Chapter Text
Secrets Part 1
Written by: "Fun But Shy Girl", Based on an Idea by: "DrDroom2006"
AI Art Work Created With: "Art List"
"That's the worst fucking karaoke I've ever heard," Stephanie Tanner muttered into her whiskey, watching some drunk guy butcher Bon Jovi in the corner of Eddie's Dive. The bar smelled like stale beer and fried onions, the kind of place where nobody asked questions if you showed up alone at 2 AM. She was three drinks in, wearing a leather jacket and fuck-off expression, when a high-pitched giggle cut through the bass-heavy music.
Stephanie froze. That laugh—she'd know it anywhere. She turned so fast her stool screeched, scanning the dim booths until she spotted a flash of familiar Latina girl near the back. There, Stephanie saw Ramona Gibbler was slumped between two guys twice her size, her denim shorts riding up as some older man's hand lingered on her thigh. The young teenage girl could barely hold her head up, her mascara smeared like she'd been crying before drowning it in tequila.
"Hey, gentlemen," Stephanie said, sliding into their booth with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How old do you think my little friend here is?"
The guys exchanged glances. "Nineteen?" one guessed, pulling his hand away like her skin burned.
Stephanie leaned in, voice dropping. "Try fifteen. And if either of you breathes near her again, I'll rearrange your teeth with this bottle." The men bolted before as soon as she finished speaking.
Ramona groaned, swiping clumsily at Stephanie's arm. "God, you ruin everything! They were gonna buy me more shots—"
Ramona suddenly coughed as Stephanie yanked her upright. "Move your ass," Stephanie hissed, half-dragging Ramona past the bathrooms to a storage closet she'd used for... special encounters with men she encountered at this place in the past.
Ramona collapsed onto a stack of beer crates, hiccuping. "Jackson fucking Fuller," Ramona slurred, tears spilling fresh. "Said I was like... like his sister." She dug her nails into Stephanie's wrist. "I love him, Stephanie. Like, really love him. Why did he have to go and tell me he only sees me as his fucking sister!?"
Stephanie didn't speak until she'd wrangled Ramona into her car, rolled down the windows to combat the tequila stench, and drove thirty silent minutes to the Fuller house. At 2 AM, she tucked Ramona into bed with Advil and water, ignoring the girl's drunken mumblings about Jackson's stupid dimples.
The next afternoon, Stephanie waited until everyone else had left for work and other errands and activities before marching into Ramona's room and ripping open the blackout curtains. "Jesus!" Ramona shielded her face with a Hello Kitty pillow. "You're acting like I killed someone."
Stephanie tossed last night's crumpled denim shorts at her. "You nearly let those guys take advantage of you. What if I hadn't been there?"
When Ramona stayed silent, Stephanie sat on the bed as she said, "You need to figure out healthier ways to deal with your feelings when it comes to guys."
Ramona froze as she said, "My feelings about who?"
Stephanie sighed, and then said, "You screamed about Jackson for twenty minutes while I scrubbed eyeliner off your face."
Ramona looked humiliated as she said, "Wait. I said... Oh God."
Stephanie however, just smirked as she crossed her arms and said, "Listen. If you feel bad that Jackson said he likes you as a sister, try to understand the context. You two have grown up in the same house like siblings for years now. Also, at least one of you two have always been dating someone else at any given time. So in his mind, a relationship between you two maybe has just always felt off limits. But if you let him know that you two dating could be on the table, maybe he'd change his mind. I mean, he's no longer dating Rocki. Now's your chance."
Ramona looked a bit sad as she said, "But... what if he tells me he doesn't like me like that?"
Stephanie shrugged as she said, "Better to be honest with Jackson than to lie about how you feel."
She flicked Ramona's forehead. "Now shower. You smell like regret and cheap tequila."
Three weeks later, the gymnasium smelled like Axe body spray and punch spilled by nervous freshmen. Jackson Fuller leaned against the bleachers, fiddling with his bowtie while couples swayed to some slow pop song. Across the room, Ramona stood by the snack table, stabbing a plastic fork into a deflated cupcake.
"Hey," Jackson said, walking up to her. His suit jacket was wrinkled like he'd pulled it from a laundry pile five minutes ago. "Flying solo tonight too, huh?"
Ramona nearly choked on her drink. "Guess so," she managed, wiping her mouth.
Jackson scratched his neck. "Sucks going alone."
Ramona inhaled sharply. The bass vibrated through her strappy heels as she blurted, "Wanna dance?" The second it left her mouth, she wanted to dive into the punch bowl.
But Jackson grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."
The song was something slow and generic, the kind of forgettable ballad played at every high school dance since the 90s, but Ramona suddenly couldn't feel her feet. Jackson's hands settled warm on her waist—not the lazy brotherly side-hug she was used to, but hesitant, testing. Close enough she caught the spearmint gum on his breath. "You're shaking," he murmured.
Ramona dug her nails into his shoulders. "Because I've wanted this since I was 12," she blurted, then immediately wanted to swallow her tongue. But Jackson didn't laugh—his grip tightened.
"Try since I was ten," he admitted, voice rough. "I just figured you saw me as, you know. Like a brother." The confession hung between them, raw and stupid, underscored by the bass thump of some Top 40 song.
Ramona barked a surprised laugh. "I thought you saw me as a sister. You told me so."
Jackson's thumbs traced circles on her hipbones—too deliberate to be accidental. "I only said that shit because I thought it's what you wanted to hear." The admission landed like a punch. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, lingering. "So what do you really think of me, Gibbler?"
Ramona answered by surging onto her toes and kissing him hard enough their teeth clicked. Jackson made a startled noise against her lips before kissing back, one hand cradling the back of her head like she was something precious. The gymnasium noise faded to white static; someone wolf-whistled distantly.
When they broke apart, Jackson was grinning like an idiot. "Okay, so you don't see me like a brother?"
Ramona swatted his chest. "Shut up."
"Make me," he challenged, already leaning in again.
Across the room, Stephanie Tanner, who was a volunteer chaperone for this school event, sipped some punch and smirked as she said, "About damn time."
Twenty minutes later, Jackson tugged Ramona into a dimly lit corner of the gymnasium, his fingers twitching against hers like he couldn't decide whether to hold on or let go. "So," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear as the bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor, "hypothetically... if I said I booked a room at the Marriott next door—originally for me and Rocki before things blew up—would you wanna...?"
Ramona's pulse hammered so loud she barely heard herself say, "Yes." The word tumbled out before her brain could catch up, raw and unguarded. Jackson exhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath. "Cool. I'll, uh... get it ready. Text you the room in five." He squeezed her hand once—quick, nervous—before disappearing into the crowd.
Ramona stood frozen by the emergency exit, her palms slick against her sequined dress. The scent of burnt popcorn and too much cologne clung to the air as she fumbled for her phone. Suddenly a shadow fell over her—Stephanie, holding out a small open bag without preamble. "I don't wanna hear the details," she said. "Just don't be an idiot, and be safe."
Ramona looked inside the open bag and saw a strip of condoms, a blister pack of pills, and a sticky note reading *TAKE ONE NOW* in Stephanie's jagged handwriting. Ramona's throat tightened. "I—"
"Just go," Stephanie interrupted, "You only get to be young and crazy once. Just be careful your crazy choices don't do any long term damage."
Ramona nodded her head, and accepted the small white bag from Stephanie as she said, "Thanks Stephanie."
The hotel lobby smelled like artificial lavender and old carpet. Ramona's heels clicked too loud on the tile as she followed Jackson's texted directions—*Room 417, elevator to the left*—her stomach swooping like she'd missed a step. When the door swung open, Jackson stood bathed in yellow lamplight, already taking off his shoes.
"Hey," he said softly, reaching for her.
Ramona stepped into his arms, the CVS bag crinkling between them. Jackson glanced down, then smirked as he said, "Someone came prepared."
"Better to be safe than sorry," Ramona breathed.
Jackson tugged his shirt over his head, revealing lean muscle earned from joining the high school football team. Ramona bit her lip—she'd seen him shirtless before, but never like this. His hands hovered at her waistline, waiting.
"You first," he said, voice cracking.
Ramona's fingers trembled as she unzipped her dress, letting it pool at her feet. Jackson's Adam's apple bobbed. "Jesus, Gibbler."
The AC hummed too loud as they stood there in matching nervous energy—Ramona in lace, Jackson in boxer briefs that did nothing to hide how much he wanted her. She reached first, tracing the scar above his hip from when he'd wiped out on his skateboard at age twelve. "Still here," she murmured.
Jackson caught her hand, pressing it flat against his racing heart. "So are we...?" He didn't finish the question.
"Exclusive," Ramona blurted. "Only each other. No surprises."
Jackson exhaled like he'd been holding his breath. "Deal." He guided her backward toward the bed, as they laid next to each other. The sheets smelled like industrial detergent as they sank into the mattress.
Ramona propped herself up as she held Jackson's hands. "And no pushing the other to do something they're not comfortable doing. Either way."
Jackson nodded, serious but smiling. "Never ever." Then he continued laying down the expectations between them. "But if—god forbid—you accidentally got..."
Ramona swallowed as she very directly said, "I'd keep it." She watched his face carefully. "Would you...?"
Jackson's grip tightened. "Of course I'd help you. We'd figure it out together." He kissed her knuckles, then smirked. "But let's not test that tonight, yeah?"
The condom wrapper crinkled between them, absurdly loud. Ramona snorted when Jackson fumbled with it—his hands, usually so steady catching footballs, now shaking. "Need help, Fuller?"
Jackson growled something into her neck that made her toes curl. Outside, a siren wailed past the hotel, the city oblivious to this fragile new thing being born between stolen breaths and whispered promises.
Ramona gasped when Jackson took off his underwear, and then rolled the condom down—his fingers fumbling but determined, his erection bobbing against her thigh, hot and insistent. The crinkling wrapper landed somewhere near the nightstand as Ramona took off her underwear just as her mouth crashed with Jackson's. His bare skin against hers was a revelation—no more barriers, no more lies—just this desperate, shivering press of want and need.
She arched when his mouth found her left breast, his tongue swirling the dusky pink nipple until she whimpered. Jackson chuckled darkly, repeating the motion with slow, maddening precision before trailing kisses downward. Ramona's fingers twisted in his hair as he settled between her thighs, his breath hot against her wetness. The first lick—long, slow, experimental—sent shockwaves up her spine. "Oh *fuck*," she wheezed, hips jerking off the mattress as Jackson groaned against her, his hands locking her in place. Every flick of his tongue was a live wire, every suck drawing out sounds she didn't know she could make.
When she couldn't take it anymore, Ramona dragged him up by his shoulders, reversing their positions with surprising strength. Jackson's groan turned ragged as she mouthed down his chest, pausing to bite lightly at his hipbones before taking him in her mouth. He tasted like salt and something uniquely *Jackson*—a flavor she'd spent years wondering about in guilty midnight fantasies. His hands spasmed in her hair as she worked him, his thighs trembling beneath her palms.
"Wait—*wait*," Jackson gasped, pulling her up for a messy, panting kiss.
Soon, Ramona straddled him without hesitation, her slick folds brushing against his straining length. Jackson's eyes rolled back when she sank down onto him in one slow glide, his penis fitting perfectly inside her womanhood; their joined gasps swallowed by the press of lips as their bodies locked into place.
She moved experimentally at first—rising up, then rocking down—each motion drawing out a sharp inhale from Jackson. His grip on her hips tightened, guiding her into a rhythm that had them both shuddering. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, the way Jackson's fingers dug into her ass as she rode him—every sensation burned itself into Ramona's memory.
Jackson's orgasm hit first—his back bowing off the bed as he choked out her name, his release slamming through him in rolling waves. Ramona clenched around him, chasing her own peak until it crashed over her in a white-hot burst, her whole body locking tight before melting boneless against his chest.
They stayed like that—breathless, tangled—Jackson's heartbeat thundering against her cheek.
"Still think of me as your sister?" Ramona said with a smile.
Jackson laughed as he said, "Shut up."
Jackson and Ramona's secret relationship became a rhythm as reliable as the school bell—stolen kisses behind the gym dumpsters where the cameras didn't reach, Jackson's hand sliding up Ramona's thigh under cafeteria tables while she pretended not to notice. The thrill of nearly getting caught made Ramona bite her lip raw; she'd never seen Jackson so focused outside of football season, his eyes tracking exits like he was running plays. They made love in his Toyota with the seats reclined, fogging up windows as Ramona muffled her moans against his shoulder, both of them too wired on adrenaline to last long. They also had sex in Ramona's room early every morning they were certain they wouldn't get caught.
But the woods were the best place they found to escape to. Just past the football field, where the trees grew dense enough to hide in. The two enjoyed embracing with their clothes on first, but the cuddling would always eventually lead to naked embracing; both between the tees and in the nearby lake and beach. The first time, Ramona laughed when a squirrel chittered above them mid-thrust, but Jackson silenced her with a kiss that tasted like autumn air. Afterward, they'd find burrs in their hair and dirt under their nails—evidence they'd scrub away before heading home.
The lake was riskier. One October afternoon, waist-deep in frigid water, Ramona had wrapped her legs around Jackson's hips as he fucked her slow and deep, both of them biting back moans when distant voices carried over the water. Later, shivering as the sun set, Jackson traced the goosebumps on her thighs and admitted, "I like it when we almost get caught." Ramona knew then—this wasn't just rebellion. The danger was part of the high.
But constraints bred creativity. When homecoming rolled around and Jackson's parents were out of town, they christened every room in his house—the kitchen counter where his mom baked cookies, the laundry room where they'd once played hide-and-seek as kids. Ramona came with Jackson's fingers inside her and her back against the same fridge magnets that held their childhood photos. However, as they looked back at those childhood photos of themselves in the past posing like they were siblings, the two teenagers in the present smiled as Ramona said, "I'm glad we ruined our brother/sister relationship for something much better." Jackson smiled as he said, "Agreed!"
TO BE CONTINUED...
*There will be a second chapter in this story. After that, there's more stories and pairings to come...