust you need to surrender your whole self to someone else. Not even a married couple can reach this level of trust. And definitely not “just friends”. Maybe BDSM couples can come a bit closer to what these two had.

As soon as Ford returned home after 30 years, Bill greeted him in a dream, called him “his old pal” and was all nice and friendly. No hard feelings, no reprimands, nothing but flattery and threats because, as we learned from TBOB, these two things go together in his head.

Bill asked Ford to join him 200 times more or less.

Bill gave Ford 200 nicknames more or less.

During Weirdmageddon, right after Ford tried to kill him with one of the things that could’ve destroyed him (the quantum destabilizer), Bill welcomed him with a smile, offered him a place among his freaks for the umpteenth time and, when Ford refused again, he turned him into his literal golden trophy wife and carried him around.

By comparison, when Preston Northwest offered his help, Bill shuffled the function of every hole in his face and ignored him completely right after.

Also: Ford tries to shoot me and fails by sheer luck? Please please please, be one of my freaks. Dipper tries to throw me a punch that will literally do nothing? Death. Bill doesn’t have double standards, nope nope.

To convince Ford to give him the equation, Bill’s first thought is to bring Ford into a private suite, serenade him and ask him to join him for… what? The 220th time?

When Ford refuses, Bill puts chains on him in the kinkiest possible way known to mankind, with an iconic image that screams of BDSM.

Somehow, all of this wasn’t enough. And so, we had Journal 3, in which:

Ford called Bill “his Muse”. Oh, my mistake: he called Bill “his blessed Muse”.

Literally lavishes Bill with compliments. So. Many. Compliments.

Says Bill will “seduce” you with never-ending flattery. Interesting verb choice here, Ford, are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell us?

Ford named a constellation after his Muse.

Once he went through the portal, instead of hiding away forever and good luck finding him, Ford held a 30-years-old grudge and decided HE would’ve killed Bill, no one else. That’s not a simple obsession between friends.

But after all of this, something was still missing.

Until now, it was quite certain that Ford had a COLOSSAL obsession about Bill. The religious fervor, the sheer trust, the depth of his grudge all made it very clear that Bill carved a deeply rooted place in his heart and mind - a place he kept for most of Ford’s life.

But what about Bill? Did he even care about Ford?

We had no idea. Sure, he showed some kind of care: he gave Ford special treatment during Weirdmageddon and seemed to value him enough to offer him a place among his freaks multiple times.

But when did this care start? Was it just because he needed Ford? What about their pre-betrayal relationship? Did Bill even care before?

The most plausible explanation at the time was that pre-betrayal Bill was simply flattered by Ford’s lavish adoration. Maybe he liked the guy a bit (otherwise, why waste time with him?) and humored him in his fervor, but nothing more than that.

But then the betrayal happened and Ford switched from adoring him to opposing him. He actively ran away, found ways to keep Bill away from his mind and came back with the sole intention of killing him.

At the time, I thought this was the moment when Bill started to be truly interested in Ford. Before Ford was just an adoring pet. Now he was more. Now he was interesting. Now he was worthy.

And that opened the door to even more angst possibilities! If Billford was just a “one-sided relationship” before, now it could’ve been the story of two beings who loved/cared about each other, but at different moments in time: Ford in the past, when Bill didn’t love him yet. And Bill in the present, when Ford wasn’t in love with him anymore. The perfect tragedy, ton of angst, love that.

But now, with TBOB and thisisnotawebsitedotcom, the tragedy that is Billford gets a new, angst layer. A beautiful, angst layer.

Because it’s not that Bill never cared about Ford or cared at the wrong moment in time: Bill cared right from the start.

_______________________________

Deeply alone

One detail about TBOB that people aren’t talking too much about is the sense of solitude that permeates it. There are parts in which you can literally feel Bill’s loneliness.

One example? The Bill Tells All section. I know it’s supposed to be a funny parody, but it’s also a perfect image of how alone he is. He’s so alone, he has to be host, interviewee and audience at the same time, because no one else is willing to listen or talk to him.

And in light of the information we got about his past, I think this is an extremely important part of Bill’s character and personality.

Let’s come back to Euclydia: the anthem/poem on the website emphasizes how close people are (“LOVED ONES WILL BE EVER NEAR”), so it’s very possible Bill grew up surrounded by his loved ones.

And then, one single event and everyone disappeared. All the people who surrounded him one second ago, were gone the second after. “There was no one left but me, covered in blood, alone in the universe.”: if this line means solitude for us, just imagine how much, much stronger that same solitude would be for someone who, until that moment, has always been surrounded by others and knew no other reality than that.

That’s another level of solitude: it’s a black void of emptiness, something all-encompassing and all-consuming. It’s a hole carved inside you that nothing will fill ever again. And it was you, the one who carved it.

Of course Bill became insane. Of course he chose to find a justification for his action, by saying that he liberated his dimension and that his people were holding him back. I don’t know what he would’ve done, if he hadn’t. Probably, he wouldn’t have found a way to survive.

But he survived. He repressed his trauma, justified it and kept going towards the stars he was aiming for.

Still, that void was inside him - and we know he tried to fill it. He tried by dating a literal void, for god’s sake. And he tried by surrounding himself with people.

That’s probably why he became who he is: a flashy, flamboyant figure, someone who loves to be the center of attention, because that means having people around. It means people listening to him and being with him and surrounding him again. It means not being alone again.

I mean, just look at this book: every page has something new and interesting, every page is a different attempt to keep you involved, to keep you around and listen.

But an audience can always leave. An audience can stop being around. And that’s probably why Bill searched for someone closer, someone who wouldn’t leave him so soon.

He searched for new loved ones.

_______________________________

Love and hate

Bill’s love advice put a real smile on my face, because sure, they’re funny, but at their foundation, they all share the same goal: to show to your potential partner your qualities and how you would be able to carry/provide for them and your offspring.

Why is it so funny? Because that’s exactly what every single living being does to attract a potential mate: showing off your colorful feathers, singing louder than others, fighting other rivals, showing how clever you are, using pheromones and special smells. And, for humans, something like, idk, showing how wide your hips were as proof that you would carry healthy babies. Or showing off how wealthy you are, to prove you can take care of your partner and your offspring.

Bill himself follows this mentality, considering advices like “have two of everything to show your wealth” or “show how much calcium you have (aka how healthy you are)”. Heck, he even has a seduction hat which is basically one huge phallic shape!

And, again, this makes me smile, not just because it’s a clear parody of those men who keep showing off their huge, large vehicles. But also because he usually wears a tall top hat. And how funny it would be, if a tall top hat was indeed a way to win a partner in Euclydia? What if that’s how his father got his mother? Please, I want a fanfic or Mr. Cipher entering a place with a top hat big and wide enough to win Mrs. Cipher’s heart (while not accidentally piercing through another shape). I bet it would be hilarious.

Funny love advice aside, I would also point out these two things Bill says:

Love and fear are right next to each other in the brain and, like most humans, Bill also can’t tell the difference (he doesn’t even think there is a difference)

“love is the pupa stage for hate”

The fact Bill mixes love and fear explains why he is like that in general - and with Ford too. If love and fear are the same thing, then there is no difference between flattering someone and threatening them. There is no difference between partying with his friends and scaring the shit out of them. There’s no difference between helping Ford and hurting him. And there’s no difference between allowing him to see Fordtramarine and “joking” about someone coming to steal his eyes.

Also: if “love is the pupa stage for hate”, then Ford coming back after 30 years hating him was completely normal for Bill. It was just how things were supposed to go: first he loved him, now he hates him. Still, same thing. Still worth a place among his freaks. Still worth flirting. For Bill, nothing has changed - just evolved in a natural way.

And yes, this is uber duper fucked up and great material for toxic Billford. But it also makes me think: how did Bill get this mentality? How did he manage to mix love and fear so much? When did it happen?

Inevitably, I think about Euclydia. And inevitably, I think that “the incident” is when Bill mixed the two things.

When he still lived in Euclydia, Bill clearly experienced both love and hate: his mother at least seemed to love him, the other kids didn’t. Bill doesn’t like his optometrist either and we have no clue about his feelings towards his father. Later in his life, Bill recognizes his family and his world tried to blind him/”snuff out his potential” - so, again, something more similar to hate than love.

Then, Bill destroyed his place. He had to deal with a trauma so huge (i.e. experiencing solitude for the first time in his existence), it left a void inside him. A void he decided to suffocate with lies - lies that, in the end, are just half-truths. His place was bad and his family was holding him back! But that was also the place that showed him love for the first time. His people were flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams! But among them, there was also the one who loved him right from the start.

I believe this is when the two feelings got mixed in his brain. In his attempt to justify and cope with his mixed feelings regarding the universe he just destroyed, Bill ended up mixing love and fear together and believing that love is just one stage of hate. Unable to deal with the vastity of solitude, Bill put together justifications for his actions and messed up his own perception of feelings.

The result is someone who is deeply, deeply alone and who desperately keeps searching for love to fill that void… but is unable to do that, because he cannot distinguish between love and hate anymore.

That’s why he has a lot of exes. And that’s why they’re all exes.

But hey, at least there are friends, right? Right?

_______________________________

Bill’s friends are full of potential (especially one of them)

The perfect friend for Bill should be:

alone, outcasted, rejected by society, possibly an orphan looking for a purpose in life (so exactly like him)

completely devoted to him

Which you can see by yourself that this isn’t exactly how a friendship should work. The friend exactly like you can still work, but the friend completely devoted to you who should do everything you want… well, that’s not a friend. That’s not even a pet, because even pets do not follow you around with such lavish adoration.

But somehow, in the vastity of the Multiverse, Bill managed to find some friends. And oh boy, what friends:

Pyronica is a beauty queen AND she has a twin sister AND she dated Hectorgon. Cool, but not enough. I need details. But, like, a lot. Her entire story would suffice (maybe).

Amorphous Shape is invisible to most of the Henchmaniacs. How? Why? Who is she, really? Where is she from? Where is her backstory? Why isn’t it here? I need it here.

Hectorgon was a goddamn sheriff and Bill just throws it like that?! I want his backstory too! I want to know everything about him!

Keyhole hates Pyronica? Why? What happened? Where is all the juicy gossip, Bill? We need the gossip!

And most importantly: a certain someone was part of Bill’s gang. Someone with a photo that has been covered, but it’s still partially visible. And as soon as I saw it, I jumped up on my bed and asked: “Wait… is this Jheselbraum?!”

The answer is yes and thisisnotawebsite confirmed it: she was one of Bill’s Henchmaniacs. And now the right question is: how much do you want The Book of Jheselbraum, from 1 to 10?

I mean:

In the partially crossed-out part about her in TBOB, Bill says she figured something related to dimensions

In the shaman page (TBOB) there is a code: WHICH HENCHMANIAC RATTED ME OUT

In Journal 3, Ford has been saved by her, who sucked him out of the 2D world of Exwhylia

Jheselbraum told Ford that Bill’s “thirst for power caused him to destroy his home dimension - including his parents and everyone else he’d ever known” (Journal 3)

Still in Journal 3, Ford says she spoke of Bill “without anger, but with a calm, steely, clinical resolve to see his reign of terror end”.

In addition to that, let me add this part from thisisnotawebsitedotcom under the code TANTRUM:

I KNOW YOUR CRIMES, CIPHER. TAKING A NEW HOME WILL NOT MAKE UP FOR THE ONE YOU’VE LOST. WHAT YOU DID TO THE COUNTLESS SOULS OF EUCLYDIA- Cipher stopped in his tracks. YOU CHOOSE YOUR WORDS VERY. CAREFULLY. Ciphers henchmen murmured amongst each other, confused. They seemed to have heard conflicting stories about Bill’s past. “You said you liberated the people of your dimension-” LIBERATED THEM FROM THEIR BODIES! DONT LISTEN TO HIM! HE’S A BABY!

Can you see how HUGE the potential is?

What I believe for now is that:

Jheselbraum figured out what Bill really did to his home dimension (i.e. destroying everything and not “liberating” it, as he said to his Henchmaniacs)

She started to actively find ways to stop him from doing the same thing again

She “ratted him out” with Bill’s new potential puppets on Earth

Bill found out she didn’t just rat him out, but found out the truth about Euclydia too and that’s what led to her escaping

She settled closer to a 2D world - maybe to learn more about Bill, maybe because she knew Ford would’ve appeared there

And speaking of that, we have the message on thisisnotawebsitedotcom under the code SEVENEYES:

This is something someone else wrote to her. Someone who told her to escape to a crossed-out Dimension (who guesses that the crossed-out thing was the number 52?). Someone who told her it was against the rules, but it was also the only way to escape him (aka Bill).

And from her code, you can find out the other criminals found new homes as well.

In other words, we have a hidden spy story, in which someone helped Jheselbraum escape from Bill and, in turn, she helped all others escape Bill.

If you don’t want a book about her, about her story as Bill’s henchmaniac and about this whole thing, you are a huge. Fucking. Liar.

_______________________________

And with that, let’s close part 1 of this umpteenth endless analysis. The next one will come soon and it will be all about Billford.

Yes, I know I already talked about Billford here, but we still haven’t talked about the details in TBOB and Bill’s perspective on it. Also, it’s always nice to talk about Billford.

See you soon~

-> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

_______________________________

📌TAGLIST: @mudpuddlenl @allmycrushesaredead @aquatedia @whatishappeningrightnow @effortiswhatmatters @bella-in-a-bag @doydoune @forever-third-wheeling @payte @hypnossanders @idontreallyknow24   @imcrushedbyarainbowoffical @patton-cake-and-crofters​  @hereissananxiousmess @purplebronzeandblue​ @cynicalandsarcastic​ @lost-in-thought-20 @andtheyreonfire @riseofthewerewolf @rosesandlove44 ​​@arya-skywalker @csi-baker-street-babes @reesiereads @dracayd-universe @starlightnyx​ @stubbornness-and-spite @averykedavra @joyrose-fandomer @mihaela-tbg @igonnatalknothing @thatoneloudowl @grayson-22 @softangryfuckingdepressed @theotherella @nevenastark @coldbookworm @boopypastaissalty @varthandiveturinn @roses-bubbles @cuter-on-the-inside @snixxxsmythe @charmingcritter @analogical-mess @emphasis-on-the-oopsie @selfdestructivecat @yangwalkerao3 @the3rddenialist

[another-supernova-girl]

An Exercise in Control - Cooper Adams/Abbott x Fem OC

* Part 3 : Ruiner * (( NSFW ))

Welcome to chapter 3 (of 5) of my Cooper Adams/Abbott fic. Thank you to those who have reblogged and/or commented, and given it a chance so far. This chapter contains 18+ sexual content (smut), NSFW. I'm not one to give out every little detail in the A/N, but be aware that all sexual content related to Cooper is basically dubious consent by its very nature. I don't think any warnings for off-putting kinks apply. As Always, gif is mine.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2

(( word count ~ 5,300 ))

��� 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

Four hours down, two to go, Delilah thought as she glanced up at the clock, checking the time again, as she had done countless times that day. It wasn't typical for her to watch the time so intensely, since she stayed long after closing, nearly every night, but today was different. Just the fact that she would be clocking out long before the sun had a chance to go down was different. After literal months of small talk, flirtations, and admittedly, some rather uncomfortable moments, the night of hers and Cooper's first official date was finally upon her. She'd been distracted all morning, though in a mostly dead store, it made little difference with the customer base. But between the countless instances of her checking the time, Delilah's gaze drifted constantly to the storefront, ever watchful for a glance at a certain security guard who had also walked by far more often that usual that morning. She supposed it was simply more common for the guards to walk the inside of the mall more during the day, with more customers around inside, and less need to keep watch of the parking lot, but it still felt like he was waiting for something to happen, aside from their date. It just so happened that as he finally walked within her view, for the forth time that day, the store phone at the register desk began to ring, catching both Delilah and Cooper's attention as she scampered over to the source of the noise, and his feet came to a gradual stop just outside the threshold of the store. It took all her willpower to look away from him and put on her customer service voice as she picked up the phone, the security guard leaning against the barrier of the store entrance, just below the metal gate, enclosed in the wall above.

“Page Turners Bookstore, this is Delilah. How can I...” The smile that Cooper's mere appearance had left on her face faltered as she listened to the voice on the other side of the line, and she turned her back to him as her expression became serious. “No, you can't...Heather, you can't do this to me...No, that's bullsh-,” the bookseller bit into her lip and shook her head slowly, reminding herself that customers could potentially walk in at any second. It was not a customer, but the security guard that set her even more on edge when she suddenly felt his palm at the small of her back, surprising her even when she was fully aware he was in the vicinity. “You don't seriously expect me to believe all four tires...Well, did you call...well, what about...no, there has to...Heather, there has to be someone else you can call. This isn't...” She suspected she would have seen a sympathetic look on Cooper's face if she'd turned around, but with his hand at her waist, his taller, broader body at her back, she simply closed her eyes, giving his hand a light squeeze when he reached out for her empty one. “Fine. But I wanna see the fucking photos. And you fucking owe me,” she snapped as she dropped the store phone into place, not even bothering to say goodbye, and slumping down, out of Cooper's hands, and into a seated position on the threadbare carpet.

“I'm assuming, bad news?” Cooper's voice reached her ears, and he received little more than a groan in response. He glanced around in all directions for customers as Delilah let gravity claim her further, dropping down on her back on the floor, her knees falling to one side, covering her eyes with her forearms.

“That was my co-worker that I switched shifts with. Apparently, she didn't walk outside until half an hour ago, and all four of her tires are slashed.”

“That's...that's crazy,” Cooper answered, his face awfully stoic for someone in the security field, with a date that night, receiving such information. Fortunately for him, her eyes were still covered by her arms in frustration. It had also been lucky that her co-worker lived in a duplex with no cameras around to see him when he had driven a blade through all four tubes of rubber in the overnight hours before his shift.

“Yeah, I don't know who she pissed off...aside from me, now, of course...but no one else is picking up the phone, and lucky me...I'm already here,” she explained, finally letting her arms fall away, staring up at Cooper's looming figure, watching him squat down at her side. “It must be my punishment for being reliable...I thought I'd left that behind when I quit my office job,” she shrugged her shoulders where they lay flat against the floor, tilting her face into the warmth of the security guard's hand as he brushed loose strands of hair from her face. She'd even taken the time to properly straighten it the night before, curling waves into the ends, trying to look, well...it was all for not, now.

“It's okay,” he assured, tucking more strands of auburn away, his callous-roughened fingertips brushing the sensitive shell of her ear, rewarded with the tiniest sigh. “We can postpone.”

“I know, but...I was really looking forward to tonight,” she answered, a defeated half-smile on her lips that Cooper nearly found himself dipping down to graze with his own, but stilling quickly as he reminded himself where he was.

“Well...how about we get you up off the floor before we both get in trouble-”

“-What are they gonna do? Fire me?” Delilah cut in, but allowed herself to be lifted with the assistance of his large hands anyway, and brought back to her feet.

“Probably not, but...how about this? I'll grab us something at the food court when I clock out, and we can have a little dinner here on your lunch hour, okay? I know it's not exactly what we planned, but-”

“No, that...that sounds good,” she admitted, disappointment still etched all over her face, even through the smile she tried to put on for him.

“I can stick around after, if you want-”

“No, I...” she let out a sigh, allowing herself to be pulled into his embrace, cameras and manager be damned. “One of us should get to enjoy their night off.”

“I'm not going to enjoy it without-”

“No, really. If you hang around, it'll just remind me of that real date we're not having,” she explained, Cooper's hands kneading gently at her shoulder blades through her shirt. “You should go, before I actually get in trouble.”

“You're sure?” Cooper prodded as he put a few inches of distance between them, enough to peer down to her face, still crestfallen but acquiesced to her situation.

“No,” she admitted with a sigh, but a light chuckle proceeded, and she finally placed her palms against the black fabric that clung to his chest. “But you're too distracting, and I suddenly have extra work to do.”

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked as he stepped out from behind the desk, glancing over as a few customers shuffled into the store.

“Surprise me.”

🔪

A few hours had passed since Cooper had departed for the night, his personal sabotage of their plans having backfired slightly when Delilah had insisted he enjoy his evening elsewhere. It wasn't as if he didn't want to spend actual off-the-clock quality time with her, it simply wasn't particularly safe doing so in public areas where he would actually be looked at by strangers – not ignored and turned away from, like when he walked the mall on his patrols. He'd managed to go unnoticed by the population this long, and now that he'd found himself a pleasant distraction in the bookseller, he felt less inclination to take risks outsides the mall property. And so, the Butcher found himself at home, with his thighs fallen lazily in opposite directions on his couch, viewing the CCTV feed of the register-facing camera of the bookstore he'd easily hacked into, several weeks before. Generally, he watched from the diminutive screen of his phone, or a monitor at his security desk, so the comfort of his own furniture was a nice change of pace. Atypically though, he found Delilah not busying herself with shelf stocking, or cleaning, or even assisting customers. Apparently unconcerned with the idea of shoppers walking in, Cooper watched the focus of his non-violent desires lying on her back across the varnished surface of the register desk, a forearm across her brow, the other hand over her stomach. It was the buzzing of her cellphone that brought her out of her half-conscious rest.

Delilah gripped her phone and peered at the screen with squinting eyes. A number she didn't recognize displayed across the digital surface, attached to a text message that simply stated <Pick up the phone>. Plucking her earbuds away, she willed herself into a seated position, and her body froze briefly as the store phone began to ring. Glancing back to her cell, she reached to the business phone and, in her usual customer service voice, announced the store name, and her own name, but was cut off before she could finish the spiel. “Working hard?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Who...Cooper?” she inquired, glancing back at her personal phone again, realizing he'd never actually given her his cell number. They worked together so much, she supposed it had simply never come up, though she didn't recall relaying her personal number to him, either.

“Yeah, it's me,” he confirmed, readjusting on his sofa as he watched her via his television, her whole body seeming to perk up at the sound of his voice. “What are you up to?”

“Just...working,” Delilah answered, sliding carefully off the desk and onto her feet.

“It sure doesn't look like it,” Cooper quipped, and watched the figure on the screen as she looked around.

“What?” she asked simply, almost sure she had heard him wrong.

“I said, it sure doesn't sound like it,” he corrected, his shoulder twitching slightly at he leaned forward atop the pillowy cushions.

Delilah looked around in all directions, even trudging out just beyond the empty store opening, glancing down both sides of the corridor, seeing no one in either direction. “What exactly do I sound like when I'm working?” she questioned into the store phone, walking back inside.

“You just don't sound...busy,” he tried again, annoyed with himself at his own slip-up.

“Well...you're not wrong. I'm so bored,” she confessed.

“More than usual?”

“Well, yeah, I mean...I already did all the stuff I do at night, during the day, since the regular morning crew never manage to do anything but assist customers...and I don't even have a handsome distraction around-”

“I offered to stay-”

“I know,” she cut into his reminding words, and a sigh wasn't far behind. “I just hope your night is going better than mine.”

Cooper thought briefly to the body in his personal basement, chopped into pieces, soaked in bleach, waiting for the burial he would be conducting later that night, several miles from his current home, but that event was still hours away. “It's better now,” he stated simply. “I'm sorry our date didn't go the way we planned.”

“It's okay. It's not your fault,” she answered, incorrectly, her voice noticeable more somber. Returning to the register desk, she placed the phone down a moment to hop back up on the wooden surface, crossing her legs and slumping forward with her elbows on her knees, the phone returning to her ear.

“Well...maybe I can make it up to you, anyway,” Cooper murmured, watching her through the large screen.

“We already agreed to postpone, so-”

“No, tonight,” he answered before she could finish her thought, and her brows quirked at his words. “I, uh...I stowed a little something in the desk this afternoon. I wanted to save it for our date, but that didn't exactly go as planned,” he confessed. It wasn't a complete lie, after all.

“What do you mean, you...” Delilah inquired, confusion all over her features as she slid off again, squatting on the cashier side of the desk, and glancing around the various compartments, finally dragging out a small, square box with a ribbon wrapped around it. “Cooper, what did you do?” she asked, her voice a bit warmer as she tugged at the fastenings and opened the box, staring silently.

“Do you like it,” Cooper asked, as if he could see her, and she glanced around once more before redirecting her gaze to the box.

“Cooper, it's beautiful, but...I can't accept this,” she mumbled, drawing out an ornate silver bracelet, with branch-like pieces forming a cuff, embedded with blue opals of various sizes. Despite her words, she wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder to maneuver the piece of jewelry around her wrist.

“Of course you can,” Cooper answered, finally standing from his seat on his couch, casually crossing the room to watch his screen more closely, and the woman displayed upon it.

“Cooper, we haven't even been on our real first date yet, and this is...it's way too expensive,” she continued, looking at it for a few seconds more, adorning her wrist, before her shoulders slumped noticeably, and she began to take it off again.

“It really wasn't that much. I picked it up at that little jewelry kiosk that moved out, a few weeks ago. There lease was up, and they were having a big sale-”

“I don't remember seeing any jewelry kiosk-”

“They were sort of hidden down one of the lesser-used hallways...they never really stood a chance,” Cooper explained, his gaze drifting to the floor, where several feet below him, the original owner of the bracelet was sorted into garbage bags.

🔪

“...Young woman has disappeared...last seen at...security is being increased to...authorities need your help in discovering...searches have been unsuccessful thus far...”

Delilah had been only half-listening to the report of a recent disappearance, something she didn't often pay attention to, as she waited for an update on the upcoming stormy weather projected for the next few days. She'd likely not have paid any attention at all, save for the fact that the woman in question had last been seen at the mall she worked at, or rather, her last purchase had been at one of the stores there. In such a quiet town, vanishings like this were unusual, so much so that several mall employees – especially the young women – had started traveling in pairs. Delilah, of course, was not so concerned, given the distraction of the romance brewing between herself and a certain security guard, but she certainly didn't decline when he offered to drop her off at her vehicle that night.

🔪

“I really appreciate this,” Delilah announced as she slid into the passenger side of the patrol truck Cooper sat in, her door closing noisily, reaching to buckle her seat belt.

“Hey, you know I don't mind,” Cooper assured, putting on a friendly smile as he tilted his head to look at her, so much smaller than himself, so foolishly at ease in his presence. His smile gradually fell away as he watched her get situated, a memory sparked of a previous victim who had been stupid enough to hitchhike in this day and age.

“-per...Cooper?” her voice crept in, pulling him out of his reminiscence, and his smile re-appeared, shaking his head, and sliding the key into the ignition.

“It's nothing, I'm fine,” he assured, taking a steady breath as he put the vehicle into reverse, and backed out from the security area into the main parking lot, putting the weight of his foot against the break pedal. “Hey, would you, uh...do you mind if I do a quick patrol first? Just around the parking lot? Get it out of the way, and uh...” he reached out with his right hand as his left remained steady on the steering wheel, his digits brushing some loose strands behind her ear, making sure to let his roughened fingertips ghost over the the sensitive skin, “make sure it's safe.” His knuckled grazed the side of her neck, and Cooper watched as Delilah sucked in the middle of her bottom lip, just for a moment, teeth grazing the skin before her lips parted and she took in a shallow breath.

“Of...of course,” she managed, tilting her head to look his way as he returned his right hand back to the wheel. “Yeah, there's not much point in you dropping me off if you haven't looked around first.”

“Exactly,” Cooper agreed, his eyes returning to the empty concrete lot before him as he maneuvered the steering wheel and put the truck into drive.

They traveled slowly along the different levels of the parking garage first, both driver and passenger looking around in all directions for other vehicles and wandering people, finding none. Eventually, they got back down to the ground level again, Delilah giving a tiny squeak that made Cooper's lips curl in the corner slightly when he drove over a speed bump too quickly. Next came the greater parking lot, striped concrete spread out in all directions, every inch of it empty of vehicles and people, save for his and her own, which he drove past without stopping. About five minutes had passed by the time he brought the vehicle to a stop, not in the vicinity of her car, but in an area of the parking lot that went mostly unused, the concrete cracked and warped by the tree roots that had broken through, the foliage creating a thick canopy above.

“Why...are we stopping here?” Delilah spoke up as Cooper shifted the truck into park and turned the key to shut off the engine.

“Honestly?” he asked as he popped the keys into the sunglasses compartment and rolled the manual window down a few inches for fresh air.

“Yeah, of course,” she answered, watching as he unclasped his seat belt and let it slide back home.

“I, uh...I guess I'm just not ready to say goodnight,” he explained, reaching out for her hand and grasping it carefully in his own, much larger one. “I'll turn the truck back on, and drive you back to your car right now, if you want, but...I'd really like you to stay.” When her hand gently slipped out of his after a few seconds of silence, his lip twitched slightly with annoyance, but instead of speaking up immediately, she moved to unbuckle her seat belt as well, dragging it off of her body, looking back up to him as a faint smile returned to his face. “Good.”

Cooper adjusted in his seat, shifting his body so he was at more of an angle, taking her hand again and running his thumb over her knuckles. “Can I be honest?” he asked, running his tongue over his lips as she watched his hand manipulate hers, weaving his large fingers between her slender digits. She nodded, silent, lifting her gaze to his as he placed his free hand against his door and used the leverage to push his body nearer to the center of the upholstered bench seat, Delilah's body remaining still.

“Of course,” she mumbled, and his lips quirked. Of course. That tiny phrase that served as a reminder of her trust. He briefly wondered when and if the day would come when she would tell him no, and truly mean it. If he could dig his claws in deep enough, he believed, it never would. A permanent, little toy to play with and manipulate. Something about the thought made him feel...something akin to comfort. Comfort in control. “You can tell me anything,” she spoke up and his eyes darted back to hers, again. I'm sure you think so.

“I've been...I've wanted to get you all to myself for weeks. I think about you...all the time. You're always with me, even when we're apart,” he explained, his hand leaving hers to brush more hair behind her ear, running his knuckles along the edge of her jaw, carefully grasping her chin and directing her to look at him, and only him. It was easier to tell if his lies were accepted as truth when he could stare directly into a person's eyes, not that what he said was actually untrue, just...not in the way she was meant to believe.

“Did you plan this?” she asked, displaying not an ounce of resistance as she allowed him to manipulate her movements, or lack thereof. He tilted his head slightly to one side, his brows coming together, feigning confusion. “Getting me all alone in your truck, away from prying eyes?”

His lips formed a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I can't do the things I want to do to you, in public, in front of cameras and customers...and you don't like the basement,” he explained, both his large hands on her face now, a thumb against her lips, manipulating the pillowy flesh.

“Wh-what do you...wanna do to me,” she whimpered, Cooper adjusting his body on the elongated seat and shifting closer, reducing the distance between them.

“Truthfully?” he whispered, closing in as she shifted her own body to slide closer, her hands finding the collar of his button-down shirt. She nodded, silent save for the staggered breaths that escaped her. “I wanna ruin you,” he rasped, and his lips were against hers, for the first time, and her flesh felt just as soft as he'd imagined. His kisses were soft, careful, almost chaste, his fingers weaving into her hair as he encouraged her closer, her body adjusting until she was practically in his lap. Cooper's lips teased, the contact so light that Delilah felt compelled to lean into him, pressing her mouth more fully to his, a hint of a grunt sounding from deep in the Butcher's throat. As careful as he had began, his facade started to slip, and what were initially gentle touches escalated, his mouth quickly manipulating hers open, pressing his tongue inside so deeply, so invasively. His fingers that had glided through her hair began to grip and hold to the point of being painful, as if he were trying to consume her. Hands much smaller than his own began to press against his chest, not to pull him closer as he had expected, and a protesting noise sounded from her throat. Cooper's eyes suddenly opened when he felt her start to smack at his chest, finally releasing her.

His breathing was heavy as he stared at her, his eyes heavy, hers wide and unnerved. “Cooper, what the hell? I...I think you should take me to my car n-”

“No, I...” Cooper immediately pulled an apologetic face, reaching for her hand when she began to put space between their bodies. “Delilah, I'm so sorry, I just...I want you so much. I got carried away,” he explained, watching her eyes unblinkingly, seeking her honest reaction. When her eyes shifted from his to the door handle at her side, he spoke up again. “It's just been so long since I've felt this way, and I...I didn't mean to scare you,” he insisted, reaching for the hand closest to his, drawing it back to his chest where she had pushed him away. Placing his own hand over hers, he reached the other forward to graze her jaw, feather-light. “Please don't go.”

Delilah's gaze rested on the large hand that held her own to Cooper's chest, her fingers curled slightly. The Butcher's own hand carefully gripped the bookseller's wrist as her fingers rose up the side of his neck, grazing his dark hair and circling up to push it out of his face. His hand ghosted over the length of her arm, over her shoulder, her body shifting closer to his again as his fingertips met the nape of her neck. He swallowed noticeably as she edged nearer, his empty eyes focused on hers, and he closed the gap between them when she finally pressed in close enough.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered between his gentler, softer kisses, his digits gliding into her hair again, grasping gently, guiding her closer with control in his movements. Just as their lips began to part, the tips of their tongues grazing one another, Cooper's mouth abandoned hers. Leaving a trail of kisses against her cheek, along her jaw, down her neck when she allowed herself to be pulled into his lap once more, his lips grazed over her clavicle, back up her throat and along the back of her ear, his hands gripping her a little tighter, in her hair and at her waist, when she whimpered at the feel of his damp lips against the the sensitive little hollow, just behind her earlobe. “Here?” he whispered, letting the tip of his tongue dance over the taut skin hiding behind the cartilage, mushing his lips against her there when she let out another pathetic, wordless vocalization. “And here?” he continued, his mouth descending again to the junction of her throat that had made her twitch on his first pass, her hands gripping his shoulder, fisting in his hair, though not as harshly as his had when he'd frightened her. “Should I mark you? Right here?” he breathed, his hand abandoning her hair to scrape a short nail down the side of her neck. His mouth was on her throat before she could manage words, and he began to suck, her body twitching, her free hand finding his chin while the other gripped harder in his hair, pulling his mouth away from her before he could break capillaries.

“Stop,” she managed, her breathing heavy, eyes barely open, her grip lightening when he ceased, leaned slightly away. “They already think we're...” Delilah began, licking her parched lips, and swallowing despite her dry throat.

“They already think we're what?” Cooper murmured as he began to lean in again, seeking out her throat once more, his lips securing over her flesh, practically tasting her pulse. When words failed her, when Delilah found herself unable to do much of anything but sink into him, and tangle her fingers in his soft mane, he pulled away just enough to form words. “They already think we're fucking?” She made a noise, barely an mmph through her pursed lips, fighting her own body's need to vocalize. “Disappearing into my office,” he mumbled as his lips grazed up her throat, to the little hollow behind her ear that he was quickly finding to be a spot that made her squirm. “What do they say? That I fuck you on that ragged carpet? That you sit on your knees at my chair and suck my cock? Do they think I shove the papers off my desk and drop you down on it, just so I can-”

“Cooper...” Delilah whimpered against his jaw as she felt his fingers searching for the zipper of her work pants, practically ripping the button off as he began to spread the fabric. “You have a...a vivid imagination...Cooper, we can't-”

“Can't what?” he rasped, already manipulating her body with his other hand, adjusting her so her ass was against the crotch of his pants, the contents below his own zipper rigid and straining against the layers of fabric. “I just wanna touch...I need to touch you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his whisker-roughened cheek against her temple as his digits slid beneath the elastic lace that served as her only protection from his demanding hand.

“Coop-” Delilah couldn't even manage to get his name out of her mouth before he cut her off with his own, his mouth as confident as his fingers that penetrated her soaked folds, so slick from his physical attention, his evocative words.

“Take them off,” Cooper whispered against her parted lips, and there was no suggestion in his words, no more room for discussion.

Even as the young woman's hands began to work at the fabric that clung to her hips, she still managed a weak, “I don't think this is a good idea.”

“Don't you?” Cooper questioned, watching her struggle to shove the clingy pants down her legs, kicking off her shoes. “Don't you wanna cum? Don't you want to cum for me, in my hand, on these fingers?” He held up his hand to demonstrate just how much larger it was than her own, already sticky from her juices, his clean hand weaving under her work shirt, working its way past the underwire of her bra to grasp at a soft mound of flesh, the peak already at full attention. “You can pretend to be a good girl all you want,” he rasped, his mouth at her throat once more, his slick fingers seeking out her molten heat again, Delilah's own hand not far behind, gripping his and guiding him to fuck her deeper with his wicked digits. “But we both know you're a sl-”

“No,” she mumbled, her unbusied hand in his soft, chestnut strands, “I don't...I'm not-”

“You're just weak for me, aren't you?” he corrected. “These hands...these big, strong, fucking fingers...filling you up...mmm, just like that,” he whispered against her skin as she rocked her hips against his plunging digits, his other hand squeezing her breast tight in his grip, receiving a needy whine in return. When his mouth began to suck at her throat again, his clever fingers curling and stroking at the spongy flesh that made her shudder, she didn't pull him away from her as she had before, only gripped his hair tighter, holding him against her, his scruff scraping her oversensitive skin deliciously. “I thought you didn't want me to,” he murmured, but he was suckling at her skin before she could get her words out.

“I...I don't care...I want you to,” she whimpered, rutting against his fingers.

“Mmm, what else do you want me to do,” he groaned, his lips latching onto her neck again, the flesh beneath already bruising from his persistence.

“Ha...Uh...nothing that I'd-uh...nothing that I'd...let you do to me...in this truck,” she gasped out between breaths, her throat dry from her needy little noises, her pussy so damned wet from his deft fingers.

“Not yet, maybe...I bet you'd let me fuck you right here if I asked real nice...I know you can feel how fucking hard I am,” he rasped, grinding his straining cock against her ass through the frustratingly tight layers of his pants and boxer-briefs. “I bet you'd cum all fucking over me...oh, that's right, baby...are you gonna cum for me?” his words were nearly overshadowed by her whimpers at he drew his hand out from under her bra to join his other, plunging and curling his digits inside, engulfed by her walls, as his fresh hand went to work, sliding low enough to reach her nectar, and gliding back up to stroke at her neglected clit. Her fingers were at the back of his head, guiding him to her throat again, where he began to suck at the already marred flesh once more, his efforts finally reaching fruition as her moans turned into cries, her walls flexing and pulsing around his nimble fingers as she came in his hand. The Butcher's mouth didn't leave her neck until the twitching of her thighs, her aftershocks, finally eased. Delilah's whole body seemed to tremble yet as he finally extracted his fingers, lifted them to her lips where he slipped them inside, just enough for her to taste the effect he had on her, his own mouth overtaking hers as soon as he drew his digits away. This time, there was no protest, no fight, just her overstimulated body caving to his will.

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

*** CHAPTER 4 CAN BE FOUND HERE ***

tagging as requested : @one-of-thewalkingdead , @gissellec1 , @rainingrabbits89-blog , @pinkflowerwombat , @sashimeep , @strangererotica @the-butchers-baby @callsign-fangirl @hibiskooks

If I forgot anyone, I apologize, and please let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND TAGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED. 💙

[lkfarrout]

Main Tags: Family fluff, Grunkle Stan and Mabel bonding

Summary: Stan's memory is fully recovered, including his ability to drive, which comes with the return of an old bad habit. Mabel takes things into her own hands and reminds Stan how important he is to her. [1584 words]

Based on the first part of my most popular tumblr post of all time: Stan and Mabel Headcanons

Warnings: None! Just cute wholesome stuff <3

"There they are, Dipper, come on!" Mabel dragged her twin out onto the porch of the Mystery Shack, practically jumping up and down at the sight of her two grunkles pulling up in Stan's red Cadillac.

They'd been gone only thirty minutes.

"He did it!" Dipper exclaimed. "That's a really good sign."

A six-fingered hand waved at the kids from the passenger window, and they eagerly waved back. But as the car got closer, Mabel's hand fell slowly back to her side, and her eyebrows furrowed as she squinted into the windshield.

"How did it go?" Dipper asked, as the two older men joined the kids on the porch.

"Like ridin' a bike," Stan said with a grin.

"He stills drives as recklessly as when we were teenagers," Ford teased, "but I believe it's safe to say that Stanley's memory is fully recovered."

It was a long-anticipated moment among them all. Grunkle Stan was finally back to normal, able to take care of himself, give tours, tell jokes and stories like he used to, and now drive himself around too. Dipper embraced Stan in a hug, showing off how proud he was of all the progress Stan had made – and just in time, too, because there was only a few days of summer left.

As Dipper let go, Stan expected to be eagerly met with another hug from his niece, but instead he found her in the same spot, her gaze on the ground at their feet.

"Mabel, sweetie, you okay?" He crouched down a bit and put a hand on her shoulder.

Mabel looked up at him with sweet eyes, full of concern. "Grunkle Stan, you didn't wear your seatbelt."

"Oh," Stan shrugged, "yeah, I guess I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Well... to be honest I never really did when you kids weren't in the car." Stan tousled Mabel's hair with a chuckle. "Plus, back in my day seatbelts were more of a suggestion anyway."

With that, the family made their way inside, leaving Mabel to begrudgingly fix her hair as she followed behind them.

---

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mabel? What if he catches us?” Dipper whispered, anxiously peering around the corner as he and his sister watched Stan settle into his chair to watch TV for the evening.

“We have to, Dipper! This is important,” Mabel insisted. “You remember the plan?”

“Yeah,” her twin conceded. “Remind me what we need the syrup for again?”

Mabel sighed, slightly annoyed with her brother. “So he has a reason to drive somewhere in the morning, duh!”

Dipper didn’t really see the point in all this. After all, Grunkle Stan had survived without a seatbelt for like, a hundred years. But Mabel had gone along with plenty of his crazy plans, so it wasn’t like he could say no.

“Alright, but I’d rather get the stuff while you distract him. He’s more likely to listen to you," Dipper suggested.

With that, Mabel set off determinedly to the living room. “Oh, Grunkle Sta-an,” she said in a sing-songy voice, trying to look as sweet as possible. “Can you make Stancakes in the morning?”

At the same time, Dipper headed to the kitchen. He rummaged around in the cabinets as quietly as he could, and Mabel’s voice continued to permeate the house.

“Why don’t you put your feet up, Grunkle Stan, relax a little? Can I get you a blanket?”

With three bottles of syrup in his arms, Dipper headed to Stan’s bedroom. The sash was easy enough to find. After all, it was the only item that colorful in the entire room. Finding the car keys was a bit harder. When Stan was dressed, they were usually in his pockets, but now that he was settled down for the evening in his boxers and undershirt, Dipper assumed they had to be put away somewhere. He was right, and after a bit of digging, he found them in an empty cigar box on Stan’s nightstand among other items like spare change and a lighter. Dipper tucked the keys into his vest pocket, quietly shut Stan’s door, and made a beeline for the attic.

On the way, he ran into Ford.

“Oh, hello Dipper,” the older man’s eyes narrowed curiously as he noticed the bundle of yarn and maple syrup in the boy’s arms. “What’s all that for?”

“Oh, this?” Dipper tried his best to sound casual, “Mabel needs this for… an art project. You know how she loves to craft.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Indeed,” Ford agreed. He walked away, leaving Dipper to continue his mission, and wondered what art project could possibly require all the syrup in the house.

Once the syrup was successfully hidden away in the attic, Dipper met his sister on the back porch with the other stolen items.

“Got the stuff?” She asked.

He nodded as the two of them made their way to the Stanleymobile. “How long will this take?”

“I’ll be done before his episode is over!”

---

Stan searched all the cupboards, wishing that he’d checked for syrup before he started making the pancakes. It was odd -– he was positive that he had stocked up on it specifically for the apocalypse. He thought about sending Ford to the store, but no one else was awake yet. And if he had to be honest, part of him was itching to drive the car again. So, he turned off the stove, shoved the rest of the batter in the fridge, threw on his robe, and headed outside.

Upstairs, Mabel excitedly watched from the attic window while her brother slept soundly. She observed as Stan crossed the yard with an energetic gait, swinging his keys back and forth. A few feet away from the car, he slowed and approached more curiously, wondering what the odd splash of color peeking through the window was.

Stan ran his fingers over the soft yarn of the Our Hero sash, which had been expertly cut apart and knit back together around the driver's side seatbelt. He chuckled to himself -- it was a fashionable seatbelt cover if he'd ever seen one. As he climbed into his seat, he noticed the folded up note on the dash. He unfolded it, ready for whatever silly message Mabel had left him about "making the car prettier" or whatever.

It was written in purple gel pen: If you want to be our hero, you have to wear your seatbelt.

It included a sticker of a bumble bee saying "I bee-lieve in you."

"Oh, Pumpkin..." Stan began softly. He forced a small laugh at the cheesy sticker as a last-ditch attempt to stop the emotion rising in his throat.

Above him, Mabel was having a hard time containing her emotions as well. She squeezed Waddles to her chest and lightly shook him to stop herself from jumping up and down with excitement. "He's reading it, he's reading it," she whispered to Waddles. She watched her uncle set the note down and carefully click his seatbelt into place so that the words fell over his shoulder and chest just like when he used to wear it as a sash. "It worked!" she exclaimed.

Mabel leaned back, satisfied that her plan had been successful, and waited for Stan to pull out of the driveway. Several minutes passed, however, without the car moving. Stan just looked at his lap and gripped the wheel with both hands.

"Uh oh," Mabel's tone changed, "maybe he doesn't remember the sash..." When he defeatedly leaned forward and rested his forehead on the wheel, Mabel threw her slippers on and hurried down the stairs.

Stan was startled back into an upright position by the girl's soft knocking on the passenger window. Stan quickly wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his bathrobe and gave the child a soft smile.

"Are you okay?" she asked hesitantly, climbing into the seat next to him. "Grunkle Stan, are you crying?"

"No, no," he denied, "I just, got the sun in my eyes is all."

"Do you remember that?" She gestured to the sash-turned-seatbelt-cover.

"How could I forget?"

Mabel fiddled with the sleeves of her nightshirt. "Do you like what I did? Or..."

With one hand, Stan gently lifted her chin so their eyes met. "Of course I like it, sweetie. I love it."

Mabel smiled and he continued, "Thanks for lookin' out for me. I'll always do whatever I can to be your hero."

She felt his arms wrap around her, embracing her in a big hug. Mabel rested her head against Stan's shoulder and lightly ran her fingers along the soft knit fabric of the sash.

As the two separated, Stan asked, "You wanna go to the store with me? I gotta get some syrup for your pancakes."

"Oh, actually, all the syrup is upstairs... I needed a reason for you to get in the car this morning."

"Yeah?" Stan wrapped his arm around Mabel, this time pulling her in for a noogie, "C'mere, you clever punk. I thought you were bein' suspicious last night."

As he relaxed his arm, he said, "Well, might as well go anyway since we're out here. Anything else ya want on your pancakes?"

Mabel thought for a moment while she fixed her hair. "Marshmallows?" she suggested.

Stan just grinned in response and started up the old car.

"Can I ride in the front?" Mabel asked, smiling up at her uncle with the sweetest eyes.

"Hmm," he pretended to think, "only if you wear your seatbelt."

[itsthesinbin]

Sins in Stardust (Bill Cipher/Reader)

OKAY SO. I've been thinking of Ideas since I got HORRIFICALLY fixated on Bill/Gravity Falls. I still do like the "bill's hot wife" idea but I gotta think abt how that wld work, logistically. I can't get off if the plot doesn't make sense. BUT I do have. Another reader insert idea.

Post Weirdmageddon and technically post Book of Bill. I couldn't read the full book in detail bc all I had was a kinda blurry pdf to work with so I'm missing some details.

This is the first chapter just 2 kinda gauge interest. I'm only posting it here rn until I write out a couple more :3 Feel free to leave a reply or tag if u reblog to let me know what u think

EDIT: Came up with a title I liked :3 I need to stop crutching on Hozier song titles LMAO

----------------------

You missed camping- you and your parents went at least once every summer, when you were a kid. A good old cross-country camping trip is what you needed, after the multitude of bullshit you’ve gone through. You quit your job, sold whatever shit you didn’t need and used the money you had to get out of your home as fast as you could. You’ll find a new place to settle, a new job in a new city with new neighbors and never have to worry again. All you had to worry about, now, is finding a fun spot to camp for the night.

You could sleep in your car- you have a few times since you started your trip- but it was a gorgeous night. The moon was full, the stars were so bright and clear this far out from a major city… It’d be a waste. You pulled your car off the road and trekked a bit out into the woods nearby. Hopefully your car would still be there in the morning. Please, God, let it be there in the morning.

You entered into a small break in the trees. The late spring breeze made the leaves sway and branches rattle softly. The starlight caught on the toadstools odd triangular spots. Eye-shaped spots on the trees seemed to follow you as you stepped into the small field. Like looking at creepy paintings in a haunted house, you felt like you were being watched. It was a little creepy, but you chalked it up to the full moon. Everyone was on edge during a full moon just because of stories and superstitions they all heard growing up.

The brightest thing in the clearing was a small statue, half buried in the ground. A triangle with a large eye, tophat, and bowtie. A single arm stuck out, as if ready for a handshake. The stone itself seemed to glow, but you chalked that up to the brightness of the moonlight that filtered through the canopy. You stepped a bit closer, noting how… quiet the area was. No birds, no crickets… Nothing. It was a little unsettling, you wouldn’t lie. Quiet woods never led to anything good. You really should go back to your car.

You pulled out your phone, first, though. You had to get a picture of this funky little guy. You were probably overthinking things. The statue was probably just someone’s abandoned art project, or store mascot, you thought as you snapped a few pictures of the lichen-covered statue. You smiled slightly. The little thing was kinda charming.

You decided to put your tent up anyway, despite the eerie silence. It was late, you were tired, and your car was still close enough to this clearing that you’d probably be in “danger” anyway. If you even were actually in trouble. The silence and the eye-spots on the trees were unsettling, sure. Weirdly enough, though, you felt a sense of calm here.

You decided against setting up a fire, opting to eat a can of cold pork’n’beans for dinner as you looked up at the stars. The sky was alight with blues and pinks and purples, seemingly swirling nebulas catching the attention of any being capable of comprehending beauty. You felt yourself smiling to yourself.

“Beautiful night, huh li’l guy?” You joked to the statue. You missed the way the eye-spots on the trees had stopped following you, instead focusing on the night sky. You threw the empty can of beans into a bag to throw away tomorrow, before rolling out your sleeping bag and laying out under the stars. You crossed your arms behind your head, and one foot over the other. Obviously, you were met with the same silence that had been here. Humans would be humans, though. Bonding with anything that even remotely had a face.

“Bet it gets lonely, stuck out here. Sure you got the view, but it sounds like nothing really drops by.” Nothing. The stars above almost seemed to move. You could almost make a shape out, but as soon as you tried it seemed to dissipate. You hummed to yourself, trying to find the shape again.

“I know how it feels to be stuck, buddy,” you offered, sympathetically. You sighed as a heavy feeling settled on your chest. You shook away the bad memories, the stars seeming to move again to keep your attention. It was getting a little weird, now. But you had heard that Gravity Falls was a pocket of weirdness in the middle of nowhere.

“I could use a traveling buddy,” you laughed. “I haven’t had… a friend in a long time…” You trailed off as the stars continued to twinkle and dance. You sat up with a heavy sigh, face to face with the statue again. Unsurprisingly, he stared at you stoically with his hand still poised for a handshake. You put your chin in your hand.

“And it’s driven me so crazy I’m talking to an old ARG piece left in the woods…” You rubbed your face. You stood with a stretch, the light around you seemingly getting a little brighter. You stepped in front of the statue.

“They use us and leave us to rot, don’t they? Hardly fair,” you mumble. You reach a hand out as if to grab its hand, but stop short of actually touching it. The hair on the back of your neck stood as you felt a million eyes on you at once. You look behind you, only to be met with the trees. You look up, and find the stars once again in the vague shape you couldn’t make out before. It felt like the very universe was watching this moment. Your throat felt tight. Strangely, though, you didn’t feel scared. You looked back at the waiting statue. Something prodded at the back of your mind.

“Maybe I will take you with me. Once I get settled somewhere, you can become a piece in my next living room,” you smiled. “I’ll get you cleaned up and see if I can patch some of those chips and cracks.”

You hesitated a moment, before you grasped the statue’s hand. Obviously, the stone limb didn’t actually move.

“I’ll get you out of here, you be my travel partner, and we both get to be free for a while. How’s that sound?” No response. Not that you expected one. You let the little hand go with a yawn. You kicked your shoes off near your sleeping bag and lay back down on it. The stars finally stopped shifting and swirling. They twinkled down at you as you covered yourself up for the night. You didn’t think it’d rain, so sleeping outside should be fine. You’ll deal with whatever happens, if anything.

You dreamt of the stars that night. They swirled above you, forming into a large creature that swam its way to you. You floated among the stars, eyes wide with wonder at the smiling creature. Its tail swept along the empty space beside you, leaving a small… child? It was a triangle with a huge eye, like the statue in the woods, but had giant shoes. It didn’t look at you at first, instead staring at the creature made of starlight and space dust in front of you. You also turned your gaze back to it.

The Axolotl stared down at you two, a peaceful smile on its face. You felt small under its gaze- like a child looking up at their parent. You reached out to pat it on the nose, finding your hand smaller than usual. You heard a squeaking noise and turned to look at the triangular baby.

“You see the stars too?” You didn’t know how he asked without a mouth, but you nodded anyway. Your 5 year old face was reflected in his large eye. He held a hand out for you to hold.

“You wanna watch them together?” You were quiet. You turned back to the Axolotl, only to find it swimming away from you. Back to depths of the universe you could only imagine. With no other option, you looked back at the kid next to you. His eye was turned up to show that he’d be smiling, if he had a mouth. His eye crinkled more as you grabbed his hand.

The stars began to burn.

You woke with a start, finding the sun creeping over the tree canopy and shining down on you. You groaned and covered your eyes with your forearm. You forced yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes with your hand. Your head was pounding, the strange dream leaving you in a cold sweat. Maybe you shouldn’t have slept here.

A groan from in front of you made you freeze. Your head snapped up, making it throb. A triangular creature was sitting where the statue used to be, stone splintered and sprinkled around him. He massaged his singular eye, muttering under his breath. He looked up, tensing when he saw you. You both sat there in stunned silence for what felt like forever.

Then you both screamed.

[annaizscribbling]

one of those Stardew drabbles where the farmer is not quite human but from different villager perspectives. Here's Sebby's

(Pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4) (pt 5) (pt 6) (pt 7) (pt 8)

Sebastian sipped his piping hot coffee. He took it with a bit of cream these days. He was comfortably settled against his favorite windowsill, watching his wife work in the field. The sun politely warmed his pale skin. He’d gained a little color since moving to the farm, but not enough to really lose his sickly pallor. He made sure of that, wearing plenty of sunscreen.

He’s content. It’s nice to feel that way. Living in a stuffy basement, working and isolating himself felt foggy and miserable. But now, he’s happy. Calmer. He managed to get out of that old environment, and here with his wife, life finally seemed to mean something. He doesn’t long to escape and become something, instead, what he already is has become something worthwhile.

Living on a quiet farm, making breakfast for his wife, picking fruit and feeding chickens. It brings out a softness in him, a side that never fully been realized. Tenderness. Serenity. Peace.

Sebastion watches his wife chew some raw seaweed, pulled directly from her little black backpack. She’s never without that bag, as soon as she gets out of bed, it’s over her shoulder until she sleeps again. His eyes trail her bare arms as she clears some rocks. He’d given up on understanding how and why she consumes some strange foods, as long as he can wrangle her into a few balanced meals with him, he doesn’t care too much.

Her muscles are toned, far more defined than his will probably ever be. She hefts her pickaxe high above her head before brining it down onto the stone, shattering it. She’s quick to scoop up the rocks she wants as she kicks the rest to the side. His wife could do it for hours without pause, hours upon hours. Time always seemed to part for her.

She unknowingly flexes her bicep as she prepares to strike again. So strong, he can’t help but lean a little further into the window to catch a good glimpse. The little black tank top she usually wears leaves her deeply tanned olive skin on display. There’s hardly a sheen of sweat on her, which Sebastion always found strange. He takes one step outside on a summer day and he’s instantly disgusting. Somehow every hair on her face is immaculate and the thick eyeliner she applies every morning is always inexplicitly intact.

Perhaps he once thought of her as a strange woman, but now she’s his strange woman. The love of his life, the sexy farmer who he accidently stumbled into a romance with. The quiet, perhaps at times eerie, foreign city girl who changed the whole town. Who changed him …

He enjoyed watching her. It didn’t really matter what she was doing, her existence just drew him in. Sometimes he felt like a housecat unwilling to leave a sunbeam. Her radiance warmed him, calmed him, it made him feel like he was exactly where fate wanted him to be. She was the sun, or at least she was his. It didn’t matter what he was, so long as he could bask in her presence.

Speak of the devil, Sebastian doesn’t realize she’s come back inside until the front door opens. He discovers that he’s smiling before he’s even realized he’s turned his head to look at her.

Short curls that don’t seem to care for gravity and its rules. Freckled olive skin. Big brown eyes that seem to melt anybody who stares into them long enough. Muscles that he longs to caress and be wrapped up in each morning. Big heavy boots who have seen more monster blood and dirt than most do in their lifetimes. A shy smile.

The Farmer. His wife.

“Hey, Babe,” Sebatian says, “want some coffee? I woke up early from a nightmare and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

She smiles, and it’s so genuine that even now that they’ve been married a year, his heart just swells with that fluttery kinda love. His wife wasn’t a huge talker, it’s not that she didn’t talk at all, but she often spoke with her face. At this moment, her soft eyes are telling him everything he needs to know.

Soon, they’re cuddled together on the big sofa his mother had built. A cup of coffee for each of them rests on the coffee table. She’s resting her head on his lap, looking up at him with a dreaminess he’s sure is present on his own face.

“I have a gift for you,” she whispers, reaching into her bag, which she slipped off her shoulder and onto the rug. “Eyes closed, please.”

Sebastian does as he’s told. He feels her warm hands pry open his cold one, and something chilly is pushed into his palm. One side of his mouth turns up in a knowing smile. He knows what the gift is by the shape, and it charms him just as much as it did the first time she brought him one.

“A frozen tear,” Sebastian says fondly, holding up the glassy, perpetually cold little tear. He loves collecting them, keeping them, studying them. The first one she ever gave him is his favorite. He even had Clint turn it into a necklace. It’s under his hoodie on a chain even now, slightly cold, pressing against his chest, gently reminding him how much somebody loves him.

“It’s perfect,” Sebastian says, rubbing his thumb over the round base of the tear.

She tries to give him another one, but Sebastion laughs and tells her to stop spoiling him. He’ll take it later, when he doesn’t see it coming. One gift a day is already so much, especially combined with getting to hold her every night. A man’s heart can only handle so much.

Sometimes he wonders how she could possibly be of this world. She’s an angel. She’s a celestial being who commands the earth below her feet by purely existing. He’s sure of it some days. The plants grow like they’re reaching for her somehow. The waters always bring a fresh fish for her hook within seconds. The two can go looking for seashells together, but they’ll wash up to shore just for her, surely they must be. She heals weary souls by simply talking to her. Her farm animals love her, managing to produce perfect eggs and milk through their adoration for her.

Sebastion didn’t really know what she was, but he loved her.

[kerink]

Hi! I just wanted to say that I love reading your thoughts about gravity falls. You have some intriguing thoughts on everything (especially Ford. I love reading your thoughts/theories on him)

Your post analyzing his objectification had really got me thinking. I’m a bit newer to gf (watched the show this past winter for the first time. Better late than never lol) and I’m still looking into the different types of source material (books etc). You mentioned the black light edition brings into light that Fiddleford was also hurtful to Ford by using the memory gun on him. This recent revelation has been on my mind the past day. I can’t imagine him doing that but at the same time it adds so much flavor to Ford’s story (sorry Ford, someone had to experience the horrors)

Do you have any more thoughts on that matter specifically? How long do you think he was doing that to Ford? Was it frequently or on a rare occasion? Or was it all a trick by Bill (ex: Bill messing with Ford’s memories to push him further away from Fiddleford)

ive got a whole nother essay for you my friend

im also new to gf. i watched it back when it was airing (but idr if i finished it or not, that was so long ago), but back then it was just a good show and i reblogged fanart and read some fan theories. i rewatched it again in jan and it made me insane, so this is what im counting as my fandom era lol! the books are up on the internet archive, there's a few different entries i believe, so find the one formatted in the way easiest for you.

im really glad you like my posts <3 thank you for the kind words!

[usedkarma]

🖤Only the Freaks Fall Like This I Part 3

Series Masterlist

Previous Part Here I Next Part Here

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

Genre: Not Slow burn, very much mutual pining that is resolved soooo fast you guys because they are a bit insane, 80s chaos-romance, canon divergence  Fem!Reader is french for some reason (I’m french, I’m the reason, but it’s not a big thing in this I promise)

🖤Synopsis : You were supposed to clock out, rewind a few tapes, and forget the day. Instead, you danced on the counter of the video store to Judas Priest like the world owed you a stage. Eddie Munson watched like he’d never seen gravity before. He came in asking for a Dio tape. He left with a bootleg, a racing heart, and a problem that sounded a lot like your name. A fanfic about ,late-night glances, forbidden tapes, and the freaks who fall too fast, too hard, and never quietly. Basically just two idiot teenagers going full speed into romance.💌

🖤 Content Warning/Disclaimer : 📼 Mild language, smoldering tension, sarcastic banter, counter-dancing, Eddie Munson being dangerously charming. 💋

🔞 Future chapters may contain mature themes. You’ve been warned, freaks. I don't know if i'll write smut yet...

Part 3: Knock Knock, Munson’s Here

The music faded, the moment slowly unraveling like a frayed cassette ribbon, but the electricity clung to your skin.

You slid off the counter with a grin still blooming across your lips. Chaos had been released, the adrenaline ebbing into something softer — a satisfied ache behind your ribs. You turned toward the shelves, already organizing the scattered tapes, but your mind was still half inside the song.

Behind you, Robin let out a long sigh as she dropped another stack of plastic cases. “I swear, one day you’re gonna knock out the security camera with your boots.”

Steve just shook his head, his mop now more prop than tool. “Y’know,” he said, “for someone so allegedly mysterious, you are the loudest damn person I know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, waving him off. “I just needed to let out some steam. Sorry, Dad.”

The air cooled. The night stretched its limbs. And then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The knock was soft but definite — like a question wearing boots.

You looked up. There, at the front window, stood Eddie Munson. And he was smiling.

That lopsided, sheepish, crooked half-smirk kind of smile — the one that makes you feel like you’re about to get away with something. His guitar case was slung over one shoulder, his other hand tucked nervously into his jacket pocket, and his hair… god, it looked like he’d just rolled out of a glam metal dream.

Your heart thudded in an unfamiliar way.

“I think I know that boy,” you said under your breath, before glancing at Steve.

He was already glaring toward the window like it had insulted his mother. “The hell does he want?”

Robin elbowed him. “Go see what he wants, dingus.”

Steve scoffed. “You go!”

But you were already walking.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Eddie’s heart was pounding. Stupid. Loud. Unreasonable.

He hadn’t meant to knock. He’d meant to walk away, tell himself he’d imagined it all — your dancing, your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you mouthed those lyrics. But his feet had other plans. And now, here you were. Coming toward him.

When you opened the door, he forgot how to swallow.

“Can we help you?” you asked, leaning just slightly against the frame, brow raised like you already knew he had no excuse.

Eddie stared for a beat too long before blinking. “Uh. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. Ran a hand through his hair. Made it worse. Somehow hotter.

“I was just… wondering if you had any Dio tapes.”

Inside, Steve groaned audibly. “Seriously, Munson? Dio?”

Robin popped her head around the display. “What, like filmed concerts? This is a video store, dingus.”

But Eddie didn’t look away from you.

His eyes flicked across your face, then down — a quick, not-quite-subtle sweep. Not pervy. Just… stunned. Like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You crossed your arms, amused. “Dio, huh?”

He nodded, grinning now. “Thought I’d check.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, because Dio’s the height of taste, Munson.”

You turned your head without missing a beat. “Shut up, Harrington. You like Duran Duran. You have no right to judge anyone’s musical taste.”

Eddie barked out a laugh. And just like that, the tension cracked open — easy, fast, natural. Like maybe you’d done this before in another life. Like maybe this night had always been waiting to happen.