#2.9k$

[oldjewelryfeed]

Antique Imperial FABERGE Spider Web Easter Egg Pendant c1890s Gilt Silver Boxed

[kiras-law]

light "if someone tries to read my diary i will set my drawer on fire" yagami

[shouyuus]

direct continuation of this; part of the apt neighbor!vi au

apartment neighbor!vi who disappears, or at least tries to -- no more weekend visits, no more tuesday night movie dates -- you still see her, or rather, catch glimpses of her here and there, but she's always ducking away or off somewhere before you can catch her, and for a someone who's so conspicuous, she's more slippery than you could've ever imagined. and at first, you're angry -- hurt, confused -- but the pain dulls after a week, two, and soon enough, there's only the barest flinch whenever you see her silhouette slipping down the hallway when you catch her coming back from the gym, or in the mail room --

once, you catch the bright chime of powder's voice as vi opens her door, and you could've sworn you heard your name, but the next second, the door's slamming closed behind her, and powder's voice cuts off like an old record.

apartment neighbor!vi who still goes to the gym, and it's the only real place you see her, but she's always got her headphones banded over her bright red hair, her eyes narrowed -- the bandages around her knuckles are tattered, stained with what looks like blood. there are new cuts and bruises scattered along her arm and what looks like a fresh scab at the corner of her lip.

you don't ask; you figure that if she'd wanted you to know, she would've told you by now.

apartment neighbor!vi who is not there the first time you let curiosity get the better of you and maps the way to her family's pub -- it's a divey kind of place, but spacious and well-kept, with dartboards lining the walls and an old fashioned jukebox in the corner. the man behind the counter glances up with a grin, a slight dip between his brows, an old pipe between his lips.

"bit early for a girl like you to come wanderin' in here," he says, with a voice that rumbles through you, even from a distance. you clear your throat and check your watch -- yeah, 2pm on a wednesday isn't peak hours for a bar like this but it's what you were hoping for.

"oh -- sorry, are you guys not open yet?" you glance back at the door, afraid that you'd missed some sort of signage but the man just laughs and shakes his head.

"nah, we're open. c'mon in," he gestures to the empty bar top, and sets down a glass with a heavy hand.

you eye it for a second before skittering over and sliding up onto one of the barstools, glancing around to take in the scene.

"lookin' for vi, i assume?"

you jump at the sound of vi's name, your eyes slingshotting back to the man, who breaks out into a loud bark of laughter, pouring you a full glass of water.

"h-how did -- has vi said something?"

the man shrugs, pushing the water towards you; you grab it for lack of anything better to do, taking a tentative sip as he eyes you with beady, beatle-black eyes, shining with mirth.

"you pour people drinks for long enough and you start to get a knack for puzzlin' out what they want when they walk in -- kinda person they might be, why they're comin' in -- gets to be a kinda game if you get good enough at it," he leans in with a conspiratorial wink that sets you at ease. you feel your own shoulders drop a bit as you set the glass back down on the counter and lick your lips.

"so you must be vander," you say, the name ringing back through your sifted memories -- vi on a tuesday night, after a movie about race cars or something, chattering about the bar and how her stepdad always gets on her about flirting with the customers too much.

vander nods, taking a soft puff of his pipe and leaning back.

"and you must be the neighbor girl that vi's not been able to shut up about," he muses, making you gag on your next sip of water. he lets out another booming laugh and reaches behind the counter to hand you a stack of napkins. you mop at the water dripping down your chin, feeling your cheeks burn.

"sorry, sorry -- forgive an old man his good time," he says with another good-natured wink before his jovial expression flattens, "but if you're here wonderin' what she's been doin'... then you're fresh outta luck, darlin'."

you frown, cupping your fingers around your half-drunk glass of water.

"i'm just... worried about her."

vander grunts, shrugging up a single, massive shoulder.

"standing room only on that bus, i'm afraid."

you let out a soft scoff of laughter, nodding.

"it's sweet of you to come knockin', but... she's a stubborn one, and if she doesn't wanna tell us then..." another shrug, another sigh, "no one's gonna be able to force it outta her."

you nod again, feeling rather wilted as vander reaches over to pat your shoulder with a large hand. he chuckles.

"tell ya what, here -- have a drink -- on the house."

he grabs a wine glass and sets it in front of you with a tiny flourish. as second later, a deep red liquid fills your glass and you stare up at him as he grins.

"i figured you were a cab sav kind of girl -- but tell me if i'm wrong, and i'll swap it out for anything else you might like."

you shake your head, laughing as you tug the wine glass closer, "nope. you're spot on."

apartment neighbor!vi who shows up hammered, with no preamble, banging down your door a on friday night (though it really is late enough to be called saturday morning) -- you answer with a frying pan clutched in one hand, a hissing sigh whistling through you the second you see who's on the other side. the pan drops and you're about to be angry, but your eyes catch on the fresh bruises blooming across the high of her cheeks, a bump the side of a golf ball swelling up above her right eye.

"o-oh my god, vi! what happened?!" you jump back as she nearly collapses into your doorway, barely catching herself against your shoe-rack.

"jus... missed you, sugar! can't a girl... miss... someone she likes?" she slurs, shaking her head as she pushes herself up; you blink rapidly at her, your chest a tight whirlwind of questions and concerns. it's all eclipsed, however, by alarm, as she lurches into your apartment and nearly smashes into your hallway wall, looping an arm around your shoulder -- you stumble beneath her weight, struggling to keep her upright.

"vi? vi -- you're drunk --"

"nah this ain't nothin' -- just wanted a few after -- after getting beat up, ain't that normal? damn -- got so fucked in the ring -- that match was fixed -- shoulda known smeech couldn't be trusted -- that slimy, money-hungry bastard --"

you somehow manage to half-drag vi into your living room and dump her on the couch, fluttering around for a large glass of water and a first aid kit.

"what -- what're you saying?" you ask, even as you force her to take a large gulp of water (she makes a face as if it's vodka before downing the rest in a few long gulps -- a few beads of water trickle passed her chin and into the collar of her stained tanktop). but in between the fragments and incoherent mumbles, a slow realization starts to coalesce inside you as you inch closer to her and convince her to sit still.

"vi...?"

"mm." she hiccups, flinching slightly as you dab at a cut on her cheek with an antibacterial wipe.

"are you... in some sort of... fight club, or something?"

vi makes a grumbling noise, her eyes fluttering closed; she sways a little as you continue to gently clean out her wounds. her breath carries the sharp, turpenic smell of cheap alcohol as she lets out a long sigh.

"somethin' like that... kinda like a boxing ring -- i'm pretty damn good at it, most nights," she adds, hissing again even as you jerk back, pursing your lips. she crinkles her nose before wiping a hand across her mouth, staring blankly down at the fresh blood smeared onto her skin.

"and... i'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that this boxing ring thing... isn't legal, right?"

vi tries her best at one of her usual, charming, lopsided grins, but it just ends up looking something like a grimace instead.

"legal's not where the money is, sweetness."

you lean forward with a fresh sanitary wipe and motion for her to hold still again. she does, offering you her other cheek, her eyes now startlingly clear as they flicker over the planes of your face. you wonder how drunk she really is, or if she's just gotten terribly good at hiding it.

"but... i thought that you guys were in a rent-controlled unit? what'dyou need all this money for?"

vi scoffs, her eyes lowering.

"pow's university tuition isn't gonna pay for itself."

her voice is soft, low, her words steady. you pause, frowning slightly at her as she sighs and leans back to cast you a sad little grin.

"ah... now that i've told you, 'fraid i'm gonna have to killa ya," she winks. you don't smile, only turning to discard the dirty wipe for another fresh one.

"i thought the bar --"

"it doesn't make enough -- and powder -- she --" vi sucks in a long breath, her eyes fluttering closed. when she opens them again, it's the eyes you remember, the eyes you'd spent so many afternoons and evenings staring into -- there's light and laughter, a fire that can't be extinguished, a light that can't be dimmed, a hard-lined conviction that makes them shine even on the darkest of moonless nights.

"she deserves every opportunity. that girl --" vi lets out a helpless little scoff, "she's gonna change the world one day, i just know it. if we can only --" she makes an abortive gesture with her hand.

you nod, reaching out to wipe away a small smudge of eyeliner beneath her eye. she stills beneath your touch, the cool of your skin against her burning cheek makes her shiver.

a thin tendril of tired, incredulous laughter slithers up your chest; vi's eyebrows kick up as you let out a giggle -- the only warning she gets -- before you're toppling into a fit of truly stomach-clenching laughter, leaning back into your sofa cushions, clutching your belly.

"a-are you alright?" vi asks, blinking at you with mild alarm as you shake your head, flapping your hands at her, unable to form any kind of coherent thought. you wipe at the tears forming at the corner of your eyes, and somewhere between one breath and the next, your laughs turn into frustrated sobs, and you shove vi reproachfully as she stares at you, totally nonplussed by this strange turn of events.

"y-you're such an idiot!" you say between heaving breaths, rubbing at your eyes. you feel lightheaded; the clock on the microwave blinks a bleary 4:42AM at the pair of you.

vi stares, completely nonplussed as you sniffled and reach over to snag a few tissues, daubing at your eyes.

"there're so many things you can do to get money -- you don't have to --" you gesture at her, "get yourself killed in an illegal fighting ring -- and you don't --" you jab a single finger into her chest, hard enough for her to flinch back, "have to try to do it alone."

she blinks, once, twice --

"uh..."

you sigh, rolling your eyes, "god, you're so stupid -- for someone with a genius sister --"

vi makes a slightly affronted noise, "i got good grades in school!"

you tear open a packet of neosporin with perhaps more savagery than necessary, nearly dropping it. you glare at the tiny packet before squeezing a large dollop onto your finger and motioning for vi to lean in. she eyes you for a solid three seconds before slowly leaning forward.

you lave the gel onto the cut on her cheek before peeling open a bandaid to cover it up.

"there. that's waterproof, so it won't come off when you take a shower."

"when i take a shower?" vi asks, her head cocking to one side.

you cast her a sharp look, "you're so gross right now, of course you've gotta shower."

vi hiccups into her fist before shooting you a sheepish grin.

"i could just shower at home."

you narrow your eyes, "it's 5am -- and i'm pretty sure powder's got a massive midterm tomorrow. you're staying here tonight."

"ah. yes. of... course," vi says, biting back an amused chuckle before looking around at the couch beneath her.

"well, i've always liked this couch."

you close the first-aid kit with a sharp snap.

"if you shower within the next --" you glance back at the clock on the microwave, "10 minutes or so, you can sleep in the bedroom. but if i'm asleep when you're done then you're gonna have to sleep out here -- i don't like being woken up." you try to sound stern, though it might have just come out sounding petulant.

vi grins, the expression so familiar to you it singes a line of heat down the center of your spine.

"oop -- guess i'd better shower quick then!" she pushes off the sofa and jogs for the bathroom, swiveling around by the door to give you a soft smile and a -- "hey... thanks."

you roll your eyes at her and flap your hand, "go. shower!"

you slip into bed, listening to the shower water run, a twist of something collecting in your gut as you hear the sounds of the water turn off and the unmistakable noises of vi toweling off. you burrow further into your blankets as her footsteps thump through the apartment, the slight creak of your bedroom door swinging open as she slips in, the shape of her limned in moonlight as she slowly makes her way to the other side of the bed.

"hey sugar... you still awake?"

you crinkle your nose, and for a second, consider feigning sleep. but the next second, she's slipping into the blankets next to you, her skin warm to the touch as she shuffles closer.

"yeah," you answer, a second later.

she shuffles just a bit closer; you flip around to face her, gasping as you realize how close she is -- your noses almost touching. her eyes widen as they meet yours, and you could swear that even in the pre-dawn dark, you can see her cheeks rioting with color.

she clears her throat but doesn't make to pull away.

"y'know, usually when i get invited into someone's bed... it's a lot sexier than this."

you puff out a breathy laugh, "yeah? i'm sure. why don't you tell me about it tomorrow, when we're compiling all the scholarships that we're gonna help powder apply to?"

vi falls quiet, her gaze going startlingly liquid, and for a second, you wonder if she's going to cry too. but then, she's leaning in, pressing her forehead to yours --

"god... sweets... what the fuck did i do to deserve you?"

you snuggle in closer, your heartbeat a livewire thrum at the back of your throat.

"nothing... you were just... you."

vi lets out a shaky breath, her eyes falling shut.

"shit, sugar... what the hell, man... it wasn't supposed to be like this."

you laugh as she sniffles, tugging you closer, her palm warm along your waist, her fingers pressing into your skin.

"yeah? did you have it all planned out? help the new girl move in? watch movies and make food with her on the weekends till she falls in love with you?"

vi's breath hitches. you bite your tongue.

still, she doesn't refute you. finally, she manages --

"i just... never thought it'd... get this bad..."

you sigh, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

"y'know, for a smart girl, you're really dumb sometimes."

vi pulls back, sighing, "yeah... i -- i know. and i know that powder and vander probably know too -- they just -- they just... knew me too well to try and --"

"force it out of you?" you supply. vi nods, her hair tickling your skin as she burrow in against you, her body curling in till she's in a fetal position, her face pressed into your chest, her breath fanning hot against your collarbones.

"well, lucky for me --" you say, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, caressing at the still-damp ends, "i didn't have to -- you came knocking all on your own."

vi's quiet for another few beats before --

"i wasn't lying y'know... i really did... miss you." her voice catches, the words cracking over one another like river stones.

you graze your lips along her hairline, nodding, "yeah, i know... i missed you too, vi."

she wraps her arms around you and pulls you in, pressing you to her so completely your chest almost starts to sting with the pressure.

a few minutes later, she relents, releasing you just enough for you to suck in a long, steadying breath.

"did you really mean it? that thing about... the scholarships for powder?"

you nod, "course i did. and we can look up loans too! i had to take one out when i went to college too, so i'm pretty familiar with them. it's alright -- we'll figure it out -- together."

vi nods, chuckling softly against you.

"mm... before all that though..." she tugs back just far enough to look at you, her voice husky as she leans in to brush her nose to yours --

"d'you think... you might allow me the honor of making you breakfast?"

[halforresterluvsford]

I hope this lives up to expectations! This will probably be a little AU-ish in a way where they got over themselves a little sooner. Let me know if my characterization of Stan and Ford seems off beyond that!

Please note that I know virtually nothing about cars

(This is for @frondere who so graciously let me write about what they posted! It ended being a lot more exposition than I thought there would be, and I had to cut some out because it was just getting too long. But I hope you enjoy the smut written in the middle of an iHop! I think this might’ve been my first time writing smut beginning to end)

“Hey, Stetson! We got a car ‘here for ya’! And you’ll never believe the look of this guy, shits uncanny!” Stan heard Julio call out to him, his boss too lazy to walk the whole 10 feet to the back room. He’s got a shit boss who gives him shit hours and pays him shit wages, but he’s got consistent work and money, something he hasn’t had in the 5 years since he’s been kicked out. He’s almost got enough saves up for a cheap apartment too.

He passes by Julio as he heads to the front, his boss clapping him on the back with a “headed for lunch, won’t be back until 3.” aimed at the back of Stan’s head. It’s barely 12. Whatever, means more time without Julio to bother and boss him around. He wonders, wiping his grease stained hands on a rag, what about this guy’s appearance that got Julio so cracked up. Probably some wicked scar or birth defect. He breathes in deeply before shouldering the door to the shop open, he hopes this guys isn’t an asshole.

“Welcome t’ Parvella’s Mechanics, what’s the matter with-“

“Stanley?” He pauses, he knows that voice. He will always know that voice. He hears it in his head every night, in his dreams, and anytime he makes a shitty decision. It’s his brother. He looks up at the person in front of a used yellow car.

“Stanford? Eh-what’re doin’ here?” Stan doesn’t know if he means the shop or Arizona or just within 100 miles him. Obviously Ford didn’t know Stan would be here, he’d probably drive the next state over to get his car fixed. And grumble about Stan the entire time, too. Ford would.

Stan’s learned a lot from his time as a grifter, from people and the streets, and one important thing he’s learned is how to grow a backbone. If some high school science fair project not working was the reason Ford didn’t get into that college, it was probably a shitty one anyways and he’s better without. Should he have told Ford about the project, yeah, that was his fuck up. But he didn’t deserve the get kicked out because of it. Realistically, he knows Ford couldn’t have stopped their dad, nothing could have, not when his bags had already been packed and Filbrick had started pulling them apart years beforehand with his words and criticisms. But he still never tried to get in contact with Stan, even after 5 years. Mom had though, and she’s kept him updated on Ford. Graduated early from both bachelors and masters programs and now he’s working on his PhD. Pretty fucking good for not going to that fancy ass school, huh?

“I’m-well I was in my way to a conference about potential real world applications of theoretical physics but my car it-well. It started smoking underneath the hood, and I-and this was the closest place I could find,” Ford fidgets with his hands as a rambles to Stan. A fancy science conference, huh? Ford did do well for himself at that “nobody” college. Stan’s glad. Beneath it all, he is glad that Ford’s doing well, pursing his dreams. He deserves it, he deserves to be happy. Stan just wishes he could be happy with him. Like when they were younger and would sneak away to the Stan O’ War to hold hands, kiss, and talk about their dreams. Stan misses those days.

“So, what are you doing here, Stanley?”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Stupid question, Stanford. Why do you think he’s here?

It’s obvious. Stan works here, he’s wearing the uniform, though it says Stetson on his stitched name tag, and he’s here asking what’s wrong with his car. He just panicked, he didn’t know what to say and that was the first thing to come to mind. It was so stupid. And Stan thinks so too, given the deadpan stare he’s giving him.

Listen, he didn’t expect to see Stan here, and why would he? He hasn’t seen or heard from him in 5 years, not since he was kicked out. And now, Ford’s matured since he was 17, he knows what their dad did was wrong, especially after learning Stan’s bags had been packed. He does reserve the right to be angry at Stan, if not for costing him the chance to go to West Coast Tech, than for breaking a project that took him a year to study and make. But he understands that kicking a 17 year out wasn’t the right move to make in that situation. Fiddleford has also helped in his maturation in regards to his brother, helping him realize many of his feelings were supplanted by their father and his deriding words against Stanley, forming a wedge between them. Hell, his brother probably hates him at this point, he’s never even reached out to Ford in the time he’s been gone, but he knows Stanley’s been calling their mother since.

Stan must’ve gotten to work on his car while he’s been thinking; the hood’s already propped up and Stan’s fiddling around inside, his sleeves pulled up. Stan’s always had good arms, maybe not well defined muscles, but they were there, a boxers body through and through. They look more defined now, Stan’s lost weight since he lost saw him, or maybe he grew into it? Ford doesn’t know, he wasn’t there to witness the gradual transformation of Stan from 17 to now. But a transformation it was-Ford can clearly see the veins on Stan’s arms leading down to his hands, still shorter and chubbier than his own, but no less powerful. He stares, entranced, as Stan’s hands clench, the motion flexing his muscles and veins, his sleeves straining against the muscles of his biceps, small beads of sweat drip down his arms and down his knuckles. They’re still scarred, his knuckles, but there’s more now. Some small starburst like scars, faint lines, and more scars made from repeatedly breaking open the skin from actions such as punching. He remembers how he used to gently kiss Stan’s hands after his boxing matches and fights with Crampelter. He wants to do that now, to take Stan’s hands and kiss away all the pain they’ve experienced in their years apart. He wants to take Stan and lick-

“Ford? Hey, Stanford!” Stan snapping his fingers snapped Ford out of his thoughts, heat rising to his face at the directions his thoughts went to. It’s been years, Stan probably doesn’t feel that way anymore.

“Right! What’s wrong with my car, and-uh will it take long to fix? I have to be at my conference by 3:30, and it’s still an hour away from here.” Ford adjusts his glasses, checking his watch as he does so, grateful for the distraction from his rather untowards thoughts.

“Well, it seems ya’ had some leaves on the engine, add in all the degreaser someone added,” Stan threw a pointed look Ford’s way, “and y’ got a good combination for burning leaves and rapid evaporation. Nothing’s wrong with the car itself, already got rid o’ the leaves. Just hafta let the rest dry and evaporate, I give it about an hour.” Hmm, something about Stan knowing what he’s talking about is doing something to Ford that he’d rather not think about right now

“Well let’s just settle payment now and I can wait in my car until it’s safe to leave.” He needs to not look at Stanley any longer than he has to, the thoughts of his rough hands and how they’d feel against him are overwhelming. And don’t even get him started on how he wants to lay Stan down and map every inch of his body to see if what else has changed about him, to see if anybody else had touched him-

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“That’ll be $450. And 99¢.” Stan can’t help but laugh at the look on his brothers face. He had this look on his face, he didn’t look angry, but he was starting to get irritated. Being around Stan longer than he wanted to was probably getting to him. So he wanted to try to-not make him laugh, but to get that expression off his face. Loosen him up a little, ya’ know?

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I didn’t really do anything, s’ doesn’t feel right to charge ya’ but the boss will have my ass if I don’t, so let’s just say $50 and call it a day?” That’s still too much for how little Stan did, but Julio would charge double that, so this is technically a discount, right? Ford still looks put out-fair enough, $50 is still a lot-so Stan tries to make casual conversation to lighten up the weird tension surrounding them. Hopefully Ford responds instead of intensely staring at him again. That was weird, how focused Ford had been on him and his hands while he was checking out his car, but it was probably just to avoid looking at Stan’s face, he knows how tired he looks, the long hours and improper diet weighing on him.

“So, a fancy shmamcy conference, huh? Must be pretty well after college, huh?” Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. He should’ve gone with something neutral, less testy. He’s about to bang his head on the cash register when Ford gives a small laugh, not a cruel one, no, but it sounds almost fond? His ears have got to be tricking him.

“Ha! Yes, I think I am, given everything that happened. I was chosen to attend over some third-rate graduate from West Coast even! Oh it’s amazing the possibilities this conference…” oh boy has Stan missed this. He’s missed listening to Ford just ramble on and on about some scientific and math shit, something he doesn’t know shit about but loves to listen to. Not only does he look, dare he say, dreamy when he talks, but it always got Stan so hot and bothered. That hasn’t changed for him in the slightest, the surety that Ford knows what he’s talking about, his willingness to give that knowledge to Stan, knowing he won’t understand it, makes his core ache and burn hot with need and want. He’s sure if this were a movie, he’d look like a sappy dame, leaning on one elbow and sighing airily.

“…and the town is full of anomalous activity! I’ve only just begun my research but you wouldn’t believe-Stanley?” This time Stanley is startled out of his thoughts by Ford calling his name, a slight blush on his face-probably from Stan’s staring. Fuck, looks like Ford’s rambling got to him more than he thought, if he wasn’t standing behind a cash register, he’s sure Ford would be able to see his hard-on. Why did this have to happen to him?

“Is everything alright?”

“Yep! Everything’s fine! New house and weird little creatures! That’s great, and looks like you paid! You can go sit in your car and just leave whenever!” Stan tries to wave Ford away with his hands. He doesn’t think it’s working, especially when he tries to subtly move his hands down to press against his clothed cock, his eyes darting nervously to the side when Ford gets a glint in his eyes and starts to step around the case displaying various air fresheners and knick knacks to add to your car working as a table for the register.

“What’s wrong, Stanley? Something’s got you flustered like that. You can tell me,”

“I-it’s nothing!” Stan yells, turning his back to Ford and trying to cover his tented jeans. He freezes when he feels Ford’s hand, larger than his own, slide over his side and down to cup him through his jeans, giving him a squeeze.

“Nothing? This doesn’t feel like “nothing”, Stanley. In fact, this feels like you have a whole lot of something. For me, perhaps? Was it my talking, Stanley? Did it get you all hard and aching like when we were teens?” Shit, Stan forgot how Ford can go from a blushing mess to downright domineering at the flip of a hat. It’s something that always caught him off guard back when they were teenagers. A breathe gets strangled in his throat when Ford grinds against him, he’s hard as a rock in his slacks. The pause gives Ford time to shove his hand down his pants and cup him with all six fingers.

“Ford-ngh!” He fucking licked his neck. His tongue wet and warm against Stan’s hot and straining neck. “A-ah, ha!” Now he fucking bit him, grinding his teeth against Stan’s flash, canines threatening, teasing, to break flesh. And Ford’s still grinding his own cock against Stan.

“N-need to see-hah-need to see you, Ford. Please.” He has to see him, he can’t let their first time in half a decade be so impersonal. His breathe his nearly knocked out of him again as he’s turned around and slammed back into the wall. Ford looks just bad flustered as Stan looks, his dick hard and straining against his Khaki’s, he breathes in a pant. He looks delicious. Stan reaches and pulls Ford to him, gnashing their lips together in a tangle of tongue, teeth, and spit.

“Stan-ley, let me see you. Can I-“ Ford nods down towards Stanley pants, his hands already deftly undoing his own and shucking them down. Stan responds with another harsh kiss, words leaving him in that moment. He gasps as he feels the cool air touch his aching cock, Ford giving him a preliminary stroke and twist, causing his back to arch. He feels like he can choke on Ford’s tongue with how deep it is in his mouth, his own hand reaching towards Ford’s cock. It’s longer than his, but not as girthy. Ford’s answering hitch hits his mouth, and Stan drinks it all in.

He drinks in Ford’s breathe, tongue, and spit, he maps out all the veins on Ford’s cock, another that hasn’t changed in the years they’ve been apart. He can feel Ford do the same with his cock, taking him in and figuring out how easy it is to take him apart again. He loves the feeling of Ford’s hands, eye rolling to the back in his head as Ford’s mouth leaves his and descends down his neck, licking his sweat and sucking bruises into his tanned skin. Ford’s other hand-has Stan mentioned how much he loves his brother’s hands and how much longer and slimmer his fingers are-moves behind his taut balls to press against his taint, the pressing causing delicious tingles to race down his spine.

“Mmmh, I love your sounds, Stanley. You’ve always made such pretty noises for me. I’ve missed them,” Ford whispers between wet kisses and nibbles on Stan’s neck, “I’ve missed how you react so nicely to my touches and words. Have you missed me too, Lee?” Stan can barely manage a nod before Ford’s knocking their foreheads together, forcing Stan to look in his eyes and telling sternly, “Use you words, Stanley.”

“Y-yes! I missed you, Ford! Your touches, your words, I’ve missed-missed your kisses, your everything!” Stan sobs out, trying to match his hands pace to Ford’s, wanting them to finish at the same time because Stan was so close, almost there.

“Good boy, Stan. I love it when you use your words. Are you close? I can feel your testicles tightening. It’s okay, I am too,” Ford leans close to Stan’s face, his hand picking up the pace on his cock and the pressure on his taint, he whispers lowly in his ear “Come for me, Stanley. Please, I-“ Ford’a breath hitches, signaling to Stan how close his brother is, “I need you to come for me.”

That does it for Stan, Ford all but pleading for him to come in his hand is what pushes Stan over the edge with a moan an octave or two higher than he’d like to admit. He paints Ford’s hand white, he can feel him to the same in his hand, the vein on the bottom of Ford’s cock pulsing rapidly.

They rest their heads together, getting their breathing slow down and exchanging soft and slow kisses and reassuring murmurs. Just taking each other in, basking in the glow of a moment years in the making. Ford opens his mouth, Stan’s lax body tensing ever so slightly, nervous for what his brother would say after all this.

“So, would you like to visit my home in Gravity Falls?”

And Stan can’t help but laugh and bring Ford in for a tight hug. He can’t stop his smile from widening as he feels arms wrap tightly around him.

Moses, he’s missed this.

[actualbird]

@marilukeweek fic writing progress update!!

✍️ IN PROGRESS - fic for Day 2: Omegaverse ✅ COMPLETED - fic for Day 3: Family ✍️ IN PROGRESS - fic for Day 5: Cats and Dogs ✍️ IN PROGRESS - fic for Day 7: Free Day

ONE DOWN, THREE MORE TO GOOOOOO

here's a snippet from the Family fic, aka an awkward dinner conversation where MariLuke's daughter announces she has a boyfriend

[s0fter-sin]

this is a bit of a what if scenario if soap and ghost met before the practice studio and the rest can be found on ao3!

before they ever try and workshop a routine, before their first dance, before johnny ever meets simon, price tells - orders - ghost to sit in on one of gaz’s classes.

“learn his style; see if yours meshes anywhere,” he says, wrist deep in an exploded camera and ignoring ghost’s stink eye from over in the corner. he’s gotten used to it after all these years.

he’ll have to pull out something new after this if price’s decided to sink to this level of petty.

and it is pettiness, no mistake; clearly he’s poked him too much about his boy recently.

“i’ve already seen ‘is style,” he dismisses with a disgusted scoff that’s only half put on. flashy, meaningless; the personification of viral with half the sincerity. it’s a laugh that garrick accuses him of stealing routines as if half his moves aren’t prepackaged and recycled from every plastic clout chaser before him.

“videos don’t live up to an in-person demonstration; you know that,” price chides and ghost rolls his eyes. “i’ve got a client making noises about choreography and if i can’t talk ‘em out of it, you’ll have to learn how to be in the same room without bein’ at each other’s throats.”

“they want a joint routine?” ghost demands, already going tense at just the idea of it.

“they want the best of the best,” price counters. “and unfortunately, that’s you two.”

he pulls out a part, friction-shiny and jagged where it’s rubbed against another piece, and flicks it over his shoulder to be lost in the mess of the garage. “you know, that breakdancer i showed you ‘ill probably be there.”

he raises an eyebrow but ghost doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. wily old man…

he asks about one dancer once and suddenly he’s all price wants to bloody talk about. it was professional interest; just looking into a style out of his wheelhouse and obviously it made sense to look at recent competition winners.

nothing more.

“i’m not asking you to join in,” price finally allows, pulling out a file and tapping off old shavings on the edge of the toolbox. “just watch. live up to that name of yours.”

“i got better things to do than haunt your little protégé,” he scoffs, chafing at the thought of wasting any more time on kyle garrick than he already has.

“and yet here you are, sniffin’ up my ass,” he shoots back wryly and ghost shoves off the wall; ignoring his snickers.

“play nice,” price adds but he’s already out the door.

if he asks later, he can just say he didn’t hear him.

[likelysobbing]

new posts today:)) juju x readers

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!!!

[oldjewelryfeed]

Antique Victorian Bracelet Turquoise Pearl 14k Yellow Gold 6.5" Botanical

[illegiblehandwriting1]

"The Sealed Grounds were silent on the night the world ended.

The Chosen Hero had stood against Demise in all his dark power, standing up straight despite the raw waves of evil coming off of the god. He had bargained for a duel to the death. Demise had accepted, allowing the Hero to follow after him into a realm beyond reality. And the Chosen Hero had fought through the waves of dark magic pushing against him, entering the portal without a glance behind him.

And high above the lingering portal, a young man clutched the body of a dear friend."

THE GROOSE IS LOOSE and also heavily traumatized *laughs in writer*

Basically, I asked the question "what the hell was Groose doing during the Demise fight?" This fic is the product of that.

Also there is no Groose-centric tag on ao3 and I'm making it everyone's problem today

Be careful, stay safe, hope you enjoy!

[enigmatic-mystery-777]

Double, Double Toil And Trouble

A routine excavation turns beyond stressful when SG1 arrives on the planet to try to get your team to safety before an impending Jaffa attack.

Taglist: @jgem87 @cuillere @stargaterevival @daydreampending @geekygumiho @riverageleis @frostysfrenzy

[neuvistar]

WHAT THE HALE!!!

Guys. GUYYYASSYAYASSY. :((((( TYANK YOU ALL SO MUCH 4 2.9K FOLLOWERS.. i’m acc gonna hug you all SOOOO tight :,,,,) 🙁🙁🙁😢😢😢😢🥹🥹🥹 for this, i will try my absolute best 2 get my rotting dradts outta my inbox WAHAHA anywho, it’s been a year w you all n honestly i’ve moved forward w all of YOU :((( THANK YOU SO MUCH HONESTLY STOP

[cryingtulips]

slowly finishing the dsmp bthb fic (school is killing me) and its...its going.

“I miss him,” he whispers to the radio at some point, not caring anymore about saying actual useful information. No one ever responds, and it was so silent Wilbur felt the constant need to fill that space himself.

[rememberthelaughtermp3]

this is actually horrific. just btw

[dallonwrites]

i'm so normal about the fact i forgot to update my nano at the end of the first day and now my daily word counts are off for the first two days. i'm soooo normal about that

[unnecessarilygrandiose]

aaAAaaAAaH i have my fic written! i will. uh. post it tonight. *runs away screaming*