#i don’t know why this is making me cry but it is so I’m writing about it

[ham1lton]

hi hehe it’s me again with another singer yn headcanon. she releases bed chem and lewis is in public the first time he hears it (he knows it’s abt him) and when he hears “come right on me, i mean camaraderie” he’s like 😧🫣🫨🙂‍↕️😌

- 🐰

JUNO!

pairings: lewis hamilton x popstar!yn

summary: writing songs about your alleged situationship with an f1 legend is one thing. watching the internet connect the dots and expose your soft launch in real time? that’s a whole other story.

warnings: very vague mentions of sex. if you can listen to the song, this’ll be okay.

author’s note: i kinda just did my own thing with it bunny anon i’m sorry :((

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liked by sza, lewishamilton and 2,139,909 others.

yourinstagram: my newest album short n sweet is out this weekend. including my #1 single espresso!!! (still pinching myself) and my collab with thee sza. love her sm. please go check it out. maybe give it a stream. i would like that.

tagged // sza

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user2: fav song??

-> yourinstagram: that’s like asking me to choose a favourite child :( i can’t do that. (it depends on the week and my mood).

sza: i love u :(

-> yourinstagram: LOVE U MORE 🩷🩷🩷

user1: YASSSSS!!!! WE WON!!!!

lewishamilton: so proud of you. you worked so hard for this.

-> user3: fav song future mr yn? 😊

-> lewishamilton: i’m a little partial to bed chem. can’t wait for you all to hear the album. it’s incredible.

-> user18: purr thank you current mr yn <3

user4: crying throwing up shaking i’m so ready for this

-> user5: real i’m already in shambles and it’s not even out yet

user6: yn x sza is actually the collab of the century idc. my mozart and beethoven.

user7: espresso is my religion and yn is my prophet

user8: she really said short n sweet just like me 🥹🫶

-> user9: we love a self-aware queen

user10: if short n sweet doesn’t heal my seasonal depression i’m suing

georgerussell63: loved espresso!!! such a hit 😃 excited for the album!!

user11: yn pls drop the sza collab early i’m begging on my knees

-> user12: same but make it the live version of espresso too i need both for survival

oscarpiastri: need a signed copy when it comes out for my gf and my sisters and my mum 😅

user13: yn dropping albums like this is her villain origin story and i’m here for it

billieeilish: ready to stream 🤩

user14: espresso literally changed my brain chemistry so i’m ready for the rest

user16: yn you don’t understand i have a midterm this week why would you do this to me

-> user17: yn said no academics just vibes

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r/YNYLN

Discussion Thread: “Soft Launch or Just a Coincidence? yn’s Espresso and Bed Chem Have Fans Losing It”

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u/caffeinatedqueen: “say you can’t sleep, baby, i know / that’s that me espresso” … lewis is DEFINITELY the sleepless baby here. no one can convince me otherwise.

u/oversizedandobsessed: honestly, this whole album is just yn is just dragging this man through the mud of infatuation, and he’s happily letting her do it.

u/softlaunchdetective: the way she says “too bad your ex don’t do it for ya, walked in and dream-came-trued it for ya” like ??? is this shade at one of lewis’ exes??? 👀

u/nintendoswitchitup: “move it up, down, left, right, oh / switch it up like nintendo” … idk if it’s just me but this sounds like an inside joke. lewis definitely spilled to her about playing mario kart that one time or something, and she ran with it.

u/spillthepollen: LEWIS LITERALLY HAVING A PROD CREDIT ????

u/espressoenthusiast: can we talk about how lewis called bed chem his fave and now he’s out here reposting espresso lyrics on his story?? like sir, do you want us to know that you down bad???

u/ynsbathrobe: lewis flying across time zones just to have yn calling him “sleepless” is sending me. they are not even trying to hide it anymore.

u/girlnamedcamaraderie: okay but the real tea: did she write this while they were “just friends” or after things escalated 👀 bc espresso feels like early-days crush and bed chem feels like… post-crush lmao.

u/carbonfiberqueen: the way “holy shit, is it that sweet? i guess so” is the cockiest line ever, and lewis was out here blushing on that Monaco dinner date. yn KNOWS she’s got him wrapped around her finger.

u/ynluvr69: not my queen begging him not to embarrass her. like yes he’s thee lewis hamilton but he’s also just a man 😭

u/racecarroman: the album rollout being this obvious is killing me. yn drops espresso, juno and bed chem, lewis goes “yeah this is my fave”, and now they’re gonna post a joint vacation pic in a week. mark my words.

u/manifestoversized: the taste music video is so hot im so serious i want her.

u/proofitsscientific: she gave us the words “say you can’t sleep, baby, i know” and then turned around and said “are you free next week?” … yn, we are all begging for mercy.

u/bedchemmessy: at this point, just let lewis confirm he’s the sleepless baby. he’s BEEN soft-launching yn through his spotify likes anyway.

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liked by ynsgirlfriend, bedchemstan and 2,837,993 others

ham1ltonshaderoom: i think we have an idea of the cute boy with the white jacket and thick accent is. singer songwriter yn yln released her newest album ‘short n sweet’ to both critical and commercial success the past weekend with five songs slotting themselves in the top ten. she also set twitter alight with the loudest soft launch of her alleged relationship with f1 legend lewis hamilton according to eagle-eyed fans. what do we think about the album and the couple ham1ltons?

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user1: yn writing bed chem and espresso about lewis is honestly too much for me. this is their pr team’s magnum opus.

user2: idk why people are surprised. we BEEN knew when she was randomly at that Monaco GP last year “just for vibes” 💀

user4: not y’all hyping them up like yn didn’t expose their entire situationship in bed chem… miss girl is wild for “arrive at the same time”

user3: idc about the relationship but short n sweet ATE and left no crumbs. five top ten hits? she’s THAT girl.

-> user25: cause juno, taste, espresso, bed chem and please please please??? she’s crazy!!

user5: the only thing louder than this “soft launch” is lewis’ exhaust pipes and yn’s lyricism.

user8: yn really said “i will not post him but i WILL write about what we’re doing at 3 a.m.” and i respect it

user9: “thick accent” got me crying bc we KNOW it’s lewis but yn made it sound like she pulled a victorian love interest 😭

user7: not a fan tbh… lewis is too much of a legend for this oversharing energy. like, does everything need to be in a song?

-> user10: girl it’s called being a songwriter… he knew what he signed up for.

user13: yn’s fans are delulu. they’re literally never gonna post each other publicly and y’all are gonna be analyzing vibes forever 💀

-> user11: LMFAOOOO

-> user12: feel like the dummy you are yet?

user14: short n sweet is a whole love letter to lewis and i’m here for it. she’s in her main character era, and he’s just happy to be here.

-> user26: she wants his baby 😭 like writing a whole song about a breeding kink is insane… #needthat

user15: lewis reposting espresso lyrics like “that’s that me espresso” was the confirmation i needed. boy, we KNOW it’s about you.

user16: the album is fire but yn’s “soft launch” strategy has me cackling. just post a selfie together and call it a day!!!

user17: imagine lewis on the pit wall like “yeah i’m the sleepless baby yn’s talking about” 😭😭

user18: i’m not saying lewis dating yn is a marketing strategy but it’s giving world domination vibes and i fear i love it.

-> user19: PR relationship or not, if yn pulls up at another GP this season, i’m throwing hands.

-> user19: CAUSE THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE 😓

user20: yn u did your thing with this album!!!

user21: i just KNOW lewis is on her close friends story hyping her up with “🔥🔥🔥” emojis and we’ll never see it.

user22: yn soft launched a relationship and a top-tier album simultaneously. queen of multitasking.

user23: lewis is too old for this tbh. my guy should be manifesting a championship, not blowing out his pop star gf’s back.

user24: yn and lewis got me believing in love again. bed chem is my anthem. i’m free next week if they’re hiring a third.

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liked by lewishamilton, bestie1 and 3,738,929 others.

yourinstagram: i’m working late cause i’m a singerrrr 😁

comments switched off.

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— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @aliciaablueprint @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[marauder-misprint]

Hii!! I just wanna say, ur writing is genuinely AMAZING. Like, actually tear inducing, feet-kicking, giggling-in-bed kind of amazing. This is my first ever request so bear with me 😔: for your 200 followers celebration (congrats by the way), I was wondering if you could do the prompt 10: “Too good for you? Don’t be ridiculous—they don’t deserve you.” Where reader is in a kinda toxic relationship and Remus, her bestie makes her realize this while also realizing her feelings for him?? Idk if this makes sense I’m sryyy 😭. Totally fine if u don’t feel comfortable doing it, or are to busy! Ignore my ineligible ranting, I for ur I hope ur doing well! Have a good rest of ur day/night!! :)

- 🌅

Thank you!!! This was so much fun to write ♡ Hope you enjoy it

Fireside Conversations

Remus Lupin x fem!Gryffindor!reader

2k words

cw: fluff, toxic relationship

The Gryffindor Common Room was quieter than usual. Which is why everyone there heard your disgruntled groan followed by you basically yelling, “Would you just listen!” as the portrait opened and closed. Peter was shaking his head as he approached the rest of the Marauders where they gathered on the couches by the fire. 

“They are fighting again,” he says as he sits down next to James. He didn’t need to say who. They knew. 

“That’s, what, third time this week?” James asks.

“At least,” Peter responds.

Remus stands up, looking at the portrait hole concerned.

“Moony, don’t,” Sirius says with a warning tone. “She doesn’t want us meddling, remember?”

“I’m not going to meddle,” he says unconvincingly. He wasn’t planning on meddling, rather eavesdropping, which in his defense, you never said he couldn’t do. He found it was easier to comfort you when he knew exactly what the bastard you called your boyfriend did this time. That was why he was going to listen… and to step in or meddle if things got out of hand. 

Remus walks over to the portrait and cracks it open the tiniest bit. He cast a muffling charm behind him so that your voice wouldn’t carry too far into the common room and then hoped you and your boyfriend would be oblivious to the ever-so-slightly open portrait.

“You need to stay away from them,” Remus hears your boyfriend tell you. “They’re using you to get into your pants.”

You scoff. “You’re being ridiculous! I’ve been friends with them since first year, and that’s all we are! We’re friends. Totally platonic. It’s you I like and that’s all that matters!”

“I know you like me. It’s them I don’t trust. So you need to stay away from them.”

“But I trust them. Isn’t that enough?”

“No, it’s really not. I think you’re blinded by them being in Gryffindor with you. You can’t trust everyone in your house, darling.”

“But they’ve earned it.”

“Listen, listen, I’m just worried for you. You spend so much time with them that it feels like you’re putting space between us. I think they’re trying to break us up.”

“They wouldn’t!” you protest. “And even if they were, I wouldn’t let that happen.” 

“Baby, just listen to me, okay? I wouldn’t steer you wrong, would I?”

You sigh and say in a mumble, “No, you wouldn’t.”

Remus lets the painting close quietly and he returns to the couches looking more grumpy than usual. 

“What’s birdbrain up to now?” Sirius asks. 

“Apparently the four of us are trying to seduce her.”

The three boys burst out laughing, a tiny snippet of the rambunctious noise that usually filled the common room. The grumpy look did not leave Remus’ face. It remains as you enter the common room, still looking upset and rubbing your eyes. You give the boys the briefest of glances before looking away and beelining it to the girls’ dorms. 

“Of course he made her cry,” Remus scowls. 

---

He loves me. I love him. He loves me. I love him. 

You kept repeating that in your head. Your boyfriend just cared for you, that’s all. He just cared so, so much. Almost too much. Was that something to fault him over? Goodness, you didn’t want to.

He loves me. I love him. 

Maybe if you said it enough, it would soothe your uneasiness. You’re laying in bed. Sleep was refusing to take you so you toss and turn, trying to make the least amount of noise with your rustling sheets. You really didn’t want to wake Lily or Marlene or Mary and have to have a heart-to-heart about why you can’t sleep. 

He loves me. I love him. 

Eventually, enough is enough. You climb out of bed, grab your robe and go to the common room. You almost laugh when you see Remus already sitting by the fire. From the way he’s sitting, he most definitely has a book in his lap. You stand quietly next to an armchair near him.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask softly. 

He jumps slightly but smiles as soon as he recognizes your voice and looks up. 

“Please,” he breathes, gesturing to the chair you’re standing by. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nod as you tuck your legs underneath you.

“What’s eating your mind, love?”

“Nothing. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was so knowing yet gentle. And he always could tell when you lied and he refused to tell you what your tell was. 

You sigh. “Can you love someone too much?”

Remus doesn’t respond right away; he doesn’t know how to. Did you love your boyfriend too much? Did he love you too much? Was it a good thing or a bad thing to love too much? 

You look at the fire, waiting for Remus to answer. You don’t mind that he isn’t answering right away. You like that he’s thinking about it, choosing his words carefully. It was one of the things you loved about him.

“I… I don’t think you can love the right person too much. Your love won’t be too much or too little when it’s right.”

When you look at Remus, he’s already looking at you with so much concern and love in his eyes. You rest your head on your hands.

“When did you get to be so wise, Lupin?”

He shrugs. “One of the perks of being an old man, I guess.”

You sigh. You think Remus looks very cozy in his sweater and pyjama bottoms. There was something about him that always seemed cozy and comfortable. Being with him was one of the places you felt most at ease. 

You need to stay away from them. 

Your boyfriend’s words echo in your mind. It makes you want to cry. You want him to be the right person, but you couldn’t stay away from the Marauders, most of all Remus. He was your best friend. What if your boyfriend was the right person for you but you weren’t his?

“I… I don’t think I’m enough for him,” you mumble. “He’s too good for me.”

Remus stares at you dumbfounded. 

“Too good for you? Don’t be ridiculous — he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Remus-” you start to say. 

“No, darling, listen. I know it’s not my place and I’m not trying to meddle, but he’s not right for you. He told you you couldn’t cheer for your own house’s Quidditch when we played Ravenclaw and he’s not even on the team.”

“He just really wanted us to be cheering for the same team.”

“He told you to stay away from us.”

Your face hardens and your lips form a thin line.

“You heard that?”

He nods and says, “Your boyfriend shouldn’t be so insecure in your relationship. He should trust you to be around other people, around your friends. Especially around your friends who you’ve known for years.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But-”

Remus cuts you off again. “No buts, darling. Have you ever given him a reason to doubt your feelings for him?”

“No.”

“You give him all your love and that’s how he responds? You don’t deserve that kind of treatment. We’re not dumb, we know how much you’ve been fighting. If he can’t see how lovely, strong, loyal, smart, perfect you are, how devoted you can be when you care for someone, that’s on him. It’s on him for not trusting you, not seeing how you are more than capable of handling yourself and able to come back to the ones who care for you most.”

You close your eyes. Tears are building and you really don’t want them to fall. You know if you start crying, you won’t be able to stop. Something about Remus being right struck a nerve. You should be enough for your boyfriend. If Remus was able to see all of this in you, why couldn’t he? 

You feel a hand on the side of your face. You open your eyes to Remus crouching in front of you, one hand holding your face and the other placed next to your leg, helping him maintain his balance. 

“I know you said not to meddle, but that’s truly what I think, sweetheart. I think that relationship isn’t worth the arguing. I think it’s run its course.”

You feel the tears beginning to fall as you nod. “I-I, I think so too.”

“Oh, darling,” he coos as he pulled you into a hug.

You let the tears fall more freely as Remus holds you tight to his chest. He doesn’t shush you. He just holds you, softly rubbing your back. You could always be vulnerable with him. He understood in a way that you felt no one else did. He never judged you. He was your safe place. 

“Rem?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Mhmm?”

“Will you be there when I end things?”

“You want me there?”

You nod. “I won’t back down if you’re there.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

---

He was there for you. He was there for you when you broke up with your boyfriend. He was there for you when he tried to convince you that breaking up was a mistake. Remus was there for you when you broke down crying later. He never left your side. And you liked it. You had your own traveling safe place in Remus. 

With each passing day, being without your now-ex was easier. Being with Remus was easy. 

But you weren’t with Remus. The more you considered it, the more you wished you were. He already treated you better than your ex did. He never made you feel like you were too much or not enough. You knew he trusted you more than life itself. You didn’t dare say anything though. What if you ruined the friendship? What if you said something and lost your four best friends in one swoop? 

It really hits you one night, a few weeks after the breakup. Today had been nothing special. Just classes and studying in the library with Remus. But it had felt so special and every time your hands accidentally touched, you swear you felt fireworks. 

I love him. … Does he love me?

Why did you always think about things when you were in bed? Once again, you’re tossing and turning. You groan quietly as you get up. You know you won’t get sleep. 

This time, you do laugh when you see Remus already in the common room, sitting by the fire with a book as usual.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask with a laugh as you join him on the couch.

You rest your head on his shoulder and look at the pages of his book.

“Usually during History of Magic and from three to seven.”

You giggle and Remus turns his head to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What’s on your mind tonight, sweetheart?”

You don’t respond right away, the worry of ruining a perfectly good friendship festering inside of you. 

“Do you fancy anyone?” you ask quietly.

His eyes go wide and he chuckles awkwardly. He looks away. 

Oh, he so does.

“Erm, yeah. I do…”

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Do you think she’s the one? The right one, I mean.”

“I’d like to think so. Only been in love with her since third year.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s my safe place. More than James, more than Sirius, more than Peter. She’s the loveliest person I know. She’s brilliant. Beautiful. Loyal. Perfect.” He pauses. “She has her flaws but doesn’t everyone? I mean, I got my furry little problem.”

Without thinking, you say, “You’re my safe place.” 

He looks back at you, the softest look in his eyes.

“I am?” he whispers. 

“You are.”

“So we’re each other’s safe place, huh.”

She’s my safe place. 

The realization hits you. Your face heats as you stare into those warm brown eyes. 

“You think I’m beautiful?”

He hums in response. There’s a silent conversation happening between you as you maintain eye contact. You nod. He places his hand underneath your chin and lifts your face. He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away in case he misunderstood you. You don’t. You lean in too, meeting his lips with your own. The fireworks you felt when your hands accidentally brushed paled in comparison to when he kissed you. The hands were barely a spark and this was a firework show's finale. 

Maybe Remus really was your right person. 

[purple-babygirl]

I've been feeling hella insecure ever since I found out I was pregnant. My babydaddy is supportive BUT how would Bucky help his girl feel better? Ya know with all the acne popping out of nowhere and her body getting bigger (stretch fucking marks) and I know I'm just a few months away from not being able to shave so maybe throw that in there too please. Doesn't have to be a real fic just headcannons would help really. Love you from Canada ❤️❤️

unconditionally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader Word count: 2,670 Warnings: insecurities, low self-esteem, intrusive thoughts, body image, 18+ Content: mentions of fingering, a bit of dirty talk A/N: this is probably the first time I ever get an ask and want to make sure to write a reply on the very same day. congratulations on your baby, dear nonnie💜💜 I hope you have a safe pregnancy and an easy delivery, super proud of you over here💜💜💜 please forgive me if this seems rushed, I, too, feel I've gotten a bit rusty but I'm still hoping that you wouldn't completely hate this💜please excuse me while I combine a bit of another ask with yours. thank you so much for sending this ask and sharing such sweet news with me. Much love right back to you, maple syrup nonnie💜💜💜💜💜💜

~

Scars

All it took was Bucky trying to kiss the back of her hand on their second date and the slight flinch of her digits let him know something wasn’t right. At first, he thought he made her uncomfortable, so he gave her her space for the rest of the night. However, she kissed him first when he was walking her up to her door that night, so he told himself he might have imagined it all.

Then it happened again on their 4th date. They were at the movies and Bucky’s hand held hers, his thumb caressing the back of it. When his thumb brushed a particular spot, the slight flinch was back. Bucky made sure to ask if she was okay this time and she reassured him that she was. He could tell that her body gave the same tense reaction every time his thumb brushed against a specific spot on the back of her hand though, which was a scar.

She had a small scar on the bottom of her forefinger that she would mostly cover with rings. Tonight, however, she wasn’t wearing any, which led to direct contact between Bucky’s thumb and the scarred area.

Bucky told himself he was reading way too much into the situation, that it probably wasn’t that. The scar itself was very small, barely noticeable.

But his previous doubts were brought back and confirmed on their 6th date. It was the first time she let him come in after a date and the first time they were going to have sex since they started dating.

Bucky has unzipped her dress and was ready to push it down her shoulders when she held it to her chest as asked if the lights could be turned off.

“Why, doll?” He frowns despite himself, his brain not understanding why she would ever want to hide behind the curtain of darkness.

“It’s nothing... I’m just used to it.” She shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant.

“You know by now that I can tell when you’re lying, doll.” Bucky smiles gently.

He didn’t know, but his tender smile made her want to cry.

“I— I have a scar on my tummy.”

Her voice is so small when she utters the words that it had Bucky’s heart dropping.

It must’ve been clear on his face that he feared the worst because she quickly continues, “no one hurt me, it’s just from a small surgery I had when I was a kid. But the scar is.. ya know.. still kinda.. there.”

Her arms involuntarily hugged the dress tighter to her chest and waist as she explained.

“Doll, you realize I practically have no left arm, right?”

She chuckles softly before looking up at him, “that’s different, Buck. You’re beautiful.”

“So are you!”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “I mean, I can always get a tattoo or two drawn on the scars. Someone had suggested that to me before..” Her thumb caresses her scarred forefinger.

And it clicked in Bucky’s head.

Another person had made her feel this way about her scars. Some idiot had previously told her to ‘cover up’ her scars, get them tattooed over, made her feel like she wasn’t something to look at while the lights were still on.

Bucky was seething to say the least, but he couldn’t let his anger make him lose sight of what was important and what this whole thing was about. Her.

She needed to understand that she wasn’t anything short of art, a vision, a sight that could get him on his knees in a second.

“Doll, you have nothing to hide. Whatever is underneath your dress, I know it will blow my mind. I’m already hard for you, baby, I don’t care.”

She blushes, smiling up at him shyly, her eyes still unsure.

“Please, believe me.” Bucky’s hand cups her cheek as he kisses her forehead then her nose and finally her lips.

“You show me yours if I show you mine?” He whispers against her lips.

She nodded, her heart fluttering at the gesture.

Without hesitation, Bucky pulls away and takes his jacket off, pulling his t-shirt over his head next.

He stood before her in all of his glory, showing the scars on his chest, even turning around for her to see the ones on his back before facing her again and bringing her smaller hand to his left shoulder. The ugliest part of him from his point of view.

His eyes close as she tentatively touches him.

She knew it wasn’t easy for Bucky to show her himself like that. Her fingertips tracing, soothing, his scar tissue was the most intimate he has ever let anybody get with him in decades.

Her eyes tear up, a mix of emotions swirling in her chest: love, compassion, gratitude, trust.

Bucky opened his eyes when she removed her touch, only to be met with the sight of her letting her dress fall around her body to pool by her feet.

She stepped out of it, showing Bucky the horizontal scar across her belly.

Without a second thought, Bucky gets on his knees before her, his lips ever so softly brushing her skin.

She closed her eyes, a tear or two escaping her eyes at the closeness of the moment.

She doesn’t remember ever feeling so safe, so accepted.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on and I’m a hundred years old, baby.” Bucky whispers on her skin, the vibrations tickling her as a smile finds its way to her lips.

Acne

When it is a particularly bad breakout she would lean away further, try not to let her cheeks touch Bucky’s because she has this weird belief that she might ‘give it to him’ even though he has reassured her multiple times before that he was a super soldier who couldn’t possibly get acne. Still, she would involuntarily refrain from indulging in his cheek kisses as much as she normally would when it was a bad skin week.

If Bucky told her that he never even noticed, she would think he was lying to her. But he didn’t. She was always the same beautiful girl to him at all times. It didn’t matter if it was the week before her period or the first few months of her pregnancy; he did not see the new pimples. Bucky didn’t notice because he saw her, he focused on her rather than on the flesh and skin that covered her bones.

She was the one to bring his attention to the acne on her face, the acne on her shoulders, on her back, on her butt. Bucky didn’t care though. He loved her all the same, craved her all the same, could stare at her dreamily for hours all the same, could cum in his pants at the sight of her naked form like a horny teenager all the same.

But she had already gotten him to notice the physical changes, so he acted accordingly. With care. With love. Unconditional love.

“Doll, don’t pick,” Bucky says, gently taking her hand up to his lips before her nails could start picking at her new pimples.

He kisses her finger tips and the back of her hand before keeping it in his to make sure she wouldn’t take it to her face again.

She smiles, trying to focus back on the movie playing on their TV, but all she could really think about was how much she loves Bucky Barnes.

Body hair

The next time Bucky realized that his beloved goddess had insecurities, it surprised him still. It was when he came back from a long mission 2 days earlier than expected and tried to show her how much he’s missed her.

He noticed how she instantly closed in on herself when his foot caressed up her shin, moving away a little.

It was only when he pressed her about it through tickles that she finally provided an explanation and whispered, “I didn’t shave.”

Again, Bucky hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t care. All he cared about was the this was her. His girl. The one he has missed like crazy when he was away. The one he wanted to be naked with and make love to all night long.

If she thought a bit of body hair was going to stop him, she couldn’t be more wrong.

“Doll, I don’t care.” He tried to kiss her but she pulled away.

She only ever did that once before because she was sick and forgot he couldn’t catch her cold.

“Buck, please, there’s hair everywhere.” She covers her mouth, “even the mustache has some.”

Her insecure whisper with her gaze lowered tugged at Bucky’s heart in a way he couldn’t describe.

Who the hell has led her to believe that body hair was something to be this ashamed of and where could he find them? He just wanted to talk—

“You think a little hair is going to stop me from ravishing you, doll?” Bucky asks huskily, nibbling at her earlobe.

She shivers like she always does, but still tries to pull away, “it is not just a little hair.”

She gets up and stands in the middle of the room, looking in the direction of the bathroom, “I can be quick.”

Bucky sighs, sitting down on the edge of their bed and pulling her down on his lap.

“Doll, I never wanna make you uncomfortable, you know that.”

“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” she explains softly.

“You’re not. I am more than comfortable fucking you right on the floor beneath your feet.”

She blushes, looking up at him with nothing but adoration in her eyes.

“I don’t care if you haven’t shaved for a few days or if you were turned into a yeti. You’re my girl and I want you. I will always want you.”

Bucky’s eyes were sincere and the bulge she was sitting on confirmed his words all the more, so she finally let him lay her down on her back and worship her the way she was meant to be.

Bucky let his lips kiss every inch of her that night. He licked the shit out of her thighs and ate her pussy like a starved man, not letting up until she was about to pass out, but most importantly until she believed him.

Stretch marks and body weight changes

Now that was the one that really never made Bucky blink even once. If anything, he liked them. Her stretch marks looked like the ripples of the sea on the skin of his very beloved. The fucking ocean with all its beauty under his calloused fingertips. He liked it all the more knowing it was just more evidence of his baby growing inside of her. How lucky was he?

She, of course, didn’t see it that way, examining her waist and thighs for hours before the mirror if Bucky would let her.

“Admiring how hot you are, I see.” Bucky smiled as he wraps his arms around her waist.

She instantly smiles back at his warmth engulfing her from behind though she doesn’t agree, “yeah, yeah.. hot is the word.”

“I don’t like your insinuations about my girl, doll.” He nibbles at her neck, his fingers gravitating towards her growing belly.

“That’s because there’s nothing hot about this, Bucky!” She argues, frustrated.

“Doll, you have another human growing inside of you; it’s more than normal for these changes to happen to your body.” He doesn’t stop caressing her bare tummy as his lips brush along her neck.

“I know.. doesn’t mean I will magically be able to accept it though. It’s.. a lot, Buck.”

“I know, love,” he kisses the spot behind her ear, “but I swear to you, you have never been sexier to me.”

“You swear? Pfft.” She tries to get out of his hold, unable to see what he was talking about.

“Hey,” Bucky stops her, bringing her back to stand before the mirror, “look at yourself. You’re a goddamn goddess. You have a baby in here and your body is merely accommodating, baby. Look at those full breasts.” Bucky squeezes her boobs gently in his large hands and she instantly moans, “all mine”.

“But— ”

“Who did this to you hmm?” Bucky teases, circling his thumb over her covered nipple.

“Bucky—” Her head is thrown back on his shoulder as his other hand finds its way between her legs.

“Who put a baby in you? Filled up this tight pussy again and again until you had no choice but to become knocked up?”

“Y- you did, Buck.” She breathes, her legs opening for him.

“That’s right, doll.” He slips a finger into her and then another, “look at yourself. Look how breathtaking you look with my baby growing inside of you, taking my fingers like you were meant to.”

She can barely open her eyes, yet the first thing they zero on is, “but the stretch marks—”

“I love them.” Bucky sucks at her neck.

“And all that newly gained body weight—” She moans, her hips grinding down on his hand.

“I adore it.”

“The way I’m gonna get heavier—”

“Has me absolutely infatuated.”

When her legs suddenly shake, her knees buckling, she thinks it was Bucky’s complete acceptance of her in every state that made her cum, not his fingers.

And if she thinks she’s going to walk away from that mirror before she watches herself fall apart for Bucky at least twice, she was an idiot.

 Snoring

It’s gotten a little difficult for her as the months pass to sleep in any other position but on her back, which unfortunately led to something she never used to do: snoring. The first night Bucky had woken her up to help her adjust the position of her head made her felt so embarrassed that she couldn’t go back to sleep again. And the very next night, she wanted to sleep in a different bed as to not interrupt Bucky’s sleep so much, so.. annoyingly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Buck, let’s be rational, please. You have things to do tomorrow, a mission by the end of the week. You need your sleep. Lots of it.”

“I said no, doll.”

“But listen—”

“I don’t remember you making me sleep in a different room when I used to wake you up to nightmares.”

His voice is so soft as he reminds her and it makes her heart melt.

“Bucky, that’s different—”

“You’re right, my thing almost gave you a fucking heart attack every single night, sometimes multiple times in the same night.”

“It’s not like it was something you chose to do!”

“And this is something you choose to do?”

Her mouth opens and closes but remains silent.

“Doll, I don’t wake you up at night because I’m annoyed by the snoring. I wake you up because I want you to breathe properly and have a comfortable sleep.”

“I want you to have a comfortable sleep too—”

“I do. Doll, I don’t wanna be anywhere but next to you. You think I’m gonna give up the privilege of being able to fall asleep next to you just because you started snoring?”

“Bucky.” She blushes in embarrassment, yet her heart skips a beat.

“Love, you are the reason I’m able to fall asleep like a normal person at all. How could you ever think I would wanna sleep in separate rooms?”

“I just care for you.”

“I care for you too, baby. And I wanna be there for you, with you, every step of the way. I want you snoring to wake me up because then I know to reposition your head and help you sleep better. I want your cold feet to wake me up because then I know to put socks on you because I know you can’t reach because of your belly—”

“My feet wake you up too!”

“Jesus, doll—”

~

@harrysthiccthighss @tinystudentfirepurse @lavendercitizen @tumblin-theworldaway @pretty-pop-princess-hs @lilymurphy03 @idontwannagomrstarkk @glxwingrxse @littlelioncub43 @mathletemadison @canned-rootbear @pandaxnienke @loveisallyouneed1125 @floral-recs @littlemoonkiller @hallecarey1 @vespasianphantom @vicmc624 @winters1917 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @blkmystery @millercontracting @trappedwriter @am-3-thyst @obsessedwithquinn @sydnielauryn @alittlerayof-pitchblack @olipiaa @peterparkersgirl-blog @buckybarnessweetheart @thealyrs @colorfulbluebirdpainter @stuckysgirl27 @ihavetwoholesforareason @princess-bee0 @pastel-noah168 @steeph-aniie @buckitostan @onthr-dream @123iloveyou456 @ciaqui @lindasweetie @justherefortheficandsmut @xxdiaqiaoxx @morgthemagpie @wintrsoldrluvr @goldylions @serendipitouslife90 @sebastians-love @leelee1234love @tiedyedghoulette @saint-marvel @helenaellie @onceithough @raynelbabe @a-very-fictional-girl @justabeluga @lindababe69 @sapphirebarnes

[milktiicup]

Hi! I’ve never requested anything before so i’m not even sure if this is where I send it to you, but fingers crossed :D I have two requests, not that you should do both, but because I couldn’t make up my mind on which I wanted to send. (Also i’m requesting these as a female reader but you can decide if you want it to be strictly female or not.)🤍🤍

First one, (Homicipher, Mr. Crawling) (And if you write for plus-sized readers) Where the reader has gotten their clothes dirty and gets offered the wedding dress, but knew she wouldn’t be able to fit in it? And Mr Crawling comes and finds them upset and tries to help or make them feel better.

Second request for Homicipher Mr. Crawling, where the reader has gone to their world with their friend, but the friend dies/gets killed, and the reader is inconsolable and can’t stop crying, and Mr. Crawling tries to soothe them (Maybe trying to get other monsters to help him).

the gift of belonging!

You force a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and give a slight shake of your head. “It’s… really beautiful. Thank you. But I don’t think it’s going to work for me.”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ i did the first one if that was okay!? sorry this is a bit cringe or not what you wanted >w<

warnings. plus sized!afab!reader, insecurity, cringe writing, the bride is a cutie patootie

The Bride holds the pretty white dress in her gloved hands. The soft fabric gleams under the dim light, pristine and delicate. You can only imagine she’d be donning a cute, girlish smile if she had a head, her childlike excitement radiating through her aura as she presents her gift to you. Your lips tug into a frown, the corners heavy with the weight of reality.

The dress is truly gorgeous.  The lace is intricate, the bodice peppered with delicate embroidery, and the fabric flows like water in her hands. You can feel the unspoken invitation in her silence as she holds it out, but you can’t find it in yourself to reach for it.

Your mind trips over the obvious truth. There’s no way. You know, just by looking at the dress, that it won’t fit. The cinched waist, the narrow bust- it was never made for someone like you. It wasn’t designed with your body in mind, and the thought stings more than you’d like to admit.

You force a small smile, weak and unconvincing, and give a slight shake of your head. “It’s… really beautiful. Thank you. But I don’t think it’s going to work for me.”

The words sound hollow in your ears. She doesn’t push, instead slowly lowering the dress to the floor. Is she hoping you’d change your mind? You can tell she doesn’t fully understand why you refused, but she doesn’t question it either. She drifts away quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound as she retreats, leaving you alone with the heaviness that’s settled in your chest.

You slump against the wall, lowering yourself until you're touching cold concrete. You lip quivers. Your body feels sticky with blood and grime. You sniffle, blinking back the tears threading on your eyelashes, and take a deep breath. There was no use getting upset- you had to find something else to wear.

“You okay?” You almost jump out of your skin, and right now, you really wanted to. “Hurt? Pain? …Troubled?”

“Mr. Crawling.” You offer a dim smile.

He settles next to you, mirroring you with his knees to his chest. He still towers over you. Mr. Crawling doesn’t let out his usual sharp giggle. A frown tugs at his face. He places a hand on your head, patting your hair in a futile attempt to make you feel better. 

“Why troubled?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing, really… “ The words catch in your throat as if you were suffocating. You scowl, nails digging into the flesh of your knees. 

“You troubled,” he insists. “Talk, me. Me help.”

The genuine concern in his voice is like an attack on the defense you put up- shooting right through it. You sigh, eyes focusing on the depressing concrete of the floor.

“It’s just… the dress. It’s really nice, but it’s not for me.” You gesture vaguely at yourself, your cheeks heating with frustration. “I’d never be able to fit into something like that. And I ruined my clothes earlier, so it’s just- ugh, I don’t know.” You cover your face with your hands, the vulnerability bubbling up faster than you can stop it.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then you feel a soft, tentative touch on your arm.

“Clothes bad,” Mr. Crawling declares firmly, as if the dress itself is the villain in this story. You peek through your fingers to see him glaring at the discarded garment like it personally offended him. “No fit? Not for you. Not right.”

You let out a weak laugh, lowering your hands. “It’s not the dress’s fault. It’s just… I don’t think I belong in stuff like that.”

“Wrong.” His response is immediate, almost sharp, and his long arms reach out to wrap you up in his arms. His expression softens as he looks at you. “You belong. Pretty things, soft things. Belong you.”

You blink at him, your breath hitching as his words sink in. He shifts closer, his hands trailing down your arms gently, his cool touch comforting.

“Not need dress. You…?” He pauses, his brow furrowing as he searches for the right phrase. Then his lips curl into a small, sly grin. “Pretty. Lot of pretty. Much pretty!”

Your smile grows, butterflies dancing free in your stomach- but you pause. 

Footsteps echo from the long hallway, and you can see the white glow from the Bride. She seems shy almost, kicking a heeled foot and holding something behind her. She reveals another dress- simpler in design, but still beautiful in its own right. The shape is more forgiving, the waistline relaxed, and the bust much more accommodating. 

“Me give clothes,” she explains, voice soft. “Pretty clothes. For you. You want clothes?”

The Bride stands there, patient. Her gesture is humble and almost tentative now, the tension between you and her unspoken but present. The dress in her hands feels like a bridge, a silent offer, and it takes a moment for you to realize the magnitude of what she’s done.

You blink, unsure if you should reach for it, as if afraid to hope that maybe- just maybe- it’s a sign that something’s finally clicking into place. Mr. Crawling’s arms tighten around you, the cold of his touch a stark contrast to the warmth that spreads through you from the sight of the new dress.

You rise to your feet and take the dress with shaking hands. 

“Thank you,” you say, a bright smile on your face. “It’s pretty. It’s perfect.”

“You like? Me glad!” The Bride clasps her hands together. “Goodbye!”

And she disappears, just like that.

You stare down at the fabric in your hands, the fabric melting between your fingers. The dress isn’t just something to wear- it’s something that fits you in a way you didn’t expect, both physically and emotionally. You can feel the weight of her kindness, the unspoken understanding of your struggle, wrapped up in the way she offered it to you.

“You like clothes?” Mr. Crawling asks.

“This is perfect!” you beam. 

You can feel the warmth of his gaze on you as you hold the dress up, considering it for a moment longer. It’s no longer just a symbol of what you thought you couldn’t have- it’s a symbol of what you deserve. You deserve to feel good. You deserve to feel comfortable in your own skin. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to apologize for who you are, for what you look like, or for the size of the body you carry.

It feels amazing to be out of your soiled clothes, and in something so elegant, so pretty. You twirl for Mr. Crawling. He claps his hands, his giggle bouncing down the hallway like an audience just for you. You can feel the blush rising on your cheeks. 

“Your clothes pretty!” Mr. Crawling grins widely. “Me glad. Me happy. You happy.”

“Hehe, thanks.”

“Pretty. Much pretty. You always pretty. Me like,” he says, as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

Your face burns. You reach down to his head, ruffling his long hair in something you can barely call a pat. He presses his face into your palm, giggling. 

 “You always say the nicest things, Mr. Crawling.” 

He tilts his head as you pull your hand away. “Me good?”

“You’re good. Very good.”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 3

author note: wow. oh. I can’t believe i finished this :')

this ridiculous, tender unhinged love letter to Ford (and to all of you) has been such a wild ride. tbh i started writing this fic as a half-joke, half-desperate need to get the scenario out of my head and now it’s grown into something so much more intimate than i ever imagined

to everyone who liked, reblogged, who wrote to me such wonderful sweet comments - i read every one and I love you more than Ford loves overthinking. seriously :) your support means everything, and I hope you'll like this final chapter. I’m so grateful for you all <3

ALSO sorry if there are a lot of kisses here….... ummm well I mean, you can't really blame me bc if Ford had let me, I would have just eaten him whole

nsfw, minors DNI

You don’t notice, but his hands are trembling when he reaches for the first aid kit he’d somehow already brought with him. Had he been planning this? Or maybe. . . he just couldn’t stay away, couldn’t bear the thought of you trying to deal with it on your own. 

Ford tries to maintain his usual level of calm composure, but the sight of your exposed thigh makes it so much harder than he anticipated. He feels so conflicted, his thoughts are somewhere between concern, desire and disgusting guilt. He’s a scientist, an explorer, a goddamned professional, not some pathetic old man fantasising about—

“This is going to sting,” Ford warns, trying to not look at your underwear along with your exposed body parts. He can’t be the one to make you uncomfortable now, not when you’re already in pain. “I’ll try to be quick, but it will hurt. I won’t push it, but. . . you need to stay still.”

He avoids meeting your wide, doe-like, scared, no, more like nervous eyes. Those eyes had undone him countless times before, always so trusting, so impossibly soft, curious, full of life. He dies every time when you look at him like that.

“Yes, okay,” you answer, though you’re not sure if it’s for him or for you. He pours the disinfectant into a cotton pad and just as he prepares to press it to your skin, you tense. “Ford, please. . . be gentle, okay?”

“I will, if it’s too much just tell me.” Ford still doesn’t dare meet your eyes, not when he knows his own will betray him. Instead, he focuses on the wound, on the crimson smear of blood that trickles down your skin. But it’s not that damn injury he wants to fix, it’s you, all of you. He wants to be needed by you, to be the one who makes you whole again. 

Ford prepares himself and trying his best, he gently presses the cotton pad to your skin what makes you gasp, oh, sweet mercy, that voice of yours. It’s all he can do to stop himself from leaning in and capturing your lips in tender kiss, getting between your legs and taking you right there. He keeps going, though, his big hands too careful, like you’re made of porcelain. He doesn’t want to hurt you, never, but he just wishes he could be inside you right now, show you how much he’s desperate for you.

“Ahh! Ford, h-hurts!” your fingers are gripping his wrist so tight, nails digging in, and fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking this. You are hurt, in pain, for god’s sake, but all he can see is you beneath him, making those same sounds for an entirely different reason as he makes love to you.

“Shh, I know, I know it does. I know, but you have to let me do this. If I don’t, the wound could get infected. Tetanus, sepsis are not things to take lightly.”

Goddamn, why he’s so close to places he shouldn’t even be thinking about. You’re laying there so beautiful, helpless, voice pleading with him to stop, it’s driving Ford crazy. His cock twitches in his pants and he hates himself for it, hates how his mind creates an image of you crying out his name like that, begging him to keep going instead of to stop. 

He feels the throb in his chest, but in his groin too.

“N-no more, fuck, ugh!” obviously it’s a plea for mercy, but to his traitorous brain, it sounds like—

Ford frowns, looking way too serious than usual as he tries to make his dirty thoughts go away, tries to focus on the wound and not the way your skin feels, but goddamn why are you so soft and warm and why he’s so damn close to you. And then his gaze betrays him, lowering down to the curve of your inner thigh, so close to where the hem of your panties teases him mercilessly.

“That’s enough, please!” you begin, biting down on your lip as the pain grows.

“Don’t move too much, it’ll hurt more,” Ford’s tone sounds rougher than he meant to. “I’m almost done.” 

She’s in pain, you disgusting old idiot. She’s fucking suffering and you’re—

“Please, stop!” 

Ford freezes, stiffening. That’s enough, you’d said, but it’s not, it’s fucking not. It’s never enough. Not your skin, not your voice, not the way you cling to him, not the way you beg, not the way you look at him.

The cotton pad is soaked now in your blood too, pressing too hard against your skin before Ford even realises it. You wince, gasping again and Ford can't help it anymore. His eyes drop to your panties, how they hug your body and his cock twitches in his pants.

He’s a grown man. He should be able to handle this. But all he can see is you, laid out before him like this, looking at him with those needy eyes, begging him to take you, to fuck you.

“Just sit sti—” before he finishes his sentence, he unintentionally presses the cotton harder into your wound, too lost in his own fantasies and the sharp burst of pain makes you hiss so you move involuntarily, your leg jerking straight into his crotch and—

You feel it.

Your foot accidentally brushes against something unmistakably hard. You didn’t mean to move that way, absolutely. But the second your limb drags against him, you feel it. The hardness beneath his pants. His body reacting to you. To this.

And neither of you move.

Ford is first to speak.

“I— I’m sorry,” he blurts. “It’s a natural physiological response. Adrenaline, heightened states of focus, they can trigger. . . well, unintended reactions. Nothing to do with— nothing to do with you.”

The sharp pain in your thigh momentarily forgotten. “Physiological response?” you repeat. “Ford, are you seriously trying to explain away your. . . uh, situation with biology?”

“It’s not what you think. It’s involuntary. Biological. A man’s body doesn’t always obey his mind. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He sounds so awkward, so flustered and you don’t know what to think. He’s not usually like this. . . well, not around you. Around you, he’s always so collected, always the smart, serious, intellectual Stanford Pines who wouldn’t bat an eye at anything that didn’t involve research.

You try to click pieces together, processing. He feels something for you. That’s the only explanation. He wouldn’t be this flustered, this desperate to excuse himself, if he didn’t.

And now you know. Ford’s just as human as the rest of us. And he wants you, too.

You move again, brushing your leg against him again and Ford wants to die because he makes the loudest surprised gasp in the room. “Doesn’t mean anything, huh?” you ask innocently. “so if I just move like this—” you press just a little firmer, feeling him growing harder. “it’s still just biology. Nothing to do with me at all?”

He’s silent.

“Ford, Is that. . . is that really how you feel?”

He sighs and darts his hand out to grip your leg to stop your teasing. “Don’t,” he warns, saying your name. His eyes meet yours for the first time all evening. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

His eyes stay locked on yours. You’re silent now too.

“Don’t— don’t look at me like that. You don’t understand. I. . . shouldn’t have let it go this far.”

But you do understand, more than he could ever realise.

“But why?” your foot slides all over his hard clothed length and Ford’s body responds with his needy cock twitching at your touch.

“This isn’t funny,” he bites out. “this isn’t a game. I’m not a young man, im not— I’m not what you need.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need, Ford.”

“But you’re too young—”

“Stop treating me like I’m some kid who doesn’t know what she wants. I’m an adult, Ford, an adult!”

“An adult?” he repeats, while your foot is still rubbing over his very obvious bulge. “an adult who can't even get dressed normally for the weather?”

You grin, leaning closer to his face. “uh-huh. And here you are, all worked up over me, right?” you press on his cock harder and Ford nearly finishes in his pants. 

He grabs your ankle, even though he doesn’t push you away.

“This. . . now this is inappropriate.”

You rolls your foot over his bulge what makes hips buck just slightly. You bite your lip, grinning at how badly he’s losing control.

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?” you lean closer and murmur into his mouth. “you’re so worried about what I can handle, but look at you. You’re the one who’s hard as rock right now, who can’t control himself.”

“Enough, I’m serious, stop.”

“Make me.”

That’s all it takes. It’s your smirk that gets him, your teasing voice, your dirty remarks, even as you’re sprawled out on the bed with that horrible wound on your thigh.

Ford is on you in a second. His mouth crashes against yours and you don’t even realise what’s happening yet. His kiss is messy and needy, like he’s trying to consume you whole. And you give yourself to him completely, your body melting into his. Every surprised gasp of yours is swallowed by him, his big hands gripping your face as he deepens the kiss. It’s so messy, the way Ford literally fucks your mouth with his tongue.

And you can’t help but tug at his clothes, dragging him closer until he’s on top of you. Ford’s weight presses into you and your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling at it as your body presses against his, your heart pounding so hard you swear he can hear it too. Ford is barely restraining himself from ripping off the rest of your clothes, that oversized T-shirt and panties, and fucking you right here, making all his fantasies come true, which he wrote down in his journal.

His mouth devours yours like he’s starved for you, his hands yanking you closer like he’s holding on for dear life. You let him claim you, let his kiss swallow every thought in your head until there’s nothing left but him, just him, him, him, him. You’re drunk on the way he feels. His hands are everywhere, pulling and tugging at you like he’s losing control. And oh god, you feel it.

You can’t get enough of it. You want more.

Ford is too lost so he lets six-fingered hand slip lower, brushing the side of your thigh and then it lands right where it shouldn’t.

Your fresh wound.

You gasp in pain, breaking the kiss.

“Damn,” Ford instantly pulls away, and his hand is next to your wound, concern and fear are visible on his face. “i’m sorry, i didn’t—”

“Fuck it,” you interrupt, pulling him closer. “worry about that later. I need you now. Please, Ford, just kiss me again.”

But looks like Ford is interested in your wound more than in kiss now.

He’s already inspecting the bandage, ignoring your begging, his brows furrowed with guilt. “i wasn’t thinking, im sorry, does it hurt? did i—”

Why men are so stupid, you think and grab his chin, forcing him to look at you, but he talks first.

“Let me—” he clears his throat, blinking before continuing. “no, let me bandage your leg. We need to, uh, stop the bleeding.”

“Ford,” you groan. “It’s fine. It’s not even that bad now.”

“Not that bad?” he looks you with a glare that’s somehow equal parts concern and anger. “that’s not how infections work, young lady. You could lose a limb if this festers.”

You groan in frustration, rolling your eyes, but he’s already kneeling in front of you. “This is really what you’re worried about right now?” you drawl, raising your brow.

“Yes, this is what I’m worried about.”

And here he is again, between your legs, his hands are still careful as they work, bandaging your inner thigh. Ford is trying so hard not to look at the very place he’s so devastatingly close to. He pulls the knot of the bandage just too tight what makes you let out the softest, unintentional moan.

“You— you cannot make noises like that right now. Stop making this harder than it already is.”

The corners of your lips curl and you lean back on your palms, unbothered. “Says the man who’s between my legs right now.”

“You got a point,” Ford lifts his brows as he clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “clever girl.”

When he finally finishes tying off the bandage, he proudly looks at the work he done and pulls away, wait, pulls away? However, you don’t let him get far. Your hands drag him back down with a force that surprises him and maybe yourself.

The kiss you pull him into is anything but delicate. It’s urgent and hungry. Ford groans against you as if you’ve stolen the last bit of air he had left. Your fingers fist the fabric at his shoulders and when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip. 

“Been waiting for this,” you confess between gasps. “Ford, I need you.” 

His forehead presses against yours. “You think I don’t? I’ve needed you. God, you have no idea. You drive me insane.”  

“Need you,” you breathe, arching up into him. “Ford, please. . . need you so bad.” he swallows your words with another passionate kiss, this one deeper, slower. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you that goes straight to his cock.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses along the curve of your jaw, the slope of your neck. His teeth graze against your skin making you shiver because you feel like on damn fire, so sensitive for him.

“Ford, ah,” you breathe, tilting your head to give him more room as his kisses grow bolder, hungrier. He’s so desperate he can’t seem to stop himself, mouthing at your collarbone, your throat, anywhere he can reach while he mutters how beautiful you are.

Your hand trembles as it finds his, wrapping around his wrist and guiding him down. “Ford, please, touch me there,” you whimper against his lips now, spreading your thighs apart to make space. “need you. . . need your fingers, your hand, please.”

Ford hesitates at first, as if he doesn't fully believe what he sees in front of him, the object of his fantasies, his clever girl, which he wrote about in his journal, right beneath him, begging for his touch, for his love. It seems like his genius brain cannot comprehend what is happening yet.

Finally his hand moves, two fingers, one extra, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties and the sound that leaves your mouth sounds like a desperate needy sob. His forehead drops against yours as his fingers press against the dampness pooling there.

“You’re so wet,” Ford drags his thumb slowly over your clit. “is this all for me?”

“Yes, yes, all for you,” you gasp, writhing under his touch, bucking your hips up into his hand. “only you, Ford— fuck, just keep touching me, please, need more— need you. . .”

“I know,” he mutters, kissing you hard enough to steal the words from your tongue. “i know, sweetheart, i know.”

Ford’s fingers tugs your panties to the side and you both groan when he finally touches you bare. You squirm, swaying your hips to grind against his hand and he curses again, moving his lips to your neck, kissing and nipping as if he can’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

“Y-you’re driving me insane,” he breathes. “been dreaming about this, you have no idea, been wanting you for so long.”  

“Good,” you manage a weak smile, whimpering when he circles your clit with his thumb. You curl your nails into his shoulders. “then fucking do something about it.”

Stanford groans at your words, his cock twitches, begging to be taken care of, but his pleasure doesn’t matter now. You’re so hungry for his touch and Ford needs to touch you badly, so he slips his fingers through your folds, caressing you while still rubbing your clit in torturous circles. “like this? does this, does this feel good?”  

“Yes, yes, oh my god! more, more, give me more,” you cry when he sinks one finger into you, curling it just right.

“God, I wanna—” but he cuts himself off when his eyes notices that damn bandage on your leg.

“What?” you question and press a light kiss to his cheek, your eyes searching his face. “what do you want?” 

“You,” he admits. “I want to be inside you, want to feel you around me, want to, b-but you’re hurt, and I— fuck, I can’t, I can’t risk it.” 

You whine, your head falling back as his fingers keep moving, sliding in and out of your pussy, brushing against that spot that makes you see stars. “don’t care,” your thighs clenching around his hand. “i don’t care, just need you, need your cock— fuck, please!”

“Please, don’t say that, don’t say that when I can’t give it to you.”  

“Ford, please, I need it! I’ll be fine, I swear—”  

“No, you’re hurt, this is all i can give you right now. . . but i swear, I swear i’ll make it up to you, honey, when you’re better, when you’re not hurt, i’ll—” his fingers thrust deeper into your wetness with his thumb circling your clit in time and you interrupt him with loud cry.

“Ford! please, just don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

Ford nods and watches you. Letting his fingers curl inside you, penetrating deeper into your pussy. His movements growing more confident as your body reacts to him, your beautiful moans spurring him on. His lips find yours again and you both get lost in the kiss, in the way your breaths mix, in the way your bodies press together like you’re trying to fuse into one.

Your moan breaks into a cry as you arch your back, eyes closed tight when Ford’s fingers pumping into you faster, your spongy walls tightening around his digits. Oh fucking heaven, that extra finger feels too good. “Ford, please! oh, god— fuck, you’re gonna make me—”  

“That’s it,” Ford’s lips trail up to your ear, kissing and biting it as he presses his thumb on your sensitive bundle. “let me take care of you, sweetheart, cum for me.”  

His tone and praise is what sends you on edge as you clench around his fingers, moaning his name and cumming while his fingers, slower, but still thrusting into you. You feel so weak and tired, but your Ford is right there to catch you, whispering soft praises into your hair as you shake in his arms.

Ford’s fingers still buried deep inside you as he watches you come down from your high. And it’s so obvious that he putted your needs before his own because his cock, hard as a rock now, strains against the fabric of his pants, creating the most painful bulge you ever seen. He shifts awkwardly, hoping maybe you won’t notice but you do. Oh, you do.

“Ford,” your voice sounds honeyed as you regain your strength. Your gaze drops pointedly to the tent in his pants. “you’re. . . so hard.”

His face flushes and he tries to pull away, to create some distance between you, but you grab his wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t,” you whisper softly. “don’t hide from me. you’ve been so good to me, let me. . . let me do something for you.”

“No,” he says quickly. “you’re hurt. I can’t, you need to rest.”

“Just look at you, you’re aching. You don’t have to do anything to me, just let me help.”

“Oh my god,” he says your name as if ready to scold you. “you’re impossible, you know,” but his shaky hands move to his belt anyway, unsure, like he’s warring with himself even as he undoes it.

“Yeah?” you lean back. “you’re about to jerk off in front of me, Ford, what does that make you?”

Ford cant find any smart or logical response to that because you’re absolutely right, he’s the mess here, the impossible one, the desperate old man. He takes a breath, finally pulling his cock free and fuck, he’s so hard as if he’s going to explode, the head flushed and leaking.

Ford’s cock is already in his hand, the first strokes making him whimper under his breath. His other hand rests on your thigh, fingers nervously flex like he’s desperate to touch more of you, to hold you, to worship you properly like his clever girl deserves, but he’s so lost in this intimate moment, in you, that he can barely think straight.

You’re watching him, trying to control yourself because if you won’t, you might just jump on him and you can't vouch for yourself. 

You’re sprawled out in front of him like a dream come to life: t-shirt rucked up, legs spread, panties pushed to the side, leaving your pretty glistening pussy on full display for his starved gaze. Fuck, you look so hot like that, from everything he’s already done to you. He’s trying not to stare and you think he’s so silly when it’s specially show made only for him, so you shift your hips just enough to catch his attention, drawing his eyes like a magnet.

“Touch yourself for me. Show me how much you want me.” your eyes locked on him, drinking in the sight of his hand moving over his length.

Ford’s chest heaves, his hand grips his cock, which is twitching and flushed an angry red at the tip. But looks like poor old man can’t even jerk himself off properly, so you reach your hand out to brush against his wrist.

“Here,” you purr, guiding his hand with your smaller one, wrapping your fingers around his, forcing him to stroke himself teasingly. At that, Ford’s hips jerk up into your shared grip, and you hum approvingly, watching as his lips part in a groan. “yes, like this, honey. Let me help you.” 

“S-sweetheart. . . you don’t— ah— you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” you lean back against the bed, shifting your hips, making sure he has the perfect view of your soaked, glistening slit. “Don’t hold back, i want you to feel good.”

Ford lets himself get a bit more vocal as he groans, his hips buck into your joined hands and his cock twitches against your palm. He’s so fucking hard, leaking against your skin, and the sounds he makes as he strokes himself are too good to be true, yet here he is, in front of you, jerking himself off, moaning your name. 

“You. . . o-oh god, sweetheart, you’re incredible,” he whines as you guide his hand again, showing him exactly how to squeeze, how to work himself the way you know he needs it. Meanwhile his other hand braces against the mattress near your head, his knuckles white as he struggles to keep himself together.  

“You’re so big, Ford,” your eyes glued to his dick, watching every move with hungry fascination. “you’re so handsome, so beautiful. I could look at you all night.”

He groans at your praise, more pathetic this time, his forehead dropping forward as he stares at where your bodies almost meet. “Christ, you’re gonna ruin me, love.” that’s when his strokes falter for and you take over completely, your warm hand wrapping around his length and pumping him up and down.

“Keep going,” you urge, feeling yourself getting wetter too. “i can’t stop thinking about how good you’d feel inside me. id take all of you, id make you feel so good, Ford. I need you, all of you.” soft whisper into his lips while all Ford can do is fuck your hand pathetically, your thumb sweeping over his tip, smearing the slick there.

Ford digs his fingers into your thigh, trembling. “Don’t— oh god, don’t say that,” he gasps. His eyes are locked on your opening, on the way your arousal glistens, your folds so wet and swollen and inviting.

“Don’t you want to touch me? Don’t you want to feel how wet i am for you?”

“God, I do,” he breathes as his hand joins again, moving together with yours, faster, jerking himself off faster. “I want you so much it hurts. I’d do anything. . . anything for you.”

“Then come for me,” you whisper, reaching out to thread your fingers into his hair when you kiss the corners of his parted trembling lips.

“I can’t— oh god, sweetheart, I can’t hold on much longer.” thick ropes of his cum spills across your thighs and even stomach, marking your skin as he makes a mess of himself. His hot seed drips down over your hand where you keep stroking and caressing him, milking every last drop forcing whines and mewls from him.

He collapses forward after and buries his face against your shoulder. 

“I need you so badly,” he murmurs into your skin. “you don’t know how much I want you. You don’t know what you do to me.”

You hum softly, threading your fingers through his damp hair as you press a tender kiss on his forehead.

***

It’s morning and sweet scent of batter and syrup fills the air. The noise and conversations are coming from the kitchen and there’s only one explanation for the chaos: Stanley is cooking “stancakes.”  

You’re by his side, propped against the counter, balancing on your good leg, watching Stan cook. Spatula in one hand, the other parked on his hip and he radiates confidence, as if he is ready to host his own cooking show.

“Now listen up, kid,” he says in a voice full of pride. “these are world-famous stancakes. they’ve been called ‘edible’ by at least two people, well, three, if you don’t count the pig.”  

“Oh.”  

“Oh” he repeats, incredulous, spinning to face you with mock offense. “don’t tell me you’ve never had stancakes before?!”  

You grin, shaking your head. “not once. I think Ford’s been keeping them all to himself.”  

Stan looks like you’ve just offended him.  

“That’s practically a felony in this house! what, Ford never mentioned ‘em? selfish bastard.”  

You laugh softly.

“but i gotta ask,” Stan continues. “any allergies to elbow grease? or, uh, whatever was at the bottom of the flour jar. pretty sure it was flour. maybe. . .” he winks and you roll your eyes, however the conversation continues good and friendly between you. 

Your hand rests on the counter for balance and you look down, at the faint tug of the bandage around your leg, which works as reminder of the night before. Memories of Ford’s hands, his mouth, the way he moaned your name, how he touched you, heat your cheeks until you force yourself to focus on Stan.  

His spatula waves in your direction again. “so, what’s the story with yer leg? take a tumble down the stairs, or was it somethin’ spooky out there in the woods?”  

You give him a wide smile. “let’s just say it’s a story. remind me to tell you later.”

Stan raises a brow curiously, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he turns back to his stancakes with a grunt. “hmph, fair enough. just glad you didn’t end up worse. Y’know, if ya ever need lessons on landing on yer feet—”  

Before he can finish, his brother steps into the room and you immediately turn your gaze to him. Honestly, he looks like he’s spent the entire night replaying everything. 

“Ah, there you are,” Ford murmurs when his gaze finds you, then he clears his throat and nods to his twin. “good morning, Stanley.”  

Stan doesn’t miss a beat, gesturing with his spatula. “yeah, mornin’, sixer. Yer just in time for the best damn pancakes this side of the multiverse.”  

At that, Ford’s lips curve into a polite smile as he glances at his brother. “that’s good to hear.” then his focus changes, locking entirely on you. His intonation changes into something warmer as he speaks your name. “would you mind if i borrowed you for a moment? just for a quick talk.”  

You nod a little too eagerly. “sure, of course.”  

Stanley lets out a dramatic sigh, waving his spatula at Ford. “don’t keep her too long, poindexter. She’s gotta try these pancakes before they go cold!” 

Ford leads you to his study and you follow, heart thundering in your chest. You’re grinning like an idiot, barely containing your excitement. He’s finally going to say something, but you’re so fucking ready to hear, to discuss, to scream the loudest “YES” when he’ll ask you to be his girlfriend.

When the door clicks shut behind you, he turns and you finally see his face. He’s always so serious, just like right now. But what did you wait? It’s Ford Pines, it’s his normal state. However, you’re so excited you sure he can see the way you’re literally glowing.

You really try to act casual, but inside, you’re absolutely going insane, nervous, happy, excited at the same time. Last night still feels like a fever dream, you can feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, the way his fingers slid so perfectly into you. . . 

And now he’s here, just the two of you, and you’re hoping he’ll finally acknowledge the thing that happened between you.

But then he opens his mouth.

“So, about the anomaly. . .” he begins and the words hit you like a slap.  

No, no. No no no. Are you hearing this right?That’s what he’s leading with?! After everything that happened last night, he’s just. . . no, he’s talking about the damn anomaly like he didn’t just leave you trembling with the memory of his fingers inside you. 

Your smile falters fucking immediately, your shoulders stiffening as he goes on, completely oblivious to the storm of disappointment brewing inside you.  

“I’ve been reviewing the notes I took last week. If my calculations are correct, the creature’s molecular structure—”

What the actual fuck.

Your jaw clenches. You stare at him, thinking it’s some kind of joke. He’s talking about science. Fucking science. After everything that happened, this is what he wants to talk about? He’s here, rambling about molecules and rain like none of it ever happened.  

You can’t stand it. The frustration takes over you.

“Ford,” you hiss as you shove him back against the wall.

His eyes widen in surprise, but you don’t let him speak. You press your palms flat against his chest, pinning him there, your voice shaking with anger. All you can think about is how he’s standing there like some fucking genius, talking about molecules and data when last night, you’d literally devoured each other.  

“Are you kidding me? This is what you wanted to talk about? You’re seriously standing here, talking about anomalies and notes like last night didn’t fucking happen?”

For a second, he just looks at you, his face calm and that makes you practically vibrate with rage, the intensity of your emotions making your head spin.  

And then. . . he smirks.  

The bastard smirks.

“I wasn’t aware we had plans to debrief, sweetheart,” your fingers tighten against his chest and he raises a brow, clearly amused by your reaction. “Though I must admit, you’re surprisingly strong for someone with an injured leg. Should I be worried?”

Your face burns as you glare up at him. “Ford, don’t you dare—”

“Well?” his gaze piercing through you. “What is it you want me to say, sweetheart?”

His fucking teasing is driving you crazy.  

“Are you seriously just gonna pretend like it didn’t happen? That you didn’t— god, Ford—"

“Pretend? Oh, but don’t get ahead of yourself.

I think you’ve got a lot more to say about what happened than you’re letting on, huh?”

Your cheeks burn hotter than they ever have before. You didn’t expect that. You really didn’t.

“Are you seriously gonna tease me about last night? You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, but you’re so worked up now that you don’t even care. You push yourself closer, getting right up in his space, your chest touching his, and now you’re just fuming.

“I’m the one who teases you? Interesting. . .” he leans to your face, brushing his lips against your ear. “What else did I do to you that made you so worked up last night? I didn’t think I was that good with my hands.”

“You bastard.” you hiss as you pin him against the wall harder.

He tilts his head at your words. “Careful, love, I wouldn’t want you to strain that leg of yours again. Especially not after I spent so much time taking care of you last night.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The nerve of this man! You want to slap him, to push him away, but instead, you pull him closer

“You better watch yourself, Ford.” You give him a dangerous smile. “You think you can just pay with me like this? You’re not as clever as you think.”

Ford’s smirk widens. “Oh? You think you’ve got the upper hand? I’ve got you pinned right where I want you, sweetheart.”

And then his hand trails down your arm to your waist. 

“And if you’re still mad, I can think of a few ways to work out that frustration.”

Your body goes cold and hot all at once, and it takes everything in you not to melt into him. 

Ford is still against the wall where you pushed him, calm as ever, obviously enjoying every second of this, he thinks he’s the one in control.  

Your pulse hammers in your ears, your hands trembling against the chest of his sweater. He’s so warm, and god, you hate that even now, even while you’re mad at him, you can’t stop remembering the way he looked last night. The way he sounded when he let himself fall apart under your touch. 

“You’re insufferable. Worse than Stan.”

“Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one pinning me to a wall. Quite forcefully, might I add. It’s a little ironic, don’t you think? Considering how you were. . . what’s the term? Begging for me last night?”

Your jaw drops.  

“Begging? You think I was begging for you?”

Ford looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Well, I seem to recall a certain. . . eagerness on your part. Particularly when—”

“You don’t get to talk about my eagerness.” you cut him off, your cheeks flaming. “Not when you were the one moaning my name like your life depended on it.”

That shuts him up.

His smirk falters slightly, and you see the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck. Oh. Oh. Fucking finally. You’ve got him now.  

“That’s right. Stanford Pines, world-renowned genius, reduced to a trembling mess because I—” and to kill him for sure, you lean in to whisper into his lips. “jerked you off.”

Ford goes completely still.  

There’s nothing but silence. His genius mind working, his lips parting slightly like he wants to say something, but no words come out. His face is a mess of conflicting emotions, embarrassment, frustration and something you can’t quite place but looks suspiciously like agreement.

“Got nothing to say now, huh?” you tease, grinning like an absolute maniac. “What happened to all that confidence, Professor?”

“Well played.”

***

Life at the mystery shack doesn’t feel much different, not outwardly. Stan still grumbles about the bills, the tourists still gawk at the exhibits, and Ford. . . Ford is still Ford, except now he’s yours.  

Yours.  

The nights are quieter between you both, more intimate, full of moans and groans, petting and foreplay. Like last night, when his clever hands had slipped beneath the waistband of your pajama pants, his soft and needy voice told you he wanted to make you feel good.  

God, he did. You’d come on his fingers so good, trembling as he whispered your name and called you his good girl, while kissing your cheeks, wiping your tears of pleasure away. And he’d let you touch him too while your hand worked up and down on his pulsing cock and then he spilled against your skin, while you silenced him with a kiss.

No, it actually feels good, really. It’s better than nothing, than not touching him at all, but. . . you crave, you need something else. Something that is not just his fingers, mouth, or hands.

Ford is so careful, so cautious about your stupid leg, his gentle excuses about your injury making you want to scream into a pillow. Like, yeah, it still hurts sometimes, but you can walk, run, pin him against a wall, fuck him six ways to sunday if he’d just let you.  

Ford has his own fears, even if he won’t admit them outright.

But you’re not afraid. 

The woods, your anomaly huntings, are different now too. More dangerous, you’d say. 

You’re pressed against a tree as Ford’s mouth claims yours. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up under your clothes, pulling you closer, closer, like he can’t get enough.  

“Ford, aah, please,” you whimper, pulling him down to kiss you deeper. His knee nudges between your thighs, pressing against you and you swear you’re about to melt into a puddle right there in the dirt.  

“Quiet, sweetheart, don’t want the whole forest knowing how desperate you are for me.”  

But it’s him. . . it’s fucking him who’s desperate, dropping to his knees to pull your pants down just enough, fingers slipping into your panties to find you already soaking.  

“So wet already, holy multiverse,” and then his fingers are inside your pussy as he presses kisses to your thighs and stomach.

But you need to touch him too. Your hands are on him again, tugging at his belt, fumbling with the button of his pants. His cock is hard when you pull him free and you stroke him until he’s shaking, gasping against your neck.  

“My love, i’m gonna—” his hips jerks into your hand as he cums, splashing his hot and thick seed all over your fingers. But he doesn’t stop,  his own six fingered hand working you until you finish with a strangled cry, pussy clenching around him as you nearly fall, when he catches you, whispering how beautiful you are.

You both collapse against each other, sticky and hot, despite coldness of autumn, grinning like idiots. And then Ford leans in to kiss you again, like he’s already planning the next round.  

At dinner, it’s you who starts it.  

Your leg brushes his teasingly under the table that has him choking on his water. Stanley doesn’t notice, too busy ranting about some tourist who tried to haggle over a snow globe, but Ford shoots you a warning look.

You just smile sweetly while also agreeing with Stan about his tourist speech as you press your foot higher until you’re brushing against the hard line of his length beneath the table.  

The lab is worse.

He’s sitting at his desk, scribbling in his journal with you perched on his lap, your arms around his shoulders, your hips rocking against his as you kiss the side of his neck.  

“You’re distracting me,” says fucking Ford with his hands on your hips, guiding your movements as his already hard cock strains against his pants.  

“Good,” you kiss his cheek, grinding down harder, feeling him twitching beneath you.

But every time you try to push it further, every time you reach for him, ask for more, he stops you.  

“Your leg,” but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.  

“But i’m fine—”  

“No,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “i’m not risking it, not yet.”  

***

The November crisp air bites at your skin. The faint smoky warmth of the fire crackling in the yard. Well. . . It was Stanley's idea to do this, he said something about rekindling childhood memories, family bonding and roasting marshmallows like it was summer camp, but he's not here. Something about a "quick run to the diner for pie" turned into him being away for whole evening, leaving you and Ford alone under a shining starry sky.

“You know, for a guy with six fingers, you’re surprisingly bad at this,” you tease, leaning back on your hands as you watch Stanford squint at the marshmallow impaled on his skewer. It's already starting to charred, the edges curling into blackened flakes as the fire devours it. “do they not teach you how to roast marshmallows in the multiverse, professor?”

Ford chuckles softly at your words. “Oh, excuse me, but i’ll have you know i’ve mastered much more complex techniques than this primitive. . .” the marshmallow slides clean off the stick and lands with a soft plop into the embers. Ford stares at it, annoyed. “cooking method.”

You can’t help how cute he looks so you laugh. “You’re hopeless,” you brush your shoulder against his, smiling. “here, let me show you.” Ford nods, handing you the stick. “first rule,” you skewer a new marshmallow. “don’t hold it so close to the flame. you want it golden, not a cremation. You’ve gotta keep it turning. Patiently, like this.” you rotate the stick slowly and Ford actually watches, his gaze is not on the fire, but on you. 

“i see,” he says thoughtfully. “golden, not charred.”

“Exactly,” you let marshmallow toast evenly. “you just have to—” you glance up to check on him and Ford’s still watching you. It steals the breath from your lungs and you gulp awkwardly. “. . . focus,” you finish a little quieter. “why you’re looking at me like that?” you smile.

Ford laughs. “maybe in some universe, you do dress appropriately for the weather?” 

You blink at him, thrown off for a second, before realising. Oh. . . oh, right. Your teeth chatter slightly, fingers cold and you’re shaking slightly, it’s so obvious. “i guess no?”

Ford doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he’s already shrugging out of his coat and draping it over your shoulders before you can protest, but it’s not like you wanted to anyways. His trench coat is heavy and smells just like him and your smile couldn't get any wider.

“Thanks, again. . . heh,” you try to sound nonchalant, but the coat is still warm from him and you clutch it around you tighter.

“So, you were saying?” Stanford prompts, tilting his head toward the marshmallow in your hand.

You clear your throat. “Right, uh, where was i? oh, yeah. so, you’ll know it’s ready when it’s this perfect golden brown all over, not a single—”  

“Give me a kiss,” Ford says suddenly, interrupting you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’re not sure who leans in first. You, probably, but he meets you halfway. Ford’s lips are warm, so soft against yours. Your heart stutters in your chest as blood rushes in your ears, one of his hands comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing feather-light against your cheek. Your hands find his chest, fingertips pressing into his sweater as you you sigh into him.

The kiss deepens, not hurried, but like you’ve both waited far too long for this moment. Ford leans into your touch like he’s been craving it just as much as you. 

When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours and none of you speak, both quiet and only fire is crackling softly beside you.  

“I think i might be terrible at marshmallows.” Ford smiles shyly.

You blink at him, you lips still tingling from the kiss, your head feeling too light to even process his words at first. Oh god the whole moment so tender, so beautiful, so intimate it almost makes you want to cry. 

“Ford,” and he hums softly in response.

“Hmm?”

“Give me another.”

Ford doesn’t need to be told twice.  

This time, it’s you who closes the distance, but his lips crash into yours like he’s been waiting, holding himself back and now he simply can’t. His hand slides to the back of your neck as the kiss deepens, hotter, hungrier. You sigh into his mouth, your knees going weak beneath you, but Ford steadies you, holds you.

His coat slips off one of your shoulders as your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer until there’s no space left, and even then, it doesn’t feel close enough.  

“Ford—” you manage to groan against his lips and he pulls back just slightly.

“What is it?” the way he’s looking at you, fuck, like he’s already undressing you in his mind, makes you feel dizzy.  

You pause, staring at him, at the mess of his hair, the faint flush dusting his cheeks, the way his lips are already red from kissing you. This man. This ridiculous, brilliant, beautiful man.  

“My leg,” you feel nervous out of sudden, afraid he might reject you again. “it’s— it’s healed now, you know. . . i can— i can handle more.”  

Ford freezes, thinking. And then. . . Oh.

He kisses you again, but this time it’s different, this time, there’s no holding back, no careful hesitation.

"Inside," your voice is trembling with anticipation. "please, Ford, let’s go inside."  

And god help you both, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say no. 

***

Ford’s whole body is pressing you into the mattress as though he’s trying to meld you both into one. His hands grip the sheets beside your head and he’s so warm against you. He kisses you messily and desperately, too eager.

“Ford, please,” you whimper, lifting your hips and grinding up against his hard, pulsing length.

“Yes, Ive got you, I’ve got you,” his own voice trembling as one hand dives down, gripping your hip, trying to keep you still but failing miserably because he can’t stop himself from rutting into you. “im right here, my love, i’m gonna take care of you.” the bed creaks beneath the weight of both of you, but neither of you can hear it over the needy moans you two share.

You can’t stop the high pitched whine that escapes you as his knee slots between your thighs, pressing against you just right and you swear you’re losing your fucking mind. “Nngh, Ford, Ford, please,” your voice so fucking needy it feels embarrassing. 

Ford stops, just for a second, pulling back to take a good look at you. His eyes are blown wide, pupils black as they devour every little expression you make. “tell me, tell me what you need.”  

You nearly cry. “touch me,” you plead.

“Oh sweetheart, my good girl,” his trembling fingers brush the hem of your clothes, slipping underneath to glide against your skin, being so careful like you’re too delicate, too fragile for him, he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he’s not gentle. “i’m not going anywhere,” he promises, dragging his lips down your jaw, going lower to the sensitive skin of your neck. “i love you so much.” and before you can even think to respond, his mouth is on yours again, swallowing your moans because he’s desperate to consume every single piece of you. 

Oh, sweet fucking hell, you think when Ford lowers himself between your thighs looking like a man on his knees at an altar and you’re the goddess he’s about to worship. He spreads your legs wide, his six-fingered hands curling into the plush of your thighs and he just stares for a moment like he’s seeing heaven itself. His lips part, and his tongue darts out to wet them, the hunger in his gaze as if he can’t believe this is real.  

"My love," he groans. "so pretty, you’re so pretty. . . this is all mine, isn’t it? tell me, sweetheart, say it, say it’s all for me."  

“It’s yours, Ford,” you melt under his gaze, feeling so exposed and he hums in approval. 

“Good girl,” and then he dips his head down, brushing his lips against your inner thigh, kissing your healed wound. 

You grow impatient with every second, and fucking finally, he’s right here, his face hovering over your throbbing pussy which needs his attention so bad, and he takes a deep breath. 

Ford presses a kiss just above where you’re all wet and your hips jolt, seeking more.

“F-Ford! fuuck. . . fuck fuck fuck!” 

“Shh, just like that, i’ll take care of you,” he presses one hand firmly on your pelvis to keep you still. “just relax, darling, let me have you.”

You’re too far gone to even respond coherently, only letting out pathetic whimper as he drags his lips lower and lower until his warm mouth hovers right over your soaked folds.

His tongue presses flat against your pussy, slowly and oh fuck, you taste so damn sweet, Ford growls and that vibrates straight through you. “oh, god," he pants, pulling back before diving in again, "you taste. . . you taste so good, so sweet, like you were made for me." Ford’s voice muffled against you as his tongue flattens, dragging through your slick, tasting you. 

His hands grip your thighs tighter to hold your squirming body in place as he tilts his head to get a better angle. His lips seal around your puffy clit, sucking gently at first, then harder when your hips jerk up into his face. He holds you open because he’s not letting you go anywhere, his tongue flicks over that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sobbing his name.  

“Ford. . . oh god! Ford, too much—!” 

You’re trembling and panting as his tongue circles your little clit in soft lazy strokes that have your back arching off the mattress. You fist your fingers into the sheets as his lips seal around your sensitive clit, sucking gently before releasing you with a soft, wet pop.

“Taste so good,” Ford says more than all to himself. He licks into you now, dragging his wet tongue through your soft folds, lapping up everything you’re giving him like a man possessed. “g-give me more, darling, please. . . i need more of you.”

“Ford, Ford! Ford, i—” you buck your hips against his face as the wet sounds of his mouth on you fill the room.

“Mmhm, that’s it, sweetheart,” his voice muffled against your cunt as his lips brushes your clit, letting his fingers slide lower to tease your dripping entrance. “just let me make you feel good.”

Ford pulls back just enough to gasp for air, his lips and chin shiny with your slick and you swear he looks drunk, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. “you taste so good,” he groans, diving back in immediately, never having enough, moving his mouth against you like he’s kissing you there, sloppily, noisily and so damn messy.

You’re not damn ready for what comes next. When his fingers finally slip inside, you nearly scream, two of them, then three with his extra middle one sliding into your soaked pussy, while another circles your clit, working in perfect tandem with his tongue. "so tight, so wet for me," his voice muffled as he sucks your clit into his mouth again. "give it to me, sweetheart. . . let me have it, be a good girl for me, yeah?"  

His pace quickens as your walls flutter around his fingers. But he doesn’t stop, not even when you’re writhing and tears streaming down your cheeks from the pleasure. He licks, sucks and slurps at you, addicted to the way you taste, the way you feel. “Ford, I’m gonna cum—”  

You cry out and jerk your hips against his face as you do. He growls, gripping you tighter, holding you still as his mouth moves faster, hungrier. Your walls spasming around his long fingers, your clit pulsing between his lips.

But Ford’s mouth doesn’t lift and doesn’t slow, even when your thighs tremble and your fingers push weakly at his hair to tug him away.

“No, Ford, please,” you gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue against it in slow circles. “i-i can’t— too much. . . im sensitive, Ford—”  

But he doesn’t give a fuck, his grip tightens on your thighs to keep them spread wide. “Just one more, sweetheart,” his words slurred, drunk off the taste of you. “please-please, i need. . . one more, just one more for me.”  

You can’t hold back the loud cry that escapes you as his tongue dives back in, licking and lapping. Your legs jerk, trying to close, but his strong hands keep them locked open. “don’t fight me, let me, let me have you.”

“Ford, oh god—” your voice is broken as his tongue works all over your pussy, it’s overwhelming and unbearable, your entire body feels like a live wire as he devours you, never giving you a moment to recover.  

“that’s it, love, cum for me, please. . . be a good girl and cum on my face.”  

And you do again, god, you do, because there’s no stopping it. Your orgasm crashes over you again, ripping a scream from your throat as your back arches off the bed. Your vision whites out, your mind blank as your release floods through you.  

Ford moans into you as you come, his mouth latched onto your clit, his tongue lapping up every drop. When you start caressing his hair as if thanking him, he presses wet sloppy kisses to your trembling thighs. 

You’re still shaking and gasping for air, when he finally lifts his head, his chin glistening as he stares down at you and smiles. But you still can’t have enough, not satisfied, not when he haven’t been inside you and fucked you properly, you’ve been craving this for months and you totally go for it now. “Please, need you, Ford, please, i need you inside me.”  

He doesn’t even make any excuses this time when he kneels between your legs, his cock flushed and throbbing, the head slick with pearls of precum. “you sure?” is all he asks as his hands come up to cradle your hips.

“Yes, god, yes,” you plead, spreading your legs wider, your eyes glazed with need. “please, i can’t wait anymore! i need you.”  

He knows you do because he’s in absolutely same state as you, needy and desperate to fuck you, that’s why he’s pressing into you, the thick head of his cock stretching you open and you both moan loudly when he slides deeper, his girth filling you.

Ford is trembling above you, sweat slicking his brow as he inches himself inside carefully, terrified he might hurt you or worse, lose control. But you’re ready, so ready, your nails digging into his shoulders, “more, please, i can take it.”

Ford’s hips stutter as he bottoms out, his cock buried to the hilt. “Y-you’re so tight, sweetheart, so damn tight. i don’t— don’t know if i can move. . . feels too good. . . god, you’re perfect.”  

You’re no better because your walls clench around him and your voice so high and breathless as you cry, “so full, Ford— oh my god, you’re so big.”

“I know, love, i know,” he soothes, finding your parted lips with his as he starts to move slowly, making shallow thrusts that have you both gasping. “you’re doing so good, taking me so well, feels like heaven, baby.”  

You feel every inch of him, every twitching vein as he sinks deeper, the stretch delicious, making your head spin. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him on. Your wet pussy squeezes his dick so good he nearly loses it right there.

And it’s too much, too good to be true, both of you letting out incoherent sounds and slurred praises as he thrusts into you, moving faster, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. You try to move together with him, creating a perfect sync.

“You feel so good, sweetheart, too good. i don’t— I don’t think i’m gonna last.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, cupping his cheek when you look right into his dazed eyes. “fuck me harder, Ford, please. . . need you so bad.”

He hears you, snapping his hips against yours, his pace quickening as he loses himself in you. Your moans about how good it feels fill the air while your hands are clawing at his back, nails biting into his skin as you try to pull him closer where it seems impossible. His scars feel rough under your touch as your fingers trace them blindly, making Ford moan at the sensation. His hips jerk forward, driving deeper and you cry out.

“So tight,” he groans into your ear. “you’re squeezing me, love, c-can’t think. . . you feel— oh, sweetheart, pussy so good.”

Your nails dig deeper, leaving crescents in his skin as he fucks into you with deep thrusts that have you gasping. “more, please, more,” you beg and he obeys without question, burying himself deeper, harder into your cunt.

“That’s it, love,” his hand slips between your hot bodies to find your aching clit, circling his fingers over the swollen nub with featherlight touches. “look at you. . . so beautiful, so good for me, you’re perfect, love. . . my perfect girl.”

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you, at the same time his thumb presses down on your clit and a sharp cry spilling from your lips as the pleasure builds.

“Ford!” you whimper while your hands clutch at him. “oh god, i—”

“I know, love, i know, i feel it, let go for me, sweetheart, cum for me.

His beautiful voice and words are enough to pull you through another powerful orgasm, your body tense as you finish, breathless, boneless, drunk on his cock.

Ford’s dick throbs as your release slicks his length, dripping down to pool at the base of him. “you’re so wet, sweetheart, good girl.”

You cant think, not really, too fucked out and tired, your body trembles and you can barely take a breath, but Ford doesn’t stop, determined to fuck your brains out. His thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk away, the overstimulation making you whimper. “n-no, wait— I’m sensitive—”

“Just one more, love,” he pleads. “please, baby, just one more for me. you can do it, I know you can.”

You try to close your legs and your body twitches with every touch, too much to handle, but Ford holds you open firmly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he can reach. “you’re so good to me, so good, can’t get enough of you.”

He continues thrusting into you, filling your pussy to the brim and pulling out, slamming back again, you feel good, you do, especially with right amount of pressure being applied to your clit, but pleasure borders with sensitivity and little pain from overstimulation as he drags against that tender spot inside you. “Fuck, please! i can’t—”

“You can. You’re my good girl, you can give me one more, please, baby, cum on my cock again.” his words light a fire in your veins because the coil of pleasure tightening and building again despite the ache, despite all these overwhelming sensations. He fucks you so deliciously, grinding his hips into you in deep, slow rolls that make your toes curl and eyes roll, your nails scraping across his shoulders and back, all over his old scars. Ford groans at the sting.

“That’s it, love, just like that, let me have all of you.” he wets his fingers with saliva before bringing them on your sensitive nub again. “you like that? y-you like it when i touch you here, sweetheart? tell me, tell me how good it feels.”

“So gooood. . . feels so good, ford, don’t stop, please don’t stop, fuck me, fuck me!” and then you break again, another orgasm crashing over you, but this time you literally scream from how good it feels, your body convulses, your nails dig into his back with such force that blood comes out. Ford watches you come undone as he fucks you through it, his cock coated in your juices once again.

Ford cant hold himself anymore because you notice how his thrusts grow more deeper, harder, more erratic. His sweaty forehead is pressed against yours, his groans changing into desperate pants and you feel how close he is because his cock twitches inside you, his body trembles as he fights to hold on. “don’t w-worry, don’t worry, I’ll pull out— I’ll—”  

“No!” the word bursts out of you in a panic and immediately, you lock your legs around his waist to prevent that. “no, no, Ford, please, don’t, you can’t, don’t leave me, please—” your words tumble out in a frantic, incoherent mess, more sob than speech honestly as you cling to him like your life depends on it. “please,” you babble, your nails scraping against his skin, pulling him impossibly closer. “need it, need you, don’t pull out, please, please, please—”  

His surprised eyes fly open as he processes your words. “but—”

All you do is nod frantically in response, hot tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your legs squeezing around his waist to keep him in place. “yes, inside, cum inside me, I need it, I need you to cum inside me”  

Ford groans as he gives in, his hips snapping forward with a force that makes you cry out. He holds your thighs, spreading you wider for himself as he buries himself to the hilt, as deep as he can go. He growls as his head falls back, he squeezes his eyes shut and just loses himself. “gonna— g-gonna cum inside you. . .”  

It happens, finally, his hips slam into you one last time and he finishes, his cock pulses as his cum paints your walls white. He hides his face into your neck while loud sound tears from his throat, halfway between a groan and whine. He rolls his hips, continuing to sloppily and lazily thrust into your pussy, grinding against you, unable to stop because he needs to give you every last drop of himself. “you’re— my love, so good, I feel so good. . .”

You lay under him and take it all, milking him for everything he has. Your fingers tracing his beautiful scars, ones you gave him now and his own ones, smearing a little blood over his skin, your legs tightening around him as you whimper, feeling every pulse of him, every twitch of his cock inside as he fills you. Oh god, such intimacy leaves you dizzy, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.  

“Thank you, Ford,” your body arches into him, asking, no, seeking more, always more. “feels so good. . .”

Ford finally comes back to his senses upon hearing your voice, he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he shudders through the last waves of his orgasm. He presses kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders. “I love you, i never want to let you go.”  

He pulls out with a shaky groan as he tries to catch his breath, his cock still glistening and twitching. But the loss of him leaves you feeling achingly empty, your walls clenching around nothing as a soft whimper escapes your lips.  

Ford is frozen above you, though, his chest heaving, his wide eyes fixed between your legs. The sight of his warm thick seed slowly trickling out of you renders him completely silent.

You let out a deep sigh, dazed, a dumb little smile curling at your lips as you look up at him, completely blissed out and so beautifully ruined. You trail your fingers down slowly, maybe to tease him once more, until finally dipping between your thighs to catch the mess he’s made.  

You circle your clit gently, then lowering your fingers to your hole, collecting his cum, covering your fingers with this sticky mess and Ford tracks every movement. And then, oh, you push it back inside, curling your fingers deep, your head falling back with a quiet moan as you savour every drop.  

Ford fucking whimpers at the sight as he watches you pump his sperm back into yourself.

“Don’t. . . don’t want to lose it,” you smile, looking at your scientist through half-lidded eyes, gaze unfocused. “don’t want it to go to waste, want to feel you.”  

Before you can say another word, he’s on you again. His hands spread your thighs wides when he positions himself at your entrance. Without word, he pushes back in, groaning as he stretches you open again. “you’re beautiful,” he gives you a kiss, while slowly fucking his cum back into you again, making sure to not miss a drop, letting it stay where it belongs.  

You hold him close, caressing his face and looking into his beautiful eyes. “I love you so much,” but you get interrupted by a little sudden thrust he makes. “oh, ah, Ford!” 

“Shh, i’ve got you, love,” Ford gives you a warm loving smile, rocking his hips gently. “you were so good for me, sweetheart.” he looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, like he’d give you the whole world if you asked and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your crazy heart thunders in your ears as you hug and cuddle him, lost in the way he fills you so completely, so perfectly, like you were made for this.

The two of you don’t even bother moving because there’s simply no energy left to clean up. Ford stays buried inside you with his heavy body on top of yours like a blanket. For the first time in life, you feel that safe, good and loved, warm and. . . full in every sense of the word.

Sometime later. . . hours? you’re not sure, but the soft gray light of dawn creeping through the curtains. You feel Ford’s broad chest pressed against your back and suddenly his hand skims up your thigh.

“Ford,” you murmur, half-asleep as his lips brush the curve of your shoulder. His hand finds your leg, gently lifting it as he settles himself against you. “yes, please. . .” you smile, closing your eyes as you feel his cock rubbing against your folds.

He kisses the side of your neck. “just need you again, can’t help it. . . need to feel your pussy around me.”

You moan softly as he slides into you from behind. The angle is perfect as he fills you, sending shivers through your sleepy body. His hand lays on your thigh, holding you steady as he starts rocking into you, slowly, still sleepy, but fucking deep, each thrust making you sigh and whimper.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” his free hand skims over your waist, cupping your breast and playing with your nipple.

Meanwhile your hand reaches back to clutch at his hip and your head falls back onto his shoulder, Ford drives deeper into your pussy. “Ford. . . oh, Ford, yesss. . . just like that.” you mewl sleepily when you feel his fingers on your clit. 

You dont know what time is it, probably very very early morning, but you let him take you. There’s no rush, no urgency, just sleepy, languid thrusts and quiet soft moans you two share in the early morning while being half awake.

The sun is higher now, casting autumn golden streaks across the room, when you wake again. You’re alone in the bed and your body deliciously sore, marked with the evidence of last night. . . and this morning. Faint marks of kisses and hickeys bloom along your skin, the ache in your thighs reminds you of how thoroughly he’d claimed you.

The blanket is all over you, keeping you warm despite your nudity. You stretch out, yawning and blink away the last traces of sleep, but you notice him at the edge of the bed. Ford sits with his scarred back to you, hair messy, but his posture is perfectly straight as he leans over his. . . ah, yeah, now you see it, journal.

He’s scribbling something down there, intense focused, face serious and you just lay there, enjoying comfortable silence and watching him, taking in the way he looks so handsome even in his rumpled state.

“Morning, genius,” you murmur finally.

Ford glances over his shoulder. “Oh, good morning, love,” he says warmly, setting the journal aside and moving to your side of the bed. He leans down to kiss you, brushing his hand over your hair. “how are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you admit with a smile as you stretch beneath the blanket.

Ford studies you. “i’d say that’s to be expected. Rest a bit longer, okay? I’ll make us something to eat soon.”

“You better hurry because i’m so starved,” you yawn, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Starved, are you? well, you’re taking a shower first,” he says seriously, though his tone remains gentle. “you’re not wandering around covered in. . .” he stops himself as his cheeks flush a little, trying to find right words to use.

“Hm? Covered in what, ford?” you tease, propping yourself up on one elbow.  

“You know what, honey, don’t make me say that.”

Your eyes flick to his journal. “what are you even writing in there, anyway? can’t believe you’re making notes after the night we had. Is it, like, some x-rated research?”  

Because of your question, Ford straightens up, his face expression changes, the earlier embarrassment melting away as excitement takes its place. He looks like he’s just cracked the secret of the universe. “actually,” he begins, adjusting his glasses, “i think i’ve finally solved the equation for that anomaly we’ve been tracking! The one that disappeared because of the rainstorm, remember? I had a theory about the dimensional distortion rate and this morning, it all just clicked!” Ford launches into an explanation now. 

You, however, just blink at him and knowing grin spreads across your face. “so, what you’re saying is. . . my pussy literally makes you smarter?”  

Ford stops mid-sentence as he stares at you, flustered. “i— I wouldn’t put it like that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, looking everywhere except at you. “but. . . perhaps there’s a correlation. . .”

You just laugh, dropping back onto the pillows as you watch his awkward attempts to compose himself. “yeah, yeah, Ford, I got you.”

He grumbles something about inappropriate comments, but the corners of his mouth betray him, curving into a shy smile.  

“So, my pussy is the key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe? Who knew i was a genius all along.”  

Ford groans, hiding his face in his hands, “Oh my god,” he says your name. “you’re impossible.”  

[aventurineswife]

hii there!! this is my first request ever— so sorry if its bad and u dont need to do if id you’re uncomfortable ofc :)) ive had to leave people whom i thought were good friends many times, or ive been abandoned by them and its happened again recently—

so may i ask that you write something with either aventurine or dan heng (u can pick one or both) seeing the reader in their room in the aftermath of having to leave another friend or group of friends? the scenario i have imagined is that the reader is also feeling alot worse than usual since they are starting to feel that they might be the problem. theyre crying about it in their room where the other hears them and comes to check the reader out of worry. the reader talks to them about it and the other comforts them and promises that they wont have to worry about having to leave or being abandoned by them.

so sorry if thats an odd, specific request 🥹🥹 i adore ur writing and i thought it would be cool to ask!! feel free to change anything as you see fit :)

“You Are Not the Storm”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Angst with a Happy Ending, Found Family, Reassurance, can be read as platonic or romantic.

Warnings: Mentions of loneliness and self-doubt, Emotional distress and crying, Themes of abandonment and self-blame.

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear that, anon 😕 i totally get where you're coming from, I had to leave a friend too because of personal reasons and this has happened to me throughout my life, so I totally understand you. I'll be your friend if you'd like. Hope you like this!

The room was quiet save for the muffled sound of sobs. The soft light of the moon filtered through the blinds, casting silvery streaks across the floor. You sat on the edge of your bed, head buried in your hands, your shoulders shaking. The hurt was raw, cutting deeper this time. The thought repeated in your mind like a cruel mantra: Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the problem.

A quiet knock came at the door. You barely registered it, lost in your spiral. Then the door opened gently, and a familiar voice called your name.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Aventurine’s voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of concern. His eyes were filled with worry. He leaned casually against the doorframe, trying not to overwhelm you with his presence. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. That’s unlike you.”

You sniffled, quickly wiping at your face. “I’m fine,” you lied, though your broken voice betrayed you.

Aventurine tilted his head, his hair catching the moonlight. “You don’t look fine, darling. And I don’t like hearing you cry.” He stepped into the room, crossing the space between you in a few strides before kneeling in front of you. He reached out, but his touch was tentative, giving you space.

You hesitated but eventually let the words spill out. “I had to leave again. Another friend, another group… It keeps happening. And I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why am I always the one who ends up alone?”

Your voice cracked, and tears welled up again. Aventurine reached out, this time cupping your hands in his gloved ones. His expression softened, his usual flamboyant charm replaced with a rare sincerity.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Listen to me. This—what you’re feeling—it’s not because you’re flawed. People come and go in life for a thousand reasons. Sometimes, it’s not about you at all. And sometimes… people just don’t see the brilliance that’s right in front of them.”

You shook your head, your doubts still gnawing at you. “But what if it is me? What if I’m too much? Or not enough?”

Aventurine gave a small, sad smile and squeezed your hands. “You’re enough. And anyone who makes you feel otherwise doesn’t deserve you in their life.” His eyes gleamed, his usual playful confidence creeping back in. “Besides, have you considered that maybe you’re just too fabulous for them to handle?”

Despite yourself, a faint chuckle escaped your lips, and Aventurine’s smile widened. “There we go. That’s better. Now,” he said, sitting beside you and throwing a casual arm over your shoulder, “let me make one thing clear. I’m not going anywhere. I’m stubborn like that. You’re stuck with me, darling.”

You leaned against him, letting his warmth and words sink in. For the first time that night, the weight on your chest eased, just a little.

Dan Heng stood outside your room on the Astral Express. He’d been walking by when he heard the faint sound of crying. At first, he thought it best to give you space, but his worry won out. Quietly, he knocked on the door.

“Come in.” you said, your voice weak.

Dan Heng stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. You sat curled up on your bed, clutching a blanket tightly.

“I heard you,” he said simply, standing a short distance away. “Are you… okay?”

You shook your head, and Dan Heng took a cautious step closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated before nodding, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’ve had to leave my friends again. I feel like I ruin everything. Like I’m the problem.”

Dan Heng was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, his posture calm and unthreatening. “I don’t believe that. You care deeply about others—that much is clear to anyone who knows you. Losing people hurts, but it doesn’t mean you’re to blame.”

Tears streamed down your face. “But it keeps happening. How can it not be my fault?”

Dan Heng looked at you with quiet intensity. “Because sometimes, people grow apart. Or circumstances force things to change. It’s painful, but it’s not always within your control.” His voice softened. “You don’t have to carry all that blame alone. And you don’t have to worry about me leaving. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

His words settled over you like a soothing balm, and you felt yourself relax slightly. Dan Heng reached out, his hand hovering before gently resting it on yours. “Take your time,” he said. “I’m here.”

And you believed him.

[mattsturnioloz]

I found you again: Pt 3.

Summary: Sequel of 'Then I lost you', A year after a devastating break up, Y/n finds herself reuniting with the love of her life, Matt Sturniolo, at a mutual friends birthday party. Will they rekindle their love?

Pairings: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Warnings: UTI, cussing,

A/N: (honestly i’ve been so lazy to work on this part but I gathered the motivation to write it since you guys love it so i hope you guys enjoy 💚)

I slump myself on the ground, still crying. The night air getting colder by the minute. I look up at Matt who’s taking deep breaths, trying to compose himself.

“Look Y/n, let’s get you home okay? You’re drunk, you’re not taking an uber and i’m not letting you stay here so come on, get up.” He says, calmer, a little bit of guilt in his tone. He takes a step forward holding his hand out but I don’t take it. I try to balance myself as I stand up and I stumble back to my original spot in the car, opening the door and getting in next to Chris again.

I buckle myself in, crossing my arms as Matt opens the drivers door and gets in. I wipe my tears when I look over and see Nancy staring at me with a smug look on her face and it pisses me off even more. “What the fuck are you looking at bitch?!” I spit out, aggressively, my voice still shaky from crying.

“HEY! ENOUGH!!” He yells, turning his whole body around to look at me with disbelief written all over his face as her jaw drops, smiling as she scoffs. I roll my eyes and look over at Chris and Nick who are waking up from all the yelling. “Matt, don’t fucking yell at her like that.” Chris slurs, sternly, his voice groggy from waking up.

“Chris go back to fucking sleep kid. You guys need to shut up and relax, i’m tired of it!” He replies, in the same stern tone. “Can you just drive?!” I yell. “Fine!” He starts the car and starts driving. Finally the car is moving.

A few minutes later Matt starts playing music to cover up the silence in the car and Chris looks over at me empathetically and he can see I was crying. “Are you okay?” He says putting his arm around my shoulder pulling me to his chest and I nod. Surprisingly he’s already starting to sound pretty sober, considering that I still feel like I JUST got drunk.

I fall asleep for what feels like a few minutes but I wake up when I feel the car coming to a complete stop, thinking I was home. I lift my head from Chris’s chest to see but we were just dropping his girlfriend off at her house first. She goes in for a kiss but he moves his face dodging it. Probably to make up for making out with her in front of me earlier. She scoffs and gets out slamming the door.

Matt sighs before starting the car, driving off again. A few minutes pass and I still feel empty, my chest feeling like there’s a big metal ball in it. “H-hey you passed my street!” I say leaning forward to talk to Matt. “You’re not staying home alone, Y/n. You’re drunk.” I know he was right so I don’t protest.

We get to the triplets house and I open the door, stumbling out and I fall. I feel dizzy when I look up and see the world spinning and everything feels lighter as I feel myself pass out.

I wake up in the middle of the night in Matt’s bed covered in blankets, the smell of fresh sheets and candles filling my nostrils. I take a look around and take in the familiar feeling of the room since it was once mine too. I felt a massive hangover coming from the slight headache that was starting to throb.

I get up and leave the room to get some water and pain killers from the kitchen and I see Matt at the couch. Feeling the need to talk to him, so I look for an excuse. “What time is it?” I ask him.

“3:47” He says not even looking at me. “Why are you still up?” I ask, I don’t even know why I did. “Why do you care?” He snaps, turning his gaze to the tv, watching gravity falls. He always loved that show, especially when we were together he would put it on almost every night before bed.

“There’s no need to get snappy, it was just a question.” I reply, with a frustrated tone and all he does is scoff. I roll my eyes and taking some pain killers and I feel hungry all of a sudden.

“Can we go to Mcdonald’s?” I ask, quietly. I’m surprised he even heard me. “It’s almost 4 am and you want Mcdonald’s?” He gives me a baffled look.

“I’m already feeling the hangover and i’m hungry.. please?” I put my hands together, pleading him. He lets out a sigh and gets up. “Fine, go get my keys.” He answers with an attitude. I don’t know what his issue is all of a sudden but it’s starting to get to me.

I go get his keys and hand them to him. “Can I borrow a sweater?” I ask, shivering a bit. “No.” He simply replies. “What’s your issue?” I almost yell. “Nothing, now do you want Mcdonald’s or what??” He raises his voice tilting his head with an annoyed expression.

“No, just take me home.” I reply, looking away. “Come on don’t be like that. I swear you’re so difficult Y/n.” He walks towards the front door opening it and waiting for me to follow so I do.

I leave the house, the cold air hitting me as soon as I do and I get whole body chills. We make our way to his car and I get in buckling myself in before crossing my arms, looking out the window.

He buckles in and pulls out of the driveway and I notice that he’s driving to Mcdonald’s. “What are you doing? I said I wanna go home.” I look at him waiting for a response. “I’ll get you home after we get Mcdonald’s, relax.” He sighs and looks back at the road.

The car goes silent the rest of the way before we go though the drive-thru and we get our food and park in the parking lot to eat. The only sounds being us eating our food.

“Thank you..” I give a slight smile. “You’re welcome.” He says with the same smug face. We finish eating and he starts driving to my place. It all felt so wrong. The silence was so fucking awkward, so quiet that I might go crazy.

We arrive at my place and I unlock the door to leave but before I could open it he locks it again. I look at him confused and when I look at him he opens his mouth before closing it, like he wants to say something. “What are you doing?” I ask, super confused.

“L-listen.. can we talk?” He says with a vulnerable expression but I honestly don’t even want to hear it. “There’s nothing to talk about Ma-“ He cuts me off all of a sudden and grabs my hand.

“I still love you, Y/n..” He says, looking at me dead in the eye. I freeze up and I feel myself start to shake. I’m so confused, was was just so rude to me and now he’s saying he loves me? no! He’s staring at me and I feel overwhelmed, not knowing what to say as I grow nauseas.

I open the door not saying anything and I get out closing the door a little too quick and I run inside my house slamming the door behind me. I slide down my front door after locking it and I feel my eyes fill with tears. I left him hanging. I shouldn’t have done that. I know I have to apologize. I just can’t right now.

1,286 words.

A/N: (I hate this so much, i’m so sorry for the delay guys, I haven’t been able to write at my full potential, it’s been a rough time for me but i have like 50 anons asking for this chapter so here you go 🫶🏼)

Taglist: @watercolorskyy @chrissfleshlight @realuvrrr @stonermattsgf @pvssychicken @venusbabysblog @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @endereies @starzinasblog @urfavstromboli @sturniqloo @star-yawnznn @h3arts4harry @asherrisrandom @tsturniolo4 @urmom69lol @luzsturniolo @ncm9696 @valkatriee @sturnslut1 @annielolz @sturnlover4eva @luzsturniolo @anyaa2s @sturnzpro @tpwktahlz @nataliesturn @openurbocaputitonmyballsbitch

[heartnanase]

scaramouche

i dont know what this is but my love life has been cooking recently so i decided to write again after months (i’ve been left on delivered for 16 minutes so you guys get angst)

“look seriously? don’t be like that— hey! wait! it wasn’t my choice! the fatui? i wanted you to be safe!”

“im getting married. deal with it.” you said while quickly walking, holding onto the sides of your heavy wedding dress, not even 3 minutes into putting on your outfit and you already regret wearing heels. “who? tartaglia huh?” he looked like a fool, you assumed he did at least. getting the courage to look at him was difficult. “it’s ajax.” you coldly say. you could picture his eye roll in your head as he mumbles a “whatever.” all you could do was watch his shadow in the corner of your eye trying to match your pace, while he reached to grab your hand. you angrily turn to him. “no! no just go! its been five years and now i’m just supposed to believe that you suddenly want me again?” all he can do is stare at your teary eyes, all he can do is chuckle. it’s weird, you had no clue why you were crying. was it cause the way he trims his hair now is different? was it cause his voice has changed, it sounds restless; was it cause it’s been so long? or was it because your heart still beats the same for him as it once did years ago. it didn’t matter how you felt anymore, you had a husband. well you will have a husband. so—

“listen okay? i just needed you to be safe” he cuts off your thoughts. scaramouche is nervous, he thinks he’s hiding it well with his smirk but he’s really not. you watch as he awkwardly try and fix his posture and grins at you, shoving his hands in his pocket hoping you didn’t notice his shaky fingers. you couldn’t stay here with him much longer, ajax would be furious. it’s not like you loved ajax, nor did he love you. it was a mutual agreement that your marriage would be perfect considering you and ajax both came from respectable families. however your dad always hated scaramouche, and you wish you listened to your father about how boys like him are pieces of shit. “you don’t get to decide that!”

scaramouche scoffs, “so what? what would that make me if i was the reason you died?” you slowly gulped as you both stood in science. he sighs and continues, “look i love you okay i still do and being away from you was one of the hardest things i’ve done!” you kinda always hoped the break up hurt scaramouche, even if it was just a little bit. you hoped that seeing you with someone else makes him bite his inner cheek. so it makes you feel better about drawing doodles of him. and making playlists dedicated to him. and learning the stupid piano just so you could play his favourite songs. “you have no right… no right to come back into my life!” your lip quivered, “it took me so long to fall asleep without you. do you know how difficult it is to eat with a heavy heart? maybe you didn’t kill me physically but the world stopped spinning the day you left so if you’re trying to come back the moment i’m starting to feel okay i’m not letting you.” of course you still loved him, but he was the reason why you put such restrictions on love. and now you cant even break your own rules, not even for him. scaramouche opens his mouth to speak but a voice calls out for you.

“hey! ajax is looking for you!” a guest you didn’t even know yelled from across the room. you look at scaramouche one more time before walking past him.

[luv-byers]

I think some ppl forget that byler not being endgame would be the greatest waste of time EVER, specially for Will’s arc. Now let me explain.

Ofc Will is one of the most (if not the most) complex character of the show, his connection to the upside down is essential for the plot and in s5 we’ll discover many more things. His character is not defined by his sexuality only, ofc, but it is an important thing, specifically if we’re talking about the 80’s. Which leads us to the main point of this post: his love interest.

Him being the only character who hasn’t had any love interest/crush, or that actually avoids talking about love is something that they remind us every season.

S1: didn’t care that the pretty girl (don’t remember her name srry) was crying at his funeral.

- also, foreshadowing that he might be gay (lonnie called him slurs, the bullies at school doing the same…)

S2: he didn’t want to dance with the girl at the SB

S3: “it’s not my fault you don’t like girls” “i’m not gonna fall in love…”

S4: “i think there’s someone he likes”

But we never get an actual answer. What we expect at the end of the show is seeing him with someone, to be in love, to show that he can also find someone to love just like everyone.

Him being gay adds more depth to his character, bc now we know why he wasn’t interested in girls at all, and also why he’s so scared to fall in love: bc it would be with a man, and he knows he wouldn’t be accepted.

The Duffers choosing Mike to be not only his love interest, but THE ONLY ONE, is a wild take. It’s not a simple crush.. it’s pure LOVE, he’s been in love for years. They could’ve chosen anyone, ANYONE, but they wanted Mike to play that part. Now tell me, why would they do that if it would be a simple “no, i dont like u back lmao, i care ab my gf” at the end? Why would they choose to waste 1 out of the 2 queer characters’ love story?

“It’s so vecna has something to torment him with” that’s one of the most stupid shit i’ve ever heard.

Vecna has plenty of things to torment him with: his ab*siv3 dad, the bullying he’s dealt with since he was a kid, everything he went through in the UD, him being gay, etc etc

They could’ve kept it platonic: will doesn’t want vecna to “tell” mike he’s gay bc that’s his best friend and he doesn’t want him to hate him for that. Or simply ANYONE ELSE. Mike didn’t have to be part of that trauma yk.

They could’ve added a character to be his love interest, maybe in s3, then a little scene with him in s4 to remind us that he’ll be present in s5 and then that’s it, happy ending.

Why did they choose to write mileven in such a poor way compared to other canon ships in the show, and on the other hand give us emotional, tender and intimate moments with byler if they didn’t intend to make them endgame?

When you make scenes be so easily misinterpreted you are not being clear. If mileven was clearly endgame there would be no “ship war”, bc it would be obvious. The reason why there are plenty of analysis and byler proof is bc they wanted us to notice those things. Bc guess what: if we have proof is bc there is something to prove.

They would’ve avoided any type of hint that could lead us to believe that Mike could be in love with him as well, or that he’s very queer coded.

Things like “the closet” (official soundtrack), the one way sign, him looking at will’s lips constantly, and other things, all that would be GONE.

Plus, they would wanna promote mileven and make us believe that they are THE main couple. For example, that final take? Why tf are will and mike together, alongside with other two canon couples, and then El at the front? Why isn’t Mike with her? They will defeat the evil with the power of love, right? They’ll be the powerful couple of the show… right? Doesn’t seem like it.

If Will gets rejected, not only everything they’ve been building since the beginning will be for absolutely NOTHING, but also things will be even WORSE than before.

Will, after getting rejected by Mike, will not be able to even look at him in the eyes. Not only he got rejected, not only Mike is his best friend, but also he’s a BOY. So, not only he confessed his feelings which “are not mutual” but also he just came out of the closet. How great is that? Even if they tried to play it cool afterwards I know that Will would be way too embarrassed to ignore it, so they would end up not talking to each other.

So not only they wasted a great part of Will’s character but also one of the main friendships of the show. All for what? To keep on going with mileven? To use a queer character’s feelings for their own good? After making so many people get bored of it or losing hope after season 4? After letting us see that she works better on herself without mike? What kind of shitty promo is this?

To sum up, byler/mike’s internalized homophobia would make Mike’s character even deeper and would explain some things that he’s done/said. If it wasn’t that and he was just being an idiot, then wow, they definitely nailed it……..

[tavolgisvist]

The songs which John in All We Are Saying by David Sheff names 'a bit of a joke', 'a piece of nothing', 'a piece of garbage' and another lovely words

Q: “The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill.” A: Oh, that was written about a guy in Maharishi’s meditation camp who took a short break to go shoot a few poor tigers, and then came back to commune with God. There used to be a character called Jungle Jim and I combined him with Buffalo Bill. It’s a sort of teenage social-comment song and a bit of a joke. Yoko’s on that one, I believe, singing along.

Q: And “Cry Baby Cry”? A: Not me. A piece of rubbish.

Maybe he means the tail of Cry Baby Cry? Then 'not John' and 'a piece of rubbish' is this: Can you take me back where I came from? Can you take me back?

Q: But what about “Here’s another clue for you all, the walrus is Paul” from “Glass Onion”? A: Well, that was a joke. The line was put in partly because I was feeling guilty because I was with Yoko and I was leaving Paul. I was trying—I don’t know. It’s a very perverse way of saying to Paul, you know, “Here, have this crumb, this illusion, this—this stroke, because I’m leaving.”

I told you about the walrus and me, man You know that we're as close as can be, man Well, here's another clue for you all The walrus was Paul

Q: “I Know (I Know)”? A: Just a piece of nothing.

And I know just how you feel And I know now what I have done And I know, and I'm guilty, yes I am But I never could read your mind <…> Today, I love you more than yesterday Right now, I love you more right now

Q: “Dig a Pony”? A: Another piece of garbage.

Well, you can imitate everyone you know Yes, you can imitate everyone you know I told you so

All I want is you Everything has got to be just like you want it to Because

Q: Let’s start with “(Just Like) Starting Over.” A: Appropriate enough. [Hums the song.] Á la Bing Crosby … Well, “Starting Over” and “Cleanup Time” were sorta written on the run after I’d finished all the other work of writing the other ones. They just sort of came. They were like the fun after the work is finished. I was still in Bermuda. Q: You were in a sort of Fifties mood? A: Yeah. I’d done that music and identified with it—that was my period—but I’d never written a song that sounded like that period. So I just thought, Why the hell not? In the Beatles days that would have been taken as a joke. One avoided clichés. ’Course now clichés are not clichés anymore. Q: “Spread your wings and fly…” No pun? A [laughing]: No. But you know I nearly took the word “wings” out because I thought, Oh, God! They’ll all be saying, “What’s this about Wings?” It has nothin’ to do with Wings.

Q: “I’ll Get You”? A: That was Paul and me trying to write a song and it didn’t work out.

(Yeah, and it - that the song 'didn’t work out' - is the reason why Paul sings during Get Back sessions:

Imagine I'm in love with you It's easy 'cause I know

and make a joke with 'rhyming slang': I think I’m getting Hong Kong flu.

and when someone (Lindsey-Hogg?) asks, 'Are you really?' Paul just says 'No, not really. Not really.' (Okay, 'bunny' - or 'Barney', that makes more sense, thanks, @i-am-the-oyster <3)

[charmwasjess]

If Lucasfilm hires you to develop a project what do you pitch?

(Happy Thanksgiving btw 🦃)

Forgive me o’ Geode, friend and sender of fun asks, but the pitch would be me asking to use the restroom and then sneaking out through an open window.

I know! I know! What a boring answer! That sounds so cynical and unfun! Jess LOVES Star Wars content!! So why is she crying?!

Problem is, I think I would want to pitch The Acolyte. 

Of course, I disagree with Leslye Headland’s take on the Jedi Order completely. But I can’t say I didn’t have fun with that show, or that I wouldn’t have tried to do the exact same thing she did with some meaningful differences: get a Jedi-centric story away from the Skywalker Saga, explore weird places, make it dark and edgy and sexy, diverse leads, LGTBQIA+ characters treated like real characters, big tasty lightsaber fights. And it would get cancelled just like The Acolyte did, as none of the things I wanted to fix about the show were the reasons for its failure. 

I don’t think it’s just Star Wars, by the way. It is ROUGH out there for creative people working on projects, big or small. The industry is changing in ways that are still being realized as stories change to franchises which change to corporate properties managing streaming conglomerates. I imagine it will get a great deal worse before it gets better as companies start to cheap out on AI. I’ve talked to Netflix producers, friends who write for Marvel projects, and closer to home, my partner just realized the creative dream of a lifetime: the book he’s worked on for seven years got published by THE publisher in his scene. It’s a success! His fans are fantastic! The reviews are great! He’s sold so many copies so quickly that he would qualify for NYT bestsellers criteria if they listed his genre. His experience with the process was like pulling fucking teeth. He was unsupported with the book on every level by his publishers, fought for every good decision, and the whole process was exhausting and demoralizing.  

I can’t imagine how quickly the dream turns into a nightmare for someone taking on a Lucasfilm project, getting the chance to tell a story they’re deeply passionate about, and then it fails utterly for reasons entirely outside of their control.  

Anyway, without invoking Apollo’s red ball, I do want to talk about a Dooku: Jedi Lost adaptation for a second. Because of course, imagining well done cinematic scenes of certain favorite moments in that book - the Tirra ‘taka or Sifo-Dyas’s sandstorm while Dooku’s blue blade is just cutting down foes left and right - make my nips so hard they just break off and go flying around the room, smashing up the furniture. It’s impossible not to dream “well, what if they just did it really well?” 

But here’s where I think it falls apart. Regardless of how you view the platonic or romantic nature of Sifo-Dyas and Dooku's relationship, a good half the book is two male characters having intimate, affirming conversations about their feelings. Can you imagine a Star Wars property where the male leads look at each other and say lines like “you’re here. With me.” or the whole “I’m in.” “I”m in” exchange as their ship literally falls burning from the sky? Disney would probably turn it into a lightsaber fight, and yeah, I’d reblog the shit out of those gifs, but I think it would erase something core that I love in the narrative that is perfectly captured in the medium it’s in right now. Something tender and understated and rare.

....And even if they captured that aspect perfectly, part of the “fandom” that hadn’t seen a Star Wars film since May 2005 would bleat “woke” and complain that their wife left them because someone (me) ruined Count Dooku.

[doctorweebmd]

the ‘why would anyone entrust Akutagawa with Aya remember what happened the last time he took care of a young girl 🤔’ is such a dogshit take. like bro are we gonna just forget his whole-ass younger sister who he dotes on or, idk, perhaps literally the fact that his villain origin story is that he COULDNT PROTECT HIS FRIENDS IN THE SLUMS i am killing all of you with hammers

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

So I was reading articles about John Hurt (as I do when I procrastinate on life in general lol) and I saw a still shot of a movie I’ve never seen still shots of before; so I looked it up. It’s a play. I was worried I wouldn’t find it in full online; but I did, so here it is in all its glory:

He’s just… ugh I want to gently hold his face in my hands he’s just so sad and lonely with his weepy voice and eye bags. I couldn’t process half of what he said but I think this is a warning about always speed-running through life to get to the next good thing. We should appreciate the moment; because in the end, we’ll have nothing at all but our memories. If we rush through life, we won’t have any memories to keep us warm at night when the chill of death creeps up on us in our old age.

Also, spool, spooooooooooollll…….

spoooooooooooooooooooooolllllll [cackles in mentally unstable]

@kaleidoscopr @theindo @possessedbydevils @randomtwospirit

[evansbby]

I cannot believe the wicked games Drabble was 5000 words long like basically a full ass fic and the low amount of notes it got…

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

[sanchoyo]

anytime I have to scroll thru a big fandom on ao3 there’s always dozens of chat fics and it makes me sad bc 9 times out of 10 they don’t have plots or are too ooc for me to want to read and it sucks bc I feel like the concept of an epistolary story told with only text messages is so fun!! Accounting for the diff ways characters would type/use emojis/emotes, how fast they would respond (if they have time stamps in the story) who’s getting left on read, trying to extrapolate what’s going on behind the texts, how a plot could progress in a text only format… it has so much potential yet usually it’s only lolrandom type meme stories which don’t scratch that itch for me 😔