#here i go off in the tags again. oh my god

[missaengg]

Who Are You?

Pairing: Rafayel x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, smut, some fluff and humor if you squint, kitchen sex, nipple play, p in v sex, creampie, pouty Rafayel Word Count: 2526 “Who are you?” Oh god, not this game again. Rafayel was pouting because of some unknown transgression you had committed against him, and he demanded restitution for your offense. A sinfully, delightful repayment. One you were only happy to oblige. ao3 link here.

“Who are you?”

Oh god, not this game again. You glanced at Rafayel, clocking his over exaggerated pout. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was staring you down like you were an absolute god damn stranger in his kitchen. You could feel your blood pressure rising. As much as you loved this man in front of you, it was no secret he could also very much be a child. A fact Thomas would only be too happy to confirm.

“How did you get into my house?”

A frustrating, annoying child.

“Rafayel, will you please—“ 

“I don’t listen to people I don’t know.”

You groaned. “Will you please stop acting like a five year old and—“

“Lalala, I can’t hear you.” Rafayel plugged his ears with his fingers and sang obnoxiously at the top of his lungs.

You let out a slow, agitated sigh. The last time he played this game, it had taken an hour of coaxing and a bribery of kisses to get him to stop, all because you had forgotten to send him a ‘good morning’ text that day.

“Oh my god, what have I done now?”

Rafayel stopped. He stared at you with those gorgeous blue and pink eyes of his as if you were an absolute dunce for not knowing the transgression you committed against him. “You really don’t know?”

“No!”

Rafayel’s eyes deeply bore into yours, and after a long pause, he asked, “Who are you again?”

Ugh. This… This bitch! A deep, aggravated growl exploded from your throat. Sometimes… sometimes you really wanted to slap him silly. He was driving you absolutely fucking insane! Why couldn’t he just tell you what was upsetting him?

“Rafayel, I swear to god I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me what I’ve done to upset you.”

“How the fuck do you not know?” Rafayel petulantly asked. “It’s so obvious.”

“Clearly it’s not because I don’t know!” You fought off the urge to shout a string of expletives. If you could read his mind, you would in a heartbeat, but unfortunately, because you were only human, you needed him to tell you in words why he was so upset.

Rafayel crossed his arms again, his pout deepening on his face to the point you wondered just how much farther his bottom lip could jut out. He scowled at you from across the kitchen island. A stalemate, one where the first to break would lose.

You played his game back, crossing your arms, raising an eyebrow. Your steely eyes drilled into his, daring him to continue.

The clock on the wall ticked away.

Tick… 

Tick… 

Tick…

You raised an eyebrow at the man standing in front of you as if to ask, ‘Well, you going to tell me or not?’

Tick…

Rafayel’s eye twitched.

Tick…

He scrunched his nose into that childish expression you adored — most of the time.

Tick.

“You didn’t come see me last night!”

There it was. Victory. You suppressed the urge to smirk in celebration.

“I see,” you drawled.

Rafayel’s pout grew deeper, his bottom lip indeed jutting out even further than you thought possible.  A furious blush spread across his cheeks and up his ears, a consequence of breaking his composure. “I demand restitution for your offense.”

You slunk towards him, keeping your brows furrowed in mock concern. “What did you have in mind?”

Rafayel opened his mouth and closed it, his pouty lips puckering as he deliberated on what would be the most appropriate form of repayment.  Approaching him, you placed your palms on his chest, slowly sliding them up until they were locked around his neck.

“What can I do to make it better?” you purred into his ear, now a dark beet red from how flush your body was with his. “Hm?”

Rafayel faltered, especially as you nibbled on his earlobe. You could feel him tense each time your teeth lightly pulled on the soft flesh of his ear, his resolve chipping with each caress of your tongue.

“Fuck, cutie.” Rafayel’s ragged breaths tickled your neck. His hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, his fingernails digging into the skin underneath.

“Is this restitution enough for you?” You tongued Rafayel’s neck where you could feel his heart beating rapidly, grazing your teeth right above his artery. 

“No,” he forcefully groaned, a shudder running through him when you suddenly nipped him. Rafayel ground his hip against you, his arousal demanding stimulation.

“No? How about if I do this?” You trailed your hands down his back to his ass grabbing both cheeks and jerking his hips into you.

“No…”

You slowly undulated your pelvis against his painfully hard erection eliciting choked groans from the stupefied man. Grinning wickedly, you sensually pressed your lips to his, biting his bottom lip and then caressing it with your tongue, all while your hips moved against his arousal. Rafayel shivered, his breath catching in his throat, delicious little breathy moans spilling from his lips.

“Is this enough for you?”

A guttural choked groan escaped Rafayel when you slipped your hand into his pants, stroking his twitching member. A dark heat smoldered in his hazy eyes. He looked alluringly erotic.

“Stop— stop teasin’ me,” Rafayel husked, burying his head in the crook of your neck. His hands roamed up and down your back, fingernails burrowing in your flesh with every squeeze you gave his shaft. “Hah…”

The hot puffs of air from his breaths wisping on your neck sent tingles tickling down your spine. Your own arousal began to pool, a needy throbbing growing between your legs. Closing your eyes, you subconsciously rubbed your pelvis against his trying to find some relief from the swelling tension.

“I’m not teasing,” you fired back, “I’m making up for my… my transgression.”

Rafayel whined when you removed your hand from inside his pants, but quickly realized you stopped to unbutton them instead. ”Want more… more than this.” 

He wasted no time kicking off both his pants and his underwear discarding them haphazardly off to the side. Your eyes darkened at the sight of him standing at attention, swollen to the point of bursting. You licked your lips. His tip glistened with his obvious desire.

Rafayel roughly spun you around against the island, bunching your skirt up around your waist and yanking down your damp underwear.

“Rafayel,” you squeaked in surprise. “We cook here.”

Rafayel ran his length through your folds, coating himself with your slick. “Don’t care. S’my repayment,” he mumbled, lining himself up with your entrance. In one swift go, he plunged in, sinking in until he was fully buried.

You let out a sharp gasp, a flash of white overtaking your vision. You were practically dripping, but it didn’t matter how ready you were for him, he somehow always managed to stretch you out to the point you felt as if you’d split in two.

Rafayel gripped the sides of your hips, hissing at how readily you sucked him in. “Fuck, cutie, you feel so… so good,” he choked, his greedy hands kneading your breasts, fingers pinching with no regard as to whether he caused you any pain.

Each hard pinch sent a spark shooting through you, the pain only adding to the pleasure blooming within your lower abdomen. You snapped your head back, gasping at a particularly rough pinch.

Rafayel lowered his mouth to your neck, sucking hard, no doubt leaving a dark bruise. His mark.

“Raf, not where people can see,” you weakly objected.

He thrust into you slowly, taking his time to pull out and sink in his entire length. “But then” –he swirled his tongue against the darkening bruise– “how’re people” –he moved up higher on your neck– “going to know” –he sucked down hard again– “y’were a naughty girl?”

He bit down and pinched your nipple simultaneously, and you keened, the combination of pain and pleasure Rafayel provided you too much. You trembled in his hands, so hard you had to brace yourself against the counter if only to prevent your shaking legs from crumpling beneath you.

“How else am I going to hear you” –he snapped his hips– “make that lewd sound?”

You moaned. Rafayel entered you so deeply, you swore you could feel the tip of his cock in your throat.

“Besides, s’my repayment, right? Can do… can do whatever I want.” Rafayel rolled against you in a slow, steady pace, and his bulbous tip dragged sinfully along your walls, teasing that sensitive patch of gummy flesh that left you writhing in his hands.

“Raf, harder,” you whined, pushing your hips back, desperate to hear the slap of your skin hitting his. 

“Fuck,” Rafayel rasped under his breath.

He pulled out, and before you could even begin to process how empty you felt without his presence inside you, he whirled you around and grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you onto the kitchen island. He moved so quickly you didn’t have time to yelp or note how cold the granite felt on your ass.

Rafayel’s lips came crashing down on yours. His tongue flicked your bottom lip. Your head spun trying to keep up. You parted your mouth, allowing him to dart in and twine your tongues while your heavy breaths mingled together. You curled your fingers into his hair, raking your fingernails against his scalp.

“Y’drive me… crazy,” he breathed.

“Should… be saying… the same thing… about… you,” you quipped in between kisses.

You tugged on the hem of his shirt. You wanted to feel him, all of him, against you. Breaking away, Rafayel ripped the damn thing off of him and tossed it somewhere you couldn’t see because he immediately attacked your own right after, pulling your shirt over head and capturing your nipple between his teeth.

You arched your back, tugging his hair a little harder than you intended. You heard him mutter something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath, too absorbed in the delectable way his mouth ravaged your inflamed peaks. 

“Raf, would you just… just fuck me already,” you demanded, the unbearable ache between your legs now too agonizing to ignore. 

Your plea seemed to light a fire within Rafayel, and he gripped you firmly by your thighs, hauling you towards him until your ass hung precariously off the edge of the counter. Holding you in place, he dove in, and without waiting, he bucked his hips. You gasped. Your arms instinctively rose to his shoulders in a futile attempt to brace yourself from his assault.

Your cunt sang, avariciously clenching around his shaft with no intention of letting go. Unlike the slow, methodical thrusts from before, Rafayel pounded into you without abandon in a dizzying speed. 

He was bullying your cervix, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. 

You hooked your legs around him driving him in as deep as he could go. “Deeper, Raf,” you pleaded, catching his eyes. “Need you… need you deeper.”

Rafayel gazed into your eyes, and then abruptly rammed your hips.

“Fuck!” you screamed, reeling from the sudden sting of pressure radiating through your lower stomach.

“That deep enough… for you?” he growled.

Stars dotted your vision, and all you could do was mewl as you clutched his shoulders with all the strength you had left in your fingers. You heard Rafayel snicker, but his moment of triumph was short-lived when your legs locked around him even tighter.

Shit, cutie,” he rasped.

Your clit brushed the jut of his pelvis every time Rafayel even shifted. Your head flopped back, your eyes closed. “Feels… fuck… feels so… good,” you whimpered.

Your bodies rocked together. The coil within you grew taut, a bundle of energy ready to burst and fling free with the slightest provocation.

“Raf…” you whispered hoarsely.

“Shit, cutie, I’m–” Rafayel took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m–”

His body tensed, and then he spilled into you, jerking with every spurt of his hot cum. You enveloped his head in your arms, stroking the back of his head as he helplessly clung to you.

“I love you… so… so much… so… fuck, cutie… don’t even… know,” Rafayel babbled, his voice a strangled, hopeless mess.

His sweet, earnest cries set your heart aflame, the tipping point for your own release, and the coil within you snapped. You felt yourself clamp down around his pulsating length, and your body roiled with ecstasy, shattering into a million pieces.

“God, Raf…”

Your body was on fire. Your blood roared in your ears, and you captured his lips with your own, falling deeper into your shared intoxication. The two of you shared kiss after dizzying kiss, riding out the blissed-out haze of your releases together.

You planted one last kiss on his swollen lips before pulling back. “So, was that enough of a repayment for you?”

Rafayel nodded blankly, and you tittered at the blank glaze in his eyes. 

“Good.” You brushed your lips on the tip of his nose. “Next time, can you please just tell me why you’re upset instead of being difficult about it?”

You watched as clarity returned to Rafayel and he wrinkled his nose.

“Baby, I’ve waited 800 years for you. The least you can do is let me pout about petty things.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re still holding that over my head, are we?”

“Yep,” Rafayel drawled, smirking at you. “For as looooooong as I waited for you.” He exaggerated the ‘o’ in the word ‘long’ as if to make his point.

You sighed and shook your head, but a smile danced on your lips. “Fine,” you conceded. “If it means I get a good dicking like this in the process, I guess it can’t be helped.”

You cackled with glee as Rafayel sputtered, another blush coloring his cheeks. You held his burning cheeks in your hands and tenderly pressed your lips to his.

“I love you,” you murmured, peering into his eyes. “Even when you’re being a child.”

This time, it was Rafayel who rolled his eyes, but he pounced, bombarding your face with wet kisses.

“Rafayel, stop,” you squealed and made a fruitless effort to push him away.

“No,” he protested.  “I waited 800 years for you. Least you can do is let me love you as much as I want.”

You melted, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into him with your full body, a wicked thought occurring to you. “You know,” you whispered suggestively into his ear. “We still haven’t christened the grand piano sitting in your living room.”

You snickered when Rafayel choked, but yelped when he swept you into a princess carry. 

“Should probably fix that, shouldn’t we?” He devilishly grinned and strode out of the kitchen with you kicking delightfully in his arms.

“Raf, put me down,” you cried as you swatted at his shoulder.

“No, we’re going to go christen the piano.”

You rolled your eyes again, but you hummed, snuggling into his hold. As much as Rafayel drove you insane, you couldn’t stay mad at him, not when he warmed your heart just as much. 

Maybe the childish nature of your boyfriend wasn’t so bad after all.

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[whousestypewriters]

──── ୨ৎ THE BOOK CLUB — GRAYSON HAWTHORNE + READER ‧₊˚

a/n: pt two here we are!!! do i have any idea where this plot is going??? no. but you're along for the ride bitches so enjoy!! also if this is shit its bc im sleep deprived :)

[part one] i'm a fan

"it all happened so fast. everyone was happy... and then something happened... and now... now he's dead!" alya sobs from her spot on the couch.

"did you just spoil the book we're all reading together??" kira shrieks from her position on the mattress.

"i think the bitch actually just spoiled the entire book," pheobe rolls her eyes from underneath her blanket on the mattress next to kira's.

"oh come on you knew something like this was gonna happen!"

"yeah but i wasn't expecting it to be screamed aloud while i'm halfway through," kira says exasperated. "i mean please its not even five thirty yet, we got here an hour ago, how are you already finished?"

"alya, this is why we don't come over anymore," pheobe groans. "none of us were expecting that and now you've spoiled it."

"oh cry about it, i'm moving onto my next book anyway, does anyone want some snacks while i'm in the kitchen?" alya smiles nodding her head when kira requests some food and a bottle of water.

"so we're clearly never having a book club sleepover again guys," you say looking at the camera.

"no we're gonna have another," pheobe says shuffling over into the frame. "alya's just not invited."

────

yn.books

liked by alya.green, maxine.liu.loo, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook, graysonhawthorne and 672, 983 others

yn.books the book girlies unite!! for a sleepover a trip and a readathon (alya will not be invited back) stay tuned for the yt video!

tagged: alya.green, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook

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alya.green I AM OFFENDED

kirasbooknook good

pheobethereader had a lovely time with you girls can't wait to do it again (except for you alya)

alya.green u guys are so mean wtf

user1 im desperate to know why alya's in trouble lmaooo

user2 and im desperate to know why grayson is still in the likes

user3 THE GIRLIES ARE IN TEXAS I SAW THEN TODAY AND ASKED FOR A PHOTO!!!!

user4 they're in texas you say 😏😏

user5 divine rivals crushed me oh my goshhhh

graysonhawthorne divine rivals was a enticing read, thank you for the recommendation.

user6 ok so i died-

user7 OH OH OK SO WTF WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME GRAYSON IS HERE???

maxine.liu.loo the book girlies are together again!!! (invite me next time)

yn.books already done ;)

────

"they're mine," max's voice snips through the quiet of the room. she's staring directly at grayson and clearly referring to the book girls she watches.

"i'm not trying to steal anyone," grayson tries to reassure her.

"you're obsessed with my favorite one! why couldn't you have gone for pheobe or kira?" max huffs, you were her favorite. grayson had no right to become - rightfully - infatuated with you, and no matter how much he tries to deny it everyone can see he likes you. its painfully obvious.

"again i'm not stealing anyone, i've interacted like three times with-"

"grayson! the girl you're obsessed with posted another youtube video," jameson's extremely loud voice cuts through the room and emits a groan from grayson.

"i'm not obsessed with anyone," he says rising from his spot on the couch and picking up ruthless vows, which by the way he definitely went out and bought after he read divine rivals. what? he wanted to know what happened.

"oh my gosh they're in texas!!!" max screeches clearly watching the video. "they're in texas for a red carpet that they've been invited to!" she pauses watching for more conext. "they been invited to ask the people on the red carpet about books! oh my god- XANDER. we have to go to this event oh my gosh please?"

"sure and you can bring grayson along so he can officially join the book club, and meet his new idol," jameson smirks from the doorway

grayson responds by flipping him off.

────

graysonhawthorne

liked by thehawthorneheiress, ticking.time.bomb, yn.books, kirasbooknook and 4, 892, 647 others

graysonhawthorne a nice day out

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user1 i need him religiously

user2 NO BOOK THIS TIME???

user3 oh he is scrumptious isn't he

ticking.time.bomb i saw you obsessing over what photos to choose in case a certain someone saw this gray.....

user4 PLS TELL ME ITS WHO I THINK IT IS

thexanderhawthorne oh it is...

user4 OH MY GODDDD

user5 IN THE LIKES LOOK WHOS IN THE LIKES!!!!!!

user6 they're so into each other

alya.green we gotta catch up and talk about this whole situation buddy boy

user7 ALYA 😭💀

user8 i need him to go to the red carpet so they can meet!!!

────

maybe grayson should go to that red carpet... i mean he was invited. whats the worst that could happen?

𐔌 . ⋮ 🏷️ tags .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

@arqbella, @midiosaamor, @maybxlle @reminiscentreader, @sweetreveriee

@elysianwayy77 @tornqdowarnings, @catapparently, @zenikswaffleshop, @thelov3lybookworm

[koppaiterocker]

hey, i know you didnt mean any harm by it, but please be careful about the way you characterize cooper. black people have a long history of being considered unintelligent and stupid, and the post you used for him just sort of rubs the wrong way ^^;

Ah, thank you for this, and being polite! /genuine, but please do not take my textpost memes as me characterizing any one character a certain way. I've never once written or drawn Cooper (not that any of that's on this blog,) in such a way, so I am not characterizing him as such. I do understand how that could have came off, and I will always appreciate asks of this nature- I'm sorry that it came off that way and that I caused that yucky feeling! You're right it was not my intention, I used him for that because of his canon personality not because of his cultural coding.

I hope you don't take this as me defending the post or disregarding your feelings, absolutely is not my intention, I just have a huge issue with people putting words in my mouth (so to speak) and I only wanted to address that and make it clear I have never once thought of or characterized Cooper in such a way; and it was meant in a relatable way for me, I often have a very hard time keeping track of things and call myself stupid and dumb over it and I adore Cooper a lot so while I was making it it was more of a "he's just like me :) " thing

AGAIN! Thank you very much for reaching out, I hope I didn't word fumble anywhere in here since it's 4am and that my point hopefully came across the right way, I am genuinely sorry my post caused that feeling and I will be hyper-aware not to do it again because I would never mean to imply stuff like that!

EDIT: DONT WORRY ABOUT THE FINAL TAGS BFF SILVER HELPED ME DELETE IT THANK YEW SILVER! I cannot do anything about the previously reblogged editions with it but I have prevented future ones!

[thegreatyin]

this nemesis ambition started out a little slow but I am getting closer to finding that bastard who killed my wife, and I’ll not rest a minute now that im far closer to on his trail

sorry got in character for a second

Anyways fun ambition so far very fucked up though

congratulations on joining the murder club anon!!!! depending on who you ask the name refers to either people who have murdered or people who have witnessed murder. usually both. actually extremely often both. it's a swell time you'll feel right at home (don't mind our collective skyglass knife collection in the back)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY! PARTY TIME BABY! MUSIC! DRINKS! SOCIAL PRESSURE & A PSYCHEDELIC BREAK DOWN! WELCOME TO VAMPIRE SOCIETY MOTHERFUCKER! ARE YOU SCARED? DO YOU UNDERSTAND YET? ITS OKAY IF NOT. FIRE DISSOLVED IT! ITS ALL GONE NOW. HAVE FUN!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

heya, i have to wake up in three hours but! here's another lil human au snippet! ft. lightly implied Laughingstock! disclaimer i am so so tired so don't come at me for typos or strangely worded sentences or missing info <3

~

Before heading home, Eddie swings by a charming little store he’s been to once or twice before. He usually goes to the chain store by his house, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with the hustle and bustle and the endless aisles. This little store is quiet, nice, and strangely has everything anyone could need. 

The lot is mostly empty at this hour, so Eddie claims a spot right at the front. As with the other times, the windows are littered with displays and stickers - half off on this, sale on that. Eddie enters Howdy’s Place with the chime of the door’s shopkeeper’s bell. He’ll get what he needs and get out, quick and easy and peacefu-

Boisterous laughter slams into Eddie like a hammer, so sudden that he jumps in place. An employee stocking cans nearby glances weirdly at him. Eddie clears his throat and hurries into the nearest aisle as the laughter tapers off. The silence barely lasts a second before loud chatter starts up. It’s too fast and muffled for Eddie to understand, but he can pick out two distinct voices - one deep, one less so but still decidedly masculine. 

Eddie tries to tune it out as he gathers what he needs. Toothpaste, some paper towels, shampoo. For the hell of it, he nabs a box of classic bran muffins from the spacious food section. He lingers for a moment, enjoying how far-away the conversation seems at the other corner of the store. Unfortunately, theft is illegal, so Eddie is forced to move towards the noise.

A strange thing about the store - it’s a combination general store, antique shop, and diner, complete with a miniature gift shop separating the two. One long checkout counter stretches from the open store area, behind the gift shop, and into the diner, where the conversation is coming from. An interesting setup, but an understandable one. It allows anyone behind the counter to move fluidly between customers and sections.

As Eddie approaches, the conversation becomes slightly clearer. 

“-said, no wonder you didn’t get her number!” the deeper voice barks, and the two dissolve into that almost-too-loud laughter again. 

As it tapers off, the other voice says, “Sounds like a real charmer! But really, you oughta be careful, Barn. One of these days someone’s gonna throw a right hook at ya.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. A transatlantic accent? He hasn’t heard that anywhere outside of real old movies and a queen he once knew. It sounds natural too, like the man was born to sound like he belongs on a 1920s radio show. It nudges something in the back of Eddie’s mind. He’s started to get really sick of that nudge.

“Oh, this guy did.”

“No kidding? I don’t see a shiner.”

“Well, yeah. I went left.”

Both of them laugh again, and Eddie feels a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. That wasn’t funny enough to garner an actual laugh in his opinion, but it wasn’t unfunny. 

Eddie steps up to the counter and quietly puts his acquired items on it, not wanting to interrupt. He chances a glance to the side - walking space in front of the counter’s length lets him see right down into the diner.

A large man with dyed-blue hair and an interesting fashion sense is at the bar, talking to an employee leaning against the other side. The employee doesn’t really catch Eddie’s gaze, but the other man… Eddie swears he’s seen him before. He studies him from the corner of his eye, not wanting to be rude but unable to mind his business. 

“Our bouncer didn’t even get a chance at the action - the idiot knocked himself out tryin’ a second swing!” The customer says. His deep voice, wavering with humor, only adds to the sense of familiarity. Metal glints in his right ear. Eddie knows this man from somewhere.

The employee shakes his head, tutting. His busy hands polish a vintage pitcher. “I swear, you get all the crazies.”

“Makes for a good story, though.” The customer takes a sip from his tall milkshake and scoffs. “Though if it wasn’t all well-ending, amusing bull, I doubt I’d be so tolerant.”

Minutes drag by as the two keep talking. Eddie goes from patiently waiting to awkwardly trying to get the employees attention. If only there was someone else behind the counter, but the only other staff member is elsewhere, likely still stocking shelves. 

The two men are too absorbed in their little world, even though both are facing Eddie’s way. The customer has both elbows on the counter, one of them bent to prop up his chin. The employee has his hip leaned against the edge as they chat. They’re obviously very familiar with each other, and clearly deeply enjoy each other's company. 

Still - and Eddie is sorry to say, but it’s bad customer service. He’s not in a rush, but he’d still like to be on his way home. He could be fishing out the complex keys right now. He checks his phone - he’s been here for nearly fifteen minutes. Picking out the items took less than five. 

Eddie sighs, staring at the various cigarette packs displayed behind the counter. He’s never seen the appeal in smoking, but as the laughter starts up again, he almost wishes he did. He’s going to treat himself to a very long shower once he gets home. 

The store’s other employee walks behind the counter, carrying a box. Eddie lights up. Finally - she pointedly clears her throat and heads into the back. 

The constant conversation stalls for the barest moment, and he looks over. The customer grins at him for a second - lord he’s handsome - before turning that grin towards his friend.

“You’re losin’ your touch, Howds,” he teases, bringing his shake straw to his lips.

“I resent that statement. You’re just distracting.”

“Lil’ me? Distracting? C’mon, you can just tell me I’m pretty to my face. I’ll take it like a champ, I swear!”

“Ha, good try.” The employee sets the pitcher down and starts to mosey in Eddie’s direction. “Your ego is big enough for the both of us as is. One more compliment and your head’ll pop like a balloon.”

“Well, given that most balloons don’t really pop, they just kinda deflate slowly-”

“Sorry for the wait!” the employee says loudly in a glaringly obvious customer service tone. He stops in front of Eddie with a cardboard smile. At the other end of the counter, the familiar man snickers and hides his grin behind his drink. “I trust you found everything you did - and didn’t! - need.”

Eddie just stares up at him for a moment. At six-one, Eddie hasn’t felt small in a very long time. He usually stands at least a full inch above other people. This employee - Howdy, his name tag states - has several more on him.

“Uh, y-yes, I uh, I did,” Eddie stammers, glancing at his items. 

“Wonderful! And again, my sincerest apologies for the delay. My friend makes a game out of keeping me from my job.” Howdy shoots his ‘friend’ a glare with enough heat in it to make an ice cube sweat. 

“No worries.”

Howdy scans the items at an almost frightening speed. Beep, into a paper bag. Beep, in. Beep, beep - “Oh, no.”

“What?” Eddie says, dread plucking at his ribs as Howdy holds the bran muffins and shakes his head. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

“Indeed there is! You’re making a mistake with these. They’re absolutely horrible, I tell ya - and bad for you, too!” Howdy tuts and puts the box to the side. “No, no, you don’t want those.”

“I… don’t?”

“Not if you knew better! Lucky for you, I’m here to set you straight. What you need is-” he snaps his fingers, “Barnaby, be a pal and-”

“Already on it,” ‘Barnaby’ says, appearing next to Eddie.

If Eddie weren’t already paralyzed, he’d jump right out of his skin from how Barnaby towers over him. He has to be a scant inch or so shorter than Howdy, but he still makes Eddie feel tiny. Unfortunately, Barnaby is even more handsome up close. 

“Here ya go.” Barnaby hands a plastic container to Howdy and taps it, smiling lazily down at Eddie. “I’d take his advice on this one. Those bran-named muffins may sound fancy, but they’re pretty crumby! You want muffins of quality. Real breadwinners!

Eddie can’t help a soft laugh. “Breadwinners, heh, that’s a good one.”

“Are you selling these or am I?” Howdy says, raising a bushy eyebrow. 

“Hey, I’m just doin’ what you asked! I’m bein’ a pal.”

“And I - I’m sorry," Eddie interjects, "but you’re awfully familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Eh, I’ve been around, but uh… you ever been to [INSERT GAY BAR NAME HERE]?”

Howdy clears his throat. “I’m trying to make a sale here, Barn. You can flirt on your own dime when you’re not costing me mine.”

“Didja know your nose gets redder when you’re jealous?”

Howdy rolls his eyes and shoves Barnaby in the diner’s direction. Barnaby goes with a hearty snicker. Despite the joke, Eddie thinks it has some merit as Howdy scans the final item and rings him up, considerably frostier than before.

Belatedly, Eddie realizes that he didn’t actually agree to the different muffins. Too late now. “Say, what kind of muffins are those?”

“Poppyseed-lemon.”

Eddie relaxes - that is a lot better than boring bran. “Y’know, my mother loved poppyseed-lemon muffins.”

“Did she now,” Howdy drawls.

“Like you wouldn’t believe! If baking was so much as mentioned, she’d jump right on houndin’ us to whip some up for her, or send us to go buy some. We’d never even get a taste! They’d be gone the moment they hit the air, I tell ya.” Eddie chuckles. “Took me a while to understand what all the fuss is about, but man was she right. They are good!”

“Uh-huh. Well, we have a fresh batch delivered every morning. They’re not the same type every time, mind you, but I can promise that they’re all of the highest quality.”

“Breadwinners, right?” Eddie jokes. Howdy doesn’t blink, but Barnaby snorts. He’ll take it. “I might have to come by more often, if that’s the case! Thank you kindly, sir.”

“Mhm, have a good day.” Howdy hands him the bag and strides away without a glance. The dismissal is clear as day. “Say, Barn, did you hear about the racket one of those cult crackpots stirred up at our dear friend’s tearoom?”

Eddie doesn’t catch the tail-end of the sentence as he hurries away, but he frowns. Cult? What cult? There’s a cult? He certainly didn’t hear of one before moving here, and none of his background checks had turned up anything of the sort. He hopes it was just a figure of speech. 

The door chimes again as Eddie leaves. It isn’t until he’s in his car that the embarrassment of that whole exchange catches up with him. If he had a nickel for every time he’d made a fool of himself in front of a gorgeous, strangely familiar man, he’d have three nickels. At the rate he’s going, he’ll either be rich, or he’ll have to move. 

Eddie subtly tries to peek around the store’s window displays from the safety of his car. He catches a scant glimpse of blue hair - come to think of it, it’s a similar shade to Wally’s. But where Wally’s had, to Eddie’s memory, been uniformly dyed right down to his eyebrows, Barnaby’s rich brown roots were obvious. His beard and eyebrows weren’t dyed, either. 

As Eddie relaxes back into his seat, he re-reads at the store’s name. The color drains from his face and he barely restrains himself from slamming his forehead against the steering wheel.

Oh, of course. Of course he made a fool of himself in front of the owner. Eddie can never come back here again. And it was such a nice store…

[napping-sapphic]

I know it’s already getting unbearably hot but who wants to come try and nap with both me and my heating pad anyway

[hauntingblue]

Oden's prophecy of young pirates coming to save wano becoming yamato's hope for his freedom.... and him becoming oden because of it.... it's just so good... on the other side luffy taking ace's spot for liberating yamato... I think I hauve covid

[piningpercussionist]

Saw a comment somewhere and if I wasnt so tired my blood would be boiling but we are at a low simmer, so here I am to Bitch

I'm sorry but if your argument for (likely canon) bisexual Kim having a preference for men is her FORMER relationship with Scott I am going to beat you to death with my bat

At LEAST say it's the hopeless pining she does for him currently. Or maybe mention that she's dated 3 guys that we know of! (Which I will counter w her being gay as hell for/with 3 women, which levels out- though that's besides the point-) But if you're going to hinge it entirely on a relationship she had that started and ended in highschool I'm going to break your legs and make you sit through a deep dive of the series with me. All media. Just to reeeeeally draw it out. Painfully.

[izzy-b-hands]

You ever have a day where you feel like you're doing everything wrong, even when you're like. just doing things you normally do. And are alone, so like the only person i could in theory upset/piss off/etc right now is me myself, and Yet the feeling persists

Yeaaaaah. That's today's vibe for me apparently lmao

[themyscirah]

Thinking about current continuity Vanessa and just getting pissed off again

Like one, LET HER REST oh my god dc you ruin her FUCKING life like an asshole only to bring her back as a villain after she finally got out oh my god-

But also like its just so bad. This is a whole other woman with her name like why are we doing this. Like first you kill her mom (JULIA NOOO) and erase her YEARS of history growing up around diana (the thing that actually made her villain turn [if you can call it that w the level of manipulation involved] interesting and fucking heartbreaking) for some shitty "oh I saved you we were friends" run of the mill whatever. Then to use that and say Nessie had a crush on her OWN SISTER (Diana, so like informally adopted, but still 😡) now????

And then they took away her curls and made her a redhead but not even the realistic kind. DC SHE DOESNT LOOK LIKE THAT

It just makes me so mad. Freaking guys. They could have used another name like oh my god. She's not even the first silver swan why the fuck would they do that if they're not going to explore her history w diana (which she no longer has!!!!) or how intensely fucked up everything got for her. What is even the fucking point of this then other to drag a main character of the ww supporting cast through the mud again for genuinely no reason. They could have easily had her be Valerie Beaudry (sorry Val) instead or just MADE UP ANOTHER NAME because it's obvious that no one actually cared about her as a character they just wanted the wondy villain back so like !!!!!!!!!! Why even bother

[critterchitters-closedcaptions]

trying to decipher if the overwhelming dread & Thoughts are cause of the state of the world or cause i need a shower.

vent post in the tags. idk. do whatever 👍

[randum-famdoms]

GODS FUCKING DAMNIT WHY DID MY PARENTS DECIDE THAT A HOUSE LESS THAN 100 FEET AWAY FROM A HIGHWAY WAS A GOOD FUCKING IDEA

[crossbackpoke-check]

re last answer: please don't stop, being very unhinged about these two pretty white boys is helping distract me from the sharks losing streak rn so bring it on

https://www.tumblr.com/bondedpairs/764566430180147200?source=share

(sideblog woes but there's the link for you) anyway in the vid they talk about going over to each other's houses to have dinner and things and while that is a delicious example of their codependence i love it bc through an rpf lens there is definitely some old man ******* going on. they can have the dilfs and each other.

(someone else mentioned kept boys which i could write an essay on but i fear being Perceived™️)

anyway if you have anything to add to this please do, if not ignore me and i will hide under a rock until the stress-related insanity has worn off and i am a functioning member of society once more 😂

- @bondedpairs

ty for the video!!! and please, WRITE THE KEPT BOYS ESSAYYYY i promise i will read it with my hands over my eyes if you don’t want to be perceived. do it scared!! do it anyway!! we’ll all love you for it!!!

[no1ryomafan]

hate ever since I finished giant robo yesterday my train of thought hasn’t been a critical analysis of what I consumed despite acknowledging both the show’s strengths and weaknesses and instead going back to my Imagawa Armageddon drama conspiracy board and going “okay no way in fuck he didn’t have Kei as Genki planned after the fucking family drama plot line in giant robo being similar to what we got in arma and it’s likely that the team got away with this idea after he left because they might’ve been in production for ep 4 but had to rewrite it and the show after onwards to fit the new direction”

or in simpler terms my brain activates “how do I make this about getter robo”