#serenity fanfiction

[imdonnalynn]

You Broke Me, But In A Good Way (1/1) REPOST

Summary: River realizes why she and Mal didn't shoot one another that day on Beaumont. Sequel to You Hesitated, I Didn't

Pairing: Malcolm Reynolds/River Tam

Rating: PG

Word Count: 367

Warnings:

A/N: Another repost from over a decade ago. This was a sequel to a previous story (in summary).

Disclaimer: The characters of Firefly (series) / Serenity (film) do not belong to me. So DO NOT sue me.

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“I know why now…”

Mal glanced at River from across the table. They were the only two souls on Serenity. The rest of the crew were out on errands and wouldn’t be back till morning most likely. The planet was friendly enough and they weren’t expecting any trouble so…everything was shiny. “You know what?” it was something in her voice that had him curious. It was that tone where you finally got the joke that was told ages ago and you feel like a complete dote.

“Why I hesitated,” she remembered. “In the maidenhead back on Beaumont.” She felt him stiffen inside her. Every muscle went taunt and he slowly stopped what he was doing and leaned back against the chair and gazed at her.

Two long years passed since that dreadful day and to be honest he didn’t want to rehash it. He didn’t want to remember their lingering question that neither could answer at the time. But it seemed River wanted to remember and to get past it. And if there was one thing Malcolm Reynolds realized was when River Tam put her mind to something she was going to do it or die trying.

“You think about it sometimes,” she revealed. “Far away in the back of your mind you try to figure out what it was that kept me from taking you down just like everyone else. What made you different? Why did we both hesitate? Why at all?”

He stared at her unable to find his voice. What she spoke was true. Every once in a while, he would dream about the showdown and question himself.

“I was hoping you would shoot me first,” she admitted.

He slowly gaped at her and shook his head.

“You broke me…” she looked directly into his eyes. “…but in a good way. You broke through conditioning that was supposed to be unbreakable.”

He shook his head, “River…”

“…I just wanted you to know,” she finished in that tone that meant lets leave it at that and move on. So he didn’t push the issue and he went back to his previous task. Leaving her to stare at the console and wonder…how did he do it though………

THE END

Read sequel You Hesitated, I Didn't

[httpsserene]

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊’𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 - 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞: 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

summary: tonight, innocent and virgin!reader will be defiled, deflowered, tarnished—whichever word you prefer. from the moment she told them she was ready to lose her virginity, they’ve been carefully planning out a special night, for her. and shockingly, there’s not an ounce of fear, anxiety, or doubt in her mind—max and charles have gained her complete trust. they haven’t given her a single reason to believe that they wouldn’t treat her right. she couldn’t have asked for better men to take her virginity—if this is corruption, she’s delighted to experience it. content warning: 18+ only. explicit. safe sex. penetrative vaginal sex. corruption kink. oral sex. cunnilingus. multiple orgasms. fingering. handjobs. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. sweetheart charles leclerc. sweetheart max verstappen. word count: 3.1k words pairing: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader soundtrack: wet dreamz • j.cole

preface: word to my mother, i've gained 400 followers from this series alone and that terrifies me. because it means a 2k special is coming soon, and this was a crazy experience, and me thinks i'm not ready to do it again so soon. thank you for the love on this series, and i might do little snippet pieces for it in the future, but goddamn do i need to sleep for a few days to make up for the sleep i lost getting this done lol. enjoy loves, send me plenty asks about this series and i'll respond when i have the time!

prev 1k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents ↻

your thighs are mottled with bruises and bites, some sensitive enough that you can feel the skin throb. charles–who’s came twice–looks deliciously delirious in between your legs. his green eyes are wide and glassy, solely locked onto your cunt. his parted lips are swollen and flushed red from his generous treatment of your inner thighs. his hands have a tight grip on the tops of your legs, his veins popping at the force of his grip as they keep you spread open enough–your heart stutters as you realize he’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints and palms on you too. you see the muscles of his shoulders and biceps straining to reach your tantalizing warmth splayed out right in front of his face but, he’s held back with max’s hand firmly keeping his head pulled backwards. 

“charles, give her at least two. you’re welcome to use your fingers.”

max releases his grip, and charles rushes forward to taste the wetness that’s already leaked from your pussy. the monegasque’s moan is muffled against you, but it still manages to be the same volume as the shocked moan that escapes you. eagerly, the younger man drags his tongue through your folds, relishing in the plush pinkness he never wants to leave, and shifts to suckle on the hood of your clit. you cry out, back arching at the focused pleasure–and max sighs. he sees the drool from charles’ overeager perusal leak out of the corner of his mouth; he’s glad he put down the towel you told him to get. sure, max is well aware that you tend to drip like a broken faucet but, charles can tend to get a little…messy, when he’s using his mouth.

charles pulls your first orgasm from using all of his energy dragging his tongue across your labia frantically, pausing either to draw rapid circles against your clit or tease the entrance of your cunt without pushing his tongue in. you shudder forcefully, hands flying down not to pull the monegasque off of you, no, but to keep his mouth on you. it’s not like he needed the help—he wasn’t going to pull off until max tore him away. regardless, he is mindful of your oversensitivity, and slows the assault of his tongues to slow swipes, humming deeply at the gush of wetness that seeps into his mouth.  and when your thighs stop fighting against his hands keeping you spread open, when he feels the tensed muscles go dormant—he pushes his tongue into you, happy your orgasm caused you to relax and allow him to slip in.

and, this is when you lose your mind.

his tongue is dexterous, firm, and unyielding, his plush lips brush against the outside of your cunt and only causes more bolts of pleasure to rocket up your spine. he’s unrelenting–he moves with the overwhelmed bucking of your hips, you’re not sure if you’re trying to move away or move closer, and it doesn’t matter because charles follows you without the solution of his moth slipping away once. he whines highly into your pussy, and the vibration only has you making sounds to mimic him. your tummy undulates, tensing and relaxing with every thrust of his tongue, and he shifts one of his hands away from your thigh to push down on your navel. he changes the angle of his head and his nose bumps against your clit from the force of his jaw working against your entrance.

the combination of the clit stimulation and the pressure on your navel, causes your eyes to roll back with a heaving chest, the orgasm dancing somewhere on the back of your eyes. 

“such a pretty girl,” max adds from where his eyes are stuck on your cunt, and you cum.

the towel underneath you has a wet spot spreading, and charles allows your thighs to shut around his head as your hips push up dragging your pussy on the lower half of his face to ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. this feels twice as intense as the first, and based on the way you can hear your blood rushing in your ears, and feel your heart beating in the back of your knee, you know you’ll never settle for riding a thigh again.

you attempt to squirm away from his mouth, hips twisting desperately to try and escape the pain-tinted pleasure of charles’ talented tongue, but the man follows every shift of your motions, with his half-lidded eyes giving the expression of him being entranced. it does end up taking max forcing charles away from you when the tears gathered in your waterline spill down your cheeks. and the sharp flare of pain from max tugging at his hair, clears the haze in charles' eyes and the cotton stuffed in his ears.

if his lips were swollen before, you don’t know what to call the state of them now. you screw your eyes shut to avoid looking at the pleased glimmer in his eyes, it only makes a surge of arousal peek out again. 

“schatje, i said you could use your fingers too,” max prods at charles’ shoulder with a pout on his face.

“i,” the man says airly, “didn’t need to. i made her cum twice, like you wanted me to.”

“ah, well, move out of the way, cha,” max hums throatily, “if you didn’t use your fingers, i guess i’ll have to,” your eyes fly open as you look at max in surprise, “do you think she can handle a few more?”

the monegasque pulls back, allowing max to fill the space without arguing, and looks away from him to pierce you with a lustful glance, “she knows what to say if she wants us to stop. let’s find out her limit tonight, maxy.”

they’ve broken you. max and charles said they got you to five orgasms that night, but you don’t really remember anything after the fourth. you vaguely recall charles eating you out while max rubbed at your clit (it was a hot image, there’s no way you’d forget that), but anything over four orgasms you can’t expect to process.

however, the night was such a pleasure even if you can’t remember the last half of it—they’ve absolutely erased your fear of oral. or, sex in general. you say they’ve “broken you,” because they actually have, it feels like your eyes have been peeled open wide from how they’ve indulged you. you thought it was bad enough when you gave yourself a friction burn when you were humping them like a dog in heat, but this is objectively worse.

charles emerges from his gaming room after his stream to refill his water bottle and you drop to your knees in the middle of the kitchen to give him head. max makes a comment about how addicting you taste over dinner and you shove the plates to the side to climb on the table and let him eat you out like a buffet. charles is losing a game of fifa to max, so you gave him a hand and stuffed a hand down max’s pants to give him an advantage (he still lost, so it was just a convenient excuse to get the dutch off). 

most recently, you and the men were laying in bed, letting your breathing slow down and the sweat cool after you let your legs fall open for them wordlessly. 

“it’s clear i trust you both with my entire being, right?”

charles and max pause their quiet chatter and turn to look at you, “oui, “ “of course.”

“ok, well: i want you to take my virginity,” the two gape at your blunt words, “it’s what this has been leading to, and i said on the very first night that i was ready to have sex with you. i trust you guys, and i’m ready.”

max, for all he likes to run his mouth, is silent. charles picks up his slack.

“thank you for trusting us, mon coeur. having your trust to allow you to perform the most intimate and vulnerable actions with you is something we thank you for. give us time, mon amour, we want to make the night special for you, a perfect night that you deserve, yes?”

you smile wide, and nuzzle your face into max’s bare chest who only chokes on his agreement with charles, and respond, “a night that i deserve. i like the way that sounds.”

the night that you deserve, comes two weeks later, in a week and a half-gap between race weekends. you have mixed feelings about flying air-max, but privacy is something that you can’t beat. they’ve promised you five days in a private villa in mallorca (after a few recommendations, courtesy of carlos), just the three of you. and it’s beautiful, the villa, the land, your boyfriends. 

you questioned why the vacation needed to be five days long, when they only needed a night to have sex with you. charles raised an eyebrow at you, unsure if your question was of a serious nature. max answered, “do you think one night will satisfy us?” your brown-skin lit ablaze, and you didn’t feel the need to answer the question.

the three of you fall straight asleep once you arrive in the villa—and you don’t know why there was a slight twinge of disappointment swirling around your mind. it’s not like you expected your tired boyfriends to fuck you after a greuling weekend; you’d rather them be properly rested and well energized for that activity. and in the morning, you’re woken up by max peppering kisses along your neck and charles tracing unknown patterns across your waist, and a brief smidge of nerves floats across your consciousness before disappearing. the nerves weren’t needed anyways, because when you try and deepen each man’s morning kisses, they slip out of bed and scold you for trying to ruin their plan. while your cheeks flame at the warning, your heart warms at their seriousness—they made a special night just for you. 

they feed you breakfast in bed, coax you into a mid-morning nap, join you for a shower, let you lounge in a hammock while max embarrassed charles in football, they join you in another nap in the shaded cabana, and by the time you wake up it’s settling into the evening, and the boys rouse you into preparing dinner with them.

the evening belongs in one of the rom-com movies max claims to hate but secretly loves. charles is playing romantic french songs quietly through the sound system, max steals bites of ingredients right out of your hands, charles is firmly kept away from any knives and his only job is to shred parmesan for the carbonara you’re putting together, and max pops open a bottle of wine with a date so old you fear to learn its price tag. 

dinner simultaneously crawls and flies by. the anticipation for tonight’s dessert has you nearly vibrating through the chair and you can see the amused smiles on the men’s faces. the minute dishes are set to wash, they lead you to the bedroom.

it’s like the first night all over again.

max sits at the foot of the bed, and charles helps you sit on his lap. the desperation tonight isn’t present; the men are thorough, unrushed, and plentiful in taking their time exploring your body again. max undresses you on his lap, his eyes not falling to look at the length of your body and charles is focused on peeling off his own clothes. the dutch guides you gently to lay on your back, and only with your permission do the two let their eyes wander.

and everywhere they trace with their eyes, they follow with their lips. from your forehead, to your brows, to your temple, to your nose, to your cheeks, to your lips, to your jaw, to your pulse, to your throat, to your collarbone, to your shoulders, to your arms, to your chest, to your ribs, to your wait, to your navel, to your hips, to your thighs, to your calves, to your ankles, and back up to your cunt.

charles has the pleasure of relaxing you with his tongue, while max follows after him with his fingers. when max removes his three fingers, deeming you prepared, the nerves are back. when you hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper, the nerves build. when you hear max hiss at the feeling of charles’ hands rolling the condom on, the nerves amplify–and you panic.

“waitwaitwait,” you rush out, sitting up and pulling your thighs clothes. the men freeze, and quickly reach out to soothe you, murmuring words of reassurance and reminding you they won’t move any further without your consent.

you laugh, embarrassed, “i-i’m nervous…”

charles coos, and sits at your side to pull you into a hug, while max rubs a hand on your waist tenderly.

“liefje, being nervous is normal. i know we’ve talked about how it’s going to feel multiple times, but i understand that’s incredibly difficult from experiencing it. if you want to stop, we won't be mad, answer won’t mind waiting longer,” max says, making sure he holds eye contact with you so you are aware that he’s being honest with you.

you pat and charles so he’ll loosen his grasp on you, and lean back flat on the bed, “will you hold my hand, cha?”

charles bites his lip for a second before he chokes out a “oui,” and locks hands with you. max has to let his eyes shut for a few seconds before he allows them to open again. the innocent lilt to your voice has not lost it’s attractiveness, your inexperience clearly showing and it still sends them both reeling.

max pulls your legs around your waist, and guides the head of his cock against your entrance. he leans down to lock his lips with yours, waiting for you to relax again, and it doesn’t take long. your cunt gives way at a little pressure from max, and the pop of the tip of his dick within you stops your breathing. charles shushes your whine, brushing stray curls out of your face and kissing the back of your hand. your breathing resumes when max presses more within you, and your face tightens and the stretch—it’s not painful in the way you thought it would be, it’s uncomfortable, with a slight twinge of pain you expected, but the fullness makes up for it. 

when max bottoms out, the two of you moan brokenly into each other’s mouths. max sees the uncomfortable look on your face and remains as steady as he possibly can, dropping his head to paint new marks across your neck while you adjust to his size. the two men are probably running their mouths, chattering away their praises at you, and even though you are already too gone to register their words, they turn your brain to syrup and one of max’s “pretty girl”’s you grind your hips forward. 

max hums at the movement, and carefully shifts forward to meet you, his eyes reading your expression carefully. your eyes are glazed over, and they dance loosely around his face before settling on his eyes, and he smiles sweetly, chuckling a little at the embarrassed tint that he knows rests underneath your brown skin. his hips slowly start to turn into a rock, and he brightens at the sighed moans of pleasure you begin to fill the room with. 

charles slides his hand in between your bodies to drag a firm thumb against your nipples, and the two men relish in the sharp squeal you let out–max choking at the even tighter grasp of your pussy. max shifts to rest kneeled between your legs and his next thrust within you at the new angle, has your body trembling against the sheets while a near scream escapes your chest, with toes-curling, and tummy tightening. 

the dutch coos, “oh, that’s the spot—right there—isn’t it, liefje? you’ve been so good for us, pretty girl, yeah? you deserve to feel so good, baby. take it.”

your whines, moans, cries, and whimpers only increase in frequency and volume as max keeps his precise assault on your g spot as his thrusts work up to a faster speed. the sound of your absolutely soaked cunt being speared open by his cock will never leave your mind—the slaps and squelches too enticing. your cunt flutters around max’s cock sporadically, and he turns to charles with a pleased smile, “she’s going to cum already, schatje. it’s a good thing we have a few more days here.”

you whine, taking your free hand and pulling max face back to look at you again, “‘wanna cum! please, maxy—i wanna–”

charles hand that was previously playing with your chest, slips lower and rubs tight and quick circles around your clit, and the surrounding shriek and tightens, has max shaking above you. he hides his face in your neck and his thrusts are movingly quickly now, deep and short movements filled with power that you can hear from the slap of his skin against yours.

your grasp on charles’ hand tightens, and your other reaches mas to dig your nails into his shoulder for purchase, and with staccato breaths, whited-out vision, and drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, you cum—and real pleasure coasts over you in waves. 

max slows the forceful rolls of his hips to slight grinds, pressing deep within you and relishing the way your cunt fluctuates around him, and with pure will he staves off his own orgasm while you come down. he pulls his head away from your neck, and searches your face.

your babbling nonsensically, words mushing together in a murmured fashion, with a blissed-out smile dancing across your lips.

“oh–,” max hums, “you’re so gone, sweet girl. haven’t even fucked you for real, and you’ve forgotten how to act.”

charles tuts, flicking max on the hip, “max. be nice to her—your dick tends to make people lose their train of thought.”

“i think she’s lost a little more than her thoughts, tonight,” max snorts, “i’m going to pull out, and you slide in, yeah?”

when the older man pulls out of you, you claw at his shoulders trying to get him to stay on top of you and back inside of you. none of their words soothe you, and max is very glad he’s an athlete and that he’s turned your limbs to jello with your first orgasm to make you malleable. charles is quick to press his wrapped up cock inside you, and moans deeply at the hot and soaking wet channel. your whines and tears at your previous emptiness cease, and you buck your hips up to have charles deeper in you quicker.

“max~,” charles moans highly, the call of his name slurred and clumsy, “putain–ah–she’s too tight, how did you not come?”

“years of fucking you, charlie,” max laughs, pressing a kiss to the monegasque’s temple, “make her cum pretty boy, and then i’ll fuck you too.”

1k special taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri@inloveallthetime @mindless-rock @biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea@dreamingofautopia @jayswifee @megatrilss1885 @nanamilkbread @sophia12345678 @benstormy @userlandonorris@xxniallxxsworld @starfusionsworld@hangmandruigandmav @spicybagel14 @itsmiamalfoy @ineedafictionalman @everythingabby101@valent1na-ferrari @dark-night-sky-99@svinzlec @angelfreckless @gg-trini@tallrock35 @angelbunny222 @spideybv28 @iloveyou3000morgan

© httpsserene2023

[leonardburton]

the thing is. juno & nureyev's relationship has been such a major guiding thread throughout the podcast and the major drive of season 5, and the fandom has built itself so much (as fandoms often do) around shipping the two of them.

and yet nureyev doesn't show up at all in the last episode! or, he does, but it's only implied (for all we know it could be like. alessandra strong)(i know it's not but it would be really funny) and we don't hear his voice.

and it's so important to me that despite the room that their romance has taken in the plot and in our hearts, his absence reinforces that the point of juno steel's story wasn't a lady getting his man, it was about learning to grow as person for himself and for his friends (and not just his love interest), and it was about finding his footing in life and being at peace with himself and his place in the world. and he did! his growth and relative serenity is so apparent and just. a balm to the soul

and the fact that his man is back is just a nice add-on, not a necessity for his happiness

[6ft-under-beacon-hills]

𝟮𝟬/𝟮𝟬 𝗩𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 — 𝗦𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗸 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘁

From this voting post to this ficlet. I hope you'll enjoy it!

summary: Due to a series of unfortunate events, Derek temporarily loses his werewolves ability... which apparently includes 20/20 vision. Let's just say Derek has Stiles' attention in a different light now (not that he's aware about it anyway). tags: attempt at humour, canon-typical sterek banters, canon-typical description of violence (mild), 'unfortunate events' are not specified/describe, au setting but sort of close to canon, not beta read

Nobody really realised it. Not even Derek himself.

It first started when Deaton, displaying the usual cryptic persona, held out a small, opaque jar to Derek. He said that the only way to confirm it is by testing it out. But his opinion was beginning to cement itself when Derek had to squint to read the faded label when typically even the slightest scent of it should have been enough for any were-beings to know the jar contained Mountain Ash. (What they confirmed that night was that Derek was no longer a supernatural as he could easily hold a handful of Mountain Ash on his palm).

The second time it happened was when Scott unrolled a blueprint on the table, the details of the structure neatly written on the corners of the pages, it was small but it was readable. Everyone gathered around it, taking turns to rotate the paper to their direction. Derek, however, leaned in, lower than when Stiles wanted to take in all the information on it, and when that was not enough, he took the blueprints and lifted it up to his face – scanning the entire page inches away from his nose.

The pack started to suspect it then.

Scott with all his gentleness and concern was the one who voiced it out. "Is everything okay, Derek?"

Well, not the way Stiles would've said it but this was Scott. He beats around the bushes sometimes, starts a conversation with a question.

"Yeah." Derek grunted, throwing the blueprint back onto the table. And that's the thing with question, often time, people don't give a truthful answer.

Then they went on with planning as if Derek hadn't practically kiss the blueprint paper. Stiles kept his eyes on Derek the entire night.

And the day after, and after, and after.

So almost a week after the shocking revelation that Derek lost his supernatural abilities, Stiles noted a few things about normal-Derek. As normal as Derek could be, that is.

Things like, how Derek flinches when there was a sudden noise (typically Peter's obnoxious laughter), or how he would sigh in frustration when something was too heavy to be easily carried the first time (he'd still managed to carry it though, that muscle-headed beast), or how he would squint at anything he decided to focus on if it was a certain distance from him (probably because he refused another display of grabbing something so close to his face).

The fact that this had gone on for almost week was hilarious. How did anyone not notice it? Or maybe they noticed it but decided leave him be? Derek does have a habit of grabbing someone by the collar and threatening them. Stiles doubted that any of his usual 'rip your throat with my teeth' would hold any actual scariness but he also valued his life not to bring it up carelessly himself.

Stiles strategised. He always does. He chose a day where the pack had a meeting, chose time frame just after work and before the meeting, chose a location where it was public enough to ensure Derek does not misbehave but the two would still have their treasured privacy. It worked wonders, by the way, and for a split second he allowed himself to silently bask in the glory of 'people should listen to me more because my plan always works'. Who was he kidding, he took his head out of his ass and attend to the matters at hand – a grumpy Derek, unable to threaten Stiles or deter away the conversation, thus ultimately admitting that he, in fact, can't see well.

And who is Stiles if he's not prepared, right?

He slid a rectangular black box towards Derek, who rolled his eyes at the item.

"I don't need that."

"Yes. Yes, you do." Stiles was not one to give up. "Have you seen how you look just now? Trying to read the menu like it was a Mathematical problem? Who reads with that much squinting power and scowling?"

A low growl came from Derek's throat.

Stiles went rigid. Well, good to know he can still do that.

"Just wear it okay." Stiles sighed. "Since when are you the advocate of fashion and styles, anyway. Think of it this way; What if Scott needs some help but you can't clearly see which one is Scott and which one is the enemy? You ended up, oh I don't know, shooting Scott???"

That seemed to convince him.

"Fine." Derek grunted. He took the box, unexpectedly gentle with it as he carefully close it back once he took out the glasses. He glanced at Stiles first, in which Stiles held out both of his thumbs out with a grin, and he scoffed as he put on the glasses. He propped his elbows on the table, hands clasped, "Happy?"

When Stiles did not answer, Derek continued, "You didn't have to be so disgusted."

Stiles still did not answer. He was not disgusted for sure, but he can't seem to find his voice. It seemed to be stuck in his throat. He swallowed his saliva just in case. Yes, it must be something that he ate just now, he reasoned, an allergy or something. It'd explained his rising heartbeat.

Derek sighed, a hand reaching to the glasses.

In a speed of light, Stiles stumbled over the empty cup with his hands, knocking it off the table, as he hurriedly stop Derek from removing the glasses. It was an instinctual act more than anything.

The two of them stuck in that awkward position, like two separate lines finally meeting at one point, Derek sat, his fingers pinching the air as Stiles hand wrapped around his wrist, halting his initial movement. Derek observed as Stiles appeared to look panicked, his eyebrows furrowed, the upturnt lips, and the intense focus to his eyes. The sound of the bell ringing against the opening door snapped them back into the present.

Stiles released his hold, he returned to sitting, albeit fidgeting more than ever, as he clear his throat with a small 'Sorry'. Derek simply looked away.

If the new customers came in just a few seconds late, Derek would've seen the way Stiles' eyes drifted from his eyes down to his lips for a split-second. Stiles dragged a hand down his face. "We should go," he said as he stood. "They must be there already."

Derek simply nodded and followed Stiles out.

Fuck, Stiles thought. No way.

"Hey, wait up." Derek called out from behind, picking up the pace to catch up. The setting sunlight reflected on his glasses. "You forgot to pay for your drink, so you owe me now."

Fuck no, Stiles cursed inwardly, glaring at Derek before entering his Jeep.

No way in any hell I'm finding him attractive with glasses on.

a/n: thinking of making a part two maybe...

[serene-sun]

'You can always reach me

You will never ever walk alone' 🦇

Using this to honestly just comfort myself because I’m having the worst month possible. Nevermind today, todays health is falling miserably :(

Copia gently knocked on the bathroom door, “everything ok little one?” He asked softly

You whined, overstimulation taking over as you started to cry.

The ear ache, stomach cramps, the bleeding from your angry uterus, the shakiness of your hands, the weakness to stand and move, the sunburn, the allergic reaction hives across your arms and thighs.

It was all far too much.

“Darling? Ok I’m coming in.” Copia said before pushing open the bathroom door to find you curled up shivering in the corner of the bathtub.

“Is everything ok?” He urgently went to your side as he kneeled down.

“No.” You say honestly, legs quivering twice as much as your voice.

“What’s the issue?” He says, hand on your knee to try and comfort you while still waiting an answer.

“Everything…” you say, head falling to rest against the white tile, “it’s hard to speak.” You say shakily.

“Ok just give me one second,” he looks around the bathroom before grabbing a notepad and pen from your bag you dropped down after getting back to your room. “Eh can you write?” He asks awkwardly

You give him an annoyed look but do your best to take the pen, it takes you three tries to pick it up, just writing two words makes you almost pass out.

“Ok…I think I know what the issue is” he rubs your knees as he realizes the recent behavior changes, it adds up for him.

“This shaking and fatigue, it’s your blood sugar too right? Let me see, I think we have some of your favorite tres leches in the fridge.” He says, getting off his knees as he gently wipes a tear from your face.

After a few minutes, he comes back with a Benadryl, four pads, your iPad, a blanket, a cup of tres leches and strawberries, a bottled water and one of his track suits.

“Ok, can you try to change for me? I know it’s hard but I promise you will feel so much better my little bat.” He smiles softly as he sets the stuff down.

After an attempt of changing, taking a Benadryl and getting comfy with copia in the bathtub; you both watch YouTube on your iPad and eat tres leches as you try to get your blood sugar back up.

[sailormoonandme]

Sailor Moon: The End...a.k.a. WHAT HAPPENED AFTER SAILOR MOON COSMOS!?

Ao3

FFN

Ao3 Collection: Sailor Moon Cosmos Movie Epilogue

Excerpt: Amidst the bright Solar System, two figures danced upon the Moon. “Be honest. Did you ever doubt you’d win?”   Despite her contentment, she didn’t have the heart to lie, especially not to him.      “Yeah, I did… Did you?”   He shook his head.   “How come?”   “Because I’ve always known that, no matter what, you will shine bright. For now, and all eternity.”   Endymion leaned in and, as their lips met, the Earth seemed to hang massive behind them. “I’m Tsukino Usagi. I’m over fourteen billion years old and in my second incarnation. I’ve been a princess, a queen, a klutz, and, I have to admit, sometimes a cry-baby. But the truth is, I am a pretty, sailor-suited soldier of love and justice. Sailor Cosmos..."

Summary: Much of what once was has been forever lost. What little remains stands upon the brink of total annihilation as this Last Great Sailor War draws to its close. There are just two Senshi left standing as the very dimensional fabric unravels. And only one of them holds the faintest glimmer of salvation for the cosmos.

Ao3

FFN

Ao3 Collection: Sailor Moon Cosmos Movie Epilogue

[master-ray5]

https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/121810672

This author has a doujin coming out featuring the King and Queen enjoying some adult time together. Yes please!

[serendark]

Too Many Triangles

Summary:

Stanley Pines never knew what to make of that creepy cult room full of triangles that he found beneath his brother's house. Decades later, as the portal turns on, he thinks about what he's seen in all three of his brother's journals. He thinks about the note that Bill left behind for Mabel. This demon triangle has been harassing his family. There’s entirely way too many triangles in this house and in this family’s lives. Hours later after the worst reunion Stan's ever had, he steels himself and travels back downstairs, back to the portal basement. He needs to talk to Ford about Bill. He needs to protect his family. Even if that family apparently includes someone who hates him now.

Word count: 8,717

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Language: English

Characters: Stanley Pines (major), Stanford Pines (major), Bill Cipher (mentioned repeatedly), Dipper Pines (brief), Mabel Pines (brief)

Tags: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Self-Harm, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Guilt, Minor Violence

Spoilers: Season 2 (canon divergent: s02e11 "Not What He Seems"), Journal 3 (lore reference), The Book of Bill (lore reference)

Read on AO3.

Glistening rainbow shimmers of long-abandoned pyramid prisms were indiscernible from the flutters of stale dust motes that fell around Stanley’s shoulders like a hideous ceremonial scarf as he tore pallid drapes down from the walls to the floor beneath his feet.

All too suddenly the room was all too small, walls caving in and seizing the man’s lungs while tumultuous needles pinned his frozen legs in place. He didn’t know where to look, but there was only one place he could, washing over him in waves of deep, dark, terror: Dozens upon dozens of eyes gazing back at him, staring right through him, every inch of his soul torn open and laid bare to see, to be chewed and drank by these confusing triangles… By the absurdly gaudy golden statue that might as well have winked back at him for all that it deigned.

Stan stumbled backwards, backside and hands meeting the floor as he struggled to process what he was beholding. This did not feel like something he should have seen, and he couldn’t shake the gross feeling bubbling under his skin that there was no taking it back, no undoing the fact that he is now privy to this awful, terrible room of goddamn cult secrets. He has become a part of this and he cannot scrub that away.

“What the hell, Sixer…?”

He never knew what to make of this room, and after scouring the piles, drawers, and corners for anything that might help with the portal he never once returned, preferring to forget about it entirely if he could. Unfortunately, forgetting was rather difficult since he passed the place every time he went down to the basement and he kept finding more of those damn prisms in random rooms in his brother’s home.

Sometimes he wondered if he should care more about this discovery, but it’s not like he had a lot of leads to work with. The journal in his possession didn’t mention anything about it and neither did any of the papers scattered around the room or lab, so other than the obvious similarity with the shape of the portal, Stan doubted if there even was more for him to learn, anyway. He just needed to fix the portal, get it running, and get his nerd brother back home. That’s all that mattered. No creepy geometry could alter the path which Stan has stitched into his very soul.

He will fix his greatest mistake or he will die trying. If this house does not see the two brothers reunited, then it will bear witness to the disappearance of both instead.

It’s the least Stan can do.

—

An extensive, wavering exhale rolled over Grunkle Stan’s nerves as he sat on the edge of his bed, head in hands and mind whirring over everything that had happened today. Finally, Stanford Pines was home. The real Stanford.

… Home? What was ‘home’ to Stanley Pines, now? Certainly not in his brother’s arms like he had hoped. Apparently not in the Mystery Shack, either. Not for much longer. A dark chuckle wheezed through his lips as he gingerly massaged the bruise on his temple.

No matter. His twin hates him now, but that won’t change what Stan needs to do. He’s almost tempted to hate himself for his own stubbornness, at this point, but that won’t change the facts. Ungrateful bastard or not, a sad 30 years of daring to hope only for it to leak down the drain… And Stan still knows what path he has bound himself to. He is going to protect his family. Even if that family now includes someone who, once again, is trying to send him away to never see his sorry mug ever again. Even if that family now includes someone who he himself disowned as family merely an hour or two ago.

…Shit, he really regretted that. He idly wondered if Ford might be regretting that whole conversation too, but Stan just shook his head before he got lost in that train of thought for too long.

Bill Cipher. It’s been a long time coming: Stan finally needs to confront the damn triangles with their damn eyes.

He still didn’t know what to make of the private study he found beneath this house all those years ago. But what he did know is that, whatever the geometric eyesore is, it’s dangerous. Stan has scoured every page of the second and third journals lately, blacklight included, and it was all… a lot to take in. Despite what Ford had said, Stan isn’t an idiot. He knows that triangle is bad news. He knows Ford was real chummy with the guy once and then fell out of line, with some rather disturbing pages in Dipper’s journal to prove it.

This demon triangle has been harassing his family. There’s entirely way too many triangles in this house, in his brother’s journals, in the kids’ dreams, in this family’s lives. And Stanley Pines is going to do something about it.

—

He swallowed down the static in his head and the cotton ball in his mouth as he waited for the elevator to carry him down to Hell. He was hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t a mistake.

Well, even if it was, he was doing it anyway. He’s pretty good at that. He’s sure Ford would be more than happy to remind him, even. Safest bet he’s ever gambled.

Once more partaking of their familiar 30-years-long song and dance, the elevator rattled and released Stan into the maw beneath this home for yet another time. Cautious feet stepped forward as he peered ahead, trying to locate his brother.

Stanford was in the portal cavern. Hands busy, head ducked down, sparks flying. The room was still a mess from the gravitational anomalies that had preceded the worst reunion in Stan’s life, though it looked like Ford had pushed some things into comparatively tidier piles. The portal was in even more pieces than it had been after the chaos earlier.

Alright. It’s showtime.

Stan wasn’t looking forward to it.

“We need to talk, Poindexter.”

The speed with which Ford whipped around, choking back a yelp, would have been impressive, perhaps funny, even, if Stan weren’t so anxious. Ford had damn near fallen over, peering towards the source of the sound with too-wide eyes as he dropped what he had been doing and reached beneath his coat towards his gun―

“Wh… Stanley–!”

Stan just shrugged. “Yeesh.” He felt as tired as Ford looked. It’s been a long day and now he’s come back down to this accursed old basement to make it even longer.

Before Ford could finish stringing together his thoughts or lacing his tongue with venom, Stan wagered to jump right into the train directly, disregarding the nausea settling in his stomach: “We gotta deal with that Bill Cipher guy, right? I don’t exactly understand what the sitch is but–”

He saw the ceiling rotate over him and felt his back collide with the floor before he could even blink, world spinning and stars infiltrating his vision as hard as his lungs hissed. He swallowed against the muzzle of Ford’s gun pressed to his neck, those angry owlish eyes boring mere inches away from his face, the man’s full body weight keeping Stan pinned flat; knees digging into thighs and wrists scrunched in a vice grip by an impossibly firm six-fingered hand. Ford growled. Oh sweet Moses, yeah this was going about as well as Stan figured it would.

Panic. Gotta say somethin’. “Oookay, uh, Ford… Stanford, care to explain why ya just came at me like a damn cheetah pouncin’ a bison?” A gruff cough betrayed the grin he tried to steady his heart rate with.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds–

Confusion crossed over Ford’s eyes like a delayed signal, eyebrows furrowing as the gears in his brain turned. Stan swore he could see smoke coming out of this nerd’s ears. He blinked, spluttering, leaning back slightly with his grip on Stan’s wrists slacking. “Cheetahs and bisons aren’t even on the same continent, Stanley!”

Stan simply offered him a million-dollar grin and the best shrug he could in response. Which was difficult, by the way, thank you Ford. “Get off me, dammit.” Ford leaned back, letting Stan sit up, but frowned at him the entire time with his gun still primed and waaaay too close to Stan’s face for comfort. Was that a snarl? Seriously?

He was seconds away from figuring out what he was going to say next when an offensively bright light beamed into his eyes and shocked his mind to blankness, Ford’s hands gripping Stan’s face as he forced each eye open in turn before the light disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Stan swore furiously, waving his arms in front of his face and trying to scoot away, only succeeding once Ford finally backed off and let him free.

When Stan finished rubbing his eyes and pulling himself back onto his feet, he saw that Ford had returned to his earlier position of crouching by the ruined portal. Okay, seriously? All that bullshit that just happened and you’re desperate to shove your nose back into some busywork like I’m not even here–

“...How do you know about Bill, Lee?” Ford was back on his feet, body facing Stanley though eyes downcast as though the floor could answer his questions instead. Stan hesitated, the bite of his anger gradually receding as his eyes took in his brother for what might truly be the first real time since he walked through that luminous, ephemeral, triangular frame of metal. His eyes drank in the deep, dark circles under Stanford’s cracked glasses, the pasty color of his skin, the patchy stubble on his face, the sweat sliding down his forehead from his mop of greasy mussed-up hair…

The way his closed fists were trembling as if taut with tension, just like his brow and his lip, presenting a portrait of a Poindexter who was teetering on the cusp of erupting into his own flaming supernova where he stood. Stan knew that feeling. Had partied with it multiple times. He was intimately familiar with the way it burrowed a hole in your chest in place of your heart: a fear that was all-consuming, an anxiety that buzzed beneath one’s skin; a frantic, off-kilter energy that kept a ragged man going on his feet when he had nothing else yet couldn’t bear to simply not care.

This was a man who was running on fumes, no fuel left in the tank, and ready to collapse into non-existence the moment the strings puppeting him forward decided to stop yanking him along.

A man with one reason to live, yet even that reason is barely enough. The worst buried secret in the world; a heavy weight plain as day upon his shoulders and carving out the marrow of his bones.

Stanley recognized pretty easily the poorly-hidden tells of devastated fear and utter exhaustion in his brother’s body language. Because he had lived like that, too. Because he still struggled to remind himself when it wasn’t one of those days.

Sixer had never looked so… small.

Stan heaved a deep breath, slow and rickety enough for him to feel it vibrate down his limbs.

“Read ‘bout him in your journals.” Ford’s head lifted slightly, eyes flashing to Stan’s face. “...‘Nd the kids had the misfortune of fightin’ him.” Stanley might as well have punched Ford directly through his core for all that the words, hanging in the air, impacted this man and hung despair on his face. “‘Course, they don’t know that I know that.”

“... What happened?” His brother’s voice was barely a whisper, almost a keening whine from his lungs as he ran his hands through his hair and down his face, fingers creeping under his glasses to push into his eyes as he massaged his temples. It was like his eyebrows hadn’t left his hairline in minutes, the creases in his forehead deep enough to age him by another few decades.

Stan hobbled over to the ruins of the portal, taking a moment to stretch his lower back before sitting on the cold stone and patting the ground next to him. Ford didn’t immediately follow, but kept his eyes trained on him the whole time. Stan just started talking anyway.

“Alright, without talkin’ to the kids about it I don’t got the whole picture, but I got enough. Some rascal kid that was freakin’ Mabel out tried to take the Shack. Same kid who found your second journal, wherever the hell that was.” Ford had carefully stepped closer, hovering over Stan before letting himself sink into place on the floor beside him. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands and was awkwardly twiddling all twelve of his fingers while he listened, muscles in his face twitching.

“Mabes and Soos saw this kid, Gideon is his name, summoning the guy. Bill, I mean. Made a deal with ‘im to go in my head ‘nd find the code to my safe, so he could steal the deed to the Shack.” Ford raised an eyebrow, making his posture straighter for a moment as he prepared to speak before Stan just continued and cut him off. “The kids used that spell in yer third book to go into m’ head, uh, my mindscape, and fight him out. Whatever they did, it worked, though that piece of geometry didn’t seem to amount to much compared ta what that Gideon did next anyways. Kid had a plan B that didn’t involve Bill.”

“You weren’t there for this.” Ford said it like a statement, but with an intonation to his voice that made it an inquiry. Stan shook his head. “I was out cold. Not sure I even dreamed that night.” Ford nodded.

Silence chilled the air between these old men as Stan cracked his neck and began popping every one of his knuckles in turn, only releasing his breath once he was finished. Ford wanted nothing more than to break this silence, to urge Stan to continue, but it felt… sacred, somehow. Once Stan was ready, he balled his hands into fists and snorted. “S’next part really pisses me off.” He didn’t notice Ford gulp and tentatively hover a hand in his direction before changing his mind.

“I dunno what was said, I dunno what it all looked like, but that bastard got in Dipper’s head, got in his body.”

He suddenly turned to look at Ford, eyes wide. “He hurt him. Gave him scars. Gave him nightmares. Gave Mabel nightmares, too.” Stan’s mouth opened and closed, hanging strangely for a moment while his eyebrows knit together. “...Bill left a note, Stanford. For Mabel to find.”

One shaky inhale later, he continued. “Was gonna… jump off the water tower. Invited Mabel to the same.” He turned away from Ford, leaning back against the portal again and flexing his fingers, shoulders tense while he cracked his neck again. Stan’s gaze was forward and distant, a hollow feeling taking over his face and posture.

A loud slam startled him back into awareness.

Ford had sat up and punched the piece of portal he had been leaning against, struggling with growled breaths of air and trembling shoulders. He grit his teeth and punched it again. And again. Then he tottered to his feet and slapped both open palms into the metal, dipping his head forward and colliding against it. He hissed, rearing his head back like he was preparing for a larger blow―

“Woah― hey, hey, Ford! Stanford!” Stan was on his feet in no time and shoved Ford away from the portal, digging his hands down into Ford’s shoulders to hopefully keep him immobile. Ford wobbled and refused to meet his eyes, but Stan managed to keep him rooted where his feet stood. “What the hell was that about? Ford, buddy, are–”

Ford growled again and yanked himself backwards out of Stan’s hands, but made no move towards the portal. Stan’s hands floated, the man hesitating while he tried to put together what to say while his brain was still buzzing from whatever the heck it was that just happened.

“...My fault…”

Stanley froze, unsure if he heard that right.

“It’s my fault! I’m the reason why the kids are hurt, I’m the reason why they can’t sleep in peace. This is my fault, damn it!” Stan couldn’t entirely understand the next few words Sixer spoke, like some kind of foreign language, but he didn’t need to. His brother slumped over to the portal, giving it a half-hearted kick before leaning one shoulder on it and crumpling down to the floor. He tucked his face into his knees and wrapped his arms around his bent legs in a gesture that Stan well and truly understood.

Seeing his brother like this gave him flashbacks of a different time, of back when two young boys had spent the sweltering afternoon venting about life on a beach with grains of sand and glass between their toes. The shade of a patched-up wooden boat enveloped them in comfort much like the warm, salty air did the same. Stan needed to punch what was making Sixer feel this way. Stan needed to hug his brother. Stan needed to protect him and take care of him and make sure he never felt like this ever again. Down here in a stuffy basement in Oregon, Stan could have swore he smelled the ocean for just a moment. He licked his lips and tasted salt.

But when he reached a hand out to Stanford’s shoulder this time, his brother slapped it away and glared daggers at him. “It’s your fault for interrupting me during my fight! You should not have turned the portal back on!” Stan gaped at him and reeled back from the outburst of rage and accusation, his head feeling like an out-of-control jackhammer of confusion and pain.

He saw a nerdy little boy shaking his head, shoving his twin’s chest, and running out of the shade, running out of the sand, his snot-nosed face poorly hidden in the crook of an elbow.

“This was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal! Didn't you read my warnings?!”

“Stanley! Stanley! Do something! STANLEY!!”

Memories and voices from hours to years past spun a cacophony in his brain, a terrible chokehold that rattled the old man and stole his tongue. The room felt as though it were trying to take the air from his chest, twisting and swaying and becoming smaller around him. The broken portal sneered at him, trying to scare him away with taunts of his mistakes, with visions of a brother who pushed him into a burning hot panel 30 years ago and would gladly shove him out of his life today. It felt boiling, perspiration rolling down these walls of stone while sweat poured down his face and his burnt shoulder throbbed, stung, and scarred just like yesterday.

There was a painful pressure between his ears that urged him to leave, to escape, to find safety in a dark corner out of sight and as far away from here as possible like he failed to do three decades ago. If he stayed here then this grisly room, no, this ghastly portal, were going to squeeze his guts out inch-by-inch and break his bones one-by-one, the lightest punishment they could sentence him with. The eye of the portal would be judge, jury, and executioner, even from the floor as it was. He thought the laughter coming from the elevator behind his back sounded like his brother’s… only, higher-pitched and strangely distorted. Something off-putting, much like how he is out of place and out of his league in this basement. He was the one who willingly came back down here, letting his feet bring him to Hell. He was the one who dared to talk to Stanford. He should flee Oregon, he should ditch his name again, he should take Ford’s journal and go back out through the blitzing snow and leave and―

Stan closed his eyes, eyebrows scrunched as hard as humanly possible while he thought about why he came down here in the first place.

Bill.

Bill Cipher.

Right, that’s right.

That triangular devil.

The ruckus in his head slowed down all at once as he pictured Ford’s intricate drawings and written warnings, his mind’s eye blocking everything else out as it tunneled in on what mattered the most. A glowing triangle seated amidst a blackness that blanketed the cavern around him in an act of grace which smothered his fevered thoughts. A white hot fury in Stan’s chest that radiated outwards in this dark, musty basement, encouraging him forward. The portal was nothing more than piles of scrap, tape, and screws. The elevator was silent with only rust and age to its name. His brother was home. Stanford was here. Ford and Bill. His brother punched him in the face.

Stan huffed and abruptly spun away from Stanford, stomping over to the control hub area of the lab. Upon returning to the portal chamber moments later carrying one of those clear pyramid prisms, he made eye contact with Ford and then roared as he chucked the pyramid into the stone floor with all the might he could. Unsurprisingly, unfortunately, it did not shatter or break. Stan knew it wouldn’t. He’s taken out his stress on it before.

Ford was startled by Stan’s sudden violence, jumping at the impact noise and cringing as the prism rolled an echoing clatter across the floor. He swallowed when Stan whipped around to face him, his brother’s eyes searing a fierce unforgiving flame into his retinas as he glowered.

“Let me make myself clear. I’ve READ yer nerd diaries, Stanford. I KNOW ya have that really damn creepy room down here with this triangle bastard all over the walls, ‘nd I also know the last things you wrote about him were ugly as all hell.” He crossed his arms, turning his head to look real hard at the shadows in the corner. “I get it, whatever, you think it’s a mistake that I saved ya, you think it’s just another worthless screw-up from Stanley Pines. I don’t need a reminder of how much ya hate me.”

“Stanley–”

The con man snarled, meeting Ford’s eyes again. “What’s important right now is this guy is messin’ with our family. I dunno how you know this guy or what all happened between ya, but if you care at all about protecting the kids then let’s just go find some unicorns or whatever the hell and take care of this weirdo already! Then I’ll be outta your hair just like you wanted ‘nd we can pretend this all never happened.”

He shoved a finger at Ford, stepping closer. “‘Nd I don’t wanna hear it outta your mouth that any of this is your fault. I won’t stand for you badmouthing yourself, and I don’t wanna see you hurtin’ yourself again.” His eyes flickered to the portal frame briefly. “I am gonna protect this family from that demon monster and that includes you no matter how much you make it clear you don’t wanna see my sorry face. So DEAL with it, Poindexter, and stuff it.”

With that, Stanley stomped his foot and went to lean against the portal a little farther away from Ford. Ford couldn’t seem to swallow the tension in the air down enough no matter how hard he tried, sheepishly keeping his head turned down towards his feet.

The only sound that hazarded being heard now was the ever-present hum of resting machinery in the nearby control room. Red, white, green, and blue lights slowly blinking in and out of existence. Dark screens and large windows reflecting blackness and the distant visage of two upset twin brothers. A glossy, framed photograph of Dipper and Mabel smiling at the camera; Dipper giving Mabel bunny ears while she stuck her fingers in her mouth and stretched her face into the silliest, widest smile she could.

Twin siblings sharing the moment together like nobody else could do it better.

A captured memory of two kids being kids.

Happy memories from the beginning of an Oregon summer that supervised the final stretch of Stan’s very long 30 years, now bookended at last by the portal finally turning on.

Happy memories from nostalgic summers on Glass Shard Beach that safeguarded Stan through his shivers in the sleepless night, jacket pulled tight around his shoulders while he waited out the bite of winter in his car.

A worn photo of two boys that burned a hole in Stanford’s chest where the pocket of his black coat rested.

Dust hung in the air for minutes, fluttering in a draft so small it might have been imagined. Silence that built itself into a fortress, brick by brick. Tension that polluted the very air, threading it into thick, inedible cotton and dry tongues.

Breaking the silence had never felt less appealing. It would have been preferred had a chasm opened up and swallowed him instead.

Ford wiped his hands down his face again and sighed. “Alright. I can accept that I need to tell you about Bill. You are the other adult here and the primary guardian of these children. You’re already involved, anyway.” In his peripheral he caught Stan looking at him in the corner of his eye, clearly listening.

“Bill is… a dream demon made of energy who possesses no physical form in our world. He must manifest through dreams–projecting into our mindscapes–to interact with our realm. Or… make a deal that gives him control of a human body. Like… Like a puppet.” It didn’t escape Stan’s notice how Ford cringed, shame and fear washing over his face instantaneously.

“The purpose of the portal is to enable Bill access to our world in the flesh with his own physical body. Then he can use his god-like powers to take over and wreak havoc upon human society as we know it, bringing the whole of planet Earth, nay, Dimension 46'\, to pure chaos and ruin.”

As Ford continued to speak, Stan carefully came back closer and sat down on the floor again, trying not to grimace at his back as he did so. He was careful not to touch Ford. For but a moment he felt dizzy as he lowered himself, swimming colors in his vision putting his knees in sand before he blinked and was back on the stone floor.

“I… There is a deal between Cipher and I that is still in effect, but I have a metal plate in my head now that nullifies his influence over me. So I am safe.” At Stan’s raised eyebrow, Ford knocked his knuckles against his forehead. Sure enough, Stan heard the metallic echo.

Stan licked his lips, trying to choose his next words carefully. “If ya got that while in sci-fi sideburns land, then… you didn’t have it when ya asked me to come here, back in the 80’s.”

Ford seemed surprised, but nodded, looking at him.

“Is this guy the reason why you looked so god-awful back then?”

“...Indeed. I had only recently found out about his true intentions and was trying to thwart his efforts with the portal. He… was not happy about that and tried everything to get back at me, to sabotage my efforts, to win, and to punish me for even trying to resist.” Ford swallowed, glancing away while his fingers tapped at each his knuckles, eyes somewhere else and filled with long-buried memories. Was each word he spoke making him seem smaller, or was that Stan’s imagination?

Stan knew he was receiving the sanitized version of the story. It was written all over Stanford’s face: he was trying to be detached, objective, clinical. Like he was relaying scientific information from a formal paper and not reluctantly spilling secrets about his traumatic personal life story. But Stanley couldn’t find it in himself to blame him, not really, not when he knew he’d do the same if he had to talk about… Rico. Ford had created what might be the most acceptable version of events to present to Stan, the extent of what Ford himself could swallow, the most he could face his own shame and torment. It chilled Stan’s heart as he felt the cold sorrow creep into his nerves. This was just one more miserable thing that Stan wished he couldn’t relate to his brother about. Ford should never have gone through this, no, Stan should be the only one, and yet…

“...Stanford, in the days after I lost ya, I cleaned up a buncha junk in this house. Nonsense scribbles ‘nd piles of paper, old dishes, shards of coffee mugs, sticky notes covered in eyes, weirdo science books.” This time Stanley didn’t hesitate to put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “There was a lotta blood. Random messes of it on piles ‘nd notes. Bloody bandages in the bathrooms. Bloody handprints on wrecked walls ‘nd doors with broken locks. Bloody clothing under your bed, crammed into piles of laundry...”

Ford leaned his head back against the portal and took in a large, stuttering inhale. His motions were slow, hesitant, like the pins and needles in his limbs were pinning the cavity of his chest open and revealing himself to Stan; the flayed pages of a tattered open book against his will. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he had to talk about this eventually, but he always hoped he could just ignore it and handle it on his own. His brother didn’t deserve to be roped into this burden. This was Ford’s problem, Ford’s pain, and Ford’s mess, no one else’s.

Yet, hearing the truth that Bill had been winding his spindly claws into the kids, into Lee, during Ford’s absence… made the gut-wrenching scope of this plague undeniable. The plague Ford unleashed upon not only this world but his family. He swore he could feel the sticky wetness of his great-niblings’ blood on his hands.

Ford noticed a question in Stanley’s wide eyes and, while hesitant, nodded. This was all the answer he needed to give. His brother simply understood. But Ford forced it out of his throat anyway. "Yes… The blood was Bill's doing."

This time, Stan was the one who punched the portal, cursing and sneering at what remained of the triangular structure. “I was so far up my own ass that I couldn’t even protect my own twin brother after he reached out to me for help… All I did was yell, fight, ‘nd shove someone who was hurt, someone who was scared ‘nd needed me to do something and I didn’t…!”

Ford’s reaction was immediate: clumsy and unfamiliar yet harkening back to what Stanley had thought was long gone and left beaten and buried in the sand. “Stanley, no… No, no no, you didn’t have a clue. Because I didn’t tell you enough, you could not possibly have known. I escalated the argument with you and I fought back. I don’t… think it would be right to fault you on that.” His hands were held up, fingers curled and loose and unsure what to do but yearning to reassure Lee, hankering to clarify and correct about Ford’s mistakes and where the blame lay so someone else need not falsely feel that vice.

Stan stared at him, shoulders rising and falling as his breathing returned to an even and steady rhythm. He didn’t really know what expression he had on his face, and judging by the look on Ford’s, that genius had no idea, either. He exhaled something fierce, erratically rubbing his hands up and down his face. He settled back down after a while of de-stressing and slouched against the portal debris again, looking like he didn’t really care about how he landed or if he were sitting comfortably or not.

One inhale. One exhale.

He twisted his torso to face his twin.

“But you think it’s right to fault me on other things.” Ford averted his eyes. Stan clicked his tongue. “Whatever… So what do we need to do? Make that unicorn barrier crap, smash this ugly piece of work back into scraps,” –he rapped his knuckles on the metal over his shoulder– “and then what? Anything we gotta do to the kids? Ya better not suggest installing metal into their skulls, Sixer, or so help me god.”

His brother spluttered at that, staring at Stan incredulously. “No, of course not! Besides, I wouldn’t trust anyone in this dimension to successfully pull off such a surgery.”

“Oh yeah? Aliens got it that much better than us?”

“Eh…” Ford shrugged his shoulders and made a so-so gesture with his hand. “It depends on where you look. I cannot say that consistency is a term the multiverse is particularly familiar with…”

Stan leaned closer and clapped Ford’s back as he laughed. “Ha! Not so different from us, huh.”

His brother could only just muster up an awkward chuckle alongside him.

“That aside… Yes, I believe you have the correct idea about how to tackle the… Bill problem. I intend to review my journals again for the sake of verifying my old memories pertaining to some key details, and then I will take care of it. I will disassemble the portal and erect a unicorn hair barrier–”

Stan cleared his throat in the most obnoxious way he could. “Ahem. You ain’t doin’ this alone, Poindexter. We’ll destroy the portal, and we’ll put up the barrier.” He raised a hand when it looked like Ford was going to protest. “Uh-uh, I’ve read those diaries more than you have at this point, or one of ‘em anyway. Ya can’t keep me out of this ‘nd you are not gonna do this alone, do I make myself clear?” He wiggled his fingers and flashed a well-practiced salesman’s grin.

Ford’s face contorted through a few different emotions before he finally hung his head and sighed, crossing his arms. “Fine.” He straightened to his feet and gestured over his shoulder for Stan to follow him to the control hub room, not looking back once.

This was going better than Stanley had dared to let himself hope. It still felt like Ford was at risk of exploding if Stan said the wrong thing, but his brother apparently didn’t have as much fight in him as he had earlier that day. Or when Stan first came down here, for that matter. He rubbed his wrists and winced his left eye toward what surely must be a fully formed bruise on his face by now.

He wanted to say he was happy, but as he swallowed around the rough feeling in his throat he knew he couldn’t fool himself about that. This sucked balls. His earlier attempt at levity seemed promising at first, but it was like trying to hold back the might of the entire ocean when Ford slipped right back into trying to exclude Stan again. This dense pressure surrounding his brother was suffocating, impenetrable, and something in Stan’s chest that he tried not to think about hurt like a raw wound at the realization that he didn’t really know how to broach this wall of Ford’s like he once used to.

Something in his chest chafed even more when he thought about how he didn’t really know how to talk to Ford like he used to, either. In fact, Stan didn’t feel like he had managed to actually talk to Stanford straight for once during this entire confrontation. He was being tolerated and he knew his brother was probably silently pleading for him to go away and leave him to his misery so he could mope around until this awful day finally came to a close. Would they repeat this song and dance tomorrow? …Would it be worth it to?

But despite all the eggshells, they had managed to connect just a little bit about their shared concern for the kids. He tried not to think about their shared pains from the past decades, something which was undeterred despite both twins living such wildly different lives.

Maybe Stanley doesn’t need anything else. Just think about the kids.

This is fine. This is surely fine.

Don’t think about the end of summer.

Don’t think about a rickety old boat casting shadows on the beach.

He entered the control room just in time to be shaken out of his daze. He watched as Ford arranged all three journals on the desk… and suddenly collapsed, holding onto the desk’s edge for dear life before he hit the floor.

Ford raised a hand to keep Stan away, fingers wiggling something indecipherable, limbs visibly shaking as he forced himself into a seated position on the nearby desk chair. He immediately staggered forward, elbows hitting the hard surface and his face sinking to hide in his hands, glasses falling down to land haphazardly on Journal #2.

Stan felt like he was watching his brother crumble into pieces.

Pieces of glass smothered in sand.

After another moment, he cautiously approached his twin, unsure what exactly happened.

“My apologies,” Ford rubbed his eyes, swallowing and bouncing his legs on the balls of his feet while he sat. “I’ve wasted so many decades of my life on that accursed charlatan.”

His sunken eyes glanced over at Stanley through his fingers like that was all he had the energy to do.

“I was one trigger away from having finally wiped myself clean of him before I was unceremoniously forced back here.” He scrunched his eyes closed, teeth grinding as he grimaced. “I shouldn’t be here, my life should have been spent on taking him down, on redeeming myself for being so big a fool as to fall for his schemes!” His arms swung to hang limply down at his sides as he leaned back, face staring up at nothing on the ceiling.

Like a doll with no control of its limbs. A puppet left to rot somewhere without strings.

“And yet he and I both persist, continuing to unjustly live, and it simply isn’t enough that he has me wrapped around his fingers, but now I find out that fiend is harassing the kids as well!” Ford’s words tapered into a roar, the spike of energy pushing him to lean forward far too fast while his round eyes located Stanley in the room’s dull light. He ground his hands against his knees, needing some kind of anchor.

“That’s personal, Stanley, I can’t help but fear that it must harken back to his gleeful torment of me all those years ago where he knew I was trapped and was toying with my psyche. He’s happy to hurt my family because he’s happy to hurt me, because he knew I wasn’t here to stop him, and he can laud his power over my head and rub my own powerlessness and failures back in my face, and… a-and…”

Stan’s arms were wrapped around his brother before he even finished registering that Ford’s voice tripped into a broken choke.

Ford cried out, “And when… when I saw all three of my old journals laid out bare here, I felt heavier than ever the monumental weight of my mistakes and how wretched my life has been. How, just how, could I have gotten my niece and nephew caught up in my disaster?”

The raw wound in Stan’s chest throbbed as he took in those words, the weight of them carving a home where he was already torn asunder and bruised.

Stanford’s full body lurched as he sobbed in his brother’s arms and gasped throttled breaths of air, returning the hug and scrunching the material of Stan’s shirt beneath all twelve of his fingers. “I’m so tired, Lee, I’m tired of Cipher! I’m tired of forcing those around me to continually suffer from my mistakes! I’m tired of running, I’m tired of being a puppet, of.. of being his toy, his property that he can jostle around the board as he pleases…!”

Stan began to rub small, gentle circles into Ford’s back while he thought over what he’d just heard, the motion so natural to him and so ingrained in his muscles that he didn’t need to think about it twice. For his brother to expose his heart like this… It was truly serious. It set Stan’s face in a grave expression. Not that long ago a rekindled relationship between the two of them had seemed impossible, and yet Stan now held the delicate reins of responsibility, an instinct burning inside him that made him want to protect his twin. He didn’t want to mess this up. He wanted to be there for his twin the way he should have been three decades ago.

He kept rubbing his brother’s back as the two of them sat there on the sand with their eyes closed, sniffles being carried away by the ambience of the ocean and tears falling down to the beach beneath their feet. Wet droplets left dark marks in the sand as though they could become sea glass.

Soon the sky was awash in pink and orange, and the cold shadow of the Stan o’ War stretched longer and longer, reminiscent of young boys chasing after the last remnants of dimming sunlight.

Once Ford’s sobbing diminished to but a few sniffles, Stan made his decision.

He picked up his twin’s glasses and gently sat them back on his face.

“I know this isn’t what you wanna hear right now, but, let’s get ya in the shower, and I’ll cook up some warm food for ya before we get ya to bed.” Ford lifted his head off Stan’s chest just a little, quizzically raising an eyebrow. “You need rest, Sixer, or else you’re gonna keel over ‘nd die before ya can do anything about Bill. It’s been one hell of a day.”

“But… The kids. Bill is too dangerous to ignore.” Ford’s voice was small and pathetic, yet as determined as he could make it. The familiar scared face of an insecure little boy standing on the edge of help and hurt. On the edge of where the tides meet the sands.

“I know, I know. You said the metal plate makes ya safe, right? The portal’s non-functional ‘nd in pieces that woulda taken me months to fix, ‘nd the kids are in the attic, prolly pretendin’ to sleep, so…”

“So…?”

“So I think we can afford to spend a lil’ time on makin’ sure you don’t fall apart first, brainiac. We’ll need that bright brain of yours runnin’ on something more than ten cups of alien coffee, right?”

Ford was struck with a look of astonishment following that comment. “Coffee… I can have Dimension 46'\ coffee again! Oh how I have missed it terribly; nothing else ever compared.”

His eyes glittered like Stanley had just hung the stars in front of an aspiring child.

Ford leaned back from Stan, using the collar of his black turtleneck to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “I… do not like it or feel entirely comfortable with it, but I will concede that you have a point that’s hard to argue. I’ll freshen up my hygiene if you include coffee with whatever food you make– I do not care what time it is right now.”

“You’re s'posed ta go to sleep, knucklehead, but sure, I’ll make ya a mean coffee,” Stan chuckled as he swapped his hands over to patting Ford’s shoulder a couple times before stepping back to give him some space. The soothing lull of cool waves echoed and receded from farther and farther away. “Ha! I am unsure even coffee could keep me going on my feet tonight, as much as I would prefer it to.”

They both turned towards the elevator and had managed to take a single step before Ford abruptly stopped. He turned back towards the portal room, glancing between it and Stanley, his brows set in a worry. “I need to check something…!”

Stan just shrugged. “S’long as it won’t be too much work.”

“Excellent! Now, if you’ll excuse me.” His coat billowed behind him as he rushed out into the cavern.

Stan didn’t follow him all the way, but did hover near the entrance, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “So what’s got ya in a tizzy?”

“It is of crucial importance that I check for any possible rifts.” Ford looked over his shoulder to verify where Stan was before he continued. “During my travels between dimensions, I had to track where potential rifts might form in order to continue my journey. While some rifts were man-made, or should I say alien-made, others simply occurred as a natural consequence of the unnatural frayed fabric of reality. Like a hole in a piece of cloth whose threads weaken, loosen, and allow additional holes to form.”

“So in other words, yer lookin’ for smaller holes near the portal?” He couldn’t help but smile like an idiot just a little bit. It was nice to hear his nerd brother again.

“Precisely! Seeing as our shiny punched hole in reality here was designed to lead to the Nightmare Realm, also known as Bill’s domain, I fear that any rifts will follow in those footsteps and do the– Aha! Stanley, could you bring me a borosilicate jar?”

“Come again?”

“Laboratory glassware! I need a resealable container, such as a jar. I used to have some spares sitting around here somewhere…”

Stan disguised a chuckle with a cough as he watched Ford crouch near the far corner, legs and hands splayed far apart, before turning to go fetch what was needed. When he returned, Ford was several feet away from the corner and busy with his hands on the portal instead.

He jumped when Stan suddenly slapped his shoulder. “What did I just tell ya about takin’ a break? Anyway, here’s your jar.”

Ford sheepishly nodded and retrieved it from him. He inspected it for a few moments, removing and replacing the lid a few times, before going back to the corner. Stan tried to stand on his tippy toes to peer at what the heck a rift might look like without getting any closer to the corner. He observed as Ford swung his arm in wide arcs and seemed to be capturing… floating blobs of spacey stardust? He thought they’d make for a cool alien lava lamp. I bet I can sell that.

His brother turned back to face him, sealed jar clasped between his hands.

“There we have it! It is but a small thing for the time being, but we will need to seal it and monitor it in case of any changes. I believe I know just the thing and can have this taken care of…”

Stan gave him a look. He put a lot of work in making sure that unimpressed eyebrow was as judgmental as it could be.

“...We’ll take care of it tomorrow.” Ford looked a little dejected as he changed course, sighing wistfully.

Stan gave him a thumbs up. His brother just snorted, shaking his head and smiling as he walked past and back into the control room. He seemed ponderous, one hand on his chin while he considered whatever it was he was thinking about, and then he opened a cabinet on the wall and locked the jar away inside.

“Ready to head upstairs now?” Stan was back by the elevator.

“Yes, I believe so. Well, no, but I accept that I should.”

For a short while, the tension between the twins had disappeared. But the elevator felt suffocating again.

Ford kept fidgeting and looking everywhere except at Stan. When Stan caught his eye once, he cleared his throat. Ford took in a deep breath.

“Stanley… It is very difficult. I do not have the words for everything it is that I am feeling, and everything that I want to say to you. I am still unsure of a lot of things, not the least of which is myself. But… I am glad to be home.” The wrinkles on his face were the softest Stan had ever seen them.

It wasn’t a thank you, but it was close enough for now. Close enough for Stan’s face to beam into a great big toothy, giddy grin. “Glad to have ya here.”

When the elevator reached their destination at the top and Ford made a motion to leave, Stan held him back with a hand on his shoulder. Ford turned to him, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Stan averted his eyes and coughed into his free fist. “I, uh… Sorry. For earlier today. You’ll always be my family, ya nerd.”

Ford gave him a small smile. “Me too… I apologize for punching you earlier. I am not entirely sure why I did, honestly.”

Stan shrugged, then wrapped his arm around Ford’s shoulders in a hearty embrace. “Eh, stress ‘nd nerves probably. ‘Sides, you sound like ya could use somethin’ to punch!” He gesticulated dramatically with his free hand as though he were painting a picture for Ford to see. “Maybe we can pull out that boxing dummy from storage tomorrow ‘nd draw a triangle on it!”

“Oh that isn’t necessary, Stanley…” Stanford snorted, leaning into Stan as his laughter made him less steady on his feet. “Nah don’t worry about it Sixer, I wanna punch it too. And if that guy ever shows up here again, I’ll punch him for real!”

Stanley grabbed both of Ford’s shoulders as his laughter died down, turning his brother to face him. “I really mean it, ya know. Don’t gotta ask me twice. Easiest sell of m’ life, even. No one messes with my family like that ‘nd gets off scot-free, ya hear me?”

Ford visibly swallowed and gave a tiny nod.

“... Thank you. I appreciate it.”

They shook the sand off their shoes as they stepped out of the elevator.

They held each other for support as they trekked through the ocean, waves lapping at their calves as they climbed the stairs one step at a time.

When they stepped through the vending machine, the nostalgic laughter of two twin little boys wrapped around them like a scarf before evaporating into ocean mist.

The vending machine had only been closed for a second before Mabel bounded right up to her Grunkles and planted herself right into their legs, trying to wrap her short arms around them both in a hug. Stan gestured for Dipper to come over as he and Ford crouched down to Mabel’s height, apparently already knowing that the little dork was nearby. Ford watched as Dipper meekly came from around the corner and joined them, repeatedly glancing between Stan and Ford all the while.

Stan spread his arms wide and trapped all of his family in a big bear hug, laughing and feeling weightless and the most alive he has in years. “I knew ya little knuckleheads wouldn’t be asleep! Tell ya what, I was about to make some Stancakes ‘nd coffee for my nerd brother here. How ‘bout I make a few ‘nd some hot chocolate for the two of ya, ‘nd then you can head to bed this time?”

Dipper’s guilty smile fell sideways into laughter as Stan broke the hug to noogy him and his sister, but Mabel was undeterred by her hair getting ruffled. “You better give me extra marshmallows and heaps of glitter!”

“Yes Stanley, and I better have no less than four tablespoons of sugar in my coffee.”

“A-and I want four Stancakes, Grunkle Stan!”

Stan broke out in a belly laugh and clapped Ford’s back as he stood up straight. “Sheesh, no wonder none of ya can sleep!”

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this positively about the future. The spring in his step and the healing salve on his heart nearly made him feel like a new man. As he pulled out the flour and baking soda and opened the fridge to grab the milk and butter, he couldn’t help but feel like no matter what may happen, things would work out just fine.

[icallhimjoey]

hi ! long time follower, first time asking on your page.

just read your italy joe story and i have a super sensual smutty oneshot idea; unfortunately i just don’t have your writing skills.

joe comes back to the flat after a long day of work so you decide to treat him to a massage as it’s your day off. but during the already therapeutic massage, one thing leads to another. you want more & he wants more…

i.... i just... BIG SIGH so, i read this, and... my mind just, it twisted it, but only slightly.... you'll see, im a sucker for massages so thanks for this request babe, hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 1.9K

---

Soothing Serenity

Joe's late. You use it as an excuse to be late too, and start dinner when you should've already finished the meal.

Tomatoes. Cucumbers. Lettuce next. Careful fingers, because the knife is sharp, but greedy fingers, because the tomatoes are looking particularly juicy and your stomach's rumbling.

You dump whatever you've cut up into a salad bowl and sneak little bites of everything. It's silly, but you're taking extra care to make it very noticeable that you've cut the vegetables yourself. Bigger clunky pieces and other stupidly small and thin pieces, none of them uniform or even remotely professional looking.

Good.

There was no way Joe could accuse you of buying pre-cut again, which, apparently, "is a waste of money" because "we have knives, babe".

Sure. Whatever you want, Joe. You absolutely could cut produce yourself, and Joe was just going to have to accept that it meant he'd sometimes just have a full mouth of just cucumber and nothing else.

He'll live.

The song playing finishes, and in the couple of seconds of silence it leaves the flat in, you hear keys jingle outside.

Joe's home. Finally.

He mentioned this morning he'd probably be back by late afternoon, but alas, the sun's already setting. It's not late, by any means, but the 3 a.m. call time this morning means his day has been long. You know you're right, because the first thing you hear after the door opens is loud groans and tired sighs as shoes get kicked off and a jacket slings onto its hook.

You refrain from calling out to him. You trust he knows where to find you.

If Joe's had a long day, you know what's going to happen next and you manage to put the knife down just in time.

"Hey," a low voice grumbles into your ear as you get pulled into a tight hug from behind.

His whole body presses into yours, strong arms squeeze you and you nearly can't breathe it's so tight. You feel how his cheek presses into the back of your shoulder in his hug, and Joe stays like that for however long he feels he needs it, until he raises his chin and plants it on top.

"You cooking?" Joe loosens one arm, but it's just to pick a crouton from the open packet on the side.

"S'just a salad,"

And through chews, Joe asks, "Nothing in the oven?"

You grin to yourself, knowing what Joe's asking.

"Nothing in the oven, nothing on the hob,"

There's nothing to burn, nothing that needs a close eye, or a timer, and it's exactly what Joe wants to hear.

"Good,"

His arms move from around your waist to grab onto both of your biceps and he digs his fingers in as he starts moving you, guiding you out and away from the kitchen.

"Joe," you warn, but willingly let yourself be lead over to your bedroom.

"Just a second, come on,"

Joe's hands move down a little, squeeze again. Down a little more, to squeeze just above your elbows. Joe's touching just to touch. To feel.

"Someone's touch starved, aren't they?" you muffle a giggle when you feel Joe's hands let go of you, just to sneak under your top, rounding from your back to your front.

Joe's not laughing. He just wants to rub the top ridge of his cupid's bow across the skin on the base of your neck.

"You skin hungry?"

You don't get an answer, but you don't need it. Two hands grab onto the hem of your top and pull it over your head before you receive a slight push. It means, go lay down.

So you turn and want to let yourself fall back, but before you can, Joe tuts and shakes his head at you, chin tilted down.

"On your front,"

Oh, it's one of those days.

You know how Joe's hands get itchy, will start to twitch at the sight of your bare skin, especially when he's tired. When he feels he's not seen you for a bit. Sometimes that would be a few days - normal people timing, because it wasn't weird to miss someone after not seeing them for a few days. But sometimes, you had to quickly run an errand and Joe would curl in on himself in agony, he'd miss you so much.

Today falls sort of in between.

Joe had done a lot of waiting today, standing around for people to tell him where to be and when to do his little trick when cameras were finally aimed at him. But they were filming outside, and the clouds and the sun kept doing their own thing which didn't work for continuity.

So Joe waited a lot. Got to think of the things he'd rather be doing a lot.

It's made you end up where you currently are. Under his touch, in just your bra and a pair of soft shorts, on your stomach on the bed with Joe straddling your thighs.

"You been working hard?" Joe asks, runs hands over your back until his fingers meet the fabric of your bra. He's quick to undo it, pushes the straps the side as you sigh into the duvet.

"So hard,"

You haven't. Not really. But Joe likes to be caring, it feeds something inside him it took you a while to understand when you first started dating.

Surely, when someone comes home from a long day at work, they should be the one to get doted on. But it didn't work like that with Joe.

"Hmh," Joe hums, stroking skin with his finger tips, feather light. Across your shoulders, down the back of your arms until his fingers tickle the insides of your palms.

You close your fists, trap his fingers for a second. It says, I love you, take what you need of me. You can't see it, but it makes Joe smile.

He moves back up your arms, across your shoulders, down your back, and starts adding more pressure. Really get his muscles to work into yours and you don't know what you've done in your life to deserve a boyfriend that unwinds by giving his girlfriend massages.

It's not like you haven't tried to switch roles. To have him on his stomach on the bed with you sat on his bum, but, Joe would just end up massaging your straddling legs. Would put his hands to work no matter what.

When two hands start honing in on your neck, moving hair out of the way to push knuckles into soft flesh, Joe audibly sighs.

Asks, "Do you mind oil in your hair?" because one time you said you did mind because you'd just washed it, so he wants to make sure.

"Go for it," you hum into the sheets and you can't help the groan that escapes you when fingers curl into the hair by the nape of your neck and softly pull.

With one hand full of hair, Joe uses the other elbow to push into the muscle that connects your arm to your shoulder, and Jesus... this is the good shit.

It's good.

It's really fucking good.

"Joe,"

It's not a warning, but both your hands move to find his knees. Joe shifts, adjusts slightly and switches arms, the other twisting into your hair to pull and your other shoulder getting worked by an elbow.

There's no sensual music playing, and the ceiling light's on, but still, the mood's serene. Joe's touches soothing and deeply relaxing.

You swear Joe knows exactly what he's doing.

He doesn't though. He's no professional. Just knows what gets the best sounds out of you. Just knows that he wants to feel all of you. To make you feel good. To make himself feel better.

Joe massages, takes his time and kneads your soft tissues real good. And then sometimes, he uses just his finger tips to trail, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your body flipflops between building arousal and nearly falling asleep.

It's heavenly.

When Joe shimmies down and rolls down the top of your shorts, you manage to croak, "Joe, we've not eaten yet,"

"Just..." Joe breathes. "Just another minute," and he sounds wrecked.

When you don't argue him on his desperate need for one more minute, he tugs until the shorts are down far enough to expose your full glutes.

Or round ass.

Whatever. Same thing.

Joe uses both hands on both cheeks, squeezes and rubs, and then focuses on one at a time. Rubs upwards with full hands. Then just two thumbs that push in before he decides to use his elbows there too.

When you moan, Joe groans, and it's deep and gutteral.

He's got to be hard.

It takes longer than a minute, because of course it does, and he ends up just leaving his hands on your buttcheeks, fingers spread out wide. You can hear how deep he's breathing.

Just when you think, okay, we can absolutely let this graduate and take it there because you can feel how wet you're getting, Joe's hands move up to your lower back and then he squeezes you at your waist. You're ticklish, usually, but you're too relaxed to let it affect you now. Makes you smile though.

"Okay," Joe says softly, and you feel how he bends down. Places a small kiss between your shoulder blades.

You're a renewed person. Rejuvenated.

"I'm done,"

He's done?

You sigh, blissfully content and don't move. Just say, "No, you're not," and strain your neck to look over your shoulder.

Joe's still bend down, close, and presses a kiss behind your ear. Then at the corner of your jaw.

"You were making a salad," he whispers, but doesn't move.

"You're hard," you argue, even though you haven't felt it yet. You know he is, and you know Joe wouldn't want to suffer through dinner with an untouched erection. He'd do it. Wouldn't want it, though.

"Cutting up your own veggies," Joe says it like he's dirty talking, smooth and sensual, like he's trying to get you all riled up for him. Like you're not there already.

"Take your jeans off," you start to turn under Joe's bodyweight, and it's difficult, but Joe rises a little, gives enough space below his legs.

"Not pre-cut this time," he coos, and you can tell he's holding back laughter.

"Joe," your hands find the button of his jeans, and Joe laughs, falling off of you onto his back and you take the opportunity to get rid of your bra and to climb up onto your boyfriend.

"Got all your touching out?" you ask, working Joe's jeans down and biting down on your lower lip when you see how right you were. Joe's hard hard. Almost uncomfortably so.

"Hmh... I think I've got some touches left," Joe stares up at you, almost drunk with love and smooths hands from your thighs up to cover your tits. Squeezes there. Massages.

"Good," you quip, slipping your panties to the side because it's just easier that way. Gets you connected to Joe quicker.

You're grinning so widely, it infects Joe. Makes him copy it.

"Good," he agrees and moves up to kiss you on the mouth. Gets you there just before a shuddery breath wants to escape as you sink onto him.

"Good," Joe repeats, voice low and slightly constricted.

Joe loves that what he needs of you leads into you taking what you need from him. You're not complaining when Joe uses the warmth of your skin to get his fix. And he's not complaining when you take the lead and use it to chase his orgasm.

It's good. It's relaxing and serene and tenderly healing.

It's good.

Good.

---

The Taglisted: 

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(taglist currently full, sorry!)

[waywardwizzard]

Curling into a ball, Simon groaned, vaguely aware of someone shouting. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him flinch.

"Easy, doc', just me."

"Mal?" Simon slurred, squinting up at the captain. "How - ?"

"L'il sis threw a fit, figured you were getting into trouble."

Concerned blue eyes flickered over him. "And it seems you were. What the ta ma de happened?"

Simon shook his head, wincing when it gave a vicious trob.

"They tried to take my money." He blinked, "Which is funny considering that I don't have any."

Mal laughed and helped him sit up. Curling an arm around his aching ribs, Simon glared at the captain.

"It's not funny."

"Whatever you say, doc'." Standing up with a grunt, he offered him a hand, "C'mon, let's get back to Serenity."

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

Author's note -

I kind of like this one. Don't know why but I do.

@whumperless-whump-event

[pitch-perfect-spookfest]

I thought I would write a story where I could offer potential prompts for the Letters of F.R.I.G.H.T.S.

Not sure where this came from, but the story gets bloody. I hope not too bad.

Each letter is represented and there are potential prompts.

[imdonnalynn]

You Hesitated, I Didn't (1/1) REPOST

Summary: Why did River hesitate to shoot Mal down in the maidenhead? Why did Mal bring her back on board? Prequel to You Broke Me, But In A Good Way

Pairing: Malcolm Reynolds/River Tam

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 695

Warnings: Language, violence, outcome of mental, psychological and physical abuse at the hands of a government agency.

A/N: Another repost of mine from over a decade ago.

Disclaimer: The characters of Firefly (series) / Serenity (film) do not belong to me so do not sue me for copywrite infringement.

----------

“You hesitated…why’d you hesitate?” Mal whispered hauntingly running a hand through his spiked hair uneasily. River…he thought he understood her as best as anyone could. How wrong he was. Question was…was she a person or a weapon to be triggered at a moment's notice? His thoughts ran rampant, and River could hear and feel every single one of them as if they were her own. With him being so close and his emotions so raw she could barely shield herself from them. It was always hard to shield from Mal. Little did he know she wasn’t asleep but feigning sleep. She was too afraid to open her eyes in fear of his reaction. She could feel his anger, concern, fear and confusion.

He was angry at Simon, angry at her, for not telling him the whole truth about what was done to her. Angry that she could have snapped at any time and hurt one of the crew or worse, killed them. Concern over the crew and what was going to happen next. The fear she could understand. He saw her in action, and she scared herself, so she knew even Mal had to be unsettled. His confusion is what puzzled her…that was something else entirely.

In the maidenhead when she was triggered everything was so precise, so clear, every punch, every kick landed as it should have, but when she drew down on Mal…she hesitated…a full two seconds…why did she hesitate? She did not know the answer to her own question. Did Mal somehow break through her conditioning? Had the eight months aboard Serenity finally start to help her? It was too early to tell but she was hopeful. Serenity felt more like home than any place ever had. Now she feared she would have to leave that home…for the crew’s sake.

“What are you, River?” he asked himself to stare down at her, unaware of her conscious form.

I don’t know…she whispered inside her mind. I can’t tell where I end and where I begin anymore. Too many secrets, too many illusions, too many walls…everything’s a dead end at a new path…

“I don’t care what you believe…just believe…” she whispered feeling Mal’s gaze upon her.

At her voice Mal was startled out of his own thoughts. “River?” he didn’t know if she was awake or if she was talking in her sleep.

She shook her head against the grated floor. “No…” she whispered. “…it’s broken.” She laced her fingers into the grated floor as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle.

Mal tilted his head down at her. “What’s broken River?” he tried to keep a quiet soothing tone.

“Miranda,” she said.

“Miranda?” he returned. “What’s Miranda?” he knew it was pointless to ask a simple question but what the hell.

She studied her hand for a moment then sat up and turned her gaze to stare him in the eye. “Death…” she then started to tear up. “It’s not mine…it isn’t mine and I shouldn’t have to carry it!” she quietly started to cry and brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m like a toy that everyone wants to play with.”

Mal was in front of her before he realized what he was doing. “Now you listen to me little one,” he tipped her chin to make her look at him. “You’re nobody’s toy xiao mei?”

She laughed, “Bullet to me? Right in the brain pan, squish!”

He shook his head realizing what she sensed from earlier and put a finger to her lips, “Don’t talk like that River…” he trailed off as she started into a rant.

“Always something, never anything, all the same, why can’t it at least slow down,” she cried a few tears falling down her face.

Mal sighed and wiped them away cupping her face.

“Why did you bring me back?” she whispered against his hand helplessly. “Things are only going to get much, much worse.”

There was a long silence between them.

“Why did you hesitate?”

She slowly looked into his eyes and they both had their answers to their questions…they don’t know why, but they’ll understand some day.

THE END

Read sequel You Broke Me, But In A Good Way

[httpsserene]

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑

welcome to the table of contents for my one-thousand followers special !

i'm baffled at the amount of love and support from all of you; in under the two-months i've been writing on this blog, i've managed to have good enough writing to convince you guys to save my blog. i started writing f1 ff's with the sole purpose to provide more black!reader based content, and i never imagined that i'd have a thousand eyes reading my delusional scenarios lol. thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart :)

as promised, the special event is a continuation of the first upload of my f1 kinktober series. those of you who were desperate for a part-two of the corruption kink with charles leclerc / max verstappen / black!reader--here it is, in abundance. a five-part series (including the f1-ktober upload). merry christmas, loves xxx

if you would like to be added to this series' taglist, send me an ask or leave a reply.

all episodes uploaded at 12 PM EST on their release date.

posts tagged as # httpss :// 1k special.

all works can be found in my table of contents (m.list).

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: max and charles don’t mind receiving a five-second penalty for slipping past your boundaries. seeing a black and white flag doesn’t scare them in the slightest; not when you're performing so well under their guidance. 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: multi-chaptered series.

view playlist? ↴

pilot: corruption kink w/ charles leclerc and max verstappen

innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.

episode two: 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿 | handjobs | 12/9/23

slightly less innocent, virgin!reader has had her view of pleasure shifted. her libido has increased to insane levels after she finally allowed her boyfriends to fix her…dry spell. charles and max have no issues with helping her ride out her newfound sexual appetite, and figure that she may be ready to take the next step. or, more accurately, take the next hand.

soundtrack - gun • doja cat

episode three: 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗲 | fingering | 12/11/23

tainted, virgin!reader is growing tired of grinding against her boyfriends. she’s never touched herself before—no toys, no fingers, no fondling—the friction from a pillow used to be enough. but, maybe having something inside of her isn’t as terrifying as she believed. charles’ pretty pianist fingers don’t look too scary, and they way he raves about how talented max’s daunting thicker fingers are; well, she could be convinced to see what all the fuss is about.

soundtrack - pressure • ari lennox

episode four: 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘁𝗵 | oral sex | 12/15/23

soiled, virgin!reader is well aware of her boyfriends’ desire to eat her alive, sorry, to eat her out. from the way they can’t resist drinking her wetness off their (or her own) fingers, to the way they can’t stop running their mouths about getting their mouths on you: they’ve made how desperate they are, very clear. for some reason, she can’t get past her mental block to allow them to feast between her legs, or to taste what’s between theirs. max figures she just needs a demonstration to quell her fears; charles is a more than willing participant.

soundtrack - super freaky girl • nicki minaj

finale: 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿 | vaginal sex | 12/17/23

tonight, innocent and virgin!reader will be defiled, deflowered, tarnished—whichever word you prefer. from the moment she told them she was ready to lose her virginity, they’ve been carefully planning out a special night, for her. and shockingly, there’s not an ounce of fear, anxiety, or doubt in her mind—max and charles have gained her complete trust. they haven’t given her a single reason to believe that they wouldn’t treat her right. she couldn’t have asked for better men to take her virginity—if this is corruption, she’s delighted to experience it.

soundtrack - wet dreamz • j.cole

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 ↴

extra scene: downforce

all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better

© httpsserene2023

[goddessalthena]

So, I'm finally doing a thing...

After many moons of tedious, painstaking effort I have finally reached a long awaited goal: I've finished a story. A story I've been wanting to tell for, well, a long time. Having accomplished this monumental task (for me at least) it is now time to YEET it out into the void and turn my beleaguered brain to other tasks.

I am equal parts nervous and excited to finally begin freeing this beast from the deep recesses of my hard drive, but I promised myself I would do so when the time came and the TIME HAS COME.

Without further ado, I present to you:

Divergence

Summary: In order to rescue a boy she hardly knows, defeat an enemy she's never met, and save a world she'll never truly belong to, Tsukino Usagi must first accept a destiny she never wanted. An introspective re-imagining of season one's final arc told from Usagi’s perspective. What do you do when the sins of a past life come back to haunt you? How do you stay true to yourself when the lines of identity begin to blur? And when it comes to fate, do you ever really have a choice?

My thanks to everyone who gives this labour of love a looky-loo, and I hope those of you who choose to take this journey with me (and Usagi) will find it worthwhile.

[6ft-under-beacon-hills]

Walmart Wolf — Isaac Lahey x Reader

summary: When you accidentally saw Isaac's wolf form, he began threatening you to keep quiet. Problem is, you don't really find him scary.

tags: slightly canon-divergent, usage of you, canon-typical (mild) description of violence.

———

"Right," You nodded, eyes focused on arranging your notes in the correct order before filing them. You slammed the file closed as you swung your bag onto one shoulder, heading to the hallway, pushing past Lahey.

"I mean it." He said, following you with ease. His long legs covered the distance between the two of you within a second.

You simply rolled your eyes.

"Say a word and you'll regret it." He added, now walking beside you.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." You waved a dismissive hand.

Which was a mistake, because now, he grabbed onto the wrist of that hand and dragged you into a corner. He leaned into your space, your breathes intermingled with one another as he growled, eyes glowing golden. He whispered, fangs visible with every move of his lips, "Tell someone and you'll find yourself torn apart."

You tried, actually really tried, to imagine what that would feel like. But when his sharp nails, no, his claws, slowly digging into your skin, all you could think was how good of back scratch he would give. So, you smiled, at the thought, though of course to him you were smiling at his threat.

He tilted his head, confusion riddled his face.

See, when he does things like that, how are you going to find him threatening. He looked like your old neighbour's puppy.

So adorable.

His eyebrows furrowed. "What. did. you. say?"

Oh shoot. Did I said that out loud?

He waited for a response, the grip on your wrist loosening by the seconds. You pulled your hand back, placing it atop your hip as the other shifted with the file's weight.

"You think you're so scary, but you are far from it." You started. "I've seen scary. Lived through it. Dismemberment is the least of my concerns, especially when it's coming from a Walmart version of a wolf."

Isaac stood still – his face morphing into something between offence and bewilderment – possibly stunned by the little rant you had. You took that as an opportunity to slip away, walking in the direction of AP Biology class that was about to start in five minutes.

You wondered if you could make it in time.

Then you wondered... if what you said was too mean..

Sparing a glance at the spot the two of you were standing a few moments ago, Isaac already gone, you shrugged as you considered that'd be a problem for the future-you to solve.

Right now, though, you had a test to take.

— • • •

You knew.

You didn't need to turn your head around to know that Isaac Lahey was glaring at you – um, well, at the back of your head. You had been sitting next to your classmates in the cafeteria, discussing on what to do for next week's group project, when all of a sudden all their focus seemed to shift from the notes on the table to something, or rather someone, behind you. One by one, either their eyes would flicker between you and him, or their words seemingly stuck in their throats every time they tried to elaborate on their points.

This won't do.

You politely dismissed the meeting, saying that "we've got everything mostly covered" and offering them an email-shared notes of today's discussion. Without wasting any time, each one of them rushed out of their seats, leaving you alone with the annoying pest that was you could practically hear fuming as he walked towards you.

"Walmart version of a wolf!?" He hissed, aggressively sliding into the seat in front of you. Though admittedly, no one can look terrifying when trying to slide onto a lunch table's bench.

"Hello, good afternoon, I'm doing fine, thank you for asking." You replied, annoyed with him for, in a way, causing the early dismissal of your group discussion.

"Cut that crap." He slammed a hand onto the table, but his pinky finger caught onto a nearby tray from your groupmate's lunch and he flailed about trying to ensure the cup and the plate won't spill onto him.

You bit back a scoff, though a small smile still found its way onto your face.

He shot you a glare. Typical, so you rolled your eyes at that.

"I am not a Walmart wolf." He spat, his fingers flat on the surface of the table. Now he looked like one of those halloween sales plushies of a standing wolf over a carved plastic pumpkin, frowning for some candies.

This time, you couldn't help it. You snorted. "Sure, you're not, buddy."

With that, you left him again with his own mix of offense and confusion. Those meeting notes were not going to write itself.

— • • •

Amongst your top ten list of what to expect this school year, settling into a routine of being threatened by a not-so-scary werewolf was not one of it. Though if you had to include that into a list of something, you would tuck it neatly in a catalogue labeled "to be resolved".

There were so many things you needed to resolve like the maths problem from week ten's class that you missed because of a flu, or high water bill even after carefully measuring the usage for a month, or what in Chemistry's classroom were allergic to because you kept sneezing whenever you were in it the past couple of weeks.

But Isaac Lahey's unimaginative threats grew increasingly in terms of priority.

His persistence not once faltering for the past month and if you were to be precise, it had been exactly 32 days and 4 hours since you discovered his wolf-y nature. So as expected, you found him striding through the hallway to you, that same scowl on his face... and a scarf on his neck? What's up with that scarf anyway? It was basically scorching hot outside.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to throw another one of those "I'll gut you with my claws" or "Rip your head of your neck with my teeth" nonsense, but you stopped him with a raise of a stern hand.

"If you have nothing new to say, then just shut up."

He stopped in his tracks, standing only a few feet away from you, crossing his arms across his chest as if to say, 'Oh yeah?'

His shenanigans did not go unnoticed by your peers; a few expressed their concerns for your safety (rumours has it he was the prime suspect of his father's death but if he's as bad as his threats and reputation, then you would've stopped breathing the moment you caught him), some tried to pry for information (you swore you would strangle the next person who asked if Lahey and you were dating), and most simply thought you formed some sort of friendship with the tall teen (which, at this point, was something you prefer over the unoriginal threats).

You figured he would throw a snarky comment when you began to turn around, but instead you were met with a question that had you scratching the back of your neck and looking at him straight in the eyes.

"Why aren't you ever scared?"

You thought for several moments, looking for all the right answers, unsure yourself why were you even taking the time to reply properly when all you had been doing was dismissing him (well, dismissing his threats).

So you looked at him once more, maybe hoping that he would be some sort of guide to you for your answers yet all you could see was all the reasons you were never scared.

Maybe those reasons were your answers.

You took a deep breath, checking the time with a quick motion. "How do you feel about pancakes?"

— • • •

This diner was certainly not the best diner the town could offer – its pastries always stale, the coffee too bitter, and you were sure that the old lady waitress was slower than a sloth – but it sure has the best pancakes that no other place in the town could beat.

You pour the maple syrup over the steaming pancakes, clearly freshly made in contrast to all of the other menu. Lahey fidgeted in his seat, possibly uncomfortable with the booth being too small for comfort but all the open space tables were filled with just off-duty cops, tired office workers and elderly couples who did not want to eat homemade dinner. The diner itself was not crowded with dozens of customers but the small space of the building made it seemed like it was always packed with people.

It was a typical slow day in a small room.

Lahey tapped the edge of the table with his fingers, head looking around, always shifting in his seat as if waiting for an ambush or a guaranteed-to-be-poorly-made crepe that he ordered earlier.

The crepe arrived seconds later, almost fully burnt, but he did not stop moving. So you concluded that he might thought that this was a trap, like he was just waiting for animal control to come in with a muzzle and big cage.

"Told you to order the pancakes." You cut through the tension.

"Why are we here?" He asked in return.

You placed down the fork and knife back onto the table, pancakes untouched.

"I'm sorry." You began, to which he scowled – clearly not understanding why you were apologising – but you continued nonetheless. "I shouldn't have said you were a Walmart version of a wolf."

He scoffed, leaning back against his seat.

"To be fair, you were really annoying the hell out of me with those incredibly mundane threats and I thought I'd strike one back." You shrugged.

He was ready to say something but you beat him to it.

"And rather than a Walmart wolf, I think you were a lot like a puppy. Specifically the one that my old neighbour had. Paired that vision with your clumsiness, gods, I don't think anyone with rationality would find you scary."

Whilst you had a habit of not thinking when going on a rant, you thought of this next sentence more often than you'd like and so you decided that he might as well hear it.

"On the contrary, I believe that anyone would find you cute."

For a second you thought his expression softened but you looked again and figured that was just the trick of the lightings — just like how the interior of the room made it seemed like he was blushing. He can't be, can he..?

Nah. No way.

After a long stretch of silence, the two of you locking eyes, he finally spoke. "So? What then? You'll run around telling people that I'm— I mean, about that, thinking they'll find it cute too?"

This time, you scoffed as you leaned back against your seat.

"Of course not." You laughed, though there was not a hint of joy in it, but more for sarcastic effect. "Think about it, Lahey. If I wanted to tell someone, and you know that I'm not scared of you, I would have done so weeks ago. Your business is yours to share. Just because I happened to stumble upon it, doesn't give me the right to publicly announce it."

What you said was something you thought to be common sense but from his reaction, you figured he was so used to the opposite – like he believed his privacy was made up of glass walls, anyone could look through it should they come across it.

You grabbed your utensils, cutting your pancakes in half before it turned soggy from the syrup. You gave half of it to Lahey, plopping it atop his charcoal-coloured crepe.

He mumbled something of a Thank You before digging in. The two of you enjoying the sweetness of a fluffy pancake for some time.

He finished his portion first, you noticed, then he wiped his mouth with a napkin before leaning into the table. Seemingly battling something within himself before he decided to speak again.

"So," He started, "What do you mean when you said "I've seen scary. Lived through it."?"

You raised an eyebrow, eating the last bit of the pancake in one smooth bite.

"Nu-uh," You shook your head as you dabbed the corner of your lips. "We're not that close yet, Lahey."

"Yet..?"

"Come on, Walmart Wolf." He scowled at that nickname, but you stood up anyway after leaving some money on the table for the food, a few extra five dollar bills for the tips.

It was sort of a good day, after all.

"It'd be boring if I just tell you my secrets. You've got to earn it."

It was right there, the 6ft something boy, hunched in a semi-circle booth, finally smiled. A wide, toothy grin that wrinkled the corner of his eyes.

That was the first of the many joyful things the two of you would begin to experience together.

———

a/n: i'd write a part two to this story if anyone's interested but for now i'll leave this open ended like this. tried my best to make the reader gender neutral as much as possible though.

[serene-sun]

𝕸𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖊 18+

Pairing: aether x reader

Summary: you have strep and aether is here to help, but you need a distraction from the pain.

Warnings: pussy eating, eh hickies, nothing really bad but there is a small hint of piss but it's not allot

Author note: this is my Christmas gift to and from me, and also to my friend eli

“I made your favorite,” Aether said softly as he opened the door with his foot to your bedroom.

“Oh..” you whine as you spot the trey in his hands, while sitting up in the bed you don’t let the blanket leave any skin exposed.

“Oh, I got more blankets and brought them in here earlier but you were finally asleep.” He chuckled as he set the tray beside you, “Gonna have to use your arms.”

You whine and slowly take them out of the warm cacoon. A shiver runs through your body as you get chill bumps.

“So has it gotten better?” He asks as he unwraps the civil-wear.

“No,” you say in a whisper, throat too scratchy to talk.

Aether hums, and he watches as you dip the spoon in the bowl swirling it with warm soothing liquid before taking it to your mouth. The way it slides down earns a moan.

Aether looks at your too Half above the blanket nest, you weren’t wearing clothes so your breasts popped out above the cotton sheets like a frame.

Aether watches your expression as he lays the backside of his hand on your chest, then slides it down to start groping it. “I think you still have a fever, very hot.” He said sadly before brushing over the nipple.

You whimpered as he touched, but it felt good nonetheless as chill bumps covered you again.

Aether sat a bit closer to you as he moved the trey to straddle your hips as both hands massaged each breast. He pushed some of his quintessential magic into you so you would ease from the pain-bearing sickness.

You stiffen but melt into his touch, your hands slide on top of his as you feel over his veins. His fingers rub deeply into the flesh of your breast as he squeezes the nipples until it turns purple. He starts to grab harder as he looks into your eyes.

You squirm as his magic starts traveling down to your cunt, making the already hot organ drip with arousal as the folds slide against each other. Your clit buried in flesh starts to poke out as your clenching hole squelches as you move.

“Aether…” you whimper, almost unheard.

The ghoul nods, he rubs his horns against your head before crawling under the blanket and gently licking up your vagina's hot slit before he pulled apart your folds like book pages. He breathed heavily against your core that clenched around nothing.

Your clit poked out of its safety and throbbed. Aether rubbed the point of his tongue against the small hole of your urethra. He prodded at it until your clit brushed against the top of his nose, earning a loud moan from you above

Aether took a deep breath before taking your clit into his mouth, swirling around the hood with his tongue before unraveling it and sucking on the bare little bud.

He continued sucking until your squirming legs squeezed together on both sides of his head. He took it as a sign that you wanted more.

You cried out as he slid two fingers into your tight vagina. Aether worked your clit and hole as his other hand gently massaged your urethra with the pad of his thumb as little beads of urine dripped out from her holding off an orgasm. He brought his lip down to collect it

She squeezed around his fingers before squirting, sliding down his throat just like the hot soup previously.

He quickly escaped the sheets for a breath of air as he realized he was being suffocated by plush thighs and lips.

“Think you need a little distraction, little bunny?” He said deeply as he pulled down the zipper of his jeans and pulled out his aching erection that leaked with cum.

You bunch up the blankets around your ears and nose as you nod with knitted brows, and watery eyes pleading as she spreads her legs.

Aether chuckled as he let go of his cock to take off the rest of his clothes, it sprung back up with a glistening glow of cum coating his girth as it leaked from his tip.

The ghoul got back to his spot under the ocean of fabrics as he poked his head out at the top to kiss her collarbone before sliding into her vagina.

You whimper as his thrust opens you up more, his cock pushing against your cervix lightly as your inner walls rub against his penis as he pulls out and moves quickly back in.

You whine as he starts to ram into your heated cunt at a quick speed, rough pubic hair rubbing against your overstimulated clit.

He slams back into you as he bites down on your chest between your breasts, a purple mark beginning to form as he sucks harshly. Over and over again he did that across your breasts before his hands wrapped around your waist.

His balls slapped against the bottom of your ass as the base pushed deeper and deeper with every new thrust. You were filled to the brim with his penis, it glided across all of your pleasure spots and weak ones. Your urethra throbbed as you held back another orgasm. Some liquid flooded aethers cock and your pussy as you orgasmed unintentionally.

The big ghoul doesn’t stop pounding your tight and swollen vagina before licking a long stripe up your cheek. His forked tongue played with your bottom lip before kissing you passionately.

Aether hammers your cunt with 4 large and forceful thrusts as he slowly pounds your vagina full of his sperm. Hot seed coating your walls as it drips down your hole and to your ass.

“Fuck.” He grunts as he gives one final shove before more ropes of orgasm fill you both

You gasp for air as you realize how long you were holding it. You breathe heavily as Aether plops down on your chest, head in the crook of your neck.

“I…I-“ you stutter to find words to say.

“Shhh, shhh little angel, you will feel better soon.” He says as Aether caresses your cheek.

You whine but nod, turning over to cuddle into his chest.

“Filled with medicine now,” Aether smiled wickedly