#ITS SO FUNNY IN MY HEAD..................... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darlingdaisyfarm · 3 days ago

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one night, two Pines ⋆˚࿔

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

tagging: @cailleachcola <33

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

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

The Mystery Shack groans under the weight of another snowfall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Candles?” Stan repeats, sounding so bewildered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cozy enough for ya, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be a coward, sixer.”

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

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

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

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, would you look at her. . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stan, oh fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on, sixer, you heard the lady.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For us, Sixer, for us.”

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

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

Then. . . click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bathroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls x you #gravity falls smut #ford pines x reader #stan pines x reader #ford pines smut #stanford pines #stan pines smut #x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #stanley pines smut #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines #gravity falls fanfiction

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iamgonnagetyouback · 22 hours ago

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kisses on cheeks and protective remus

dad!remus lupin x mom!reader where your daughter kisses a boy (on the cheek) and remus is not a fan of it to say the least

↬ word count : 738 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : excessive panicked dad energy, reader laughing way too much at her husband’s expense ♡

↬ au part? : coming soon·········

↬ author's note : this is your official reminder to laugh at funny boys, not kiss them. unless it’s remus.

ps. the pictures above in no way depict the characters mentioned in this fic—they’re just here for ✨vibes✨. please use your imagination to bring them to life! love you all <3

pps. i originally scheduled this post for 5 jan, but somehow ended up setting it for 5 feb instead. hehe oops. 🙈

navigation┆remus lupin masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

The sound of the front door creaking open was followed by the unmistakable pitter-patter of little feet. You smiled to yourself, folding the last of the laundry on the couch. Moments later, your five-year-old daughter, Ella, burst into the living room, her curls bouncing as she carried her backpack like it weighed a hundred pounds.

“Mommy! Daddy!” she chirped, her face lighting up with excitement. She flung her backpack near the door (though not quite in its proper spot, as usual).

Remus stepped into the room, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “There’s my little dove,” he said warmly, crouching down to scoop her up. “How was school today, sweetheart?”

Ella giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It was soooo fun! We did painting, and I made a butterfly! Oh, and guess what?”

Remus kissed her cheek, smiling. “What, little dove?”

“I kissed a boy today! On the cheek!” Ella declared proudly, her eyes sparkling.

You had to bite back your laughter as you watched Remus freeze mid-crouch. His face twisted into pure disbelief, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“You—you what?” he sputtered, standing up straight so fast he nearly lost his balance. Ella clung to him, giggling, while he turned to you, wide-eyed. “Dove, did you hear that?! She kissed a boy!”

“I heard,” you said, laughing softly. “She’s starting young.”

Remus didn’t seem to share your amusement. He looked back at Ella, his voice full of panic. “Why? Why did you kiss a boy?”

Ella tilted her head, her expression puzzled. “Because I like him, Daddy. He’s funny.”

“Funny?” Remus repeated, his tone incredulous. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, “Funny. Funny.” Then, looking back at her with mock seriousness, he said, “Ella, honey, if he’s funny, you laugh! You don’t kiss him!”

Ella blinked at him, clearly not understanding why this was such a big deal. “But you kiss Mommy, and she’s funny.”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh as Remus whipped around to look at you, his face betraying a mix of indignation and panic. “Dove! Don’t laugh; this is serious!”

“Is it?” you teased, walking over to him. “She’s got a point, you know.”

“She does not have a point,” he countered, before turning back to Ella. “Sweetheart, who’s this boy?”

“Tommy,” Ella said with a dreamy little sigh. “He’s my bestest friend. He made me laugh so hard today that juice came out of my nose!”

Remus groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “Tommy,” he muttered, as if the name itself was offensive. “What kind of name is Tommy anyway? Sounds like the name of someone who runs into walls.”

Ella gasped, her tiny hands on her hips. “Daddy! He’s nice!”

“I’m sure he’s nice,” Remus replied, crouching again to look her in the eye. “But darling, you’re too young to be kissing boys. No more kissing boys, okay?”

“But why?” Ella whined, pouting. “You kiss Mommy, and I don’t see what’s wrong.”

“Because I married Mommy!” he said, exasperated. “And because Mommy is—well, she’s—” He paused, looking at you helplessly. “Dove, help me out here.”

“Because I’m Mommy,” you supplied, grinning. “That’s the best reason there is.”

Ella tilted her head thoughtfully, then asked, “So if I marry Tommy, can I kiss him?”

“Absolutely not!” Remus said, his voice cracking. “You’re not marrying anyone for the next fifty years.”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh, pulling both your husband and daughter into a hug. “Remus, she’s five. It was just a kiss on the cheek.”

“That’s how it starts!” he argued, his arms instinctively wrapping around you and Ella protectively. “First it’s a kiss on the cheek, and then suddenly they’re eloping to Paris. Not on my watch.”

Ella giggled and kissed his cheek. “You’re silly, Daddy.”

Remus sighed dramatically but kissed her back. “Only for you, little dove. But promise me—no more kissing boys without asking me first, alright?”

“Okay,” Ella said sweetly, though the mischievous glint in her eye made you suspect this wouldn’t be the last you’d hear of Tommy.

“Come on,” you said, ruffling her curls. “Let’s get you a snack.”

As you led Ella toward the kitchen, you glanced back at Remus, who was still crouched on the floor, muttering to himself, “Tommy. Tommy. Sounds like the name of a kid who eats dirt. He should eat dirt. Defiling my little dove.”

#dividers by aquazero #pictures from pinterest #dividers by enchanthings #ivy's soft scribbles ೀ #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #marauders #hp marauders #remus x you #remus x reader #dad!remus lupin #dad!remus

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anonity · 1 day ago

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BETTER -- drabble

been gone for a min for a last min road trip w/ friends for new years :) happy 2025! had this in my drafts after watching the paige ep on flau’jaes podcast

WC: ~1200 summary: paige catches you and your saved basketball edits

the amount of paige edits that popped up on your for-you-page was diabolical. especially considering she was your roommate.

you were waiting for her to return from practice, feet kicked up on the coffee table of your apartment, when the first of the day came up.

originally, you’d justified your ever-growing collection of edits as hype-videos: something you could scroll through before paige’s games to get you in the right mood. for a while, that checked out – you only saved her highlights, quick moving graphics with smooth transitions.

but then it had quickly devolved into what can only be described as an obsessive fan folder, filled with edits so thirsty you think you would actually combust if anyone saw them, let alone paige.

it was bound to happen.

you continued watching edits when the door opened, kept scrolling when it closed, and carried on even as paige leaned curiously on the kitchen counter. its not like she would know who you were watching – hell, you had juju watkins videos coming up on your page every couple days, too.

this arrangement had worked perfectly for you for months. you got to indulge in your quietest delusions, and your best-friend-turned-roommate could continue on none the wiser.

until her voice rang out clearly from your phone. you would’ve played it off, really, said it was an interview clip or something, had her voice not immediately been followed by the “or nah” audio.

mortified did not even begin to describe the feeling clawing into your throat.

you scrolled impossibly fast and began praying. maybe she hadn’t been paying attention. maybe she wasn’t even in the kitchen anymore. maybe you’d imagined the entire thing and paige wasn’t even real and this was all some kind of awful dream you’d wake up from in 3, 2, 1…

“whatcha watchin’?”

you think your soul has left your body.

paige is sauntering over and looking very smug. you’re wondering how fast you can make it from the couch to the balcony.

“an interview,” you try anyway, despite the fact that not a single interview in the history of basketball has ever included fucking ty dolla sign.

paige smirks, leaning over the back of the couch. her breath tickles the top of your head and you shiver despite yourself, eyes trained on the tiktok now repeating on your phone – one of those orange muppet videos (pepe? is he supposed to be a shrimp?) stuck on the first slide. really, if it weren’t for the horrors of your current situation, you would find the irony funny. if you survived this event, maybe you would make one. you can see it now. “i’m watching edits of my roommate – my roommate walks in – i have to defend myself to my roommate –” i have to defend myself to my roommate.

“which interview?”

“umm,” you say, eloquently. you can’t think past your orange muppet spiral. “overwatch?”

paige laughs, a noise that distracts you long enough for her to yank your phone away. “overtime?”

shit.

you can barely get out a disdained “paige!” before you hear the audio repeating again. would a fall from the third floor kill you? is it still considered a fall if you jump?

you stop lunging for your phone – maybe you can just play it cool. who cares if theres a paige edit on your FYP? it's only weird if you make it weird. “you act like those don’t pop up on your for you page too.”

paige shushes you, biting her cheeks in mock-seriousness. she shushes you! the nerve! if you weren’t so mortified you would argue with her!

but you are mortified, and so you stay quiet. the silence stretches on and on until your phone also goes silent. the apartment's heating unit is suddenly very loud, and for once you aren’t irritated at the noise – instead, you just think of how much you will actually miss your loud heating unit once paige processes the situation and kicks you out of your apartment in the dead of winter.

you think it can’t get any worse, until another audio starts playing and a self-satisfied grin stretches across paiges face. “you have like 70 videos in here.”

somebody kill me.

the original silence is filled with mr. lover lover, and there is absolutely no way you can “it’s for the hype” your way out of this. she continues scrolling. you stare helplessly at the floor. after what you can only guess is six or seven incriminating edits, she pauses, her jaw clenching inexplicably. here it comes. 'get out of my apartment' – 'i can’t look at you the same anymore'. you’re so cooked. fried, even.

“whatchu got caitlin saved in here for?”

what?

you must’ve voiced that thought out loud, because she responds. “you got a thing for iowa players too?”

your brows furrow. this was not the direction you thought this would be going in. instead, theres an edge cutting through paige’s words that you can’t quite place. is she still pissed? you let out a nervous laugh. “relax, paige, it’s not like i’m making wedding plans with her.”

paige stiffens. “it’s enough for a save-the-date.”

“paige, it’s like a 30 to 1 ratio.”

“yeah, our points ratio is 30:1 too.”

what the hell? first of all, you watch enough basketball to know that's not true. second of all, again, what the hell?

“i mean, it’s fine, i get it.” paige shrugs, suddenly uninterested in your phone. she tosses it on the couch and you (slowly) slip it into your pocket before she can change her mind. “i just think it’s funny you watch her when you literally live with someone better.”

“better at what?” paige splutters. “basketball.”

suddenly, it clicks. you sit, quiet, stunned for a second. “paige, if i didn’t know any better i’d say you sound jealous.”

“it’s not jealousy! it’s.. like, respect.” paige gestures wildly, and you’d almost believe her if there wasn’t a flush creeping up her neck. you raise a brow. “respect?” “we share a netflix account! and you’re saving edits of my competition!” “you’re totally jealous.”

paige looks cornered, backing towards the kitchen. her gaze falls to the floor. “i just think, like, i dunno – i just think i care about you and i’m right here and you’re saving edits of caitlin freakin’ clark.”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes, the absurdity of this situation catching up to you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you see the orange muppet again.

“what’s so funny?”

“you’re just –” you take a deep breath. “i can’t believe your jealous over a caitlin clark edit. you act like we’re together or something.”

“maybe i wanna be.”

paige freezes. you freeze. the heater kicks off. you're moving before you can think about it, standing in front of her. her eyes stay trained to the floor.

“i’m sorry. i just – you drive me crazy.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

she finally glances up, a smile cracking. “it’s not.”

“then what are you gonna do about it?”

her hand is on your jawline in an instant, and the nervousness bubbling in your chest is finally cut off with her lips on yours. when you pull away, she’s grinning.

“30:1 edit ratio, huh?”

your face heats, and you push your head against her chest. “not funny, paige.”

“i’ll make a new folder for you – poor decisions, filled with caitlin clark edits.”

"alright that's enough."

#paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x female oc #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x y/n

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gotta-winwin · 1 day ago

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(💬) ... vernon chwe x reader

⭐ starring: vernon

💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.

tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter

based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI

🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.

Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree.

He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.

Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.

Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work.

“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.

“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.”

“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”

“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”

“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”

You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.”

Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.”

Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.”

“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?”

“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”

Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”

Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face.

It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.

If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day.

You: 1 Vernon: 0

“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”

Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise.

He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny.

Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17.

He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair.

“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song.

He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”

He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly.

You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”

“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.”

“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.

Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could.

“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”

His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing.

“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.”

“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back.

Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table.

You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm.

You: 1 Vernon: 1

“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.”

Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction.

“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success.

Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him.

“Looks like we’re the only ones left.”

You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right.

“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back.

You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you.

An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.”

“Oh. Thanks- alright.”

The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin.

“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.

“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.”

A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog.

His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again.

“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”

A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method.

Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike.

Y/N: 1 Vernon: 1 The universe(?): 1

“Yo.”

Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing.

“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.”

“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.”

Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”

“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on.

“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.”

The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that.

To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well.

“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you.

You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add.

“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”

“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances.

Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes.

A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”

“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash.

“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”

“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.”

Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny.

“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.”

“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”

His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it.

Y/N: 2? Vernon: 2? The universe: 1

The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers.

“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear.

You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.

“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’”

He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop.

Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed.

“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face.

“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow.

“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.

“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”

Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain.

“Ow.”

“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.

He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying.

“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.”

Y/N: 2 Vernon: 3 The universe: 1

You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go.

“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”

“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon.

“I know you wanna love But I just wanna fuck And girl, you know the deal I gotta keep it real I know you wanna see I know you wanna be In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”

The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath.

Oblivious man.

Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??

Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.

“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you.

“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense?

The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before.

“I think I’m going to quit the job.”

You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”

“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.”

“Oh.”

He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.”

“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out.

He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”

“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”

“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels.

“Yeah. I do.”

Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last.

Y/N: -10 Vernon: 3 The universe: -10

The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.

“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”

“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers.

“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.”

“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”

Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.”

“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.”

Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone.

Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it.

“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?”

You didn’t remember writing this.

“Call me ;)”

A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring.

“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection.

Silence.

“Vernon?”

The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”

“Vernon?”

“Actually, pretend I didn’t say that.”

Your heart puttered to a stop.

“When can I see you again?”

Y/N: 0 Vernon: ♾️ The universe: 0

#vernon being a lil shit is my love language #svthub #seventeen imagines #svt #svt imagines #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fluff #seventeen fic #seventeen vernon #vernon x you #vernon x reader #svt vernon #vernon #seventeen fluff #svt fanfic #svt scenarios

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zombieewrites · 1 day ago

Text

smoking w logan...

logan howlett x reader, friends to lovers

summary: the stress of being a new professor at this school is catching up to you. luckily, you have a good friend to help you take that stress away, in more ways than one.

warnings: weed usage, fem compliments, illusions to sex

word count: 2, 574

I’m fairly new to this school. About 4 months had passed since I had first gotten my invitation from Charles. Which, of course, I happily accepted, excited at the thought of teaching my favorite subjects to people like me. I get the opportunity to share my love of literature through my teachings. The class seems to like me so far, and there’s always a few students straggling behind after class to share a laugh. Being able to connect to my students like this is a treat, and working at this school is just the cherry on top.

The classroom I teach in just so happens to be right across from Professor Howlett's room. His creaky wooden door opens and closes in between classes every period. Being right across from each other means that he and I frequently see each other. Logan often takes advantage of this opportunity to visit the classroom. He’ll do things like bring me coffee, give me papers that I copied off the printer, or just have a little chat. Sometimes, when he's on missions, I'll often sub for his class. It fills me with content to know that Logan trusts me with the care of his class. Being new to the school, I’m highly afraid of what the other professors think of me, but these small interactions with Logan take all of my insecurities away.

“There’s my favorite literature teacher right there!” Logan says with a smile, interrupting my lesson. Interactions like this were common between Logan and I, but every time they happened, the classroom went ballistic. The nosy students love to engage in Logan’s and I's friendship.

“I’m the only literature teacher here, Logan.” I respond with a blank stare, trying to hide my laugh.

“You’ll always be my favorite, though!” The man tells me with a wink before entering his own classroom to return to his teachings. I try to hide my smile and attempt to quickly pull the attention back to my lesson. This interaction made my whole class gasp and snicker.

“Ooo your boyfriend says that you're his favorite!” A student yells, resulting in the whole class to chuckle.

I giggle at their immaturity. “Alright, alright, there's no need for that. Let's get back to Pride and Prejudice now, please?”

Before I know it, the day is done. I stayed behind grading like usual. Lately, I've been so behind in my classwork that I haven't had any time to myself. As a new teacher, I feel as though I have so much to prove, and I have a strong fear of letting everyone down.

A red pen marks a check across my paper as I continue to grade another assignment. My ears are met with the sound of a knock on my door.

“What are you up to here, pretty? It's 7:45 and the sun set hours ago. All the kids are probably just about finished with dinner. You need to get your ass outta here.” Logan tells me as he leans against the doorframe.

I take a quick break from grading to look at the clock on the wall of my class. “Its 7 already? Shit I didn't even notice. I'm just grading some things right now, like always. Seems like that's all I ever do.” I respond with a chuckle, not even lifting my head up to look at him.

Logan comes behind me and begins to rub small circles on my shoulders, massaging out any tension in my body. His presence alone fills me with comfort. The knots in my back loosen with every soft touch.

“Pride and Prejudice, huh?” Logan says as he notices the papers on my desk.

“Yeah I bet your old ass was there when it was written.”

“Haha. You're very funny.” He replies in a sarcastic tone. “Damn with all these knots in your back, I gotta ask if you've been sleeping on a pile of rocks? Who's stressing you out like this?”

A sigh escapes my lips, “I don't wanna sound like I'm complaining or anything because I'm more than happy that I get to work here…it's just…all these papers are really stacking up on me…”

He continues to break up the knots in my back. Another red X on my paper. Then I feel Logan leaning down to whisper something into my ear. “Y'know with all this stress… I think you deserve a little somethin’. Lucky for you, I just went to town and restocked for us.”

I finally take a break from hunching over my papers and turn to him with a smile, already knowing what he had planned. “You don't say, Professor Howlett?”

“Yes ma’am. Got it right in my room. How bout we roll up and then after I'll help you with your papers? We can get 'em all done, even if it takes all night I'll stay here and finish for you. Promise.”

The gesture warms my heart. “That sounds perfect,” a groan leaves my lips, the stress escaping with it, “I appreciate that so much you don't even understand.”

“Yeah yeah, now c'mon and go roll cause you know I'm shit.”

We make our way down the long dimly lit halls to his room and quickly close the door behind us. Logan and I have been smoking together ever since he found me alone with a joint late at night, during one of the first weeks I was here. I'm surprised he even found me because I was hiding out on the roof of the school. Knowing him, he must've sniffed me out, hoping to get some. He told me he wouldn't snitch to Charles if he could smoke with me. I know that he wouldn't have told me either way, but I happily invited his company, especially since I wasn't familiar with anyone here yet.

These late night smoke sessions made our relationship grow stronger. We would hop from topic to topic as the smoke left our lips. Sometimes, covering our childhood, our favorite shows, war stories, gossip, and then laughing to the point of tears the next moment. He found out where I buy from, and ever since that day, he has refused to let me buy my own weed. I tried to tell him that he didn't have to do that, and he said that as long as I rolled for him, then he didn't mind.

He told me that the singular time he attempted to roll it was to impress this girl. He ended up unsuccessful, to say the least. The joint ended up covered in spit with half of the weed on the floor. By the time he told me the end of that story, my face was covered in tears of laughter. This is when I knew that this would be the beginning of a genuine friendship.

The joint is finally finished as I seal it with my tongue. Logan and I only smoke together when it's late at night and everyone is in their own respective spaces. Sneaking around like I'm a kid hiding the fact that they smoke from their parents is honestly kind of fun. It fills me up with just the right amount of adrenaline, and I'm happy that Logan is the one beside me.

We make our way to the roof, and the bright moon greets us. The night sky is clear and filled with gorgeous constellations. The chilling breeze of the night tickles my skin as I take a seat. Of course I forgot to bring a jacket. I try to hide my shiver and lessen the sound of my chattering teeth, but Logan quickly notices. He shifts to take off his brown leather jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The warmth of his body heat was still trapped in the jacket, and it quickly comforted my senses.

“Logan, you're gonna be cold.” I pleaded.

“ I'll be just fine. Can't have you freezing to death now. Then I won't have anyone to roll for me.” He jokes.

I let out a chuckle as I took the joint out of his coat. Logan holds the lighter to the joint and cups his hands in order to hide the wind from the fire. The lighter makes a clink sound and sparks. The comforting scent fills up my nose as I take a huff. I release the smoke with a happy sigh.

“God, I needed this so much you wouldn't even understand.” I responded. My attention rests on the beautiful night stars.

I passed it to him after a few more hits. Our fingers touch, the feeling heats me up. No matter how cold it is, Logan always manages to stay hot. The joint gives me the courage to rest my head on Logan’s shoulder. The joint lets out a small sizzle as he takes a big inhale.

“Trust me, I know, sweetheart. You've been frantic all week, and I notice it even though you're damn good at hiding it.” He takes another hit in between sentences. “Plus,” Logan then suddenly takes my cold hands and intertwines my fingers with his own, “you bite your nails like crazy when you get stressed.” I look down at our joined hands in shock, trying to contain how much this is affecting me. I quickly bring my attention back to the stars in an attempt to hide my emotions. Logan and I have always shared these small touches but nothing as romantic or intimate as this before, and definitely not for this long. The tension between us has always been there, but it's easier to ignore it than shed a light on it.

The smoke leaves his lips before he passes it to me again. “Yeah I know. It's always been a bad habit of mine when I get a little anxious.” I take the j up to my lips with a long drag. With each hit, I hope that it will make my nerves melt away.

Suddenly, a soft peck is laid on my hand. This action draws my attention away from the shimmering constellations. I'm greeted with kind hazel eyes staring back at me. Logan's gaze is intense as he pays attention to my reaction. “You can't keep doing that. You know it's bad for you.” He gently tells me. Logan’s lips attach to my hand as he lays another peck. He does this as if he could take my stress away with a single kiss.

My attention is drawn to his lips as I watch him slowly drop our hands. His red glassy eyes never left my own, which were magnetized to his lips like magnets. He has me right where he wants me, and I'm more than happy to be here. I have him right where I need him. Logan’s passionate gaze leaves my breath shaky and my body fuzzy. The air is thick, and the nerves aren't going away.

“You're babysitting the joint. Are you gonna hit it or just keep holding it, darling?” He asks me, breaking me out of my thoughts. Logan always looks good, but he especially looks good when he stares at me with those low hanging glossy eyes.

“What? Oh yeah! Sorry about that, here.” I let out a breathy giggle as I passed him the joint.

He simply responds with a laugh before inhaling the smoke. Logan knows what he's doing to me. He's pulling my strings like a puppet, and I'm loving every minute of it.

In an attempt to break up the tension, I turn to Logan. “Enough about me. How are your classes going? It must get tough balancing missions and classes sometimes. I don't know how you do it, to be honest.”

“Yeah it can get you worked up a little. I've been doing it for a while now, though, so it's definitely less of a hassle than it used to be. Some missions still knock you out, though.”

“Yeah I can only imagine how that must be. Some of the missions you've told me about are absolutely insane. Can't believe you come back from all that and still teach, too."

“Well it helps when you have a pretty literature teacher holding it down while you're gone.”

I smile up at him as a laugh escapes my lips. “My God, Logan, what is up with you tonight! You got a little crush on me or something?”

“Pshhh. Don't get a big head now. You're a cocky little thing, aren't you?”

“I might be cocky but you're the one adding fuel to the fire.” I responded. The effects of the weed are hitting me strongly. My relaxation brings me the confidence to take his hand and hold the joint up to my lips. I keep eye contact with him as I draw in the smoke. He smirks down at me as a result of the action.

“Y'know I've been thinking…”

I cut him off, “Oh no, that's never good”

He looks at me with a face of fake annoyance. “With all of this stress you've got going on, it would be nice to escape for a bit. Get away from these kids for a day and hit the town on the weekend. Maybe even get some dinner.”

“Wait a minute…are you asking me out, Professor?’ I ask him with a smile on my face.

“That depends on your answer, Professor.”

“I think I can fit some time in my very busy calendar for little ‘ol Logan.”

“Aww how sweet of you.” He jokes back.

He holds the joint up to my lips and watches as I breathe in the smoke. Any kind of anxiety I had before is gone now. The air shifts and is now filled with a different kind of tension. Stars reflect in Logan’s red eyes. I stare back at him as his eyes follow my lips. I'm filled with happiness to know that he wants this just as much as me. A soft hand cups my jaw as he brings his head closer to mine. My nose is filled with the scent of Logan and weed. Our warm breaths entangle each other in the cold night.

“Gimme some.” He tells me.

I release the smoke from my lips, and he quickly attaches his lips to mine. He inhales my smoke and quickly unlocks his lips from mine, exhaling the smoke.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Anytime.” I whisper back. My heart is beating out of my chest. Everything he does to me heats up my soul. That familiar fuzzy feeling greets me in between my thighs. Logan is getting tired of restraining himself, and it's easy to tell. I'm sure he can hear the way my heart erupts for him. I love this game he's playing.

Just then, he takes his hand and guides it to the back of my neck. Looking into my eyes for reassurance, I respond with a nod. Just like that, he kisses me. The kiss is strong and concentrated. Everything about the way he moves tells me that he's been wanting this for a while. His kisses are sloppy in all the right ways. Logan flicks the joint off the roof without a second thought, knowing that he has something much more valuable in his hands. He gladly explores my body and groans into my mouth with pleasure.

Logan and I most definitely didn't get around to grading those papers that night.

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olderthannetfic · 1 day ago

Note

www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/771823370694213632

You need the say the bit about the way canon treats characters way louder because I really think that the way the character is... framed, I guess? accounts for huge chunks of it.

I remember when the Disk Horse was about Finn vs. Kylo Ren from the Star Wars sequel trilogy and I got called racist for trying to point out that Finn was always framed as the comic relief/unserious by the canon. He has a character arc in the first movie, but his emotions and his trauma and his personality are mostly played for laughs (ha! ha! Black janitor guy is scared because he's a coward! - and him being a janitor is a change that came pretty late, he was originally meant to be the top of his class). OTOH Kylo Ren has the camera linger on his anguished face while sad music plays and he monologues about the moral conflicts that he's facing.

The average viewer/reader - especially in the case of visual media - doesn't really stop watching to form non-prejudiced independent opinions on every character (and really shouldn't if your narrative is well-constructed!), that'd take up too much of their mental bandwidth! They let themselves be guided by how things and people are framed, so of course they'd see Ren as Serious and Tragic and Finn as the funny guy, which is inherently less sexy to most people!

Same thing with F/F: when canon treats its women with any degree of complexity and gives them the sort of character traits that are conductive to blorbofication people are all over it!

My dash's been drowning in Rhaenycent for a year now, and that's a show that arguably sorta botched its female characters in the attempt to make them complex! But it doesn't matter, because they set up all these juicy dynamics and the fans are all over it!

Fans LOVE Claudia from IWTV even though the tragedy of her canonical role is that the guys always sideline her for each other.

I went to the Anora tag after seeing the movie and saw a bunch of Anora x reader fic in between the gifs the same way I did for Feyd Rautha from Dune or any other feral unhinged character fans love imagining themselves having sex with (and then blocked it lol).

Like, my taste in women and men is exactly the same but the large majority of characters that fit it are men, because we just don't get a lot of women who are composed, charming rogues on the outside and crippled traumatized messes on the inside, with a narrative that gives this sufficient weight, and also lets them be feral and unhinged. And I actually prefer minority characters because where I'm from I'm from a minority group myself, but again, most of them don't fit the bill personality-wise or framing-wise.

Fandom's a hobby and it's meant to be fun - I'm not gonna be constantly swimming uphill from what the canon is trying to present to me just because a character shares a demographic category with me. I think this is the case for most people, really.

My read on a lot of this is that people are sad about the status quo (fair) and are lying to themselves that the culprits are nearby where they can reach them.

If we confront the fact that the real source is the director or the cinematographer or the studio head, it all feels so much more insurmountable.

Of course, one can opt for niche, indie media, but a lot of people don't want to do that, so they fall back on this shitty coping mechanism of pretending that they can yell at the people around them and effect meaningful change.

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atangledfate · 17 hours ago

Text

People tended to remember him as there were not many Albino Cobras in the medical field. Funny enough most ended up soldiers, or in less then legal occupations. But he always had a love for medicine, and wanted to help others. It was what brought he and dawn together and why they worked so hard during the war to save lives. They still did it now, course back then Dawn was just a dumb kid who needed something to keep her focused. He was happy she got her nursing degree after the war was over.

" My apologies, normally couples take each others surname i suppose i assumed. Well, no matter if you have some medical training lots from the airship have minor injuries. Just speak with Head Nurse Dawn she'll show you to the room and help if you need it... "

Lanolin was walking toward the main desk with Surge as she glanced over to her. Well Surge wasn't wrong but in a situation like this she probably had no choice. Lots of folks hurt, and only a short number of people to help. She knew Dawn was good at her job, good enough to get the gruff old snakes approval.

" She probably feels like she doesn't have a choice. She's one of the only ones qualified, and look at all these injured people from the airship. Sometimes we do what we have to even if we push ourselves to the limit..."

The Mouse met up with Surge and Lanolin with a big smile having overheard the conversation to a degree. She was rather short, being barely taller then Jewel was. She had a rather cheery smile despite how bad things were, and a 23 on her outfit marking her as the 23rd clone made.

" Awww, that's so sweet Miss Surge! no worries here! our upper limit is around one hundred! though we start to get pretty confused around 60 or so... its alot of information to process and we share brain power! "

Lanolin was really shocked by that number, even if each clone had no powers. in terms of raw numbers that meant dawn could easily overwhelm an enemy if she had to. So 40 was, what? a casual jog for her? Sometimes she was amazed by people's gifts, and felt like her own Sonikinesis was rather on the weak side.

" I see, well just take care of yourself Dawn. But we are here on business, is Jewel here? No one has seen her and i'm really getting worried about her. "

Dawn checked her tablet and looked rather concerned as she looked backup to Lanolin with a meek look. She shook her head no as she didn't have a record of her in the infirmary at all.

" Sorry... she wasn't with the injured... and none of us have seen her. Maybe she went back to her office? or with all the debris from the air ship... i hope she isn't out there someplace..."

Lanolin looked over to Surge but she was already on the move. She crossed her arms looking down at the floor wondering where she could be. What could have happened? if she was hurt someplace they needed to find her... and fast.

============nearly 30 minutes earlier ==========

The ache in her skull woke her, long before anything else had. She struggled around to get herself woke up feeling a hand on her shoulder telling her to stay still. She tried to and yet, her memory rushed back to her! the Airship was going down, vector and the others were heading to the infirmary when--- she saw the airship starting to crash. It was close to the prison and she wanted to be sure no one was there or hurt. She found two people in the cell, those two brutes but even they didn't deserve to be left alone.

She had unlocked the cell when one of them grabbed her, and yanked her inside! They had taken advantage of her kidnness! those brutes! Yet as her eyes focused she could see the front of the prison had caved in, something must have hit it and--- no they didn't attack her they'd saved her from being crushed.

" Rough? Tumble? ugg... my head... "

She was looking at the two Skunks, probably plotting some plan in the back of there head. Yet they didn't have to save her, maybe because she'd tried to let them out? Or maybe they weren't all bad deep down inside.

" Did... you... save me? i--- thank you..."

However it didn't change the fact---they were pretty trapped inside the building now. the exit she came in was caved in, and the cell itself was pretty sturdy. It looked like they had tried to dig out but hadn't had much luck.

Gaia... of all the people to rescue her from certain death... she never expected it to be THEM! Maybe they saw her as a bargaining chip or, she liked to think they weren't nearly as bad as people thought. They were no good sure, but maybe... just maybe even they didn't like idea of killing someone or letting someone die.

She didn't know... but she was sure they'd be rather forward with it soon enough.

"Grimrose is my wife's last name. You can just call me Twist seeing as I don't got a last name myself, at least one I haven't gone out and searched for." Twist didn't know his birth parents, and never stuck with the last name of those who adopted him, nor did he take his wife's last name despite her best efforts, so he was just Twist, plain and simple. "I doubt it as I was clear for active duty, so I was stuck in a shelter helping out where I could, though it don't matter." It was a mute subject right now as he's seen lots of faces in his life.

"Well, I ain't no doctor, though I do have the bare basic's of medical training. Got anyone with just a few cuts or scrapes I can take them off your hands." Twist was by far from the level of a doctor or a military medic, though he knew a thing or two. Enough to deal with the small problems to let the more experienced deal with the bigger ones.

"Well, I guess she should be careful not to deal with burnout right now. I see a lot so if she's stretching herself thin she may want to dial it back before she hits her limit." Surge wasn't sure if her powers was the same as someone who had a natural ability, though if it was close to what she had then burnout wasn't fun. That said, she did notice the glare from the doctor, though only rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to do a run around the base, see if I can spot Jewel before heading up to the command center. I'm not sure why, just got a feeling it wouldn't hurt." Surge wouldn't wait for Lanolin to respond as she swiftly dashed out of the room to do a once over of the base. Not like it'll take long with someone of her speed.

#Restoration Medical Staff #Dawn #Altriss #Unit Commander #Lanolin #Director of Restoration #Jewel #Prepare for Trouble! and Make it Double #rough and tumble

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sashaisready · 2 days ago

Text

Feel The Burn: Chapter 3

Lance Tucker x Reader | Destroyer!Chris x Reader

Series Masterlist

Your casual situationship with notorious flirt Lance Tucker comes to a shocking head at a party, fortunately the mysterious stranger you meet that same night is more than happy to help take your mind off it.

Wordcount: Approx. 2250

Sorry this took so long, I had a really restful Christmas break with my family and my whole brain shut down. But now it's back! Mostly! Thanks to everyone who has interacted with this story so far, I'm really enjoying it. As always, reblogs and comments mean the world. And shout out to SebStan for his golden globe win last night! Thoroughly deserved ⭐

“Lance…what are you-” you asked with trepidation as your eyes shift back to Chris, but he immediately interrupts.

“I’ve been trying to call you…” he explains coolly. He’s not looking at you, but over your shoulder at Chris, he seems irritated – his expression sour, “but there must be something up with your phone…”

“There’s not,” you respond curtly.

You see the tiniest hint of surprise on his face as he absorbs your meaning, you probably wouldn’t have even registered it if you didn’t know him like you did. But you do, and it’s there, a fleeting glimpse of fallibility before it’s consumed by his trademark smirk.

“Ah,” he chuckles knowingly without humour, “gotcha”.

“Is everything okay here?” Chris asks from behind you, his tone laced with concern. He gets up from the table and moves to stand next to you, an ally on your side of the battlefield.

“Everything’s fine, pal,” Lance responds before you can. His tone is breezy and light, but you can see him sizing Chris up. It’s almost funny to see them to see them together like this and you’re struck by the strange resemblance despite their stark differences in aesthetic. They could almost be brothers.

“Glad to hear it, pal,” Chris smirks back at him, unperturbed. “But I just want to hear it from the lady”.

“It’s fine, thanks Chris,” you smile at him before turning back to Lance.

“See? It’s fine, Chris,” Lance returns with a sickly-sweet grin, saying Chris’ name like its venom in his mouth. He expertly toes the line between sincerity and mockery, but it’s perfectly clear to you (and no doubt to Chris) which option he intends.

“I’m Lance, by the way,” he extends his hand to the other man and the two of them shake. Despite the cordial gesture, you can clearly see the way they’re both scrutinising each other.

Your eyes flit between the two men and you’re suddenly very aware that this not-quite-confrontation is happening at your place of work. You notice a few patrons glancing over and your heart suddenly beats faster. You’re not exactly one for public drama, you don’t want your personal life playing out in front of your customers and risking any potential impact to your business.

The thin veneer of politeness between Lance and Chris threatens to crack at any moment, particularly if Lance decides to be Lance and chooses to antagonise his new friend.

“So…Chris, what line of work are you in?” Lance practically sneers.

You feel your panic increase as they casually chat in strained short sentences about their jobs. You’re aware of how odd it is that you’re not chiming in, seeing as they’re both here for you – but you simply don’t know what to say. Chris showing up was a curveball, but Lance popping up too had completely knocked you off balance. You’re not built for this; you rarely have one man – let alone two. You can’t handle it.

“Mechanic huh? Maybe you could take a look at my fenders,” Lance grins.

“Yeah maybe,” Chris shoots back without missing a beat, “but I’m pretty busy. And very expensive…” he chuckles.

Lance laughs thinly and you realise you need to actually do something before this all implodes.

“I…uh…” you stumble as you try to ease the tension, but you seem to have forgotten how to form even the most basic sentences. You look between Chris and Lance as they both look back at you expectantly.

“What are you doing here, Lance?” you manage to hiss in a small whisper as you regain some of your composure.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he replies, leaning slightly closer towards you as if Chris wouldn’t be to hear. His briefly looks over at Chris and then back at you, slightly self-consciously. “I haven’t been able to get hold of you so-”

“I’ve been busy,” you cut him off, your voice hushed as to not draw to much attention. “And I don’t really think there’s anything to say”.

“What happened at the party…”

“I really don’t think there’s anything to say,” you repeat firmly, “and if there was, it wouldn’t be here…where I work”.

He bites his lip for a moment, glancing around the café as if he suddenly realises where he is for the first time. He scoffs dismissively, rolling his eyes.

“Cupcake…” he says almost teasingly.

“Lance, please,” you hiss again – your voice unintentionally more pleading than demanding.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you’re surprised that his eyes soften in response. You just expected him to continue antagonising you, but he seems to pick up on your distress.

“Fine,” he yields, his voice gentler now, hushed. He takes a second to choose his words and clears his throat, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. It was shitty, what I did, and I wish I could take it back. And I wanted to explain…”

You don’t respond, your blank expression shuts down anything further. Inwardly you’re shocked, you’ve never heard anything like that come out of his mouth before. He’s exposed…almost vulnerable in that moment.

But you wouldn’t let him get wind of that. Not after what he did.

He seems unsurprised by your lack of reply and takes a step back, “I gotta get back to the gym. Good to meet you, man,” he nods over at Chris, his tone somber.

“Yeah, you too,” Chris rasps back unconvincingly.

“See you around, Cupcake,” he tells you as he walks to the door. The two of you lock eyes until he leaves. You know this is the right move, ignoring the slight stirring in your stomach.

Chris chuckles as the door closes, “wow, motherfucker in the flesh, huh?”

You grimace, offering a hollow laugh of your own, “yeah that’s him. I’m sorry…I didn’t expect him to show up here like that…I’m sorry he was a dick to you…”

“Eh. Nothing I can’t handle. There are guys like that everywhere, you just learn not to rise to it as that’s what they’re counting on,” Chris shrugs nonchalantly and sits back down at the table. “Clearly, he’s having regrets about what happened between you two, and he obviously was thrown by me being here. I bet he had a whole speech planned for you which I messed up for him…” he smirks.

You nod as you sit back down, still embarrassed about this mini soap opera playing out around you. But Chris seems utterly unfazed by it all, he carries a quiet confidence – like he has nothing to prove to anyone. The opposite of Lance, loud and proud – ensuring everyone knows who he is. Surely Chris doesn’t need this? He’s cool. Calm. He can’t want high school stuff like this in his life.

“Chris…” you begin hesitantly, “I’m really glad you came over here to see me. And it’s been really nice chatting with you. But I’m sorry you’re somehow mixed up in my shit. Funnily enough my personal life is never normally this interesting,” you force a laugh, “but look…I’d completely understand if you don’t want to deal with my drama…”

“There’s no drama,” he cuts you off and begins collecting up your used mug and plate, “and I want to be here. It would take more than some jumped-up Olympian to scare me away from you,” he shoots you a wink.

You feel yourself flush at the compliment, then watch as he stacks up the crockery on the table.

“If you’re sure…Hey…you don’t have to do that…” you protest, going to take the plates from him. But he lightly shoos you away.

“Like I said, I want to”, he re-iterates as he locks eyes with you, “it’s okay to let people help you, you know”.

His tone is gentle, but the meaning is firm. He’s not just talking about dirty plates. You relent, dropping your hands to your sides as he moves the stack to the counter which Marina accepts with a smile. She thanks him as she moves them to the dishwasher crate, and he steps back towards you.

“Guess I’m kinda used to doing everything myself,” you smile meekly, your eyes dropping to your knees.

Chris leans over and props your chin up with his thumb. You’re practically nose-to-nose with him now, his cerulean eyes boring into you with a heat that catches you by surprise.

“I can tell you’ve had experience with people who keep you guessing, or don’t tell you exactly what they mean,” he whispers without breaking eye contact, “so let me be clear here, I will always be upfront with you. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say”.

You blink, bewildered but enraptured. The coffee shop melts away around you, it’s just you and him here now.

“And so…” he continues, “I’ll lay my cards on the table here and now. I like you. I think you’re cute. I think you’re interesting. I want to get to know you better, maybe take you out for something stronger than a coffee. But if you’re not into it, that’s cool too. It’s an invite, not a summons.”

You can’t quite believe his directness, but it’s refreshing – clear and unambiguous, an oasis of clarity after being lost in the desert of Lance’s mixed signals for so long. You also can’t quite believe he’s into you, your general shyness means you don’t normally catch the eye of men like Chris. You’re sure he’d rather be with someone cooler, someone prettier, someone with their shit together. But he seems so sure…

Maybe it’s time to step out of your comfort zone, accept help like he said – but also take people at their word. Maybe this whole Lance mess was meant to happen to help you see that, and start accepting better, more. Accepting what you deserve.

You nod dumbly, inspired by his boldness you grab a napkin and a sharpie from the counter and scribble your phone number on it. You pass it over to him quickly before your nerves talk you out of it.

He grins, carefully folding up the napkin and slotting it into his pocket as if it were some delicate object that he needed to preserve.

“Well, thanks. I’ve gotta get back to the shop. Thanks for the coffee, and the danish was great – you were right to push it”.

“Told ya”, you beam back at him.

He leans over and kisses you on the cheek. It’s sweet, chaste – you can’t help the little gasp that escapes your lips. Your skin suddenly feels hot, your heart pounding. He smiles again, that charming smile, and you’re amazed that you haven’t melted into the floor

He moves to leave, then turns to you once more, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“He calls you cupcake? How lame…” he laughs.

You manage a chuckle back and shrug nonchalantly, but inside you feel a small sting. Embarrassingly, you like that Lance calls you that. It had started when he’d dropped by the shop one morning early on in your fling, you’d given him a coffee and suggested he get a cupcake with it. The new banoffee recipe. He’d looked at you like you’d shot him, the horrified outrage on his face so theatrical that you had fallen about laughing. He launched into a rant about his training and fitness and the evils of sugar while you watched on, amused, and tickled. You knew he was hamming it up to make you laugh, smirking knowingly as he went on and on - and it had worked, you were in hysterics. It had culminated in you taking a bite of the cupcake as he ranted, in defiance of his sugar hatred. He had responded by swiping the remaining cake and swallowing it almost whole. He mock admonished you through mouthfuls of cake about the extra gym session he’d need to fit in to work it off now you’d ‘forced’ him to eat that, as you protested through giggles. And thus, Cupcake was sealed, his nickname from you from then on. He barely used your real name after that.

It became a bit between the two of you, you offering him junk food and then him ranting about his training in response. It was an instant guarantee to get him worked up, and you couldn’t resist. But it was never serious. He never judged you for what you ate, never shamed you or made you feel bad. His discipline as a trainer never translated to expectations or judgement of you, and you never felt like he was looking down his nose at you for not surviving on mostly protein like he did. In fact, he brought you sweet treats, ordered you take out. He’d steal bites of your fries and play innocent afterwards. (‘Why would I steal your fries? Baby…you think these abs come from fries…?’) You always imagined that sleeping with a gym bro would mean lectures about trans-fats and insisting on morning jogs, but Lance, to his credit, never once projected any of that onto you. You only ever felt comfortable in your own skin around him.

So, Chris’ teasing was a surprisingly pinch. You weren’t sure why. It wasn’t like Lance deserved any of your grace, and it was a pretty cringy nickname…

You moved it to the back of your mind.

You waved Chris off and smiled as he left the shop. You went back to work, basking in the giddiness and excitement of meeting someone new…and finally not feeling like an afterthought.

#lance tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker x you #chris!destroyer #chris!destroyer x reader #destroyer chris #feel the burn fic

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lovetreats · 2 days ago

Text

jjk men and some valorant headcanons.

LOVETREATS .ᐟ navi. jjk m.list.

characters .ᐟ gojo, geto, sukuna, nanami, and choso!

content .ᐟ valorant is its own warning

a/n .ᐟ random headcanon but also this is for the smau im planning in my head

gojo is 100% a duelist you cannotttt convince me otherwise. jett, neon, iso, and phoenix are his options, with jett being his most preferred.

gojo can be a little cocky and sassy, but i’m also sure that he’s (unfortunately) really good at being a duelist. like he has such a huge ego BECAUSE he has something to show for it. give him a fucking sheriff and he’ll ace on the first round already lol.

gojo’s game sense is actually insane it makes you hate him. you think you’re two steps ahead of him ??? very funny. you’re already dead

gojo’s rank is radiant, the highest rank on valorant, in exchange for his sleep schedule 😭

geto has 3 roles he can work around with: sentinel, initiator, and duelist. sentinel’s his favorite role, loves setting up traps and making it harder for the enemy team to take control of ‘a’ or ‘b’ site lmaoooo he’s a menace

geto as a sentinel, he loves playing cypher, killjoy, and chamber (but only on certain occasions).

geto as an initiator would play kay/o, skye, sova, and breach. his second role, this one is mainly whenever one of them wants to play sentinel. he’s pretty good with his blinds, doesn’t blind the team (thank god) and, thanks to nanami, knows how to throw some absolutely nasty blinds that can make someone want to rip their hair out lmao

geto as a duelist is something you’ll rarely see. he doesn’t like playing duelist, it’s too aggressive for him. he only plays it because whenever satoru and he would duo, satoru would always ask him to be a duelist or be someone with heal. (if he plays sage, he’s 100% a battle sage)

geto’s rank is either high immortal or radiant. sleeps pretty good, unlike a white haired dummy

sukuna is a duelist and ONLY a duelist. you will not see this man play any other role, EVER. absolutely loves playing reyna and yoru.

sukuna plays reyna because he likes how selfish her kit is (he’s legit one of those annoying players who only play for kills, would lock in if shit gets too serious aka he’s losing and/or botfrag LOL)

sukuna plays yoru because his kit is cool as shit and loves messing around with his blinds

sukuna is, unfortunately, a good player in certain cases. his game sense is on par with gojo’s

sukuna’s rank is radiant now because he plays with the others every time and they all basically forced him to be a team player LMAO, has a shit sleep schedule like gojo

nanami is 100% versatile. initiator, sentinel, duelist, controller—he can play all of them and he’s great too. but here’s the thing:

nanami never plays valorant unless the others force him to play 😭😭😭😭😭

nanami plays beauuuutifully with initiators. his blinds are so fucking irritating if you’re on the enemy team, and a godsend if you’re on his team. is really great with gathering info for the team too

nanami likes playing as an initiator more than the others because he likes gathering info + he likes making the others do the rest of the work lol

nanami can play as a sentinel and controller if someone wants to be initiator, but if you want him to be a duelist… oh you’ll have to beg 😭 he dislikeeees playing them, same with geto, it’s too aggressive for him and risky.

nanami’s rank is probably ascendant or high immortal

choso is a controller main who is pretty versatile too, but doesn’t really dabble into them. he’s an omen girlie no DOUBTTTT

choso knows how to properly make sure that at least one site is in their hands.

choso uses omen so much he has so much tricks up his sleeve and he does them so effortlessly. if the map is bind and he’s waiting for the enemy to take, let’s say ‘a’ site, since from what nanami last said about how they were rotating from ‘b’ to ‘a’, he readied his teleport skill, pretended to use the teleporter and immediately used his skill to come back to ‘a’ site. now the remaining people on the enemy team thinks he’s ‘b’ site and BAM! they’re all dead 😭

choso’s rank is high immortal, got out of low immortal after playing with the others.

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watarfallar · 3 days ago

Text

Incorrect quotes because they're funny

Scar: You have an impressive pain tolerance. Grian: Thanks, it's the trauma.

Scar: Where are you going? Grian: To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I'll decide on the way.

Grian: Scar, no. Scar: Scar, yes.

Scar: Do I least have a chance to explain myself? Grian: This is America, so nope! Scar: This isn't America, this is OHIO!

Scar: How do ethical philosophers feel about murder? Grian: Well, it’s frowned upon. Scar: Okay, but what if the reason you want to murder someone is to make your life easier? Scar: That’s okay, right?

Scar: Grian, this morning, I called you abhorrent and reprehensible, and I’d like to withdraw that statement- Grian: Aww, thanks- Scar: But I can't. Those are the 2 words that best describe you.

Grian: Remain CALM! slaps Scar multiple times

Scar: My head hurts. Grian: That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.

Grian, in the hospital: Will you visit me when I get out? Scar: Lol nah, I hate graveyards.

Grian: Would anyone know any good vendors for professional-quality brass knuckles? Scar: I know you’re serious, but you say the scariest shit sometimes.

Grian: Can I have your number? Scar, visible texting: I don't have a phone.

Scar: I wanna sleep for 40 hours. Grian: You know that's called a coma, right? Scar: Scar: That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now.

Grian: You are, of course, wondering why it is I have brought you here tonight. Scar: Actually, Grian, after all these years, I just sort of go with it.

Grian: Try not to roll your eyes at me. Scar: I don't have pupils.

Grian: Hey. Scar: pissed off You… complete …ASS, Grian! You show up here after WEEKS, and you say “hey”?!

Scar: I love hearing Grian shouting at someone else. It makes such a nice change.

Scar: Any idiot would know that. Grian: I knew that! Scar: See?

Grian: I know this isn’t going to end well and I don’t care. So don’t you try and stop me, Scar! Scar: I wasn’t stopping you. I was asking if you had a spare camera so I can record this.

Grian, looking at their reflection: Now, that's rubbish. Who's that supposed to be? Scar: Well, that's you. Grian: Me?! Is that what I look like? Scar: You don't know? Grian: Busy day.

Scar: hiding something in their coat I think we should adopt another kid! Grian: No. Scar: Why not? Grian: Because when you say “kid”, you mean “cat”, and we already have fifteen of those. Scar: unzips coat Sixteen.

Grian: Breaking News, Scar has disappointed us.

Grian: You are an absolute fucking dork. Scar, singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork! Grian: sighs Yeah, you're my dork.

Scar: You know how some people consider “may you have an interesting life” to be a curse? Grian: Yes…? Scar: Fuck those people. Wanna have an adventure?

Scar: I think I should be allowed on ghost hunter tv shows. Grian: I think that would be dangerous for the ghosts.

Scar: Okay, two person huddle. Grian: You can't huddle with two people. This is just a hug.

Grian: I couldn't do this without you, Scar. Scar: Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course.

Grian: CHARACTER. FLAWS. ARE. FUCKING. IMPORTANT. Scar: Me when someone tells me to stop eating mayo packets like they’re gogurt tubes.

Grian: What's gone wrong, Scar? Scar: Hey! That’s one hell of a thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis. Grian: That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling? Scar: Well… There’s a crisis.

Grian: I know one person who finds me funny! Scar: Okay, who?… and you can't say yourself! Grian: Okay then I'm out.

Grian: Did you ever have like a pet run away and find it or anything? Scar: I had a lizard that I burnt.

#grian #gtws #incorrect quotes #desert duo #scarian #enjoy💜💜💜

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vajrapoet · 2 days ago

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Turning The Wheel

For SUNDANG RPG, I wanted to write a different kind of turn-based system. I stand on the shoulders of giants: PbtA’s Conversation-As-Procedure and “No Combat Minigame.” My goal was to make a battle system that had the free flowing, no-minigame feel of a PbtA/FitD game, but had a bit more structure to satisfy the action-heads.

One of the bigger inspirations for revolutionizing the turn-system is my obsession with The Raid: Redemption and The Raid 2, two seminal Silat films that have some of the best action sequences and choreographies in all of cinema. To me, it stands among Police Story 2 and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon as the current peak of cinematic action.

A few things to lay down to help center the thought-processes I had:

I am of a theater-academic background. My fascination and hyperfixation on RPGs stems wholly from the Role-Playing aspect. My friend group loves to extract stories and narratives from gameplay loops, but we want to Role-Play In A World first and foremost.

Therefore, I value the Role-Playing Experience above everything else. This is no doubt colored and informed by what RPGs I began with: Vampire: The Masquerade and Mage: the Ascension. RPGs are world-portals to me, ways to experience, interact, and interrogate realities.

I don’t consider Mechanics to be separate from the “Fiction”. I might even deem a game’s rules to be the “Infrafiction,” the Fiction underneath everything else that arises from a game. The Fiction that demands to be told. The specter that suffuses every rules interaction.

Tangent: This idea was first spurred on because of idle daydreams while playing and finishing my current run of Final Fantasy XII. For those that don’t know, Final Fantasy XII has the ADB or Active Dimension Battle System (which is funny because ADB is also the acronym for Asia Development Bank, one of the major enemies of National Industrialization in the Philippines). ADB is the evolution of the popular ATB battle system or the Active Time Battle System. It’s called ADB because you aren’t squared off into a different screen when you enter combat. Instead, you go into combat as you’re exploring the world. Combat and Dungeon segregation barriers are effectively destroyed. This is actually one of the reasons why I love FFXII so much, and so much of what FFXII worked is what I also love from its CRPG contemporaries such as Star Wars: The Knights of the Old Republic and Dragon Age: Origins. (It’s also very similar to the Combat System found in Xenoblade!)

So for SUNDANG, I had the following goals for combat and turn “order”:

Non-Minigame Combat, or Nondivided Combat Mechanics from the rest of the world/Conversation, taking inspiration from ADB.

No “Turns” just continuous “Action.”

Never-Not-Your-Turn vibe.

Skill-Based Combat.

Brutal, dangerous combat. Skull-cracking, bone-twisting, blood-drawing. Thrilling in the sense that a Horror movie is. A horror movie with wuxia protagonists.

The Action

Action Economy is when, on your turn, you have a number of “Actions” that you can do, and you cannot do anything beyond the number of actions (of course you can do anything which you can justify as an action). This will define not just how your character moves in combat, but how they think of themselves throughout their progression. The most common form of Action Economy is “Move + Action” as seen in most d20 games, especially D&D 5e.

One of the very first things that I’ve had to unattach myself from is the Action Economy. One thing I noticed while developing SUNDANG was that every aspect of the game mechanics felt like it had to justify itself within the Action Economy. This was problematic to me for 2 aspects:

It centered combat completely. Since Action Economy only really mattered in combat, every little trinket that I had to write suddenly had to have some sort of interaction that could be done when you pressed the “Interact” action during combat.

It required “mechanization.” One of the major ideas I had for SUNDANG was to provide a mechanical base that centered on the gamization of the “fluff” without the designer having had a hand in it. If something said “This is a mallet, useful for evening out dinks and repairing machineries” it should be able to be used for that without having to interact with a subsystem. Through this, we annihilate barriers between “fluff” and mechanics, creating a more “immersive” world-space that is more conducive to Role-Playing.

While nothing is wrong with something requiring mechanization, I want it to be as invisible as possible, hence why the mechanical base of SUNDANG is built for such an experience: at creating an immersive interactive world.

One of my problems with Action Economy is that combat becomes about Action Economy. This is a problem that you can see so deeply within some of my favorite games: Final Fantasy Tactics, Tactics Ogre, and Final Fantasy XII all have Speed Stats that are affected by Weight, etc. Since having more “turns” is infinitely valuable in a game about getting more chances to reduce an opponent’s HP to 0, Speed-generating strats dominated those games’ upper mechanical ceiling.

While I think that’s cool, it’s not what I wanted to do with SUNDANG. It makes strange mechanical repercussions, dominations of certain strategies and therefore a larger gap between what is used and what is not used. I don’t want to make a game where you have to “solve” it through buildcrafting. I wanted to make a game where you can express yourself in.

So, away with the Action Economy. What do you do on the turn now?

The Turn

“On your turn, you can do X and Y.” This is the basic assumption in most RPGs. In OSR and NSR games this is the common assumption as well. Move + Action is elegant, simple, and gets things moving along. It gets the system out of the way so people can keep focusing on the fiction.

More importantly, the Turn splits combat into every acting character within the current situation, context, or scene. Gives everyone a chance to act. Pins everything down into spacetime.

For SUNDANG, this was not the vibe I wanted to give off. It felt too spartan, in a way. I wanted people to be constantly moving, constantly turning. More importantly, as the RPG is a player-facing medium, I want there to be the vibe of “never-not-your-turn.” This is a problem I face with much of my past RPGs and with other combat-heavy RPGs.

You take your turn and then you sit back and wait for your next one. If you’re invested in the game, you watch as the situation and gamestate changes. If not, you wait until someone calls you out and then you ask what has happened and what has changed. In all honesty, my position is that this is not a bad game design quirk. In fact, if you design around it, it could be a good quirk. Being able to do something while it’s not your turn helps a lot with Attention Deficiencies, for example.

But this isn’t something I wanted to do with SUNDANG. I wanted it to be Never-Not-Your-Turn.

So I stole a bit from Fire Emblem. There, in Fire Emblem, a “Turn” isn’t a single character’s turn to move, but rather, an advancement of the combat time-space. You often have objectives where you have to “Rout Enemy In 40 Turns” or something along those lines.

So I revolutionized how I thought about Turns. What if Turns weren’t each individual being’s turn, but an entire group of people’s turns? Now this is phase-based or side-based initiative, common (and good! I actually love side-based initiative) in OSR games. It’s very wargame-y and, honestly, conducive to strategy. But that’s not what I wanted to do here.

So I turned the Wheel again. What if Turns were chunks of time in a combat? What if turns were just Rounds? Often, the existence of a combat minigame is so that people can “zoom-in” into the action, because this is a matter of life or death! You can get killed here! Hence why we zoom in, stop time, focus on the details because the details means the difference between kill or be killed.

So I focused on that aspect.

Turn The Wheel

In PbtA, one of the major schools of RPG Design that I profess to have arisen from, combat doesn’t have a “Turn System” or a “Combat System.” Instead, it flows naturally from the conversation. It is contiguous to the rest of the system, not requiring special attention. What you can do in normal roleplaying, you can do in combat! That’s what that meant. When you sequester combat away into a new set of rules, you implicitly change the game unless you explicitly design for it to be a microcosm of the game’s already existing rules. Due to this change, I believe the mindset then becomes that you have to play the game according to this new set of rules unless you’re particularly good at improv-ing or are some form of designer/GM yourself.

I wanted that. So SUNDANG’s “turn system” has no Action Economy, no Initiative, no Reaction (no Reactionaries!) When you want to do something, do it. But it will most likely require a roll, and it will change the state of the situation.Everything has an equal amount of appropriate consequences. This is already how PbtA “combat” goes, since it’s not separate from the Conversation, the combat is also a conversation. You do something, the world does something, you react to that, then the world reacts to that, and so on.

I therefore fused the “Turns as divisions of action space-time” and “Combat-as-Conversation.”

A lot of this clicked after listening to a Robert Kurvitz interview about how he wanted to do Skill-Based Combat Scenes. Which aligned with what I wanted to do. Check it out!

For arguments of space, such as movement rates, the normal movement rate is 5 tails (roughly, 25 feet) per second. One can then infer how much a character can move in a single Turn through that as well as the modifying, environmental factors (harsh terrain, labyrinths, and so on). This allows it to be played on a Grid with the Grid as a space-representer, with shifting distance-scales for each grid square. The more interesting consequence is that, when you move, what about the world that's actively trying against you? That will then necessitate a Check, making even movement volatile and situation-changing.

Turn-Based Combat: Never-Not-Your-Turn

First off the bat, this conception of Turn-Based Combat arises also from Clocks and Skill Challenges. The difference is largely the Presentation, mentality, and structure.

Additionally, SUNDANG’s Skill System is integral to this conception of combat. SUNDANG is a 24-Skill System inspired by the likes of Artesia: Adventures in the Known World and Runequest, where the majority of the Skills are not even combat-focused Skills, which color a player’s expectations for how combat could go (why be chained to the 3-4 Combat Skills when you can potentially agitate your Creativity to try and use the rest of them?)

So in SUNDANG, Turn-Based Combat is as follows:

If you enter into a situation wherein life-or-death is in the details, set up a 4-, 6-, or 8-segmented circle, known as The Wheel. Segment it according to the time you have left.

Find something within the world to be the temporal anchor, the World-Time. It could be the moving train, the skyskiff (that you might or might not be on at that moment!) plummeting into city streets, the wheels of a horse-carriage heading into a crash, the juggernaut battering ram barreling through enemy trenches. You can use this to lengthen the timescale of a battle. A day-long duel between two masters might have the Sun as their World-Time.

Turn 1 begins when you point at one segment and say it does. During a Turn, all the relevant PCs must do something.When they do something, the world then does something back. As always, this is just the conversation. When a PC goes and swordstrikes a pirate captain, the pirate captain will probably swordstrike back (dealing damage if that’s the PC’s consequence or threatening damage if not). Keep the conversation going.

When all the PCs have done something, mark out that segment of the Wheel. Turn to the next one adjacent to it, and say “Turn 2.” This is called Turning The Wheel. When you Turn The Wheel, before the PCs do anything, describe how the temporal anchor moves forward in time, and ascertain the consequences of that happening:

The skyskiff breaks through the high-rises. (Now there are potential people watching, now there are potential casualties, and so on.)

The horse carriage bumps against a tree and barrels closer to the cliff. (The carriage might have chunks broken off, some combatants might be knocked off, and so on.)

The Sun begins to sink into the horizon. (Dark becomes to impair vision, a nocturnal sea predator might breach soon, and so on.)

The juggernaut battering ram flies over enemy heads and moves closer to the city walls (there might be some warriors firing projectiles at you now, and so on.)

Finally, when all the segments are filled, a Revolution happens. Something Big. Throw away that Wheel. The situation changes. It has to. That’s the only real thing in this world.

The skyskiff crashes into the city plaza.

The horse carriage flies off the cliff.

The Sun sinks completely into the sea, ushering darkness.

The battering ram slams into the city walls and breaks it open.

Often, this change in situation ends Violence. You have to deal with the consequences now. In SUNDANG, you get XP for surviving Violence, not winning it. But SUNDANG is also a wuxia-western-silat game of wandering justicemakers and hotshot swordsmen. If this happens, set up another Wheel and choose another world-time.

You somehow survive the crash, and now must fight in the city plaza amongst hundreds of watchers.

The horse carriage plummets into a jade jungle, and you must fight upon its descending carcass.

The Moon rises now, as the fight continues on.

The King’s Man-At-Arms now charge toward the juggernaut to swarm and destroy it, with you still inside it.

The Violence continues. Deal with the consequences of your actions. Look forward to another Revolution.

If this piqued your interest, SUNDANG is currently out on my Patreon and I'm running pseudo-playtests of it on the Patreon Discord!

#ttrpg #sundang rpg #devlog #blog #gamedev #rpg #dnd

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sirjaketkiszka · 1 day ago

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Jake Kiszka One Shot: Sinners

Father Jacob Thomas Kiszka visits you late at night.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Priest!Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,925

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, light cursing, mentions of guilt, breaking religious vows, kissing/first kiss, neck kissing/biting, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple orgasms (2), and, of course, mediocre writing.

(Please don’t hesitate to let me know if I missed any warnings.)

Disclaimer: Apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

a/n- I hope this will hold you over while I get my bearings. This one shot was written months ago, and I eventually decided I wanted to write a full-length fic about it, which is how It’s a Sin came to be. Funny enough, the idea came to me in a dream, if you can believe it. I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I hope you enjoy it if you do decide to give it a try. <3

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The quick, aggressive knocking at your front door pulls you away from your nightly reading. It’s currently ten o’clock, so you have no idea who could be visiting at this time. Cautiously, you rise from the sunken cushions of your worn couch, the gentle crumple of the leather silenced by the clamorous mid-October downpour.

When you reach the door, you lean forward to look through the peephole. His presence causes a small gasp to push past your parted lips and enter your lungs. Without a moment passing, you rush to unlock the chain, deadbolt, and lock on the handle, swiftly swinging the door open.

“Father Jacob, is something wrong?” You ask, motioning for him to come in, “Please, get out of the rain.” His hair is soaked making little droplets of rainwater fall off the ends when he steps into your home. Too distracted by his presence, you don’t even notice the small puddle that follows him.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” His polite voice cuts through the deafening rain, but he doesn’t answer your question.

“It’s okay,” You wave him off, shutting the door once he’s inside, “Can I get you a cup of tea?” His back is to you, his head turning in different directions to observe your home, making you feel slightly self-conscious of the disorganization.

“That’d be lovely,” He turns his head to you, a small smile pulling at his lips.

Nodding, you rush to the kitchen to fix him a cup, letting the water boil in the kettle while you return to the living room. His pitch-black petticoat drips in his wake, leaving a trail of water droplets along your hardwood oak floors. “Can I take your coat?” You ask.

“I won’t be long,” He says, his vague attitude making you uneasy.

“Can I ask why you’re here, Father?” You maintain a distance from him, watching him as he turns from his position at your overstuffed bookshelf, finally looking at you.

“I’m not entirely sure,” He frowns, deep in thought, “I suppose something told me to come here.”

“Right,” You can’t help but chuckle, “What else did they tell you?”

“You were calling to me,” He admits, stepping closer and slowly closing the distance between you two, the heels of his dress shoes making a deep clicking sound.

“I’m not following,” You confess your confusion, your arms crossing over your chest, and slight irritation rising in your throat. Why does he always talk in riddles?

He continues his long strides until he’s directly in front of you, his husky scent filling your senses. You notice the beads of water along the sides of his face, and strands of hair sticking to his neck. His white collar stands out from his dark appearance with every clothing item being stark black, emphasizing its purity and, in turn, your guilt. Swallowing thickly, you advert your gawking eyes and hold his gaze, “Why won’t you come to Sunday service?” He asks, his voice deep with concern.

“Is that what this is about?” You scoff, stepping back half a foot, “This could’ve waited until our next house call– when I inevitably tell you that I’m not interested.”

“I’m not asking you to come,” He discloses, making you quirk a brow, “I want to know why you won’t come.”

“It’s not my scene, I guess,” Shrugging, you uncross your arms and let them fall to your sides, “I didn’t grow up religious.” You clarify, not wanting to divulge into the real reason.

“And you’re happy?” He asks, but not in a way that’s a jab at you.

“I’d say I am– I have everything I want,” You admit contently, but your eyes subconsciously trace down his stature, and you sigh, whispering to yourself, “Almost everything.”

There’s no response from him, only a heavy exhale through his nose, the air brushing your tense features. Meeting his eyes again, your eyebrows scrunch when his bores into yours, the black of his pupils doubling in size. The incessant downpour on your tall windows seems to muffle, and your ears ring when an invisible force pulls you to him. Fighting it, you notice his mutual restraint, his lips parting and eyebrows mirroring yours when his gaze shoots to your plump lips.

“Father–” You whisper, and his feet shuffle closer, but the blaring whistle of the boiled water forces you apart. The two of you shoot to opposite ends, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon, both gazes looking anywhere but each other. “Water’s ready,” You say, clearing your throat and escaping to the kitchen. Silently cursing to yourself, you shut off the stove, the ear-piercing whistle dissipating into a whimper.

Needing a moment to yourself, your trembling hands plant themselves on your hips, your eyes squeezing shut and your head tilting back. The rapid pounding of your pulse fills your ears, making you oblivious to Father Jacob’s entrance.

When he clears his throat, you swiftly turn around with your back against the cold granite counter, your hands gripping the ledge behind you. You open your mouth to say something, but only a choked sound comes out, the heartbeat in your throat preventing you from speaking. He shakes his head, silently telling you to not talk as he steps closer.

His movements halt when the tips of his shoes connect with your bare feet, the both of you engulfed in each other’s scent. His overbearing presence fogs your mind, intoxicating you and causing you to only look at his lips. As if reading your mind, he leans forward, stopping only mere centimeters away from your face. Your noses graze each other, small pants exiting both of your lips and dangling in the space between you two.

He pauses for a moment, reveling in the sheer closeness of the two of you. Your wild eyes search his face, and his flutter close as he lets out a shaky breath, “Can I kiss you?” He finally asks.

“Please,” You let out in a desperate whisper, making him quietly groan in response. Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, his lips crash against yours, but they don’t move. The soft flesh of your lips mold to his stiff pucker, and you let out a content sigh when your eyes close. Releasing the counter, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper into you.

His shaky hands find your waist, their slight tremble disappearing when he grips firmly, clinging onto you. For a moment, you pull away, but immediately replace your lips, encouraging him to soften his. You feel his tense shoulders relax when you kiss him back, and his stiffness morphs into fluidity.

When you swipe your tongue along his bottom lip, he jerks away, letting out a breathless chuckle, and you open your eyes to look at him, “Are you okay?” You ask, knowing this must be a lot for him, and he nods, “Have you… Have you been kissed before, Father?” You question, already knowing the answer.

“I haven’t,” He confesses meekly, his head hanging slightly, “Is it that obvious?” He lets out a light laugh, the previous tension completely melted from his features.

“Not at all,” You lie, “Do you want to keep going? We can stop—”

“I wouldn’t know what to do,” He admits, a tinge of pink rising to the peak of his hollow cheeks, and you nod understandingly.

“It’s okay, we really don’t have to,” You reassure him, your hands absentmindedly tracing your fingers through his scalp, still wet from the rain.

“I want to,” He rushes out, his fingers tightening on your waist as if you were going to leave him, “Can… Can you teach me?” His question causes warmth to blossom in your chest, and in response, your face paints itself with hues of blush pink.

“Of course,” You smile, leaning into his lips again, “Just follow my lead,” You whisper against him, and he gently nods before you softly kiss him, both of you closing your eyes at the feeling.

You resume the previous rhythm, your lips moving smoothly against his. A small whimper catches in his throat when you swipe your tongue along his bottom lip again, prompting him to part them. When your tongues collide, he tastes of fresh mint and a hint of whiskey, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

His hands on your waist urge you to sit on the counter behind you and the cold surface bleeds through your thin pajama pants, spreading goosebumps down your legs and up your arms. Without breaking the kiss, you part your legs to allow him to stand between them, your spine slouching to meet his now-lowered height. Your knees sit snugly against his waist, your ankles locking behind his back and keeping him against you.

Sliding your hands from his hair to the sides of his face, you cup his heated cheeks as you give him chaste kisses, finally pulling away. The both of you are panting, and his plump lips are a deep shade of red, surely reflecting your own.

“Tell me how to touch you,” He breathes out, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes take in your flushed appearance. His hands release your waist, shakily traveling down to your spread knees, resting on the bent joints. “Please,” He adds.

Nodding, you remove one of your hands from his face, and grab one of his hands, slowly guiding it up your thigh and dipping between your legs. You hold back a gasp when you guide his long fingers to press against your clothed center. Holding his wrist, you instruct him to rub thorough circles against your aching core, and your jaw hangs agape to reflect your pleasure. “Just like that,” You sigh, your head resting against the cupboard behind you.

Your hand hovers above his wrist, allowing him to do most of the work as your hips grind against the counter. Small gasps and needy whimpers push past your swollen lips, and he can’t help but look at you, his amplified pupils nearly conquering the remaining rich brown of his irises.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice strained, a sense of worry lacing his question.

“God, yes,” You whisper out in a quick breath, “Sorry,” You quickly apologize for saying his God’s name in vain.

“It’s okay,” He chuckles, his eyes examining your contorted face, “Can I touch you?” He asks in a hushed voice, his hand now skimming along the waistband of your pants.

“Please,” You breathe out, nodding quickly.

Trembling hands hook beneath the hem, tugging gently, prompting you to lift your hips from the counter. Setting your pants aside, wide eyes consume the state of you; flushed cheeks, stiff peaks poking through your nearly see-through shirt, and damp white cotton panties. “Perfect,” He mumbles to himself, visibly gulping when he looks into your eyes, his fingers teasing the waistband of your underwear, “Can I?”

“Yes,” Your hips involuntarily writhe against his touch, silently begging for him to touch you. Slowly, his calloused fingers dip beneath the thin fabric, letting in a quiet gasp when the tips of his fingers meet your soaking cunt. Mirroring him, a low exhale leaves your lips, your hand finding its hold on his wrist.

“Show me,” He chokes out, his mouth dry, “Please.”

Holding eye contact, you dip his hand further along your slit, his fingers teasing your soaking entrance. Your bottom lip tucks itself between your teeth when you hold back a moan, guiding his hand back up and pressing it against your aching bud. His jaw hangs slack as you circle your clit, earning a breathless moan from you, your knees absentmindedly squeezing around him. Getting a feel for it, he maintains a steady rhythm on the swollen bundle of nerves, making your back arch and hand squeeze around his wrist.

“Keep doing that,” You sigh, encouraging him to rub quicker circles, prompting that familiar feeling of arousal pooling in your gut. The scolding heat spreads through your limbs, slowly climbing up your neck and curling your toes. His worried eyes search your face when yours close, your head tilting back, “I’m so close.”

“I don’t–” His rushed words signal his concern, unsure of what you mean.

“Keep going,” You urge him, your eyes squeezing at the sensation, “Don’t stop.”

“Okay,” He eagerly nods, continuing his repetitive rhythm on your clit. His free hand grips your knee tightly, signaling his own restraint, and making your legs spread wider. The open angle causes your climax to rise, nearly reaching its peak; the coil in your lower belly tightening with each wave of pleasure.

“Faster,” You moan out when pulses of arousal coat your underwear and his fingertips. When he quickens his pace, the coil snaps, and an eruption of heat travels between your legs, making you cry out. Your head falls forward, forehead connecting with his, and your free hand grips the back of his neck as your orgasm washes through you. Shuttering hips grind against the solid counter, jerking when the final surges of your climax dissipate, his fingers halting all movements. Opening your eyes, his are overtaken by darkness, his eyebrows scrunched together and his breath panting.

Pulling away from him and licking your lips, dry from your heavy breathing, the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes and heaving chests. Removing his soaked hand from your panties, he looks unsure of what to do. Still holding his wrist, you bring his hand to your parted lip, pushing his middle and ring finger into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the digits. A strained groan is held in his throat as he watches with blown pupils, his grip on your knee bordering on bruising.

Taking his fingers out of your mouth with a soft pop, you lean forward, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, letting him taste you on your tongue. He hums, his eyes closing as his lips move against yours, already improving from the last time. Releasing his wrist, your hands find the edge of his coat, wanting to take it off. He allows you to open the coat, pushing it past his broad shoulders and down his strong arms while you continue kissing him.

“Do you want to take this to my room?” You suggest, your lips brushing against his eager lips.

“Yes,” His voice is hoarse when he answers, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin, leaving prickles in their trails. Inching closer to the edge of the counter, you prompt him to step back, allowing you to slide off. Your legs feel numb when you stand, your knees slightly wobbly as you take his hand, escorting him to your room.

When you enter your bedroom, you sit at the bottom of the bed, looking up at him with expectant eyes. “Come sit,” You instruct, patting the spot next to you.

He nods, hesitantly sitting beside you, the low groan of the bed welcoming a second weight it's not very fond of. His body is parallel to yours, but his head is turned, looking at you, waiting for instruction. Leaning into him, you avoid his lips, aiming for his exposed neck, “Is this okay?” You ask, your lips ghosting over the heated flesh.

“Yes,” He repeats his earlier answer, tilting his head slightly to grant you better access. Your soft lips connect with his sensitive skin, his hips jerking when you leave open-mouth kisses along his neck. Needing a better angle, you swing a leg over his lap, straddling him as his hands automatically find their place on your hips— as if they’ve always belonged there.

The bright white of his collar shines in your peripheral as you nibble on the skin below his ear, making his hips grind into yours and a low groan exit him. His rough fingers sink into the flesh of your hips, guiding you on his erection. A shaky breath leaves your lips, descending onto his neck when you feel the pressure against your core.

Placing your palms on his shoulders, you push him back, making him lay against the plush comforter. Still straddling him, you bend down, resuming your kisses on his neck, your lips brushing against his collar frequently. A tinge of guilt pulls at your heart, and you gently bite his neck to distract yourself, earning a surprised moan from him. His hips writhe beneath you, grinding his bulge against your aching cunt.

Pulling back, you examine him; his blushed cheeks, long hair spread across the mattress, his usual attire of black jeans, a black button-up, and a clerical collar. His begging eyes hold your gaze, and you pull on his arms to make him sit back up. Following your silent instruction, he removes his hands from your hips and props himself up, his head tilting back to look at you.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask, your hands resting on either side of his neck.

“I’m sure,” He reiterates, nodding slowly.

A small smile pulls at your lips as you step off of him, taking a seat beside him but scooting up until you lean back against the pillows. “Come here,” You nod your head upward, and he follows, turning around, kicking his dress shoes off onto the ground, and crawling slowly toward you. As he gets closer, you spread your legs, his eyes immediately shooting to your core. He stops between your lips, kneeling between your open thighs.

He nearly chokes when you reach for the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling the thin fabric over your head, and exposing yourself to him while he remains fully dressed. Swallowing thickly, his mouth opens to speak, but he’s rendered speechless. Instead, he leans back on his heels, his hands resting on his knees.

“Take them off,” You say, your eyes shooting to your underwear, and back to him. Steadily nodding, his hands leave his knees and hook into the stretchy cloth, pulling down when you lift your hips for him. Again, a choked noise catches in his throat when he tosses the article elsewhere, eyes locked on your exposed cunt. “Do you want to undress?” You ask, taking into account how different your appearances are.

“I’m not sure,” He admits, his eyebrows furrowing with intense thought.

“That’s okay,” You assure him, “This is fine.”

“Okay,” He lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders slumping with his exhale. Hesitating, his trembling hands reach for the fly and button of his jeans, undoing both of them. Without taking his pants off, he stretches the waistband of his boxers down, pulling out his hardened length and wrapping his fingers around the shaft. Your mouth dries at the sight of him, eyes watching intently as he leans forward, his free hand landing on the pillow beside your head and his long, wavy hair naturally falling to the side, framing his face. “I’ve never done this,” He confesses, but you already knew.

“It’s okay,” Your voice is sweet and reassuring, “We’ll take it slow.”

“Okay…” He breathes out, and his small smile fades into a focused expression when he leans in more, his hips inching closer to your center. Your breath hitches in anticipation when he presses his aching tip against your slit, and a shuttered breath pushes past his parted lips. His gaze stays focused on your cunt as he rubs his leaking tip along your soaking folds.

“Father,” You use the formality, making his head snap up to look at you and your breathing stops at his frown. Initially, you think he’s upset, but his darkened eyes and hidden smirk say otherwise. Reaching between you, you grasp at his hand and guide him to your entrance, “Please.”

Keeping his eyes on you, he pushes his hips forward, his tip entering you at an agonizingly slow rate. A sharp gasp enters your chest as he inches into you, your walls opening up for his generous length. From his appearance and frozen chest, his breathing has halted as he sinks into you fully, making you both release his cock, his eyes wide from the sensation.

Releasing his breath, his free hand lands on the space next to your head, opposite to his other arm, caging you in. His chest heaves rapidly, a strained whine being pulled from his hoarse throat, his eyebrows scrunching. Your hands find his clothed waist, gripping at the perfectly pressed fabric, crumbling it under your hold. Wrapping your legs around him, you tug him closer, needing more, “I need a minute,” He groans, eyes squeezing shut when your walls squeeze around him involuntarily.

“That’s okay,” You comfort, scanning his features, “Take your time.”

A short moment passes before he finally pulls his hips back, his length nearly leaving you before being pushed back in, making your back arch off the bed. His rapid breathing levels into a steady rhythm as he repeats his thrusts, small whines mixing with heavy breaths from each pump into your wet cunt.

“This feels…” He huffs, his hips moving a bit quicker, pulling soft sighs and moans from your open lips, “…so good.”

“You’re doing so well,” You encourage him, making him finally open his eyes, looking down at you with admiration, “You feel so good.”

“I’m not sure how much longer I can go,” He confesses, pulling a breathy laugh from you and himself. His thrusts remain steady but distort into a sloppy pattern, his breathing spiking once again. Your breathing reflects his with heavy pants filling the corners of the small bedroom, bouncing off flat surfaces and funneling into your ears. “It’s happening,” He grunts out, his lack of restraint causing his jaw to tighten.

“You’re okay,” You moan out, your second climax not far behind, “Keep going.”

He nods, continuing to thrust into you at a gentle, but quick speed. His eyes travel down your naked body; your breasts bouncing with each thorough thrust, your stomach clenching from your near-second orgasm, and your legs spread wide for him. Fixing his gaze on his cock pumping in and out of you, a choked cry fills your room, his back straightening and head swinging back as his length twitches inside of you.

“Fuck!” You cry out as well, your climax happening as a result of his own with hot spurts of cum shooting into you. The walls of your cunt flutter vigorously around his cock, milking out his orgasm and causing him to moan uncontrollably.

“Please, God,” His strained whine is aimed at your ceiling, brows furrowed in desperation as his cock pulses, letting out the final waves of his climax. When his head finally hangs down, he looks at you, a look of realization painted on his tense expression, his eyes wide and lips parted. He looks pained; disappointed and horrified. Your second orgasm is a distant memory when guilt overshadows pleasure. What have I done? “I- I should go,” He rushes out, pulling out of you, making you both whimper at the loss of contact.

“Father, wait—” You rush to sit up and cover yourself with your blanket, suddenly aware of your naked state.

“I’m sorry, it’s late,” He gets off the bed, avoiding eye contact while shoving himself back into his boxers and jeans, quickly slipping his shoes back on, “I really have to go.”

“I—” You try to call out, but before you can say another word, he’s down the hall and out of your house, leaving you alone in your bed. Precious warmth turns to ice, a shiver traveling up your spine when you realize what has happened, and how it can never be undone.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Tags:

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiskza x reader #jake gvf #jake kiska fic #jake kiskza smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #priest jake kiszka #jake kiszka one shot #jake x reader #gvf fanfiction #gvf #greta van fluff #greta van smut #greta van fic

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charmac · 1 day ago

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i just read your post about charlie and dennis being csa victims and how that affects their characters-- i thought you did fantastic job with your analyses. i feel like i learned a lot and i better understand these characters now. dennis being hypersexual as a result of his assault and charlie being fearful and avoidant of sex were really insightful points that I never realized, especially the point about charlie regressing as a result of his trauma.

the point you made about dennis pursing sex as something only for HIM to enjoy was another great point, I always felt like he went for younger women and enjoyed coercing them into sex because it is the only way he could feel in control and safe while having sex, as control was so completely taken from him when he was 14 by mrs klinsky, whether he realizes it or not.

the comparison of these characters as well as their wounds is so important imo and really highlights how much this show gets right in terms of trauma. even though on it's surface iasip is just a haha funny poop joke show, i feel it is truly one of the better depictions of trauma on tv in recent times

I love hearing that something I've laid out has helped someone understand/reckon with the characters better, that's very much why I think it's worth dissecting (other than to like, just to get it out of my head lol).

Trauma response, especially related to CSA, is a really hard thing to wrap your head around outside of experience, and it's almost a little surreal to me how Sunny manages to tackle it almost absolutely to a tee (though I do think a lot of it is established in retrospect, it's still impressive they got there).

And of course, as you say, it's important to highlight these aspects of the show, not to excuse the actions of the characters (though I do think pointing these things out helps people put words/evidence as to why they feel for them when they hit low points, and why they're watchable and likeable as characters, in almost all instances), but to provide evidence of its complexity and the deep, emotional attachment people have to Sunny that they often can't explain. The "rawness" of the show is evident in so many aspects, but genuine complexity of that rawness is sometimes hard to articulate when it's baked beneath dark comedy and satire.

#it is crazy how ptsdee says it all #like if there was any misinterpretation. thats the nail in the coffin on dennis #taking back power #tw csa #ask #dfhdfgdfjg to pick their brains on this topic #i couldnt but imagine

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bellaxgiornata · 2 days ago

Text

How Much Did You Miss Me?

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3k [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; smut, f!masturbation, cocky Jax and his filthy mouth, somewhat rough sex (kinda, not really), porn with minimal plot, unprotected sex

Summary: While Jax is on a protection run, you're desperate to ease some tension so you can fall asleep. But when he unexpectedly returns early, he's determined to prove he's better than your toy.

a/n: This is pure filth. All of it. I was writing some soft!Jax smut and was struck with the need for something with a cocky Jax, so this interrupted that and fell out of me really quick. Newer to this fandom, but if you'd like me to tag something not listed above, let me know. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

You hated nights like tonight. Nights when Jax was out late doing a protection run with the club and you were left alone in your apartment.

You especially hated nights like tonight when you couldn't seem to ignore that damn incessant ache between your thighs no matter how hard you tried. You knew you’d never get to sleep tonight if you didn’t get rid of it, but all you wanted was Jax–his mouth, his fingers, his cock. Right now you craved any part of him, but he was probably hours away on his bike and you were here with nothing but your damn vibrator.

Head nestled amidst the pillows of your bed, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as the repetitive buzzing noise drowned out the sound of anything else in your apartment. You were focused on the pleasure steadily building in your body as your mind desperately tried to conjure up images from the last time you'd been with Jax two mornings ago. Holding tight to the memory of him lazily fucking into you while half awake from that other morning, you desperately attempted to chase your release just so that you could relax enough to finally go to sleep tonight.

Teeth biting down on your lip, you could feel that intoxicating sensation gradually growing stronger within you. You were getting closer, inching nearer and nearer as that wave of pleasure crept its way up your spine. Keeping your focus on the memory of Jax with your legs tossed over his shoulders, his large hands holding your ankles firmly in place as he slowly rolled his hips into you, your back arched along the bed as the pleasure continued to build. You were so damn close now.

But the sound of a familiar deep, rumbling chuckle broke through the moment.

Just as you'd startled and opened your eyes, Jax was reaching down and pulling the toy out of your hand without the slightest hesitation. With a smug smirk on his lips, he easily turned the vibrator off without even glancing away from where you were sprawled naked on the bed before him.

“Really, baby?” he asked, his tone a mixture of amused and annoyed as he gestured his head at the vibrator in his hand. “This what you do when I'm gone?”

Lips parting in surprise for the briefest moment, you gaped at his audacity. Seconds later you recovered, shooting him a pointed look that only had his smirk growing a little more.

“What the hell, Jax?” you shot back in frustration.

He held the toy up higher in his hand, his brows raising back at you. “You think I'm gonna let my girl use this fucking thing when I've got something much better?”

If it wasn't for the fact that you were feeling sufficiently sexually frustrated at the moment, you'd have found the sight of him holding your purple vibrator up with that look on his face somewhat funny. But right now you didn't feel anything close to entertained.

“You were supposed to be out, Jax,” you reminded him. “What the hell else am I supposed to do when you're gone? Suffer?”

“Now there's a thought,” he mused.

With an annoyed huff, you watched as he turned around to set the vibrator on your dresser. Pushing yourself upright on the bed, you frowned at him when he turned back to face you.

“Come on now, darlin’,” he drawled, a glint in his eyes as they roamed over the way you sat naked on the bed. “Don't give me that look. I'm not going to leave you so...tense.”

Your eyes narrowed at the way he was still grinning at you. Unaffected by your look, his hands reached up and slowly slipped the leather kutte off of his shoulders, letting it drop to your bedroom floor with a soft thump.

“What's the catch, Jax?” you asked him, cutting straight to the point.

He chuckled at your question, his hands casually undoing the buttons of his flannel one at a time next. “No catch, baby. I wouldn't do that to you. Not when it seems like I interrupted you before your satisfying conclusion.”

You shook your head immediately, not entirely believing what he was telling you–not with that look on his face. Thighs pressing together as you watched him undress, your body was craving release at this point. It didn't help that Jax had caught the subtle squirming and shifting of your hips, his eyes dropping down towards your legs. His tongue darted out, running slowly along his bottom lip as he slid the flannel down his arms and to the floor. Your eyes immediately drank in the sight of his bare chest, raking over every toned muscle, little scar, and tattoo now made visible.

“Okay, maybe one little catch,” he amended.

Gritting your teeth together, you watched as his hands lowered, beginning to slowly undo the button and the zipper of his jeans. He was going so slow on purpose just to tease you.

“What?” you grudgingly asked.

“I want to hear you,” he continued, pushing his jeans and black boxer briefs down his thighs in one fluid movement that had you almost salivating at the sight of him finally bare. “No keeping quiet tonight. I don't give a shit if we piss off your neighbors again.” He kicked out of his clothes, taking two steps before he was right at the foot of the bed. “I want to know how much more you enjoy my cock. I want to hear it. You got that?”

His eyes held yours as he leaned forward and planted both hands on the edge of the bed. There was a challenge in his expression, daring you to tell him no. But you knew better than to do that because then he probably really would leave you frustrated and unsatisfied tonight. And honestly, you had a feeling you'd be so sensitive at this point that you wouldn't be keeping very quiet.

“It's not like I wanted that thing over you in the first place, Jax,” you answered flatly.

Clearly your response had been one he wanted to hear because Jax climbed up onto your bed the second you'd finished speaking. He jutted his chin out at you before he spoke again, that smug smirk he often wore returning.

“Roll over, baby. On your stomach,” he ordered.

You hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to take in the sight of him naked on his knees on your bed, one hand stroking his hardening length. He looked so good that you just couldn’t help yourself, but the moment one of his brows arched at you, you shifted and turned, laying down on your stomach.

“There you go, baby,” he praised in a deep rumble.

His voice went straight to your cunt, a surge of pleasure running through you. His rough hands grabbed onto your hips, shifting them a little higher up off the bed before one of them slid over to grab a firm handful of your ass. A quiet, soft little noise slipped out of you in response, the anticipation of what was coming causing your cunt to pathetically clench around nothing.

As Jax pushed your legs apart wider with his knees, making room for himself between them, a pleased, throaty noise vibrated in his chest. The sound alone had your hands fisting the bed sheets before you glanced over your shoulder at him behind you.

“Already impatient, darlin’?” Jax teased.

“Of course I'm impatient, you interrupted what I was–”

Your words were cut off the second he ran the tip of himself through your damp folds, a gasp falling out of you instead. You were so damn sensitive already from what you'd just been doing that you didn't think you’d be lasting much longer. Especially when another throaty, satisfied noise left Jax behind you.

“What was that, baby?” he asked, amused. “Would you have preferred the toy instead?”

He teased the tip of himself against your entrance, barely pressing himself against you. Your eyelids immediately fluttered, your breath hitching. You just wanted to feel him already.

“No, Jax,” you nearly whined in response.

Trying to compose yourself as you watched him once more over your shoulder, you saw the slow, satisfied grin spread over his lips. A second later you were rewarded with the feel of him partially sinking into you, the sensation causing your mouth to fall open and a soft groan to slip out.

“That fucking toy get you this goddamn wet?” he growled, a hint of irritation in his tone. “That why you feel so goddamn good already?”

Jax moved behind you, leaning forward on the bed until his body was flush over the back of yours, resting his forearms along the mattress on either side of your hands to withhold some of his weight from off of you. His hips pushed himself further inside of you a little more roughly than usual as if to emphasize his displeasure at your use of the vibrator. The gesture met with a sharper gasp from you this time.

“Was–was thinking about you,” you managed to breathe out.

His face hovered just over your shoulder now, his mouth beside your ear when another pleased rumble sounded in his throat. He pulled his hips slowly backwards, his cock nearly slipping out of you before he roughly buried himself fully back into you in one quick movement. A high-pitched curse flew out of your mouth, your eyes snapping shut.

“So you were thinking about me?” he murmured, his tone far softer than the current thrust of his hips against you. His head shifted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You miss me that much when I'm out with the club, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out, the noise sounding more like a needy whine.

Jax’s pace increased at your response, his cock repeatedly burying itself so deep inside of you that he kept hitting the spot that made the edges of your vision nearly burn white. You were so damn close again already, each of his panting breaths and rough grunts in your ear drawing you right back to the moment he had interrupted a little bit ago.

You loved this position and Jax knew it. The angle he could thrust into you was always perfect, allowing him to fill you completely with every sharp snap of his hips. And you loved the feel of his solid, warm body pressed flush over the entirety of you, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress as he practically overwhelmed all of your senses. You could feel the pull of his muscles against your back, hear the grunts and heavy breaths slipping out of his mouth beside your ear, feel his hot breath along your neck, smell the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather.

Your cunt was tightening around him already at the influx of stimulation, squeezing him as you kept drawing closer to the release you craved. A flurry of soft moans had been increasingly tumbling out of your mouth as he continued to roughly fuck into you, his hips repeatedly ramming into your ass over and over. But you could tell he wanted more when the hand beside yours moved, sliding its way along the bed before moving between your body and the mattress, brushing down past your breasts and your stomach. His hand continued its descent further until it stopped between your thighs, his fingertips landing right on your already sensitive clit. A hiss of pleasure came from between your teeth and Jax huffed in amusement beside your ear.

“Baby, I know you can be louder,” he panted out. “I told you I wanna hear you.”

His fingers began rubbing circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head. You felt like you were drowning in bliss now as his hips continued rolling roughly into you, the sound of skin on skin obscenely mixing with Jax’s grunts and your growing moans.

“Louder,” he ordered, continuing to speak into your ear between gritted teeth and forceful thrusts. “Let me–hear you. Wanna know–how much–you missed me.”

“Fuck–Jax–”

With an animalistic grunt, his teeth latched onto your earlobe, giving a couple of sharp tugs against the delicate skin as his fingers continued rubbing against you. Your cunt fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice. He groaned in response, releasing your earlobe before his forehead dropped onto your shoulder as his hips began to stutter, slowly losing their rhythm as he neared his own release. That had your own hips beginning to push back against him, desperately trying to match his pace and take him somehow deeper.

“That’s it baby,” he whispered into your skin. His body pressed more of its weight on top of you as he kept ramming his hips into yours, chasing his own release. “That’s my girl.”

“Jax–I’m–”

You couldn’t get the words out, you were already teetering on the edge of an orgasm, one that felt far stronger than normal because of its delay. At the feel of Jax pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, your eyes snapped tightly shut.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let go for me. Need you to–” he paused, breaking off on a groan that had your toes curling along the sheets as he hit you with a particularly deep thrust. “Need you to–cum for me.”

When the pads of his fingers added just a bit more pressure to your clit, you finally lost it underneath him. A moan tore its way up through you, ringing out through your bedroom as your fingers fisted the bed sheets even tighter. Jax continued to thrust into you, though the movements had grown sloppy as his breaths grew ragged and loud beside your ear. He was grunting and groaning as your body trembled its way through your orgasm until he gave another particularly deep, sharp thrust that had you crying his name.

That’s when Jax finally lost it. A resonant, beautiful moan tumbled out from between his lips as his hand finally left its place between your thighs to grip the pillow beside your head. He gave a few more rough pumps into you before you felt the warmth of his release fill you. You hummed softly, your cunt continuing to twitch around him.

Jax expelled a deep breath before he practically collapsed half on top of you, the weight of him only causing your already blissfully boneless body to relax further into the bed. As you both sat there panting, your loud breaths filling the room as your sweat-dampened bodies remained tangled together, you could feel his cock gradually beginning to soften inside of you.

“So that–that’s what you get up to when I’m out, huh?” Jax finally asked, still sounding out of breath. “You and that goddamn vibrator get nice and close when I’m busy?”

Turning your head along the pillow, your eyes met Jax’s as his head rested on the pillow beside yours. There was a lazy half-smile on his lips as he gazed back at you, but there was something soft and tender shining in his eyes as he watched you in return. He looked so damn good all flushed and satisfied that you were half tempted to rile him up for another round once you recovered.

“Not every time,” you answered, a small smile slipping onto your lips as your breath came in heavy. “Just…some nights. When I’m missing you.”

A soft, amused breath left him as his hand reached up, lightly brushing aside a strand of hair that had stuck to the perspiration along your forehead with his fingertips. “Yeah?” he murmured, his hand coming to gently stroke your cheek. “Miss me that much tonight, did you?”

You hummed an affirmative response, your small smile growing. “Yeah. Wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight,” you told him, your heart still pounding heavily in your chest. “You made it sound like you’d be gone all night.”

“I was supposed to be,” he replied. “Had that protection run. Wasn’t gonna be back until four in the morning. But then some bullshit was going down at the clubhouse so Clay sent Opie and I back. Think he meant it like a punishment or somethin’.”

Jax laughed softly, shifting on the bed to ease some of his weight off of you. The movement had you once more growing aware of the fact that he was still inside of you.

“Jokes on him,” he continued, that usual cocky smirk slipping onto his face. “Wasn’t that big of a problem to handle. And right now, this don’t feel remotely like a punishment.”

Quirking a brow back at him, a small grin tugged at your lips. “You want me to make it feel like one?” you teased.

Jax’s hand reached down, lightly swatting your ass as he grinned deviously at you. The gesture had you laughing, the sound causing the corners of his eyes to crease.

“Baby, this is your punishment for using that goddamn toy,” he reminded you.

“Not feeling very much like a punishment for me, either,” you joked back.

That devious expression on his face only grew, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes suddenly. He leaned forward off the pillow, his teeth lightly mouthing at your bare shoulder as his eyes continued to hold your gaze.

“You want me to make it feel like one?” he asked, throwing your words back at you.

A shudder ran up your spine at the sultry tone of his voice before a sinful smirk pulled the corners of his lips upwards. You were definitely in for it tonight.

#jax teller x reader #jax teller smut #jax teller x you #jax teller #sons of anarchy #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction

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