#like i need it it’s not even funny anymore

[sucodelaranja86]

- hyun-ju cho relationship headcanons (pre/post game) : ★

featuring: hyun-ju cho x reader

warnings: mentions of very faint transphobia.

A/N: Requests are open. :))

★ . ★ . ★ . ★

➤ For starters, she confirmed herself that she is not a timid person. And you can see for yourself that she isn't afraid of expressing her opinions or taking leadership.

But that doesn't mean she isn't insecure.

It's hard to find people who embraced their true identity, specially in the place you two live. So it's not hard for her to feel like she is sticking out negatively in the crowd. And of course, people around you don't make things better.

So not going into too many details, she would enjoy PDA a lot more if she didn't make you two stick out so much. She is not embarrassed to show affection to you, quite the contrary. As i mentioned before, she is not a shy person by no means. She just feels a afraid of making a fuss.

But that doesn't mean she doesn't shower you with affection inside closed doors!

Independent of your size and height, you are going to be the big spoon. Yes, she is the double of your size, and yes, you are going to caress her head while she sits on your lap. It's not like you are complaining.

She feels like she can be her true self around you, and that true self is a clingy woman who demands affection everytime your hands are unoccupied.

Even through messages, she is still the same person you know. And you are not afraid to admit she messages and comments like a facebook mom. She didn't understand what you meant when you bursted out laughing while admitting that, but it would never not be funny to you.

"love, are you coming home rn?"

"Yes, my dear, 💕 i am on my way. 😊 I am currently at the subway, and i couldn't help but admire some of the breath-taking flowers a certain seller is promoting. 💐🌷🌻 Should i get a combination of flowers for our apartment, or should i save for something else? 🤔 Message me what you think! ☺️😚🤩"

You never get the heart to explain to her why is it so funny. The proper grammar, the exaggerated quantity of emojis, alongside a sticker that is the definition of a grandma's humor won't ever not make you giggle.

And don't even get me started on the 'funny' videos she sends you.

They are either military humor/jokes that you would need at least 2 years of researching for you to understand, or those videos that would be funny 6 months ago and you would sometimes catch your mom giggling to it. Sometimes you had to remind her you were not a first class sergeant like she was, and that always lead to her explaining for 15 minutes about the joke. So after some time you decided to simply laugh, even if you didn't get it.

You once tried looking through her main page on the only social media she used, and the only things you found were mainly housewife tutorial videos, military documentary clips, occasionally some millennial funny videos, and even more occasionally trans pride related ones. It was like a single mother, a teenager who just came out and a 47 married man were sharing the same social media.

And speaking about moms- she is the biggest one ever. You got a simple cold? She is already making you soup while wrapping you up in the warmest blanket you two own. Had a problem with someone? When they see her, they are surely not going to mess with you anymore.

Overall: you don't know if you bagged a girlfriend or a single mom.

⌢ ⌣ ⌢ ⌣

[jjscrybaby]

thinking about “who did this to you?” and frat!boy rafe 🤭 his girl is always at his frat house and one night at a party, he’s looking for her and can’t find her. He eventually finds her crying and maybe with light bruises on her wrists or something? protective frat!rafe 🥰

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (creepy guy, wrist grabbing, bruising, protective!rafe, mentions of anxiety, sort of shy!reader,)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The lights were giving you a headache. Topper thought it was funny to repetitively switch the main light on and off, to try and give the room a rave vibe. Most people inside were too fucked up to be annoyed by it, but you weren’t. You’d only had two vodka cranberries, and honestly all you wanted to do was crawl into Rafe’s bed and go to sleep.

During the majority of these parties you’d be glued to your boyfriend’s side, hanging off his arm like a trophy, but tonight was different. You were trying to branch out more, stop being so anxious at these things. Rafe loves a party, and being his girlfriend you should as well. So, for the last hour you’ve been roaming around; making minimal contact with him.

You left the main room with a huff, rubbing your temple as you walked out into the hall. There was no-one in sight, and you let out a sigh of relief that you had a moment alone. You sat down on the floor, leaning your head back against the wall. The door to the bathroom opened and a boy, one you hadn’t seen before, walked out.

“You alright?” He asked, looking down at you in amusement.

“I’m fine, just takin’ a break,” you explained. You didn’t want to speak to him, but it would be rude to send him away; especially with the mission you were on tonight.

“Mind if I join you?” He questioned. You didn’t even get to respond, he was already sitting down next to you. “I’m Parker, by the way.” You introduced yourself, shaking his outstretched hand. “Ah, you’re Cameron’s girl?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, just the mention of him had your mood lifting. Maybe you should just give up with the outgoing thing, maybe you should just go and find—

“You don’t seem like his type.” The statement caught you off guard, all thoughts leaving your head as you looked at him with furrowed brows.

“What does that mean?” You wondered, trying to sound calm.

He let out a hum, as if deep in thought, before shrugging his shoulders and giving you a smirk. “Rafe’s, like, into all this shit, y’know? Parties, drinking, drugs. You’re sat in the hallway alone.”

“Opposites attract,” you shrugged back, picking at the pink nail polish on your nails.

“That is the saying,” he laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “I just think maybe, a pretty girl like you, deserves someone that’s more like her. Someone that would sit with her in the hallway, for example.”

You thought he was degrading you, like the rest of Rafe’s fanboys usually did. But, you realised now that wasn’t the case. He was your fanboy. You let out an awkward chuckle, looking to the door that hadn’t opened since you stepped out. You prayed for someone, anyone, to need the bathroom.

“I’m gonna head back in—” you decided to screw the anxiety, and just do what was necessary.

“Why?” He interrupted. He didn’t sound quite so friendly anymore. “We’re hangin’ out, don’t go in yet.”

“I need to find Rafe.” You tried to stand, but his fingers gripped onto your wrist to stop you. You winced in pain, his hold only tightened. “Get off.”

“No—” your prayers were answered as the door opened, a drunken couple came stumbling through. The sudden interruption had him letting go of you, and you swiftly rushed away.

You ran upstairs, through the corridor of boy’s bedrooms, until you reached Rafe’s. With tears in your eyes, you pushed open the door and laid down in his bed.

It only took ten minutes for the door to open again, you flinched; thinking that maybe Parker had followed you up here, but you let out a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of Rafe.

“Hey, baby. There you are, been lookin’ all over— are you crying?” He interrupted himself, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No,” you blatantly lied through your tears, voice coming out muffled.

He wrapped his arms around you, wiping your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Hey, what happened? It get a bit overwhelmin’? You could have told me, you know I’d much rather sit up here with you.”

“Not exactly…” you reached up to move your hair from your eye-line, you realised your mistake the moment that gentle look in his eyes dropped.

“What is that?” He grabbed your arm, not harshly but forcefully. Your wrist had turned a bright red colour, bruises would be forming soon enough.

“Nothing!” You squeaked out, trying to pull your arm away from him.

“Don’t bullshit me. That wasn’t there earlier. What happened?” He demanded to know. You knew he was serious, the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice.

You gave in, tears rolling down your cheeks as you explained to him what happened with the boy. He stroked over your wrist, a moment of silent going over the two of you before he leant forward and kissed your temple.

“Get changed, put on a movie. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” He murmured softly.

“Where’re you going?” You asked nervously, you were pretty sure you already knew the answer.

“To sort out that fuckin’ kid. No one puts their hands on you, get it?” He stated, pecking your lips before getting off the bed.

You didn’t argue, there was no point. Rafe was too in love with you, if someone hurt you he’d do just about anything to get payback.

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc (4/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, angst, fluff ୨ৎ : tws : injury, surgery, medical trauma, emotional distress, guilt, near-death experience, physical pain, anxiety ୨ৎ : wc : 2402

part one | part two | part three | part four

Love is funny, isn’t it? You think you have it all figured out, and then one day, you realize that the love you thought would always be there can sometimes fade into the background. But it doesn’t just fade. No, it burns out, slow and steady, like an ember that’s been left too long. That’s the worst kind of loss—the one you didn’t see coming, the one that happens while you’re still holding on, telling yourself everything will be okay.

You remember when you and Charles first fell in love. The world felt like it was yours, and nothing could get in the way of the connection you had. The world around you blurred into the background, and it was just the two of you. You’d laugh together, make silly promises to each other, the kind of promises that felt forever, like they couldn’t possibly be broken. And in your mind, you believed it. You believed you’d grow old together, that no argument could ever pull you apart. But life has a funny way of surprising you.

The love you shared in the beginning was so full of light. It was easy. It was simple. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between the late-night talks and the quiet moments, you lost that. The arguments crept in. At first, they were small, just misunderstandings, but they grew, louder and sharper, until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. The more Charles drowned himself in the racing world, the more you felt yourself slipping away. But neither of you stopped to listen to what the other needed.

You can’t help but wonder now: If you hadn’t argued so much, if you hadn’t allowed that distance to grow between you, would he be lying in this hospital bed today? Would he still be fighting for his life? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. The thought makes your chest ache with a weight you can’t shake off. You want to believe that everything could have been different, but you don’t know for sure.

---

The steady beep of the monitors is the only thing that keeps you tethered to the present. Charles’s vitals have stabilized since the crash, and you try not to let yourself hope too much, but each small sign of improvement sends a rush of relief through you. You hold onto that hope, even though you know it might be foolish. Every small movement, every little shift in his breathing—each one feels like a promise. A promise that he’s still here.

Pascale’s footsteps break your train of thought. She steps into the room, her face tired, but there’s a quiet strength in her eyes.

“You’re doing everything you can,” she says, her voice gentle, like she’s trying to reassure you that you’re not alone in this. “You’re not to blame for this. The sport… it’s dangerous. We all know that. But Charles loves you. And this—it’s not your fault.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy with the weight of her words. But they don’t sink in, not completely. You can’t stop the guilt that keeps clawing at your chest. You can’t help but wonder, what if you could have done more? What if you had said something different, done something different? Would he still be here, conscious and fighting? Or would this still be his reality?

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit quietly, your voice shaky, betraying the calm you try to maintain. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

She takes a step closer, her hand finding yours. “You don’t have to,” she says, her tone firm but soft. “Just be there for him. That’s what he needs right now. And when he wakes up… when he’s ready, you’ll figure it out together.”

You nod, not sure if you believe her. But you hold onto her words like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, she’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful.

---

Hours stretch into what feels like an eternity. The doctors come and go, each update a little less hopeful than the last. Charles is still critical. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up, if he wakes up. And the waiting—waiting without knowing what’s happening to him, if he’s improving or slipping away—feels unbearable.

And then, without warning, his heart rate drops.

The machines beep with a harsh, frantic sound, and the room erupts into chaos. Your body freezes, the air thick with panic. Nurses rush to his side, hands moving quickly, calling out to each other in a language you can’t fully comprehend. You stand there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Your mind spins with fear and confusion, and all you can think about is the man lying in front of you, fighting to stay alive.

Charles’s heart rate flatlines.

A scream gets caught in your throat, but it doesn’t escape. You don’t have the strength to let it out. The world feels like it’s spinning, like you’re stuck in a nightmare you can’t wake from. You watch as they work on him—CPR, chest compressions, defibrillation—but none of it seems to matter. It doesn’t feel real. He’s supposed to be okay. He’s supposed to wake up.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, the doctors manage to stabilize him again. His heart rate picks up slowly, steadily, until it’s just enough for you to breathe again.

The doctors exchange glances, unsure how to explain the sudden shift. They weren’t expecting this. They were preparing to pull the plug. Now, it seems he’s fighting back.

But the fear doesn’t dissipate completely. It lingers in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. There’s no telling if this is the end of the battle or just another moment of temporary reprieve. All you can do is wait.

---

Time passes, but it feels like you’re standing still. Charles’s breathing evens out. The monitors beep at a normal rhythm now, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a glimmer of hope.

And then, as though your prayers have been answered, you hear it. A soft groan. His hand twitches in yours.

“Charles?” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyelids flutter, and slowly, his eyes open. The confusion is evident in them. His brow furrows, trying to process everything.

“Y/n?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you can hear the recognition in it. The relief that floods through you makes it hard to breathe. You’re shaking, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Oh my God. Charles… you’re awake.”

His eyes flutter again, blinking as he adjusts to the light. He tries to speak, but it’s a struggle. “What… happened?”

“You were in a crash,” you explain, your heart racing. “But you’re awake. You’re okay. You’re breathing on your own.”

His hand tightens around yours, a weak but determined grip. He doesn’t have to say anything else. You know he’s here. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

You lean in closer, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything right now. Just rest. You’ve been through enough.”

His eyes close again, exhaustion taking over. But this time, it’s different. He’s not slipping away. He’s fighting. And that’s enough for you.

---

It’s been a few days since Charles woke up. His recovery is slow, but every step forward is a victory. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, and his vitals are improving steadily. He’s no longer on a ventilator, and they’ve managed to reduce the pain medications, though he still winces at the sharp pangs in his body when he moves. His face is pale, his body thin, but his eyes—they’re alive. They’re still the same Charles you love.

His hand rests weakly in yours as he shifts in the hospital bed, a small groan escaping his lips. You watch him carefully, knowing he’s still in pain but feeling so much relief that he’s here, breathing, talking, and slowly getting better. It’s surreal how much has changed in just a few days.

You gently press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering longer than you expect.

“Still hurts?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything hurts,” he replies, his voice hoarse from the tubes and the strain, but it’s unmistakably Charles—weak but teasing. “But I’ll live.”

You chuckle, even though your heart still feels heavy with all that’s happened. “You better. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His hand tightens around yours, and for a moment, there’s silence between you two, the hum of machines and the quiet shuffle of footsteps in the hall the only sounds filling the room.

The door opens softly, and Pascale enters, her eyes lighting up when she sees Charles awake.

“You’re really here,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it.”

“I told you,” he mutters, a weak but determined smile crossing his face. “I don’t give up that easily.”

She chuckles, her relief palpable. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The doctor enters next, checking his vitals and making small talk about his progress. But after a few minutes, you sense that everyone is trying to give you two some space. You appreciate it more than you can say. You need a moment alone with him, just the two of you.

“Can we talk?” Charles asks suddenly, his voice quieter, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His gaze locks with yours, and you nod.

Once the room clears, you move closer to him, pulling a chair up beside his bed and sitting down, your hand never leaving his.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice soft but full of emotion. “More than I ever thought possible. I was… so afraid. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Your heart catches at his words, and you squeeze his hand tighter. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”

“I know I messed up, Y/n,” he says, his voice trembling slightly as he continues. “The arguments, the distance between us… I didn’t know how to fix it, but I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done better for us.”

You shake your head, leaning closer to him. “We both messed up. I pushed you away. I let my own fears and doubts take over, and we let the distance grow between us. But we don’t need to dwell on that now. What matters is we have a chance to rebuild. We can start again.”

Charles’ eyes soften as he looks at you. He lifts his free hand and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers are weak, but his touch is gentle, so tender it makes your heart swell.

“I don’t want to waste another moment,” he whispers. “I want to make it right. For us. I want to give you everything I have. I want us to be… forever.”

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest at his words, and you can’t hold back the tears that sting your eyes. “Charles… I love you. I always have. No matter what happened before, it’s in the past now. We’ll get through this together. We’ll be better.”

He nods, his smile growing as much as his weakened body allows. “Forever,” he repeats, his voice firm. “You and me.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his gently, the kiss soft and full of promise. You feel the heat of his lips against yours, the lingering taste of the past and the hope for the future mixing together. It’s everything you need. Everything you’ve always wanted.

After the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, the moment feeling peaceful, intimate, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

"I promise I’m never going to leave you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I won’t leave you either. We’re in this together. Forever.”

His breath catches, and you can see how tired he is. His eyes start to close, his body relaxing into the bed. You’re thankful for this moment—this quiet moment of peace between the chaos. It’s all you need for now. His grip tightens one last time around your hand before he drifts off, his breathing steady, but shallow.

As you watch him sleep, your heart swells. There’s so much to be thankful for now. He’s here. He’s alive. And even though he’s still in pain, the fact that he’s awake and breathing on his own, that he can talk and even smile, fills you with a sense of relief you can’t describe.

Time may not have stopped, but you feel like it’s been kind to you in the small ways. And in this moment, with Charles beside you, you’re ready to take on the future. The fights, the love, the challenges—they’re all worth it. Because at the end of the day, it’s you and him. Together.

---

As the days continue, Charles slowly gets stronger. The pain from the crash is still there, but it’s manageable. He’s talking more, eating small meals, and regaining some mobility. He even laughs now and then, the sound a balm to your weary soul.

It’s slow, but progress is progress, and with each passing day, your connection with him grows stronger. The weight of the past seems lighter, and you find yourselves rebuilding, piece by piece, finding new ways to love each other.

You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, you know you’ll face it together. Whatever happens, you’ve found something worth fighting for.

---

A few weeks later, Charles is finally cleared for a short walk around the hospital floor. It’s a small victory, but it feels huge to both of you. He’s still weak, but he’s standing, with you by his side, helping him steady himself.

“You’ve come so far,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you could conquer anything. “I’m not done yet. I still have a lot of living to do. And I want to do it with you.”

You nod, feeling your heart swell as you walk beside him, hand in hand. This journey isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

But for now, you’re both here. You’re together. And that’s enough.

Forever.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , @anunstablefangirl , @waytoooobsessedwithlife , @larya810 , @laufeysvalentine (tags closed, story complete)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[ennabear]

hehehe haiii twin 🤭🤭 making my yappery reblog comeback with this blurb because it’s so adorable and i’ve read it a million times already… also i’m not really sure if any of this will be legible because i’m half asleep with a migraine so… BUT I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS AND I LOVE ELLIEBEAR HEHEHEHE

your relationship with her was still very new, full of shy glances, giggles, and tingles when your fingers grazed - both of you wanted to be perfect for the other. to not rush. but to say you didn't long to be kissed was a lie.

omg i’m gonna cry this is so cute… shy loser ellie I NEED YOUUUUUU 😭 the way i long to be kissed by her is crazy how did you know… sighhh you write her so beautifully it’s like she’s real and in my phone 😞😞😞

you stared at those pouty rosebud lips of hers, and dreamed about how they'd feel on yours. you counted her freckles and fantasized about ghosting your lips over each and every one of them, igniting her cheeks in a blush; a hue so deep it makes them vanish. luckily for you, the perfect moment was fast approaching.

stop this rn… bae… i’m sobbing… those freckles… the way i would kiss the shit out of her is crazy I WANNA SMOOCHY SMOOCH HERRRRRRRUGHHH omg i’m gonna throw my phone how are u doing this… literally every way you describe her is so adorable i’m 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 perfect moment fr i need her to be my new years kiss even though it’s january 4th

you two decided to watch the fireworks outside in a clearing, so you could stargaze before and after the main event. it was cold, and you felt her nuzzle closer to you-your heart skipped a beat. you nudged her with your shoulder, "ellie, it's almost time!"

:((((( now i wanna stargaze with her and get all cozy and cuddle with her and look at the sky and be warm and and and and…. give her a kith…

you were met with a dazed murmur, a grumpy sound. you shook the silly girl awake, melting at her adorable expression-sleepy as a nesting owl. she jumped when a sudden firework shot up in the sky, creating a sparkly golden trail. you looked at them too, but you were more focused on the glint in her eyes—a wonder and joy like none other. she turned to you, grinning as wide as ever, but you had other plans.

HEHEHEHE AWWWW her falling asleep is so meeeee i’m bawling i’m screaming i’m crying i’m sobbing 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 twin have i ever told you that you’re the best writer in the world… because you are… the way you describe this whole scene is so perfect i can see it so clearly it’s crazy… how are u doing that… need you to write a book next please and thanks!!!!!

"yay! happy new year! i—" escaped from her paired with a gleeful chuckle, only you cut her off by pressing your lips to hers without a warning, leaving her breathless. she was so soft, velvety lips and the warmth of her unsteady gasps fanning your face.

shortly, she kissed you back lovingly, sweetly, tenderly, as if you were made of precious ceramic, her hand gently cradling yours.

KITH KITH KITH KITH KITH KITH!!!!! i can’t take this anymore ellie come out where are you this isn’t funny bae… its okay i just want a kiss… and to hold your hand… and cuddle… and take a nap… please… dont make me ant on a stick rn… i need to give her a ninions kiss so bad omg it hurts… put my whole tongue in her mouth and blush like 🍅🍅🍅🍅🍅 until we’re both yellow… uhhhhh does that mean anything idk

you broke apart to smile at her, canines bared and everything, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. your heart grew many sizes looking at her like this, you haven't felt such adoration for someone so fast in what feels like forever. your voice was shaky with emotion, nothing but positivity, and you whispered while you rested your forehead against hers, "happy new year, ellie. here's to a good one."

i adore her so much and i adore u twin i’m sobbinggggg I WANT TO KISS HER SO BAD… oh no what’s happening my lips are cold and lonely… if only i had her to keep them warm all year… and then again next year… and the year after… sighhhhh too bad she’s only in my phone… i guess i’ll just have to read through twins whole masterlist to keep myself sane…

i just know new years with ellie would be so damn special. have this i farted out in two seconds...i miss writing so bad.

your relationship with her was still very new, full of shy glances, giggles, and tingles when your fingers grazed—both of you wanted to be perfect for the other. to not rush. but to say you didn't long to be kissed was a lie.

you stared at those pouty rosebud lips of hers, and dreamed about how they'd feel on yours. you counted her freckles and fantasized about ghosting your lips over each and every one of them, igniting her cheeks in a blush; a hue so deep it makes them vanish. luckily for you, the perfect moment was fast approaching.

you two decided to watch the fireworks outside in a clearing, so you could stargaze before and after the main event. it was cold, and you felt her nuzzle closer to you—your heart skipped a beat. you nudged her with your shoulder, "ellie, it's almost time!"

you were met with a dazed murmur, a grumpy sound. you shook the silly girl awake, melting at her adorable expression—sleepy as a nesting owl. she jumped when a sudden firework shot up in the sky, creating a sparkly golden trail. you looked at them too, but you were more focused on the glint in her eyes—a wonder and joy like none other. she turned to you, grinning as wide as ever, but you had other plans.

"yay! happy new year! i—" escaped from her paired with a gleeful chuckle, only you cut her off by pressing your lips to hers without a warning, leaving her breathless. she was so soft, velvety lips and the warmth of her unsteady gasps fanning your face.

shortly, she kissed you back lovingly, sweetly, tenderly, as if you were made of precious ceramic, her hand gently cradling yours.

you broke apart to smile at her, canines bared and everything, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. your heart grew many sizes looking at her like this, you haven't felt such adoration for someone so fast in what feels like forever. your voice was shaky with emotion, nothing but positivity, and you whispered while you rested your forehead against hers, "happy new year, ellie. here's to a good one."

[darlingdaisyfarm]

one night, two Pines ⋆˚࿔

tags: nsfw, Stan x fem!reader x Ford, threesome, praise kink, dirty talk, reader deserves a medal for this, rough sex, oral sex, p in v, fingering, pet names

tagging: @cailleachcola <33

a/n: i cant help it i love making Ford jealous even tho he wouldn’t show it so obvious like Stan for example ?? it’s my headcanon idk

for those who wanted second part and love jealous!Ford - click here

The Mystery Shack groans under the weight of another snowfall.

You glance toward the window, its edges crusted with frost, the outside world disappearing into an eerie haze of blue-gray dusk. Shadows stretch long and lazy across the wooden floor, falling on cluttered bookshelves lined with things Ford insists are cursed, but Stan swears they’re just old junk.

The coldness settles into your bones, making your fingertips ache and even the thickest socks don’t seem to help. The mystery Shack is equipped for this kind of weather. . . well, supposedly, but Stan always mutters about “old buildings” and “better insulation next year”. You’d laugh if your teeth weren’t busy chattering.

It got all got worse when the lights blinked once, then died completely. And now you're sitting in the darkness.

“Goddammit!” Stan’s voice barks through the room and it makes you jump from how loud it is. You barely make out his silhouette in the darkness.

Ford is pacing, muttering about fuses and the electrical grid. Stan, meanwhile, is busy cursing up a storm, flashlight gripped tight as he rifles through an ancient toolkit he probably hasn’t touched since 80s.

“Perfect fucking timing,” Stan growls, tossing a wrench over his shoulder. It clatters against the floor. “lights go out the one time we actually need ‘em. Figures.”

Ford, ever the optimist or maybe just too stubborn to agree with his brother, snaps back, “Well, if someone hadn’t overloaded the system with those ridiculous inflatable decorations outside—”

“You wanna run that by me again, sixer?” Stan turns, pointing flashlight to land directly on Ford’s chest. “i’ll have you know those ‘ridiculous decorations’ are what keep this place lookin’ festive, unlike your dusty ass journals stacked all over the damn place.”

You sit back, pulling old, oversized sweater tighter around yourself as you smile. They’re always like this. You can’t help it, the giggle slips out before you can stop yourself. Both of them turn to you.

“What’s so funny, kid?” Stan asks you.

“You two,” you reply, wiping the mirth from your lips with the back of your hand. “you argue like you’re in some bad sitcom.”

But it’s still dark, so dark you can barely make out their faces anymore, just shadows moving around the room and your fingers are already numb because it’s freezing, the temperature drops fast without the heater running. You exhale through your nose and hug yourself tighter, but it’s not helping much, honestly. The cold feels sharper, biting through your sweater and you decide you’ve had enough of waiting for them to figure it out.

“Okay,” you say, pushing up from the couch and ignoring the way their heads both snap toward you again, twin pairs of eyes watching your movements. “i’m getting candles.”

“Candles?” Stan repeats, sounding so bewildered.

“Yep, candles. You know, those things that make light and heat?”

Ford hums softly and smiles at your suggestion. “That’s actually a good idea,” he says and you think you hear Stan mumbling something like “of course he’d say that”, but you’re already moving toward the kitchen.

The candles are old, probably from some forgotten stash Mabel left behind last Christmas, but they’re pretty, short and fat with uneven edges, dusted with glitter and wrapped in little bows. And you carry them back to the living room with an armful of mismatched holders. You light them one by one and they glow softly, beautifully, their tiny flames flickering against the walls and filling the room with the faint scent of cinnamon, as room turns warm and so, so comforting. However, while you’re busy lighting the candles, you again hear two men arguing.

“I'm just saying,” Stanley huffs. “if you’re so damn smart, you could’ve fixed it yourself.”

Stanford pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing “And if you’d actually listen—”

“So, if you two are done arguing. . .” your voice interrupts their squabble. “maybe we should focus on keeping warm instead of trying to win whatever petty contest this is?”

Ford looks sheepish, running a hand through his hair, giving you an awkward smile while Stan grumbles “not petty, just proving a point”.

“But yeah, okay,” Stan waves a hand, brushing off your concern. “got plenty of blankets upstairs, i’ll grab a few.”

“And what, huddle together like we’re on some survival show?” Ford quirks a brow sceptically.

Stan’s reply is immediate. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, genius.”

Ford pauses, he doesn’t seem to have an answer. His gaze falls on you instead as he takes in your curled-up figure in the candlelight.

“Blankets it is, then,” he murmurs finally and Stan smirks a victorious “damn right.”

A few moments later, you’re all sitting closer than you probably should with the scratchy warmth of mismatched blankets draped across the three of you. Stan takes up the space of two people, leaning back with a wide grin, absolutely proud of himself and the way things goes now. Ford is stiff beside you, trying his best not to make contact to not make you uncomfortable, but the limited space forces his arm against yours.

It’s awkward, kind of, the silence. The proximity because you’re hyper-aware of every breath, every move, every accidental brush of skin. The candlelight dances across their faces, painting them in shades of gold and orange and you catch Stan watching you out of the corner of his eye, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Cozy enough for ya, sweetheart?”

Ford clears his throat, visibly bristling at the nickname. “I think she’d be cosier if someone didn’t take up half the blanket, Stanley.”

“Oh, cry me a river. Besides, she looks plenty warm to me. Ain’t that right, doll?”

And damn it, you do feel warm now, but not because of the blankets or the candles.

You sigh and swallow nervously, nodding and preparing for any outcome of the situation, but still, you move slightly, leaning into Ford just to see what happens, just to fucking see. At that, his breath hitches as his eyes widen, Stan catches it immediately.

“Huh,” Stan drawls, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “looks like sixer’s finally found his voice.”

Damn, it’s insane how quickly the room heats, despite the little useless candles you brought. Ford, for all his intelligence, looks at you, frozen in place, every muscle taut as though he’s weighing a hundred different outcomes. Meanwhile you feel the other twin already leaning in, closer and closer because damn, he’s been waiting for this moment for far too long.

“You cold, sweetheart?” Stan’s eyes dart briefly to where Ford’s arm presses against yours. “or maybe you just need a little. . . extra heat?”

Ford tenses beside you. “Stanley,” he fights the urge not to roll his eyes.

“Oh, c’mon, poindexter, you’re tellin’ me you haven’t thought about it? Not once? She’s sittin’ right here, for fuck’s sake.”

You bite your lip nervously, caught between them, their weight, their heat, the very presence of them pressing into you from both sides. Your body betrays you, leaning into Ford’s shoulder again, just to test the waters or maybe because you’re tired of pretending that you don’t notice the way his eyes darken when they meet yours.

Ford’s hand brushes yours, hesitant. Too careful. His fingers curl slightly, catching yours in a loose hold and you already think he’s going to pull away again, but no. His grip tightens and little smile appears on your cold lips.

“It’s, uh, it’s—” Ford begins, stuttering, but the words die on his tongue when your free hand reaches up to touch his face, grazing the edge of his jaw with your thumb. Oh, he’s warmer than you expected, softer, too and then he leans into your touch, what tells you everything you need to know about how much he’s been holding back.

“Don’t be a coward, sixer.”

Ford’s head immediately snaps toward his brother, shouting him a glare, but then your fingers trail lower, brushing along the collar of his sweater and he stops, softens. You don’t miss the way his chest rises and falls too.

You tilt your head, asking quietly in soft voice. “What are you so afraid of, Ford?”

It’s Stan who answers, leaning in close enough that you feel his breath on your neck. “He’s afraid you’ll like me better,” his hand finds your thigh beneath the blanket, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp softly right into Ford’s face. “ain’t that right, genius?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then prove it,” Stanley’s hand slides higher as he touches the bare skin beneath your clothes and you shiver, definitely not from the cold this time. Meanwhile Ford’s grip on your hand tightens as he watches Stan’s movements.

“She’s yours too, isn’t she? Or are you just gonna let me—”

Whatever Stan’s about to say dies in his throat because Ford moves faster than you’ve ever seen, his free hand grabbing Stan’s wrist and pulling it away from your thigh.

“Enough,” Ford commands, his hand slides to your cheek, tilting your face toward his and surprisingly for three of you, his lips are on yours. But you don’t even get time to enjoy the kiss.

“So she tastes as good as you imagined, Ford?”

Ford pulls back to glare at his brother, but his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly and when good answer appears in his smart head, he smiles.

“Better,” his eyes stay locked on yours, searching, needing.

Stan watches this for a moment, his grin softening, turning less cocky, since when his brother got so romantic? “Well, great,” he leans back in, his hand returning to your thigh, caressing your skin. Ford finally pulls away, unable to take his eyes off your pretty lips now. Before you can say something, you feel Stan's mouth on your neck, so warm as he nibbles on your skin while Ford’s hands slide lower, pulling you closer.

And you’re not cold anymore. Not even a little.

Your breath tangles in your throat when Stan squeezes your thigh while Ford kisses you again. It’s everything you thought it’d be and nothing you could’ve prepared for, a tension that’s been threading through the air for weeks, months and now it’s finally snapping. You think you might drown in the intensity of it, feeling Stan’s hand dragging higher, his fingers teasing the edge of your panties as his teeth graze the shell of your ear.

“You’ve been playin’ coy for weeks, sweetheart,” you hear Stan muttering behind you, his other arm loops around your middle, pulling you back against the solid weight of him and your head falls against his chest. “makin’ us work for it, huh? You got no idea what that’s been doin’ to us.” his mouth is rough on your neck, trying to mark every inch of you and when he nips at your pulse, you can’t stop the sound that escapes you, it’s half a gasp, half a moan and you feel Ford’s hand twitching against your hip.

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty like that,” Stan’s hands are big and rough like the rest of him, so when he slides them under the blanket, slipping between your legs, you gasp louder.

The heat in the room doesn’t come from the candles or blanket anymore, it’s from their bodies pressing closer, crowding you against the sofa’s cushions. Ford is still in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours as if he’s trying to solve the most complicated equation of his life, but his trembling hands betray him, desperate to touch you. Stan’s behind you, his chest solid against your back, arms bracketing you in like a warm cage, and when his lips find the shell of your ear, you feel his grin.

“Tell him, sweetheart, tell sixer what you want.”

You don’t answer right away, you look at Ford, noticing his pupils blown wide and his breath uneven. He’s waiting, waiting for permission, waiting for you to say the words he clearly doesn’t have the courage to ask for himself.

Stan’s hand is skimming along your stomach, fingers curling over the hem of your sweater. “Or maybe you don’t want him to touch you,” he adds, teasing. “is that it? you’d rather just let me have all the fun?”

You shake your head, making the most needy face ever, giving Ford puppy eyes. “no. . . no, I want him to.”

“Hear that, Ford? our pretty little thing is giving you the green light.” Ford is still silent, his eyes are glued to where Stan’s fingers have disappeared beneath the hem of your sweater.

You shift slightly, arching your back as Stan’s hand slides higher, dragging the fabric of your sweater with it, inch by slow excruciating inch. The air feels cooler against your skin now. Ford’s hand freezing just short of touching your bare waist.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Stan purrs, his hand finally stopping just beneath your chest. He pauses, though, his thumb stroking a line along your chest as he waits.

You realise what Stan hints at, your eyes meet Ford’s gaze again and you give him a little coquettish smile. “Do you want to see?”

Not waiting for his brother’s slow and awkward response, Stan’s fingers curl under the fabric of your sweater, lifting it higher, exposing your skin painfully slow until the candlelight catches the soft curve of your beautiful breasts. The room is dim, the fire casting flickering shadows across the walls and you swear you can feel Ford’s gaze burning into you, hotter than the flames.

“Fuck, would you look at her. . .”

You should feel exposed, vulnerable, but hungry gaze of two men make your head spin.

“Touch her, dumbass,” Stan prompts as he tilts your chin back against his shoulder. “don’t just sit there looking, she’s right here, beggin’ for it.”

Stanford hesitates, the effort of restraint is physically painful for him. But then you breath out needy “yes, please” and his hand finally moves, he trails his fingers to cup your breast, brushing his thumb over your nipple in a touch that’s far too gentle for how much you’ve been aching for this.

His breathing quickens, blood rushing to his lower body and you watch his throat bob as he swallows nervously, his gaze fixed on the soft peaks of your breasts, bare now in the cold air. Your pretty nipples pebble, whether from the chill or their eyes drinking you in. His touch feels so warm and when his fingers catch on the sensitive peaks, you sigh, your hips jerking slightly against Stan’s thighs.

Stan chuckles, letting his hand go lower your stomach now. “there you go, see? not so hard, is it?”

Ford doesn’t answer, too focused on studying your beautiful face every time he tweaks or rolls the delicate skin beneath his six fingers. You whimper softly and the sound seems to spur him on, his movements becoming firmer, more confident, and oh god, you’re melting between them.

“You’re just so beautiful,” Ford glances at you, his eyes searching yours to make sure you believe him. “do you know that?”

You don’t get the chance to answer because Stan chooses that moment to push his hand lower, slipping his fingers beneath the fabric of your panties and brushing between your wet folds. You let out a gasp, reaching to grip his arms, but Stan just laughs.

“Looks at that, she’s dripping, all for us. ain’t that right, sweetheart?” his fingers circle slowly, teasingly and you let out a choked moan, your hips bucking against his hand.

Ford’s gaze drops as he takes in the way Stan’s hand moves, your body responds to every touch as you move your hips to chase the pleasure. “Stan, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” his twin interrupts, grinning. “don’t touch her? don’t make her feel good? or is it that you don’t wanna watch?” he presses his fingers on your needy clit. “because if that’s the case, you might wanna look away now, sixer.”

Oh, you’re trembling, your whole body is shaking apart under the weight of their hands and their voices. Stan’s thick fingers already teasing your little hole, penetrating just a little, but enough to make you moan, the obscene wet sounds filling the room now, slickness coating his fingertips. It’s shameless, loud and you should feel embarrassed for being this fucking wet, mortified even, but all you can focus on is Ford watching.

He’s staring at where Stan’s hand disappears between your legs, his own six fingers twitching, can’t decide where to go next.

“Go ahead.” Stan slides his fingers deeper into your pussy, earning another helpless moan from your lips. “she’s fucking soaked for you.” he turns his head, brushing his lips against your ear, and murmurs, “tell him, baby, tell him you want it.”

Your lips part, but no words come out at first, your brain too fogged up with heat and touch while Stan scissors his fingers inside you, spreading your wet folds, exposing your needy pussy to Ford. When Stan’s thick finger brushes against that tender sweet spot your vision goes white and you finally manage to whine. “Ford, Ford! please,” you reach your hand out blindly to grab his wrist, guiding him to you. “please, touch me.”

Ford settles his hands on your thighs and you immediately notice how his touch is so different from Stan’s, soft, tentative, awkward, trembling, scared to move too fast, but then you make this soft, pleading noise and it flips a switch in him. His hands slide up and he finally pushes Stan’s hand away, sliding his fingers into your dripping cunt with an eagerness that makes your head spin.

“Holy moses,” Ford groans as he presses his fingers deeper. “You’re— you’re so warm, so wet.” he moves slowly, exploring, testing and it’s clumsy, because you can feel how hard he’s trying to do it right.

“Woah, didn’t know you had it in you.” Stan’s hands move up your stomach until they find your breasts again, cupping them with a roughness that makes you arch into him. “don’t forget about these, though. They’re just as perfect as everything else.”

You moan when Stan’s thumbs circle your sensitive hard nipples, squeezing a little bit, meanwhile Ford’s fingers find a rhythm inside you that has your hips rolling forward, chasing the friction. “Oh, Stan, Ford,” you breathe, your head falling back against Stan’s shoulder, “pleasee. . .”

“Please, what? please touch you more? please fuck you right here in front of sixer? or is it sixer you want to—”

“Stanley, don’t, ugh, don’t talk like that!” Ford glares at his brother, but his long fingers never stop thrusting and moving, curling and twisting inside you, making you cry out while he scolds Stan for being “too dirty”.

Your thighs tighten around Ford’s wrist and you can’t stop the sound you make, you couldn’t even if you tried. You sound so high and broken, so loud, a trembling little wail that falls into the air and hangs there, suspended between the flickering candlelight and sound of Stan’s chuckle.

“That’s it, doll. Go on, let him see it, let that nerd see how pretty you are when you cum. Isn’t that right, Ford? Isn’t she the prettiest damn thing you’ve ever seen?”

And damn it, Stan can talk so well that his voice and words alone are enough to get you close. You whine again, taking everything they both give you like the goddamn obedient thing you are. Fuck, you're so ready to let Stan or Ford finally fuck you, feel that cock stretch you open, but you are so horny that even being stuffed full, you'll still be begging for more. And all you can do for now is cumming on Ford's fingers before you'll get the real thing.

Ford doesn’t answer, not in words, at least. He drops his gaze back to where his fingers disappear into you, his movements growing faster, more confident as he rubs your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you keening.

“Yes, fuck, yes, just like that,” you whine, close. “please, i’m— gonna cum!”

“Good girl.” you’re so lost in pleasure you can’t recognise who even says that. Ford’s fingers press deeper, until he finds that spot again, that perfect, maddening spot as his thumb circles your little clit. “just let go, sweetheart, i’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Just like that, your hips jerk as the coil inside you tightens to the point of snapping. You bury your face in the crook of Stan’s neck, your soft cries muffled against his hot skin as you cum, shuddering in release while Ford’s fingers still working you through every last wave of it.

“Fucking hell,” Stan mutters behind you. “all fucked out and dripping down your hand, bet you’ve never seen anything so damn beautiful, huh?”

Ford just stares at your pretty face and the mess your pussy made, his fingers still buried deep inside you as he glances down at his own hand, glistening in the low candlelight. “Yes, shes just incredible. I don’t think i’ve ever—” but his response is too slow.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Stan shuts his brother up, his tone edging on impatient as his hands move down, grabbing your thighs and pulling you back against him. “but i’m fucking done waiting.”

You whimper softly when Stan pulls you away from Ford, manhandling you like you’re nothing more than a toy in his grip. “Stan—” you start, but your words are cut off when he spins you around and lays you back against the couch, towering over you.

“It’s okay, baby.” his hands are already at his belt, yanking it loose. “you’re mine now.”

Ford looks up, finally waking up from his fantasies, still kneeling by the couch, his hand hovering like he doesn’t know what to do with it anymore. “Wait, what? But we—”

“Tsk, you’ve had your turn, sixer.” Stan glances at him with a smirk, pushing your legs apart with his hand. “but this pussy is mine.”

Then he tears open the foil packet with his teeth and you swear you never saw anything this sexy. Stan’s hands working fast and you can’t help the soft, needy sound that escapes you as you watch him rolling the condom on. You just wish to be filled now. “Been waiting too long for this,” Stan positions himself at your wet entrance, the head of his cock rubbing through your sensitive folds, coating his length in your wetness.

Fuck, the stretch burns, but it’s good, so good and that guttural groan Stan lets out as he sinks into your pussy deeper fills your stomach with butterflies.

“Fuuuuck,” he hisses as he bottoms out, feeling your soft walls around his cock. “tight little cunt’s squeezin’ me like a fuckin’ vice. How the hell are you this perfect?”

“Stanley!” your voice sounds so breathy, your hands reaching for him, clutching at his shoulders as your thighs tremble on either side of him.

Ford’s breath catches he watches the way you arch beneath his brother, the way your gorgeous body trembles with every thrust, every touch. His hand moves unconsciously toward the bulge straining against his trousers.

“Shh, sweetie,” Stan coos and presses forward, sinking into your cunt slowly, until he’s buried to the hilt. “fuck, you’re perfect.”

Stanford watches, wrapping his hand around his own cock, stroking himself in slow pulls as he takes in the sight of you, so flushed, trembling, undone as you let his brother fuck you. He can't really believe that this is happening right in front of his eyes, he didn't even have time to protest, his eyes flicker between your face and where Stan’s hips meet yours, his jaw clenching as he watches the way your little pussy stretch around him, taking him in so easily, so beautifully.

“You’re missing out, Ford,” Stan pulls his hips back before thrusting forward again slowly, his cock penetrates you deeper. “she’s so fucking tight, so warm, guess you’re wishing you’d been a little greedier, huh?”

Your lashes flutter, damp with tears you didn’t realise had spilled, your lips parted, all swollen, trembling and your voice is slurred now, pouring out in little whimpers that are hardly words at all, just fragments of syllables that tumble over each other.

“S-Stan, oh! oh god, it’s s-so big,” your nails digging into the couch as your hips stutter against his, helpless to the rhythm he sets.

“Just like that, honey.” Stan growls, gripping you hard to hold you still. “you’re taking it, sweetheart, all of it. Fuck, being such a good girl for me.”

“Good girl,” you echo back in the sweetest, dreamiest tone, your words spilling out soft as silk, trembling with every breath you take. Your head falls back against the cushions, strands of hair clinging to your hot flushed cheeks and you can barely manage another gasp before Stan presses his cock into your pussy again, harder this time. “m’good, right? f-fuck, fuck!” the question slips out, a broken little thing, barely there as your fingers claw helplessly at the cushions. You’re drowning, drunk on the way his dick drags against every sweet sensitive spot inside you, pushing you further and further into some heavenly haze.

Ford’s hand moves in slow strokes over his hard cock, every now and then stopping to squeeze at the base, his knuckles pale with the effort of holding himself back. He watches you, only you, his sacred vision meant to be cherished, wishing it was him filling you up instead.

His gaze devours every delicate part of you: how your lips tremble as you moan Stan’s name, the soft arch of your spine when his brother thrusts deeper, the way your body, so soft, so sweet, melts against every rough movement. Ford’s chest rises and falls as he breathes shallowly and uneven, his jaw tight.

“She’s stunning, isn’t she?” you hear Stan’s proud voice, every thrust making you cry out, your body jolting forward only to be pulled back by the iron grip he has on your waist. “look at her, sixer. Look at this perfect little pussy takin’ me so fuckin’ well. But eh, what a shame you’re not brave enough to handle her like this, are you?”

Ford’s lips press into a thin line, he tries to ignore his brother’s mockery, tries to avoid conflict, narrowing his eyes, but his cock twitches in his hand at the sound of your soft begging voice. “Foord,” you whimper, reaching for him with trembling fingers.

“Go on. Let him see how much you love it. Let him hear how good this thick fuckin’ cock feels inside you.”

“You’re insufferable,” Ford finally snaps in serious voice. His hand tightens on his cock as he uses his thumb to smear the slick of precum over the swollen tip while he kneels beside you. “you think brute force is all it takes to please her? Amateur.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Stan spits back, though there’s a slight falter in his thrusts, more sensual and slow, bringing you more pleasure, making you whine. Your pussy clenches around him and the sound of your soft cries only makes him groan.

“Stan, oh fuck!”

“There you go, doll.” his grin widens as he watches you come undone beneath him. “You don’t even know how pretty you look right now, do you? All spread out for me, crying on my cock.”

“Yes, yes! it’s, oh god, it’s too good—”

“Oh, you’re just drunk on it, aren’t you?” he teases, his hips snapping forward again, drawing another broken cry from your lips. “Go on, sweetie, tell me how good it feels, tell me how much you love it.”

Your words are a jumbled mess, tumbling out in a rush of breathless babble: “so good, so big, can’t! oh, can’t think, Stan, i— i love it, i love you so much!”

“Take it, baby. Keep talking, let me hear that pretty voice.”

“S’too much, too deep,” your head is shaking, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glassy as you stare up at him, your lips trembling with every word. “c-can feel deep, so deep, feels so good. . . oh, please, please don’t stop—”

“Damn it, damn it,” Ford mutters from where he’s still kneeling by the couch, his eyes are locked on the spot where Stan’s hips meet yours, watching the way you take him, the way you stretch around him, the wet, messy sounds filling the room. “you’re going to fucking kill her.”

“Nah, she’s tougher than she looks, aren’t you, pretty?” Stan glances down at you, brushing his thumb over your swollen lower lip, then wiping your sweet tears off your cute face. “c’mon, sweetheart, show sixer how strong you are. Tell him you can take it.”

“C-Can take it,” you echo again as your lashes flutter. “wan’ more, need more, please, don’t stop, don’t ever stop—”

Stan laughs at how desperate you sound, so dumb and drunk on his cock sliding in and out of you, his hand moves down between your thighs, finding your swollen clit as he starts toying with it, and the sound you make is pure music, a beautiful cry that makes his cock twitch inside you.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking, hhnngh, perfect, could fuck you forever. Might just do it. . . keep you here, all pretty and fucked out and crying for me.” his thrusts grow harsher, dragging against your cervix in a way that has your toes curling. It’s too much, too good and the only sound you can make is a sweet, broken hum, your lips parted as drool threatens to escape.

And through it all, Ford is still there, his gaze devouring you. His six-fingered hand, so deft and steady in every other setting, now trembles as it pumps his leaking cock, betraying the tension rippling through him. His flushed dick twitches in his hand, as he tries to match the pace of Stan’s thrusts.

“Hah, you really wanna join in that bad? Go ahead, help yourself. I’m sure our doll here wouldn’t mind, right?”

Your head turns weakly, tears slipping down your cheeks as you nod, your lips quivering with your next plea. “Ford, please, please, wan’ you too. . . need you, need both of you. Can take it, promise, promise i can.” your brain turn to mush.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his broad shoulders heaving as he tries to control himself, tries to fight the pull of your voice, soft and begging and oh so sweet. But that bastard thrusts harder into you, making you forget about everything at once, especially about that worried look on Ford’s face. Stan fucks you even faster and your lips part. “Stan, Ford, wanna be good, wanna be so good for you, im. . . i’m your good girl, yes? wanna be good, please, let me—”

Stan uses his thumb to touch your flushed, tear-streaked cheek. “Oh, you’re more than good, sweetheart. You’re fucking perfect, our perfect little doll, huh?”

Ford’s brows furrow as he leans closer. “she’s. . . she’s really out of it. Stan, are you sure—”

“Cmon, sixer, you’re tellin’ me you wouldn’t do the same if you were in my shoes? she’s so fuckin wet, bet you’re wishin’ you’d been the one to break her in, or am I wrong?”

You can’t even think anymore, not a coherent thought left in that pretty, spinning head of yours. You sob out his name again, your hips bucking up against his, your head tilting back as the pleasure builds, until it’s too much while you moan “faster” and “please” as you fall apart all over again, babbling incoherent nonsense. But what comes out of your mouth next is definitely something Ford didn't expect.

“Ford, you’re s’good, so handsome. . . not fair, hnngh, you’re both so pretty. . . you, with all your. . . your smartness an’-an’—” your brows knit as you lose the thread of your sentence, but the pout that takes over your mouth is enough to make Ford combust on the spot.

Stan chuckles at your words, moving his fingers in slow, unrelenting circles that have you squirming. “Don’t try to flatter him too much, pretty. His ego’s big enough as it is.”

“She’s completely gone, Stan, is she even coherent anymore?”

Stan snorts, leaning back to admire the way you look beneath him, your tear-streaked cheeks, your glossy eyes and parted lips with drops of saliva running down your chin. “Oh, coherent enough,” he uses his hand to cup your jaw and tilt your pretty face to his brother. “tell that nerd how good you’re doing.”

“S-So good,” you sob. “so good, m’your good girl, promise, jus’ need you both so bad, so bad it hurts—”

“She’s. . . she’s not making any sense. She’s—”

“She’s good,” Stan cuts him off, sliding his hand down to rest against your lower belly, pressing lightly to feel the way his cock moves inside you.

“M’fine, m’really good, s’good. . . love you, Stan, love Ford, too! wanna—” your words break off into breathy giggle as you reach for Ford with trembling hands. “wanna kiss you, Ford, please, please, lemme—”

And just like that, Ford’s resolve shatters like glass. “Damn it,” he kisses you. It’s hesitant at first, his lips brushing yours so lightly it feels like a dream, but the soft, desperate moan that spills from your mouth pulls him in deeper.

“S’pretty,” you murmur against his mouth dreamily, your fingers curling around the collar of his sweater. “Ford, you’re so pretty, so smart, so perfect. . . wanna make you feel good, please, can i? please?”

“She’s gonna eat you alive, sixer,” Stan grins, slipping his large hand beneath your sweater to cup one of your breasts, brushing his thumb over the stiffened peak. “better give her what she wants before she drives herself crazy.”

“Y-You can take me too, can’t you?” Ford’s voice sounds like he’s barely keeping himself together.

“She’s made for it,” his twin answers for you, slowing his rough thrusts to a roll of his hips that grinds into just the right spot. “aren’t you, sweetheart? made to take every fuckin’ thing we give you. Tell him. Tell sixer how bad you want your pretty mouth full.”

“Please, wanna make you both feel so good, please, Ford, wan’ your cock, just wanna taste you— ah!” your moans are interrupted when Stan pushes roughly into your warmth again.

So Ford’s restraint doesn’t last. He lets out a broken groan, cradling your jaw with one hand while the other ghosts over your lips. “Open for me, darling,” you obey without hesitation, your tongue peeking out as he slips two long fingers into your mouth. The warmth of you makes his cock twitch again, his face flushed and torn with guilt. “Good girl,” he breathes, brushing his thumb against your cheek as you suck, your pretty lips glistening with spit.

“Fuckin’ adorable,” Stan slams his cock into you hard enough to make the couch creak. “think she loves you talkin’ to her like that, sixer. Makes her even wetter, fuck.”

“Can you take me here, darling? You're already so full, but i know you can take more. You’re extraordinary, after all.” you babble nonsense in response around Ford’s fingers, tears and spit mingling on your face as your gaze locks onto his. When his fingers leave your mouth, a string of saliva connects them to your lips, and Ford swallows thickly before leaning forward.

“Hear that, baby? you’re so goddamn perfect, even sixer here can’t help himself. Go on, open that pretty mouth for him.”

You don’t know if it’s that crazy desperation you have for both twins or Stan’s tone or that needy look on Ford’s face, but your lips part without hesitation again, and Ford exhales, his cock presses against your tongue, the weight of him dizzying as you wrap your lips around him, taking him as deep as you can. He whimpers and that noise makes your pussy throb once again around Stan’s length.

Six-fingered hand moves to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, not forcing, just guiding, as he starts to move, slow thrusts that press against the back of your throat. “Perfect, love, you’re. . . a-ah, perfect. Look at you, taking both of us like this. . . such a good little thing for us. . .”

You’re too far gone to answer, too consumed by the overwhelming fullness, Stanley is relentless, thrusting into your pussy, dragging against your cervix, making you sob around Ford’s length. It’s filthy, the wet sounds of your mouth and cunt harmonizing in this dirty symphony, echoing off the walls.

“Look at her,” Stan growls, gripping your hips to keep you in place as he grinds deeper. “bet you’re jealous as hell, huh? wishing it was you stretching her out like this?”

Ford’s response is a fractured groan as your throat tightens around him. “Don’t— don’t say shit like that, Stan.” even though Ford seems to be more gentle than his brother, his hold on you is firm as he guides your pretty swollen lips down and you let him. You let them, because that’s all you’ve ever wanted, to be theirs, to be good for them, to be their fleshlight they can use whenever they want.

Your body trembling from the overwhelming fullness, Stan splitting you open below while Ford’s cock steals the breath from your lungs. Tears streak your cheeks, glittering like gemstones in the candlelight, and Stan leans forward, his rough thumb smearing them away. “cryin’ so pretty for us, baby.”

Your warm mouth stretches as you take Ford in and he moans, moans and moans again, low-key turning into same mess as you when your tongue curls and presses against him. He accidentally thrusts too deep, making you gag lightly, tears spilling anew, but you keep going, keep sucking him off like the good girl you are. Because you’re their good girl, their sweet, obedient little thing who gives and gives until there’s nothing left. You hum around his length and the vibration making his knees buckle.

“Mmmph,” you manage, pulling back briefly to gasp for air before diving back down on Ford’s cock, hollowing your cheeks, your throat tightening as you try to take him deeper. “s’good, so full, love you both, love being yours. . . love being your good girl. . .”

Ford’s brows knit, his stormy eyes softening as he cups your cheek with one hand. “Careful, darling,” he caresses your spit-slicked lips with his thumb. “don’t push yourself too hard.” but his body betrays him, his cock twitching against your tongue, desperate for more of your warmth, your wetness, your everything.

“Careful? Sixer, you really think she’s not begging for more?”

You are. God, you are. Your body arches as Stan’s thick cock drags against that devastating spot inside you, your mind blanking with every sharp snap of his hips. “Please,” you gasp, pulling off Ford with a wet pop. “More, need more, please, Ford, want you both.”

Stan chuckles darkly, gripping your waist as he ruts into you, watching your beautiful nipples in the candlelight while he ruins your little pussy with every deep thrust, making you cry out around Ford’s cock. “Ugh, bet she’d beg to have us both at once if she could talk right now.”

“D-Dont—” Ford’s response falter as his head tilts back. “she’s, oh fuck, she’s doing enough.”

Your eyes flutter shut, your mind blank and when you pull back to breathe your voice is swallowed immediately when Ford presses his cock back into your mouth, your hands clinging to his thighs as your body shudders between them. Too rough.

Ford regrets his action immediately, his gaze softening as he watches you. “S-sorry, love, i didn’t m—“ he cant even finish his sentence as you take him deeper again. “Ahh, there. . . there's my good girl,” he strokes your cheek gently.

Stan’s growl sounds through the room as his grip tightens on your hips, burying himself deeper, his balls tighten as he pulses inside you. “fuck, angel, you take me so good, tight lil’ thing, this perfect pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? hell, im gonna cum. . .”

You’re trembling under him, eyes heavy-lidded and watery, your nails scraping helplessly against Ford’s thighs as your mouth hangs open, while he nudges his cock on your cheek now, rubbing it against your skin, giving his beautiful girl time to breathe and rest. But god, Stan’s cock makes you cry out so pretty it could’ve brought a man to his knees.

Ford’s gaze flicks to his brother, the irritation obvious in his eyes. “Stanley, she’s already so overstimulated. Can’t you slow down?”

“Slow down? Ford, look at her, she’s fuckin’ drunk on it.”

“Can’t you— damn, at least touch her properly?”

“What the fuck do you think i’m doing?” Stan drops his hand low, and when those thick fingers starts teasing that tender little pearl of yours, you cant stop the pitiful, muffled sob that leave your throat. “Happy now, professor? she’s got my cock buried in her and my fuckin’ fingers making her melt. Nothin’ to complain about.”

Ford falters, his brows furrowing as his eyes dart to yours, searching for any sign of discomfort on his beloved girl's face. Instead, he found you gazing up at him, adoring, your lips parting around his tip with a soft, wet sound. “I. . . still, Stanley, you could—”

“Don’t you ‘Stanley’ me. You’re not exactly mr. gentle here yourself, sixer. You practically fucked her throat.”

Ford flushes, holding your hair as his composure slips another notch. “I’m not, she’s just so—” he groans as you use opportunity and take his cock in your mouth again. “I just—! I don’t mean to—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Stan’s rhythm falters when the tension in his body finally reaches its peak as his head drops back with a deep moan of your name. Fuck, the condom is the only thing stopping him from flooding you completely, but its hardly enough to dull the intense, claiming press of him inside you.

“Fuck— fuck, angel,” he pants. “gonna fill you up so bad if this wasn’t in the way— goddammit! wanna see it dripping out of you, doll.”

“S-Stan,” you whimper, trying to form a coherent thought. “so good, so good, i—”

Ford feels a mix of frustration and worry, watching the way his twin manhandles you. “Ugh, you’re going to break her at this rate. Do you even care that she’s—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, sixer. Tell the man yourself, baby, you’re loving this, right?”

You manage a soft, breathless “yes, wan’ more, wan’ all of you—” before your words dissolve into a string of muffled moans and nonsensical sounds, your thoughts too hazy to form anything coherent because the way Stan fucks you feels unyielding.

Stan’s fingers flex against your clit one last time and then he’s gripping your hips like a man possessed, his teeth bared as his cock twitches one last time inside you, it pulses against the grip of your velvet walls. He holds you in place as he empties himself into the condom, muttering a string of incoherent curses. Your breath hitches, your body still oversensitive, needing and when his thumb circles your clit lazily, but deliberate, you shiver hard enough that you nearly collapse.

“Take it, baby,” Stanley tortures your sensitive pearl over and over, feeling your pussy flattering around him and he grins when you whimper. “such a mess, doll. S’pose we’ll have to fix that, huh? Fill you up proper next time. No damn rubber in the way.

Ford, meanwhile, is so ruined. His face is flushed and he’s pulling out of your mouth with a wet, sticky sound that sends a shiver down your spine. His cock twitches, shiny with your spit, he chokes out something that sounds suspiciously like a protest to his brother's words, but his voice falters when your hand wraps around the base of his cock, your tongue darting out to catch a bead of precum dripping from the flushed tip.

“I'm close, I'm so cl-close. . . Wait, wait, love, need tissues, dont want. . . don't want to make a mess.”

But you disagree. “Ford,” your gaze hazy but full of affection as you press your lips against his palm. “you don’t have to worry. I want to taste you. Please?”

Ford’s eyes going wide as his cock twitches in your grip. He looks at you like you’ve just said the most scandalous, sinful thing imaginable and you have.

“Go on, sixer, you heard the lady.”

Ford still has doubts, but he's not in a position to think and analyze for a long time. That's why when you taste the head of his cock, his resolve crumbles. You give his tip another gentle kiss, humming softly at the salty taste of him. Your hands cradle his hips as you move slowly, your tongue swirling around him, savoring every drop like it’s the sweetest treat.

He guides you back to him, his cock throbbing against your lips as you take him in, inch by inch. “Yeah, feels so good. . . ” his voice breaks, his fingers threading through your hair again.

You moan softly in response, your eyes closing as you focus on Ford, taking him deeper, letting him feel the full warmth of your mouth as your tongue presses against him. His hips jerk, setting the rhythm that lets him fuck your throat slowly, he mutters something that sounds like an apology, though it’s swallowed by a desperate groan.

“Darling, please, so good. . . You're so good for us.”

You can't help but get turned on by his voice again, even though you're not sure you can handle the second round right now, you still need to catch your breath.

Ford's gaze locks with yours and he nods as a warning that he’s close, watching your shiny lips, swollen around his length. The sound he makes sends a spark of heat straight to your core. Its messy, and noisy, and when Ford finally spills into your mouth with a sharp cry of your name, you swallow it down to the last drop, wishing he'd fill your pussy too, but it can wait. For now.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re somethin’ else, doll.”

Ford pulls you into his arms the moment you release him, his hands cradling your face, checking if his precious girl he’s terrified to lose is okay. “Thank you, love, you were such a good girl for me.”

“For us, Sixer, for us.”

The room falls silent after the last of your trembling fades, and the three of you, sweaty and exhausted, lie on the couch.

Somewhere in the background, the storm outside rumbles one last time before finally giving way to quiet.

Then. . . click.

The lights flicker on, suddenly, obnoxiously bright, washing the room in unforgiving fluorescence. You squint, blinking against the glare as you lift your head from Stan’s chest, a groggy, borderline-irritated groan slipping from your lips.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice sounds so weak from all the. . . well, everything.

Stan grunts, throwing an arm over his eyes as if to block out the light. “As i said, goddamn timing.”

Ford sits up a little, rubbing at his neck with a wince. His glasses are crooked on his face, and his hair is a mess, though not nearly as bad as Stan’s.

You can’t help it, you snort, slapping your hand against Stan’s big chest playfully. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Yeah? Well, you don’t look much better, sweetheart,” Stan retorts with a tired smirk. “besides, i’m too old for this shit. Don’t expect me to move for at least an hour.”

“Make it two,” his twin adds, leaning back with a tired sigh. “i think i’ve pulled something.”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up on wobbly legs. “Oh, you two are pathetic.”

“Says the girl who can't even walk straight now.”

You stick your tongue out at Stan, though you know he can’t see it because poor man already closed his eyes.

“Whatever, i’m taking a shower, try not to die of old age while i’m gone.”

Ford smiles softly at your behaviour, but Stan just groans, waving a hand at you dismissively. “Have fun. Don’t expect me to move a fuckin’ inch.”

You roll your eyes again, muttering something about men as you disappear into the bathroom.

But what you don’t see and what Stan doesn’t see too is how Ford’s gaze lingers on you as you go.

The door clicks shut, and Stan sighs heavily, already half-asleep. “Wake me up in a week.”

Ford glances at him, smirking faintly. “Sure, Stanley. A week.”

The bathroom.

You’re standing under the spray of hot water, letting it wash away the stickiness and sweat, when the door creaks open behind you.

“Stan, i swear to god, if you’ve suddenly decided you can—” you start, turning to glance over your shoulder only to freeze when you see Ford stepping inside.

“Not Stan,” he answers as he locks the door behind him.

Your brows shoot up. “Ford? what are you—?”

“He’s out cold,” Ford says simply as he steps closer. “and besides,” his fingers brush over your hip, and you shiver from wild contrast of his cool touch against your heated skin. “i didn’t get nearly enough of you earlier.” he presses you back against the cool tile, cupping your face, tilting it to capture your lips in a kiss which now feels more possessive than gentle.

“Ford,” you whisper, half-scolding but mostly breathless. “he’ll—”

“He won’t,” he interrupts. “and even if he does. . . well, perhaps it’s time Stanley learned to share properly.”

Before you can respond, his hand is slipping between your thighs, using his fingers to part you.

“Now, let’s see if you can stay quiet, darling. Don’t want to wake him, do we?”

[spriteofmushrooms]

Au where wen zhuliu becomes jiang cheng's bodyguard

[on ao3]

The puppies tumbled over Jiang Cheng's lap, each trying to give him kisses. Their bellies were round with milk, and they still didn't know how to play like big dogs could. But that was okay, because Jiang Cheng would teach them.

"Little Love, Jasmine, Precious, be careful! You're going to fall out of my lap!" Jiang Cheng picked up each and gently set them down, but they kept returning. Frustrated, Jiang Cheng snapped, "No! Bad puppies!"

At the loud sound, the dogs flinched and looked around, seeming more confused than ever.

"Is something wrong, Jiang-gongzi?"

Zhao Zhuliu had recently joined the sect. He was tall and looked older than most adults Jiang Cheng knew other than the aunties and uncles who sold food by the docks. He always wore gloves and didn't smile. Because Jiang Cheng was a stupid baby, his mother had decided that Zhao Zhuliu would be his bodyguard. Jiang Cheng hated it. Only useless boys like Jin Zhen needed bodyguards.

But he did need help.

"We have to go see a-jie, but I can't carry them all," Jiang Cheng said.

Expressionless, Zhao Zhuliu replied, "I will carry two."

Jiang Cheng wasn't sure if bodyguards knew anything about dogs, so he picked up Little Love and showed Zhao Zhuliu how Jiang Yanli had shown him how to carry puppies. "They're really small and get scared easily," he said sternly, "so you can't move too quickly. You have to support their whole body, but don't hold them like a cat, because they might jump down and hurt themselves. And you have to be nice to them."

"I will," Zhao Zhuliu said.

Little Love and Jasmine were more adventurous than Precious, so Jiang Cheng handed them one at a time to Zhao Zhuliu. It was funny to see the wiggly puppies in his black gloved hands, but they seemed comfortable there. Jasmine even started licking Zhao Zhuliu's wrist.

Holding Precious like a baby, Jiang Cheng led the way to Jiang Yanli's courtyard where she learned girl things like illusion dances. Along the way, Jiang Cheng explained that these puppies were very smart, because they were farm dogs who protected sheep from tigers and yao. "The farmer said they think they're part of the flock, and sometimes when a sheep is taken they track it down, and they come back covered in blood because they're good dogs, and the sheep cuddle with them because they love them. We don't have any sheep, though."

After a moment of silence, Zhao Zhuliu asked, "Earlier, when you yelled, were you worried?"

Jiang Cheng could feel his shoulders curving in. "Yes, Zhao-shishu."

"Dogs can't understand Chinese, so they don't know why you yelled. You have to think like a dog. Puppies are still babies, and they understand even less than adult dogs. You're much older than they are, so it's your responsibility to show them how to act. How else could you have showed them what you wanted?"

Jiang Cheng slowed down. That was the most he had ever heard Zhao Zhuliu say. For the rest of the walk, he offered examples of how he could better train the puppies while Precious tried to eat his hair.

———

Father picked up Wei Ying even though he never picked up Jiang Cheng except three times. Wei Ying was crying over nothing and Jiang Cheng couldn't have his puppies anymore and Father was walking away. Two disciples Jiang Cheng couldn't recognize through his tears had already picked up his puppies and they weren't doing it right because nobody cared about his puppies at all.

Zhao Zhuliu knelt before Jiang Cheng. "Xiao-gongzi, do you trust me?"

Looking up through his tears, Jiang Cheng studied Zhao Zhuliu's face. He still looked old, but his expressions weren't as scary now that he didn't look blank all the time. Jiang Cheng didn't think Zhao Zhuliu hated him even though Jiang Cheng had thrown a tantrum when he was assigned a bodyguard, and he knew that Zhao Zhuliu knew about dogs, and even liked his puppies.

"Y-yeah," Jiang Cheng sobbed.

"I will find a flock for Precious, Jasmine, and Little Love to protect. They're going to have a lot of sheep friends, Xiao-gongzi."

"Can I visit them?"

"Zongzhu and Yu-furen will determine that," Zhao Zhuliu said.

Jiang Cheng knew what that meant. He cried harder.

"Xiao-gongzi," Zhao Zhuliu said, then started again. "Jiang Cheng, I will return as soon as I find them a home. I swear it."

Jiang Cheng wanted to say they already had a home, or that he would run away with them, but both would be petulant and stupid. He nodded. When Zhao Zhuliu gestured sharply at the two disciples, they brought the puppies to Jiang Cheng so he could say goodbye. "Be good, be good," he whispered, kissing the soft fur on their heads.

[will80sbyers]

Mileven is endgame, proof (let's see if you dare to respond):

1- Mike was scared of losing Eleven, that's why he made that face at the end of s3, he is so in love he cant even handle it!

2- Mike tried to help el when she got bullied and went looking for her, until you know who decided to make that moment about him. When El hit Angela, he was in shock, but the next day he tried to apologize empatizing with her and forgave he for lying inmediatly

I do think Mike likes Will, but he is in love with Eleven and that is a fact

Be honest are you a Byler pretending to be a mileven?

Because even for a mlvn there's no coherent train of thought here in any way so I hope it's someone saying random shit lol it's actually a trainwreck of "logic" from start to finish to the point that it's funny

Baby, if Mike "likes Will" then byler is endgame 100% because writers don't write bisexual characters or make a character like another if they don't intend to do anything with it, if you think in any capacity that Mike is bisexual then mileven is done lol

1) You're right, Mike is scared of losing El from his life, that's why he's still clinging to her even if the relationship is not good for them anymore... and I don't think he has realized his feelings for Will consciously yet, he's still trying to repress them, in the season 3 finale the reason he makes that face after the kiss is because he's shocked and they wanted to replicate the kiss in the IT saga between Bill and Beverly, note that they have also made a OBVIOUS parallel between byler and benverly...which will both be endgame 🌈❤️🤗

If you were talking about this shot right here

this is because he also has feelings for Will and it's directly connected to Will because that's his house and we had another shot before of Mike looking at the cars go away so they didn't need to repeat a shot of Mike like that, it wouldn't make sense if it was for Eleven, it's pretty obvious Byler is being constructed and mileven is being destroyed and it's been a few seasons of this...

They even made him find her choice of breakfast weird for literally no reason at all except focusing on how much they aren't really that much compatible as a couple

+ not liking her milkshake, not liking skating, not liking the pizza with pineapple, dressing up in a completely different style only because he feels so insecure with her that he feels like he needs to pretend to be cooler than who he really is and being with her makes him feel like he has to be in the "boyfriend role" instead of being just Mike... like El feels like she had to lie for months about her whole life just because she felt like Mike wouldn't love her if she wasn't normal enough... They don't understand each other fundamentally anymore and it's okay, you grow and you change and relationships stop working sometimes!

2) At rink o mania MIKE is the one that starts their argument taking away the focus from finding Eleven... just because he's pissed that Will wasn't acting happy that he was there being a 3rd wheel for their date... And Will clocked that and asked him to explain himself lmfao

Mike doesn't know what true love is yet... exactly like Laurie from Little Women didn't know shit about true love and was idealizing Jo

Mike is doing the same to El because he's a 14yo kid... He'll understand as he grows up 😚

[aquaglow]

confidence guide for awkward girls 💫

LEARN TO SHUT UP. this is the first advice because it is probably the most important one, but the one that took me the longest to comprehend and master. girl, literally just shutting the fuck up does wonders. most of the times I was embarrassed out of my mind was coz I said something completely avoidable, only because I believed that being quiet was either rude or more awkward than whatever I rambled at that moment. bzzt, WRONG! being quiet means first of all being non-reactive, which gives you time to really reflect on what's being said and whether or not it even requires a response, and guess what; like 80% of the time, it does not. you are allowed to not respond, nod along, go "hmm" or "oh!" and leave it at that.

LEARN TO "FAKE" SMILE. this may seem controversial but it helps me so much. I've always been accused of looking mean, bitchy or just too serious, especially since I started to shut the fuck up (see previous item). and I am guilty as charged: I do have a RBF and when I am focused my eyebrow goes ò_o and I look judgemental and almost evil, and when I tried to balance it out by being funny or witty, it just came off even more awkward. the solution? I've started practicing a fake smile in front of the mirror when I was about 13 years old until I got the muscle memory of it so perfectly that now it's my response to nearly everything that I don't want/can't respond to. throwing an easy smile into a conversation will make you seem relaxed and in control even if you're bubbling anxious inside, and people will feel more at ease with you. also: learn to be generous with compliments, and try to make them your auto-response as well!

STOP COMPARING YOURSELF. comparison is the mark of insecurity and envy, and it's one of the ugliest and most useless habits you can have. yes, useless: what benefit do you get from comparing your face and body and circumstances to somebody else's? and please don't pretend you're getting "inspiration" from them. listen, you are your own lane. you are your entire universe. there is no other life to be lived, no other body to embody. this is it. these are the cards you were dealt with. the longer you try to peak into somebody else's cards, the longer you'll be ignoring yourself and neglecting your game. abandon ideas such as comparison, imitation or judgement towards others. confidence starts and ends with focusing on yourself.

LEARN TO CUT PEOPLE OFF. accumulating people in your life like they're pokémon is gonna be your downfall, because it's obvious not everyone can stay. imagine if a growing tree held onto all its leaves and branches, even the ones in obvious decay, how ugly and weak that tree would be, how much energy those dying parts would steal from the new ones in need of flourishing. it's the same with relationships. when someone disrespects you, hurts you, or simply doesn't align with you anymore, and you find excuses to keep this person around, what you're doing is betraying yourself, and how are you gonna have confidence in someone who betrays you? learn to cut people off or to simply let them go, and watch yourself become lighter and brighter.

QUIT BEING A BITCH. something people don't seem to understand is that the rude, conceited, mean girl persona is always revealed to be a small, petty and insecure rat on the inside. I've wasted years of potential connections trying to emulate the Blair Waldorf-y, Regina George-y vibes, trying to balance out my awkwardness with what I thought was their fierceness, because I was missing the whole point that their confident selves were lies. no girl or woman who is confident in herself spends any amount of time being a bitch, scheming to take people down, minding everyone else's business to make sure she stays on top. true confident people are kind even in the face of rudeness, they glow in shadows; their strength lies in tenderness. the sooner you give this mean girl show up, the better.

ABANDON YOUR NEED FOR APPROVAL AND COMPREHENSION FROM OTHERS. seeking approval is a very obvious trap but seeking comprehension is also dangerous, because the second people start doubting or questioning you – which is always going to happen when you decide to make a change of habits, traits, lifestyle etc – and you decide to explain yourself, you're accepting the premise that what you're doing is incomprehensible. if you're truly sure of yourself, there will be no need to assure others of yourself. if your peers or strangers don't understand it, so what? that's their enigma to sort out. respond to yourself and yourself only. if you understand and approve yourself, that's all you need, period. live for your damn self.

GOOD LUCK, LITTLE STARS 💫

[aniesvision]

𐂃 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚- 𝑴.𝑺

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒇! 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒗, 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝚊/𝚗: 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 ♡︎ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂��𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!!

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎

3450 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔

Selling weed to drunk teenagers and young adults at parties wasn't my first option, but high school ended a few years ago, I live alone since my parents kicked me out of their house and college is expensive as fuck. I tried to get a normal job, but my classes were taking a lot of time and it wasn't working out. Maybe it could, but I felt like I was going to explode any second, and mental health is also expensive so I couldn't afford a therapist if I needed one.

I used to love parties, drinking and dancing with my friends, just running away from all the responsibilities. Now I hate them. I have to talk to people I don't like, people I don't know, weird guys that give me what I need to sell and then I get back barely enough to pay my bills. They're not exactly dangerous, but I don't have the energy to fight back and ask for more.

My luck was to become friends with a girl in college who knew influencers and got us in a few parties. Honestly it wasn't a surprise that almost all of them used something, I mean, they have to find a way of going through life and sometimes getting high is a great escape from reality. I do it myself and I don't even get hundreds of comments about everything I do online.

Since they were all rich or close to being rich I always charged more than normal. They could pay and I needed that money, so it's only fair. Funny thing though it's not all influencers are assholes and I ended up getting involuntarily closer to one of them.

Matthew Sturniolo. Didn't seem like the kind to use stuff, and didn't look like he had done it before when I handed him a joint. I had to teach him how to smoke, something I've never done before to anyone, and when I realized his shaky hands and bouncy legs I immediately caught the reason he even asked for it.

We talked a lot the day we met, even told him my number in case he wanted more weed, but deep down I was curious and hoped he would text me so I could see him again.

When days later he called me wanting more I was surprised. First because he called, not texted like everyone does, second because for some reason I could feel through the tone in his voice that he felt the same he did at that party. He was beyond anxious and I felt bad, he seemed decently nice to be in the environment he was in that day, but I guess he needed to be present.

I found out he's a triplet, and his brothers had no idea that he wasn't sober anymore like the other two. I wonder if they're also as nice and calm as he is, at least he talks about them with love so I think they're all really close.

I have no idea why, in fact, it's a really bad thing for him to trust me enough to get in my car and smoke with me without even knowing me, but I was glad he did. It was the first time I was hanging out with a customer, and I wasn't mad at all. I did the talking for a few minutes, watching as he visibly calmed down, and eventually started talking back.

When he left I made sure to warn him about the smell so he could take a shower before his brothers noticed, and when I drove back to my place I couldn't stop wondering if he'd call me again.

But this time he texted. And he was alone, so he asked if I wanted to smoke with him inside his house. It was a bad idea, clearly a huge red sign, and I still said yes. We know a little bit about each other by now, and he had the opportunity to do anything when he got into my car, yet he seemed more like a scaredy cat than anything else, for him I probably looked like the dangerous one.

Matt is cute, all shy, but kind. More of an introvert, he gets anxious a lot, but have things to help him, and people, weed shouldn't be on the list. It was the third time we saw each other, the third time smoking together, third joint I had sold him, and I was already starting to regret selling him.

-Why did you want to smoke? -I ask, holding my joint in between my fingers and looking at him.

His smile falters as he processes the question, taking a deep breath before deciding to open up.

-I think my anxiety was getting worse and I couldn't find anything to help me anymore. I didn't want to bother my brothers, they have their own things going on as well.

I nod, feeling more empathy for him than I probably should. Talking to him felt like talking to a normal boy, not like talking to those internet famous people who somehow became "famous". He was genuine, he was showing true feelings and being relatable, I just couldn't help feeling like he was my friend and I had to help him, or try to.

-What did you do when you felt like this?

I take another hit, carefully placing my joint down and kicking off my shoes to get more comfortable on the couch. He follows my movements with his eyes.

-Journalling, going on walks, nature, fortnite. –He chuckles, looking to the other side. -I like seeing animals, watching movies, I don't know, anything that could distract me.

I smile, nodding and taking a sip of water from the third bottle we've opened since we started smoking.

-That's cool. Why don't they seem to work anymore?

He shrugs, taking the last hit before throwing the finished joint into a bowl. The smoke left his lips smoothly, now being more used to the feeling and not coughing, eyes turning slightly red as the effects hit him.

-I don't know. They don't feel the same, it's like I'm losing interest, y'know? -He asks, with his accent showing up.

I nod once again, knowing exactly what he meant. That's one of the reasons why I started smoking, years ago, and knowing how I just simply cannot live without it I feel responsible for making Matt realize this is not a good option and there are other ways of making the anxiety disappear. I don't want him to be like me.

☘︎☘︎☘︎

Matt has texted me at least once a week for the past three weeks and it was starting to worry me how badly he needed more. Smoking more than one joint, smoking alone, I warned him I wouldn't sell him that much, but he was getting used to the idea of not thinking about his problems while high and our texts were no longer just about him wanting to buy stuff.

We talked every day. I tried to keep it as superficial as possible, but it was no use since we ended up opening up to each other. I told him my reason for selling, almost all that happened in my life, and I knew so much about him too. My concerns only increased as the days went by and now, with him in my apartment for the second time this week, I knew I had to do something about it.

-Long time no see. -I joke, seeing him at my front door.

His face said what he didn't need to, he was almost panicking, sweating, pink cheeks, glossy eyes, shaky hands. He didn't seem healthy at all, and it was hurting me to know that part of it was my fault. I gave him access to drugs, I showed him how to smoke.

-I need one. -He sighs, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

We sat down on my couch, him watching me intently as I started rolling a couple of joints.

-That bad, huh? –I ask, my voice sounding a bit lower than normal. -You know I can't keep selling you this shit, right?

I look at him, my eyes sending him a warning. We talked about it before, I had to bring up how much he was contacting me for drugs and how much I disliked it.

-I know, I'll stop, I just feel really bad right now. -He tells me, but I had no trust that he'd actually stop.

-I hope so, I care about you, Matt. You're not just my customer, you know that.

My voice was soft, full of sincerity, and he knew that, his eyes also softening when he realized he was being too much.

-I just need to find other ways to deal with it. -He looks down, almost embarrassed, fidgeting his fingers.

There's a silence for a minute, all we ever talked about, how much I worry about him, how I feel responsible for him, how I'm so grateful we met and how much I hate to see him like this, all going through my mind. I couldn't bear to watch him suffer and fill him with drugs to make it go away, because I knew that it wouldn't, it just makes things worse.

I'm not an addict, at least not to the point it makes my life harder, I just use weed whenever I'm stressed, which is a lot. Although, I have the strength to do what I need to and that's good for me, it means I'm still healthy enough to go through my stuff. But Matt isn't. He doesn't seem or act healthy, and although is not just because of the weed, I think it makes him feel like he can only do stuff when he's high. And that is dangerous.

I try to think about other ways of making him feel better. My tongue sealed the first beck, putting it aside as I worked on the second one. There weren't many options, all the things he used to like seem boring to him now, and there's not much we could do. He needs something that makes both body and mind work at the same time, something that makes him tired, makes him feel.

I was reluctant to ask him what came into my mind, but as I saw him become impatient and my fingers close the second beck, I knew I had to do something, and I had to do it now.

-Matt, would you fuck me? -I ask, sealing the second beck and putting it aside.

I could've worded it better, but I felt desperate to avoid him smoking again. His eyes widen, jaw falling in surprise. I was also surprised with myself, but if I'm being honest it wasn't the first time I asked this, the only difference is that I usually ask it to myself, in my brain, not out loud, not to him.

-What?!

-You heard me.

Saying it once was enough, I had no courage to ask him twice, but at least it was kinda working, he stopped fidgeting his fingers and didn't even look at the joints that I discreetly set on the coffee table.

He seemed to think about it, processing my words, eyebrows raising as his eyes looked everywhere but at me. He licks his lips, placing each hand on each side of his body.

-I mean, yeah, I guess, but why?

His answer was not what I expected, but I didn't know what to expect. It made my heart beat faster and now I felt like the shy anxious one. I never did this before, nothing that I did with Matt I did before in my life with anyone else. Being friends with a customer is not usually the best idea, most of the time it's not even possible, but more than that?

He knows me. He truly does, and I know him, as much as he lets me. This is not just a common selling-buying relationship, it's way past that.

-Well, sex is a decent way to help with your anxiety, better than drugs.

I explain, my voice slightly shaky, eyes meeting his awkwardly, hoping I was making any sense.

When he studies me with his eyes I feel nervous, he could pay for the weed and go away, never talk to me again, say all the worst things he could think of.

Instead, he only nods, face turning serious.

-Do you want to do it or do you just want me to quit the weed so bad you're considering it?

His words caught me by surprise, but by now I shouldn't be surprised with anything anymore. Although it was kind of a harsh statement, I knew where he was coming from and the tone in his voice showed me he was as hesitant as I was.

-I do want you to quit, but I wouldn't do it just because of it. -My answer was clear, and almost a relief, for both of us.

There was another silence, not long, but that carried all the emotions and uncertainties both of us had at the moment.

-I get anxious a lot. -Matt says, half joking, half teasing.

Feels like we got ourselves an agreement, and I just know things are changing drastically between us now.

-I'm aware of that. -I joke back.

We smile at each other, taking in the final moment of acceptance before Matt's lips are on mine. I quickly kiss him back, our lips moving slowly at first, savoring each other's taste. There was a pause to breathe that didn't last long until we were kissing again.

With those two kisses I was more than happy with myself for thinking of such a good way of helping him, if I wasn't sure why I felt the urge to do something about it now it was crystal clear. I like him. Talking to him, being his dealer, being his friend, getting to know him, caring about him, it might or might not be in a romantic way, but I like him, a lot.

Feeling his lips on mine, our tongues brushing together, him carefully laying me down on the couch and hovering me, with one hand finally holding my waist. I definitely like him, and I like this, I like his touch as much as I like his voice, I like kissing him as much as I like hanging out with him, I like all of him.

Our shirts were on the floor, my bra hanging over the coffee table, his hands exploring my skin as I shivered, eyes connected as he slipped my pants down. His fingers were cold, pressing on my soaked panties, eyes admiring it like a work of art, speechless.

All anxiety in his body left when my last piece of clothes was discarded and his mouth did wonders on me, moans probably pissing off the neighbors as I tried to pull him closer by his hair.

-Fuck, Matt, I'm gonna cum... -I warn him with a whiny voice, back arching and head falling back.

-Please do, wanna taste you so bad. -He barely takes his mouth out of me to say, hands gently caressing my thighs.

My first orgasm with him was surprisingly good, not that I expected it to be bad, but definitely didn't expect it to feel so... perfect. He smiled at me like he was proud, kissing all over my body until his lips found mine again, making me taste myself.

His clothes were soon discarded as well and just by the sight of him I knew I had one more reason to like him. He seemed the calmest I've ever seen him, considering what was happening, a smirk of confidence on his lips proving he knew exactly what he was doing to me. His hand wraps around his length, teasing my folds with his tip and holding himself up with his other arm.

-Wanted to do this for so long, if I knew I had a chance I wouldn't even ask for so much weed just to see you. -He smirks down at me, circling my sensitive clit with his tip.

The feelings were so intense I almost missed what he said, but when my brain processed his words I was shocked. My jaw fell in surprise, eyes widening and my arm lifting so I could slap his arm with my hand, giving him a look of disbelief.

-You're unbelievable, you didn't have to buy anything, or use anything! We could've just hung out. -I say, trying not to smile at the fact he confessed he wanted to see me.

But in awful terms and I felt even more responsible for his acts.

I didn't have time to be mad at him, though, because he decided it was the perfect time to push all of him at once. My gasp was so loud that the entire building probably heard it, my walls fell on fire for a few seconds and he remained in the same position until my expression softened and he started to move.

His confession fully disappeared from my mind when I felt just how good he could feel. It gave me butterflies to feel him moving at a slow pace, keeping eye contact like he wanted to make sure everything was okay. His eyes looked so pretty, dark and full of desire, but also affection.

Matt kisses me again as he fasteners his thrusts, making me moan against his lips. One of his hands grabs one of my thighs, holding it up against my chest, hitting deeper.

-So fucking good. -He whispers, a long breath leaving his lips as his eyes roll back and his head falls.

My nails leave bruises on his back as I feel my second orgasm building up, sounds getting louder and my body squirming non-stop under him. Didn't take long for me to reach it, him following and pulling off just fast enough to paint my stomach with his seed.

After deep breaths and a long hug to calm down, Matt stands up and walks to my bathroom, already knowing how to navigate through my apartment, and comes back with a towel to clean us. When we were done he left me putting on my clothes again to get me some water.

Both decently dressed, a pause to the bathroom and lots of water later, Matt and I sit back on the couch, looking at each other, my head resting on the backrest and his hand moving my hair behind my ear.

-I didn't smoke all the joints I bought. I gave some to my friends who smoke. I only smoked once without you and I hated it. I was too nervous to ask you to just hang out, I wasn't sure if you'd want to, so I kept coming back to buy more because I knew I could spend time with you that way.

His voice was soft and sweet, only sharing his truth with me without being scared of it. Although it was adorable that he wanted to see me so much he found a way he thought it was the best, I hated how unsure he was if I'd want to spend time with him back. I also hated that weed was involved in this.

I smile at him, taking his free hand in mine and interlacing our fingers, rubbing my thumb against his skin.

-Matt, I really like seeing you and hanging out with you, there's no need to feel nervous, weed or no weed I still want you around. Honestly, preferably with no weed, you don't need it, never did.

His eyes showed so much gratitude, almost shining with relief. He smiles back, nodding his head and looking down at our fingers, his other hand still playing with my hair.

-Yeah, it didn't help me that much, but at least it brought you into my life, so I'm grateful for it.

My heart swells with affection, butterflies flying free in my stomach. I reach out to press a soft kiss on his lips, wanting to show him just how much I enjoyed knowing how he feels.

-I'm so happy to have you in my life, Matt. -I whisper, pulling away just enough to say it.

We smile at each other, both of his hands now on my cheeks, cupping them gently.

-Does this mean you'd say yes to a date?

I giggle, nodding and wrapping my arms around him.

-Yes, I'd love to.

➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @chrisxcherry @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @larallott @stqrnlvs @sssoniaswiftt @s1ut4chris @lovingregulusblack @sturnslutz @star-yawnznn @jupiter-rebel

[hugherin]

HEAVEN CAN'T HELP ME NOW.

when zaya decides to spend her vacation in Davos to escape from reality, but ends up crossing paths with Nico Hischier, who has the same goal. pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 4 and pt. 5.

pairing: nico hischier x oc! reader.

warnings: none <3

You hesitated, the cold of the night feeling even sharper as the voice echoed again. Slowly, you turned around, already knowing who you would see.

"Andrew?"

He was there, standing with the same confident posture as always, but something about him was different. Perhaps it was the contrast between New York and Davos, or perhaps you were the one who had changed.

"Zaya. I knew it was you." He took a few steps closer, his face illuminated by the warm lights of the lobby. "What are you doing here? In Davos, I mean."

"Vacation." you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral. "And you?"

"Same. Needed a break from the city. Isn't it funny?" He chuckled softly, as if the coincidence were some sort of private joke. "Two New Yorkers ending up here, on the other side of the world."

You offered a brief, forced smile. "Yeah, funny."

An awkward silence settled between you, heavy with unspoken words and memories neither of you wanted to revisit.

"Are you okay?" Andrew asked, tilting his head slightly. "I mean, since... well, since we broke up."

Your eyebrows shot up, surprised by his directness. "I am. And you?"

"Yeah, of course. It’s just... you seem different." His gaze lingered on you with an intensity that made you want to escape.

"Maybe because I am different." You crossed your arms, whether to keep warm or to shield yourself from the conversation. "Time does that to people, don’t you think?"

Andrew smiled, but there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. "I guess it does. Well, I won’t bother you anymore. It was nice seeing you, Zaya. Maybe we’ll run into each other again?"

"Yeah, maybe." You kept your tone distant as he walked away.

Pulling your coat tighter around you, you stepped outside the hotel. The air was icy, biting, yet strangely comforting. The northern lights were already dancing above, as if they had been waiting for you. Shades of green, lilac, and gold swirled together, undulating like a melody only the universe could hear.

You found yourself on a wooden platform that extended beyond the hotel, a space designed for guests to marvel at the natural spectacle. Alone, except for your thoughts, which gathered like snowflakes — silent but persistent.

Andrew.

Seeing your ex-boyfriend here, thousands of miles away from where you thought he belonged, left a strange unease in your chest. It wasn’t sadness or longing. It was something deeper, more unsettling: a mirror he had held up, showing a version of yourself you barely recognized.

For the past few years, your life had been a race against time. Endless meetings, unreachable goals, nights too short and days even shorter. You always justified the exhaustion by telling yourself you were building something, but now, looking back, you weren’t sure if you had built anything other than a gilded cage.

Andrew had been part of that. Not because he was toxic or problematic — he wasn’t. But your relationship had been an extension of that same suffocating routine. Planned outings that felt like obligations, conversations squeezed between phone calls. Nothing flowed. Nothing grew.

You sighed, your gaze fixed on the sky, as if seeking answers among the stars. It was ironic how only now, far from everything, you realized how stagnant you had become.

And somehow, Nico was the opposite of that.

The way he talked about the simplest things as if they were extraordinary. The taste of the local coffee, the texture of the snow, the way the sunrise painted the mountains. He had an almost irritating ability to find beauty in the mundane, something you had forgotten how to do.

But it wasn’t just that. Nico made you feel alive.

When he was around, it was as if a part of you, long dormant, was waking up. You laughed more. You felt more. And for the first time in years, you wanted something you couldn’t quite name.

As these memories danced through your mind, the aurora seemed to grow even brighter, as if the universe wanted to join in your thoughts.

"I need to change." you whispered, the words nearly swallowed by the wind.

You needed to leave behind the safety of a predictable, monotonous life. You needed to embrace the unknown, even if it was terrifying. Deep down, you knew that staying as you were wasn’t living — it was merely existing.

Meeting Andrew had been a painful reminder of that, but also a gift. He had forced you to face the truth: the life you had in New York wasn’t enough.

And Nico... He was the spark you didn’t know you needed. You weren���t sure what that meant or where it might lead, but for the first time, you were willing to find out.

You stood there a while longer, breathing in the frigid air and letting every nuance of that night imprint itself on your memory.

You thought you were alone — until the sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden platform behind you. Your heart quickened as you turned.

Nico appeared, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, an easy smile on his face.

"Do you always sneak up on people like this?" you asked, still startled.

"No." he said, tilting his head slightly. "Do you always step out into the cold alone to think about life?"

You shrugged, wary. "What are you doing here?"

"Some teammates are staying at this hotel. The bar was getting unbearable, and then I saw you step outside..." He paused, glancing at the northern lights. "I figured this would be more interesting."

"Interesting? Or just spying?" you teased, crossing your arms.

"Let’s call it intellectual curiosity." he replied, stepping closer. "So, what brought you out here? Escaping something too?"

You hesitated. "Not exactly. I guess I just needed some air. Things can get... stifling sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Stifling how?"

"You know, expectations, the kind of stuff that makes you feel like you’re stuck in a bubble." You looked at him, surprised at how much you were sharing, and quickly added, "Anyway, I just needed to clear my head."

Nico fell silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you before he smiled in a way that made your stomach flip. "You should pop that bubble, then."

"It’s easier said than done." you retorted, looking back at the sky.

"Maybe it’s easier than you think." he said, leaning casually against the platform railing. "When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to, without worrying if it made sense or was practical?"

You thought for a moment. "I have no idea."

"Exactly what I figured." His sideways grin was both infuriating and endearing. "I bet you have a mental list of things you’ve always wanted to do but never dared to try."

"Like jumping off a cliff?" you joked, raising an eyebrow.

"If that’s on your list, let me know. I’d love to see it." He laughed. "But seriously, Zaya. You should try doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with your routine."

"Like what? Give me an example."

"Ah, that would ruin the surprise. And I’m terrible at making lists on the spot." he said, tilting his head as if analyzing you. "But I guarantee that if you try, you’ll feel more alive."

"Alive?" you echoed, skeptical.

"Yeah. You know... that feeling where the whole world is buzzing around you." His smile was playful, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Alright, poet. I’ll think about it."

"Just think?" He took a step back, already starting to walk away. "I thought you were braver than that."

"Good night, Nico." You tried to sound firm, but the amusement in his voice disarmed you.

"Good night, Zaya." He glanced back one last time before disappearing into the lobby, leaving you standing there, still smiling, his words echoing in your mind.

The muffled sound of snow falling outside was the first thing you noticed as you woke up. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater, and the soft light of dawn seeped through the curtains. You stretched lazily, your mind still clouded with memories of the night before.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you pulled a cozy sweater over your pajamas before heading to the small kitchenette. Making coffee was almost a ritual — an anchor.

The coffee machine hummed softly as you waited, your eyes drifting to the fogged-up window. Outside, the world was a sea of white, with snow blanketing everything in an untouched layer. It was beautiful, almost too perfect.

The smell of coffee filled the air, and you poured yourself a mug, cradling it in both hands to absorb the warmth. As you turned to walk toward the armchair by the window, something caught your attention.

A folded piece of paper was tucked under the door.

Frowning, you set the mug down on the table before bending to pick up the note. The fold was neat, and your name was written on the front in casual handwriting.

"Zaya,

I figured you could use some ideas to step out of your comfort zone. Consider this a challenge.

— Hischier.”

Your curiosity grew as you unfolded the note, revealing a list:

Zaya’s List

- Jump into a frozen lake (I bet you won’t dare).

- Ski off the trail (but only if you survive the lake).

- Hike up the mountain to watch the sunrise (bring hot chocolate).

- Sing karaoke at the tavern. Pick a terrible song.

- Attend the town’s Masquerade Ball. (Don’t you dare say no.)

You chuckled softly, surprised by his boldness and how he seemed to know exactly what you needed — a little push.

But one thing still puzzled you. How did he know your room number?

You hesitated for a moment before grabbing your phone and dialing his number. He picked up on the third ring.

“Zaya, calling me already? I thought you’d ignore the list.”

“How do you even know where I’m staying?” you asked directly.

“I have my ways." he replied, laughing.

“Ways? That sounds suspicious.”

“Let’s just say I’m good at finding things out. What do you think of the list?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous but brilliant, I know.”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “You seriously think I’m going to jump into a frozen lake?”

“I’m certain you will.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Oh, you will.” The confidence in his voice was both infuriating and oddly captivating.

“I should ignore you, but…” You hesitated. "What’s the address and time for the masquerade ball? Since it seems so essential.”

He laughed, a warm, light sound. “It’s in two days, at the hall in the main square, 9 PM. You’ll stand out, I’m sure of it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Can’t wait, Zaya.”

Before you could reply, he hung up, leaving you with the note in hand and a smile you couldn’t quite suppress.

The night arrived shrouded in mystery. The hall in the main square looked like something out of a dream — a mix of classic elegance and magic. Delicate lanterns hung from the arched ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over the space. Masked figures glided across the room like characters from an old tale, their elaborate outfits catching the play of light and shadow.

From what you’d read, it was a charity ball benefiting a nearby retirement home. It wasn’t surprising Nico had invitations—he was not only born here but also a well-known figure.

You hesitated at the entrance, adjusting the mask that covered half your face. You’d chosen something understated yet elegant, with black lace details to match your dress. You didn’t want to draw too much attention, but there was something thrilling about hiding behind a mask— like you could be someone else, just for a night.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face—or rather, a familiar mask. Nico had mentioned he’d be there, but the hall was crowded, and he had a knack for disappearing.

A waiter passed by with a tray of sparkling wine glasses, and you grabbed one, taking a sip to calm your nerves. The string music filled the air, its rhythm making your body instinctively want to move.

And then, you felt it.

A light touch on your shoulder, followed by a low, amused voice in your ear. “I like the dress. It suits the whole mysterious vibe.”

You turned, and there he was.

The mask Nico wore covered most of his face, intricately detailed in silver that shimmered under the lanterns. But you recognized the smile. He held a glass in one hand, the other tucked casually into the pocket of his perfectly tailored black suit.

“And you? Do you frequent masquerade balls, or are you just an expert at looking out of place?” you teased, hiding your smile behind your glass.

“Out of place? I thought I was nailing the mysterious alter ego.” He tilted his head slightly. “You look stunning, by the way. But I imagine you already know that.”

“And you’re still laying it on thick with the compliments.”

“If it’s true, it’s not overdoing it.” He extended his hand, his eyes glinting behind the mask. “May I have this dance?”

You hesitated for a moment, but there was something about the way he looked at you—a confidence that felt impossible to resist. Setting your glass on a passing waiter’s tray, you took his hand.

He led you to the center of the room, where other couples were already dancing. The music shifted to something slower yet still lively, and Nico’s steps were surprisingly steady, as if he’d done this a thousand times.

“I didn’t know you could dance." you remarked, trying to keep up with him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” he replied, a playful smile on his lips.

“Like what?”

“For example,” He spun you effortlessly before pulling you back, closer this time. “I like making strange lists to help people stuck in their routines.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out already.”

“Okay, then another: I’ve never been to a masquerade ball before. I’m improvising.”

You laughed, relaxing more in his arms. “You’re doing pretty well.”

“And you? How are you doing with the challenge?”

“I’ll jump into the frozen lake tomorrow morning if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said with complete sarcasm.

“That’s one I wouldn’t miss."

The conversation flowed easily as you danced, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away. The music, the people, even the masks—none of it seemed to matter besides his presence.

When the song ended, Nico didn’t let go immediately. You stayed there, close enough to feel his warmth, your eyes locked. Behind the masks, it felt like there were no secrets—just the electric tension of something new and unexpected.

“I told you this ball was essential." he murmured.

“And I still think you’re exaggerating.”

He tilted his head, as if about to say something else, but then smiled. “Maybe. But I have a feeling you won’t forget tonight.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you into another dance, as if the world outside could wait. And for the first time in a long time, you believed it could.

The space between you shrank with every step. His scent—warm and woody—mingled with the slightly crisp air drifting in through the open windows. You found your gaze straying to the details of his mask, as if trying to read something hidden there.

“Are you analyzing me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow behind his mask.

“Maybe." you replied with a playful edge, a smile tugging at your lips.

“And what have you figured out so far?”

“That you love attention but pretend you don’t.”

He laughed — a genuine, contagious sound. “You’re good at this.”

“Not as good as you are at making ridiculous lists.”

“Ridiculous, but effective.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it carried a certain ease, amplified by the way his eyes remained fixed on yours, as if he were seeing beyond what you allowed.

“You said you’ve never been to a masquerade before.” you remarked, breaking the quiet. “What made you come to this one?”

“Because you came.”

The answer was straightforward, without hesitation, and you felt heat rush to your face, even with the mask partially concealing your embarrassment. He didn’t look away, and you realized he hadn’t said it to impress — it was simply the truth.

“And if I hadn’t come?”

“I’d probably be at the tavern with my teammates. But something told me you wouldn’t miss this.”

He smiled again, and you realized you were smiling too. As the music ended, you both stopped dancing, though he didn’t let go of your hand right away.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low.

“Get out?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows.

“Not literally. Just… away from the ballroom. There’s a balcony out back with an amazing view of the mountains.”

The idea of escaping the crowd seemed tempting, especially with him. You nodded, and he led you through the room, effortlessly weaving past other dancers.

The balcony was wide, illuminated by a few lanterns hanging on the stone walls. Snow fell in light flakes, melting as they touched the warm wood of the floor. Outside, the air was colder but purer, and the view was breathtaking: snow-capped mountains glimmering under the soft moonlight.

“Definitely better than the ballroom.” you remarked, hugging your arms against the chill.

“Agreed,” he said, slipping off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Better?”

You nodded, feeling the immediate warmth.

The two of you stood there, side by side, silently taking in the mountains. The wind toyed with strands of your hair, and you noticed Nico watching them, as if trying to decipher something unspoken.

“I didn’t expect this." you said finally, breaking the silence.

“This what?”

“This trip. You. Everything feels… different from what I imagined.”

“Different is good?”

“It is. I think it is.”

He smiled, and the way his eyes softened when they met yours made your heart race.

A stronger gust of wind sent snowflakes swirling, sparkling under the moonlight. You pulled his jacket closer, inhaling the faint scent of him that lingered in the fabric. There was something about it that warmed more than just the cold night.

Nico was still beside you, closer now. He leaned on the railing, staring at the view like he was trying to absorb every detail. The confident smile he often wore had faded, replaced by something more thoughtful.

“Enjoying the night so far?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze through the mask. “More than I expected.”

“Good. My reputation depends on it.”

“Oh, really? And if I’m not impressed?”

He tilted his head, his smile returning, but this time with a hint of challenge. “Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

“And what else do you have to offer?” you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

Nico didn’t reply immediately. He studied you, his eyes glinting as if he were reading something you hadn’t realized you were showing. Then, he stepped closer, until the space between you felt almost nonexistent.

“I could show you." he said, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper.

Your heartbeat quickened, but you didn’t pull away. There was something in the way he spoke— each word deliberate yet impulsive.

“Are you always this confident?”

“Only when I’m sure of something.”

“And what are you sure of right now?”

He smiled, a blend of assurance and tenderness. “That you want this as much as I do.”

Before you could respond —or even think of one — he closed the distance.

The kiss was warm and unhesitating, as though he knew exactly what he was doing. At first, it was firm, almost teasing, but then it softened, growing deeper and more consuming. His hands alternated between your waist and your hair, and the world around you seemed to vanish. No more cold wind, no more snow, no more mountains—just the heat of him, the pressure of his hands, the way he tilted his head to draw you closer.

Time blurred. The kiss carried a rhythm that shifted between bold and gentle, as though he were exploring every nuance while still leaving room for you to take the lead.

When you finally pulled apart, it was just enough to meet his gaze again. Your breath was unsteady, and his smile had returned—smug yet impossibly endearing.

“Impressed now?” he murmured, looking into your eyes like he didn’t already know the answer.

[bunni-v1]

GOD!!! that smoking with lighter post… WOW!!!!! sorry need to run back into my cave with that………

i think… getting stoned with lighter? would that be fun? i could see him lighting a joint in your mouth with a zippo for sure 😋

Tw: Drug use; Bunni’s questionable choices freshman year

LMAO thanks mini ily 😭 I used to be the BIGGEST stoner my freshman year of college. I’m like 90% sure I went on a month long bender before finals where I was high 24/7, but it’s so blurry that I can’t remember how true that is. (My friends say that’s what happened so 💀)

I haven’t been high in likeeeee two ish years (yay sobriety)… but I miss it lowkey. Too bad I wanted to have sex with my boyfriend lol. And, well, my heart couldn’t handle it anymore. Anyway. Excuse any inaccuracies lol.

Unfortunately I’m pretty sure Lighter is kinda drug adverse? Idk, he at least doesn’t fuck hard with liquor which leads me to believe he’s not into smoking either but again where’s the fun in that lol.

I have a headcannon that he’s a lightweight no matter what he’s drinking/smoking, so it takes maybe two hits and he’s gone. (Depending on how strong the stuff is ig, but I only ever had crazy strong stuff so I am not a good judge here 💀) He’s the giggly kind too, everything is funny and he’s so smiley. Even things that aren’t funny, he’s smiling and giggling about like a moron.

He’s also incredibly affectionate with everyone, especially his partner. Leaning all over them, cooing at them, pressing kisses to their face. His obsession with them really comes out when he’s high. It’s adorable honestly, even though he always regrets it the day after.

He’s the kinda guy to also sit and stare for like hours and not realize time has passed. He’s just thinking bro, about what? I don’t think he even knows, but he’s doing it. The thoughts are happening.

Also, idk if this is typical for anyone but me but he has a comfort food he eats exclusively when high. It’s this disgustingly sugary cake that’s all chocolate and nothing else and would make the average person vomit. He almost always gets sick the day after cause that shit is genuinely so nasty, but when he’s gone it’s all he wants. (For me it was chocolate milk, and since I’m lactose intolerant it would fucking kill me in the morning.)

Oh my god, and my friends use to do this NASTY ASS thing (it’s kinda hot but like they were gross with it 💀), where one of them would take a nice long hit and then breath the smoke into their partners mouth. The partner would breathe in as much as they could and then they’d pretty much tongue fuck each other. That just screams Lighter to me idk.

He sucks are rolling joint and I think he’d prefer edibles if he had a choice. If not he’d rather smoke from a bowl unless someone else is rolling the joint for him. His hands are too big for that delicate kinda work. Cutie that he is.

Anyway, I think high Lighter is just a treat. Super out of character from his usual demeanor and I know he’s so fun to tease and mess with.

[aliteralsemicolon]

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Really strong opening, immediate visual hook, instantly hypnotised, no way this wasn't getting read immediately.

The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers.

Understandable. Same.

“You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.”

It's like inhaling crack, every sentence has me hooked what is going on....

“A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.”

Oh...so you decided to target a whole population unprovoked. Like really clock em 😭

I am really restraining from highlighting every second line. Like the whole hating how you feel every move is calculated paragraph. Let me stay focused and get to my key points hold onnnn

He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could.

Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need.

I NEED HIM SO BAD IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY HAHA ANYMORE

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him.

I do not like you right now I'm actually so upset (but like the opposite of upset) what am I feeling you need to fix whatever you've caused rn

His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

There is no one line this whole paragraph, God this whole fucking fic. Idk what to do with myself rn...I'm three reads in and I need another one after. Wait please leave me alone I have to go put on my playlist and ponder for a second..

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[alwaysmicado]

Callisto II - Update

Believe it or not, but after months of zero inspiration, I've written 2k words for it today 🥹. Feels great. I've also finally settled on the overall mood of this part and I think you're going to like it. There's still no end in sight, BUT I'm not dreading this fic anymore. That's a start.

Thank you for your patience & your wonderful DMs about the story & for sticking around! 🤍 Please accept this random snippet as a token of my undying love for you all (it's long lol):

[You’re in the elevator with your neighbor. He’s older and a sleaze bag. You have a soft spot for him.]

You press the lobby button again even though it’s already lit. “You okay? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

His smirk twitches, revealing something almost vulnerable. Almost. “You miss me?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ethan. Just wanna know if I need to go back and get the Narcan.”

That earns a chuckle, hoarse and dry, but it’s something. “Relax. I’m fine. Just a rough week.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask. “‘Cause you look like you’re coming off a bender.”

“You’re worried about me,” he says, leaning closer, his grin faint but there. “Admit it.”

“I’m not worried,” you snap, but your tone lacks conviction. “It’s just… dude, you look like hammered shit. When’s the last time you even slept?”

He tries for a shrug, though it’s more like a slump against the cold metal wall. “Tuesday, maybe Wednesday? Hard to keep track.”

“It’s Friday,” you point out, your voice softer now. “You need to get your shit together.”

He leans his head back against the elevator wall, exhaling so hard you almost feel it. For a moment, you think he might actually tell you what’s going on, but then his eyes flick to your hand, and his brow creases in concern. “What happened there?”

You glance at the wrist brace, flexing your fingers instinctively. “Nothing. Just a stupid accident.”

“Stupid accident,” Ethan repeats, his voice softening just enough to catch you off guard. “You get in a fight or something?”

“No,” you say quickly, but his raised eyebrow confirms he doesn’t believe you. “It’s nothing. Don’t start.”

“Hm.” He looks you up and down, like he’s waiting for you to crack. “You wanna come over later and hang out? I got a movie lined up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, Buffalo ‘66?”

“If that’s what you’re into.” He snorts, sounding more like himself. “Shoulda told me sooner. You know how I live to please.”

You can’t help a half-smile, but no. Not going there. You clear your throat. “How’s your wife, Ethan?”

“She’s good, she’s good,” he sighs, casual as always. “Travelling, hitting the slopes, spending my money, getting her back blown out by some college kid. You know, the regular.”

You scoff. “Not gonna lie, that sounds pretty good. And all she has to do is stay married to you?”

He arches a brow. “You proposing, sweetheart?”

“Nah, I’d be a terrible trophy wife. I’d torch your suits the first time I found your secretary’s lipstick on your shirt. And key your dumb car. And step on your balls.”

“Keep talking dirty to me like that and I’ll drive us straight to the courthouse, baby,” he drawls, a little more life in his voice. 

You roll your eyes but your lips twitch into a reluctant smile. “You always know how to cheer me up, you know that?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod and furrow your brow. “It’s funny, I talk to you for a minute and I realize that maybe my dumpster fire of a life isn’t that bad. Like, it could be worse.”

He gives a dry chuckle. “You’re welcome, I guess.” He notices your injured hand again, concern flickering across his tired features. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” you say exasperatedly. “Never been better.”

He eyes you carefully, his expression unexpectedly gentle. “You’re too young to have that look on your face.”

You bristle. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about life being far too short to spend it being unhappy,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. “Trust me.”

“Like I’m gonna take advice from you,” you say, crossing your arms as your pulse does that weird stutter.

Ethan offers a vague smile, and a muscle in his jaw tightens beneath the bruise. “I’m not saying you should,” he murmurs. “Just wish someone had told me that a long time ago, that’s all.”

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[cjthemfdj]

obvious

we listen and we don’t judge

in which…avery convinced hamzah to do the tiktok trend ‘we listen and we don’t judge’

“i know you know exactly what trend i’m talking about,”avery turned her body so she was facing hamzah on his couch and bat her eyelashes dramatically, “pleaseee.”

hamzah sighed, “fine, but i need to think of some things first.”

“okay, yay!” avery set up her phone so it was set up in front of them on the coffee table. they repositioned themselves so that they were in frame and facing the camera.

avery started filming, “okay ready?”

“wait what? no give me some time girl,” he exaggerated before putting his head in his hands to think.

avery rolled her eyes before stopping the filming but not deleting that part.

five minutes later hamzah had finally done his thinking, “okay i’m ready.”

“finally,” avery started filming again, “okay we gotta say it together, ready?”

“we listen and we don’t judge,” they slowly said together and being unable to contain a smile while looking at each other.

“one time when i spent the night at your place, i stole one of your hoodies and regifted it to my brother for christmas,” avery said, laughing through it.

hamzah’s jaw dropped open, “what?!? which one?!?”

“see you don’t even miss it!” avery exclaimed, “we listen and we don’t judge.”

“fine well one time i used your toothbrush,” hamzah said laughing, covering his mouth.

“hamzah! are you fucking kidding?!?” avery yelled and hamzah shook his head still laughing, “ugh that’s nasty, oh my god,” avery put her head down in her lap.

“we listen and we don’t judge!” hamzah said while shaking avery’s shoulders.

“okay sometimes i lie and say im really tired after work just cause i know you’ll offer to get me food or make me something,” avery admitted.

“okay that’s not bad, but now you’ve ruined it , i’m not doing that anymore,” hamzah laughed.

“noooo we listen and we don’t judge!” avery complained.

“i have a photo album of just pictures of you in outfits I’ve thought looked good so that whenever you’re complaining about having nothing to wear, i’ll just go through it and suggest one and it ALWAYS works,” hamzah shared proudly.

avery pushed his shoulder, “stop you’re lying, you weirdo,” they laughed together, “can you share that album with me?”

“no it’s my secret,” hamzah said and avery rolled her eyes

“we listen and we don’t judge,” they both said together.

“i only listen to your podcast if i know i was mentioned in it,” avery said through a laugh.

“okay i know that already,” hamzah exclaimed throwing his hands up, “you’re secretly a hater, girl.”

“no no i just hear you guys yap like everyday of my life, i do not need to hear any more,” avery said with a sorry look on her face.

“yeah yeah whatever,” hamzah said with a fake sad sigh.

avery pushed hamzah’s arm, “okay do one more.”

“we listen and we don’t judge,” they said together.

hamzah’s smile fell slightly, “last time i picked you up after the bar, i had to fight quite literally every urge humanly possible in my body to ignore you basically throwing yourself at me,” he took a deep breath in and laughed, “it sucked.”

avery’s smile dropped and she stopped the recording, “okay well i can’t post that.”

“i thought we weren’t judging,” hamzah laughed and watched as avery’s face turned from what looked like surprise to confusion to beet red.

“way to ruin my funny video,” avery leaned back against the couch and slumped, “also there’s no way i was throwing myself at you, that seems a bit dramatic.”

hamzah scoffed, “you literally referred to me as your ‘booty call’ and said, and i quote, ‘i can think of a few things you could do with me.’”

avery rolled her eyes, “okay yeah that’s my bad,” avery looked around the room before looking back to hamzah, “maybe try to look, you know, uglier when you interact with drunk me. she tends to have very little self control.”

hamzah laughed then smirked, “you calling me cute, aves?”

“in your dreams,” she laughed, “you’re mediocre at best.”

“yeah yeah, whatever you say, miss-“ he threw up air quotes and mocked her in a high pitch voice, “oh hamzah please i’m so needy and helpless will you please help me undo my top?” hamzah did his best to reenact avery’s drunken movements and voice.

“i’m never calling you ever again,” avery stood up and began to walk to the other room.

hamzah watched her leave before yelling, “i’ll be expecting a call friday night!”

——

[notawomanimagod]

Today I realised the reason I love Silco so much is because maybe I relate to him in an uncanny way? ( And that I unintentionally have a Silco+Jinx tattoo?)

Some backstory first

I'd gone to college with my childhood best friend/partner and we had a whole plan for our futures and I was a big dreamer. I got us into all the schools/opportunities we wanted to purely by planning a lot. By constantly making sure we had a way out. By keeping us moving. By being the one that put their head down and planned. They had fire initially, which made us bond, but later they sort of showed up and came along for the ride.

Our campus was on the outskirts of a city which coincidentally had a polluted river flowing through it, where dead bodies were found. The water contained so many chemicals, it foamed unnaturally and your skin could feel it.

We would sit on the shores of this river and plan how we'd make it out of here and move to a better place. How we'd break the cycle. How we'd live in a nice house, eat good food and simply live a peaceful life. Away from the violence and chaos of the families we came from.

But things started falling apart, and both of us had vastly different ideologies. We didn't fit like perfect puzzle pieces anymore.

After months of tension, an ongoing fight blew up to the extent they choked me and shoved me down while I clawed at them to get away.

I grew so bitter and felt so betrayed.

This was my best friend. Young, hopeful me considered them my other half in every sense. This was the person I grew up with, we'd gotten each other through so much trauma in our lives and we'd barely survived everything together.

We've both stopped each other from early deaths and yet, there they were, throwing our future away, while I tried my best to acquire it.

I always felt like I didn't resent them for abusing me, I hated them for giving up. On our dream, on our future.

Suddenly I was thrown away.

That dynamic felt eerily similar to Silco/Vander, down to the size difference.

Around that time the only way I knew how to cope was to imagine myself reborn. I became a new person, being betrayed changed me so fundamentally, I had to change.

I viewed everything as pre-incident and after. Pre-betrayal, post-betrayal.

My younger self had no means of understanding why I'd been left behind to rot. While they got a comfortable life. Got to keep our friends. They got the better end of the deal. They got everything.

And I was absolutely alone, isolated. Driven to the point of insanity by everything they'd done to me.

I swore to only trust in myself after that.

I got this tattoo to symbolise my "rebirth" and how to find strength solely in myself.

My younger self had a lot in common with Silco/Jinx and it's a funny coincidence that my tattoo ended up having both their motifs.

Anyways, I didn't understand how much of my own life I saw in Silco's until my brother pointed this out recently. But it helped me process some of the feelings I felt when I began to read more on Silco/Vander's dynamic and why I was drawn to it.

I have always been that dirty little thing, scraping it together and clawing my way out.

No wonder I loved Silco's Rebirth narrative. It truly is the realest arc anyone who experiences trauma/ abuse/betrayal goes through.

And now years later, even though I have a peaceful life, my own apartment, sometimes I get reminded of how I could be hurt and that little part of me that is always on the run comes back in ropes of rage. I need to be in control.I have tried to harden myself and yet, I am still soft. I would often think my caring for others was my biggest weakness, though now I treasure it.

No wonder I love this little rat man. I am what he is. (Down to the black hair and scribbling in journals and leather jackets and cigarettes and being fruity lmfaoo)

No wonder I absolutely love everything about his characterization in season one.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

It’s so sad and funny to see ‘fans’ being disappointed by Becky English’s articles. I have always expected that Kate would start as a full time Royal again until September or the next year.

I know many are saying she is using her privilege and it’s a bad look and I get it, but people need to calm down and understand that she had chemo, and not all the patients are affected with the same secondary effects or else. If she ended chemo in August as the articles told us, she just has had 4 months of rest, I’ve read that majority need at least 6 months to start feeling a little bit like their old self and some secondary effects even need 1 year.

And to be fair, people need to understand how KP’s PR works, they have always been focused on: Family first and duty last, I think is genuine but I also think that it’s the way to show the world that the RF isn’t a bunch of cold people anymore, that also helps W to sell his father and husband PR (we know he loves that as a way to show the idiots he isn’t a cheating husband and he is a present parent not like Chuck) and Kate being the ‘nation’s mother’ and nurturing figure of the RF PR. Again, I think it’s genuine and they are lovely people, but that doesn’t mean that their office doesn’t use those good things to sell that image to the nation. So having that in mind, of course we will have at least 1 year of endless articles saying that family is first, that she is focusing on what matters and slowly abandoning such PR until she can come again as full time Royal.

The article of course has some briefs from KP, but other things are guesses, and common sense (it was obvious she won’t fully return in January) but people already believe she won’t be doing a damn all the year, when i guess that she will do at least 2-3 engagements per month + her private work with early childhood + maybe key visits to Wales or Scotland (St. Davis Day and Hollyrood week) + 1-2 army engagement + accepting few new patronages + trooping, cenotaph, big maybe the state banquets, etc…. (So be prepared for only having like 50-60 engagements this year)

William himself said during Earthshot that he expected Catherine feeling better and doing some foreign visits with him, so, I think as English said, they aren’t saying if she indeed will travel or not until the date is near and see if she feels good enough. Only William ‘confirmed’ he will do some of the visits but English is just making the common guess: ‘nobody still knows but she wants to if she feel good’ (which is what W said, so nothing new)

Anyway, the point is people need to stop being mad for something that was common sense and expected for this year. And stop comparing her with Charles, because first, he is the King and second we don’t know what treatment he is taking and while he is older, maybe his treatment plan allow him to not feel too bad

Pretty sure you're on the wrong blog because no one here is upset or disappointed by the article.

Everyone here understands that cancer and treatment is different for each individual case. We're not comparing Charles and Kate's experiences. We're comparing the palaces' communications strategies and how that managed (or didn't manage) the public's expectations.