#these things have to start somewhere right?

[arafaelkestra]

If your high-magic setting has such a thing as a 'magic item store' or routinely contains alchemists shops and the like, I think it should have this kind of thing in it. I think it should also, at least in larger towns and cities, have what amounts to an Adventuring Thrift Store/Pawn Shop that sells salvaged gear, unidentified probably-not-cursed items (they have a guy who can Identify stuff for a fee because "hey, these material components ain't free pal") and potions that the brewer didn't get quite right in that batch.

That stuff almost has to exist in-world if there's any sort of significant "adventurer" class in society. It's needed to both to fill the obvious demand from anyone that didn't start their adventuring career stinking rich (which is most of them) and because all the stuff those people find in monster holes and evil wizard towers and such that they sell off has to be going somewhere. If your characters are selling the shit, that means someone has to be buying it, and the market for 'possibly janky magic item that I don't need' is likely themselves 5-10 levels ago. Local attitude also makes a big difference. In some places/worlds, adventurers are celebrated as wandering heroes, and in others they're considered some combination of an unfortunate occasional necessity and roving catastrophe; the latter places are still likely to provide similar services because the demand still exists, but it's more likely to be in run down warehouses and shady back-alley shops than in Fantasy Costco.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 4

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (vindicated!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, player wants to sock a certain 3D character in the face  A/N: Here’s part 4! Also, a taglist at the end of this post! Just lmk whether you'd like to be added/removed, no sweat ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Happy reading!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4

You swiftly pull up Reddit. And then Twitter (X) on another window. You’ve got to find answers.

Typing in “sENTIENT SENTINCE SENTIENCE LADS ML HELP” in the r/LoveAndDeepspace subreddit search bar, along with keywords that have anything to do with “breaking the fourth wall” and “recent major updates” on X, you quickly scour for anything that comes even close to your current situation. 

Immediately, you see a bunch of mix-match results, some even dating as far as the first month of the game’s release. Your eyes skim through blocks of texts, hoping there’s a comment–or a tweet–somewhere that could shed some light to this conundrum. 

Already, you see some discussion on sudden fourth wall breaks. But you’ve seen posts like this before, and they’re most likely pertaining to the way their LI’s gaze falls directly on the player’s line of sight when they’re in Dynamic Pose mode in Glint Photobooth. 

The common suspects for this are usually Xavier and your resident headache (Sylus). It's one of the “known” bugs of the game, even so far as being choreographed, almost, from the way players intentionally pose the MLs at certain angles to attain the likeness of sentience.   

You remember the first time it happened to you, way back when the Photobooth feature was just recently introduced. You were taking photos of Xavier–letting him pose freely in dynamic mode so that you could capture a more organic look, when his eyes “met” yours directly. 

Of course like any other (delusional) player, you entertained the novel idea of actually being noticed by the videogame character you’ve formed an unhealthy attachment to. Got excited, squealed over it, felt an instant doki-doki on your kokoro—the whole shebang. 

… Along with probably hundreds of other players who’ve experienced the same thing. 

So, yes, these instances occur more frequently than one would think. Not really what you’d call particularly noteworthy. 

Then you see the threads from players who swear that their LIs really understand how they feel during their tête-à-tête sessions. It sounds promising, and you spend a few minutes reading through their "testimonies."

—Until you surmise from what you’ve gathered that all of them only appear like they do. How Rafayel, Zayne (and yes, even Sylus) seem to know what they need to hear, from how accurate their generated responses are. 

Keyword: generated. So, no. They still aren’t anything more than glorified soundboards with really good timing, however attractive it may be to think otherwise. 

Ooh, that one sounds a little too bitchy, even for you. 

It’s got nothing to do with the players, nor has it anything to do with how the game works, really – bugs and all. Fuck, you were one of those people who milked the fantasy over the same coincidences once upon a time. You were. Before the coincidences started to be anything but. 

Before you had to worry whether you still have your mental faculties in order.

With every–misleading–post you stumble upon, you feel yourself becoming more restless. There’s a fervent glaze in your eyes and your typing’s getting diabolically worse. (you could barely read that last search input–bitch, how are you fit to work?) You’re sure that if you looked in a mirror right now, you’d look as deranged as you feel.

Xavier “bug” that looks so real omg?? Skip.

Sylus – New Voiceline? You check it out. Yeah, It’s just one of his newer–programmed–voicelines. 

Conversations with Rafayel got ~too real~ all of a sudden. You wish that yours had stayed the way they’ve always been, but alas. 

Stop feeding into my delusions [Zayne] challenge: Failed. Oh? You’re almost done reading the first paragraph of the Redditor’s post, when you catch sight of the latest update below: 

Resolved. Uninstalled the game. Multi-banners are too expensive (See my other post). Okay, you respect that. Hear that, Infold—

You’re slowly losing hope. Clearly, your case is kind of… mayhaps a tiny bit… different. From the rest. Dare say, exceptionally so.

To what end, you don’t know. You’re left with more questions than answers, and the primary enigma isn’t giving you much to work with.

Without anything else left to do, you resort to mindless scrolling. You’re swiping up, scrolling endlessly through the Top Posts of All Time, and it feels like you’re about to reach the end of this damn subreddit… When an unassuming post from a deleted user catches your attention. 

It only got a few upvotes, and barely enough comments to gain traction. Unless one’s desperate enough to have been looking as hard as you are, it just looks like one of the many random dead posts from months ago. Nothing special. 

Even the title is unassuming: I think the game’s broken??

You start to read.

Hi, so uhhh I’m 2 months in the game and everything’s been going well and all… Until a few days ago. IDK if this is a bug ?? but my Rafayel’s been acting so weird lately….. Ik I’m gonna sound delusional, but it’s like he’s actually aware of me ME. Not my MC. 

He’s got a bunch of new dialogues, and they’re all so accurately specific it’s creeping me tf out LMAO. IDK how the devs got THIS much info on me (like is this even legal) but they do. Or at least, Rafayel does? That sounds rly stupid out loud but yeah lol. Oh and he doesn’t even let me switch between MLs anymore. The game just… crashes? whenever I try to. 

Always been a Rafayel main (he’s the reason why I installed the game in the first place) so I was REALLY ecstatic over what I thought were new updates from the game… buuut when I tried looking it up, I can’t find any related news from the official LADS channel(s) about recent patches or updates with this feature, and no one seems to know what I’m talking about??? 

I feel like I’m going crazy… Literally as I’m typing this, Rafayel’s spamming me with notifications. He’s so fucking clingy… I love it??

Plsplspls if anyone’s experiencing the same thing, comment or DM meee. I need someone to talk to, aside from the fishie lmao no matter how much he insists that he’s enough omg (?!?!!)

Holy shit—you can’t believe it. This… this is exactly what you’re looking for. 

The six comments under the post ranged from calling it complete bull to outright mocking the OP, and you understand why the post didn’t get any more popular. 

For a brief moment, you feel a certain kinship with the original poster. A tinge of… shame (?) washes over you as you scan through all the negative reception; it’s as if the harsh insults were hurled directly at you instead.

How fun. There goes your fleeting idea to post the same question on the forum, if all else fails. 

Speaking of. Your eyes quickly dart to the small text just above the title to check their username—but to your utter dismay, you see (and remember) that it’s from a deleted account. 

The user no longer exists.  

God, that can’t be it.

You spend a solid twenty minutes trying to look up ways to retrieve information–contacts, socials, anything–from deleted accounts. No dice. 

Deep in your gut, you know that whatever else you could possibly find on both apps wouldn’t compare to what you’ve already come across.

You’ve officially hit a dead end. 

-

-

-

With heavy limbs and a downtrodden spirit, you haul yourself up from the floor—just to turn around and collapse face first on the sofa. A deep, drawn-out groan escapes you as you shut your eyes for a moment, trying to calm yourself down from all the stuff that’s been boggling your brain. 

It doesn’t seem like you’ll be finding a solid answer to your question (questions–in plural) any time soon. So what else can you do? 

Well, aside from putting away your groceries–the currently-thawing fish and the condensing bags of pre-cut veggies aren’t going to store themselves inside a freezer anytime soon. A loudly meowing ball of fur has also been relentlessly clawing at your leg at the foot of the sofa for the past five minutes, demanding to be fed and petted. 

Whoops. You hastily push yourself back on your feet to address these pressing tasks pronto.

..

…

…..

 (Now that’s out of the way—)

You swipe your phone open–yet again–as you flop back onto the couch. And, maybe, you’re a glutton for punishment. Maybe you’re just a little too over the excitement of the unknown factors in play. Or maybe, you just want another shot—to try one last time–

What you know, though, is that whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed about stuff at work, or you need something to distract yourself with, you open the silly otome game on your phone to make yourself feel better. 

So—that’s exactly what you do. Even if that silly otome game’s now the reason why you’re feeling so goddamned stressed at the moment. 

Go figure. 

The game boots up. You sullenly glare at the loading bar as it progresses from 35%.... 

68%.... 

95%......... 

Once again, Sylus_v1.0 (!) greets you from the center of the home screen, looking exactly the same as he did last when you opened the app, which was–damn, has it really been over three hours already? 

“At this hour, the day is just getting started,” he remarks nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes drift to whatever’s on his left. 

You give him a deadpan stare; slightly wary, but overall unimpressed by the act. “God, I hope the fuck not.” 

There’s no new content since your last proper login, as far as you can tell. At first glance, you see some of the regular, daily badge notifications, but nothing really stands out to you. There’s no unexpected red dot on the mail icon this time, nor is there any on the Hunter Info tab. 

So far, so good. 

With slight hesitation, you begin to speak, even if you aren’t sure whether your intended recipient can actually hear you or not.

“Um, so. I’m really kinda freaking out right now and–” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the frustration building in your throat. There’s an edge to your voice as you speak your next words, “it’s because you’re–you’ve been giving me mixed signals. I–I don’t know what to think anymore-!” 

He remains unmoving, showing no signs of having registered what you just said. You sigh. 

“Ugh, it sounds like I’m talking to an actual boyfriend or something. This is driving me nuts.” 

Still no response. 

“Can’t you give me a sign?” You whine defeatedly, trying to catch the eye of the pixelated man on your phone who’s resolutely looking at the right side of the screen. Is he purposely avoiding eye contact or what? “Like… I don’t know–blink twice if you understand what I’m saying right now.” 

He blinks. Once. Fucking—

Does he think this is some kind of joke? 

“I’m gonna poke your dick off,” You threaten him menacingly, your pointer finger at the ready to commit assault. “I swear, I’m gonna do it—” 

Wait. Was that a twitch on his lips? 

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him, critical in your scrutiny for any sign that might reveal the truth to this stupid charade he’s putting on. Because it’s a charade. It has to be. 

All of a sudden, embarrassment colors your cheeks as it dawns on you what you just said to him. What you’re poised to do. Fuck, you just wanted to get a rise out of him. Test the waters or some shit. Then again, if he’s actually aware– if he CAN actually hear you— 

Quickly, you retract your finger away from where it hovers precariously centimeters above his crotch area. “Right. Sorry.” 

Scrunching your nose, you press the Agenda icon on the corner, resignation sitting heavy in your chest. Since it doesn’t look like you’re getting any answers tonight, you might as well just do your daily tasks while you’re in-game, right? 

So you go through the motions of ticking off each task on the list half-heartedly, collecting the subsequent rewards one by one; just enough to reach the hundred star mark. 

It’s petty, no doubt irrational, but you steer clear from anything that would require you to interact with him. You start off with what’s easiest to complete: gifting Stamina, spending Stamina, spending more Stamina, and buying items from the Shop. 

Speaking of items… You try your best to act indifferent as you catch sight of the staggering number of red dias that has recently come to your possession, there on the upper right corner of the screen. Before you could even recall the other materials so kindly gifted to you the other night, you immediately exit the Store window to go about your business after you’ve finished collecting today’s free loot. 

You breeze through the Bounty Hunts and Core Hunt stages with excessive use of the Auto Pursuit option, rinsing and repeating until you’re almost out of energy. You don’t want to risk playing an actual battle, since your strongest Memory Cards are from the man you’re currently giving the cold shoulder to.

Also, you have no idea what to expect once you enter combat mode–and right now, you can’t be damned to know. 

Before you know it, you’re done with the daily Agenda. Close enough, at least. You didn’t even have to interact with the white-haired male LYLA wannabe to get the hundred golden stars. Go, you. 

Without anything left to do, you’re back to staring at the–now seated–man on the homescreen who’s still intent on avoiding you. There’s Mephisto perched on his finger, appearing in a plume of black feathers, projecting a holographic screen for the Onychinus leader to scroll through whatever evil juju he’s been up to lately—the very picture of calm detachment. 

Almost a minute passes by. 

You can’t help it. Poke. Pokepokepokepoke—

“Once you’re trapped in life’s banality, the only thing left is “staying alive.”"

“Oh, for the love of—is that a hint or not?!”

You really wish you could’ve talked to the person on Reddit about this. Ask them whether their version of Rafayel had also been this difficult, this uncooperative. It can’t be that different from what you’re dealing with, could it? 

Just a chance to talk… You brood wistfully. To know what’s happening to them right now. Ask them for advice on how to provoke some type of reactio—

Suddenly, something clicks in your brain, and you almost bite your tongue to prevent the spark of anticipation from showing on your face.  

"Alright, you win," you concede with an exaggerated sigh, raising your arms over your head to appear as if you’re simply stretching away the stiffness in your muscles. You try to inject as much reluctance in your tone. “You’re really not going to budge, huh?” 

Again, you’re met with radio silence—not that you’re expecting a response at this point. 

(Well, not yet.) 

“That’s fine…” You trail off deliberately, drawing lazy lines across the screen with your pointer finger, until it stops right before the small message icon on the left. 

With feigned innocence, you muse, “Hey, I wonder how Xavier's been doing lately.” 

…

A beat. You almost believe nothing would come out of your last, and obvious, attempt at goading him but then— 

Sylus throws his head back with a sigh, casting an almost exasperated glance at the ceiling. He flicks his wrist dismissively, and Mephisto vanishes in a puff of dark smoke. There’s an unsettling fluidity in the way his gaze shifts toward you; disconcertingly lifelike, when his eyes finally–finally–lock onto yours. An intensity behind those red eyes that makes the look feel unnervingly deliberate. 

Your breath catches in your throat. There it is. The reaction you’re looking for.

A weary amusement frames the way he tilts his head sideways–with the way the corners of his mouth curve into a mocking smile, eyes never leaving yours.

He raises an eyebrow up as if to say, now what?

“I knew it,” you whisper shakily, eyes widening into saucers. “I fucking knew it.” 

“Mm, took you long enough.” 

Before you could even react to that, Sylus flashes you a two-finger salute and winks.

The game crashes. 

“Oh, no, you don’t—" you growl, not wasting any second tapping the game icon again. It doesn’t even give you a chance to reach the main menu before it glitches, and you’re back staring at the widgets on your phone’s home screen. “Motherfucker.” 

You keep trying. 

And with every attempt, Sylus, freak of nature that he is, responds with another system crash. On the eight try, you succeed on entering the game and you feel a sense of relief seeing the loading bar—before, lo and behold, it crashes once more. 

Your left eye twitches. Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath for a solid fifteen seconds before sharply exhaling through your nose.

You jab a finger on the icon of his dumb face again. You ought to change that shit as soon as this game of chicken lets up. 

“You’re gonna let me open this app, Sy-Sy,” You sang with faux cheer. “Or, swear to god, I’m uninstalling this thing before you could even—”   

… It loads successfully before you could even finish your sentence. 

“Alright, alright.” 

There he is; closer to the screen now, wearing a faint smile, as though trying to stifle a full-on grin from breaking across his face. He looks thoroughly entertained by the entire situation, like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. “Hi, sweetheart.” 

“You–you—” Sputtering, you glare at him, betrayal in your eyes. “You’re a fucking ass!” 

“And you’re an absolute delight to play with, kitten,” Sylus coos at you, his smirk widening. But when he catches the trembling jut on your bottom lip, the amused glint in his eyes softens into something that almost seems sympathetic, and dare you say–apologetic? 

“For what it’s worth, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I couldn’t resist teasing you a little—but looking at you now, I see I might’ve taken it too far,” he murmurs, bowing his head slightly in a show of contrition. “I’m sorry, little dove.”

You press your lips together, your gaze darting away from the screen. “I thought I was going crazy.” As opposed to now? “B-but, um–it’s all good, I guess.”

A flush creeps up your neck when you hear him chuckle. 

Fuck, this is really happening, the hysterical thought rushes to your mind, unbidden. Chat, what’s the plan?

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 <3

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about us being shown Eddie developing his cooking skills before buck - that were shown Eddie being able to cook a full meal (and bake) before were shown Buck doing the same thing. And something something about that foreshadowing Eddie having his full feelings realisation before buck.

Eddie’s cooking skills are on display in 5x11 outside looking in when he cooks dinner for buck Chris and Taylor - and he’s baked cupcakes for desert as well.

But we don’t actually get shown buck cooking a full meal until the 6x01 lasagne. He’s only got as far as breakfast foods when he makes Maddie an omelet in 2x04 stuck but we don’t get shown him actively cooking again until he makes the lasagne.

After that its hit and miss on the cooking and baking front for buck - burnt lasagne in a 7 and I’m assuming his baking isnt that great in 8x07 by the way Chim has one bite and then pushes the loaf away before he masters the ziti, garlic bread etc in 807 and then later the scones in 8x08.

[marauder-misprint]

"friends can cuddle, right?" prompt with sirius????

Not sure if you wanted a platonic or romantic Sirius, but I'm a Sirius girlie so you got romantic ♥︎ If you want a more platonic version, just submit another request with platonic in the request.

Study Buddy

Sirius Black x fem!Gryffindor!reader

1.7k works

cw: fluff

It was a common sight. You snuggled into Sirius’ side on the couch with his arm draped around your shoulders. Or him laying on your lap with your hand in his hair. One of you was always using the other’s shoulder as a pillow in History of Magic.

For two who constantly insisted that they were only friends, it seemed as if Sirius made it his life’s mission to have a physical connection with you. But it wasn’t like Sirius never touched anyone else. He was constantly tackling and hugging James, Peter and Remus. He got into physical altercations with the Slytherins almost weekly. Sirius dealt with his feelings physically. 

You suppose that that’s why you found yourself in your current situation: tucked under Sirius’ arm, your back against his bare chest, in his bed, under covers. Nothing had happened. You were fully dressed and Sirius had on comfy shorts. But to the outside eye with the briefest of looks, it was a very compromising position. And the outside eyes of James would lead to a mess of a rumor. 

Leading up to waking up in Sirius’ arms, you had been studying with him in his dorm. He was prideful and therefore hated when he had to ask for help with an assignment. He had asked you because he knew that you wouldn’t tease him about it. Even better, you wouldn’t tell anyone about it. You were good with keeping secrets and telling people to mind their own business with choice words. Because of his pride, the studying had to be done somewhere other than the library or common room. So that’s how you ended up in his dorm.

After two hours of studying, Sirius had announced that he needed a break. He got up and went into the bathroom. You started putting things away, essentially taking his declaration as a hint to leave. Your assumption was reinforced when Sirius emerged, shirtless with the comfy shorts. He climbed into his bed and watched as you finished putting your things away and turned for the door.

“You’re leaving?” he had asked.

“Yes?”

“Come nap with me.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering the situation. You were pretty sure that you were going to end up napping in your own dorm anyway, so what was the harm of napping here? It wasn’t like you hadn’t slept near Sirius before; it just was never in his bed, with him. 

“Yeah, sure,” you had said, putting your bag down. 

He held up the blanket in front of him so you could slide in. It didn’t take long for you to get comfortable. The bed smelled deeply of Sirius, which was never a bad thing. Even fully dressed, you could feel warmth radiating off of him as he pressed his body into yours. It was nothing short of comfortable. Sleep took you quickly with Sirius’ slow breathing matching yours. 

You both were asleep when James walked into the dorm. His day had been fairly plain until that moment. Usually, he didn’t give a second look to Sirius’ bed, especially if he was in it, even more so if there was someone else in it. It was never his business. Until he saw your bag on the floor next to Sirius’ desk. He nearly let out a squeal when he saw your face. He was back out of the dorm in seconds, booking it to the common room.

“I called it!” he bragged to Remus and Peter.

“Called what?” Peter asked, not looking up from the chess board.

“Y/N and Sirius.”

Remus snorted a laugh. “They aren’t.”

“Then why are they in Sirius’ bed? Naked.”

Remus and Peter’s faces snapped to James with a smug look on his face. Then they both get up and sprint up the stairs. James just waits. They return quickly, expressions an equal mix of amusement and horror. 

“I did not see that coming,” Remus muttered.

“You only deny dating that fervently when the feelings are there,” James said knowingly. 

“How long do you think it’s been?” Peter asked. “How long have they been hiding it from us?”

Naturally, by the time you wake up, the entirety of the common room believes you and Sirius are dating. You gently lift Sirius’ arm off you so you can get up. As soon as you pull away, he grumbles, still half asleep.

“Where’re you going?”

“Getting up. I have assignments of my own to do.”

“But you’re so warm,” he moans.

You roll your eyes despite knowing he won’t see since his eyes are still shut.

“You know what else is warm?” you ask, grabbing a quilt from Remus’ bed. “More blankets.”

You lay the quilt over Sirius and tuck him in.

“Not the same…”

“You’ll survive,” you say.

You grab your back and leave the dorm. You head to yours, avoiding the common room completely but coming face-to-face with all of your roommates. 

“You’re dating Sirius Black?” Mary accuses as soon as you walk through the door.

“No?” you say taken aback. 

“We don’t believe you.”

You give the group a quizzical look.

“You were in his bed, naked?” Lily says, really only questioning the ‘naked’ part.

“I was not!”

“Naked or in his bed?”

You hesitate before saying, “Naked.”

“So you were in his bed,” Marlene gushes. “Do tell more.”

You put your bag down on your desk and sit on your bed. The cost of being Sirius’ friend was defining said friendship to your other friends. 

“We were studying. He got tired, decided to take a nap and asked me to join him. We napped. I was fully clothed,” you gesture to your wrinkled clothes, “the whole time. He was shirtless but he had on bottoms!”

“So you’re sleeping together now, huh,” Marlene says with a glint in her eye.

You groan. “For the love of Merlin, do not phrase it like that!”

“You’re saying there was no shagging?” Mary asks.

“No shagging. No kissing. No inappropriate touching. Just two friends cuddling.”

The girls don’t say anything.

“Friends can cuddle, right?” The girls remain silent. “Right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Lily says, giving you a sympathetic smile. 

Sirius was having a similar conversation in his own dorm. James had spotted you crossing from the boys’ stairs to the girls’. He grabbed Remus and Peter and the group went to confront Sirius.

“So, Padfoot, when were you going to tell us?” James says casually as they enter the room.

“Is that my quilt?” Remus asks, eyes going wide. He was making horrid assumptions about the activities that might have gone down and he felt the need to burn it.

“Tell you what?” Sirius groans, sitting up. He immediately pulls the quilt higher and leans into it. It was warm. 

“About your new girlfriend,” James answers. “Although, I suppose, we don’t know how new she actually is.”

“Don’t have a girlfriend…” Sirius says. “Who’s spreading rumors now?”

“Damn, you sleep with your dear friend and you’re not calling her your girlfriend?” Peter asks, shocked. 

Confusion and then realization flash across Sirius’ face. “Y/n?”

“Yeah, caught on, have you?” James asks with a grin.

“Yeah, we’re not dating. As for sleeping with, we napped. Cuddling, you know.”

“No shenanigans?” Remus asks tentatively.

“No shenanigans,” Sirius confirms. 

James and Peter share an unconvinced look.

“Hey, friends can cuddle.” A beat. “Friends can cuddle, right?”

“Usually they keep their clothes on…” Peter mumbles and Sirius falls backwards into his pillows. 

---

James, Remus and Peter didn’t help quell the rumors they had started so you and Sirius made a habit of individually assuring people that friends can cuddle and that’s all you were. This, of course, was done without talking to each other. Not talking was helped by you both trying to avoid each other. You don’t talk until the evening before the test that you had been helping Sirius study for. He was freaking out on the inside. So he approaches you feeling more nervous than he had in a while.

“Study buddy?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah. Give me one sec, I’ll meet you up there.”

He nods and heads to his dorm. You had been working on an essay for a different class so you had to clean up your stuff. With the distance the two of you put between you, the rumors had lessened, but now you worried they would only be refueled as you went up the boys’ stairs. As you climbed said stairs, you began to question yourself. Mainly, if ‘friends’ was all you and Sirius were. You had never minded his touching and the naps and the cuddles and the hugs and the piggyback rides and the hand holding. It only fueled the secret crush you had on him. You knew so many girls liked him and you cherished your friendship so much. You wouldn’t dare say anything. 

Yes, you won’t say anything. You decide on that. Until you open the door and see him sitting on his bed, waiting for you. 

“Friends can cuddle, right?” 

The question flies out of your mouth before you can stop it. Sirius stares at you for a moment. Then he gets up and walks toward you. He puts his hands on your shoulders to hold you at arms’ length.

“I asked the boys the same question.”

“Are we friends?”

“Yes.”

“And we did cuddle.”

“Correct.”

Your next question, you already don’t want to ask it. But you need to. It needs to be asked. It’s burning as it rests on the tip of your tongue. You squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to see his reaction when you ask it.

“Is friends all we are?”

There’s silence. Sirius’ grip on your shoulder only gets stronger. You’re about to open your eyes when something touches your face. His nose? Then his lips meet yours. You don’t open your eyes until he pulls back. The kiss only lasted a second. You don’t know what to say or how to react. So you stare at him, your mouth open in surprise.

“Was that okay?” he breathes, his face still close to yours.

“Yeah,” is all you can bring yourself to say.

“Then friends is not all we are.”

[grendil5]

History is completely fabricated. None of those things happened and none of their opposite stories happened either. It's all made up. Opposite stories meaning history was designed with stories that mirror eachother. The opposite stories for your examples are:

-The african slave trade didn't happen.

-The link between the words slave and slav doesn't exist. (not really an opposite but still) (I admit I don't know this one for sure but it would be extremely funny and cruel to do this to Christians and thus right up their alley)

-The european opium sales to china (to addict and enslave them) didn't happen.

-The uh hmm well i'm sure you can figure out the polar opposite of this one. It didn't happen.

-The other three don't really have an opposite, to my knowledge, perhaps the story of the holy roman empire being secretly run and exclusively kinged by Dutch/Germans? More insane impossible fantasy bullshit. But rest assured not one truth has been told to us or today's Russians about Soviet Russia.

But there are many, many more examples. You probably have some too. You'll notice that in all of history, there's a team good-guy and team-bad guy example for everything. Some "thousands of years" (lol) apart. All of it the west vs the world. Or white people vs the world. Christians vs the world. That's because it's all made up, it's designed to completely ensnare your brain. The full spectrum of good and bad behavior is taken care of. Every race and religion is written to be a victim in one story and a perpetrator in another.

The reason history is designed that way is neutralize your moral compass. To drive you away from Christ, and to make you easy to control. To make you disbelieve in a "true good", which is what Christ has always been.

There's no "morally grey" mankind that "has been kind of bad, but always tries to do good." or some slop. There is only one good and it's our Father. Anyone acting against our father is evil. There has never been anything else. This world operates on one single principle: If you love God, everything works out for you. Period. No countries, no nations, no history. It's all fake. Completely made up. Our textbooks were written by drunk Skeksis in some lodges somewhere and mass-produced after WWII to feed to children whose great-grandchildren, us, now accept their dumb stories as law. And they've been constantly adding to it. "This sounds plausible, put this in" becomes a "new fact recently discovered by the university of _____" Coincidentally, all scienceslop (and subsequent NASAslop) also works this way.

Ask yourself, what would be better? For the goyim to know some truths and some lies, or for them to live in a complete fantasy world? If you tell them some truths, they use those truths as a jumping off point and will discover the lies and awaken. Truth sticks out like a sore thumb. I have no decent historical example for this because they've never told us a truth. That's how fucked it is.

Hang on, how about the world trade thingy. They told you that a plane crashed into it, which it didn't, the entire thing was CGI, so that's a lie. But what if they told you a truth? What if they told you there were bombs on every part of the tower, and that it was a controlled demolition. What the fuck would their excuse be? Now that this truth is revealed to you, how could they ever explain it away? Their narrative is fried. The same goes for all of history. You think even a little bit about one inconsistency, and the whole case is blown apart. That’s why they’ve never, ever told us anything. Nothing.

If you hear even one truth about our history, you'll come to the realization that most of the shit they sell you is logistically impossible. Plus if you "get got" too many times, and realize it too many times, you'll start to look at everything as potentially bullshit. And then you'll start to see that actually it's all bullshit. And then you'll begin to seek Jesus Christ and find the truth in God. And to the people who invent our history to deceive us from God, that's a fucking disaster.

Just about every war doesn't add up. Food and water supplies when marching across continents don’t make sense. Whole populations lived in and around the most beautiful, mathematically perfect buildings but we’re told they were all dumb stinky peasants who threw sewage into the streets.

One way you know it’s fake is that in all their stories human beings are fucking stupid. The holodomor was obviously supposed to mirror the other one, but both stories have to treat the supposed victims like dumb cattle. So it barely even works! Picture yourself as a Kulak watching your children starve to death on some farm and saying "We're not leaving, this is our home." Yeah fucking right!

If you care about the truth you must look at the history books they write for us as a lie. The real truth is that absolutely nothing can be trusted before the end of "WWII" which itself may have been a lie.

All war is fake, that's something you come to understand. Go look at old war photos and ask yourself what these kids were doing when the photo was taken? What were they thinking according to the official story? Why are they standing there like that? Why are they all fucking smiling? How did that vehicle get into that hole in such a way? Why does everything look so fucking ridiculous? It's NASA-tier fakery. All fake soldiers playing dress up and having fun coming up with rediculous "oh so sad" war photos. You can see it on their faces. Their Skeksis director behind the camera was having fun with them. Fooling Christians unites them. Same thing with the civil war. With all wars. With all tragedies. All Hollywood.

It's all just dumb shit for you to get mad at. It's all designed to tear you from God. Don't buy a word. History isn't real.

[punkkture]

does anyone else ever want to be a pornstar for simon riley ???

simon is coming home from the store one day, you had asked him to go grab a couple things you forgot you needed to cook dinner with— and when the front door opens, youre too lost in your own world to hear it. his heavy footsteps up the stairs go unnoticed, and only when it’s too late do you notice him walking through the doorway.

your phone in your hands, legs spread, whining to yourself and trying to mimick the feeling simon can derive from you when his fingers are deep inside you. its not the same. even if the little puddle on the bedding says otherwise.

the second you notice his presence you flip the phone down, squeeze your legs shut, and your palm slaps tight over that mouth that was just making such lewd noises.

simon chuckles because of course he does. thats funny. this is funny to him. his missus really thought she could get off to something other than him? its amusing.

“baby, you gotta start locking the door and goin’ to the bathroom if this is really what you wanna do . .” he would retort to you, walking over to the bed.

his hand grabs for your phone as youre still trying to steady your breathing. but he already knows what’s going on. theres no point in hiding it. “simon i- i really-“

he cuts you off, “lets see what you were watchin’ hm?” and thats what makes your heart kind of sink. simon flips the screen back over and his eyes widen only a little bit, its all in amusement.

you whine in embarrassment as your face turns red, squeezing your fatty thighs together even more. waiting for him to humiliate you, which he inevitably does. it was some pretty dirty stuff you had been watching, something you would probably never have told him you actually watched. a little homemade video a couple had filmed. it wasnt anything rougher than what simon has already put you through . . but the guy kept shoving the camera in the girls face. wet slaps being heard as he bullied his cock into the girl from behind. you could see him lean forward to get a perfect view of the girls fucked out face— was that what drew you to it?

“were you trying to picture this happening to yourself, sweetie?” he teases with an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. he wasnt mad at all, getting home and seeing you like this, all ready for him, he loved it. “you a little exhibitionist?” he continued to tease until you nodded. it was always easy to be honest with him.

your face so red at the idea of being caught. you know he would never genuinely make fun of you— it didn’t make it any less embarrassing however.

but simon seeing the expression on your face and the redness that had overtaken it, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

“theres no need to be so shy, baby” he muses to you. turning the phone off and throwing it somewhere in the bed as he crawls up to you. all the way until those pretty eyes of yours he loved so much were staring up at him as he rested between your legs he spread back open. “dont worry . . ‘m not mad at you for this. just a little . . curious now.” his frame leans down as your hands instinctively go to softly rest on his muscled shoulders. “you thinking of being a little pornstar arent you? you want to be on film with your face all blushed, doing pretty things for the camera?” he teases in a light tone, his warm lips already kissing at your neck.

it only took him another five minutes before he was the one laying down against the headboard with you between his legs. your face near his jeans as his right hand carded through your hair sweetly and lazily. in his other hand, he held his phone—camera turned on and pointing at you.

“say hi, sweetheart,” he mused with a smirk, watching your face through the camera. simon’s warm palm and fingers brushing against your face every so often when he was carding through your hair made you feel more comfortable. he reminded you it was just the two of you before all this started. he praised you with a pat on the cheek when a gentle ‘hi’ was heard from your mouth.

“open your mouth and let the camera see that pretty tongue of yours” he spoke. his eyes watching you intently though the camera screen. your wet mouth opening and tongue sticking out. warm strings of spit coating your tongue and dripping down onto the bulge in his pants.

thats all it took for him to instruct you to unbuckle his belt and pull him out of his jeans. soft praises mumbled the entire time you did. simon let out a sigh when you finally held him in your hands.

god he wanted nothing more that to bury himself in that little mouth of yours. his right hand went back to your hair. leaning you down closer to his aching and leaking cock. you didnt think you had ever seen it this needy before. a clear glistening streak of warm precum was already sliding down his thick shaft. the tip was red and needy, like he had never fucked you before.

“open up, baby . . . gotta show the camera how good you are,” he coaxed gently. “lets see how far that pretty little mouth can take me, hm?” he asked as he pulled your head closer to him.

your tongue came out to lick up the drips of precum he had been leaking. warm, open mouth kisses along the length of him. going back to his base and licking a wet stripe all the way up until your puffy lips wrapped around his tip. sucking in any more of the salty essence he was leaking. your eyes flicking up to him and seeing only his mouth agape with soft groans as he held his phone camera up to film you.

the way simon’s fingers were digging into your scalp let you know that he was going to get more from you soon— and he sure did.

your lips covered and coated in spit as his hand bobbed you up and down on his thick cock. your eyes watering from the pressure of him hitting the back of your throat over and over again. gags and squelching noises intertwining with his harsh groans and puffs of breath. your hair falling in your face a little bit as his motions got sloppy. his hips now rutting up to meet your mouth even though he was already shoving you down onto him. your nose pressing against his abdomen as you gagged roughly around him. he kept you there for a good couple of seconds, rutting his hips up into you. your eyes squeezing shut from the pressure of him reaching the deep part of your throat. he moaned and hissed in a breath at the feeling of your gummy throat pressing up against his sensitive tip.

he pulled you up and off of him. a gag coming from you as a little bit of spit and cum dripped off of your coated tongue. only slightly being able to taste his release since he had finished so deeply in the back of your throat. your lips were puffy. spit and cum just caked down your chin and neck. covering the entirety of his cock and pelvis. streaks of black mascara and eyeliner streaking down your cheeks. you were just so messy.

simon chuckled breathlessly at the sight of you. he leaned up, grabbed your jaw and cheeks with his big hand, making sure to get his camera right up in your face.

“pretty baby so messy for the camera . . . say ‘ahh’ let them see.” the way he spoke, you could tell he was restless and out of breath at the same time.

parting your lips and sticking your tongue out— coated in his release and a little glob of your spit stringing down and kissing his overstimulated tip that was right under you. keeping your hazy and teary eyes on the camera lens for him. he patted your cheek, turning the video off.

“good baby . . . such a good baby.”

quick little thought i had to get out lolz

[crystallizsch]

jhgnngggn i’m back to thinking about post-nrc yuusha and jamil--- extremely long ramble below prepare for uh angst??? i guess???

i buried some of these lore in the tags somewhere but anyways-

yuusha and jamil exchanged hair ties when they separated and went off on their own post-nrc as a way to "remember each other by".

they both have different plans for their own futures despite wanting to be "together"— whatever that means. yuusha stayed at nrc working as staff and jamil is out travelling.

at this point though they STILL never officially “dated” but oh they were so so close SO many times to putting a label on it.

“what happened then” <- idk man they’re incredibly stupid. yuusha is still horribly noncommittal and jamil is- jamil. (“…the hell does that mean” <- SHHHH i will not elaborate)

they ended as just "really good friends" (something something on they’re on the spectrum of queerplatonic but they didn’t understand that that was the case) .

━━━━━━✦

at first they did well keeping in touch from a long distance—

yuusha never forgets to check in on jamil, texting/calling whenever possible, she was always the first to initiate.

and jamil still would’ve made the same effort of course, but yuusha always beats him to it. he sort of just expected her check-ins every day.

and he looks forward to that 1-15 notifications that he gets as soon as he wakes up. it does get him going knowing that she was specifically thinking of him at the start of the day.

that wouldn't last though. eventually, the more yuusha met more people and cultivated new relationships, the more she felt herself grow further and further apart from jamil.

yuusha thrives on physical relationships and the majority of the time the only communication and contact between her and jamil is through the phone.

and so the messages from her became less and less frequent as yuusha got more absorbed and interested in her work and other relationships.

don't get it wrong, she still cared about jamil. loved him even, in her own way.

he just became less of a priority.

━━━━━━✦

it was bittersweet to think that jamil finally had the chance to initiate the conversation.

because that meant yuusha had been thinking of him less and he had to remind her himself that— hey he's still there, remember him?— although that's not exactly what he would say. that's a bit too antagonistic and petty. surely, she's just busy. right?

yuusha would respond as if everything was normal. but the usual fondness, the usual warmth, they weren't there. her words through the screen felt dry. forced.

she can use the unnecessary punctuations and emojis she wants but she is not getting past him.

they called. it was nice to hear her voice. but. there's the same feeling of detachment. why are they talking as if this was one of their first times?

yuu, what happened?— is what jamil wanted to ask. but he would also respond nonchalantly. as if everything was normal.

jamil still tried to reach out to her. similar to how she did with him.

but it was to no avail.

their interactions felt too far gone from what they had.

eventually jamil also realized that there was No Point.

if she wasn’t going to make the effort anymore, why should he?

━━━━━━✦

professor yuusha tala walks in to her class which her signature braid and feathered hair tie.

it's lovely having gotten used to working at nrc. her students are surprisingly behaved and she enjoys teasing chatting with her coworkers. surely she isn't missing anything, is she?

and the traveler, jamil viper. he's seen most of the sights, experienced a lot of things. it's like he is slowly fulfilling his childhood dreams.

he ties his hair with the same one he's been using for years. it's a surprise it hasn't snapped yet from how worn out it looks. this really belonged to someone so cheap, huh.

he wonders why he's still using it. he had come across fitting souvenirs that could replace it.

waste of money— jamil convinces himself. besides, this hair tie is fit for every occasion and it's still holding up anyway.

he'll just get a new one when this one finally bites the dust.

if it ever does.

it's really stubborn for a hair tie.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

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

part 3

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

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

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

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

nsfw, minors DNI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, stop!” 

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

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

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

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

You feel it.

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

And neither of you move.

Ford is first to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you’re too young—”

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

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

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

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

“This. . . now this is inappropriate.”

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

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

“Enough, I’m serious, stop.”

“Make me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your fresh wound.

You gasp in pain, breaking the kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Oh.”  

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

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

Stan looks like you’ve just offended him.  

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

You laugh softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then he opens his mouth.

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

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

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

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

What the actual fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then. . . he smirks.  

The bastard smirks.

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

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

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

His fucking teasing is driving you crazy.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re insufferable. Worse than Stan.”

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

Your jaw drops.  

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

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

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

That shuts him up.

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

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

Ford goes completely still.  

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

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

“Well played.”

***

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

Yours.  

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

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

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

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

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

But you’re not afraid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At dinner, it’s you who starts it.  

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

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

The lab is worse.

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

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

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

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

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

“But i’m fine—”  

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ford,” and he hums softly in response.

“Hmm?”

“Give me another.”

Ford doesn’t need to be told twice.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-Ford! fuuck. . . fuck fuck fuck!” 

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

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

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

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

“Ford. . . oh god! Ford, too much—!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning, genius,” you murmur finally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sheerfreesia007]

Love Creases

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 2,118

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You find a way to show Felix that you love him through your origami hobby and he’s absolutely giddy with love over it. What happens when he decides to show his love through origami as well?

Felix walks into his apartment after a long day in the studio with Chan and Changbin, he tiredly trudges through the door and Seungmin who’s in the kitchen heating up some food looks over to him with a soft smile. Walking further into the apartment Felix drops his bag by the door before toeing off his shoes and making his way into the kitchen.

”Your lady came by earlier and dropped off some food for us.” Seungmin told him fondly as he watched his food spin in the microwave. Felix grinned widely at the mention of you before he opened the fridge and saw the containers you had packed away for them so that they didn’t have to cook. After he had told you that he and Seungmin would be living together, you had made it your mission to always provide them with home cooked meals. After that one time they tried cooking together and nearly burnt the house down. You didn’t trust either one of them in the kitchen and Felix figured it was a win-win situation for everyone, they didn’t have to cook and possibly burn their apartment down and you knew that they would have food to eat and wouldn’t starve.

”She’s too good to us.” Felix says amused as he looks over at Seungmin who nods his head knowingly before eagerly opening the microwave once it beeps that his food is done.

”Oh, she also went into your bedroom before she left. But she wasn't in there for a long time.” Seungmin said softly before he took his container of food into the living room and plopped down on the couch to begin eating while watching his television show. Felix nodded his head at his friend before shutting the fridge and beginning to head to his bedroom curious to see what you had left for him. 

When he entered his bedroom he easily spotted the sunflower tote that turned into an almost care package between the two of you. It had started as a way for you to keep all the little things that reminded you of him whenever you had to spend time away from him. But it had quickly turned into a care tote that the two of you swapped between each other normally filled with things that you loved and things that symbolized you in the other’s eyes. Walking quickly over to his gaming chair he starts to unpack the tote and smiles fondly at all the things you had packed inside. There were snacks that he loved, a new gaming magazine featuring one of the games he loved to play, a new chicken figurine that you had found somewhere, and even a new outfit for Bbokari.

He happily began to put all the things you had gotten him away in their rightful places and began to grab the sunflower tote before he noticed something sitting on his desk. There sitting on the corner of his desk was a little origami chicken, he cooed at it as he gently picked it up and turned it around and around in his hands. As he turned a third time in his hand he noticed the little written note on the tail of the chicken on one side, open me. 

Gently and carefully he does manage to open it and sees your handwriting on the inside of the origami paper and he grins bashfully as he reads the words. Everyday you bring me joy and happiness. I hope I bring the same to you. I love you. And your name was signed at the bottom making him sigh dreamily at the sweet loving gesture you had given him. He pulls his cell phone out and snaps a quick picture of the note and sends you a text thanking you for the gifts, food and cute little origami chicken as he giggles happily at all the love he was currently feeling from you.

When he’s done texting you he tries to refold the origami chicken but finds that with all the creases in the paper he can’t figure out how to refold it. Frowning softly in frustration he turns back to his phone when it chimes with a text message notification hoping that it’s from you so that he can ask you how to refold the chicken. When he sees that it’s from Chan he huffs at his friend before swiping the message away and pulling up your contact and pressing the call button. It only takes two rings before you’re answering.

”Hey Sunshine!” You greet him sounding a little winded.

”Hi love, where are you? Seungminnie said you came by earlier but you didn’t stay.” He greets you and pouts slightly at not seeing you when you came over. He hears your softy chuckle and he feels his heart start to lift in his chest.

”I’m out with my nieces right now. I’m on babysitting duty tonight.” You tell him and he smiles at your words. “I couldn’t stay Sunshine, I had to go pick the girls up from school and now we’re in the grocery store getting ingredients to cook dinner with.” You tell him happily as he hears your nieces in the background making kissy noises.

”Can I come crash your sleepover?” He asked hopefully and you chuckled softly at his eager question.

”Miss me that much?” You tease him and he laughs softly in response.

”Always miss you sweetheart. Also I need your help.” He confesses quietly and you burst out laughing at his confession.

”What do you need help with babe?” You ask goodnaturedly and he smiles bashfully.

”Can you help me refold my origami chicken?” He asks quietly and your laughter fills his ears through the phone making him smile.

”So you liked the little chicken?” You ask him curiously and he huffs softly.

”Of course I loved it. It’s adorable when it’s all folded and it hides a special love note just for me.” He gushes shyly and you coo at him. “I love the little secret surprise inside him but I’d like to keep him folded and I can’t figure it out on my own.” He admits softly as he stares down at the unfolded piece of origami paper.

”Alright Sunflower, meet us at my apartment and I’ll refold the chicken for you. Then you can stay for dinner and a sleepover.” You tell him happily and Felix grins widely before he starts to pack an overnight bag.

*-*-*-*

The next week he finds a cute little elephant sitting on the corner of his desk waiting to greet him after he returned home from a trip to Paris for a photoshoot. He grins widely and happily chuckles as he rushes to his desk already pulling his phone out of his pocket. He snaps a couple of pictures of the elephant before gently opening it to read your note that you left for him. I am so proud of you reaching for and achieving all of your dreams. I love you so much and can’t wait to see what’s next in store for you. 

His heart swells with love for you with your sweet words and his grin consumes his face easily. He then pulls out the book that he had ordered last week and begins to look for the  directions on how to refold the origami elephant. At the sleepover with your nieces two weeks ago they showed him your origami book that you had and used for whenever you folded origami figures for them. He had made a mental note of the book and sneakily ordered it while you weren’t looking so that he’d be able to refold any origami that you gifted him with.

He concentrates avidly as he begins to refold the elephant and when he successfully is able to refold it he cries out triumphantly. Standing from his desk chair he then takes the elephant and places it on his shelf right next to the chicken from last week. He grins happily as he eyes his little duo of origami before sitting back down in his desk chair and grabbing his phone to send the picture of his origami elephant to the group chat with the guys to brag about his awesome girlfriend.

*-*-*-*

The next few weeks you manage to sneak in a swan, a dinosaur, a unicorn, and a llama into his bedroom and Felix is nearly overwhelmed with the love that you pour into your little army of origami figures. Every week that there’s a new figure left on his desk for him he feels his heart skip a beat before swelling to almost double in size. He loves every figure that you leave for him and he looks forward to them now each week but he’s been working on a surprise for you too and he’s eager for your visit today so that he can show it to you.

Tonight he’d begged Seungmin to go spend the night at one of the other guys’ apartments so that he can have a nice cozy date night in with you. He had even bribed the younger man with leftovers from your dinner if he left early in the day and didn’t come home til tomorrow. Seungmin had reluctantly agreed but only because of the promise of leftovers and the fact that he didn’t want to hear what Felix sounded like having sex again. When you show up laden with grocery bags Felix eagerly helps you bring them in before putting them away in the fridge and you give him a confused look but he smiles at you lovingly as he grabs your hands.

”Before we start cooking I want to show you something.” He tells you softly before leading you towards his bedroom You raise an eyebrow at him and he laughs softly at your look before shaking his head at you. “Not like that. Stop thinking dirty thoughts.” He chastises you softly as he pulls you into his bedroom. He then moves behind you and places his hands on your shoulders to guide you to his shelf where he’s been storing all his origami figures that you’ve made for him.

”Oh Felix!’ You coo out softly and he grins at your reaction as you both gaze at his shelf full of origami figures. He wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his face into your neck making you hum in response.

”I love all my origami figures you leave me. They mean so much to me, especially the notes inside. I love you so much and I don’t think I can ever tell you that enough.” He confesses softly to you as he brushes his lips against your neck. You’re enjoying the affection from him as you lean back into his chest and he hums softly while still brushing his lips against your neck, your eyes are still traveling along the shelf looking at each of the origami figures that you had made for him and smile as you remember the process and note held within each one. But then your eyes land on the last origami figure and you furrow your eyebrows slightly, it’s a little neon green frog. You lean forward while still staying in Felix’s arms as you reach and gently take the frog from the shelf.

”I didn’t make this one.” You say softly and Felix giggles proudly from behind you.

”No, I made it for you.” He whispers against your skin and your body flushes with a warmth that starts in your stomach and travels up to your chest settling where your heart sits. You see the little note that says open me in Felix’s handwriting and begin to gently and carefully open the origami frog. As the page is slowly revealed to you your eyes quickly dart over the words written there and feel your breath escape you in a gasp. You are my entire world and I promise to cherish every moment with you. Tears fill your eyes and you set the page down on his desk carefully before turning in his arms to cup his cheeks and press your lips lovingly to his.

Felix smiles into the kiss as he reciprocates it while tightening his arms around your waist pulling you in close to him. The two of you stay like that pressed flush against each other lazily kissing with your arms wrapped around each other. When you both are in desperate need of air you slowly pull away.

”I love you.” You whisper to him and Felix grins while nudging his nose against yours cutely.

”I love you too.” He whispers back and the two of you bashfully grin at each other.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[witchyvibes91]

Behind the Mask: Part two | Tom Riddle

Summary: One week after your night at the masquerade ball, you decide to confront Tom about your suspicion while Tom continues to struggles with his attraction towards you.

TW: 18+, mdni, chars 18+, smut, rough sex, dom and sub, biting, PIV, male receiving oral, smothering, spanking, scratching, PNV sex, degradation, sex punishment

Word Count: 4.5k

TMR.

The initials lived in your head constantly. Since that night at the masquerade ball a week ago, you couldn’t get it out of your mind. Tom. You had fucked Tom–or rather, Tom had fucked you. 

He hated you. He despised you. He spent years putting you down and making you feel like the smallest person in the world How could he have fucked you? Was it some sick and twisted joke? Did he enjoy it? You needed answers.

“It could be another name.” Your friend said as she looked over the tie for the millionth time. You shook your head. What were the chances someone had the same initials? 

“No. No, it has to be him. The voice. Those eyes. It was him.” You muttered as you paced in front of your friend. She sighed, taking the tie and tossing it over towards you. You barely caught it before looking over at her.

“Then you know what to do. Confront him.” She said firmly and your heart stopped for a moment. Confront him. You knew you needed to. It was the right thing to do but it was difficult. What if you were wrong? What if Tom denied it? And he probably would deny it. 

“He won’t admit it. Even if he did it, he won’t admit it.” You said softly as you stared down at the tie. Your thumb traced over the letters once more. The detail was immaculate. Hand stitched. Highest thread count. A shimmering silver against a dark green background. It was a tie of wealth, a tie of position and power. And you used it as a fucking blindfold a week ago. 

Your friend stood up and walked towards you. She put her hands on yours, forcing you to stop staring at the tie and look into her eyes instead. She had that look on her face you know all too well–the look that told you this wasn’t going to be the answer you wanted to hear.

“You’ll never know until you ask. Now go. It’s starting to get dark out.” She said quietly and your heart raced. She was right. Of course, she was right. You let out the softest sigh before grabbing your coat and throwing it on. You tucked the tie into your pocket and hugged her before heading out.

There was the lightest dusting of snow outside. It was early for snow but nothing seemed to make sense anymore anyways. Why not have snow already? Your hands stayed tucked into your pocket and you played with the tie the entire walk there.

Tom was a meticulous person who always had a plan. If he did do what you thought he did, there was a reason behind it. He wouldn’t have just had sex with you for no reason. At least, that’s what you thought. 

The light from the streetlamps softly guided your way. Your boots clacked on the cobble street as you grew closer and closer to the place you didn’t want to see. Borgin and Burke’s. The sign was clear in your view even against the night sky. You stared at it for several minutes. 

Once you walk inside, everything will change. Even if Tom denies your accusation and calls you insane, even if he hurts you or chases you out, the rift that already exists in your relationship with him will only deepen more. Either way, this was going to be life-changing. It was just a matter of which direction it would change towards. 

You pushed the door open and heard that familiar little bell you heard a few weeks ago now. When you finally stepped in, your body was covered with heated nerves. They were soaring all over as you took in the musty smell of the space. The dark lighting made it nearly impossible to see the back of the store. 

“We’ve closed for the night,” Tom spoke out from somewhere. The second you heard his voice, you felt a chill shoot down your spine. It was familiar. You knew it was him from that night. It had to be. 

You took a few more steps into the building, your boots gently creaking against the wooden floor. You passed by shelves with various items and didn’t utter a single word. Louder footsteps were causing the floor to echo its creaking sound around you as the steps grew closer. 

“Are you deaf? I said we’re clos–” His words were cut off the second he saw you. Tom's jaw tightened and his eyes darkened to yours. The silence was loud. Neither of you said a word as you stared at one another. 

What you didn’t know is that Tom had done nothing but think of you since that night. It was driving him mad. Every morning he woke up having dreamt of you in every possible position he could put you in. He found himself touching himself to your body, your moans that he remembered so well. And it pissed him off. God did it piss him off. But what made him the most mad? How badly he wanted to do it again. 

You pulled the tie out of your pocket slowly and Tom’s eyes flashed down to your hands. When it finally connected what it was, you watched his eyes widen just a touch. If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have even noticed it. But you did see it and that was all the answers you needed.

“I believe this belongs to you.” You said in the softest tone. Tom’s jaw locked even more and you watched as his perfectly angled jawline clenched, his cheekbones rising through his anger. He drew his head back a touch and his eyes met yours.

“I’ve never seen that before in my life.” 

Lie number one. 

“Are you sure? It has your initials on it. TMR.” 

“Those could be anyone’s initials. Besides, I don’t own a tie with my initials on it.” 

Lie number two. 

“It’s silver and green. Seems very fitting for you to own this tie.” 

“Maybe you are deaf. This tie is not mine.” 

Lie number three. 

Tom wasn’t admitting it. You knew he wouldn’t but your desire for answers was stronger than your fear of what he would do if you kept pushing him. You took a step forward and wrapped the tie behind him.

You pulled both sides of it forward and started to slowly tie it onto him. Your eyes stayed locked with him the entire time. Tom didn’t move a single inch. He watched you. He watched your dainty hands move on that tie, the way they knew exactly how to twist and fold until it was a presentable tie.

Once you finished, you took a small step back and observed the tie on him. It sat flesh against his black button-up shirt that he was already wearing. His hands were in fists at his sides while he watched you take him in.

“It looks just as I remember it looking. That night. At the masquerade ball.” You spoke firmly before looking back into his eyes. Tom hadn’t felt so flustered before. He could speak his way out of every situation, lie out of every situation but for some reason with you? It felt impossible.

“That was the tie you blindfolded me with before you had sex with me, isn’t it?” You asked when Tom didn’t speak up. You could feel your chest rising and falling as you waited for him to answer you.

Words weren’t forming in his head. There seemed to be no possible answer he could give that made you think this was not his tie. He was caught and he knew it. Fuck. 

There was only one thing he could do. He started to walk forward and, to your surprise, he didn’t stop. He forced you to walk backward until your back hit a large bookshelf behind you. You were flesh against it as Tom towered over you. 

“Prove it.” He said sternly and your heart dropped. Prove what? Prove that it was his tie? It had his initials, his old house color. How else could you prove it?

“I think I’ve proven the tie is yours–” You started to say but Tom’s eyes darkened to yours. He put his hand on your waist as he pushed you further into the bookshelf. His body was nearly pressed against yours. 

“Not the tie. Prove I’m the one who fucked you.” He demanded and the words were sharp and clear. They breezed through your ear, worming their way up to your brain as you tried to process what he was saying. 

“I don’t need to. I know it was you, Tom.” You snapped back while the heat between the two of you seemed to rise a bit more. Tom’s hand on your waist gripped a bit tighter. His nails were digging into the material of your sweater and you were already aching to undress for him.

“You know nothing. You have no proof it was me.” He snarled back and you could feel your anger boiling inside. It was more frustrating than anything. You were frustrated he was fighting you. Frustrated that he wasn’t taking accountability for his actions. More than that, you were frustrated that he wouldn’t just own up to giving you the best sex of your life.

Tom inched his face closer to yours. His lips were hovering and he was fighting everything inside of him to not kiss you right now, not taste your lips once more. He had thought about this for a week now. It was the only thing he seemed to think about anymore. You had all but consumed his every thought. 

“I have this tie. And the fact you’re aching to fuck me again right now.” You quipped in a growling whisper back to him. Tom’s eyes flickered between yours. He was frustrated, and annoyed, but more than anything, he was so turned on. 

“You came down here. You confronted me.” Tom said while glaring down at you. His lips were hovering over yours. His eyes stayed locked with yours, giving you a deep and dark stare. 

“And?” You asked, feeling your heart race as you spoke. The tension was strong, palpable. If someone were to walk in right now, surely they would feel it.

“You seek me out. Seems you’re the one who wants to fuck me.” Tom said in a growling whisper. You had no time to snap back because before you knew it, he had pressed his lips hard against yours. 

Your back pressed into the bookshelf as Tom’s body started to push more into yours. His kiss was hungry with desire–a rough kiss that screamed ‘I want to destroy you.’ 

His teeth sunk into your bottom lip as he pulled it away for a moment before crashing back into you. There was no gentleness with Tom Riddle. It was only rough. The kiss was rough. His hands were rough. And the sex–gods–the sex was rough. But fuck did you enjoy it. 

Tom rapidly removed your jacket followed by your sweater and your undershirt. The amount of clothes you had on was annoying him so he removed them as quickly as he could. Before you knew it, you were just in your bra and panties with Tom still fully dressed.

“I knew it was you.” You husked into the kiss as Tom wrapped his arms around your bottom. He quickly lifted you and your legs wrapped around him. He held you against the bookshelf, still kissing you the entire time.

“Shut up.” He demanded and the words sent a chill over your entire body. He was so demanding, just like that night, but you preferred it that way. You wanted it. Craved it. Craved him. 

Tom quickly spun around and carried you until you were sitting against the checkout counter. He laid your body back and took a step back for a moment. He observed you, just as he did that night, but this time you could see the look on his face.

He drank you in, all of you. Your body. Your curves. The softness of your skin. Tom felt as if this was just another one of his dreams. He thought he’d wake up with his hands down his pants thinking of you as he did almost every night since that night of passion. But that wasn’t the case. This was real. So very real. 

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” You asked, knowing you were pushing the limit. But you wanted more. You hadn’t stopped thinking about that night either. You were constantly craving more of it. You were so close and all Tom could do was stare. 

He walked towards you, the smallest smirk growing on his lips at your words. You had done it. You had pushed him over that edge and now? Now you were going to pay for it.

Tom stopped when he was just in front of you. He sat you up and pulled you down from the desk but you weren’t standing long. His hands pressed onto your shoulders until you were on your knees. His eyes darkened with pleasure as he started to undo his pants. 

“You’re going to take me. All of me. And you’re not going to stop.” He growled at you while he started to undress. He took the tie and shirt off first before undoing his pants and pulling out his length. It was larger than you remembered. Being so close you could see every detail. How the tip was so perfectly pointed towards you. The veins that grew along the side of it. He wanted you. It was obvious. 

“Open.” 

And you did. You opened your mouth just as Tom started to shove his tip in between your lips. Your tongue stuck out, dragging down the side of it as he pushed more and more of himself into you. 

“Fuck–yes, that’s it. Keep going.” Tom groaned which was something you didn’t get as much of last time. He continued pushing until he hit the back of your throat. You were trying your hardest not to gag too much. Tom gripped your hair tightly, staring down at you as he did.

“Don’t hold back. Gag.” He demanded as he watched you fighting it. The second he told you to gag, you did. You felt that rushed feeling in your throat as you tried to gasp for air. But Tom didn’t let go. 

He kept a hold of your hair as he started to thrust his hips now. His cock ran back and forth out of your mouth as tears streaked your cheeks. You were already a mess and he was just starting. Tom took pride in making you look as unpresentable as possible. He wanted your hair to be messy, your face to be stained, your ass to be red. He wanted all of it. 

“You’re a fucking mess,” Tom growled. He wouldn’t admit it, but you looked good. Really fucking good. His eyes glanced over your body and he could see the bite marks he had left on you a week ago. They were faded now but still there. That made his length twitch in your mouth.

You bobbed your head faster as more of Tom was forced to the back of your throat. You thought you couldn’t gag anymore than you already had when Tom hit hard in your mouth. Your eyes widen at the sensation and fuck, it was rough. You weren’t sure you’d have a voice left after this.

Something told you Tom would like teeth. Not a lot. Not a big bite, but you were taking a risk here. You gently pressed your teeth to his flesh and let them drag across his cock. As you did, your eyes stayed locked with his. 

His hand gripped your hair tightly and you weren’t sure what would happen. Would he pull out? Slap you in the face? Like it? All of those were suitable options for Tom. But it was the last one that seemed to be the most plausible. 

“Wh-what the hell?” Tom muttered as you did it again. He didn’t expect to like it but fuck, did he ever. He started to thrust faster, your teeth dragging across the skin as he did. His eyes rolled to the back of his head momentarily. 

Tom was always a put-together man. He never let anyone see him in a vulnerable state. You, however, were bringing it out of him. It was nearly impossible to do but somehow you had achieved the impossible. 

He could feel his orgasm growing but he didn’t want to finish. Not yet. His hands gripped harder into your hair as he thrust a few more times before finally pulling out. The release of his cock from your mouth hit you as you gasped for air. 

Tom placed one finger under your chin. Your cheeks were stained with tears and make-up. Your lips were shimmering from the saliva that coated them. Tom pushed his finger under your chin, forcing you to stand up. He didn’t stop until you were fully straight in front of him.

“Turn around.” He growled at you through darkened eyes and you did as he asked. You turned around slowly, not even sure what to expect. Tom’s eyes roamed over your body as he took in all of the leftover marks from last time.

He made a map of all the new marks he was about to leave. His eyes made note of places that weren’t marked up yet, places he could put his touch–his bite–on you. Tom walked forward and he pulled out his wand. He placed it against your back and the moment it made contact, your breath shuttered.

“Forward.” He said firmly and you started to walk all with the wand pressing hard into your spine. You walked until your hands were flat against the counter. Tom dragged the wand down to your lower back. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your ear and dropping his voice to a whisper.

“Bend over.” 

The command made your heart race. There was something about Tom telling you what to do that made you so insanely submissive. You had never felt that before with anyone else. But with him? It just made sense. 

You bent over the counter, your arms stretching out as you did. Tom took his foot between yours, kicking your legs open a bit more. With his wand, he pulled the band of your panties and tugged them until they were off. He then pointed the wand back to your back, dragging it up before pressing it to the side of your neck. 

Tom took his pre-cum soaked tip and teased it at your entrance as he stood hard against you. You could feel your body aching for him. You wanted him to fuck you, to destroy you. God, did you hate him, his pretentiousness, his charm? But that hate was quickly turning into a desire that you were so unaware of until recently. 

“You’re going to take me, all of me, but you’re not going to make a single fucking sound. Am I understood?” Tom growled into your ear as he continued teasing your entrance. 

“Yes.” You whispered and a smirk grew on Tom’s face. He pressed the wand a bit tighter into the soft skin of your neck and you gasped as he did.

“Yes, what?” He asked and your mind raced. What the fuck did he want? Yes sir? Yes, daddy? None of those seemed strong enough for the presence that Tom presented. 

“Yes, master.” It was the only one that made sense. And it worked. Tom bit into your ear a bit, nibbling on it before moving to the other side of your neck.

“What a good little slut.” He growled just before biting down on your shoulder a bit. You let out a small yelp but quickly wanted to kick yourself for already breaking the agreement to be silent. Tom let that one slide but it would be the only one. Another sound and you would be in for it.

Tom pressed his length into you, giving no warning as he did. He slammed the full thing in and you had to bite your tongue from screaming. He kept his body pressed hard against yours only making the angle harder to stay silent.

He was hitting spots you weren’t even aware of, angling so that you were feeling every ounce of pleasure. Tom stood up straight and took his nails, dragging them down your back. There was pain but it was only adding to the pleasure.

“You’re doing so good. Keep taking my cock–fuck!” He demanded and you closed your eyes for a moment. Praise by Tom? It seemed so unfamiliar but you took it. It made you even wetter, and more excited.

Tom continued thrusting hard as he watched the red lines appear on your back. The wand was leaving a mark on the side of your neck with how deeply he was pushing it. He reached his hand up and smacked your ass once, watching as the red handprint spread across it. 

He looked up at you and saw how hard you were struggling to stay quiet. He wanted to test this, to see how well you would listen. Tom raised his hand and smacked your ass again but this time with more strength and more force.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You let out a loud gasp followed by a loud ‘Fuck!’ which only made Tom’s smirk drop. He leaned down and wrapped his hand over your mouth. He stood you up, his cock still fully in you as you were straight against him now. 

“I told you to be quiet. Now? You’re going to be punished.” Tom growled as he started to thrust in you while you stood up. The new position pushed him deeper into you and your eyes widened. How would you be punished? 

Tom thrusted hard and you could feel your orgasm growing. Your wet lips pushed hard against his hand that covered your mouth and you tried to let out a ragged breath as you hit that climax. Juices flowed down your legs and your body shook.

“One.” 

Tom said before he quickly bent you back over once more all while keeping his hand over your mouth. He didn’t stop. He never gave you a break. There was no come-down of post-sex bliss. He hit hard into you, groaning here and there through thrusts.

It wasn’t long before you felt a second climax coming. Your eyes widened as it washed over you, feeling your legs shake. Tom, again, didn’t stop.

“Two.” 

Fuck.

You knew what he was doing. He was punishing you with orgasm torture. You were going to be exhausted. Your body would be worn out. There would be no breaks. And you couldn’t even argue back. 

Your body squirmed under him when he didn’t stop. You were overly sensitive, unable to hardly take it anymore. Tom didn’t care. You were going to take it, no matter what. He finally dropped his wand and let his hand wrap around to find your already sensitive clit. 

“Do it again,” Tom demanded as he pressed his finger to your clit and forced you to scream against his hand. He pulled his hand tighter, your head going back a bit as he did. Sweat covered your forehead. Your hair was stringy and stuck to your face. You were getting destroyed in every possible way.

“I said, again,” Tom growled loudly as he watched your legs shaking. You could hardly stand. Your hands were gripping the counter tightly when he moved his finger faster. You felt that third orgasm and it was almost an exhaustion more than it was pleasure.

“Three.” 

Tom spoke out as you finished once more. You could feel tears in your eyes from all of the sensations. You couldn’t take it anymore. And Tom knew that. He slowed his thrusts down and moved his finger from your already swollen clit. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” He asked and all you could do was nod your head. He finally removed his hand, spinning you around to face him. He swiftly picked you up and your exhausted body laid against his as he carried you to the wall. 

“Good. Now, take every last drop of me.” Tom spoke, knowing he was going to fill you up this time. He pulled your bra down and bit down on your nipples just as he inserted himself into you once more.

You couldn’t talk–fuck, you could hardly breathe. You bit down on your bottom lip, making sure not to make a single sound as Tom continued thrusting in you. It wasn’t long before he finished and you felt his cum deep inside of you. The sticky and warm liquid painted your walls as he let every last little drop fill you up.

Tom let your back slowly slide down the wall before you were on your feet. You stared up at him, your heart racing. The two of you stood there, trying to catch your breath as you stared into each other's eyes. Tom reached up, brushing some of your hair back for a moment.  There was a shadow that moved across the room and Tom glanced over to see a couple walking by the shop. He quickly flicked his hand at the door, making sure it was locked before covering your body with his. Once the shadows were gone, he moved back a touch and you looked back up at him once more.

“I-I suppose I should go.” You muttered in a trembling voice. Tom didn’t want you to go. He wasn’t even sure why but he knew it wasn’t a good idea if you stayed. 

He helped you find your clothes and the two of you quickly dressed. You glanced down at the tie on the ground, realizing Tom never did own up to it being him that night. But you knew it was. It had to be him.

You grabbed the tie and started to walk towards the door with Tom following you. He unlocked it and you opened the door. But before you could walk out, Tom grabbed your wrist. He spun you towards him and planted one last kiss on your lips. 

While kissing you, Tom reached for the tie and slipped it out of your hand. The material smoothly ran through your fingers until you broke the kiss. Tom raised the tie towards you, giving you the tiniest smirk.

“Thanks for bringing my tie back, doll.” He said with a charming wink before tucking it into his pocket. He shut the door, locked it, and walked away while leaving you there speechless.

It was him. It was Tom all along. And, for some reason, that didn’t bother you. You walked back home that night with the biggest smile on your face. You weren’t sure what would happen with you and Tom now but, whatever it was, it would be welcomed. Very, very welcomed.

As always, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Thank-you for reading ��

[nomynameisnothing]

Reminds me of something I was thinking about earlier today, pretty perfectly actually.

I went to an all girls Christian camp every summer for 2 weeks to ride horses and go backpacking when I was in my teen years.

I was a streadfast ultracynical atheist then. I felt I had a duty to disprove everything about religion. I thought believing in god meant you were stupid.

I always did my best to poke holes in all the bible stories and find a way to prove that they didnt make any sense.

My cabin leader was the sweetest person I've ever met, so friendly and wholesomely christian.

I said to her, "How can you believe in something when there are so many holes... so many things that dont add up?"

She said that she imagined her faith like a cabin. Like a home, somewhere she felt protected with a roof over her head to ride out the bad weather. She said, "Yes, there are cracks and holes in the walls but thats where the light shines through. Thats faith."

The knowing that comes from deeply understanding your place in the universe and in this life; from understanding the laws that govern the soul and trusting in your connection with spirit to guide and protect you every step of the way.

I understand that now

Not because its comforting or convenient, but because I see the evidence. I get it now.

Its faith in laws in the universe in uncharted dimensions of phsyics that have yet to be defined.

I believe this is now the time when we can make that leap and bridge the gap between quantum physics and spirituality. They are not so different. One is just unproven because it is the study of phenomena that can't be empirically tested. The laws of nature still prevail.

As above, so below.

What does Acts 19:19 mean?

The people of Ephesus are learning what real supernatural power looks like. Like all pagans in the Roman Empire, they have household idols and city gods; they are known for the temple of Artemis. They also have a culture of witchcraft, which attracts demons, which attract Jewish exorcists.

This is the state of the city when Paul arrives. In response to all the magic, the Holy Spirit empowers him to heal and expel demons in Jesus' name. Jewish magicians hear him and start using "Jesus" as a kind of magical word. When seven sons of a Jewish high priest named Sceva enter a house and try to use Jesus' name to expel a powerful demon, the evil spirit attacks them, and the would-be exorcists run out in the street (Acts 19:11–16).

The whole city hears, and many of the practitioners of witchcraft immediately respond. Likely, they realize their spells and incantations don't really control demons, but Paul does. First, they reveal their practices, thus voiding them of power (Acts 19:17–18). Now, they burn their spells. "Ephesian writing," or Ephesia grammata, is a reference to written-down spells, some rolled into small containers and worn as amulets. If the pieces of silver are silver drachma, the value would be something close to 150 years' worth of a laborer's wages.

It's not uncommon for an unbeliever to see the power of Jesus and want to use it to gain influence and money. Simon the Magician did so in Samaria (Acts 8:9–24). But sometimes people are just waiting for rescue. When criticized for eating with unsavory people, Jesus said He came for the sick who need a doctor (Mark 2:15–17). When Zacchaeus heard Jesus, he gratefully accepted Jesus' message and His love and resolved to return what he had cheated (Luke 19:1–10). As Paul works, the demons flee left and right (Acts 19:12). Maybe the magicians just need someone to rescue them.

by Remedios Varo

[veitchiin]

Do you think Lucanis blames himself?

For what happened to Rook. Them disappearing into the fade, trying to retrieve the dagger from Ghilan'nain's body.

I mean, he failed in Weisshaupt. He admits to it. Had he only been a little bit more focused. Had he only a little bit more control over Spite. The kill was right there, he was so close he could already see her dead then and there.

But he failed. He failed and the opportunity was gone. Weisshaupt fell for nothing. He could not get payback for Minrathous, in Neve's stead. He could not thank Rook for their help in Treviso. The assassin missed his mark, how many more mistakes can the abomination be afforded before his utility is brought into question? How long until Rook no longer tolerates his presence? How long until his carelessness, his lack of control over Spite, truly harms the team?

But Rook was there. They did not blame him, they did not leave his side, they did not kick him out they did not hate him they did not push him away they did not get angry they did not. Abandon him.

They stayed by him, they supported him. It's thanks to them he could get to the bottom of his inner torment. Thanks to them he and Spite came to understand each other. Somewhat.

Thanks to them that he avenged himself and his family. Thanks to them Treviso was saved from the blighted dragon. Thanks to them Treviso will be able to survive the Antaam.

He owes Rook so much. They were by his side, they helped him and those he cared for. Without asking for anything in return but his presence, and his skills. He owes Rook so much. Rook understood and cared for him. Rook's presence helped him stay grounded. They felt warmer than others. More welcoming than others.

When did it happen? When did Lucanis start caring for Rook so much? They saved him from the Ossuary, and then from himself. They who gave themselves and their trust to him so easily, knowing he was made to kill. Knowing he was an abomination. And they did not pity him. Even after Weisshaupt, they knew he was strong enough and thanks to them he saw it too. And eventually he was strong enough to admit how much he cared. And then he swore not only to kill the gods, any and every god, for Rook but also, perhaps only to himself, to love them the way they had loved him, by protecting them and being by their side.

So then, why did he fail again.

He was the one who had the dagger. He was the one who pierced Ghilan'nain's flesh. Why did he not take the dagger out? Why was he not the one to retrieve it? Why did he not, somehow, warn Rook? He couldn't have known, but he should've. And now Rook is gone. In the fade, somewhere. Without him. If he were stuck in the fade, Rook wouldve found a way to him, to bring him back, or only to be by his side. He cannot. The others are trying, and perhaps he tries to help. But what good can that do? He was made to kill. That is all he does, all he is. And he failed. Ghilan'nain may lie dead but does this even matter? Weisshaupt did not feel like half the failure this does. After Weisshaupt Rook was there. Rook was there, he had not endangered Rook. He had not killed Rook.

But if he had succeeded at Weisshaupt... Would any of this had happened? Perhaps things would have gone differently, the dagger wouldn't have remained inside the evanuris' body? Perhaps someone else would've been trapped? Anyone else, anyone but Rook. Even himself. If the Maker would allow it, Lucanis would without a doubt take Rook's place, wherever they are. If they live.

Surely he doesn't believe they live? Surely he doesn't believe they'll return? Emmrich, Neve and Bellara all together are working tirelessly to retrieve them, does he believe they wouldn't have found Rook already if they were? Rook is gone. Their room is empty. The decorations they left behind have not moved, their wardrobe undisturbed, their absence violently evident.

Does he hope their clothing retained their scent? Does he hope that by sleeping in their room he'll awake in their arms? Does he hope that by brewing their favorite drink he could summon them back? Does he hope anything he could do or think of could make him forget what he lost? That he failed to keep them safe? That by doing exactly what he swore to do, what he was always meant to do, he killed Rook?

Oh, Lucanis. If only you hadn't gotten attached. If only you had kept your distance from them. If only you hadn't fallen in love. If only you hadn't failed back at Weisshaupt. If only they hadn't freed him. If they had left him to rot in his underwater prison, surely someone more competent would've taken his place, at the very least someone who would've actually kept Rook safe. Someone Rook deserved to have by their side. If only.

Now Rook is gone. They will never be a Dellamorte. They will never share a cup of coffee they hate with him, just to try and make him happy. They will never make a joke at an inappropriate time again, not a strongly worded comment or kind gesture. He will not get to take them on Treviso's waters, to see their eyes light up taking in the sight of his home that they helped save. Rook is gone.

If only you had been able to save them.

If only you hadn't failed.

If only.

Do you think Lucanis blames himself for what happened to Rook?

[weepingtalecowboy]

Doll shenanigans are creepy by default

Fanfic prompt : Legend but he accidentally lost his hylian body somewhere in hytopia after he got his two dolls

And never bothered with finding it again because he doesn’t feel any pain in his bones ,… if he simply doesn’t have any bones.

And the joints can always be fixed or oiled to keep working and even be replaced in worst case scenarios

He certainly has the money to repair magical things and stuff

After link between worlds he also had someone who had experience with magical artifacts and could potentially fix them ,

… if not he still has another doll in his basement somewhere

Ravio considered himself the luckiest man alive to be both able of studying such a genius construct …

And also a house with no rent ,

A hylian citizenship AND a life partner ,

An opportunity to set up a very close to illegal shop (his weapons are NOT overpriced he swears on link's right arm ‘that he can replace with no problem’)

A legal business on creating Prosthetic limbs (no way is he going to let his knowledge of Link breaking off legs for stupid reasons NOT turn into a new business … he has way too much experience)

And even the favor of the princess

His life can’t be better and all because Link has been breaking limbs enough to get a permanent 50% off deal from the sheer knowledge of building prosthetics that Ravio got from rebuilding him over and over again when he stumbles back with half his body missing and face torn off…

(It was a horrible first experience to say the least)

When Ravio went on to go join the war of ages he was the go to guy to get perfectly functional… but ungodly overpriced prosthetics

He was not at all ashamed about being in love with a doll (nobody quite got the sentiment of that)

Wars was very much ignoring that

Tune for odd reasons kept snickering when Ravio spoke about how great his (probably not real) husband was

During linked universe Warriors and legend still bickered until …

Warriors after his night watch: *goes to check the pulse of the person closest to him just to be sure*

Warriors realizing that legend has no pulse , no signs of breathing ,no body warmth , no movement or twitch implying any signs of life : *starts aggressively trying to resurrect him … chest compressions*

Warriors obviously failing at it : “cries*

Legend hearing it : *opens eyes just to realize his brother broke his non self repairing rib cage*

The entire chain (minus Sky) was awake and ready for a fight

Just to see Warriors crying in relief and holding Legend (bro was reliving trauma that moment)

Afterwards he was really having a bad time with his bent rib cage and unfortunately being examined by a field trained soldier, a healer and then dragged to a doctor in the nearest village

But obviously they would have never assumed that Legend is a doll with full body mobility ,a sense of self and metal joints

They concluded that legend is overachieving with every new breath he takes and probably is about to die because of his weak heart beat ,

His very cold and rough skin in some places (fake magic skin is expensive … he can’t replace it every single time)

His very minimal breathing

The sheer horror Warriors felt when he realized the dent in legend's chest is simply not healing from when he broke the ribs by accident

Means that now everyone is convinced that legend will evaporate if they turn their eyes away

And Hyrule and Warriors are feeling horrible because they can’t fix it… or just make it slightly more bearable

NOTHING WORKS on him (it’s twilight's injury all over again)

It only got worse when legend told the chain that he has been having such problems since his last three adventures already (telling people he is an object never turns out well)

The chain became overly affectionate

The sheer amount of relive they felt when Ravio somehow fixed the dent

And the most intense anger when they realized that they were worrying for literally nothing

The chain finding out that Ravio fixed the worst damage: …. : ) finally he good

The chain when they realized that Legend was Ravio's doll in question: >:(

The chain reaction when legend admits he lost his body somewhere as if it is something acceptable to say : :o

The chain : how did you lose your body

Legend : accient :) silly mstke

[fumiscripts]

✦ I'M NOT YOURS

✦ one shot ,, yoichi isagi x f!reader.

✦ content:: you— a corporate worker— suffer being head over heels for isagi yoichi— a pro soccer player.

for @shrii-kk, angst/hurt/no comfort, 603 words

additional: reader FUMBLES big time, author's first time writing angst w no happy ending, author does NOT have experience in romance, no beta we die like my motivation

You didn't know how. 

You just fell in love.

Isagi Yoichi is a very likeable person. So how could you not fall for him? He's kind, friendly, everything sweet. You witnessed it firsthand, knowing him since all the way back when both of you were children. You've been in each other's lives longer than you haven't, it's a type of friendship a lot of people want.

But that friendship is killing you. Being just friends is killing you.

You try and fail to get rid of these consuming feelings, knowing you can't have him. It'd be selfish of you, weighing him down when he's set on achieving his dreams. Would he, a professional soccer player, spare his time for a relationship with a forgettable nobody like you? He could do so much better.

How selfish of you, wishing he'd be yours.

You distanced yourself— to not fall harder than you already have— you know you can't have him. First, you stopped contacting him as often, and then you tried not to cling to him, tried not to hang onto his every word like it was your lifeline. It was difficult to let go, especially when he was your reason to keep going, your reason to live. But you had to do it. You can't keep being a burden. The weight of a relationship could hold him back.

Hours turned to days of no contact, to the point that you found your last conversation to be weeks ago. You could tell he was concerned. Each digital letter spelled it out. Alas, you brushed it off, saying you were busy. With his hectic schedule and you purposefully avoiding him, that connection that was tightly bound started to drift apart.

You ignored the heavy mix of feelings consuming you like wildfire. You needed to let him go.

The quest to distance yourself was successful.

It's been months, and you've convinced yourself that you got over him. You haven't interacted in a long while, so you shouldn't feel anything towards him, right?

So then why did your chest tighten at seeing those dark locks once again?

Isagi looked as surprised as you. After seasons of no contact, he was finally able to see you again— in an airport, walking across each other— the both of you were about to board on your flights to somewhere, a different location from the other. He called your name, it left nostalgic taste on his tongue.

You stared in silence. All the things you wanted to say, and all the things you shouldn't were stuck in your throat. So you settled for a simple nod of acknowledgement, forcing out a casual reply, one that held no trace of all the brewing emotions threatening to overflow within you. “How are you?” you asked, attempting to prompt a conversation for who knows what. Maybe you were desperate for some semblance of interaction, you hated that you missed him. You weren't supposed to.

He looks away, eyes flickering to somewhere else. “Haha, I'm doing fine. I got tournaments to win, games to play, planes to catch…” Isagi trails off, awkwardly fiddling with his hand. There, you spotted a glimpse of it— a golden jewelry adorning his ring finger— it caught the artificial lights of the bulbs above, and your gaze lingered onto it for a second longer than you'd like, the image burning into your mind.

It appears that the articles of him dating some big-shot star weren't just rumors. Hell, they were even engaged.

He's slipped through your fingers, and you let him go.

You weren't his. He wasn't yours.

(a/n):: mb for this writing slop ruejwhiw

taglist (ask to be added):: @tired-xyra-urstruly @fishii-writes @rini-rushed @rinitoshiplzdateme

@luzmilun @motchilyn

© fumiscripts 2024. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[kuschelkissen-art]

"Materials don't matter", and I'll apply that to both digital and traditional drawing.

Because dear god, having bad materials can fuck you over so badly?? The way that good quality* materials can help you so much with getting a nice result is just unmatched

*and by good quality I don't necessarily mean expensive. My favourite coloured pencils are 36 pencils for 5€ and they come SO close to my expensive Faber-Castell pencils that were like, idk 1,50/pencil when I got that set.

And this goes for everything. "What brushes do you use", "what camera is that", yes, using the same things won't automatically make you good, but having somewhere to start helps, and the right materialy can make life so much easier and less frustrating.

artist friends: what are some art tips youve been given/have given that you now think are unhelpful/provably NOT true? for example - 'don't shade with black!' is one i used to tell people, until i realized its completely possible to do so successfully in diff styles

also - this is the tutorial that explained shading with black to me in a way that made sense! please check it out, its by datcravat on tumblr!

[revelboo]

Everything Is Alright Pt 72

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader

• Chest aching, you lay a hand on Starscream’s face. Unable to believe he’s really okay after all the worry. “You needn’t worry about me, little one,” he murmurs, raspy voice low and for you alone. Reminding you that Soundwave is right there watching. And there’s that uneasy guilt, wanting to reach out to him, too. But knowing not to push Star and their very fragile truce. That feeling of warmth and belonging hums through you even if you’re not all that sure how your messed up relationship with them both is going to actually work. If they’ll have a sort of joint custody or visitation? Thinking about it leaves you somewhere between laughing and crying.

• It’s a bittersweet ache around his spark watching you with Starscream. Knowing you’ll go with him. Lay against him while he recharges, holding you. And that he can’t have that no matter what he wants. Aware that while the Seeker might tolerate him, this arrangement is a fragile thing. You’re all that’s keeping the Seeker civil and he’s not sure how long that will last. They both know that Starscream can’t watch you all the time, neither of them can. But working together? They can keep you safe and secret. They have to, because he needs this feeling you give him. Needs you.

• Venting against you, he glances at the communications officer. No matter how calm Soundwave appears, the other mech can’t be okay with this. With sharing even if Soundwave had suggested it to begin with. Mostly, he’s still not sure he trusts him. Not with his life and certainly not with yours. Wings flicking up when Soundwave starts, head turning toward the door. “Megatron,” Soundwave says, voice tense and Starscream goes rigid. Realizing exactly how fragged they both are. It’s not like they’re friends or even really on speaking terms normally, there’s no real reason for him to be in the communications officer’s private habsuite.

• “What’s going on?” Soundwave’s opening his chest compartment and then Starscream is slipping you inside it. Breath catching as the door closes to shroud you in warmth and the dim glow of the communication officer’s biolights. Sitting down hard when Soundwave moves. Everything muffled inside here, though you can hear the thrum of Soundwave’s spark. But what’s going on outside? Something’s wrong. Soundwave has said ‘Megatron.’ Is he coming? “Soundwave?” Can he hear you in here? Panic claws at you as you press your ear against the closed door, straining to hear.

• Pressing his servos against the closed door, Soundwave meets Starscream’s wide optics. There’s nowhere to hide the Seeker. Knows how this will look to Megatron. Like plotting and betrayal. Wings flaring aggressively, Starscream turns toward the door and he wants to seize the Seeker by a wing. Warn him to be quiet and not provoke the warlord. Be if that’s what it takes, because you’re hidden but still so vulnerable. If Starscream gets into it with Megatron, if he also gets dragged into the fight, you’ll get hurt. “Don’t,” he says, but Starscream is staring at the door, denta bared in a cold smile. Ready to fight.

• Keying open the door, Megatron’s expression empties. “How unexpected,” he growls. Starscream’s wings flick up aggressively and stay there in a very obvious threat. No longer cowering as Megatron studies him then Soundwave, noting the latter’s tension. Like he’s been caught red handed. Another coup, then? Anger flickering through his lines to settle like a weight in his spark, because of all of them, he’d trusted Soundwave. To find him working with Starscream? It hurts more than he would have thought. “How long have you been plotting against me, old friend?” He asks, servos curling into fists. So tired of being betrayed again and again.

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