Phainon groans deeply as you suck him as far as you can. Your tongue is so amazing, and he can't believe he's lucky enough to experience this. His hips will lightly buck into your mouth, and you hum, causing him to groan again. The Heir will throw his head back against the pillow and cry out as he cums hard.
Mydei pants heavily as he gives powerful thrusts into your cunt from behind. You moan from the rough feeling, urging him to go even harder, just how you like it. Sweat drips from his brow and down onto your bare back. He gives a long exhale as he paints your back white, smiling at the beautiful picture.
Anaxa loves uttering praises as your pussy clenches around his cock. You're his dear girl, his precious wife, his sweet princess. He'll give your nipple a suck as he continues to pound against your g-spot. Your fingers will thread through his jade hair as he moves to give your other breast attention.
As he thrusts rather gently into your pussy, Blade grunts against your ear. His voice is so quiet, you can hear the shlick shlick sounds of your lovemaking. He's completely focused on giving you pleasure. The swordsman never once thought he could have love this wonderful before he met you. Now he's thankful he lived this long to have such pure love.
Sunday definitely whimpers whenever you ride him. His wings will try to cover his fucked out face as drool escapes his mouth. The entire time he stares into your eyes. You swear you can see tears of pleasure form in those golden spheres. He's just too cute, you think as you bounce harder on his leaking cock.
Please don't copy, steal, or feed my work to AI. Thank you!
Summary: Lex Luthor forbids his usually obedient housewife from decorating their penthouse for fall, so after two weeks of her quietly ignoring him, he finally gives in and lets her decorate—with limits—leading to a relieved, fluffy reunion.
Word Count: 1,126
All Dividers in each story this month are by: solitary-serendipity 🤎
read my other flufftober stories here | Flufftober 2025
You should have known better than to bring it up during breakfast—Lex hated distractions when he was reading reports. Still, you’d been feeling restless, craving something cozy to soften the sharp edges of the penthouse. Cinnamon candles, soft throw blankets, maybe a few garlands and pumpkins… something warm to make fall feel real instead of a date on a calendar.
“I was thinking,” you began, carefully slicing into your toast, “maybe we could decorate a little for fall? Just the living room, nothing crazy—”
Lex didn’t even look up from the holographic display hovering above the table. “No.”
Your fork paused. “No?”
“It’s a ridiculous idea,” he said, as if swatting a fly. Tone flat, final. Eyes still focused elsewhere.
You blinked, the smallest sting landing right behind your ribs. “Ridiculous?”
He finally glanced at you then—brows lifted, vaguely amused that you were surprised. “This is a multi-million dollar penthouse, not a craft store.”
Your shoulders fell before you could stop them. “I wasn’t going to glue glitter to the windows, Lex. Just… some fall accents. You know, to make it feel cozy and more homey.”
“I said no.” He dismissed you by looking back at his display. “That should be the end of the conversation.”
Normally, it would’ve been. You were used to his dominance, used to being his soft, obedient constant in a world of sharks. He didn’t have to raise his voice or threaten—Lex Luthor never needed to. One firm sentence and you’d melt.
But the way he’d said ridiculous…
You didn’t argue. But you didn’t speak again either. Not that morning.
⸻
The first day, Lex didn’t notice your silence. You still made the bed precisely, still cooked dinner the way he liked, still wore those pretty dresses he adored. You just… didn’t try to make conversation. He talked, you hummed or nodded. When he kissed your cheek, you let him, but you didn’t lean in like usual.
By day three, he noticed.
“You’re quiet,” he said one evening, loosening his tie as he entered the bedroom. You were folding laundry, lips parted just a little, eyes down.
“Mhm.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
He tilted his head, studying you like a problematic equation. “You’re not upset about the decoration nonsense, are you?”
You did not look at him. “You said it was ridiculous.”
“And it is.” He slipped behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. Normally you’d melt into him, tilt your head, sigh. Instead, you set down the shirt in your hands and stepped away under the guise of putting things in the closet.
He froze.
He didn’t say anything about it at first, but you could feel him assessing you every time you moved. You still did everything he expected—house immaculate, meals timely, clothes pressed, his routines anticipated—but you were quiet. Distant. Not bratty. Just… not his usual perfectly pliant darling.
And it unnerved him.
⸻
After a week, Lex started trying to bait you back into conversation.
At breakfast, he’d say something dryly humorous just to see if you’d laugh. You’d smile politely and eat your yogurt. Passing him in the hallway, he’d tap your hip and say, “Careful, darling,” just to get a reaction. You’d murmur “sorry” and keep going.
The fourth night, he’d come home from a meeting later than usual. You’d already eaten. His dinner was still warm on the stove in a covered dish. His suit jacket was on its hanger. His files had been organized and moved to his office like you always did.
Everything was perfect—except you didn’t greet him. You didn’t kiss his jaw or ask how his day was. You were reading on the couch, curled under a blanket without inviting him to join.
Lex stood there for a full minute, watching you. Waiting.
You didn’t even look up.
⸻
By the end of the second week, you figured either he’d forget entirely or he’d put you over his knee for acting off. He was never cruel, but he could be cold when crossed. You weren’t trying to punish him—you just couldn’t bring yourself to keep pretending your feelings weren’t bruised.
That afternoon, you were upstairs in your shared bedroom, hair tied back, cozy in one of his old shirts, reading while the rain tapped the glass. You didn’t hear him come in—you were too lost in the chapter.
“Fine.”
His voice cut through the quiet.
Your eyes lifted from the page. Lex was standing in the doorway, jacket off, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable.
You blinked. “Fine, what?”
He exhaled through his nose like it irritated him to repeat himself. “Decorate.”
You sat up slowly, unsure you’d heard right. He stepped further in, arms crossing.
“But nothing over the top,” he added sharply, like the concession physically pained him. “No inflatable pumpkins. No paper bats hanging from the ceiling. And absolutely no scented pinecones.”
Your heart thudded hard in your chest. “Really?”
He gave a small, strained nod. “If it will end this… whatever this is—yes.”
For a fraction of a second, he looked almost uncomfortable, as though admitting defeat violated some internal code. Then you moved.
You shot off the bed so fast his eyes widened. Then you threw yourself into his arms with a delighted gasp, nearly knocking him backward.
“Lex!”
He caught you reflexively, hands firm on your waist. Your legs wrapped around his hips like instinct. You cupped his face and kissed him, hard and happy and breathless.
He let out a startled huff against your mouth, then his grip tightened and he kissed you back, low and urgent. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was no bite in it.
“You’re the best,” you said against his jaw, and you meant it.
“Mm. You’ve been insufferable.”
“You called me ridiculous.”
His hands flexed against your thighs. “…It was a poor word choice.”
You leaned back enough to look at him, eyes shining. “You hurt my feelings.”
He didn’t flinch, but his gaze flickered. “I noticed.” A pause. “I didn’t like it.”
You kissed him again, softer. “Thank you for letting me decorate.”
“I said nothing excessive,” he warned, as if he needed the last word. “Subtle. Elegant. And if I see a single plastic scarecrow, I’ll set it on fire.”
You giggled and nuzzled into his neck. “Deal.”
Lex carried you to the bed without putting you down, lips brushing your ear as he muttered, “Next time you want something, try asking once instead of staging a silent rebellion.”
“You wouldn’t have listened,” you said simply.
He didn’t argue—because you were right.
But when you lifted your head to smile at him again, he blinked like he was surprised by how much he’d missed it.
And for the first time in two weeks, he kissed you first.
Summary: Fiyero had been told all his life that he would make a great father someday, but he had always chafed at the expectation - an irresponsible mess like him had no business raising a child. Isn't it strange how life plays out?
Word Count: 3,322
Pairing: Elphaba Thropp x Fiyero Tigelaar
A/N: This was born of offshoots I had to cut from my other Fiyero fic If I Only. I wanted to get something up before the end of January so this came together in like six hours last night lol
Thank you so much for reading!!
Warnings: Pregnancy/Childbirth
Read it on Ao3!
Fiyero had never been a stranger to children.
He may have had no younger siblings, true, but the Tigelaars bred like rabbits. His eldest sisters were already starting families by the time he could walk, and by the time he was nearing adulthood, the place was absolutely overrun with them. There were always children darting down the castle halls or hiding in broom closets, or running alongside the horses outside as messengers arrived with news from the Emerald City. There was a sense of whimsy to it, and perhaps relief too, on his parents' part - they need never fear for lack of heirs. It seemed theirs was a spring that never ran dry.
"It's your turn next," Lieryma, his favorite sister, told him once as he was preparing to leave for his third attempt at higher education. "You won't be able to hopscotch through university forever."
It was probably wrong of him to have a favorite, but in his defense, when you have twelve of them, some distinction has to be made. Lieryma was nearest to him in age, only two years his senior, and his partner-in-crime for most of his childhood exploits. It was she who showed him how to scale the castle walls at Kiamo Ko to look at the birds' nests nestled in the turrets, she who taught him how to walk into places you weren't supposed to be with the air of one who was so that no one questioned your presence, and how to lie with the air of the truth if you were caught. She got in trouble more than he did, because she was older and their parents expected more of her. No one ever expected much from Fiyero. Being the youngest and the only son had that benefit.
Lieryma had been infected with wedding bug younger than some of their older sisters - by the time she was 19, she was married to some horrendously dull Kellian with the first of five on the way. A pitifully small number for their family, but pregnancy had not agreed with Lieryma. The first had left her bedridden for months and unable to keep any sort of food in her stomach. She bled so much throughout the second that the midwives had feared she would lose the baby entirely. By the time the third had come around, her dark hair was coming out in clumps so large she had to tie scarves around her head to cover the bald spots.
Fiyero raised his eyebrows. "Don't you think we've populated the land with enough Tigelaar spawn?"
"Yes, and not one from Mama's precious baby boy." His sister smirked at his scowl. He didn't think his mother favored him as much as his sisters claimed she did, but then again, he wasn't there to see how she was before him. "Anyways, you're going to have to eventually - with the way you cavort about the countryside you're liable to end up with a child in every kingdom."
"I find plenty of ways to cavort without such risks." He grinned at her, then dropped his gaze to her belly, then swelling with her fourth. "Would you like to hear some? You might put them to better use than I."
Lieryma rolled her eyes. "You'll enjoy it. You'd be a good dad - kids just love you automatically."
"I think that's because they recognize me as one of their own." Fiyero loved his nieces and nephews, but he'd be the first to admit that what he did with them was a far cry from parenting. He played chase and hide-and-seek with them, threw them into the air or let them ride on his back while he crawled about pretending to be a pony, but he rarely stayed long past playtime. He liked being the fun uncle who let them have extra pieces of candy when their parents weren't looking. Parenthood was different. He couldn't be trusted with it.
"Besides," he added. "I'm not sure the evidence is in your favor where enjoyment is concerned."
Lieryma snorted. "You won't have to worry about your pretty hair, brother - your body won't be the one that changes. You men have it easy." She laid head back, the green flecks in her scarf almost glittering in the light. "Your problem will be finding a woman willing to put up with you."
Not much of a problem, that. In fact, Fiyero felt his true trouble was quite the opposite.
There was an irony that his wedding to Glinda was set to be the biggest of all of his sisters. Fiyero hadn't invited them, nor his mother and father. He blamed Morrible and Glinda for that - by the time he learned of his upcoming nuptials the invitations had already been drawn up, and while his apparent bride-to-be seemed to have included every person she had ever spoken to on the guest list, his own relations had fallen by the wayside. But that was an easy excuse. Fiyero could've reminded her at any point to make room for his family, and Glinda would've been falling over herself with excitement as she amended the seating chart.
No, Fiyero chose to let it go. It would be for the best. The world he had left behind in the Vinkus seemed so distant to his life now in the Emerald City. He couldn't picture them colliding. But that was as weak of an excuse as the first. No, it was … it was shame, that kept him from writing to his parents, to his sisters, to his nieces and nephews. They had not met Glinda yet. She brought it up every so often, flirting with the idea of traveling to Kiamo Ko for a few days to make introductions - the bubble made it easy, after all - but her scheduling never worked out, and Fiyero never pushed it.
The children would be dazzled by her, of course - they'd ask about her bubble, fawn over her dress, awe at her wand as she liked people to do. His sisters, having never been far beyond the cragged cliffs of Winkie Country, would look no further than the sparkling glamour within which she resided. His parents would see through her a bit more. They were royalty, they understood how to put on a performance for the public. They'd see that the Good Witch was not naturally the bastion of grace and wisdom Madame Morrible's flyers painted her as. But that be no matter to them - she was good breeding, from a wealthy, well-respected Gilikinese family, and honored by the Wizard himself, and thus she made an advantageous match for their long-since problem prince. And anyways, who ever expected Fiyero to marry a political scholar? No, Glinda was perfect for him.
That's what shamed him. He could hear Lieryma's voice, so clearly in his head: she suits you perfectly, 'Yero. It would be meant as a compliment. The thought made him want to rip his skin off. He didn't want to think about how they saw him - how the whole world saw him, and how until recently he had seen himself. It was wrong. It left him feeling ill with a deep emptiness. He didn't want to suit it anymore.
So they wouldn't be there. Ah well. It didn't matter. They wouldn't be missing much. This marriage was a farce. He knew it, the Wizard and Morrible knew it, and he thought Glinda knew it too, deep down. Or maybe he had only hoped she did.
It wasn't until later, only a day or two before the wedding, that he realized she might not. She was taking him through the newly constructed marital wing of the palace - he had thought such renovations were unnecessary, but the Wizard had insisted ( "Consider it a wedding gift!" the old man's eyes had twinkled under the light of his workshop, "After all, the Emerald City's own prince and princess deserve their own royal residence") and of course Glinda had been thrilled at the addition of even more opulence. Fiyero had learned to pick his battles.
She took him through the rooms - swathed in pink and green and gilded mirrors, grand balconies draped in velvet curtains, a bathtub the size of a swimming pool and closet the size of a Shiz dorm room that had already been stuffed to the brim with her wardrobe. Fiyero nodded and hummed in approval as was expected of him, but his mind was glazed over, yearning for even the slightest hint of black fabric - a cape, a boot, maybe even the tip of a ruffled hat - but it was a silly fantasy more than anything else. He knew that any hint that Glinda had once shared a closet with another would've been long-since scrubbed away. So engrossed in his sentimental longing was he that he nearly missed what she said.
"And then, that room over there will be converted to a nursery—" she said it so carelessly, as casual as if she had been speaking of the rain, that Fiyero was almost convinced he had misheard her.
"Nursery?"
"Oh yes - when the time is right, of course." Glinda smiled at him, but she was already moving to the next room. "There's no rushing these things."
"But -" Fiyero was staring at her as though she had sudden sprouted a horn between her eyes. "You want children?" This was the first he was hearing of it. Glinda had never seemed one to care much for kids - even with her beloved Good Scouts, she could only stomach so much with them before she was batting them away like flies and hurrying off to her next event.
They're so clingy - I understand why, of course, but they never want to wait their turn, they all just want my attention all at once. And they ask such obvious questions! I don't know why they can't just figure it out themselves …
But now, she was glancing at him over her shoulder with that coquettish eyelash flutter she had all but trademarked, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
"Well, it's the thing to do, isn't it?" She flipped a bit of her hair away from her face in a movement that might've seemed blithe if he hadn't watched her practice it in the mirror so many times. "Everyone will be expecting it."
Fiyero's head was spinning. "Yes, but - Galinda - Glinda—" he laughed, because he didn't know what else to do. "Children are not something you simply have because other people expect you to. They take time, and care, and work—" He thought of Lieryma, hollowed eyes and hollowed cheeks, hair thinning and infant bawling in her arms. "It's not something you can start and stop as you please—"
"Well, we'd have help, of course! My momsy knows a great nanny." Glinda waved him off like a bug. "And anyways, it's not something for now, but we do have to think about these things. "
And that was it, for she was on to the next thing, talking about the lace trim on the bedspread and how she intended to have it redyed to better match the floor-length curtains. Fiyero could only swallow his nausea and follow her.
He tried to picture it - Glinda with blonde-haired babe to her chest, a crib with pink swaddling, a tiny hand gripping his finger as they toddled down the halls together. There were moments sometimes where he caught glimpses of the utopia Glinda must have thought she envisioned, moments while he lay awake at night where perhaps it didn't seem too bad, but it always went sour like vinegar the longer he let himself think of it. Any child of his and Glinda's wouldn't just be theirs - it would belong to the Wizard too, to all of Oz, a symbol for something they wouldn't have any means of understanding. How could he ever make that right? How could you teach a child the meaning of good when they've been born into the vipers' pit and raised by ego's cowardice? How could he expect such a child to learn to care when he had spent most of his life in willful ignorance? When, if not for Elphaba, he'd still be living as Glinda did?
Elphaba …
His thoughts drifted to her sometimes when he was thinking of the nursery. Fiyero forced tried to force them from his mind, but they never fully left, instead lingering in the shadow-cloaked corners, steeped in longing and regret. He wondered what she thought of children. Perhaps she wouldn't want them. She did tend to shirk at the idea of convention, after all. He couldn't blame her for that. But there was such a gentleness to her, such a deep well of care brimming through her every act … she'd be better at parenthood than either he or Glinda, that was for certain. Fiyero wondered if she hated him now.
He knew it was wrong to think such things while in bed with his fiance. He thought them just the same.
Sometimes, when his mind turned back to Shiz, in those horribly wistful bouts of aching night after night as Glinda drowsed peacefully on his chest, Fiyero felt he missed her just as much as he missed Elphaba. She had seemed different then - fun, playful, silly, someone who with a single look could make all his thoughts evaporate and leave him walking on air. It had been a long time since she had left him feeling such a way. He could be trite and claim that it happened when she changed her name - I loved Galinda, but now she's Glinda - but he knew that wouldn't be fair. Glinda was the same as ever. The only change had happened within himself. There was that wrongness again, pulsing in his throat. He wondered if he'd ever truly be free of it.
…
They crossed the desert to the lands beyond.
Ev, it was called, and while it could never be Oz, it was a peaceful place, quiet and plentiful against a lapping shore, and accepting enough that a green girl and a man made of straw did not seem to cause any bother. They hadn't planned to stay very long, but once they realized Elphaba's condition, it seemed best to settle in for a bit.
The pregnancy had come as quite a shock. Fiyero supposed it was his sister's prophecy coming to pass at last - his cavorting had finally caught up with him. Still, it was ludicrous to think about. So much had happened since that night in her woodland hideout - Oz, it had been his last night with flesh! At least he made the most it, he thought wryly.
"Just my luck that I'd end up pregnant after my first time," Elphaba had sighed. "It would be too simple otherwise."
"Well, I suppose you never do anything by halves, darling," he joked, if only to hide the mounting terror in his throat. If he hadn't been ready in Oz, in his old body with Glinda and a whole crew of servants at his beck and call, he certainly couldn't imagine being prepared now that he was nothing but a musty old sack of straw with no clear plan for the future.
They did their best though - bartering for for clothes and blankets and bedding, tracking down someone in their small settlement who could help with the birth. Fiyero half-assed his way through constructing something resembling a crib out of spare wood - something that Elphaba was far too impressed with upon completion. She seemed to have entirely too much faith in him in general.
"You're going to be great," she said one night, watching him from the foot of their bed. "You have more experience in all this than I do."
He huffed. "I don't know if I'd call playing with kids much experience." He thought of Lieryma, of his sisters and his nieces and nephews. He wondered what became of them, what they must think of him now.
Elphaba shrugged. "Still more than me. The only child I spent much time with was Nessa …"
She trailed off, and there was something about it, a distant sort of melancholy, that made Fiyero frown and look to her.
"You alright?"
She hummed, nodded, but her levity felt forced. "Just thinking about my mother."
Her mother, who lost so much blood during her sister's birth that she fell asleep and never woke up. Fiyero set his jaw and knelt beside her.
"I won't let that happen to you."
Elphaba exhaled a soft laugh, squeezing his hand in hers. "I don't know that you'll have a choice, love."
"I mean it though." He gripped her firmly, looking up at her like he could keep her there with just his gaze alone. "You saved me from certain death with your magic. If I had to, I'd find some of my own."
Her labor came upon her fast, in the middle of one moonless night - Fiyero was barely awake as he ran to the midwife in a blind panic. She was a stoic, starchy old Raccoon, a refugee from Oz like them, but for all her grumpiness she wasted no time hurrying to their lodging with her bag.
Fiyero had remembered the cries of his sisters as a child, echoing from the rooms above him as they fought through their birthing pains, but nothing was so bone-chilling as Elphaba's screams as she writhed in their bed. He knelt at her side, helpless to do anything but promise her that it would be alright, and pray to any god that was listening that it would be so. She gripped his hand so tightly that her nails pierced through his burlap skin, but he didn't even notice.
It seemed hours of this, air thick with sweat and blood and tears, Elphaba gasping through her agony as Fiyero tried to guide her breathing despite his own mounting anxiety, but finally something broke. A wailing cry warbled through the night.
"It's a boy," said the Raccoon.
A boy … Once they had cleaned him of birthing fluids Fiyero took him in his arms. He was heavier than he looked - Fiyero trembled as he held him, too terrified at the thought of dropping him to risk a movement. Before he had been afraid that his rough hands would be too much for a baby, that they'd irritate his skin or cause a rash, but the child's cries were soothed at his touch. Staring down at his face, Fiyero forgot how to breathe.
Elphaba clung to the bedsheets as the midwife cleaned her up, watching with wide, breathless eyes.
"Is he green?" Her apprehension bled into her voice.
Fiyero shook his head, unable to lift his gaze from the baby. "No …"
He was almost disappointed, although he couldn't be - disappointment was so far from this moment. A part of him had hoped their son would look like her, so that she might see how deeply Fiyero loved them regardless. But it didn't matter. He was perfect.
"He has your eyes," he whispered. His son blinked up at him, gaze as sparkling as the emeralds of Oz.
He brought him to his mother, and weak as she was, Elphaba cradled him to her chest like she had done it a million times before.
"He's so little …" she murmured. "Fiyero, he's so little."
Swathed in candlelight, her braids loose at her shoulders and her blankets lapping about her waist like waves, she truly looked like a goddess. What had he done to deserve her, to deserve them?
He knelt at her side. Their son smiled up at them, the softest little giggle tumbling from his lips. Fiyero smiled back - he couldn't help it. There was a warmth in his chest, burning stronger than the brightest flame. He kissed Elphaba's temple, and she giggled too. This was right.
I’ve been lurking in the stancest tag for months now and I’ve devoured every little bit of content all you amazing people that use this tag put out, but I’ve been too shy to interact much. I woke up last night in a cold sweat with a very specific idea in my brain. But it was like 3 am and a bitch was tired so I just typed a prompt in my notes app and went back to sleep. Woke up this morning and all the note said was “Stancest, love at first sight but like with dark ford.”
anyways, I humbly offer this little thing I wrote about an unhinged older ford kind of kidnapping a younger alternate dimension stan. CW: idk…blood, murder, implied SA/sex work, and my very thinly veiled daddy kink (im sorry)
When Ford first lays eyes on the 20 year old Stanley of dimension 2x’59, his little brother is shaking and has blood splatters across his bruised face. The knees of his grey sweats are soaking up the blood leaking out of the two goons Ford has just shot dead. Stanley’s eyes are wide, his breaths are fast and shallow. He has a split lip and his hair is a greasy, tangled mess.
He’s the most beautiful thing Ford has ever seen.
Stanley flinches and starts to shuffle back when Ford takes a step towards him. Ford pauses to remove his goggles, lowers his scarf, holds up his six fingered hand. And when Stanley freezes and looks into his eyes with a glimmer of recognition … Ford’s heart swells with love.
“…Sixer?” Stanley breathes.
Ford smiles.
-
This Stanley always starts out shy in bed. Ford needs to wring an orgasm or two out of him before he starts begging Ford for what he really wants. It’d be endearing if it didn’t paint a dark picture of Stanley’s mental state after his time on the streets. He’d been nervous and twitchy the first time Ford took him to bed. So unlike the Stanley in Ford’s memories, none of his confident smirks or gentle teasing. He’d avoided eye contact at the start and tried to muffle his moans by biting his fists until he drew blood. It had made Ford seethe. Made him regret giving Rico and his lackeys quick deaths. But he’d swallowed down his rage and had been so, so gentle with his sweet boy. He’d taken his time breaking him down slowly and sweetly. By the end, Stanley had been left a drooling, cum drunk mess. No thoughts in his pleasure hazed mind, only able to mouth out a litany of soft Ford…Ford…Fords. It was a sweet memory.
“Ahh…Mmh…Ahn!”
But right now, Ford is kneeling between Stanley’s trembling thighs. He’s three fingers deep in his baby brother and he’s just finished pushing him over the edge for the second time. He’s running a soothing hand along Stanley’s hip, debating whether he should coax out a third orgasm when Stanley grabs the hand in his hip, clamps his thighs tight around Ford’s waist and wails. Ford loves when he gets loud.
His pretty boy is the very picture of debauchery. His eyes are glazed with pleasure, tears cling to his lashes, and his head is tilted back as if the sensations are too much to bear.
“Please, puh-lease, Sixer! I need it!”
Ford watches Lee’s perfect pink lips move, transfixed. Then the meaning of the words hit him and a low, wrecked groan tears from his throat. He descends upon his brother, crashes his lips against his. He coaxes Lee’s mouth open and earns another soft moan when he sucks on his tongue. A string of saliva connects their lips when they separate. He watches it break when Stanley licks his lips.
“My sweet boy. Do you think you’re ready for me?”
More little whimpers. Stanley wraps his arms around Ford’s neck and brings him down so their foreheads rest together.
“Yeah. Please, Ford…I-“ he’s trembling, looking right into Ford’s eyes. Ford can feel his breaths puffing against his lips when he breathes out,”I missed you so much.”
Oh.
He’s perfect. His little darling is perfect. Ford is in love. He shudders as he guides himself to his brother’s soft, wet hole. Stanley whines and tries to grind his hips up to meet him. Ford settles a hand on him and stills his hips.
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ll give it to you, slow.”
Stanley shakes his head and sobs out, “N-no, please Sixer, give me everything! I missed you!”
And Ford can’t find it in himself to deny his baby any longer. He slams home and Stanley screams out his pleasure. It’s the sweetest sound Ford’s ever heard. He starts a fast, punishing rhythm making sure to aim straight for Lee’s prostate with each thrust. He knows he’s not going to last long.
Stanley’s face is twisted with pleasure. He’s making throaty little groans with each thrust but he makes no move to reach for his own cock. He’s holding onto Ford so tightly, not allowing even a millimetre of space between them. Clutching him close like he wants to fuse them both together. Like he wants his twin to take up residence in his chest, curled up right by his heart. Ford knows. He wants the same thing for Stanley.
When he feels his own orgasm approaching, Ford reaches between them and strokes his twin to completion. He watches his baby’s face closely as it contorts in pure ecstasy, lips trembling around a silent cry, the sound stolen by the force of his pleasure.
Ford follows his brother over the edge and his pleasure comes from the sweet relief of holding his brother after years through the portal. It comes from finally being able to truly revel in his triumph over Bill Cipher. It comes from the knowledge that when the universe tried to fuck him over and cheat him out of his well-earned prize, he’d taken it by force because he was Stanford Pines and he would take what he was owed, one way or another. A low groan shudders past his clenched jaws as the pleasure coils tight in his belly then shatters through him in violent, euphoric waves. Victory tastes so sweet.
He collapses beside his brother and when he can catch his breath, he gathers Lee in his arms, drops a tender kiss to his head. He presses his fingers into the marks he’s left on his little brother’s hip. He can hear the smile in Stanley’s voice when he whispers Ford’s name. Ford’s heart roars in triumph.
-
It’s early in the afternoon and they’ve gone out exploring the forests of Gravity Falls at Ford’s insistence because, “some fresh air will do you good, Stanley.”
Stan smiles and dutifully follows his brother as he leads him confidently through the darker areas of the forest. He tries his best to listen and follow along with Ford’s constant chatter as he points out the unusual fauna and flora native to this strange little town. At some point there’s a lull in the conversation and Stan takes the opportunity to gaze around the small clearing.
The unnatural, undulating movement of a glowing blue flower catches Stan’s eye and he wanders over to take a closer look. He casts one last glance at Ford and he can’t help the fond grin that steals across his face when he sees his brother crouched down in front of an odd coloured mushroom, sketching away in his journal. He takes note of the beginnings of greying hair near Ford’s temple and all of a sudden… he’s overcome by a strong sense of jamais vu. His heart stutters in his chest and he whips around to stare at the weird blue flower. It moves through the air as if it were underwater and any other time Stan would find it strangely beautiful. Unfortunately, at this very moment he’s trying to calm his racing heart and keep his breaths even and quiet. Most of all, he tries desperately not to focus on the feeling of his brother’s face (his twin’s face) being almost familiar but not quite right. And he especially does not think about how he’s never going to see his Sixer’s face again. Nope. Not thinking about it. He violently forces every last bit of his attention to focus on the rhythmic movement of the underwater-land flower and allows it to lull him into a feeling of weightlessness, until the world beyond it starts to blur. His heart rate finally begins to slow.
Stan startles when he feels a hand gently tilt his face up and he looks up at his brother. His heart squeezes when he sees the concerned frown on Ford’s face. Because he loves this familiar stranger. He knows he does.
“Stanley?” Ford asks, as he runs a thumb along Stan’s bottom lip. “I called your name several times, darling. Is something wrong?”
Stanley shakes his head, “No, ‘m sorry. Got distracted, didn’t hear ya callin’ me.”
Ford’s eyes narrow and he stares deep into Stan’s eyes. He lets the silence drag on for a few long seconds before his face breaks into a soft, fond smile.
“Come along then, love. We still have much more to see.”
Stanley breathes in. Breathes out. Then he turns and gives his brother his most reassuring smile.
“Lead the way, Sixer.”
He does his best to convince himself that this is enough.
So last year I contributed two fics to In Search of Eden, a @halsinzine . It was a super fun project run by and including some wonderful people, with all proceeds going to charity. Leftover sales of the zine are running now through September 15 over at the zine’s shop if you're interested in picking up a copy. You can also read both of my fics on ao3 now. They both include gorgeous art by @cursedcontentfactory .
the world outside is so inconceivable
Halsin | BG3 | G | 1.9k
The young druid Halsin goes on walkabout and meets some interesting creatures along the way.
Polaris
Halsin x gn!Tav | BG3 | E | 1.8k
After the battle at Moonrise Towers, Halsin stumbles upon Tav taking a swim.
I have had this game on my Wishlist for a while as soon as I heard about it. I didn't realize it was going to be a writing, journaling, and scrapbooking application. I legitimately thought this was going to be a game. I'm even more excited to truly know what it is. I'm a writer by passion and hobby. I've always wrote and though less and less people are reading and prefer watching this is something I feel I have mastered and enjoy doing. I take pride in everything I write (or type for that matter) This is something I've been looking for as a writer and creative for a very long time.
For one price, it is nice to have something you only need to buy once instead of buying a subscription with lets say Penzu which is what I originally did but it started getting so expensive I had to let go. I then started using Canva Pro for it but it's just not the same to journal in something like Canva. I loved using my IPad pro at one point and GoodNotes and ProCreate but honestly I dropped that so quickly. I love regular pen and paper but I am a really slow writer. I prefer typing if possible. So this fits the bill, literally!
To learn more about the application, who it's for, how much it is, pros and cons, please continue reading below.
What is Merry Fairy?
Releasing on 7/10/25 - 2 days ago it is a cozy and relaxing journaling and scrapbooking application. I do not place it underneath a gaming category. However, you can find it on Steam right now at a discount for $8.99.
Who is The Application For?
Honestly, anyone, but if you're looking for specifics look below I made a list of who this would fit the most;
Cozy Gamers
Writers
Scrapbookers
Creatives/Artistic types
Teachers
Those who need an outlet to let out their emotions
Anyone looking for a safe space
Pros:
There are so many scrapbooking elements to discover while clicking around. All of those then get saved to your journal so you can use it.
There are great tutorial resources and learning how to use Merry Fairy. The above prompt and fox person comes up every time it teaches you something about this application.
There is a Pomodoro's timer that I didn't know about until I clicked the random stained glass window.
There is a lot to do and a lot to create, I easily spent 3 hrs starting from 12 AM - 3 AM just writing and getting the pages just the way I wanted it.
There is a music player that plays really upbeat music for the most part, there are a few that are primarily background noises but a nice selection of background music to write (type) too. I LOVE the music by the way! Very fantasy like.
You can freely move any and ALL of the elements you collect to decorate your journal pages with.
Cons:
Lacking more background sounds and music
I wish there were more fonts that could be used while in the journal.
When writing text, it's weird the cursor disappears randomly, you can't get it back unless you left click. I was so confused and accidentally deleted my elements I collected to place in the journal by accident. Yes, it's most likely user error, however, it might've been nice to have the heads up about left clicking prior while in the tutorial itself.
Wasn't sure where to place this one because it's a mixture of a pro and a con and it may bother some people so I placed it here as a potential con. You can save each entry, but, when you save it it's saved as a "html, webpage" it can only be opened by web browser. To save it by image you can right click while it's opened in the webpage to do so or take a screenshot, but this can be a little annoying. That's if you don't want to just keep it as a webpage. Honestly, I myself do not worry about this too much, but it would've been nice if it saved as a JPEG, PNG, PDF, or .doc file. Html is a little strange and I was kind of scratching my head with the option choice for this. It saves like this;
Conclusion:
For me, this was exactly what I needed and something I've been looking for at a great cost. If you are a writer like me and need a distraction free environment with background music, cozy vibes, and a beautiful little scenery to get you in the writing mood this would be the perfect application for you. It's a safe space, it can be used online and offline. All the feature are meant to be used without being online. I enjoy the illustration of every element, the ability to click around and discover new things as you write. It just feels like you're on one big journey of self discovery. There are so many quotes and prompts to help you write and explore yourself on a deeper level. At the beginning you get letters from the creator and it just feels so personal. I highly enjoy this application but feel more can be done and added.
I would give this a fair 7.5/10 - it's great for your basic writing needs and offers a lot for $8.99 but for regular price after the sale price which we don't know yet I just feel it could be a bit more perfected. If you don't mind some of the cons then this is the perfect writing/scrapbooking application for you.
