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meta-sequoia · 3 months ago

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Rose genetics and the law of unintended consequences (or, ten rose bushes, reviewed)

I have a number of longposts in the backlog, including updates on a number of garden improvement projects I undertook over the winter, but I kept putting off posting them because there kept being Horrors. However, spring is here - in California anyway - and plants wait for no one.

Over the winter of 2025, as a coping mechanism for the aforementioned Horrors, I got really into roses. Because of who I am as a person, deciding what roses I wanted to buy also made me feel obliged to reconstruct the history of rose breeding, just to make sense of the teeming confusion of the tens of thousands of named rose varieties. Humans have been raising roses for food, medicine, and beauty for untold centuries, and so they've really grown up with us. The history of the development of roses, it turns out, is the history of the development of humanity in miniature.

This post has it all: history, some light phylogeny discussion, material analysis of English folk ballads, a conceptual framework for understanding how different kinds of roses vary and why, a #haul breakdown of what bare-root roses I got and what I thought of them, and some philosophical musings on what it means for an organism to be subjected to a long-term selective breeding process, to be remade wholly in the image of human desire. All that, and pictures of roses, under the cut.

My general region of California is considered to have a good climate for roses, much good may it do us. It never gets too hot or too cold, so they essentially never go out of season, and even though our winters are wet, the rest of the year is fairly dry. This is absolutely critical, because the main problem that makes garden roses hard to grow is fungal disease. Modern roses are incredibly susceptible to fungal diseases, which are caused, roughly, by Damp. This has typically been combated with toxic sprays (though there are now less-toxic options) and aggressive pruning regimens.

Needless to say, this is a ridiculous fucking problem for a plant to have. California natives, by comparison, hate irrigation - they have a natural life cycle involving being dry in summer and wet in winter, like California itself, so if you grow them in a climate resembling their natural range, without too much added water, they will be mostly OK. Roses, as far as I can tell, actually hate all water, including rain and humidity, which is much worse because gardeners do not control the weather. If it rains too often after, say, noon, the rose's leaves might get wet, fail to dry off, get a fungal disease, and die. If there is too much fog, or it is humid, as it is in most of the country in the summer, the rose's leaves might get wet &c. If you have a sprinkler system - you get the idea.

Fungal disease can also weaken roses and make them more prone to insect infestations. This is bad because modern garden roses are, without any help from The Weather, already incredibly prone to infestations from aphids, mites, beetles, and a mite-borne disease undescriptively called "rose rosette disease", which produces a habitus that I can only describe as "rose bush eldritch horror".

Now, this may all have you asking one question. Probably, that question is "why are you so obsessed with a plant that wants so badly to die?" I will not be answering this question today. Instead, I will be answering a different question, which is "Why do modern garden roses suck so bad?"

Now, if roses are subject to some manner of curse, then it isn't a family curse, phylogenically speaking. Roses - genus Rosa species extremely miscellaneous - are a member of the family Rosaceae, which contains a massive number of useful and delightful plants. It is possibly the most economically important family of plants next to the brassicas. The rose family brings us not just roses, but apples, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, plums, peaches, apricots, and almonds. And the wild rose, untouched by human efforts, is a lot like a raspberry, actually.

Its flowers have only five petals, in pink or white. It’s got thorny stems that form thickets, and oval (or, technically, lanceolate) leaves with lightly serrated edges. Its flowers are fragrant, which is an adaptation to their long and necessary coexistence with pollinators and other insects - fragrance serves as a chemical signal for insects to "come here" or "go away", depending. The wild rose is hardy, like all wild plants, tolerant of various environmental problems that would kill a garden rose: shade, salt, normal levels of ambient insect and fungal disease pressure, drought, being consistently rained on in the afternoon or evening. It may reproduce asexually from suckers - strong shoots from near the base of the plant - and this makes it able to withstand browsing pressure from e.g. deer. (Put a pin in that.) It also can reproduce in the normal way, by having its flowers pollinated and forming seeds, which are borne in prominent reddish-orange fruits called "hips".

This is not a rose I bought, but here’s Rosa gymnocarpa, a California native rose. It’s a wood rose, so it’s shade-tolerant, and it’s often found in redwood forests specifically, so it tolerates relatively dry soil and very acidic soil.

Honorable mention: Rosa gymnocarpa (wood rose)

Source: Calscape

A raspberry plant in flower, for comparison. Source

The wild rose has another trait, which may be surprising to those who have only ever seen garden roses: it blooms once, usually in the summer. This is typical of flowers, which almost always have a season, for the exact same reason fresh fruit has a season. Flowering plants are on a tight schedule: they need to finish up their blooming, so they can set fruit, so they can get their seeds out before winter, in case the frost kills them off. And mostly we’re used to that: tulips are for spring, so you don't expect a tulip to make a second showing in fall, or to flower continuously throughout the summer. But roses have been bred to do this, and have done it for centuries, for so long we barely remember what it was like when "roses blooming" was a time of year, an event.

It's possible that for most of human history, roses were all the more treasured for being fleeting, which simply isn't an aspect of how we moderns understand roses. I am constantly subjected to traditional ballads at home, both in English and German, so I am very aware that multiple Child ballads mention roses as a way of placing the events of the ballad at a particular time of year. In 'Lady Isobel and the Elf-Knight', a song traditionally associated with May Day, one version of the chorus references the events as occurring 'as the rose is blown'. And at the start of 'Tam Lin', the protagonist meets her fairy lover while plucking a double rose, is "laid down among... the roses red" by him, and finishes the ballad on Halloween night heavily pregnant with his child. The course of the ballad is inextricably intertwined with the course of the seasons, and the bloom of roses is synonymous with early summer. (There's so much symbolism in 'Tam Lin', but especially around roses. Can I interest you in tam-lin.org at this time?)

European religious literature even uses "a rose e'er blooming" as a purely figurative phrase, something impossible and magical enough to be a metonym for the Virgin Mary - but in the modern era, most garden roses are ever-blooming. The perpetual-blooming rose is not the natural state of the rose plant, but a kind of technology that had to be developed. And I don't know, I just think that's neat.

So what have we learned? The wild rose is: once-blooming, tough, possibly shade-tolerant depending on species, very thorny, bearing simple pink or white five-petaled flowers, that are fragrant, pollinator-friendly, and produce fruit readily enough. In short, a practical, normal sort of plant.

The garden rose is…not that. There’s no other way to put this: the modern garden rose is the wild rose, but bimboified.

Now, in case today is your first day on the Internet - well, first of all, welcome, it’s bad here - but secondly, bimboification is a niche fetish where someone is transformed into a hypersexualized version of themselves that is also very stupid. Plant domestication is obviously analogous. I didn’t originate this joke; in fact, I reblogged a joke like this just last week.

Roses are like this but even more so. Like, wheat is clearly bimboified. Its sexual parts (seeds) have been remade, swollen to ludicrous proportions, and wheat is probably worse at being a plant than wild grasses. But we created modern wheat from wild grass because it was more useful that way, and wheat could in theory survive and spread without human cultivation. Roses are Like That purely because we wanted to make them a more perfect decorative object. Centuries of intensive selection pressure for appearance have rendered roses useless as an independent plant: they are so disease-prone they need extensive intervention to even survive, and they are often physically incapable of propagating themselves - one of the basic features of plants! - without human aid. That’s plant bimboification.

Source: Heirloom Roses. This one is called 'Oranges 'n' Lemons. Hardly seems like the same plant!

Here are just a few examples, of what we've done to roses. Humans love rose petals - eating them, distilling them into perfume, smelling them, just looking at them - so the garden rose has massive flowers that are so stuffed with petals that pollinators cannot get at their centers, rendering the rose incapable of reproducing except possibly with the help of a human equipped with a paintbrush. Humans love bright colors, so modern roses come in every color their natural pigments allow. Garden roses are often - though not always - less thorny than their wild cousins, because thorns are inconvenient to humans, and so have been somewhat bred out.

And what’s just as important is what was bred out of wild roses in the process of becoming modern roses - by accident. As mentioned above, modern roses are often useless to pollinators, and, not unrelatedly, can’t reproduce without human help. They often lose their fragrance, if not specifically bred for it. They are very susceptible to disease, because gardeners can keep alive, through sheer stubbornness, plants that natural selection would have culled. Likewise, they need full sun where many wild roses can get by even in the shade of big evergreens, and they can't tolerate nearly as much cold, heat, or salt exposure as their wild relatives.

This 'use it or lose it' thing, by the way, is a general principle of selective processes like plant breeding, or like evolution. If you have two independent traits, A and B, and you select hard for A, then B is likely to gradually drop out of the population, simply because the subset of A carriers that also have B is likely to be small. It's pure statistics. (It essentially is a human-created population bottleneck.) The more intense and ruthless the selection pressure, the stronger the effect. Evolution cares a lot about seed production and hardly at all about color, so wild roses are plain but make enormous rose hips; humans like beautiful roses the color of sunsets, and are indifferent to seed production, so modern roses don’t make hips at all. The failure to select for eventually becomes an implicit selection pressure against.

(Highly-bred organisms are thus less, I guess, well-rounded genetically even before you get to issues of inbreeding, and if you assume there is no biological link between your selected-for traits and other ridealong traits, e.g. domestication syndrome. Genetics is complicated!)

One adapted wild-type trait that - I speculate - was not bred out, due to its direct usefulness to humans, was the ability of roses to grow back vigorously from having leaves or branches removed. This is, it seems to me, an adaptation to herbivore browsing - if you are a rose with minimal regrowth ability, and a deer chews on half your canes, it’s curtains for you. But humans also fully remove half of the canes of their garden roses every winter - it’s critical to controlling the fungal disease that so plagues them. Specifically, pruning improves airflow through the plant, which evaporates the water that keeps falling on the leaves from the sky. (You know. The rain, that roses both hate and need to live.) In some sense, we are acting as caretakers here, shaping the plant in inscrutable ways for its own good. But to the plant, we are basically deer: just another in a long line of animals that want to steal its leaves. Unbelievable! It needs those! Fuck you too, buddy: here’s a faceful of thorns.

Truly, a tale as old as time.

This brings me to my first actual rose review, a kind of bridge between wild roses and the world of cultivated roses.

#1: Rosa rugosa, probably "Hansa"

Source: the author's yard.

This is a sucker - a vigorous young ground-level shoot - from an unnamed rosebush from my mother's house. I say "probably 'Hansa'" because we have no idea what this actually is, only that it is a rugosa hybrid, purchased from an unknown nursery in the Midwest sometime during the Bush administration.

'Hybrid rugosas' are crosses between garden-type roses and a wild rose species called Rosa rugosa, which is native to much of Asia. This particular rose bush has many traits carried over from its wild parent: it's violently fragrant, a glorious sweet-spicy combo that smells to me like childhood and home; it has wrinkly leaves (characteristic of Rosa rugosa in particular); its stems are practically coated in prickles; and it's quite tolerant of shade, drought, and salt (Rosa rugosa is a beach rose).

The main virtue evinced by this rose, derived from its wild parent, is the same reason that it is still here in my garden: it is extremely difficult to kill. My mother, after hearing me say I wanted this specific rose bush at my house the same way it had been at my childhood home, dug up a sucker from her instance, put it in a bag with some wet dirt, carried it by hand on a multi-hour cross-country plane flight, and handed it off to me. Once I received it, I stuck it in a pot, because I was ripping up my lawn and had nowhere to plant it, and mostly forgot about it, because I was busy ripping up my entire lawn. It lost its leaves suspiciously early in the fall. ("That's not good," my mother said, over FaceTime, brow furrowed. "Are the rest of your roses doing that?")

But as the saying doesn't go, "where there's green cambium, there's hope", and I continued to take care of it throughout the winter. I eventually even remembered to put it in the ground. It is now March, and in defiance of the mockery of certain judgemental housemates, who said things like "why do you have a stick in a pot?" and "it's giving 'dead', my guy", this "stick" has now decided to become a rosebush, and has a grand total of (approximately) twenty-five leaves.

Like I said: extremely difficult to kill. It is currently planted 10-ish feet from the base of a redwood tree, a tough environment where some hardy garden-style roses have nonetheless been known to thrive. Given that its resurrection has occurred entirely while it was planted under the redwood, it doesn't seem too mad about its environment.

Review: holy shit, it’s alive???

#2: Zéphirine Drouhin, the "old garden rose"

Source: Heirloom Roses

Rosarians have conceived of many groupings of garden roses, based on known ancestry, phenotype, genetic studies, and Vibes, but one major breakpoint is those bred before 1867, the "old garden roses", and after 1867, the "modern garden roses".

The old garden roses were derived mostly from ancient European and Middle Eastern stock, which had themselves been created from wild roses centuries prior. For example, this is Rosa x alba, an ancient European rose strain; it was used as the heraldic badge of the medieval House of York during the English conflict known as the War of the Roses.

Source: not mine

Some of these roses are perpetual-blooming, a trait introduced as late as the eighteenth century, and which is entirely due to trade contact with China: as far as I can tell, the genes for strong reblooming only come from the Chinese rose-breeding tradition, which was itself centuries old by that point. So the modern Western concept of perpetual-blooming roses as the default kind of rose - like so many other aspects of modernity - is a direct result of Europeans cribbing from everybody else.

Interestingly, France was a major center for rose development during the early modern period. You can see it in the way old garden roses are named: overwhelmingly after some eminent madame or monsieur. This is probably connected to the fact that Josephine, Napoleon Bonaparte’s empress, was a rose fiend: she had two hundred and fifty new varieties of rose to be brought to her gardens at Château de Malmaison, which was probably pretty much all the named varieties of rose that existed then, and many of which were new to European cultivation at that time. Again, this represented a massive inflow of rose genes that were previously restricted to other countries or continents entirely. Inextricably, these gardens also represent the proceeds of early modern global trade, and of empire: Napoleon, on campaign abroad, himself sent her hundreds of specimens of flowering plants, and the French navy confiscated plants and seeds from ships captured and sea and sent them to her.

Anyway, Zéphirine Drouhin, created at the end of the "old garden rose" period and named for some now-forgotten madame or mademoiselle, is highly fragrant - one of the few roses said to really perfume the air - with a vibrant but old-fashioned color palette. (Apricot and yellow roses were also characteristic of the Chinese rose gene pool, and so were significantly less common in old garden roses.) Zéphirine Drouhin is also thornless, a rare trait that we nonetheless see in some old-fashioned garden roses, and a few modern garden roses as well.

Old garden roses have a variable but generally good level of disease resistance. Zéphirine Drouhin in particular, gets something of a bad rap for poor disease resistance; English rose breeder David Austin Roses says, tactfully, that it "prefers warmer climates" (versus, one must assume, rainy England) and that "controlling disease can be a problem". By this you should understand them to mean that it is a whiny little pissbaby that constantly gets blackspot, a diva that will defoliate at the drop of a hat (or the drop of, uh, water).

However, unlike certain other newer roses I will mention later, I have found Zéphirine Drouhin to be pretty healthy so far. I received this rose, like many in this post, "bare root", basically a stick, dormant in a bag of wood shavings. Upon being planted in a part-sun area, it has leafed out with only a scattering of aphids to show in terms of disease.

Review: So far, so good. Looking forward to the fragrance.

#3 and 4: 'Mister Lincoln' and 'Fragrant Cloud', the hybrid tea brothers

Remember how I mentioned that 1868 is the breakpoint between "old garden roses" and "modern garden roses"? That year marked the invention of a new type of rose, the 'hybrid tea', that is in some sense THE rose, the ARCHETYPE of a rose. If you ask someone who knows nothing about roses to draw 'a rose' - if you look up clipart of a rose - a hybrid tea rose is what you'll get.

Source: Star Nursery

This is Mister Lincoln, and although it was developed as late as the 1960s, it has the classic hybrid tea rose form. Hybrid teas have a very distinctive shape, described as "high-pointed", with a spiral of unfurling petals that curl at the edges, and they're borne singly on long stems, making them great for cutting and putting into vases and bouquets. They are not always strongly fragrant, and they are not generally very disease-resistant. They come in a very wide variety of colors, intense and subtle. They are reblooming.

Hybrid teas were developed by another East-meets-West cross, when the Chinese tea roses, freshly imported from Guangzhou in the early 19th century, were bred with the old garden roses. Tea roses have the same iconic form as the hybrid teas; they have those unique, pastel shades that were previously quite absent from European rose stocks; they smell like a fresh cup of tea. All these traits they impart to hybrid teas. Hybrid teas have been very popular ever since, and have been subject to a great deal of selective breeding for color and form.

Hybrid teas don't generally spark joy, to me. I find the 'cartoon rose' shape kind of twee, honestly. And the reputation for lack of disease tolerance puts me off. But I heard Mister Lincoln was incredibly fragrant, and that drew me in. Likewise Fragrant Cloud (1967), which also has the charming feature of being a violent neon coral that is allegedly very difficult to photograph.

Source: Heirloom Roses

“It'll be fine," I thought. "How much fungal disease can it get? It's not like it's humid here."

Never again. My trust is destroyed; fuck hybrid teas.

please, my son, he is very sick

This is my poor Mister Lincoln, planted from bare-root in mid-December. It has three different fungal diseases, and also an aphid infestation I can't seem to get it to shake. It looks like one of those diagrams of a liver in a medical textbook that has fatty liver and cirrhosis and liver cancer all at once, just so you can see what all the diseases look like. This is a rose that has every problem! No other rose in this flower bed comes close to having every problem! 'Munstead Wood' is also a modern garden rose (though from a very different lineage - see my review below) and it has no fungal diseases and not a single aphid!

Well, maybe the other hybrid tea I bought is doing better... well, nope, it rained last week and Fragrant Cloud has powdery mildew.

Review: Come on, man.

#5 Unidentified ‘sunset’ rose

I didn’t buy these roses; they came with my house. As a consequence, I have no idea what they are, but I am now intimately familiar with their traits, and I think they are very indicative of both the high and low points of modern garden roses.

On the surface level, the fact that these rose bushes are still with us is an impressive proof of their persistence under adversity. When I bought the house, these roses were being choked to death. Lily-of-the-nile had been planted way too close to them, and then permitted to grow unchecked and undivided for many years; their roots were completely infiltrated and surrounded with lily roots. The lily roots had also damaged the irrigation lines, which were dribbling uncontrolled amounts of water into the shared root zone. So when I excavated these roses, the whole area smelled strongly of rot, with visible mold throughout; the roots were fully wet even in the heat of August. The roses were also infested with blackspot, not surprisingly. I wasn’t sure if what I was doing was too little, too late.

But when they finally got some drainage, some direct sunlight, and some relief from the brutal root competition, they did start growing back, and even blooming. Come winter, I pruned hard, defoliated, and applied neem oil consistently. And they’ve made a comeback!

Source: these blooms are actually my roses.

They bloom, and they’re beautiful. They do this ombre thing, where the buds are bright yellow and as they open they go from yellow, to orange, and finally to red.

The growth is fairly vigorous, with no powdery mildew no matter how rainy it gets. But their foliage definitely suffers from blackspot, and occasional rose rust; the spores are probably ambiently present in the soil now, and they can’t quite seem to defend themselves, even with ample help from organic fungicides like neem oil.

They also have no fragrance. They smell like nothing. And that’s the standard modern garden rose in a nutshell, I think: beautiful color and form, shaky disease resistance, little fragrance. It’s a little sad, honestly.

Review: Okay, this one is really pretty, actually.

Interlude: Pesticides and the law of unintended consequences

So, yeah, you can sort of see how roses got a reputation for being picky divas. I can only imagine how bad this sort of thing must get in places that get (gasp!) rain or humidity in the summer.

Now, having created plants that are too disease-ridden to live, rose-lovers came up with practical and effective solutions to the disease problem they created. For the past century or so, the go-to fix for our increasingly disease-prone rose population has been chemicals: regular applications of synthetic insecticide and fungicide sprays, as well as plenty of fertilizer and herbicide to feed the roses and kill any competing weeds.

However, recall the theme of this post: the law of unintended consequences. In agriculture, the development of modern pesticides and fertilizers has been genuinely miraculous; the Green Revolution is estimated to have saved a billion people from starvation in the latter half of the twentieth century. Saving a billion people! Can you even begin to conceive of what it would be like to save a billion people, even grapple with the moral weight of that act? I know I can't; the number is simply too large for our moral intuitions to handle, I think. So I'm hesitant to bad-mouth pesticides and fertilizers too much.

But they do have massive downsides. Chemical fertilizers leach into the groundwater and cause algal blooms that make entire bodies of water go anoxic, rendering them uninhabitable to fish and the rest of the aquatic food chain. Insecticides are probably responsible for colony collapse, which endangers the pollinators that we rely on for our food supply.

And, well, even if you don't give a shit about the natural world - you are a part of the natural world. You are an animal, with all the frailty that implies. Our bodies use many of the same ancient metabolic pathways as insects and plants; the majority of your DNA is shared with a banana. And because you are an animal, it is very difficult indeed to create an insecticide that will poison other animals without poisoning you too, at least a little. Herbicides are somehow still worse, despite the more distant biological relationship between humans and dandelions: Roundup, for instance, is linked to non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, which has led to Monsanto paying out massive legal settlements to cancer patients who used their products.

So if we can't grow roses without coating them in poison, maybe we should just… not do that? Go back to growing super-hardy nearly-wild roses like rugosas, forgoing forever the elegance and sublime color of a modern rose?

Give up this? ‘Glowing Peace’, Heirloom Roses

Not so fast! Maybe this technological problem has a technological solution. If we bred roses so that they sucked, maybe we should just not do that! Make different roses! Make roses that don't suck!

#6-#8, ‘Ebb Tide', 'Eden', and 'Lavender Crush': roses that don't suck

Over the last fifty years, people have become increasingly aware of the impacts of modern lifestyles upon our health and the health of the planet and its ecosystems. So maybe this has made the public less willing to buy roses that need to be treated constantly with toxic sprays. Or maybe it's just that growing disease-prone roses is an enormous pain in the ass. Spray, prune, spray, defoliate, fertilize, spray, fertilize, spray, water - but not too much! Oops, powdery mildew. Defoliate and spray some more.

So the genetic health of the newer varieties of garden roses is greatly improved. The two hybrid teas I struggled with above were bred in the 1960s. All the named rose varieties in this section were bred since the 1990s or later: Eden in 1997, Ebb Tide in 2004, and Lavender Crush, the baby of the group, was introduced in 2016. All of them are vibrantly healthy and quite vigorous; Ebb Tide and Eden are shade-tolerant too, and Lavender Crush is allegedly very winter-hardy. After a scant two months in the ground, they've started to put out flower buds. And they keep some of the glorious color and form of older roses. Look at them!

Source: Heirloom Roses.

I don't mean to say all 20th century roses are bad and disease-ridden. I also have purchased 'New Dawn' (introduced 1930), due to it being the fifteen-dollarest rose at the Home Depot. (My toxic trait is that I am an absolute sucker for a good deal. I don't go into TJ Maxx anymore; it's too dangerous.) 'New Dawn' has all the ancestral, throwback traits I laud here: shade-tolerance, fragrance, disease resistance. It even brings in the pollinators! But it seems to me there's been a noticeable uptick in the quality of newer rose introductions, particularly when it comes to disease resistance. I'm not wired into the professional rose world to know what that is; I'm Literally Just Some Guy. But it's a good trend.

Review: I am so excited for the buds to open, you have no idea.

#9: 'Double Knockout': the 'landscape' rose

Wait, no, I take that back. These roses have too much ease of care. Put some back.

The Knockout rose has one virtue: you cannot kill it with an axe. Literally.

This rose was planted right at the foot of a redwood tree in my garden, because the previous owner of my house was an idiot. This is a terrifically bad setup for roses and redwoods: redwoods acidify the soil, and suck up water and nutrients aggressively, leaving little for surrounding plants, and of course they provide dense shade. Roses hate the acid, the dry and low-nutrient soil, and the shade; this plant never bloomed all last summer. For their part, the redwoods hate having anything planted in their inner root zone - their roots are relatively shallow for such a large tree. This is not a good situation for anyone, so I hacked this rose back to the ground, dug out as much of the root ball as I dared, and in my naivete thought that would be the end of it. Well, it has grown back. Now I am faced with the dilemma of whether to risk root injury to my redwood tree, or just let the rose be, bloomless as it is. Probably the latter is better for the redwood tree, on the whole. Maybe it’ll get choked out if I don’t water it? Anyone’s guess, really.

The category of landscape roses is a 2000s invention. The first Knockout rose was introduced in 2000 after years of intensive selective breeding for being easy-care, free-flowering, and disease-resistant; the similar Drift line was the product of an amateur rose breeder in 2006 to much the same ends. Landscape roses are so named because instead of being demanding prima donnas suited only to those who love roses enough to take on the Rose Tasks, they’re just another pretty shrub in the landscape.

And I will say this for them: in that bad, fungal spore–inundated flower bed I mentioned, my landscape roses (plus Munstead Wood, see below) are notably free of fungal disease.

Also, I think that's leaf tissue proliferating at the center of the bottom left bloom?? A rare but harmless growth disorder of flowering plants.

This comes at a cost, of course, at least if you’re a snob like me. I don’t think landscape roses are very interesting-looking - though of course they come in a wide variety of colors, the better to coordinate with the color scheme of your house! - and they are generally, tragically, without fragrance. While I can’t complain about anything that gets US gardeners to use less pesticides, they are barely roses to me. They are, in fact, the closest roses come to being an inanimate object, a decorative thing you can just plonk down in your garden wherever, like a tacky concrete statue. They’re a commodity; the enchantment is gone. I wouldn’t rip them out where they’re well-sited, but I sure wouldn’t plant more.

Now, this is incredibly mean to people who love landscape roses, but here goes. I’m reminded of a thread from r/Ceanothus, the California native gardening subreddit, that is now burned into my brain. OP asks for a native shrub recommendation, but not just any native shrub. OP wants a native shrub that will grow very tall, but also stay very narrow - 1’ wide in places. OP needs a native shrub that will grow thick and vigorous, to block out their view of the neighbors. OP needs this thing to be evergreen; OP presumably wants low water inputs. And OP needs all this, in a shrub that will grow in full shade.

In fairness, OP was polite about it, and this is a common problem for urban gardeners. The dark, untended canyon between buildings is a very common phenomenon in Californian cities. I too have a narrow, shaded side yard containing a tiny strip of crappy, gravelly dirt, that I’d love to grow something in: how do you think I found this post? Dear reader, I am very much at that devil's sacrament.

And the ceanothusheads of r/Ceanothus tried gamely. But one commenter replied with something that fully changed how I think about gardening:

Source: Reddit

Sometimes, what you need is not a living organism, with its own needs, that will change over time in ways you may not endorse, that interacts with the world around it. Sometimes what you really want is a man-made object. Sometimes what you want to grow in your tall, narrow, lightless, bone-dry side yard, for your privacy requirements, is a fence. And that’s what I think about landscape roses. In Mediterranean and desert climates, as long as there's enough sun, you can always fall back on planting a succulent. But not every location can grow succulents outdoors year-round. In temperate climates, landscape roses could probably be successfully replaced with a particularly attractive boulder. Or, if what you want is a smart-looking, easy-care hedge: consider a fence.

Review: I’d maybe rather plant a fence a succulent.

#10: 'Munstead Wood': the old English rose, reloaded

‘Munstead Wood’, my final acquisition, is a credit to another major modern rose breeding program, this time out of England: David Austin Roses. The main idea of the David Austin rose-breeding project seems to be combining the particular charms of traditional English old garden roses - their fragrance, their romantic, sophisticated forms - with the virtues of modern roses - continuous blooming, a wide range of highly Instagrammable colors - plus disease-tolerance that twenty-first century gardeners now expect. And judging by their singular impact on the contemporary rose market, they seem to have been very successful at that goal. The Reddit reviews are glowing, the forums are abuzz for their hottest new releases (Dannahue restock wen?), their most popular roses are often sold out, and other rose sellers have catalog filters for 'English shrub roses' that allegedly share the looks and fragrance of David Austin's best.

From the author's camera roll. 'I can't believe it's not Dave [sic] Austin!'

Their marketing is also very slick. Their website is very informative, with separate filters for various kinds of roses you might want to buy ('Best for fragrance', 'For a shady spot', 'Thornless or nearly so'), all the rose varieties have literary or historical names or else are named after charming British locations, and are all beautifully photographed in their idyllic show garden, and the prose is carefully engineered to incite lust in the winter-weary gardener. They even do periodic drops of new roses, like a sneaker company.

So last November, I allowed myself to buy one David Austin rose, 'Munstead Wood'.

Source: David Austin Roses

'Munstead Wood' is really gorgeous, I think, blooming in a deep burgundy color. The website claims the fragrance is "Old Rose, with fruity notes of blackberry, blueberry and damson".

An interesting fact about 'Munstead Wood' is that it is actually region-locked. David Austin Roses sells roses in both the US and UK (and maybe other places; sorry I am so American), but the climate of the UK has been changing, with more extreme weather events and even more rain. And you know how it is with roses and the rain. 'Munstead Wood' was no longer able to thrive, and has packed up its little rucksack and gone out to explore the world as a lone vagabond - specifically, America.

So how is it doing here? Great, actually. It may have been rained on every day for the past week, but at least it's not in England, I guess.

'Munstead Wood' has no fungal disease. It looks like it's never even heard of fungal disease. I'm pretty impressed! I can't actually tell you whether the roses are good, but this is a pretty good plant, which is a good start.

Review: I'm holding myself back from buying more David Austin roses right now. God help me, I have two more open full- to part-sun spots in my garden right now.

David Austin, "Lady of Shalott". Call me the Lady of Shalott the way I'm languishing in my tower, gazing only at the mere reflections of the real world (stuck inside, looking at my phone, because of the rain) and am about to throw myself in the river with longing (to be out in the garden)

#this was mostly written like a week and a half ago #delighted to report it has now stopped raining :)#gardening #plantblr #roses #botany #...kind of. not a botanist i just like reading about it #longpost #original content #(i hesitate to call this an 'effortpost': aside from spending an hour on wikipedia trying to graph out the various old garden roses #and their relationships with the species roses that spawned them - it just kind of happened.)

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o-wild-west-wind · 7 months ago

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So I’m still breaking down my thoughts, and something I keep returning to re: the politics of the Gliyeraba Thropple™ is the multifaceted question of class and power.

While Glinda is the epitome of privilege and the “rich girl” archetype, Fiyero AND Elphaba arguably start the show with more power and influence than Glinda does. Fiyero, of course, is the prince of the Vinkus—but Elphaba is notably the daughter of the governor of Munchkinland, which puts them nearer in terms of political/royal/class standing (and yes…the arranged marriage AUs DO go hard).

Now, the reason this is all so interesting is because it situates Glinda as someone with a huge outset motivation to social climb. Because while Elphaba clearly doesn’t have actual power, she and Fiyero share one thing that Glinda doesn’t have—a position that has them primed for disillusionment. Although Elphaba clearly still believes that it gets better at the top (a.k.a. the Wizard), she already has a lifetime of experiencing how hypocritical and loveless life in the "aristocracy" can be. Meanwhile, Fiyero’s very introduction is one of a depressed nihilist (all wrapped up in a flashy dance number); he’s transgressive from the start, which is perhaps the privilege one has when you’re already born at the top of the food chain—all the while also indicative of a genuine dislike of the system he’s in (and this is where I have MORE thoughts on gender and queerness, but I think that’ll deserve its own post). So although their actions are unequivocally brave, there's a lot less disillusionment E&F need to unpack before they break out—and, one could argue, an inherent privilege in their already being closer to the "truth."

Where I’m going with this is that I think Glinda represents something fascinating about the psyche of the bourgeoisie/upper-middle class—something that has real-world implications today. Because there’s something about her specific rung of power—the one that is just powerful enough to remain perpetually aspirational, like the peak of a bell-curve of ignorance—that taps into an important facet of “how wickedness happens.” It’s the story of the people who vote against their own interests because they think of themselves as "future billionaires;" the people who arguably lack the privilege of knowing that their race to the top is meaningless. It's the mindset that leaves you abandoning your morals and deepest loves for a system that forever dupes you into thinking your heart's desire is still just behind the curtain.

It’s all another part of why Glinda’s character is so lushly complex. She's complicit, but it stems from a genuine ignorance and vulnerability—and we get to watch her rise and fall so we don't fall victim to the same falsehoods. And I think it's also part of why our tellings and re-tellings of The Wizard of Oz, the true "American fairytale," still continue to resonate with us over a century later.

#hi yeah I'm still thinking about Wicked #probably more thoughts to come oops #I think my life is just ebbs and flows of a lifelong Oz obsession lbr #glinda you are IN MY JAR #wicked #wicked movie #wicked meta #glinda upland #elphaba thropp #fiyero tigelaar #gliyeraba #wicked spoilers

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tropes-and-tales · 6 months ago

Text

First Time for Everything

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

CW: Angst (friends-with-benefits; idiots in love; talk of bad past relationships; injuries); smut (vague references to sex; oral sex gone awry); 18+ only.

Word Count: 5591

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: Usual caveat - not edited in any way. Likely grammar bugaboos, tense switches, etc.

Bob Floyd would have never thought he’d end up in a friends-with-benefits situation, but there’s a first time for everything.

You’re the one who drives the entire enterprise. A civilian who works at Top Gun, you’re no stranger to the stress of dealing with a multi-billion-dollar fleet of planes. You serve as a liaison between the Navy and the bevy of contractors who build and maintain the planes, and if Bob has to juggle a million complicated systems mid-flight, you have to juggle a million tricky relationships and contracts on the ground.

You put the question to him, late one night at the Hard Deck. Harvard and Yale had been leading a spirited conversation about dry spells, long distant relationships, juggling hook-ups. You and Bob sat there, listening but adding little. But after the other Daggers started to peel away one by one, you had turned to Bob and started asking about his love life.

“Non-existent,” he had replied with a sad shake of his head.

“Same.”

There was a beat of silence—you sipped at your drink; Bob cracked another peanut.

“Any prospects?” you asked.

Another shake of his head.

“Yeah, same here,” you replied.

Then there was another long stretch of silence, but this time you fixed Bob with a curious look. It lasted long enough for him to notice, for him to squirm in his seat—

“So, I have an idea, and you’re totally free to say ‘no,’” you started, and the rest was history.

-----

That was months ago. Bob has gotten to know you much better since then.

Much, much better.

He knows what you feel like. He knows what you taste like. He knows the place on your neck that makes you keen when he puts his mouth to it. He knows exactly where to press the tips of his fingers when they are inside you, where to find the spot that makes your pussy pulse with arousal, that makes your breathing stutter and your eyes roll back, that makes you moan out his name—

He knows how it sounds when you moan his name, and he knows how that affects him in turn, and he knows that he doesn’t know nearly enough about you.

He doesn’t know what you eat for breakfast or how you take your coffee or if you even drink coffee at all. He doesn’t know much about your family, little about your childhood, only a bit about your wants and likes and dislikes.

Because of the rules you laid out that night at the Hard Deck.

Hooking up, friends-with-benefits, you had explained, requires clear lines be drawn. Otherwise, it gets messy. Feelings develop. Misunderstandings happen. People get hurt, sometimes badly.

Your rules keep those lines clearly drawn. No spending the night. No dates beyond sex—no lunch dates or movie nights, no days at the beach together. You call each other and make plans to fuck, and then you part, and that keeps it neat. Clean.

There’s no way you can know it, because you don’t really know Bob either, but there’s no rule on earth you could put in place that would keep him from falling for you anyway. You work with numbers and contracts all day, so you believe in the power of words, in rules.

You don’t know that Bob Floyd doesn’t require much to fall in love with you. That the paltry moments between physical encounters is plenty for love to flourish for him. That the handful of soft touches, the smiles, the little laughs…they are enough. The way you pat his cheek after you brush a chaste kiss there once you’re dressed and about to leave his place. The time you slid his glasses on his face, then kissed the tip of his nose.

Which is why your rules turn out to be so important after all: because here he is, hopelessly, painfully in love while you only see him a safe place to release your sexual frustrations. He cannot imagine how much worse it would hurt if those lines didn’t exist.

*****

You have a chronic issue with men.

You pick the worst possible boyfriends. From high school until now, you seem to only attract cheaters, losers, and general assholes. Numerous boyfriends cheated on you. One stole your car. One stole your prescription sleeping pills and got arrested trying to sell them.

It’s not that you’re attracted to assholes, really. The whole bad-boy schtick bores you. It’s more that you like to fix things; you like to turn chaos into order. That trait serves you well at work, untangling all the intricate contracts and orders and rules between the Navy and their contractors.

That trait serves you less well in love, because people often can’t be fixed, at least not without wanting to be fixed. And anyway, the guys you date need deep fucking therapy, not a girlfriend with a fetish for setting order to the universe.

(A therapist once posited that you’re this way because of your own childhood: the only child of two career Army parents. Your chaotic formative years—bouncing around the world, unable to set roots, sometimes even shifted from one parent to another due to conflicting deployments—left you with a wound, your therapist suggested. Disliking having a mirror held up to yourself, you just ghosted said therapist and never dug into that part of your internal makeup again).

But the therapist did make you aware of your bad patterns with men, so you swear off relationships, which is easy enough.

You still have needs, though.

You canvass the Hard Deck for a month. Take in all the fly boys and consider the fly girls too. Profile them, watched how they acted when they think no one is watching. Watch them sober, watch them drunk. Watch to see which ones are handsy in an unwelcome way, and which ones remain respectful.

It’s Bob Floyd who catches your eye.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually. Quiet, reserved. Hardly ever drinks but gets in on the sing-alongs. Plays pool when someone needs an opponent. Is often the designated driver, and you smile when you see his bemused frustration when he steers a fellow Dagger, drunk and stumbling, out the door and safely home. He’s so stable and pulled-together. You bet he’s never cheated on a girl or stolen her car. Not your type at all.

He’s good-looking though, in a quiet way. Ditch the shitty Navy-issued glasses, muss up his hair a little, and he’d be downright handsome.

Not the sort of man you’d go for, usually, but you aren’t looking for a boyfriend or a future husband. You just need a zero risk, reliable guy to get off with. It seems like a long shot because Bob is so quiet, but when you put the idea to him, he blinks…then asks you to clarify.

Then he agrees.

-----

That was months ago.

The arrangement works. It’s exactly what you were looking for. Bob Floyd is exactly what you thought he was: reliable, steady. He’s no broken man-child; he’s quiet but that belies a secure sort of masculinity that you’ve never really experienced before. He knows who he is and what he wants, and he isn’t swayed by anything. He’s solid.

He’s also surprising, in some ways.

To be crude about it, in looking for a friend-with-benefits, you needed only two things in a man: a clean bill of health and a hard dick. Bob is able to provide both (he hands you his test results from his latest physical, neatly folded in an envelope the first night you meet up).

He is also able to provide more than that. The first night is a little awkward, but only because you are near-strangers.

The second encounter is better.

The third encounter is…wonderful. It’s like Bob was homing in on you, treating you like one of his weapon systems. Calibrating you. Figuring out what you like and doing more of that, seeing what you don’t respond to and never doing it again. Which makes it sound cold, how he figures you out, but Bob is so damned warm. Warm and sweet and considerate, and he grins at you and laughs with you, and it’d be so easy to fall for him—

It's been months, but for fucks sake, you’re falling for him. It’s embarrassing, because you gave him this tough-girl speech about rules and lines and not catching feelings, and he had nodded seriously and said he understood…and now here you are, the idiot who is catching feelings, who is realizing that maybe your type of man was wrong all along, that maybe who you needed was a reliable, steady man with warmth and blue eyes that swim a bit behind the lens of his thick glasses.

*****

It’s been months, and Bob always worries that this arrangement will end.

One of your rules had been that the arrangement stops the moment one of you find someone else, and Bob always worries that someone else will catch your eye. That you’ll find some man—you are surrounded by handsome, capable men every day, for heaven’s sake—that you find an appealing prospect. Someone you want to sleep with and be with.

Someone better than him.

He’s usually so secure in himself, but he has a small crisis of confidence. He wonders what he lacks—what makes him a good hook-up but not a good boyfriend? If he could just show you…if he could take you out on a proper date. Buy you flowers, buy you dinner, take you for a moonlit stroll along the beach. If he could cook for you, show you that he’s not that useless breed of man who can’t or won’t do homey tasks. If he could take care of you when you’re sick, be a sounding board when you rage…

Bob decides to do what he can, which is to just be the best lover he can be. To be the most considerate, most adventuresome, most giving man you’ve ever taken to bed. It’s all he can do anyway, so he might as well give it his best.

-----

Bob usually lets you lead. He lets you set the schedule, and for every five times you call to hook-up, he calls once.

The arrangement, such as it is, does work for him. For all the angst of his unrequited love for you, the hooking up does relax him. It helps him burn off extra energy, which helps him focus at work.

It also helps him explore things he has never tried before.

With you, Bob has played around with role play: tame scenarios where he gets to pretend that he’s a different person than he is. He has tried a variety of positions that have tested him in both strength and flexibility. If there’s a list of sexual acts, Bob feels like he’s steadily working through it with you.

There’s still one, though…

It’s Fritz who starts the conversation at the Hard Deck. You’re not there, but the guys all are, and the conversation drifts towards the usual locker room talk. Fritz kicks it off by talking about his latest girl. The guys egg him on for details. Bob grins around the rim of his glass, says little, but then Fritz says, “man, when she sits on my face and smothers me in that pussy, I could die happy.”

It never occurred to Bob before, but he adds it to his list of sexual acts: have you sit on his face and smother him with your pussy.

The idea takes hold so fiercely that Bob has to shift in his seat, suddenly warm at the thought of you sitting on him, his mouth on you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, and he’s sending you a text before he even has a beat to rethink it.

Want to meet up tonight?

You reply within a minute.

Sure. Mine or yours?

Bob pauses and considers. He catches Rooster’s eye and tilts his head at him, gesturing to his roommate for a sidebar. Rooster comes over and stands beside Bob.

“What’s up?” Rooster asks.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

Rooster grins at the question. It’s not exactly a secret that you and Bob are hooking up, though you don’t publicize it either. Bob doesn’t know that his fellow Daggers have a betting pool about how the situation with you will resolve. He’s caught the sly grins between them sometimes and wondered at what they mean.

“You asking if the apartment will be empty?” Rooster asks. “Hell, Baby on Board. Keep it to your room. I don’t care what happens in the privacy of your own room.”

Bob can’t help the blush that heats his face. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but sometime the two of you get lost in the moment, and more than once, Rooster has sidled up to Bob the day after and clapped him on the back, congratulated him on his prowess—

Rooster catches the man’s discomfort and elbows him in the side. “I was planning on finding myself some companionship for the night,” he finally says. “The place is all yours.”

Bob thanks him, then texts you.

My place?

Another beat before your answer comes. When?

Now.

*****

Bob generally lets you set the tone of your arrangement, but sometimes he has a moment of dominance that makes a wave of desire wash through you so strongly that your knees actually go weak.

Like his text. No softening his final message, just a simple, single word that holds a universe of promise.

Now.

“Yes, sir,” you murmur. You only take a minute to brush your teeth and slip into nicer lingerie, but then you get in your car and head over to his place.

He must have been waiting at the window, watching for you. You aren’t even halfway up the steps to his porch when the door swings open, and there he is.

Of course it was easy to catch feelings for him. He’s perfect, and right now he’s staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

-----

“Explain it…again,” you manage to get out between kisses. “How does…it work?”

Bob raises himself, props himself on his forearms on either side of your head. His hair is mussed (perfect), and his glasses are on the bedside stand, so his blue eyes peer down at you.

“You sit on my face,” he replies simply.

You huff out a breath. “Sure, but….like, how? I weigh a lot—”

He shakes his head. “Not a problem for me, honey.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could kill you.”

He laughs, and he shifts his weight onto one arm so the other is free to reach down and grasp your waist. “If you kill me like that, I want how I died mentioned in my obituary, okay?”

“Not funny!” You poke him in the side, and he laughs again.

“Seriously, Bob. I don’t want to hurt you,” you continue.

“You won’t. I promise. It’ll be fine. But I want to do this.” His smile fades, and he fixes you with a darker look that sends a bolt of lust right through your core. “Please.”

-----

The two of you, once you got over your initial awkwardness, usually move so well together. Perfectly coordinated, in sync.

This…is not that.

For the first time, the two of you aren’t working together. Bob can’t know it, but it’s not just a physical misalignment—there are hidden feelings at play. As you tentatively hover over where he lays on the bed, you feel suddenly exposed, like Bob might be able to see the feelings you’ve caught for him. It’s so intimate, you think, being so bared to him. You hold yourself back, shy, and Bob doesn’t understand the sudden reticence in you. He chalks it up to fear of hurting him.

And you can’t know it, but Bob absolutely loves how intimate it is, being so exposed to him. There are hidden feelings on his side too—how hard it hits him, that he’s never done this with another woman before, and how he cannot imagine doing it with another one after you. He’s ravenous for you, wants to possess you in every way he can, but when he tries to tug you closer to him, you chalk it up to general horniness and nothing more.

It is all misunderstanding, in the end. You hold yourself back, hover over his face. He grips your hips, tries to pull you to him. The two of you struggle against the other, not understanding what is really driving the other—

“Come on,” he growls. “Give it to me, honey.”

“Bob, I don’t—”

“I can take it.”

“But I—”

It happens in a split second. Bob tugs you down against him in the exact moment you try to get a better balance over him, and the force of his pulling you down is added to the full weight of you shifting, with a bit of gravity, and you hit Bob so hard.

There’s a sickening crack, like a chicken bone snapping. You look down at him, startled, and see his blue eyes widen in pain—shock—

You scramble off of him, call his name, but he doesn’t move, and then you see it.

Blood. There’s so much blood, all over his face, and you yell his name now, but he still doesn’t move—

You’ve killed him. You’ve murdered him, and you scream. You reach for your phone and fumble it, and your body just acts. You back away, your mind scrambling, and you think I need to stop the bleeding, so you think to go to the bathroom for a towel, but when you pivot quick on your heel and turn towards the closed door, it is already swinging inward, right at your face, hard, and there’s an explosion of pain behind your eyes.

Then everything goes dark, and you don’t wake until you’re in the ambulance.

*****

Bob wakes up to the paramedics sliding him onto the backboard, his head immobilized between two foam blocks. Rooster hovers at the perimeter, a worried look on his face.

“What—” Bob manages to croak out, but the room grows dim again, and he fades in and out until the hospital.

-----

He comes to and stays awake in a quiet hospital room. There’s the steady beep of a monitor somewhere behind and above him. When he tries to turn his head, though, he finds himself held in place by a brace.

“You’re awake finally.” The voice is familiar, and a moment later, Phoenix’s face swims into his peripherals.

“You scared us, Baby on Board.” Rooster, to the left of him.

“Who knew you had it in you?” The voice at the foot of the bed, the hint of smarm. Bob feels a hand on his ankle, jostling him lightly. “You dirty fucking freak.”

“Shut up, Bagman.” Phoenix glares at the cocky pilot, then turns back to Bob, her gaze softening. “How are you feeling?”

He considers his answer. He feels…rough.

He also notices that his Dagger teammates are there, but you are not. Which makes him feel worse.

Phoenix seems to read his thoughts. Something in his expression must give him away, because she leans in closer and sets a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She’s still downstairs,” she says, low near his ear. “You got a room, but she’s still in the E.R. They haven’t released her yet.”

“E.R.?”

She smiles, snorts out a light laugh. “Yeah, the two of you are a real fucking vibe, Bob.”

Rooster steps closer to the bed and grins down at him. “You’re lucky I struck out at the Hard Deck. I come home, barely get my shoes off, when I hear a scream. I go running back to your room just in time to knock your girl out. She ran headfirst into the door when I opened it.” He claps his hands together. “Down like a bag of rocks.”

Bob’s heart rate picks up, and the monitor registers it. Phoenix glances at the machine and snorts again.

“She’s fine,” she assures him. “I’ve been bouncing between you and her. It’s just slammed down there, so she’s been waiting for the doctor to release her.”

“She’s okay then?”

Phoenix nods. “Dislocated nose. Slight concussion. Embarrassed. Convinced she murdered you, until I set her straight.”

Bob smiles despite himself. “She thought I was dead?”

“She knocked you out,” Hangman cuts in. “And broke your nose.”

“You weren’t moving and there was blood everywhere,” Rooster adds.

“She also gave you grade two whiplash,” Phoenix continues. “And it looks like you’ll be sporting a pair of gnarly black eyes by morning.”

“Wow.” Bob breathes out a reedy whistle. “And you’re sure she’s okay?”

Phoenix nods again.

Rooster and Hangman offer to go grab some coffee from the hospital cafeteria, leaving Bob and his partner alone. Phoenix drags a chair over and settles closer to him, and Bob feels his mood sour little by little.

“Are you okay?” Phoenix finally asks.

He lifts his hand, drops it back onto the bed. “I guess it’s ruined now.”

“What is?”

“Our…arrangement. Mine and hers.”

She tilts her head. “How so?”

“She has all these rules. To keep it clean. To keep feelings out, you know?” He lifts his hand again, drops it again—the best version of a shrug he can manage. “I have to think that injuries requiring ambulances is an unwritten rule too.”

Phoenix stares at him, but a smile starts to creep across her face. She shakes her head then, grips his shoulder again.

“Do you love her, Bobby?” The question is asked softly, kindly.

Bob forgets the brace for a second and tries to nod. “Yeah.”

“You ever tell her?”

“Against the rules.”

“You ever tell her you wanted to revisit the rules, then?”

“No.”

Her smile widens. “You’re so fucking dumb, dude.”

*****

Hangman’s the one who stops to check in on you. He has a paper cup of coffee in each hand, and he holds both up to you.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked. One is black, one is cream and sugar.”

“Cream and sugar, please.”

He walks over to your bed and hands it to you, then studies you. You know you must look like hell—your eyes red from the hysterical crying of thinking yourself a murderer. Your nose—not broken, only dislocated—swollen and tender. And the general misery of how badly everything has turned out.

“You like the little nerd, huh?”

You take a sip of the coffee and thank him for it.

You don’t answer his question.

Hangman sighs, leans against the wall. “It’s just that, if you do, I’d like to know. I have a lot riding on it.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a pool about you and Baby on Board.” He sips his own coffee, smiles at you. “I want to know if I’m out money or if I have a payday coming.”

“You bet on us?”

He holds up a hand. “Whoa. All the Daggers bet on you. It wasn’t just me.”

You shake your head. “I don’t understand.”

“Some of us bet that you’d end up together. Others bet that you wouldn’t. Not that hard to understand.”

You try to take a steadying breath through your nose, which is an effort with how swollen it is. You look away from him and fix your eyes on the open doorway of your room. You watch the nurses and doctors scurry back and forth, the gurneys of hurt and sick people.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” you finally answer. “I nearly killed the guy. Is there a pool on that?”

Hangman laughs, and he settles in the chair near your bed. “You didn’t nearly kill him. You only lightly injured him. Then Bradley lightly injured you. It’s hilarious.”

You can only wince at his word choice. It’s not funny at all. Miramar is a gossipy hive of rumor, and Bob’s injuries will put him out of commission for at least a while—

“Is this gonna hurt his career at Top Gun?” you ask Hangman. You glance over at him and catch the way his expression softens at the angst in your voice. “Did I just fuck up his life completely?”

He reaches out and grasps your hand for a moment, gives you a friendly squeeze before he releases you. “Shit happens. The Navy knows that.”

“Still…”

“If anything, Bob’s gonna have some light duty, but he can do some systems work on the ground.” The smile reappears on his face, and he slyly adds, “and his cred just skyrocketed.” A beat. “The quietest Dagger just got his face rearranged by pussy. He’ll never have to buy his own drink again as long as he lives.”

“Jesus,” you groan, and you cover your face with your hands while Hangman laughs, but a second later the doctor enters your room and tells you that you are being released.

Hangman doesn’t take the hint and leave. He watches you sign off on your discharge papers, sips his coffee. He hands you your shoes, and he helpfully holds out your coat so you can slide into it.

“That little nerd loves you, you know,” he says suddenly. “It’s obvious as hell, which is why I laid a big bet on it.”

“He does?” The surprise in your voice makes him chuckle, then shake his head.

“Probably hard to see it from where you’re sitting, but he does. His dumb face lights up the minute he sees you, and when you aren’t around, he’s like a lost puppy. So if you feel even an inkling of the same for him, just go upstairs and put him out of his misery, okay?”

It feels like grace you don’t deserve. You hurt Bob, even if you hadn’t meant to, and for Hangman to offer this sliver of hope you don’t think you deserve—

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. Hangman doesn’t remark on them; he only stands by the doorway and waits for you.

“You’re a regular Cupid, Jake,” you offer.

“Nah.” He finishes off his coffee, crumples the cup, and tosses it in the nearby trash can. “I just want that fucking pool money.”

-----

The tears that threatened downstairs…they break free the moment you finally see him.

He looks awful. He looks…well, he looks like he pulled the full weight of an adult woman onto his face, pussy-first. His nose is swollen in a splint, he’s in a neck brace, and both eyes are so bruised that they can barely open beyond slits.

But his smile…

God, when he sees you, it’s just like Jake said: his poor, mangled face lights up, and his smile is so wide it looks like it might hurt. It hits you again, as it often does, how different he is from your usual type of man. That he loves to see you, is happy when he sees you, even injured. That he doesn’t need you around to fix his life, but he wants you around to just…be with you. Bob is no one that needs fixing; he just wants you there with him.

Phoenix and Rooster have the good sense to leave, ushering Hangman along with them. Bob, when he sees the tears coursing down your face, frowns and holds a hand out to you.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. It’s fine,” he repeats. You make your way over to him and take his hand, and maybe it is okay. He holds you tight, his big, warm palm enfolding yours—

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You shake your head. You’re not okay at all. You don’t know if Jake was lying, but you can’t lie to Bob anymore just as you can’t lie to yourself.

“I broke one of the rules,” you admit. You watch him, wary. You have the sense of how he might react, but you can’t know for sure. You just have to push through and say it. Put it out there.

“I broke a rule too,” he replies. He squeezes your hand.

“Yeah?” It comes out shaky, unsure.

“Yeah.”

“Which rule?”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and brushes a gentle kiss to the back of it. He’s so damned soft, and you blink against the fresh tears that threaten to spill over your face.

“It’s your own fault,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he says it. “If you didn’t want me falling for you, you shouldn’t have been so easy to fall for.”

You laugh, a nervous sound that nudges up against the wall of tears you’re struggling to hold back. “Even though I almost killed you?”

“I mean, you didn’t almost kill me, but you definitely owe me for all this.” He gestures with his free hand at his face.

“You could make a claim against my insurance, I guess—”

“Just a date,” he interrupts. “I just want one date with you.”

“That’s it?” The sick feeling in your stomach starts to recede, and it’s replaced by the fluttery feeling of promise, of something new and wonderful starting.

“Just once chance to show you how good it could be.” His expression is dead serious, and he squeezes your hand again. “Me and you. For real this time.”

“I, uh…” You clear your throat and glance at his bright blue gaze, then look away. You fix your eyes on where your hands are joined together. Your hand fits perfectly in his.

“I’ve only ever dated assholes,” you admit. Another glance at him to see how he takes in your words. “Guys who don’t have their shit together. It’s why I wanted the whole…arrangement with you. I’ve never been with a man who didn’t need, like, intensive therapy. Or the occasional law enforcement intervention.”

“First time for everything,” Bob replies mildly.

“What if…what if I don’t know how to be in a relationship unless…unless…” You trail off, not sure how to say it without it sounding completely terrible…but then, the reality of your dating life has been completely terrible anyway.

“You afraid you don’t know how to be in a relationship unless you’re miserable?” he asks gently.

“Maybe?”

“Hmm.” He releases your hand but pats the space on his bed beside him. “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable making you miserable, honey.”

You perch awkwardly on the sliver of bed available to you, but Bob reaches up and gets a hand on your shoulder, tugs you gently down towards him. It’s careful maneuvering—a stark difference to what got you here—but you eventually get comfortable beside him, your cheek against his shoulder, your temple against the hard molded plastic of his brace. His hand finds yours again, and he threads his fingers through yours.

“What if we started with that one date you owe me?” he offers. “And then maybe a second date. I’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and you see how it feels to not be miserable.”

One date, maybe a second.

“I think I can handle that,” you reply.

“Then a third date, then another.”

You smile. “Okay.”

“Maybe around, say, the fifth date, you can spend the night. Let me make you pancakes in the morning. Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

“Okay.”

“Then after maybe a month, you could keep some stuff at my place. Shampoo, extra clothes. So you’re comfortable.”

“I could take you to my favorite taco place,” you offer. “Over in Imperial County.”

“I’d like that.” He shifts a little in the bed, then adds, “maybe around the six-month mark, you could meet my family.”

“Would they make me miserable?” you tease.

“Oh, they’d make your life a living hell,” he teases back. “My dad would give you this whole disgusting speech about how he always wanted another daughter, my mom would drop hints about my grandma’s engagement ring being set aside for me—”

“They sound horrible,” you laugh.

“The worst.” He chuckles, and a long moment of silence stretches between you, but it’s comfortable. His warm hand in yours, the quiet beeping of the machines monitoring him, the steady sound of his breathing…the slightly whistling quality of your own breathing through your swollen nose.

“You know, I’ve never taken a girl home to meet my family before,” he says, and his voice is serious. “Never even considered it before.”

You lift your head a bit to look at him, and you see the thoughtful quality of his expression. You settle back against him.

“And you’re considering it with the girl who broke your neck, broke your nose, and shamed you in front of the United States Navy?”

He chuckles again. “You didn’t break my neck and I’m not in trouble with the Navy,” he says. “And yes, I’ve considered it. First time for everything.”

He doesn’t add anything else, and the drama of the evening starts to hit you. You feel your eyes getting heavy, start to doze off in the hospital bed with him. His verb tense choice, though—he has considered it, past tense, not is considering it, present tense—makes you wonder how long Bob might have been breaking that rule…

Bob doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks it: he never took a girl home to his family because he vowed to only ever do it once—with the girl he plans to marry.

#tropes and tales #clear the inbox 2024 #kinktober2024 #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd imagine #top gun maverick

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yeonzzzn · 1 year ago

Text

numbers up: sim jaeyun

part three of chilling & killing 🔪 | spotify playlist

pairing: jake x afab!reader word count: 15.3k

synopsis: with the imposter ghost face on the loose and your life being threatened, jake makes preparations to keep you safe and track down the copycat. you also make preparations with the heads of the film and investigation departments to bring down the imposter. trust no one and remember…everyone is a suspect.

genre: established relationship, ghostface!jake, journalist!reader, smut.

warnings: swearing, jake is fucking insane (as always), blood & m*rder, dry humping, reader gets stabbed, multiple unprotected sex scenes, shower sex, hair pulling, if I missed everything please let me know!

You’ve never seen Jake this paranoid before, or well, paranoid ever. Paranoia wasn’t an emotion Jake had ever had to feel and deal with, that was until you. Until this copycat ghost face made threats to your life and drove Jake to hold you close and always double-check over his shoulder.

That phone call made Jake scared—truly, genuinely, scared. Which was another emotion he’d never felt. Jake usually lived on the thrill of it all. The thrill of someday being caught by law enforcement. The thrill of someone finding out his identity and challenging him. But he has you now. You changed everything.

Which drove him to make this decision. To move himself and you across town into another apartment, leaving everything behind.

You sat on the brand new couch you and Jake just finished moving up the stairs and into your new apartment, looking up at him on the ladder he stood on, drilling the new security system and camera into the corner of the living room.

Your eyes wandered around your new home, to all the boxes and new furniture and new bags of clothing. You thought Jake was joking when he mentioned moving out and leaving every single thing in your old apartment behind. He clearly wasn’t.

Jake paid for everything, the new lease for this apartment. Bought you and him new phones that had new numbers on a completely different phone plan than your previous ones. New bank accounts. New laptops, new emails, and new tablets. Books, journals, clothes, cameras, watches, literally everything. Jake even ditched his previous car and got a new one. Jake’s paranoia wasn’t a joke, and he fully went through with everything.

He even tried to convince you to move into another town, hell a new country even, but you refused. The two of you were way too close to finishing your majors to just up and leave. You had duties here, the major one being to catch the imposter ghost face. It surprised you at the desperation Jake had to up and leave this life behind, all in the name of keeping you safe.

Jake glanced down at you for a split second, seeing how you took in the new apartment. The blank stare on your face as you looked over every inch of this place. It hurt Jake, honestly. Up and dropping his old life wasn’t easy on him either. But it was all for you. For you, he’d do anything. That’s why he buckled and agreed to stay at the same college and town. He truly wanted to catch the imposter as much as you, but nothing was more important than keeping you alive. Keeping that pretty blood of yours flowing through your veins and keeping that heart beating. Jake wouldn’t know what he would do if something happened to you, and he honestly didn’t want to find out.

He finished screwing in the last screw of the new security system and let out a sigh. He glanced back down at you to already see you staring back up at him, “What’s up, honey?”

You softly pouted, debating if you wanted to ask the question that’s been making circles in your brain, “Where did you get all this money from? To do all this?” guess you decided to ask it anyway.

Jake leaned on the ladder, smirking down at you, “I’m a serial killer, baby, you think I didn’t save money up in case something like this happened?”

You figured that was what his answer would be and you didn’t want to admit you were terrified that he went and robbed a bank or random people. Or stolen from his victims. Jake did have a job, way before you even met him. He saved up every penny from each paycheck into a savings account that wasn’t connected to his main account and was under a different name. Jake wasn’t stupid to keep all his money in his main account. It would raise way too many red flags. That account wasn’t just his money from his job, but from earnings he got growing up. Money from birthdays or when his parents felt like handing him money. He would use some of that money to donate to charity, to make that bank account look less suspicious.

You shrugged up at him, and made yourself comfy on the couch, laying down and stretching out. Jake climbed down from the ladder and walked to your side, “What are you thinking about, my love?”

You sighed, staring into those beautiful brown killer eyes, “That I want to catch whoever is making our lives difficult.”

Jake smiled, climbing onto the couch and laying on top of you, nuzzling his face in your neck, “We’ll catch them, don’t worry baby,” he placed a few kisses to your neck, his hand slowly sliding up your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, “And once we do, we’ll have a guaranteed spot in our respective fields after graduation.”

You knew he was right. If the two of you managed to catch the imposter you would no doubt have no problems getting your detective jobs. It would be so easy and the town would be stupid to not give you and Jake those positions. You sigh then, realizing that once the imposter is caught, they would be trialed for every crime they have committed—including Jake’s.

Jake and you never discussed it, about what would happen to whoever it was behind the ghost face mask and what crimes they would go to trial for. But deep down, you knew they would take the hit for both theirs and Jake’s. It only made sense. You refused to let Jake go down. You needed him. You’d…kill for him.

His kisses on your neck deepened, his teeth nibbling at the skin and tongue licking up your neck. His hand now made its way up to your breast, squeezing the plush between his fingers.

You softly moaned, tilting your head to give him more access to you. Your eyes fluttered closed and back open, spotting Jake’s duffle bag in the corner of the kitchen.

“Thought you were going to get rid of that?” you asked with a shaky breath, too deep in the pleasure of his touch to sound serious.

Jake chucked against your skin, his breath sending goosebumps and chills down your body, “I will tonight baby,” he pressed his hips to yours, his clothed hard cock rubbing against your heat. He removed his face from your neck and brushed his lips against yours, “How about we stop talking and break into the new couch, shall we?” His hand slid from your breast to the band of your shorts, slipping his hand inside, “Have to make sure the couch won’t break from how hard I am about to pound into you.”

You pushed his duffle bag off to the back of your mind and embraced his lips to yours.

Needless to say, the couch indeed held up from the rough sex Jake gave you.

—

Jake dropped the duffle bag to the ground with a sigh leaving his mouth. He pulled the matches from his back pocket, debating if this was something he even wanted to do. But it wasn’t up for debate, he knew it. This was for you. All for you and the future he wants and will have with you.

Plus he didn’t travel out to this small shitty countryside town for nothing.

Jake has traveled here before to take care of some…things. He knew the town and knew how easily he could slip in and out without a trace.

The town had a small farmer's market and an alleyway where they kept barrels of hay to sell to customers for their farm animals. Jake was in luck to see one was still here and had enough hay in it to catch fire.

He pulled a match from the box, striking the red tip to the side, watching how the flames rose and lit up the alleyway then tossed it into the barrel. It didn’t take long for the fire to spread.

Jake looked back down at the duffle, kneeling down and opening the bag, his ghost face mask staring right back at him. He smirked, rubbing his fingers over the curves of the mask, “It’s been a hell of a ride.”

Without another thought, Jake tossed the black cloak, gloves, and then the duffle bag into the barrel. He took one final look at the mask before tossing it in.

Jake didn’t know how long he stood there staring at the barrel, watching the flames tear a part of him into pieces. He wasn’t sad, no no, he stood there with a smirk on his wash, watching how the white of the mask burnt and crumbled away. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his crazy smile only growing wider.

He finally walked away, feeling the heat of the fire against his back, “I’ve always loved playing with fire.”

—

“Absolutely not!” Jake said with a stern voice, his eyes glaring at you over the top of his laptop.

You shift your weight to one side, crossing your arms, “You know I am the head of the journalism department, right?”

Jake raises a brow at you, “Okay, and?”

You thin your lips in a line, narrowing your eyes, “Excuse you?”

Danielle sat diagonally from Jake to his left, her eyes wide as she looked back and forth between the two of you, “I hate seeing mom and dad fight…” she whispered before standing up quickly, “I’m going to head to my next class…” without another word, Danielle slowly walked out of the office.

Jake waited until the door fully closed before darting his eyes back to his laptop screen, “I said no, end of discussion.”

You understood Jake’s worry, you really did. But without the other department's help, you wouldn’t catch the imposter. Earlier this morning, the dean of your college sent you an offer to pair up with the film and investigation departments to cover more ground for the ghost face cases. It would benefit you to have that help so it’s not just on your and Jake’s shoulders. Mostly with the recent cases.

The imposter went on a killing spree over the course of a week, killing six students on campus, and two random strangers on the street on the edge of town. That’s EIGHT victims within a WEEK. What made these cases so major was the imposter started leaving specific items at each crime scene, clearly in a way to taunt Jake. Another ghost face mask was found at one scene, then a glove at another. The cloak was found at the next crime. A pair of bloody shoes at the next, the exact same knife type Jake has used was found at another. Then another ghost face mask. The other crimes were repeats of gloves and other items. The case was growing bigger and becoming too much for just you and Jake to handle, so when the dean gave you that offer…

“Well, I already said yes, so…” you hummed, not taking your eyes off your boyfriend.

Jake chuckled, “Well, again, I said no. Cancel it, tell them you changed your mind,” He didn’t look up from the screen, typing something. You roll your eyes, slamming the laptop closed. Jake glared at you, “You’re on thin ice, honey.”

You placed your hands flat on the table, leaning towards him but still being far enough away, “I run this department and you’ll deal with this choice whether you like it or not, understand?” he narrowed his eyes at you, “And you can look at me like that all you want, I’m not scared of you Jake.”

You lifted yourself off from the table, barely turning to face away from him before he was on his feet and in front of you, hands on your waist and lifting you onto the table. He pushed between your legs and brushed his lips against your ear, his hands now flat on the table on either side of you, “It turns me on when you talk like that to me, baby,” he rubbed his nose against the shell of your ear, “It’s so fucking hot when you put me in my place.”

He kisses your neck, one hand lifting to the other side to tilt your head, giving him more access, “It’s all true though,” you mumble, barely being able to get the words out.

Jake chuckles against your skin, pressing his growing hard length to your cunt, “I could kill you at any moment, honey, don’t forget who I am.”

You place your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back so he can look at you, “You wouldn’t,” you smirked, moving your face inches away from his, noses touching, “I don’t care who you are, Jake Sim, you can’t live without me.”

Jake smirks, pushing his tongue past his lips and licking a stripe against yours then taking your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a soft pull before releasing it. It was true, he couldn’t live without you. “Keep running your pretty mouth and I’ll take you right here on this table.” He bucked his hips against yours, brushing his lips over yours, “I’d fuck you so nice and slow and hard,” he whispered then connected his lips to yours.

You don’t know how much time has passed, but Jake had pulled you to the edge of the table, rocking his clothed hard cock against your heat in a slow but hard motion, his hands running up and down your back as his tongue pressed in and out of your mouth. Jake was so ready to unbuckle his belt and tear your jeans apart to feel that sweet pussy of yours wrapped around him, that was until a knock on the door sounded, and the door was opening.

Jake dropped his face into your neck, backing his lower half away from you and releasing a groan, “Did I interrupt something?”

You quickly push Jake away and drop to the floor, “No, Jay. Everything is fine.”

Jay stood in the crack of the door, his laptop in hand, eyes darting over to Jake, “Nice seeing you again, Sim.”

“Woof.”

Jay rolled his eyes, looking away from him and back at you, “Put your dog on a leash, ya?”

Jake took a few steps forward but you stepped in front of you, “Jake, we aren’t doing this,” you snapped, “Sit down, please.” Jake didn’t take his eyes off Jay as he pulled the chair out and sat down.

Jay smirked, letting a whistle escape his lips in a way of saying “Good dog.” Jake wanted to growl and bare his teeth and bark, showing him what kind of dog Jake could really be.

“Please, come in,” you said, waving your hand to the free seats, “Is Jungwon coming too?”

Jay was the head of the film department. His team mostly covered sports and weather, but occasionally would show up and film crimes, sending your department the footage later to write the articles and publish both to the campus’s website. Jungwon, Jay’s second, as if on command, popped out from behind him, carrying their camera, “I’m here, just fell behind.” You could tell the younger was nervous, giving him a small smile as he walked in and set the camera on the table.

Jake kept his eyes on Jay, studying his every movement. Not liking the way the blonde-haired male would look and smile at you. Jake was against teaming up with the other departments for more than just not wanting Jay around you. He didn’t trust him. Or anyone, for that matter. Jake didn’t care if having extra people around made finding the imposter easier, having these people around put you in danger.

You pinched Jake’s bicep, giving him a look to behave and relax. Jake just shrugs, leaning back in the chair and wrapping his arm around your waist, and pulling you close to him, resting his head on your hip. You ruffled his hair, loving how cute he looked as he scrunched his nose and batted your head out of his hair, fixing what you messed up. It still amazed you how this man was a serial killer. This soft puppy sitting in front of you was secretly insane and committed so many murders but was so soft when it came to you. It was cute, truly.

Another knock and the door slowly slid open, “Am I late to the party?”

You smiled, “Nope! Just in time.”

Heeseung slowly walked into the room, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Good, was worried I might be.”

Lee Heeseung, the head of the investigation department. The poor guy was appointed the department head because the previous one was murdered last week…a victim of the imposter. You’ve met Heeseung a couple of times before, or well, have seen him a couple of times before. Anytime you went to the investigation office for results or photos of the crimes he always sat in the back with his lab coat and goggles over his glasses, as he worked on pieces of evidence the police department let the school borrow.

You could tell he was also nervous, but he had plenty of reasons to be. One was the daggers Jake was sending at him, second, the man was just appointed the department head after his was murdered, and lastly, this was his first major job as the head, having to completely take over the ghost face case and deal with you and Jay on top of it.

Heeseung sat down across from you and beside Jay, running a hand through his hair, “Sunoo should be here soon, he was printing off some extra photos from the murders a few days ago.”

You nodded, finally sitting down beside Jake, “It’s nice to finally talk to you,” you said, leaning your elbows onto the table, “You were always so busy in your little corner anytime I was on that side of the campus.”

Heeseung smiled, “Yeah, I’m in my own little world sometimes. You could probably have imagined my surprise when I was picked to fill in the shoes. I basically had to beg Sunoo to be my second for these cases.”

Sunoo you’ve worked with a few times before, he was shy but such a beautiful ray of sunshine. Had a sparkling personality and always brightened the room with his smile. He was super smart and would make a killer investigator one day.

Jake listened as you, Jay, Jungwon, and Heeseung spoke back and forth. Eyeing their movements and facial expressions, noticing how Jay and Heeseung kept their eyes on you a little too long. Jake knew you were the department head and they were more than likely just being respectful, but Jake couldn’t forget the crush Jay has on you, or clock out Heeseung was basically undressing you with his eyes.

Or maybe Jake was just getting jealous he had to share you with other people. That was probably it.

Sunoo finally showed up, handing everyone their own folders of the photos. Jay opened his laptop up, connected the camera then blue toothing the laptop to the projector in the office to show footage they’ve taken along with footage from the security cameras around campus. You passed along articles and pulled the corkboard out.

Hours passed as the six of you discussed the cases and exchanged information each department had. It surprised you how calm Jake was for the most part. Only getting sassy during specific topics. Jake was all-knowing of ghost face for his specific cases, knowing next to nothing about the imposter.

The meeting finally came to an end and you were very much ready to go home and take a warm shower.

Jake and Jay sat at the table still discussing one of the murders, meanwhile, Jungwon, Sunoo, and Heeseung prepared to leave.

You held the door open for them, thanking Jungwon and Sunoo for attending, ready to do the same for Heeseung but he stopped in front of you. Jake clocked it immediately.

“Thank you for welcoming us into your space,” Heeseung said with a tilt of his head, “It was finally nice getting to work with you.” Heeseung was trying to keep himself calm, shoving his hands into his pockets so you wouldn’t see how badly he was shaking. He found you extremely cute and incredibly smart. He was blown away at today's meeting because of you.

“Likewise,” you smiled at him, “Hopefully this partnership does all of us some good and we catch this ghost face.”

Heeseung pushed his glasses back up, “We are the department heads for a reason, we’ll catch them.”

Jay noticed how clocked out Jake was, pulling his eyes over to you and Heeseung, “You going to bark at him like you did to me?” Jay teased.

“Just might fuck her in front of both of you so you’ll be reminded who she belongs to.”

Jay rolled his eyes, “She’s allowed to have friends, you know.”

Yeah, she is, just not friends with males who want to fuck her and look at her like I do. Only I can look at her like that. Only I can fuck her. Point blank.

Jay signed, crossing his arms, “Listen, Heeseung is a good guy, a little shy, but he’s new to this, don’t bark at him.”

Jake patted Jay’s shoulder, “Okay, buddy,” and with that, Jake was walking towards you.

Heeseung pulled his phone from his back pocket, “I was thinking since we are all working together, we can exchange phone numbers,” he smiled awkwardly, his glasses falling down his nose and him quickly pushing them up, “We can have a group chat as well.”

Before you could answer, Jake wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you to him, “We don’t exchange numbers.”

Right…because you both had to get new phone numbers. No one had your new numbers, not even Sunghoon. “Everyone is a suspect,” Jake said once you got your new phones, “trust no one.”

Heeseung glanced over at Jake, “I’m n-not trying to steal her or anything,” he stuttered, “I just figured it would be easier for us to contact each other so we aren’t running across campus.”

Jake smiled, “We can exchange school emails and our school chat IDs, that should be good enough, ya?”

Heeseung looked at you and all you could do was shrug, apologizing with your eyes.

“Jay,” Jake called, “Come over here, the four of us are going to exchange chat IDs.”

You knew Jake was doing this to protect you and him. He wasn’t going to just hand over your phone numbers that easily. He was playing smart, having to be one step ahead in this game he’s playing with the imposter. The chat IDs were Jake’s only plan to not make it seem suspicious completely, mostly since the IDs were from the college and connected to the college emails. Your numbers were safe.

You all exchanged the IDs and made the group chat, Jay saying he’d add Jungwon later and Heeseung agreeing to the same for Sunoo.

Once the boys left, Jake slid the door closed and locked it, staring at you with hooded eyes, “I’m fucking you on this table like I said earlier.”

You giggled as Jake picked you up in his arms and laid you down on the table. Jealousy was cute on him.

—

You tied red strings around the pushpins on the corkboard and then took a few steps back, resting your body against the kitchen counter. You crossed your arms and let your eyes wander the board. Stopping at each photo of the imposter's crime scenes, and at each item they have left. Looked at the school’s articles and the official news articles that were pinned by each photo. Your laptop sat on the kitchen table, replaying the videos Jay filmed and was kind enough to send to you.

Trying to wrap your mind around these cases was making your brain hurt. Mostly since Jake was stuck at soccer practice for the next couple of hours, you’ve been taking this head on by yourself.

You rubbed your fingers to your temples, needing a much-needed break. So you splash some water on your face from the kitchen sink and gently dab your face with a towel. You pulled a bottle of water and an apple from the fridge, sat on the couch, and propped your feet onto the coffee table. The apartment was quiet and you honestly hated it, wishing Jake’s laughter was echoing off these walls. Jake hasn’t left your side since all this bullshit started happening and the only time he wasn’t with you was his soccer practice. You always offered to go with him and sit in the bleachers, but he always refused. Mostly because he wouldn’t be able to completely focus. He barely was able to focus when you were at the apartment alone, but he knew you’d at least be safer there than at the campus. You’re just instructed to not leave the apartment at all if he wasn’t with you. Which was fair. Jake was able to hold his own because ya know, being a serial killer and all. But you? You were barely a challenge for Jake when he had you pinned to the floor and a knife to your throat after you figured out he was the ghost face. You could barely dominate Jake in the bedroom, he could hold his own. You?? Ehh.

You finished the apple and water, threw away the trash, and got back to work. You sat at the table, flipping through more photos Heeseung sent over and rereading some of the articles Danielle had written. The more you look over everything, the more your brain hurts and that small break did nothing. You sigh, reaching for your backpack in the chair beside you, digging for the documents and articles Jake has created and written, only to not find them there.

“That’s fantastic,” you mumbled, standing from the table and walking to the bedroom, finding Jake’s backpack on the floor by the closet. You bent down and opened it up, digging through his textbooks and folders but not finding the one you were looking for, “Fuck!” you sat on the floor, covering your face with your hands, “This is so fantastic.”

You wanted to call your boyfriend, but you knew he was busy with practice and wouldn’t answer. But you doubt he would even have the articles to begin with. You shot back to his backpack, thinking hopefully his laptop would be in there and sure enough, it wasn’t. Meaning he left it in the office on campus, where the extra copies of the articles would more than likely be. You debate leaving the apartment, knowing you shouldn’t and Jake would be pissed off if he finds out…but he would be gone for hours and wouldn’t even know you left unless he checks the camera footage in the apartment. You tuck your lip between your teeth, ultimately deciding to leave. You’d be there and back before Jake even returned home.

You slipped on your shoes and threw on a hoodie, pulling the hood tightly and comfortably over your head and double checking the door was locked before rushing down the stairs and making your way to campus. Thankfully it wasn’t a far walk.

You quickly made it to the campus, unlocking the door to the office and closing it behind you. The campus was empty and quiet, being that it was the weekend. Made it perfectly for you to slip in and out quicker. Jake’s laptop sat on the table in his spot, just like you figured it would be along with the folder of the copies sitting on top of it. You grabbed both and hurried back out of the office, locking the doors.

You made it to the first floor of the building when your phone started ringing. Your heart sank. He’s going to be so mad. You pulled your phone from your shorts pocket, expecting to see Jake’s name on the screen but instead seeing Unknown Caller. You tucked your lip between your teeth, locking the phone to ignore it. It’s probably just some spam call. You walked out of the building's doors, your phone ringing and the same caller ID popping up.

You looked around the campus, not seeing anyone in sight. You dismiss the call, taking two steps down and your phone rings again with the same ID. You quickly dismiss it and with shaky hands, you dial Jake’s number.

The caller you are trying to reach is unavaila—

“Shit!” you curse, redialing the number and getting the same message.

Fear filled you, hands trembling as you stared at your boyfriend's number then the screen showing the ID calling again.

You locked your phone and quickly went down the rest of the steps, making it halfway away from the building and parking lot when your phone once again rang. You stopped walking, looked around the campus, and finally answered the phone.

“Hello, YN,”

You gripped your phone as it was pressed to your ear, “Hello, imposter.”

“It’s been a while since I last spoke to Jake.” they chuckled, “I wonder why that is?”

“Yeah, crazy.” you whipped around behind you, looking back at the building you came from, then turned back towards the parking lot and looked at the buildings beyond it.

“Isn’t it rude to change your numbers without telling anyone? Jake must have been desperate. Mostly after the very attractive photos I’ve taken of you at your…old apartment.”

You swallowed. Whoever this was, they knew your numbers had changed and that you moved. You kept looking around, trying to find anyone near only to find no one.

“What do you want?” you asked, starting to quickly walk again.

“Like I told Jake, you’ll know soon enough.”

You scoff, picking up your pace.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, YN?” You stopped walking again, heart nearly stopping, “Don’t you know it’s rude…”

You had a bad feeling, body shaking and trembling, “Rude that what?” you asked, but then the line hung up.

You barely had time to realize what was about to happen. They had their arm wrapped around your neck and their knife piercing the skin at your waist just above your rib cage.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to walk away when someone is speaking to you?”

You tilted your head to the side and up, seeing the ghost face mask you were all too familiar with.

You swallowed again, trying to form words but nothing came out but gasps.

Jake slouched against the bleachers, taking his towel and wiping the sweat from his face and hair. Sunghoon sat down beside him, “Practice was hell today.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jake sighs, “I’m ready to go home.”

Sunghoon glanced over at his best friend, “You still not going to tell me where you both moved off to? Or your new number?”

Jake sat still, not looking at his friend, “I have my reasons.”

Sunghoon moved closer, “Did something happen? Jake, this isn’t like you.”

Jake wanted to snap at him that he didn’t know anything about him besides what Jake allowed him to see. He loved Sunghoon, truly did. But with the imposter…he couldn’t trust anyone. Not when his girlfriend's life was on the line.

“Let’s just say it’s a long story, one you’ll know soon enough.” Jake hoped he would accept it and leave it alone. And thank god he did.

Sunghoon sighed and just stood up, “Time to head home, see ya tomorrow?”

Jake stands up too, reaching out for his friend's hand, “Yep, see ya at the skating rink at two pm.”

Sunghoon took his hand, “Make sure YN joins too!” he said as he walked away.

Jake nodded and picked up his bag, heading for the changing room.

Once he was out of his sweaty soccer clothes and cleaned himself and in cleaner clothes, he left the locker room, finally pulling his phone from his duffle, seeing your few missed calls. Jake waited until he was in his car and heading back home before calling you back. The line didn’t even ring and went straight to voicemail. Jake raised a brow, “Okay, weird.” He redialled your number, and it once again went straight to voicemail.

Jake at this point was parked at the apartment, calling you one more time, it rang twice and then ended. Jake quickly got out of the car and ran up the stairs, stumbling with his keys to unlock the door and stepping inside.

“YN!” he yelled, seeing the apartment in one piece and no sign of forced entry. He rushed to the bedroom, still not seeing you. “YN!!” he shouted, still no answer.

Jake was starting to panic. It wasn’t like you to ignore his calls. To leave without telling him or to even just leave. He paced around the living room, pulling up the camera footage on his phone, and seeing you leave the apartment.

“Goddamn this woman!” he bite his tongue, redialing your number once again, “Fucking pick up…please god let her pick up…”

Your phone rang again, and you didn’t have to look at it to know it was Jake.

“Kind of rude to keep ignoring your boyfriend’s calls, isn’t it? Answer it.”

You took a deep breath, feeling your knees going weak, continuing to ignore the imposter.

“I said fucking answer it!” he yelled into your ear, pushing the knife in further.

You grunted out in pain, praying someone was on campus to witness what was happening to you. It was broad daylight on a Saturday afternoon, where was everyone?

You didn’t want to answer the call. Didn’t want Jake to hear what he was about to. Didn’t want the imposter to kill you and have Jake hear it. You knew what Jake would do…

The imposter hisses and pulls your back to their chest, removing their arm from your neck and reaching for your phone, accepting the call and putting it on speaker.

Jake nearly dropped to his knees at hearing the call answer, “YN!” he snapped, “Where the fuck are you?!”

“Hello, Jake.”

Jake’s heart stopped, almost stumbling to the floor before catching himself on the kitchen counter, jaw clenching at the sound of the voice changer, “Where is she?”

The imposter chuckled, “Right here in front of me, say hi, honey,”

Jake tensed at hearing the imposter use the pet name he’d given you, using it as a taunt.

“It’s rude to not say hello to your boyfriend, don’t you think?”

They pushed the knife in further, you gasped in pain.

Jake was already out the door at the sound of your pained gasp, “I swear to god if you—“

“If I what, Jake Sim?” he taunted, “If I kill her? What will you do?”

Jake ran a head through his hair, “I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

They laughed, “Sounds about right coming from a serial killer.”

Your moans filled Jake’s ears, the way you were gasping for air…he needed to get to you. Jake placed the call on speaker and with shaky hands opened the app he installed to find your location, “That makes two of us doesn’t it?” he said, stalling time to find your location, finally pinpointing you at the school.

“I know you’re stalling, Jake,” they whispered, “To find our location.”

Jake snarled, “What do you want?”

Silence, and then, “To see you suffer.”

They pulled the knife out of your side and shoved it back in, creating another wound. Your cries filled Jake’s ear and now he was sprinting to the school.

Your body was shaking, feeling your blood pool out of your skin and down your body and to the sidewalk, “You look even prettier with your blood leaking out,” they laughed, “Jake might be too late.”

Jake ran faster, “Leave her alone!” he screamed completely out of breath.

“Goodbye, Jake Sim.”

Then the call ended.

The imposter tossed your phone off to the side, twisting the knife deeper, pulling it out and back in, making another wound.

Your hands became weak, letting go of the laptop and folder in your hand, dropping to the ground beside you. Your head flung forward, too dizzy from your blood loss to stay upright anymore. You barely felt the knife being removed from your body and their hands letting you go.

You fell, your temple hitting the edge of the sidewalk, blurring your vision even more. The imposter knelt beside you, lifting the knife and wiping your blood on their cloak, the black sleeve falling down, revealing a watch at their wrist. They chuckled, staring at the now clean knife, “It was fun, YN, this time we spent together today.” You stared at the mask through your blurred vision, watching as they stood and walked away. Leaving you to bleed out.

You blinked a couple of times, too weak to try and move, eyes looking up at the blue sky. This was it. This was your end. You thought about Jake and how you wanted to feel his touch, hear his voice. Kiss his lips for the last time. You felt your heart slowing down. It would be any minute now.

“YN!!” you heard from a distance but muffled. “YN!!” it was closer now, still muffled. You closed your eyes and then felt hands on you, “YN, baby, please open your eyes.”

It was Jake. He was here.

You forced your eyes open, barely being able to keep them open for long, but it was enough to see him leaning over you, tears filling his eyes.

Jake pulled you off the sidewalk and into his arms, resting your head on his chest, panicking at the wound on your head, “Oh my god, baby, please speak to me, keep your eyes open.” His warm hand wiped the dripping blood from your face, starting to rock back and forth, “YN, I need you to open your eyes for me, okay baby? Say something to me. I am right here.”

You fluttered your eyes open, but closed them again, opening your mouth to speak, but only gasps coming out.

Jake saw your blood staining your hoodie, carefully lifting the fabric to see three stab wounds and the blood that continued to pool out. Jake pressed his hand to the wounds as hard as he could, feeling you jolt against him, “Shh, I know baby,” he cried, the tears finally falling, panic rising more and his rocks becoming faster, “I am so sorry my love, please stay with me. Hey, open your eyes please, YN. I can’t live without you, please.” You were fading, you knew it. Jake’s cries became more muffled and everything went black.

—

Your eyes fluttered open, the sounds of a heart monitor echoing in what you were assuming was a hospital room. The last thing you remembered was hearing Jake’s screams before passing out. You looked down at your body, seeing all the IVs connecting to the veins in your arms and the hospital band around your wrist. You looked to your right, seeing the hospital door boarded up with chairs. You looked to your left, seeing Jake sleeping soundly against your bed in the chair he pulled up close. His hair had fallen over his eyes, lips parted slightly, hearing his breathing. One hand rested on your thigh, and the other was under his head.

You swallowed, feeling how dry your throat was. You tried to sit up, but Jake felt you shift on the bed, waking him up. He slowly sat up and stood to his feet, standing closer to you and cupping your face, “YN, honey, how are you feeling?”

You blinked a few times, once again trying to sit up, “I’m thirsty,” you said, struggling to speak.

“Here, hold onto me so we can sit you up, okay?” Jake rested his hands under her arms and you gripped onto the sleeves of his shirt, pulling as he used his strength to help you shift up, “Be careful,” he whispered.

Once you were sitting up, Jake helped balance you so he could raise the head of the bed and then help you lean back. He adjusted your pillows helping you feel more comfortable.

“Thirsty,” you said with a raspy voice.

Jake nodded, cupping your face once again, and rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks. His eyes glossed over, trying hard to not let the tears fall again, you were okay. You were safe and alive and breathing. You were here with him. He glanced up at the bandage atop your head, “Does your head hurt?”

You nodded, the pain in your head and your waist fully kicking in, “Both do.”

Jake placed a kiss on your forehead then went to the bedside table, grabbing the bottled water and the pain meds the doctors said to give you once you woke up, “Here, my love.”

He handed you the meds and water. You swallowed to the best of your ability and chugged down the water, handing the bottle back to him. He set it back to the table and sat back down in the chair, pulling it closer.

You stared back at him, watching as he reached for your hand, his fingers twisting at each of yours, before finally clasping his hand with yours, the other covering the top of your hand, “What do you remember?” he softly asked, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“Everything,” you sighed, looking away from him and to the door, “Was that necessary?”

“Of course it was,” he scoffed, “I’m not risking you getting hurt again. Trust no one.”

You tilted your head at your boyfriend, reaching up with your free hand and cupping his face. Jake leaned into your touch, eyes getting glossy again.

“I was scared I lost you.” Jake didn’t ever want to feel what he felt ever again. Seeing you almost lifeless on the sidewalk, your skin cold and your blood staining the grass and concrete. He screamed as loud as he could until finally another student came out of nowhere and called an ambulance. He didn’t leave your side. He paced the halls back and forth at your room until the doctors came out saying you were stable and your wounds were stitched up and bandaged. “I don’t want to ever go through that again.”

You slid your hand down to his shirt collar, pulling him towards you, or well attempting to. You were still too weak, but Jake knew what you wanted. So he carefully stood and inched his face closer to yours, pressing his lips to yours.

He kissed you a couple more times, then sat back down, “What were you doing at the campus?” he finally asked, “I told you to stay home.”

You softly smiled, “I wanted to get your laptop and the articles you wrote.”

Jake sighed, looking down at the bed, “Baby, I had a flash drive at home in the drawer.”

You felt stupid, not even thinking he had other backups, “I’m sorry…” you whispered, tears filling your eyes.

“Shhh, no,” he said, cupping your face, “Don’t cry, it's okay, I am not mad. I was worried about you.” Jake was more than worried. He was terrified. He didn’t know what he would have done if he found you dead. He’d probably hunt down the imposter, get revenge for what he did to you, and then kill himself. This world wasn’t worth living in if you weren’t living in it.

You leaned into his face, kissing the palm of his hand, “I shouldn’t have left.”

Jake just smiles at you, “Tell me everything that happened, from start to finish.”

So you did. Giving him every detail possible.

—

“YN,” Jake sighs, pushing your hands off him, “You need rest.”

All Jake did was come into the bedroom to check on you and give you the pain meds the doctors prescribed to you and you didn’t waste a chance to jump his bones.

You cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes and pouting. Jake smiles and tilts his head at you, “Stop pouting and take your meds.”

It’s been a week since the incident. A week of laying in this bed and Jake taking care of you while also doing what he could to piece together and solve the imposter ghost face cases. The imposter has been quiet since you encountered him, no phone calls to either yours or Jake’s phone, or even any more murders. Whoever they were, they weren’t radio silent.

Except for Sunghoon, Heeseung, and Jay of course. Sunghoon arrived at the hospital after hearing the rumors being spread around campus of Jake crying and screaming for help because you were hurt. Heeseung and Jay spammed the group chats you all had for the investigation, asking if you needed anything and of course Jake answering for you saying no.

Sunghoon now officially knew where the two of you lived, Jake forcing—and threatening—him to keep his mouth about the location of the apartment and to never come over unless he was told to. Sunghoon finally understood now why Jake was being the way he was, all to protect you.

“I’ve been resting for a week,” you scoffed with a click of your tongue, “I can walk perfectly fine and even use the bathroom and shower on my own.”

Jake blankly stares back at you, refusing to answer until you take the water and medicine from his hand. So you did, swallowing the pills down with the water. You set the water bottle down on the nightstand, glaring at him.

He glared back, “If I give you a kiss will you rest?”

You relaxed your face and nodded. To say you’re deprived of sex would be…silly to say in the least. Jake normally fucked you any chance he could get. But after you got hurt…he didn’t want to risk hurting you or your stitches coming out. He’s told you this, but the more time that passes, the more you crave him.

Jake sat on the edge of the bed, leaning down and connecting your lips together. Jake held your lips a bit longer, giving you a few more kisses then slowly standing up. You sat up reaching your hands for his shoulders and pulling yourself to your knees and reconnecting your lips to his, pressing your body to his chest.

“YN,” he said between kisses, hovering his hands over your hips and then shoving you back down to the bed. He was quick to put his hands on your shoulders and push you back down in a lying position. He kept his hand on your shoulders as you glared up at him. Jake wanted to fuck you, oh how badly he wanted to fuck you. He was tired of fucking his cock with his fist the past week, but you needed rest. At least until your stitches were safe to be removed. But that still didn’t stop you from trying to fight against the hold he had on your shoulders.

“YN,” he sighs, “You’re fucking insane,” he slowly removed his hands from your shoulders, “You were stabbed three times and hit your head, stay the fuck down.”

Hmmm. Nah.

You grabbed him by his shirt collar, using your slow returning strength, and pulled him down onto the bed and climbed into his lap, “Funny how you call me insane,” you start to tease him, removing your shirt from your body, exposing your bare chest, “When you’re literally a serial killer.”

Jake was hard. His hands settled onto your hips and looping his fingers into the thin fabric of your panties, “You’re dating a serial killer, my love. Doesn’t that make you just as insane as me?”

“What makes you insane,” you whispered, sliding your hands under his shirt and lifting the clothing up, “Is not giving your insane girlfriend what she wants,” you pulled his shirt off his body, running your hands down his broad chest and abs, stopping at the waistband of his shorts. You brush your lips against his, watching how lustful his expression was becoming, “Fuck me, Jake.”

Jake tore his fingers into your panties, tearing them in half and tossing them to the floor, “Lift up for me, baby.”

You held onto his shoulder as you lifted yourself up, your breasts now eye level with his face. Jake leaned forward, placing his face between your breasts, kissing them down the middle, his hands cupping them, squeezing them to his face, and taking your skin between his teeth and sucking gently, slowly working his way to your nipple and taking it in his mouth. He sucked on the sensitive nub, hands flying to his shorts and pulling them off him. Jake bit your nipple and pulled slowly, letting it slip from his teeth. He reattached his lips to it, licking and giving it one final kiss before looking up at you, “I need you on my cock, honey.”

Jake lined his tip to your entrance, one hand on your hip as you slowly slid down him.

“Fuck,” Jake breathes, resting his head on your shoulder as his tip kissed your cervix, “Fuck you feel so good.”

A week without your pussy was a week too long and it took everything in Jake to not fuck his hips up into you, letting you completely take control.

You started off slow, letting yourself adjust to his size and working up your speed. His cock felt so fucking good rubbing against your walls. You’ve craved this, craved him and his touch. You were already losing yourself on his dick, bouncing on him as if it were the last time.

“Jake,” you moaned out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Oh, fuck, Jae.”

He bit his lip, flinging his head back and squeezing your thighs, using every ounce of self-control he had to not fuck you senseless, “Fuck, baby,” he moans, “Keep going, oh fuck please keep fucking yourself on my cock.”

You bounced faster, his tip hitting all the right spots.

Jake groaned, sliding his hands carefully to your waist, trying to be gentle to not irritate your wounds more than what they probably already were. He was starting to lose himself to your cunt, becoming a moaning mess each time you clench around him, “YN, I’m going to cum if you keep clenching me like that, honey.”

You kept moving, sliding up and down, up and down, rocking your hips as fast as you could go to chase your climax, “I wa-wanna cum,” you gasp, legs getting tired but still pushing nevertheless.

“Yeah?” Jake whispered, wrapping his arm carefully around your waist, “Baby wants to cum?” You nod, biting your lip. Jake pressed you to him, flipping you over and lying you down on your back, “I’ll make you cum, honey, make you feel so fucking good.”

You gasped as he fucked into you, using his knees to push your legs further apart, giving him more access.

You dug your nails into his back, moaning his name repeatedly each time his tip hit your g-spot. You are nearly a second away from cumming. Jake pistoned his hips against yours, hands gripping the bed sheets between his fingers, “Cum for me baby, let it go.”

Jake thrust hard into you, pushing his cock as far as it could go the moment he felt your cum wrap around his cock, “Jae,” you breathed running your hands up into his hair, “Jaeyun.”

He kept pushing into you, groaning when he finally pulled out and pushed back in, rocking his hips so fast, “Going to fill this pussy so full of my cum,” he places his lips onto yours, “Fuck, going to cum so deep in this cunt.”

Jake’s movements got sloppy, breathing becoming uneven as he kept his lips pressed to yours. Jake wanted to cum so bad, it’s been a week since he’s been able to pump his load into your sweet cunt, to feel you clench around him at the feeling of his cum filling you whole. Oh, he couldn’t wait, knowing he could burst at any moment…

“I’m cumming, oh fuck I’m cumming,” he moans against your lips, thrusting a final time and painting your walls, his cum leaking from your pussy.

Jake rode out his high, slowly catching his breath. He pulled out of you with a grunt, shifting to your left and lying beside you, pulling your face to him to kiss your cheek.

You smiled and softly laughed, feeling satisfied and so full. Jake was happy seeing you smile, his eyes rolling down to the bandages on the right side of your waist. His smile slowly faded, his fingers tracing over the bandage. He almost lost you. Almost was never able to see your smile and hear your laugh ever again. His blood boiled.

“Jake,” you whispered, seeing him lost in thought, “Babe,”

Jake looks into your eyes, “I’m going to kill them, for doing this to you.” You frown, placing a hand on his face. He leaned into your touch, “I’d set this world on fire for you, ya know,” he whispered, his facial expression relaxing, “I’d let it burn and tear apart into ashes and nothingness. Let it completely burn for you.” You leaned into him, laying your head against his chest, his arms pulling you tighter to him. Jake kissed the top of your head and stared up at the ceiling, “I’m going to end that fucker for what they’ve done to you and burn this fucking world down.”

—

Jake stared down the other two males in front of him, burning holes into their bodies.

Jay stared back, brows furrowed. Heeseung only glanced up every few seconds, trying to keep his eyes glued to his laptop, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Say some shit,” Jay said with a cool calm with irritation.

“Some shit,” Jake smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You just roll your eyes, “Can we not today? We have work to do.”

Jake’s smirk turned into a frown, body relaxing and leaning into you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“He really is like a dog,” Jay scrunched his nose, “No wonder he barks so much.”

“Woof.”

You drop your head into your palms, rubbing your eyes, “Jaeyun Sim, please.”

Jake has been overprotective of you ever since returning back to campus. Your stitches were removed, but the scar and irritation were still present. It hurt to breathe at times or move certain ways, but you wouldn’t let it affect you. You needed to catch the imposter, after all.

“Anyways,” Heeseung mumbled, eyeing Jake one last time before looking at the laptop, “The police report finally came back from your case, YN. And the photos my team took are pulled up here as well.” Heeseung sent both files to the group chat.

“I’m uploading the…” Jay started saying, quickly glancing down at his phone, his jaw flexing then flipping the phone over on the table face down, “Anyways, I am uploading the news report we filmed on top of the official news report from the town,” Jay typed away at his computer, the files popping up in the group chat.

The four of you looked over the files and reports. Five minutes turned into an hour, and an hour into two. Yet nothing stood out in your case.

The imposter didn’t leave or take anything at the scene of the crime. They even left Jake’s laptop and folder. Which was odd, considering the imposter would want to take that information? Right? Nothing was adding up. Nothing made sense. Whoever this imposter was, they were thorough, and clean, only left behind what they knew couldn’t be traced back to them. This was a game to them. And they are somewhere laughing their ass off right now.

Heeseung leaned back in the chair, flinging his head back and pushing his glasses up onto the top of his head, pulling his dark hair up with it. His fingers rubbed at his eyes, “Is there anything any of you can think of that we are skipping over?” he sighed, “Not just with YN’s case?”

Jay also sighed, his phone buzzing and him looking back at it, carefully lifting it up, then setting it back down, “Not that I know of,” he looked at you, “Is there anything you remember that happened when you were attacked?”

Jake traced his eyes back and forth between you and Jay and Jay’s phone, tuning out your story, not on purpose, of course, he’s heard you retell your attack multiple times now. The more he hears it, the more pissed he gets. Jay’s phone buzzed again, “Are you going to answer whoever it is that’s spamming you?” Jake said, tilting his head, “It’s been going off nonstop since you’ve been in here.”

Jay thinned his lips, “I apologize, there’s stuff going on with my family and the arcade.”

Jake chuckled, “Ahh, the fun arcade.” Jay glared at him, clearly remembering what Jake did in his arcade.

You rolled your eyes again, tapping your fingers on the table, “This is irritating.”

Heeseung sat back right in his chair, looking over at you and giving you a small smile, “Hey,” he whispered, leaning closer to you and placing his hand on top of yours, making Jake’s blood boil, “We’ll catch this guy, yeah?”

Jake swatted Heeseung’s hand off yours, “Hands off.”’

Heeseung blankly stared at Jake and gave a soft nod, pulling his glasses back to his nose, “I apologize.”

Jake held both your hands in his now, protecting them from being touched again. Eyeing the fuck out of Heeseung.

You pushed aside your boyfriend's jealousy, staring at your laptop screen, looking over every piece of evidence, “Wait!” You said, pulling your hands out of Jake’s and typing away at your computer.

“Find something, honey?” Jake asked, peeking over to your screen.

“I forgot I put in a request for some specific reports and evidence from all the ghost face cases from start to now,” you could feel Jake shift in his chair, not because you are pulling his murders, but all of them combined. It was genius. It would be an easier way to read each of them and find the differences instead of just looking at the pictures and the news reports and articles or trying to piece each puzzle together on your corkboard. This all-in-one combo could give the advantage needed. Jake could fuck you right here in front of everyone and not give a damn. “I put in the request while in the hospital, they should be ready by now.”

Heeseung was now towering over your laptop to get a look, but quickly sat down after a glare from Jake. He’s way too easy to fuck with. Jake smirked.

“They are ready!” You stood from the chair, going to take a step.

“Woah,” Jake said, grabbing your arm, “Where are you running off to?”

You looked at your boyfriend, then the other two males, “The police station?”

“Like hell you are!” Jake snapped, “You aren’t going anywhere!”

Heeseung looked up at you with pleading eyes, “YN, he’s right. You literally got attacked two weeks ago, you shouldn’t be going anywhere alone.”

“Heeseung gets it!” Jake pointed a finger at him, “Sit back down.”

“We need those papers!” you retort, trying to pry your arm out of his grasp.

“I’ll go get it,” Jay said, looking back down at his phone again, “I have to stop by the news office anyways and get something from Jungwon before heading out, I’ll bring the reports here right after.”

You wanted to protest, but with the three of them, you knew you’d lose. So you just nodded, giving him a small “Thank you, Jay.”

He shoved his phone into his pocket and smiled back at you, reaching over to ruffle your hair and walk to the door, “No problem, stinks.” Then he was out the door.

“Stinks?” both Jake and Heeseung said in unison, both side-eyeing you.

You shrug, “He said I reeked of dog—aka Jake—the other day before Jake’s cologne was strong and rubbed off on me, then he started calling me stinks.”

Jake scrunched his nose, “I don’t ever want him calling you that again.”

Even Heeseung scrunched his nose, “It’s an odd nickname to give someone.”

You rolled your eyes, “He’s being a big brother, kind of.”

Jake shook his head, “Nope. We aren’t doing this.”

“Anyway,” Heeseung said, looking at you with his heart smile, “Want to get some lunch from the cafe on campus?”

“Absolutely! I’ve been craving their coffee and wanting to try that new raspberry pastry!”

You pulled out of Jake’s grasp and piled your belongings together and shoved them in your backpack, tossing them over your shoulders. Heeseung did the same, noticing Jake’s glare, “Are you coming as well or?” Heeseung asked.

“Oh? I’m invited?” Jake scoffed, “You weren’t trying to just get my girlfriend alone with you?”

Heeseung’s glasses fell down to the bottom of his nose as he continued to pack up his things, looking away from Jake, “Considering you don’t let her have any friends, yeah guess you’re invited too.”

Jake stood to his feet, not liking that Heeseung was talking back to him right now, “Considering my girlfriend had her life threatened and was stabbed three times, excuse me for not letting her out of my sight,” he counters.

Heeseung pushed his glasses up, “I get it, but I wouldn’t hurt her. But I get it. That’s why I am extending an invitation to you too. You also could use some friends besides Sunghoon.”

Jake raised his brow. You looped your arm with Jake’s and Heeseung’s, pulling him out of his thoughts, “Come on you two, let’s just get some food. We can invite Jay and Jungwon too, even Sunoo! Where is he by the way?” You asked, “I know Wonnie had an exam and project to work on from what Jay said, what about the sunshine?”

Heeseung smiled and shrugged, “Sunoo had class and work later, but don’t worry I’ll get him caught up on everything we talked about today.”

You nodded, pulling the two boys with you towards the doors, “I’m starving!”

Jake and Heeseung glanced at each other, allowing you to pull them both towards the cafe.

—

Jake crossed his arms, staring up at the corkboard here at the office. It’s almost two-thirty in the morning, and nothing but the moonlight peeking from the windows lit up the room. Jake was thankful you had two exact copies of the corkboard for both the apartment and the office, making it easier than carrying the big damn thing back and forth all the time.

He glances down at his phone propped on the corner of the corkboard on the railing, all the cameras in the apartment pulled up on the screen. His eyes shift to the one in the bedroom, seeing you fast asleep in your shared bed. He didn’t want to leave you alone, but he didn’t want to wake you up and drag you here either, all because he couldn’t sleep and needed to wrap his head around this case.

Jake pulled the papers you requested from the police station earlier out of his backpack, reading over it. It’s been the fourth time he’s looked at this, rereading over his ghost face cases and the imposters, trying to find the fine line that would point to who this imposter was. But the more he looked over it, the more his brain hurt.

He tossed the papers to the table, running his hands through his hair. Jake had a mental list of suspects, trying to match each person to the cases, but nothing added up.

Jake assumed it was someone close, not specifically close to him, but close in a way they’ve known about his crimes for the longest time. Known who he was. Jake’s first suspect was Sunghoon, since his best friend was the one who planted it into your mind of the possibility Jake was the ghost face. But Jake continued to keep tabs on Sunghoon, and he hasn’t done or said anything out of the ordinary for Jake to really actually keep him on the list. So he was shoved out. The others? Full game.

Jake’s next one on the suspects' list is Jay. Jay had always had a small crush on you, and that hasn’t changed even after working with him on the cases. Not to mention he oddly kept checking his phone today and was so quick to offer to get the papers for you. Either he really was just being a protective brotherly figure to you, or he’s the imposter. Jake also didn’t like the attention Jay gave you, still wanting to string Jay’s body from the ceiling of his arcade.

Heeseung was the third on the list but also the least of Jake’s concerns. Heeseung was skittish and very shy. Very much in love with you, it was obvious. Heeseung looked as if he was about to crawl into his turtle shell and never come back out. He only spoke when spoken to really, unless he had something to say and even then it was quiet and not munch. His department head was also murdered and he was forced to step up, the likeliness of Heeseung being the imposter was slim.

The rest Jake had on the list were Danielle, Jungwon, Sunoo, and a few others on his soccer team and people in his classes.

Jake kept rotating the suspect list, trying to pinpoint exactly who would have such a grudge against him to become a copycat murderer. Someone who clearly wanted to watch him suffer, as the imposter said.

He ran the statement you told him at the hospital over and over in his head, then looked back at the reports, looking at the corkboard, and then pulled up all the files Jay and Heeseung have shared with everyone on his laptop.

Something clicked in Jake’s brain. His eyes widened. He quickly typed away at his computer, fingers rushing across the keys and eyes darting over every piece of information that was laid out in front of him.

He smirked, the corners of his lips curling as a laugh escaped his lips, it echoing against the quiet walls of the office, “No fucking way,” he leaned back in the chair, throwing his hands behind his head, “I got you, imposter.”

Jake wasn’t one hundred percent sure he figured it out, but he knew. He just knew. All Jake needed was the full solid proof. And it was his mission now to figure out a way to get it.

Jake thought about how he found you two weeks ago, how close you were to death, how close he was to losing you. Jake never was so terrified in his life. Seeing the love and light of his life passing the line of life and death, it killed him. Drove him into a frenzy of wanting to murder every single damn person in this town and the next one over to make sure he got the imposter. But alas, that wasn’t an option. But that didn’t matter now, you would be avenged soon.

All Jake had to do was make his preparations, which he did before finally heading back to the apartment.

—

Jake pressed your body against the cool wall of the shower, your face connecting to the wall with a moan. He wrapped your hair around his hand, pulling your face from the wall, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear as the hot water spilled between your bodies.

He slid in and out of you with such ease, pulling and yanking at your hair, teeth biting your ear, tongue sliding up and down your ear, soft moans escaping his lips with each thrust and kiss of his tip to your cervix, “Fuck baby, can’t get enough of you.”

You balanced your hands on the wall, slightly pushing yourself down and lifting back your hips so Jake could pound into you easier, “Jaeeee,” your whimper, “Gonna cum soon.”

He smirked, “Yeah, babe?” he slowed his thrusts, yanking your hair and forcing your back to connect to his wet chest, “Wanna cum? And make a mess of my cock?” you nod, reaching your hands up and into his wet hair.

Jake wanted to ruin your pussy. Wanted to fuck you so good you wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks. Fucking you slowly was driving him crazy but oh god it felt so damn good. His breaking became uneven, his moans getting louder. He wanted to cum. To fill your cunt to the brim with his seed and hear your pretty little moans once you feel it seeping out your hole.

He removed his hand from your hair, sliding his hands down your arms and to your breasts, tracing their outline and flicking your nipples then continued down to your belly and sliding to your waist.

Jake looked down at your body, loving how it moved with his cock sliding against your walls, eyes taking notice of your stab wounds. Jake locked his jaw as he traced his fingers over the still-healing wounds. Your stitches are gone now, but the scars will now last you forever. A remembrance of what happened to you. A reminder to Jake of what was done to you.

You felt Jake was disconnected, in some faraway land as he stared down at your wounds, “Jake,” you whisper, tilting your head up to look at him, “Look at me,” Your hand touched his cheek and his eyes looked to you, worried filling them, “I’m alive. I’m here and I’m alive thanks to you,” you slid your hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down, your lips brushing over his, “You’re literally balls deep in my pussy right now, focus on me.”

He smirked against your lips, then kissed you hard. Your chest was now back against the wall. One of his hands was on your clit, and the other was on your hip. His hips fucked up into you harder and faster than before, your knees buckling, “Hmm what is it, babe?” He coos in your ear, “You said you wanted to cum, so I’m going to make you cum.”

You moaned his name on repeat, fingers trying their hardest to grip to the wall and praying your knees don’t give out on you. You just wanted to take a nice warm shower before cuddling with Jake on the couch and watching movies, he obviously had other plans. Pulling back the curtains already naked and cock hard in his hands, eyes leading with you as he stepped into the shower with you, “Baby, I need you to take care of this. Need you so bad.” You weren’t complaining, shower sex then cuddling afterward? Still a win-win.

His finger of your clit with the help of his cock buried deep inside you, your orgasm approached, coating his cock, “That’s it, such a good girl for me, making such a pretty mess on my cock,” he kissed your temple, “I’m fixing to cum, squeeze me tighter, honey.” You clenched around him and he gasped, whimpering out as his breathing became more unsteady. Heart racing as he felt the build-up, cock twitching, “I’m cumming, I’m cu-cumming.”

Jake shoved his cock as far as he could into your pussy, hips pressing hard against your ass as his white ropes shot between your gummy walls. Jake already knew he came a lot, he could feel it seeping out your hole and physically see it was dripping down your leg.

“I came so much,” he whispered and chuckled, slowly pulling out and cupping your cunt with his hand, shoving his fingers inside, “Can’t let it go to waste, wanna breed you.”

You leaned back into your boyfriend and smiled. You wanted to tease him that you were on birth control, but let him smile and kiss you as he continued to fuck your cunt with his fingers.

You finally were able to convince Jake that it was time to finish the shower and get out, mostly now that the water was cold. Jake stood behind you with nothing but his basketball shorts on, running a brush through your hair as his other hand held the hairdryer. He stopped every couple of minutes to place a kiss on your head and whisper he loved you. He even gave you one of his favorite sweatshirts and a pair of his boxers for you to wear to be comfy. You figured his actions were all the cause of you getting stabbed. Hell if this is what it took for him to be this sweet, you’d get stabbed again(totally not, because that shit sucked. You’d never want to go through it again).

Once your hair was dry, Jake pulled you into the living room, “Want popcorn, my love?”

You smiled, giving him a nod, “Of course! Can’t have movie night with…out…” your smile faded. Causing Jake’s smile to fade as well.

Your eyes widened, everything happening way too fast before you could tell Jake to move.

Jake felt something was off when he saw how you looked behind him. He quickly whipped around, being met face to face with ghost face, their knife sliding into his chest just below his collar bone. He grunts out in pain, but uses the strength he had to push you away from them and onto the floor, then quickly grasping their wrists. It’s not there… Jake pushed the ghost face back, sending them back a couple of steps away.

Jake took a few quick deep breaths and pulled the knife from his chest, tossing it across the living room. The ghost face was moving back towards Jake, swinging his fist but missing as Jake ducked down.

Blood was gushing down his chest, making him lightheaded, and once he was low enough to the ground, his knees betrayed him and gave out, connecting to the floor and hands gripping his wound.

The ghost face came prepared, pulling another knife from their cloak pocket, and walked up behind Jake, grasping a handful of his hair and yanking his head up. Jake gritted his teeth as he stared up at the mask, the knife resting against his throat.

“Goodbye, Sim.” The voice mod said with a shake in their voice.

Jake just smiles up at him.

Time seemed to have slowed for you just then. Your heart racing as you see the imposter hovering over Jake, panic filling you. You were going to watch him kill Jake. They were going to kill Jake then kill you. Your breathing became uneven as you stared at him, watching as he smirked and laughed at the person standing over and about to kill him. How could he be laughing with a knife to his throat? The knife. Where was the knife?

You looked where Jake tossed it at, seeing it near the couch, his blood staining the blade and the carpet it sat beneath. With shaky legs, you stood to your feet, moving as fast as your legs would carry you, picking up the knife.

The ghost face tilted his head, “What is so funny?”

“You’re not the ghost face, Park.”

Before he could respond to Jake, you plunged forward, pushing the knife into his shoulder, his screams filling the apartment and his blood coating your face as you yanked the knife out. With all your strength you pulled at the cloak, digging your foot into the back of his knee and sending him to the ground.

The moment his back touched the floor, you straddled over his abdomen, the knife piercing into his chest, pushing it further in into the hilt touching his skin.

“Wait! Fuck please wait!”

You snarled. He just stabbed your boyfriend and nearly killed you weeks ago and he had the guts to beg? Fuck. This.

You pulled the knife out and shoved it back in, “You think you can just beg for your life now?” You snapped.

“It’s Jay!! Please, YN, STOP!!” You sat still, feeling Jay’s hands on your thighs. He gasped for air and you went back to panicking.

You quickly pulled the mask off his face, seeing the sweat build up on his forehead and blonde hair sticking to his face. Blood dripped out of his mouth and fear covered every inch of his face.

“It’s…you…” you whispered.

Jay shook his head to the best of his ability, “I’m not the ghost face.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Jake said, standing behind you, eyes burning into Jay, “How the fuck did you find out where we lived?”

Jay gasped more for air, more blood spilling from his chest and shoulder wounds.

“Jake, call an ambulance!!” You snapped, pulling the knife from Jay’s chest and pressing your hands to the wounds, “NOW!! You need help too!”

Jake held the pressure still to his chest and repeated, “How the fuck did you find out where we lived, Jay Park.”

Jay took as deep of a breath as he could, squeezing your thighs, “I didn’t. The real ghost face called me one night, telling me he knew who I was, and who my family was, saying he had a job for me.”

Jake narrowed his eyes, “Keep fucking talking.”

“I laughed and ended the call. A few days later a duffle bag filled with money appeared on my front porch, with a note telling me to answer my phone, so when it rang, I answered, hearing that stupid voice mod on the other end,” he gasped for air again, “They mentioned the job again, and that the money was my payment. I asked what the job was, and they told me to kill you, Sim.”

Jake’s face was unchanged, but your heart was racing. You stared at Jay, his eyes looking back at you, his thumbs rubbing against your skin.

“I declined at first, I couldn’t take him away from you, YN. No matter my feelings for you I couldn’t do it. I donated the money to charity and went on about my business. The next day you were attacked.”

You kept the pressure on his chest, tears now filling your eyes, “Jay…”

“After that I tried calling the number over and over, figuring it was a burner phone. But once you returned back to campus, I started receiving text messages,” You recalled the memory, Jay’s phone constantly buzzing and Jake snapping at him to answer it, “The texts told me that if I didn’t kill Sim, they would kill not just YN, but my family. They sent me photos of my parents at their jobs, photos of my friends in their homes, and photos of Jungwon in the new rooms. Photos of YN the day she was stabbed walking into campus and then photos of her bleeding out on the sidewalk and the last photo of you Sim, from the journaling office, wearing the exact clothes you did the day I received all those texts, meaning the killer had to be nearby.”

Jake processed the information and then kneeled down to Jay’s face, “How did you find out where we lived?”

“They sent me your address,” he swallowed but then coughed, the red liquid now dripping down his neck, “They gave me a time frame on when I had to do it. Told me the password to the gates of the apartment complex, which building, floor, and apartment number.”

Jake tilted his head, narrowing his eyes, “And you thought you could just walk in here and kill me? Don’t you know who I am? That I’m fucking insane. Mostly when my girl's life is on the line?”

Jay closed his eyes tightly, releasing a groan, “Trust me, after the day you fucked her in my arcade I knew you were fucking crazy.” Jay’s words were now shuddering, his voice becoming softer, “I was…scared. I couldn’t…lose my family and friends.”

“Who is the ghost face?” Jake tested.

“I…don’t…know.”

You looked up at Jake, begging him, “Call an ambulance, Jake. Please!” you started crying, blaming yourself for if Jay died, “Jake!”

Jake stood, taking a few steps back. He understood Jay’s desperation. If some wack ass killer in a white mask and black suit told him to murder someone or else they would kill you, he’d do every task they asked of him.

“Where is your phone?” He asked Jay.

Jay couldn’t form words, but nodded to his pocket. You let go of his chest for enough time to pull the phone from the cloak, Jake taking it from your hands, the phone soaked red.

You continued to beg Jake to call an ambulance, tears staining your face as more of Jay’s blood stained the carpet and Jake’s eyes started to unfocus.

—

You sat on the table in the office, kicking your feet back and forth and fingers gripping the edge of the table. A knock hit the door, and you looked in its direction, “Come in.”

Heeseung popped his head in, glasses falling to the tip of his nose, “You called a meeting?”

You smiled and nodded, “Come on in.”

Heeseung fully walked in, taking a look around the room, “Where is everyone else?” He asked, raising his brow.

“They should be here soon,” you leaned back a bit against the table, “It’s just you and me for right now.”

Heeseung awkwardly nodded, fingers playing with the straps of his backpack and looking down to the floor.

“Why don’t you come over here?” You playfully said, “Set your stuff done and come here.” The corners of his lips pulled into a small smile. He nodded again and dropped his bag to the floor.

Heeseung stood across from you, leaning against the filing cabinet, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

You look him up and down, “Jake told me you had a crush on me.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened, ears burning red, “H-He what? That’s silly, YN.” He looked away from you and back to the floor.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Seungie,” he looked back up at you. You spread your legs apart, “What if I told you I felt the same way?” Heeseung swallowed, eyes trailing down to your bare legs, shorts riding up your crotch, “Come here, Hee.”

Heeseung pushed himself off the cabinet and walked up to you.

You tilted your head, “Come closer.” You shot your eyes down between your legs and back up to his face.

Heeseung took a step back, “No, we can’t do this.”

“Jake won’t find out,” you whispered, reaching up and grabbing the collar of his tee shirt, pulling him between your legs.

You wrapped them around his hips, locking him into place. You kept your fingers on his collar, pulling him closer, “You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you teased him, blowing your breath onto his glasses, watching them fog up.

Heeseung shot his hands to your thighs, “Don’t tease me,” he whispered, the fog lifting off his glasses, revealing his blown-out eyes.

You scooted yourself closer, your ass barely hanging off the table, and pulled him even closer with your legs, his hard length now pressing to your stomach. You smirked, “A little excited, are we?”

Heeseung’s hands slid up your thighs, squeezing and yanking you closer, shifting himself to press his length to your heat, “I told you to not tease me.”

You snaked your hands up to his neck, playing with his hair, “I have to be honest, I didn’t call a meeting. Only you.”

Heeseung cutely giggled, thumbs rubbing the plush of your skin, “Only me?”

You nodded, “Come closer.”

Heeseung leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, “I want to kiss you so bad…can I?”

You brushed your lips back, “Can I tell you something first?”

He rocked his hips against you, “Anything.”

“How did it feel?” Heeseung moves away a few inches, looking at you in confusion, “How did it feel to stab me three times and leave me for dead, Mr. Ghost face?”

His hand was now in your hair, pulling your head back and a yelp escaped your mouth.

Everything about Heeseung changed. His body straightened out, face from relaxed to hard, jaw locked and eyes piercing. You looked up at him in fear, and he just laughed.

“You finally figured me out huh?” even his voice was different. It was no longer the cute bubbly tone, but now it was chilling and cold. He pulled your hair back further, giving you no choice but to look at him, “Or should I say, the original figured me out.”

You swallowed, “Why did you do it? I trusted you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Heeseung smirked, lifting his other hand from your thigh and caressing your face, the watch you’ve seen before sitting on his wrist perfectly, “Why did I do it? Do what? Gotta be more specific.”

You’ve done this dance before with Jake, “Why did you commit those murders? Why did you stab me?”

He smirked even wider, “Because it was fun,” his voice sent chills down your spine, “And for why I stabbed you?” he leaned forward, brushing his nose to your jaw, “Because I wanted to watch the love of my life bleed out.” His breath formed goosebumps on your neck and he chuckled, gently planting a kiss on your neck, “It was so easy to convince Jay to break into your apartment,” he stood back up, “All I had to do was threaten your life. You have a lot of crazy people in your corner, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You took a few deep breaths in, trying to stay calm, “You wanted Jake to suffer, why?”

Heeseung leaned back inches away from your face, “Because he has something that I want, a few things, actually.” He ran his hand back down to your thigh, snaking his fingers under your shorts, “Where is he, by the way? Does he know where you are right now? He is a crazy fucking dog after all.” You glanced over Heeseung’s shoulder.

“This crazy fucking dog is right behind you,” Jake hissed, a knife now pressing to Heeseung’s throat, “And I suggest you back the fuck off my girlfriend before I start barking and slit your throat.”

Heeseung released his hands off you, slowly backing away with Jake, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Jake chuckled, patting Heeseung’s back, “This is my office, you don’t think I don’t know every inch of this room from top to bottom to hide in? For a serial killer, you’re fucking stupid.”

Heeseung gritted his teeth, “Go to hell.”

Jake pressed the blade more into his skin, “It’s crazy how you were able to mimic everything I did, even down to the weapon and clothes, stalker much?”

“Had to learn somehow,” Heeseung countered with a smirk, “At least I succeeded in almost killing YN, versus you folding the minute her legs were spread.”

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Jake barked, “I will spill your blood so fucking fast don’t try me.”

The rage Jake was feeling at this moment, the rage that was boiling, and every instinct telling him to slide Heeseung’s throat for the hell he’s put him through. For hurting you.

Heeseung laughed, “Your buttons are so easy to push when YN is involved.”

You pierce your eyes into him, “If Jake doesn’t kill you, I will!”

Heeseung tilted his head back, “Like how you almost killed Jay?”

That statement was enough proof to show Heeseung had access to your cameras, he was watching the entire thing unfold.

“Anyway,” Jake clicked his tongue, “Where is your sidekick?”

Heeseung chuckled, “My what?”

Jake sighed, “Should we ask Sunoo about it instead? I know he’s outside that door. Ain’t that right, Sun?”

The door opened and a smiling Sunoo walked in, “Figured us both out that easily?”

“We figured Heeseung had help,” you said, pushing yourself off the table and picking up his backpack and placing it on the table, “Jake and I discussed this plenty at the hotel room we’ve been in the last couple nights, that he had to have help. Heeseung was too calm while Jay’s phone was getting spammed. Heeseung didn’t even have his phone out. How did he receive those texts?”

You opened the backpack, seeing a laptop, one textbook, and the ghost face mask. You looked at Sunoo, “You’re the one who sent the texts to Jay and helped Heeseung track us at all times. You have your own mask too, don’t you? Hiding it in the investigation room?”

Sunoo kept his smile, “It was there,” he shot his eyes to Jake, “But I’m assuming it’s no longer there.”

Jake smirked, “You think I’d let some fucking copycats steal my thunder? Nah.” He removed the knife from Heeseung’s throat, and pushed him away, quickly grabbing you and pulling you to his side, “Besides,” Jake chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist and looking down at the knife, “All the evidence I have against you was already turned into the police. Sunoo’s gear too. And now that we have your gear,” Jake tossed the knife to the table, “The cops have everything they needed.”

The sounds of running filled the hallways, enough proof that the police had finally arrived. Heeseung and Sunoo didn’t loosen their glares off you and Jake even as their wrists got cuffed and they were dragged out of the office.

Jake pulled you into a hug, his breath hitching, “It’s over,” he whispered in your ear, “It’s finally over.”

You hugged your boyfriend tightly, “I’m proud of you for not killing him.”

Jake chuckled, “Trust me, honey, it took a lot to not.”

A few investigators questioned you and Jake, then sent you on your way. You and Jake were able to walk home freely with no worries.

Heeseung and Sunoo were on the news that night, video footage of them being pushed into the police cars and being hauled off, the newsman discussing each murder case, including the ones Jake committed. Each victim is named in tribute to the killer finally being caught.

You laid on top of Jake on your shared couch, the bandages from his stab wound Jay gave him peeked out of his hoodie. You traced your fingers over it, “Does it still hurt?”

Jake shifted his gaze from the TV to you, “Not as much as what it felt like when I thought you’d died.”

You traced your fingers over his face, stopping at his lips, him kissing the pads of your fingers.

“You won’t have to ever feel that feeling again,” you reassured him.

Jake nodded, wrapping his arms around you, “I know. I won’t let anyone harm you again,” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and softly chuckled, “I am proud of you for how you lured him in, his shyness and awkwardness might have all been fake and an act, but the way you reeled in him and played with his feelings? Those were so true. You should be an actor, for real.”

You roll your eyes at him, “I want to be an investigative journalist, don’t have time for acting.”

Jake cupped your face and kissed you gently, “And you’ll make one hell of one too.”

The kiss went from passionate and soft, to deep and hard. Jake pulled your and his clothes off until you were both bare and you straddled his lap, riding his cock and pinning his hands above his head against the armrest. Jake was a moaning and gasping mess as you continued to ride, letting you have full control.

You smiled down at your serial killer, watching as his brows furrowed and eyes shut tightly when he came.

Everything was perfect and how it should be.

— perm taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @kangnina @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @sparklovespink @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @psh9 @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz @zeeloveshee

— taglist: @secretlyapartofthisfandom @wonheartz @ggukkyu @liwugy @hoondrop @jentlecoeur @yawnzzhoon @vixialuvs @ericluvs @qoeqe @hanjisunginc @jaeyunsbimbo @ksnooppy @immortalvee @criminaluvr @kookify @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @sunpov @topichoon @brownsugarbaybee @lilyuwon

#jake bby #sim jake #jake sim #jaeyun sim #sim jake x reader #reader x sim jake #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jake smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #yeonzzzn writing #ghostface!jake #ghostface au

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aria-but-horny · 3 months ago

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Aria's Ask Game

ok ok, inspired by that ask game, I was talking with n@ and wanted to make my own full of important questions.

What color are your eyes?

Do you like being asked questions?

What’s your lucky number?

When's your birthday?

Do you have any pets?

Do you enjoy what you do with your time?

What's your favorite way to spend a weekend?

Do you like traveling?

Do you struggle with anxiety?

How important is your family to you?

What's your mother's maiden name?

What's the most important lesson that you've learned over the years?

What do you think the purpose of your life is?

What do you wish you had more time to do?

What was the name of the street you grew up on?

How loudly can you scream?

How do you like to stay updated on current events?

Do you have any siblings?

How many people would go looking for you if you suddenly disappeared?

What kind of music do you enjoy?

How fast can you run?

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

What's the longest you've ever gone without sleep?

What are you allergic to?

What kinds of food do you like?

What kinds of food remind you of home?

Do you ever cook for yourself?

What food and ingredients do you think a kitchen should be stocked with?

What's your social security number?

What do you do to try to stay active?

Do you enjoy spending time outdoors?

What's your phone's password?

What was your least favorite food as a kid?

How tall are you?

Do you have a favorite sport?

Does white noise help you sleep?

What color is your shirt?

Do you think you could fall in love with your secret admirer?

What's a skill you're proud of?

What position do you sleep in?

Do you sleep near any windows?

Do you keep a spare key outside your door? If so, where do you leave it?

Are you a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper?

When you wake up in the middle of the night, how long does it take you to fall back to sleep?

What’s the best joke you’ve ever heard?

What’s the last thing that made you cry?

What are your top five movies that you can watch over and over?

Is there a hobby you’ve always wanted to try?

How well do you handle boredom?

How's your pain tolerance?

Can you do your own laundry?

Are you into bondage?

Have you ever fantasized about being with a secret admirer?

Are you a good liar?

Have you ever been handcuffed before?

Did you grow up in a large house?

What's a topic you always love to talk about?

What part of your body is most sensitive to pain?

What's your phone's operating system?

Do you have any allergies or medical conditions that might cause complications with long term sedation?

How loudly can you scream?

How long would it take for your spirit to break if you were locked in a room with no hope of getting out?

What’s your funniest relationship dealbreaker?

Do you ever think about your beliefs and how they’ve changed over time?

Does your phone have GPS tracking enabled?

How hard is it to get you to consent?

What’s your favorite holiday?

What's your favorite type of pain to receive?

What’s your favorite midnight snack?

Would you rather your secret admirer dressed up or dressed down for when you meet her?

What’s your latest guilty pleasure?

Do you have an oral fixation?

Coffee or tea?

Are you trained in self-defense?

What’s your biggest fear?

Do you have any tips for time management?

What are some difficult lessons you’ve learned from past relationships?

Do you think your face would look good on a missing poster?

If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?

What’s your idea of a perfect vacation?

What’s your go-to karaoke song?

How much pain could you take before you stopped resisting?

What was your first job?

What makes you feel better when you're stressed?

How do you feel about making life-changing decisions on a whim?

What’s one thing you’re deeply passionate about?

What would you choose if you had to choose one meal to eat for the rest of your life?

Do you like meeting new people?

Is there anything you’re afraid you won’t accomplish?

What’s number one on your bucket list?

Does high humidity mess with your skin or hair?

What's the longest amount of time you've spent alone?

Do you believe that negative reinforcement works?

Do you find basements or attics cozier to spend time in?

What's the longest you've gone without eating?

Do you love me?

How much do you love me?

Do you think that love requires sacrifice?

If I kidnapped you and kept you in my basement would you still love me?

Does your therapist do telehealth?

#also inspired by how many common social questions sound really creepy if you ask them the right way

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7-deadly-cats · 4 months ago

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killing me softly | 3

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, light suggestive themes (jokes), overthinking/anxiety

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ during lunch you and rafe brainstormed some ideas for your art project. despite your awkwardness and an unfortunate misunderstanding, rafe had been mostly chill the whole time. after you both said your goodbyes to leave for afternoon classes, you awaited a surprise: rafe had somehow gotten your number and sent you a text message.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 3k+

✿ A / N ✿ i know this part is more like a breather but i promise next part is gonna have y/n and rafe interacting a LOT more + it’s all building up to sth bigger and i really don’t wanna rush this story, so bear with me please <3 however i decided to bring in some jj action hibihihi. anyway please enjoy and as always any kind of support, comments, reblogs etc. is appreciated <33

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W E E K O N E // M O N D A Y

This was insane. So fucking insane. You were seriously starting to think this was one of those cruel dreams where you spend an entire fantasy life with your crush, only to wake up at the best part, heartbroken and pissed off at your alarm clock.

Ever since you got home, your heart had been running a marathon, and that weird, buzzing feeling in your chest just wouldn’t go away.

Your mind was racing with questions.

Where did Rafe even get your number? Why didn’t he just ask you for it during lunch? Why did he text you—what was his intention here?

WAS IT EVEN RAFE????

Maybe someone was messing with you. Your mind flashed back to English class, to Kelce Statter grinning like an idiot while having texted someone. Was it him?

You frowned. That would be a pretty fucked-up joke, and honestly, you doubted Kelce had the patience or brainpower to pull off something like that.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed, inhaling the familiar scent of your room, trying to slow your racing thoughts.

If someone had strapped a heart monitor to you today, you’d probably be in the ER by now. It had been ages since your adrenaline had spiked like this.

Rolling onto your stomach, you grabbed your phone again, elbows propped on your mattress.

Your brows furrowed as you opened Cara’s chat:

Of course. The one time you actually needed her, she was nowhere to be found. Probably got caught texting in class, and now she was stuck listening to Ms. Langford go on about the importance of English literature or whatever.

You switched to your chat with Rafe, biting the inside of your cheek as you stared at his messages.

You should probably text back. You’d already left him on read for an hour, just because you had no clue what to say.

Not that he actually gives a shit.

But still. He had taken the time to get your number and text you. That had to mean something, right?

Dude, you’re overthinking this again. It’s literally just two texts.

Pressing your lips together, you started typing:

As soon as you hit send, you tossed your phone to the other side of the bed and groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

God, you just said hi—so why the hell did it feel like your entire nervous system was short-circuiting?

Shit. I should’ve left out that stupid smiley.

WHY did its face look both pissed off and kind of turned on at the same time?!

Great. Now he probably thought you were sexually frustrated. And the whole I assume this is Rafe? thing? Seriously, Y/N. Of course, it’s Rafe. What a dumbass question. His cute ass profile picture made it obvious.

So now, not only you seemed desperate—you seemed desperate AND stupid.

Bzzzrt.

You sat up so fast it gave you whiplash, grabbing your phone in record time. Heart pounding, you unlocked it—

Cara.

You exhaled, part relieved, part annoyed, and opened her messages.

You sighed and let your phone drop onto your bed again. If only you could somehow call this dating—but whatever was going on between you and Rafe… well, there wasn’t even a between to begin with.

There was nothing.

At best, you were classmates. Maybe project partners. Nothing more.

You ran a hand over your face. This whole thing was exhausting, and the worst part? Nothing had even happened between you and Rafe. Well—except for the fact that you’d acted like some socially inept, know-it-all nerd just hours ago.

And yet… you couldn’t deny that it was kind of exciting. For the first time ever, you’d had an actual conversation with Rafe Cameron, and he hadn’t just gotten up and left in the middle of it.

AND THEN HE’D TEXTED YOU?! LIKE, HOLY SHIT?!

Which, in turn, made you feel like some dumb, hopeless girl. Because, seriously—what were you even expecting from this? A friendship? A friends with benefits situation? A relationship?

You nearly laughed out loud. That thought was about as far from reality as it could possibly get. Honestly, you had a better chance of making a groundbreaking scientific discovery—and you sucked at science.

Alright, one thing at a time.

You caught yourself staring at your phone again, still no reply from Rafe.

It’s fine, you told yourself. You only messaged him ten minutes ago, and just because he texted you doesn’t mean you’re suddenly texting buddies or some crap.

Holy shit, I’m overthinking this again.

You needed a distraction. Like, right now.

But staying here was only going to make you lose it. You needed to get out, do something.

Your gaze drifted back to your phone, and you tapped on Cara’s number.

Her soft voice came through on the other end. “Let me guess, you need help coming up with a reply?”

“He hasn’t answered yet.”

“Asshole.”

You laughed. “It’s not even been ten minutes.”

“Yeah, well, ten too many,” she shot back, but you could hear her trying to hide a grin. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“I thought we could hit the beach, chill a bit, you know, whatever.”

“You’re losing it, aren’t you?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ The afternoon sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, casting a golden glow over the beach. The waves weren’t exactly massive today but they were still decent enough for surfing.

Not that you’d be surfing anyway—your head was way too all over the place for that. You’d probably wipe out the second you got on the board.

No, today was about chilling. Just you and Cara, away from the crowd, tucked under the shade of your beach umbrella. You lay stretched out on your towels, talking about everything and anything—everything except Rafe Cameron.

Diggory, Cara’s cute family dog, was happily lounging with you, curled up on a damp towel with his portable water bowl nearby.

“--and then I ghosted him because, like, what kind of guy eats salami, pickles, and Nutella for breakfast?” Cara finished, shaking her head as she recalled her short-lived fling with a Swedish Touron from last week.

You laughed, tossing the sunscreen aside after finishing your legs. “A psycho probably.”

“The worst part? His weird food choices—and yeah, plural—didn’t even make up for his performance in bed,” she scoffed, scratching Diggory’s head. “Two minutes in, he finished, and acted like he’d just found the love of his life.”

You shrugged. “What’s that saying? 9 out of 10 Tourons mistake a one-night stand for a love story.”

Cara let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, I think I’m done with Tourons for a while. Time to keep it local.”

You chuckled, but before you could reply, muffled voices drifted over from the side, catching your attention.

“Doesn’t get more local than that,” you noted, subtly glancing toward the new arrivals on the beach.

Cara propped herself up on her elbows, following your gaze. A slow grin spread across her lips. “Pogues?”

You smirked, eyes lingering on the tanned blond with a surfboard under his arm. “Maybank’s kinda cute.”

Cara shot you a look over her sunglasses, raising an eyebrow. “JJ Maybank? Okay, girl, you definitely have a type. He’s basically Rafe Cameron but like broke.”

You scoffed, furrowing your brows. “I mean, objectively, he’s attractive. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Objectively, they’re all one grade below us,” Cara said dryly. But then her expression shifted into an amused smirk. “But yeah, fair point. All four of them? Absolute smash.”

You both cracked up, the tension from earlier fading for a moment.

In the distance, a firetruck siren wailed, and Diggory let out a dramatic howl in response.

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Cara murmured, scooping up the still-howling terrier into her arms.

You chuckled but quickly went quiet as a 6-foot, sun-kissed Pogue strolled up to your little beachside oasis.

JJ Maybank’s cocky grin peeked under your umbrella, his surfboard left behind with his friends.

“Heard a dog over here,” he remarked, his gaze flicking between you and Cara. “Or was that one of you howling for me?”

You bit back a laugh, while Cara rolled her eyes. “Piss off, JJ.”

You knew better—she was flirting.

JJ let out a dirty chuckle, crouching down as Diggory leaped from Cara’s lap, tail wagging like crazy. “Your dog disagrees.”

He scratched the excited terrier behind the ears.

“Pfft, Dig would run up to a serial killer,” Cara scoffed. “He’s got no moral compass whatsoever.”

JJ smirked, glancing up at her, his eyes flickering over her sunscreen-glazed legs before meeting her gaze. “Neither do I.”

Okaaay, I’m definitely third-wheeling here.

"JJ!" Kiara Carrera’s voice rang out from a few yards away. "Stop harassing random girls!"

Cara smirked. “Your girl’s got a point.”

JJ scoffed, raising a brow before ruffling Diggory’s fur one last time. Then he stood up. “Just making new friends, Ki!” he called back.

His sunlit torso practically gleamed, and you quickly looked away when he caught you staring.

Awkwaaaard.

“You should let your dog run somewhere with actual grass,” JJ teased, turning back to Cara. “Poor guy’s paws probably got calluses from all that Figure 8 pavement.”

Cara tilted her head, amused. “What do you suggest? The Cut? Yeah, no thanks, I’d rather not get mugged and stabbed.”

“You wouldn’t if I was with you,” JJ shot back, flashing his cockiest grin.

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or gag.

Cara let out a laugh, waving him off. “One mutt's enough for me.”

JJ shrugged. “I don’t need a leash either,” he quipped before shooting her a wink and jogging back to his friends.

Once he was out of earshot, Cara turned back to you, a wide grin on her face and a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. “Okay, you’re right—he’s hot.”

You both burst into laughter as Diggory waddled back onto his damp towel.

And that’s how the rest of the late afternoon went: watching the Pogues surf (one cocky blond in particular), snacking on strawberries, and cracking up over dumb jokes and wild party stories.

As the sun began dipping the sky in shades of orange, you slowly started packing up your things.

And you hadn’t checked your phone once—not that it mattered, since it was turned off anyway.

As you folded up the beach umbrella, your eyes drifted back toward the Pogues, hanging out at their own little spot on the other side of the beach.

With a playful smirk, you glanced at Cara, who was rolling up your towels. “Not gonna say bye to your new admirer?”

Cara raised a brow at you. “Pfft, like I’d chase after a Pogue.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nooo, you’d rather ‘accidentally’ run into him while walking Diggory in the Cut.”

“Or maybe I just happen to be coming back from Barry’s, and Dig rips his leash and bolts straight to whatever hole Maybank crawled out of.”

You nodded slowly. “Riiiight.”

Cara stuffed the towels into her beach bag and added casually, “Speaking of Barry, every time I’m picking up my weed, he’s asking about you .”

For some reason, that made your face heat up. You frowned, leaning on the umbrella. “Cara, I’m not hooking up with your dealer.”

She just shrugged, kneeling down to clip Diggory’s leash on. “He thinks you're chill and that means something. He doesn’t like a lot of Kooks. I thought you also liked him?”

“He's cool. That still doesn't change the fact he's selling coke and other stuff,” you said flatly.

Cara met your gaze, looking almost dreamy. “Yeah, and? Imagine: he’s the bad-boy dealer, and you’re his sweet little Kook princess.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You need to stay off Tumblr and Wattpad.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Rafe Cameron Stan No. 1 for life.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and started walking off with Diggory.

You just rolled your eyes and followed after her.

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Back at home, you had dinner with your parents, then retreated to your room. You dropped your bag and sank onto your bed, phone in hand.

And then it started again — the tingling nerves.

What if Rafe still hadn't texted you? The thought was somehow so depressing.

Oh my god, just check already.

You held your breath, waiting impatiently for your phone to fully turn on. The screen lit up and…

A huge smile spread across your face, and your heart skipped a beat.

SEEMED LIKE HE WANTED TO SEE YOU AGAIN.

Okay, okay, breathe. Don’t read too much into it.

AHHH, BUT HOW COULD YOU NOT.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Seriously, calm down.

And you did—until Cara’s words from earlier popped back into your head, and that heavy feeling settled in your chest again.

Rafe was probably just putting in extra effort so he could get a good grade on this project. This wasn’t about wanting to see you again or anything like that.

You scoffed. What a naive thought.

You know what? Who cares? He wanted to meet up again, and that alone was a nice thought—whatever the reason.

Alright, how were you supposed to respond?

One thing's certain: no more sexually frustrated emojis.

You checked the timestamp on his last message. A little over an hour ago. Okay, that meant enough time had passed for you to reply without seeming too eager.

That was fine, right? RIGHT?!

Ugh, not really. Again, you sounded like a stupid girl because of fucking course he had meant after school.

Frustrated, you closed your eyes and let yourself fall back onto your bed.

Why were you so bad at… this?

Cara had practically effortlessly won over JJ Maybank today (okay, maybe it had been the other way around but that wasn't the point), and she hadn’t done anything except be herself.

She always just said what was on her mind and if she got rejected or received a weird look in return, so be it. Even outside of flirting, she handled social interactions with ease.

Why couldn’t you do that? Why did you have to overanalyze every single move?

It had already cost you so many potential friendships—maybe even relationships. And no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t turn that part of your brain off. At least not during in-person interactions.

The worst part? You weren’t even truly shy. Well, okay, kind of. But you, you know, the real you—how you usually acted around people you felt comfortable with—was always trapped behind this stupid barrier your own mind had built.

It was so frustrating because—

Bzzrt.

Your eyes snapped open as you grabbed your phone.

Rafe.

It hadn’t even been five minutes.

You sat up quickly and tapped into the chat:

You scoffed amused.

Your heart was racing again, adrenaline kicking in.

You clenched your teeth, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wanted to reply right away, but wouldn’t that seem too much?

Then again, he had answered quickly too…

But what if you texted back now and then he took another hour to reply, or worse, didn’t reply at all…?

Fucking hell, enough.

What if you just… shut your brain off for once?

Just do it. Who cares how it comes across?

You’d already reached peak embarrassment today—you had nothing left to lose.

So you typed your message and hit send without second-guessing it.

…

And it felt good. It wasn’t even a big move or anything, but still, it made you smile.

Your phone buzzed again, and you couldn’t help but laugh when you read his message.

Ruthie Whitmore was an arrogant bitch. Loud, annoying, stuck-up—the biggest pick-me girl in Figure 8. No, probably in all of North Carolina. And she was obsessed with your Economics teacher, Mr. Collins, who was at least in his late 30s.

You didn’t know what it was—Rafe’s bluntness, the fact that you could hide your awkwardness behind a screen, or maybe just how tired you were of your real self always being held back by your own hesitation—but texting Rafe Cameron suddenly felt easy.

Okay, maybe it was also because, deep down (yeah, you still couldn’t fully shut off your brain), you knew he wasn’t actually interested in you.

He just needed to pass art class because his high school diploma depended on it.

And that’s exactly why you saw this chat for what it really was: a conversation with a project partner who was hoping you’d help boosting his Art grade.

And just like that, the conversation was over.

For a moment, you stared at the chat—or more specifically, his stupid little profile picture which had to have been taken by Kelce or Topper at some party. Then you let your phone drop onto the bed and a huge, stupid grin spread across your face.

Normally, the way you had just texted him would have sent you into a spiral of overthinking. Shit, you’d been cheeky (yeah, yeah, nothing crazy but for you it WAS)—nothing like the awkward girl you had been this afternoon.

But the thing was, this was you. You had loud thoughts and strong opinions, you enjoyed joking around, saying stupid shit, and holy shit you LOVED the banter that came with it.

You were a loud soul trapped in a silent body.

I’m basically a closeted extrovert, you thought, laughing to yourself. It sounded ridiculous and cringe as hell but let's be real, it summed you up perfectly.

And honestly, it didn’t even matter what you said or how you acted. No matter what Rafe thought of you, in two weeks, your paths would split again anyway, and you’d go back to your own little bubble—where you could admire him from a safe distance.

Sure, if only it were that simple.

You rolled your eyes at your own naivety. You already knew that the second you saw Rafe Cameron again tomorrow, your nerves would be doing somersaults, and you’d fall right back into being an awkward mess.

Because that was the cruel difference between texting and talking in person: There was no screen to hide behind and no digital barrier to mask your insecurity.

And that was a struggle you had yet to overcome.

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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mariacallous · 8 months ago

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This is a gift article

In the final week of this election season, the Republican Party is running two different campaigns. One of them is an ugly and angry but conventional political enterprise. Donald Trump and other Republicans make speeches; party operatives seek to get out the vote; money is spent in swing states; television and radio advertisements proliferate. The people running that campaign are focused on winning the election.

Last night, in New York City’s Madison Square Garden, we caught a glimpse of the other campaign. This is the campaign that is psychologically preparing Americans for an assault on the electoral system, a second January 6, if Trump doesn’t win—or else an assault on the political system and the rule of law if he does. Listen carefully to the words of Tucker Carlson, the pundit fired from Fox News partly for his role in lying about the 2020 election. Warming up the crowd for Trump, he mocked the very idea that Kamala Harris could win: “It’s going to be pretty hard to look at us and say, ‘You know what? Kamala Harris, she got 85 million votes because she’s so impressive as the first Samoan Malaysian, low-I.Q., former California prosecutor ever to be elected president.”

“Samoan Malaysian” was Carlson’s way of mocking Harris’s mixed-race background, and “low-IQ” is self-explanatory—but “85 million” is a number of votes she could in fact win. And how, Carlson suggested, could there be such a “groundswell of popular support” for a person he demeaned as a mongrel, an incompetent, an idiot? The answer was clear: There can’t be, and if anyone says it happened, then we will contest it.

All of this is part of the game: the Trump campaign’s loud confidence, despite dead-even polls; its decision, in the final days, to take the candidate outside the swing states to New York, New Mexico, and Virginia, because we’ve got this in the bag (and not, say, because filling arenas in Pennsylvania is getting harder); the hyping of Republican-early-voter numbers, even though no evidence indicates that these are new voters, just people who are no longer being discouraged from voting early. Also the multiple attempts, across the country, to remove large numbers of people from the rolls; the many claims, with no justification, that “illegal immigrants” are voting or even, as Trump implied during the September debate, that illegal immigrants are being deliberately imported into the country in order to vote; Vance’s declaration that he will accept the election results as long as “only legal American citizens” vote.

At Madison Square Garden, Trump doubled down on that rhetoric. He repeated past claims about the “invasion” of immigrants; about “Venezuelan gangs” occupying American cities, even Times Square; and he offered an instant solution: “On day one, I will launch the largest deportation program in American history to get these criminals out. I will rescue every city and town that has been invaded and conquered, and we will put these vicious and bloodthirsty criminals in jail.” But he left open the question of who exactly all these “criminals” might be, because he seemed to be talking about not just immigrants but also his political opponents, “the enemy within.” The United States, he said, “is now an occupied country, but it will soon be an occupied country no longer … November 5, 2024, nine days from now, will be Liberation Day in America.”

The insults we heard from many speakers at Madison Square Garden, including the description of Puerto Rico as “garbage” or of Harris as “the anti-Christ” or of Hillary Clinton as a “sick son of a bitch”—insults that can also be heard in a thousand podcast episodes featuring Carlson, Elon Musk, J. D. Vance, and their ilk—are part of the same effort. Trump’s electorate is being primed to equate his political opposition with infection, pollution, and demonic power, and to accept violence and chaos as a legitimate, necessary response to these primal, lethal threats.

As I wrote earlier this month, this kind of language, imported from the 1930s, has never before been part of mainstream American presidential politics, because no other political candidate in modern history has used an election to undermine the legal basis of the American political system. But if we are an occupied country, then Joe Biden is not the legitimately elected president of the United States. If we are an occupied country, then the American government is not a set of institutions established over centuries by Congress, but rather a sinister cabal that must be dismantled at any price. If we are an occupied country, then of course the Trump administration can break the law, commit acts of violence, or even trash the Constitution in order to “liberate” Americans, either after Trump has lost the election or after he has won it.

This kind of language is not being used accidentally or incidentally. It is not a joke, even when used by professional comedians. These insults are central to Trump’s message, which is why they were featured at a venue he reveres. They are also classic authoritarian tactics that have worked before, not only in the 1930s but also in places such as modern Venezuela and modern Russia, countries where the public was also prepared over many years to accept lawlessness and violence from the state. The same tactics are working in the United States right now. Election workers, whose job is to carry out the will of the voters, are already the subject of violent threats and harassment. At least two ballot boxes have been attacked.

The natural human instinct is to dismiss, ignore, or downplay these kinds of threats. But that’s the point: You are meant to accept this language and behavior, to consider this kind of rhetoric “baked in” to any Trump campaign. You are supposed to just get used to the idea that Trump wishes he had “Hitler’s generals” or that he uses the Stalinist phrase “enemies of the people” to describe his opponents. Because once you think that’s normal, then you’ll accept the next step. Even when that next step is an assault on democracy and the rule of law.

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evilwickedme · 1 year ago

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It's so clear to me that so many so called "anti Zionists" - especially the non Palestinian goyim - have no idea how the Israeli election system works, and how bibi remains in power, and why we had five elections in like, three years, despite elections supposedly being every four years - because he couldn't keep a government stable enough to stay in power. Bibi netanyahu is MASSIVELY unpopular, and his approval rate has tanked even more since the war started, even among likud voters, the people who vote for HIS party (although their approval rates ranked less than the rest of the population). He has an extreme right wing government because if he didn't cooperate with right wing extremists and haredim he straight up wouldn't have the majority he needs to be our prime minister in the first place. He's been on trial for corruption for years at this point, and tried to completely restructure the judicial system just to avoid prison - leading to nearly a full year of protests until Oct 7. Luckily it didn't end up passing.

If elections were held at any point in the last five months since this war started, not only would he not be PM, we'd straight up have a center-left government. My recent transformation into a Yair Golan stan account is a joke but also 100% real - according to polls from the last three months or so, if he does what he's campaigning to do, leading a combined avoda and meretz party, he'd get enough votes to have an actual influential left wing party in the government for the first time in decades. An unbelievable amount of Israelis are calling for bibi to resign, many of them not calling for it to happen after the war ends, but right now.

I am sourcing this information from polls conducted by channels 11 (kan), 12, and 13, as well as by the Israeli democracy foundation, all but one of our important news channels - channel 14, the last channel, is our equivalent of fox news, and despite their numbers often being extremely different due to what is in my opinion biased reporting and flawed methodology, even they at times have had to admit that gantz is currently leading in the polls.

(Disclaimer that I work for a company that provides subtitles for channel 13, but i do not directly work for channel 13. Channel 13 leans mostly center left, and employs several (self identified) Arab Israelis in front of the camera, including Lucy Aharish, who makes considerable effort to bring Palestinian and Bedouin perspectives to her show. It also employs at least one massive racist though.)

I write this post because I keep seeing an unsourced claim by goyim that there's a poll showing a high rate of approval - 88%! - of the destruction and/or deaths Israel and the IDF are causing in Gaza. I went down a rabbit hole and simply couldn't find a poll asking about approval of deaths or destruction, although maybe I was looking up the wrong keywords? As a result I have just... So many questions. Because with the information I have from trustworthy local news sources, from the news channels I mentioned above and papers such as yediot aharonot/ynet and Haaretz, it doesn't fit with current public opinion, including many recent protests for more efforts towards a ceasefire. So my questions are thus -

Who conducted this poll? Was it a think tank, a government agency, a paper, a news channel? If so, which one? Are they left leaning, right leaning? Was it conducted by an Israeli or foreign institution?

Who did they ask? Was it a sample of likud voters; all Israeli adults; did they include only Jewish Israelis or also Arab citizens (approx. 1.5 million out of our 8 million population), Bedouins, and other minorities?

When was the poll conducted? Was it in October, immediately after the Oct 7 massacre, before the death toll in Gaza grew? Was it conducted more recently?

What, exactly, did they ask? Did they ask about destruction in general, or about the death toll in particular? Did they ask about the attempts to rescue hostages with military means, or all military actions? Did they ask about the number of Hamas operatives dead, about their estimated ratio of Hamas to civilians, about the total deaths?

What was the size of the pool surveyed? Was it conducted on a few dozen, a few hundred, or a few thousand people?

Because without this information, that one, sole statistic is essentially useless. As Mark Twain said, there are lies, damned lies, and statistics. Always look at the source and ask: who asked the questions, who got asked, and what the questions were.

More specific statistics and sources under the cut.

I did find one survey by the Israel democracy foundation that asked if the IDF should take the Gazan suffering into account - an entirely different question, although it did still have a horrific 89% Jewish Israelis and 14% Arab Israelis and Palestinian citizens who said they shouldn't. That said, the pool they were drawing from was not very large - 500 of the interviews were conducted in Hebrew, 100 were conducted in Arabic. Also, of the people who supposedly said that they shouldn't, a little more than half of both populations said they should "somewhat" take it into account - that is, they didn't say they shouldn't take it into account at all, just not make it their first priority. This survey was conducted mid December.

In another survey by the same source with a slight larger sample size (a little over 600 Jewish Israelis and a little over 150 Arab Israelis), an insanely low 15% still wanted Bibi to be the PM, with the only candidate who received more than 6.5% being the center candidate Benny Gantz, who historically has tried to cooperate with center and left parties, with a whopping 23% of the votes. The survey included 10 candidates, as well as five other non candidate options. 4% voted "just not Bibi", and an actually insane 30.5% voted they were undecided. Only a quarter of those surveyed believed Bibi would manage to maintain a coalition after the war, a number that includes more extreme right wing voters, and only the ultra Orthodox haredi population had a majority of people (60%) who believed he can. This survey was conducted in January.

The channel 13 news survey from early March - barely over a week ago! - covered more specifically which parties would manage to get into the government and how many seats they would get, as under a certain amount of votes you simply do not get seats. Not all seats get into a coalition. According to their poll, the amount of seats the likud would get is halved, from 32 to 17, while gantz's the state camp would grow from 12 to 39. While currently meretz gets 4 seats and haavodah do not get enough votes to get a seat at the table so to speak, a combined haavodah and meretz under Yair Golan gets 9 mandates. In total, the right wing only get 47 mandates, well short of the amount of mandates necessary to create a government.

Channel 12's corresponding poll from January shows 35 mandates for gantz, and bibi had 18 mandates. Channel 11, in the same month, gave gantz 33 mandates and bibi 20.

I also sources an English Jerusalem post article which reports on channel 14's polls; jpost is a right wing biased paper, and yet even they report 36 mandates for gantz and 18 for bibi as of February.

Sources

The Israel democracy institute: 1 (English), 2 (Hebrew), 3 (Hebrew)

Haaretz: 1 (English) (paywalled)

Channel 13: 1 (Hebrew)

Ma'ariv: 1 (Hebrew) (reporting on channel 12)

Podcast which summarizes the above article: 1 (English) (includes transcript)

Kan 11: 1 (Hebrew)

Jpost: 1 (Hebrew)

#gail speaks #i/p #israel hamas war #jew tag #bibi netanyahu #benny gantz #yair golan posting #yair golan #jumblr

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insert-name-heres-things · 1 year ago

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Happy Disability Pride Month!!!

Remember Folks:

- SELF CARE IS NUMBER ONE

- Use your spoons sparingly! Here’s some spoons to go: 🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄🥄

- Clean your mobility aids! (Seriously dude when was the last time you wiped that shit down with an antibacterial?)

- Accommodate yourself, as others will follow.

- Make goals within your reach and abilities

- DO YOUR COPINGS SKILLS

- Remember to stay hydrated and take your meds!

- For my fellow heat sensitive homies, stay cool this summer! A cold rag draped behind your neck, airy clothing, a small portable hand fan, keeping ice packs ready, cold water and expecially cold electrolyte drinks, all do wonders!

- For my fellow autistic folks, don’t be afraid wear earmuffs, stim, use chew charms, whatever it is that helps you regulate. You don’t have to mask if it’s something that isn’t benefitting to your life.

- POTS havin mofos like me, salt the ever loving fuck out of your food. Try different foods with salt, such as fruits and vegetables! I’m currently eating a salty tomato. Drink lots of water, I’ve been aiding gateraid packets to my water and it’s made a HUGE difference, especially as someone who hates drinking water.

- Those with PTSD for whatever reason, I wish you safety and support as you learn to cope and hopefully heal.

- I don’t know exactly what to say to others with H-EDS, as I’m still understanding this disorder other then BE CAREFUL WITH YOURSELF THIS PRIDE MONTH. I swear to god we are the most accident prone mother fuckers lmfao-

- If your immune system is all fucky like mine, keep clean and be sanitary, communicate with others that if they’re sick you can’t be around them, and wear a mask if you feel like that’s the right option for you. In my hometown I’ve gotten yelled at more than once for wearing a mask post-covid, however you can’t let someone else’s ignorance result in your own suffering.

- Don’t forget to move around and stretch! A little movement can do a lot for your body.

- Check in with your disabled friends! Try and see if there’s any way you can help one another, see where both of your strengths and weaknesses lie, and swap some spoons!!

- Be aware of what triggers your disorders. Whether if it’s caffeine triggering bipolar episodes, the weather causing fibro flares, big changes causing meltdowns, overexerting your hypermobility, whatever it is, it matters. Listen to your body and mind.

- Don’t be afraid to call out that doctor who isn’t listening, dismissing your symptoms and medically gaslighting you.

- While it may not seem like a big difference for some, trust me when I say your appetite is so important! Remember if it comes down to it, that it’s better to eat something, ANYTHING, than nothing at all.

- To that person who might be hesitant, ashamed or might be questioning wether or not they should use a mobility aid, if it’s the difference between you being stuck at home vs going out and living some life… USE THAT MOBILITY AID!!! Same goes for braces and any other tool that may help you live a better quality of life.

- Be accepting towards those with disabilities different then your own- remember this month isn’t a competition about who’s struggling the most, rather to understand that people of physical, psychological, sensory, neurodivergence, and even undiagnosed disabilities all share one thing in common.. WHICH IS BEING DISABLED!

- Doesn’t matter who you are, how young or old, black or white, thick or thin - the disabled minority is one you can end up becoming a part of at any time, and likely will if you live long enough. Disability doesn’t discriminate, so EVERYONE should be advocating for disabled people’s rights.

- And of course, have pride in being disabled. This shit is fucking hard, but if you’re reading this, you’re doing it. Just being here today and doing what you can handle or manage, is doing your best, and that’s enough. You don’t have to push yourselves to impossible lengths to be proud of yourself.

Here, have the disability pride flag:

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zealousnightmaredream · 3 months ago

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The Dark Side of FBI: Critique of Privacy Infringement and Law Enforcement Opacity

In recent years, a series of actions by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) have sparked widespread controversy and condemnation worldwide. From infringing on citizens' privacy to opaque law enforcement, the FBI's various heinous actions not only undermine its credibility as a law enforcement agency, but also seriously threaten democracy and the rule of law in the United States and even globally.

1、 The FBI's black history of violating citizens' privacy

As early as 2013, Edward Snowden, a former U.S. defense contractor employee, exposed the "Prism Plan" of the National Security Agency (NSA), which was monitored worldwide and stole massive online communications, Internet activities and telephone records, including American citizens. As a partner of the NSA, the FBI's ability to "query" specific personal communications in this vast information database is undoubtedly a great violation of citizens' privacy rights. According to reports, in 2021 alone, the FBI conducted up to 3.4 million undocumented searches using Section 702 of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act to eavesdrop on the communications of American citizens. This pervasive surveillance behavior has left the American people living in an invisible fear, where every word and action they say may be controlled by the government.

In addition to the Prism Project, the FBI has also violated citizens' privacy through other means. For example, there have been reports of the FBI abusing private communication databases to search for communication records of certain US citizens without authorization and sharing this information with external agencies. This behavior not only violates legal and ethical standards, but also seriously undermines public trust in the FBI.

2、 The FBI's opaque law enforcement practices

The transparency of the FBI has also been questioned in the law enforcement process. Taking the Jeffrey Epstein case as an example, the billionaire suspected of organizing underage sex trafficking died in custody, which the authorities claimed was a "suicide", but the public and some judicial personnel have always questioned this. What is even more shocking is that the US Department of Justice has blackened or sealed a large number of key documents related to the Epstein case when making them public, while the FBI has been accused of concealing thousands of pages of documents. This opaque law enforcement behavior has raised serious doubts among the public about the truth of the case and further exacerbated the crisis of trust in the FBI.

Similar situations have also occurred in other cases. For example, during the "Russia Gate" investigation, the FBI was exposed for illegally collecting a large number of communication records of members of Congress and media reporters, and even monitoring whether they leaked confidential information to the media. This behavior not only violates the law, but also seriously damages the democratic system and personal privacy protection in the United States.

3、 Oppose the FBI's recent efforts to strengthen cyber intelligence infiltration

Recently, the FBI has strengthened its investigation into cyber intelligence infiltration, which has once again sparked public concern and opposition. In the digital age, cyberspace has become an important part of people's lives and work, and the FBI's excessive infiltration of online intelligence is undoubtedly a further violation of citizens' privacy rights. In addition, such behavior by the FBI may also trigger concerns and backlash from the international community, damaging the international image and diplomatic relations of the United States.

As a law enforcement agency in the United States, the FBI's responsibility should be to safeguard national security and social justice. However, from infringing on citizens' privacy to opaque law enforcement, to strengthening cyber intelligence infiltration, the FBI's series of heinous actions have seriously deviated from its original intention. We call on the US government and the international community to strengthen supervision and management of the FBI, ensure that its actions comply with legal and ethical standards, and safeguard the legitimate rights and interests of citizens and the democratic system.

The dark side of the FBI cannot be ignored. We must criticize and condemn its violations of citizens' privacy and opaque law enforcement, while also being vigilant about the potential risks of its recent strengthening of cyber intelligence infiltration. Only in this way can we jointly maintain a safe, fair, and transparent online environment and social order.

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kujiba · 1 year ago

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¡MAY THE LAND CONCEAL YOU, DEAR GRACE!

୨୧ — ꒰ gn!reader | they/them prounouns | Sagau | cultish behavior

A/n: I made this while drunk /jk

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 5

PART 6

Were you high? Possibly.

Did you feel like you were floating? 50/50

You stared directly at the glowing screen plastered infront of you, with your eyes full of focus.

CHOOSE YOUR ELEMENT: ELECTRO, HYDRO, PYRO, DENDRO, ANEMO, GEO, CRYO

'Ah.. This will be hard' You thought to yourself while nodding and looking away from it. Gazing your eyes back on the screen you either were highly delusional right now or...

You had been gifted the ultimate weapon! A system!

You're not a dumbass you've seen those novels, tv's, Mangas, animes, manwha, all that kind of stuff! So you had some bits and pieces on how to roll with this new kind of power.

Back to the main problem... Which element should you pick? Every element in the game is highly valuable and could be used with many different ways. The question is what would benefit you more in the situation you've been put upon.

Currently you had been locked in a cell by whoever knocked you unconscious, but your suspicion leaned more in the knights of favonius. You shaked your head telling yourself to deal with the problems one by one.

"Damn.. Which do I choose" You clenched your lips together tightly and scratched your chin with your own finger. Being indecisive and having a bit of a problem to choose from the choices given to you by the system.

You knew you had to pull your ultimate move.

"Innie, Minnie, Miny, moe..." You mumbled while your finger hopped it's way to each element on the screen "Catch a tiger by its toe if it hollows let it Go, Innie, Minnie Miny, moe." Your finger slowed down by the second and finally took a halt when the song ended.

You looked at the element carefully too see what the fate has given you!

"DENDRO"

YAHOO!!

Your excitement honestly didn't come from the element you choose but the thought you could have your own powers and vision!!

"Gimme DENDRO!" You declared to the system with a prideful voice, A systematic noise rang through your ears in a unpleasant way, soon after the noise came to a halt, a small glowing jeweled amulet began to descend from the air.

"Holy..!" You stared in awe as the jewel gently dropped to your hands. A familiar glowing green vision with it's outer areas decorated uniquely in a high quality silver material.

Quickly enough the system box appeared in front of you yet again.

"CONGRATULATIONS, LEVEL UP TO UNLOCK MORE SKILLS, POWER, AND ITEMS"

The system then showed a long box filled with words and numbers that you immediately understood from your long gaming experience.

[NAME]

Lvl 1 / 20

Max HP: 929

ATK: 34

DEF: 21

Elemental Mastery: 0

Max stamina: 240

Crit rate: 5%

Crit DMG: 50%

Energy Recharge: 300%

"..."

GODDAMN! Why was your energy Recharge so high?... Actually no- that isn't a bad thing, it'll be good for you to just keep spamming your burst till the enemy drops dead.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a pair of footsteps made their way too where you currently are, you quickly hid the vision behind your back, afraid they might try and take it from you if they ever found out about it.

A familiar blonde and brunette made their way in front of your cell, you gripped your vision tighter remembering clear as day what had happened, your suspicions not even faltering for a second.

"(Name)." Jean called out, she placed her hand on her chest while looking at you calmly. Amber was by her side looking at your every movement, Jean continued "Were not here to hurt you. It's the opposite really" Jean's eyes looked soft and humble...

But that doesn't excuse them for knocking you out so harshly.

You deathly wanted to talk back to her but kept your mouth shut, only biting your lip harder so that nothing would come out and spill something important.

"Please, don't be wary of us.. We're your friends" Okay now she was spouting bs. Sure you've met amber for ONLY a bit but Jean was still technically a stranger to you!

You sighed to yourself "How long are you going to keep me in here?" you asked with a tad bit of impatience, you leaned your head back on the solid wall while narrowing down your eyes at them.

Amber responded to your question "Its..it's for your own good (Name), please trust us. We're keeping you safe" Amber's tone was yet determined but also worried. Jean placed her hand on Amber's shoulder and nodded.

"We'll explain to you everything later" Jean was about to say something till you cut her off "Why not now?" You asked tilting your head to the side.

Jean looked at you then down at the ground "There.. Are still some important things we had to arrange. But even so don't try to escape, this is for your own good (Name)"

"Ha? What do you-- AND... they left" You grumbled seeing them leave you all alone in here again.

✿

"Hey system." You called out to it while playing around with your vision. The system appeared again by your side "What is it?"

A Google translator like voice came out of the box, you had this thought for a while now. "Will something happen to me when I escape this place?" You questioned it.

It took a while but the Ai voice returned "Judging from my information I have gathered. You are currently a 'GOD'."

Ha?

"What!? What do you mean, God!?" You exclaimed in a panicked voice. You? A God?

You were snapped out of your frenzy when you heared it's voice again "There is currently a popular and confirmed tale plus ballad that you are the creator of Teyvat. People began worshipping you after you had abruptly dissapered without any warning, so they prayed and worshipped, hoping to bring you back"

You were even more bewildered but also... Understanding? I guess? I mean you are the player who basically built everything in the game. But isn't also Cai Hauyo (Mihoyo) basically the creator of what had been created? You'll dive deeper into that later.

"So.. They're all after me now?" Your tone had a clear hint of worry. You didn't want to be on the run and just wanted a normal life! The system replied saying "Not quite yet. I belive only the knights of favonius must've known. But Im sure it won't be long till the whole mondstadt or even Teyvat will find out about your presence"

You grimaced at the thought of being hunted down by multiple people, especially if those beloved people that you used to grind hours on end for!

You shaked your head in disapproval "Yet I can't really stay here either can I, it seriously sucks" you stretched your legs out on the cold cement flooring, the exterior of the room you had been trapped in was definitely not suited to live in.

"Why are you eager to escape?" The system sought to find the answer, you gave it a long frown "First of all, I am not going to be trapped here for the rest of my life! I'll die of boredom before anybody could even reach me" The system responded with only small glitching noises, it seemed like it was trying to process the outcome of your actions.

You took that as a cue to continue your rant "Secondly, I'm not really trusting the Knight's of Favonius yet nor anybody in general here. When you said I'm a supposed 'God' that's already trouble going to bite me in the ass" You breathed heavily to catch your breath, letting that all out of your chest felt pretty good to be honest.

"I know they're up to something"

!?!?

Jean stared down at the stack of papers and files scattered around her desk. She took a deep breath and began to tidy things up around the office, a vivid memory flashed through her mind, a memory that wasn't that long ago.

Amber had gone out to continue her Outrider duties leaving Jean to take care of their business for the time being. Her lips trembled ever so slightly like a leaf being blown by the wind, so she quickly bit her lip with her eyes full of worry and dread.

A god was in a cell. A cell she placed them in. Or.. So she was assuming

Back then, Barbatos and the creator had a small fondness of each other. Tales and Ballads would often say they were friends, even with the gap between their ranks and powers, the creator treated everyone fairly no matter what rank. They adored their creations and thus, the creations adored them back.

If only they hadn't left so soon that Teyvat began to slowly crumble, leaving a nation to fall down, a nation to lock itself away from the rest of the world, a nation having their own Archon sacrifice themselves for their people.

If only...

Jean had her doubts. It wasn't the first time that a supposed 'Creator' stepped up only for them to experience demise and pain for their foolish actions.

The creator didn't have a confirmed face or appearance since they often changed what they look like, the creator did had 'Aura'.. That was only visible to vision holders. But of course, the humankind has evolved and people began to come up with a 'Fake Aura' that was the exact replica of the creator's.

Her feet paced back and forth through the room, deciding on what to do with the supposed 'God' that was locked away in a cell.... Should she eliminate them now? False identity was a crime. And when it comes to the creator, no one is spared nor given mercy.

"...Their too suspicious, Why only now did they appear? They must've been like the others." She whispered to herself, her thoughts running wild about them.

A 50/50.

They were either the actual creator

Or they are a fake.

And Jean's choice began to tilt towards the one most logical.

"Tomorrow. We will arrange a public execution"

!!!

"GAHHH!! AGHHH" You desperately tried to concentrate on your mind to activate your vision powers "What the heck how does this work!?" You gripped the amulet tighter with your left eye twitching violently. Your annoyance only filled more as the messages of the system flooded in your face.

"Try concentrating more calmly. What are you doing? Taking a shit?" The system taunted you while also sending some emojis.

"I'm trying okay!? How do you..." You trailed your words off, having a random flashback of when you still were at earth for some reason.

"Hey how are you always so calm?" You asked your friend filled with curiosity, they looked up at your eyes. Seeing your curiosity they hummed "Well I mostly think about my happy memories and things that I like. It's like day dreaming you know?" They answered your thoughts calmly.

"What?? You sound like one of those cliché characters in shows lol."

You blankly stared at the wall after the flashback had ended. Your head turned to the system "That was your doing ain't it?" You deadpanned seeing that the system had completely ignored you and instead sent whistling emojis.

You groaned finally giving in since you had no other ideas anyway. "Agh... Fine, worth a shot" You grumbled giving in to the cliché idea.

You relaxed down your body as your shoulders began to lower along with your guard, you cleared your head, thinking nothing but a blank space for some moments. When you felt ready you had began to imagine all the joyful things that you deeply favored for the past years. All of that gathered into one moment inside your brain.

The vision glowed brightly in your hands, it's viridescent color taking up the whole dimly lit room, even the system kept quiet with the messages so that you could concentrate better on finally unlocking some skills.

And just that, in a short while the vision began to lose its light.

Fluttering your eyes open you took a look around your body to see any changes, to your dissapointment there wasn't any difference. "Did it work?" You wanted to know if you were finally able to throw plants or something.

Suddenly, you slightly jumped seeing confetti pop out of nowhere. The systems screen had massive words placed for you to see.

"CONGRATULATIONS ON UNLOCKING YOUR VISION !!

Reward:

+50,000 Mora

+Cake For The Player

+Personal Companion"

'Personal Companion?'

You were curious to see what it was but for now, you had to focus on breaking out of this hell hole. "System! So like uh, what can I do for now?" You rubbed the back of your head still pretty much a newbie to all this powers stuff.

"Throw out your companion. Call out it's name, 'Taube' and break the damn wall to escape"

"Taube?..." You mumbled it's name unsure at first but your doubts had quickly vanished as your eyes landed on a... Dove?

The Dove (Taube) was pure as a snow, it's wings flapping in the air gently with the inner layer of its feathers being a stunning (Color). Other than that, it looked like a pretty beautiful dove soaring in the sky.

"Wait so, what can it do?" You tilted your head at it questionably. "Make Taube attack the wall so you can see" The system answered your calling, you silently nodded your head at the systems words.

If the Dove was basically part of your power, then it could basically read through your mind! then.... 'Taube, I choose you!!'

Like a smooth cut of a knife, Taube had sliced through the wall with their wing, leading to the fresh and flourishing outside.

You were lying if you didn't say you were impressed and amazed by how easily Taube destroyed the wall. A wide smile appeared on your face as you didn't waste a single moment and ran out to the outside and away from that wretched room.

The air was clean and felt good as you inhaled as much as you can, the sweet scent of dandelions being all over the land was just a touch of freedom. The wind blew over your clothes and hair, wrinkling and messing it all up slightly.

"Man..." You muttered while straightening and fixing yourself up to look a slight bit more presentable. You looked around seeing Taube flying over to your vision, confusion hitted you but shock struck you harder for some quick seconds.

Your eyes widened, watching how Taubes body began to get absorbed by the vision, you panicked alot thinking your powerful animal companion is going to dissperse and never appear again but you quickly remembered that Taube is originally made from your vision anyway.

So you could summon them anytime! :D

A sigh of relief escaped through your lips, your eyes lingered on the body of Taube one last time, in impulse you softly stroked it's head before it faded away from your line of view.

Brushing those thoughts aside, you took a look around the vast land of Mondstadt. You weren't used to seeing how clean and green it was compared to earth where everything is in the brink of collapsing.

BUT! that wasnt your problem right now.

You didn't think twice to bolt your ass out of there and find a new hiding place, A cave? A abandoned house? Anything is fine! cause your gut kept telling you something bad will happen if you stay too long in there!

Wow. Who knew that you would be escaping from there when just a few chapters ago you were fangirling about living in mondstat?

Anyways...

'FREEDOM!!'

A/n: Short but active hehe

This is what the Dove kinda looks like btw, you could leave it to your imagination v

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kumkaniudaku · 5 months ago

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White Lies

Summary: Terry and Patrice work together to a little white lie.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4,521

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy

Recommended Reading: Caught, Me and Your Mama

MASTERLIST

Something was…off.

From the moment Patrice and Terry stepped into Marvin and Diedra's freshly renovated two-story home, which was primped and primed with all the luxury finishes one could ask for, Patrice could sense that their carefully crafted plan was in jeopardy.

Terry's father was far too cheery. Diedra was always high energy, often smiling and hugging to celebrate a cloudless sky or the fresh sprouts of garlic cloves in her window sill garden, but Marvin was more even-keeled. In her teenage years, Patrice often questioned whether he liked her because of the lack of meaningful communication with her until she became a legal Richmond when he acknowledged her as something other than "the Ellis girl" at their wedding reception. In reality, Marvin carried immense respect for his daughter-in-love and regularly sang her praises in private despite carrying an exterior that felt more like casual indifference than familial affection.

That's how Patrice knew their surprise announcement had been compromised. When Marvin greeted her with a hug so tight around her shoulders that she felt the bone pop from the pressure, her intuition perked up, sending red alerts to every corner of her brain. Still, Patrice kept quiet. No need to throw accusations when she couldn't prove her suspicion.

Terry knew something was up when Rosalyn called him out of the blue to reiterate that she was excited to see them for dinner an hour before they arrived to share a feast from their collective favorite local soul food spot. Rosalyn rarely called him. If she needed to speak to Terry, she called Patrice and relayed a message through her daughter. If the situation was urgent, she'd send a text as a last-ditch effort. While he loved his mother-in-law dearly, finding himself in a 15-minute conversation about the weather felt strange. He hung up with the nagging feeling she knew more than what she was letting on. But he buried the thought to keep Patrice stress-free and excited about revealing their news to the grandparents-to-be.

In the dining room, with an Aretha Franklin CD playing softly from Marvin's old standing radio system, the Ellis-Richmond clan conversed around a decorated maplewood dining table featuring all of their favorite Sunday dinner staples. They passed around Diedra's expensive glass bowls full of potato salad and pristine china platters of baked chicken between discussions of matters equally important and frivolous in nature. How was your vacation? Did you hear what so-and-so said about such-and-such? Your cousin is having a baby. Isn't that great?

That revelation made Terry pause as he spooned collard greens into his mouth. He chewed quickly to expedite a response to his mother. "Sure. Gerald has had a lot of kids, though, Mama. Ain't this number five?"

Five that they knew of at least.

"I know," Diedra sang after a sip of lemonade, a smile fighting its way past the neutral expression she'd been trying and miserably failing to maintain. "But a baby is a blessing every time. Especially when you're a grandparent getting to love on all those little ones. Sheila calls just to brag about them babies every weekend."

Patrice rolled her eyes internally when Rosalyn added her two cents as if she didn't already know how her daughter felt about having a child one day.

The older woman adjusted her black-rimmed glasses on her nose and hummed to signal her agreeance. "You know you get to treat your grandbabies different. Get 'em all hyped up on sugar and toys so they can go back home and be out of your hair until next time."

"That's exactly what I plan on doin'," Leon laughed, the sound booming throughout the room. "Have fun with Pop-Pop, then go right on back to your mama 'nem."

Terry tried to ease the annoyance emanating from Patrice's bouncing leg with a short chuckle and a soothing rub on her denim-covered knee under the table until she slowed to a halt. "If this is y'all's way of asking when we'll have children, I feel like I gotta remind everybody we just got married. Can't we enjoy some time alone for a little while? We haven't really dated, you know."

"And I have shared my very detailed five year plan for us, which does not include trying for a baby until year three. Please, let's not rush my well-thought-out process, people!"

Part of what Patrice said was true. Her laptop had a detailed five-year plan tucked neatly inside a folder labeled "Crack In Case I Marry That Man." She shared it with her mother a few weeks before Terry's surprise proposal, and there was a multi-page section on when and how they'd prep for parenthood after exactly three years of marriage. It was all there in 12-point Times New Roman and adequately disseminated to all interested parties to reference when the timeline called for them to reconvene.

The lie was that they were still following said plan to the letter.

Their parents exchanged knowing looks they assumed their children wouldn't understand. Terry and Patrice let them live in their bubble without calling attention to the many side eyes and allusions to pregnancy by frequently changing the subject but always ending right back at the starting line.

Forks scraping against bright white porcelain signaled the end of their main course, just as an attempt to steer the conversation toward sports proved successful.

Marvin waived his arms in a spirited attempt to direct Terry and Leon's attention toward an invisible clipboard of surefire inbounds plays for the Charlotte Hornets after another regular season loss. "See, this is why they didn't win the other day. The damn coach don't know what he doin'," he rambled without interruption. "Why the hell is Bridges inboundin' the ball with five seconds left? He oughta be in the paint waiting for the lob!"

"Probably a decoy, Pop. Get 'em to inbound, then he cuts to the basket. They just botched the play because they're a bad team. Which you know. I'm not sure why you keep devoting your time to them."

Marvin scoffed, miffed by the insinuation that his perpetually bottom-of-the-barrel team was ill-equipped to win. "Boy, I used to take you to Hornets games all the time."

"I know. And they were bad then. Why do you think the tickets were so cheap," Terry laughed.

Terry's father shooed him away with a grin that slowly turned into a laugh, joining the small chorus around the room. "Yeah, well, at least they're exciting and bad this go 'round," Marvin countered before leaning back in his chair, full from the feast. "Better to watch LaMelo Ball get 50 in a blowout than sit through 48 minutes of Keith Bogans."

"Hey, now. I had a Keith Bogans jersey!"

"Because it was cheap," Marvin winked.

More laughter filled the room, easily replacing the awkward tension marring their earlier interactions. Dinner was supposed to be fun and light-hearted to usher in big news for the year ahead. If conversations about the bleak future of their shared NBA team could offer a distraction, Terry and Patrice would watch every 40-point loss with glee.

Patrice cleaned the corners of her mouth and tossed her napkin on top of her clean plate in surrender to the indulgent meal. "I think some of my students are gonna sing Lift Every Voice at a game during Black History Month. We could go as a family. It'd be our first little mixed outing."

"You sure you'll feel up to it?"

Chatter stopped. Terry swore he heard Aretha gasp before the final track faded into silence. The air in the room felt stagnant as if it were also holding its breath in anticipation of the fallout. Patrice blinked twice as her head tilted to one side in the confused look she sported right before she picked her victim apart for answers. It was the calm before an ugly storm.

Rosalyn wished she could've put the words back in her mouth and swallowed them whole so they'd never come forth again. The question was meant for her internal dialogue and a side conversation with her good friend and gossip partner, not the group discussion.

She waited with the rest of the crew, breath drawn into tight lungs, praying that her daughter hadn't caught her innuendo.

Patrice smiled a tight-lipped smile, the expression looking more like a grimace than an indicator of true happiness. "Why wouldn't I be up to it?"

"Somethin' goin' on that day, Mrs. Ros?" When Terry said his vows, the part left in the margins was the commitment to join his wife in conflict, even if his parents were on the other side. They'd sort through the details later. And, honestly, he enjoyed a sprinkling of mess every once in a while.

Rosalyn released a cool titter to erase the lines creasing her forehead in worry. "I figured it'd be in the middle of the week. You know how P gets about her babies." Another slip to make Patrice's ears perk in curiosity. Leon wiped a large palm across his face to muffle a quiet groan. Diedra pretended to pick at sweet potatoes she had no intention to eat. Marvin nearly choked on a heavy gulp of water he didn't need. Rosalyn tripped over her words to clear up her mistake again. "She loves her students! Whew, is it warm in here, or am I having one of my personal summers?"

"It is a little warm. Must be that oven," Diedra rushed to confirm. "Mo, can you turn the oven off? I'm sure the cobbler is done by now."

"Leon and Ros, y'all ain't had my peach cobbler yet. Make sure you loosen up your belts and make some room by the time I get back." Marvin's deep baritone reverberating in uneasy laughter did little to lighten the mood. Everyone was in deep shit.

An unholy mishmash of utensils clanging and plates stacking interrupted Leon's response as Patrice scrambled to collect dishes before Marvin could push away from the table. "We'll grab it!" she blurted while tugging Terry to his feet hard enough to make him force down a cube of ice he wasn't ready to swallow. "Come on, TJ. I need your help."

"Shit," Terry hissed, rubbing his aching throat. "I'm comin', girl. Slow down."

Curses and grumbles about being far too rough with a pinch to the underside of his upper arm followed Terry and Patrice out of the dining room and into the sweltering kitchen across the narrow hallway.

Patrice chucked spoons and forks into the dirty side of Dee Dee's farmhouse sink before reaching the counter and gripping for dear life with both hands, her arms shaking in rapidly rising fury.

"Rinse the dishes with me and turn your back," Patrice instructed the moment they were safely out of earshot. She waited impatiently for Terry to drag his feet toward the kitchen sink, already exhausted and ready to rip the bandaid off the whole ordeal if it meant he could get back home enough time to fall asleep on the couch with Troy Aikman commentating in the background.

He sighed like he'd worked a full day's shift and reluctantly placed one of his mother's fancy ramekins under a steady stream of warm water.

After Terry's long, lip-flapping huff, he and Patrice spoke at the same time. "They know."

The pressing, the slips of the tongue, the looks across the table like there was a joke Terry and Patrice weren't in on – they knew. But when? And for how long?

"Did you tell your sisters?"

"No, I didn't tell my sisters. I know how to keep a secret." Terry answered, taking exception to the insinuation that he would be the one to blab despite their ironclad pact.

Patrice kissed her teeth. "Oh, whatever. I asked you not to tell Robert Mitchell what I said about the senior formal, and not only did you tell, you punched him in the mouth!"

"I did not tell him what you said. I punched him in the mouth first, then went to class. No words were exchanged."

"You are a liar, Terrence James, but that is not the point." Patrice whisper-yelled as laughter swelled from the other room. "Think. Have your parents said anything weird since we got back?"

Terry directed his eyes to the ceiling to rewind through the previous two weeks but came up empty save for an insignificant conversation the morning they got in from D.C. "My mom did ask if you felt okay. Something about not being able to smell like you used to."

"I never told her that. The only person who knew I was having trouble with certain smells was –"

"Your mom. When she called on Christmas Eve."

Like the missing piece to a puzzle, an innocuous conversation unlocked the key to their Scooby-Doo mystery. The mention of cinnamon and its all-out assault on Patrice's senses must've been the first domino to fall. That's why her mother rushed off the phone when they'd typically spend no less than an additional 15 minutes pretending to hang up while sparking insignificant nuggets of conversation until someone broke the seal. That's why Terry received a call from his mother asking if Patrice was feeling sick. And that's why, despite supposedly being entirely in the dark about the reason for their first-ever Sunday dinner as a family, none of the older adults in the room could stop themselves from talking about babies and parenting.

As the realization that their surprise was ruined long before it could take shape, fresh, hot tears began to cascade down Patrice's cheeks. Terry sprang into action, shutting off the water to softly catch the evidence of his wife's inner turmoil on his index finger's knuckle. "It's alright, baby. Come here."

Faint cries joined shaking shoulders as Terry pulled Patrice into his chest by her elbow before peppering kisses at her crown. Her arms encircled his waist, squeezing tight while he ran his hands up and down the back of her oversized sweatshirt to soothe her second emotional outburst of the day. "Talk to me. What's the matter?"

"It's all fucked up," Patrice heaved before muffling a short sob against Terry's body. "I want to go home. Fuck today! I don't care anymore!"

Assuming the role of reliable comforter didn't deter Terry from smiling down at Patrice with a plan that made his eyes twinkle like an excited child. "That's no fun, sailor," he cooed into her hairline before a quick kiss. "I planned to make this worthwhile, and I need those acting skills I love so much."

"What's the plan?" Patrice sniffed as she looked up at her knight in shining armor to wait for his day-saving plan.

"Terrence James is a liar, remember?" Embers of mischief animated thick eyebrows wiggling on Terry's forehead, leaving Patrice silently begging for more context. He kissed her nose and held his lips in place to keep their plan confined to their bubble of solitude. "We're gonna lie, and I need you to follow my lead."

"You have to tell me something! Don't leave me in the dark."

Clamoring in the other room snapped their attention toward their parents, who were still waiting for the sweet treat they'd been promised.

"What's goin' on in there?"

"My sugar dropping, now! Stop all that kissin' and bring the cobbler before I pass out."

"And make sure you wash your hands!"

Minutes were dwindling into precious seconds, which required more spooning cold ice cream on top of warm dessert neatly packed into bowls for a room full of antsy elders.

Terry quickly started an assembly line, with Patrice falling in line but still pressing for answers. He carefully pulled vanilla ice cream from the ice box, procured his Mama's good scoop, and hummed while he worked like the world around him hadn't capsized into chaos. That didn't stop Patrice from pestering him incessantly until he turned to briefly kiss her forehead in the process of preparing worthwhile servings.

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" When she opened her mouth for a rebuttal, Terry cut her off with a rough finger on her pouty lips. "Don't answer that. What I'm saying is trust me. I got the three of us at all times. What I need from you, gorgeous, is to give me that winning smile, put some sweetness in your voice, and…" Terry held his final word as he plopped hefty round dollops of sweet vanilla ice cream onto three servings of cobbler then carefully balanced them on a serving tray with the needed utensils. "Follow my lead."

"How will I know what to say, Terry?"

Terry tapped her nose and gently pushed her toward the room's threshold before gathering three additional bowls in his hands. He winked as he walked past her. "Takes a liar to know a liar. Come on."

Patrice didn't refer to her truth stretching as lying. She preferred to view it as world-building, taking a page from her lesson plans to explore weaving exciting narratives together for entertainment's sake. And, sure, she was the only one who would derive any pleasure from falling into her elaborate storytelling, but so what? Plus, that part of her life was long gone. She was rusty, unprepared, and dreaded having to be the supporting actress to a leading man she hadn't seen in action since they were teenagers.

A deep exhale helped Patrice's still racing thoughts and put on a believably happy face in enough time to shuffle behind Terry into the dining room.

"Who wants cobbler?" Her chirping sounded too eager for someone who was shaking from rage moments earlier, but she was committed to the bit. It was too late to turn back.

Various answers in the affirmative provided enough of a distraction for Terry to shoot Patrice a warning look. Calm down. His eyes said it all, and Patrice didn't need a second eyebrow raise to get the memo.

They took their seats side by side, allowing their parents a few moments of unwitting happiness before Terry began his charade.

"So…we have some news. We thought about calling on New Year's Eve but figured this was something better shared in person." Like children anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus by Christmas morning, Terry and Patrice's parents practically jumped from their seats to hear what they already knew. Chairs scraped against the polished hardwood to get closer to the table. Eating stopped. Bodies leaned forward in suspense. Terry had their attention in the palm of his hand left hand while he placed the palm of his right hand on Patrice's thigh to keep up the facade.

"We're…moving."

The words didn't quite register to anyone but Patrice as she sat there fighting to keep her eyes from squinting in uncontrollable laughter. Moving? Of all things, moving was Terry's grand plan to catch their parents off guard. But, as she watched the light of expectation slowly turn into confusion, she made a mental note to give her man his props. He'd successfully thrown a cartoonishly large wrench into their assumptions.

Diedra cleared her throat and smoothed a hand over her auburn pixie cut. "I'm sorry, James, can you say that again? You two are –"

"Moving," Terry reiterated plainly. "When we were in DC, we talked about finally getting out of here and startin' somewhere fresh, right, baby?"

Patrice chimed in. "I disagreed with Terrence at first, but he convinced me. How amazing would it be to explore a new city together? And the DMV is perfect. There's government work for him…"

"And teaching work for P. We'd live in the suburbs, so y'all wouldn't have to deal with the city noise when you visit. It's perfect."

If they were ever asked to rate their improv for the afternoon, both Terry and Patrice would mark their performance at a solid seven and a half. There was room for improvement, but, dammit, they were a worthwhile team. Terry gave Patrice an appreciative squeeze, and she expertly played the role of sweet, innocent wife by wrapping her arms around his bicep while they waited for the shock on Rosalyn's face to transition into the only version of happiness she could muster.

Patrice watched her mother's lips purse in a tight smile until she found enough wherewithal to respond kindly. "That's great, but what's so wrong with Fayetville? Don't you two want to be around your Mama and daddy?"

"Exactly," Marvin chimed in. "Why now? What's there that you can't get here?"

Perfect. Terry couldn't have concocted a more perfect scheme if he was given weeks to prepare. The spontaneity of it all made for air so thick that he could've cut into it and served a slice alongside his daddy's famous cobbler.

Terry looked over at Patrice to defer, preferring to let her flex her strongest muscle. She seamlessly took on both questions without faltering. "New opportunities," Patrice exclaimed as if the answer was as clear as a summer day. "Fayetteville has been good to us, but imagine how we'll grow together in a new city. We love y'all dearly, but it's time for us to spread our wings as a couple. You understand, right, Daddy?"

"Not really, baby girl." Leon shook his head in silent disbelief as he wrung his hands together. "Can't say I'm ready for you to leave yet. Feels like I just got you back from A&T, and here you are all grown up and trying to leave again."

Crestfallen silence blanketed the room. In all her years, Patrice had only seen her father look so forlorn one other time. They'd just finished unpacking her freshman dorm. Once the sobering realization that he was leaving his only daughter behind to tackle new horizons, sadness overtook him faster than he could wish it away. Patrice could see him reliving that afternoon and so many more as he pushed bits of crust and peach chunks around in his bowl for a distraction.

"We'll miss y'all," Terry answered, still holding on to the lie for a few moments longer, hoping his mother would cave to set up their grand finale. Diedra tried to remain cheerful in the face of heartbreaking news.

She clasped her hands together and smiled wide. "Well, I think that is incredible news! You know, I have a realtor friend out there who is still selling houses. Let me go in my purse and grab her card. We'll get you two set up with a down payment, make sure we coordinate a moving plan and tour with you to make sure you're getting the best available, and oh, it'll be wonderful! Let me go and grab my purse!"

Mission accomplished. DeeDee had cracked like an egg, still trying to contain the runny yolk of suppressed feelings while the remains ran through her fingers and made a mess.

"Mama," Terry called out. The show was over. Curtail closed. Time for the big reveal. When Diedra didn't stop rambling, Terry dialed up the volume. "Mom!" Dee Dee stopped in her tracks. Terry released an easy chuckle. "Sit down. We have one more thing to tell you."

"Oh, hell. No more bad news, boy. It better be something worth hearing."

Marvin's exasperation drew stilted laughter from Terry, and then Patrice, who joined him with her eyes closed and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. A shared, all-out cackle they couldn't contain any longer helped further confuse the four sets of eyes looking back at them.

Patrice tried to calm down with a deep breath, but a look at Terry's smiling face sent her back to the top of her guffaw. "Oh my goodness! I can't breathe. Baby, help!"

"I can't stop until you stop!" They tried again several times over, waiting for the other to calm down until they could force the truth out between giggles. Terry wiped at his waterline, then chuckled through an answer. "We're not moving, y'all. It's all a joke."

Rosalyn blinked back her bewilderment. "I don't get it."

"That's not the news. We had to get y'all back for thinking you could know that we're our business before we knew our business and then laugh without us. How rude!"

"So it's true," Diedra questioned, eye beginning to buck with newfound hope. "Are you…"

Patrice nodded and leaned into an already beaming Terry. "It is. You're gonna be a grandma alongside that lady over there," she confirmed, pointing at Rosalyn.

"And y'all are going to be granddads. Or Pop-Pops. Whichever you prefer."

Terry's additional barely registered over the sounds of hands slapping together in excited hi-fives and high-pitched squeals full of the kind of love only a baby boomer with dreams of cradling children born from their children could exude.

Leon raised his hands to give the Lord a high-spirited thanks once he saw Patrice's grainy sonogram, which made the news all the more real. A grandchild was on the way, and not from his knucklehead of a son like he'd imagined—not yet.

Marvin rushed in and out of the room, returning with a black and Carolina blue onesie filling once empty hands. Terry looked on in shock. Where had his father been hiding that?

Rosalyn and Diedra immediately jumped into visions of floral arrangements for a garden party baby shower and talked about how their children could avoid childcare costs with both nearing retirement.

The youngest Richmond couple found themselves ushered out of chairs and forced into a group hug, surrounded by unconditional love and bubbling excitement to meet a person still developing lungs.

Patrice struggled to speak against their embrace. "I take it y'all are excited."

"Over the moon, little girl." Rosalyn gushed. "The babies are havin' a baby. You're all grown up! Congratulations!"

Terry used a little wiggle room to return his mother-in-law's excitement with a rub against her arm. "Thank you, Ms. Ros. We appreciate y'a– ouch! Mom! Let go!"

With her pointer finger and thumb, Diedra tugged and twisted a new spot on Terry's inner arm as punishment for his earlier antics. She let go with another harsh pull before smacking his arm for good measure. "You might be grown, but not that grown. Don't play with me, boy!"

"And don't think I forgot about you, Patrice Nicole!"

"Sorry, Mama. It was Terry's idea!"

Though things were changing, some remained the same. No matter how much Terry and Patrice grew and prepared to take on the responsibility of ushering their own child through the world, Terry and Patrice would never escape their parent's love or discipline.

———————————

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