#i just have to figure out what i want to DO about it. and also how the hell to explain it

[xinganhao]

✏️ scared freshmen chan x reader.

prompt: "helping a scared freshman despite also being a scared freshman." ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ fluff, cute & clingy!chan, slice-of-life. more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from @wollycobbl3-blr!

dino's declassified uni survival guide .ᐟ

survival guide to: making friends

attend the freshman year orientation event, no matter how lame you think it may be. sit through the whole thing. make small talk with your seatmate. when they assign you a 'buddy', jump at the chance of morally obligated friendship.

fuck trying to be cool and chill. 'be yourself' is painfully cliche advice, but they were on to something. what's the point of trying to act nonchalant or putting your best foot forward? be yourself, and you'll find the people who can appreciate that.

go to the school events. recruitment week? check. pep rally? check. going alone is alright. going with your orientation-sanctioned friend is preferable. the two of you can sit through the whole thing judging other students and making comments about the performances. maybe you can make more friends by chatting up the other students around you, but, honestly? each other is plenty fine.

survival guide to: getting around

have a copy of the school map saved on your phone. keep it in your favorites folder. that way, you don't have to stop at those blown-up maps at every corner or so.

test out the advice of your peers. sometimes, their advice is just a little more reliable— they're coming from places of experience, after all. take, for example, the recommendations from your orientation buddy. take their suggestions to heart. the cafeteria they think is best, the coffee order they swear by. very serious business.

you'll eventually get a little more familiar with the ins and outs of campus. you'll carve out your own spaces and make your own set of friends. if some people eventually fall out with you, that's fine. if you still take a wrong turn every so often, that's fine, too. keep in touch with the people that you really do like. and don't panic about getting lost. sometimes, taking the wrong turn can lead to some pretty exciting stuff.

survival guide to: ... falling in love?

the turn of feeling something for your first friend at uni isn't exactly what i was referring to, but it is what it is. my initial advice still stands: come as you are. if you've always been a little annoying, if you don't know how to shut up and you're shameless in your affections, then keep that up. why be someone who you're not? what if they fall in love with that charade instead of who you really are?

some differences may be warranted, especially if you want to progress the relationship further. friends to lovers is a little complicated; the lines, tending to blur. flirt. or: attempt to flirt. remind them of how attractive you are. find ways to be around them, whether it's heading out for a beer or 'running' into them after their last class of the day. gifts are okay, but don't overdo it. maybe find some occasion for it, in case they ask why.

it's terrifying. being a freshman. making friends. falling in love [with a friend]. and yet i keep going back to yet another cliché: just because you feel fear, doesn't mean you can't do it. do it afraid. do it scared shitless. walk them home. give them the flowers. package the confession in a joke, if you must, but confess. put your heart in their hands and trust that it will be safe, there. that the gamble will pay off. that you— maybe, just maybe— will be loved right back.

survival guide to: dating

tba. i'm still figuring this one out. :-)

written by lee chan (2024).

[starkwlkr]

she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

[thelostconsultant]

A new player

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

summary: Now that he secured the title, you feel like the flight leaving Vegas might be your best chance at telling Max a little secret.

note: Just a short thing. Inspired by that recent 911 scene.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. Now that we have Donatello, Sassy and I are outnumbered by you boys,” you note.

For the first time since you took off, Max puts down the can of Red Bull he’s been holding onto and gives you a curious look. He’s still hungover, so it takes him a minute to register what you’re referring to. “You want another cat?”

Shaking your head with a sigh, you flash a smile at him. “I wasn’t thinking about a cat, actually.” 

You can spot the confusion in his blue eyes as he’s trying to figure out what you mean, but you give him time, hoping he would figure it out on his own. Minutes pass, yet he doesn’t seem to get closer to the answer. “A dog? You want one like Leo, don’t you?” He’s laughing, and you join in while you roll your eyes at him. And then the laughter dies and his face turns serious all of a sudden. “Oh. You mean, you want a child?” You nod, the smile on your lips tighter than you wish it was. “Well… I… I mean… that would be great.”

“Are you sure?” you ask just to double check. 

With a smile, Max reaches out for your hand. “Yes. I’m sure. And you’re already pregnant, aren’t you?” he asks, his eyes shining from the sudden wave of excitement. When you nod once again, he suddenly moves to hug you, then leans back just enough to kiss you. “And I thought last night will be the best for a while,” he mumbles against your lips. “And what if it will be a boy? Then you’ll still be outnumbered. You wanna try again and again until–”

You playfully hit his arm and push him back into his seat. “I asked my doc to do a test to see if there are any genetic issues, and it also happened to tell us the baby’s gender. It’s a girl.”

For long seconds he’s only sitting there, his eyes watching you intently, and for a moment you can’t decide if he’s happy or not. You know he’s happy about the child, but what if he would prefer a boy? You’re suddenly feeling anxious, and he can probably see it on your face, because not three seconds after you tear your gaze away from him, he returns to kiss you again. “I’m happy either way. Whether it’s a boy or a girl, I’ll be the best father I can be, okay?” he asks with a warm smile. 

After a gulp, you nod. You’ve been hiding this from him for a week or so, but maybe it was worth the wait. Now that he won the title, his focus can shift a little.

[archangeldyke-all]

Oh man I have ideas..

Sevika has a home back in Zaun but she has to have an apartment in Piltover because of councilor duties until she fully adjusts to topside and accepts the insistent offers of a manor. Imagine being her wife and just helping her relax after her first day, cuddling and all that whilst adjusting to the fancy apartment bigger than your old house.

Or..

Sevika taking her wife out for a walk in Piltover, admiring more of the garden as the plants grow upon new soil. A talk about the future whilst holding hands.

Or..

Them renewing their vows, having that damn fancy wedding of the dreams.

Toodles!!!

EEEEEEEEK okay lets do some councilor sevika (also isha and jinx are still alive in this story because i said so. she doesn't need to suffer so much to still be an incredible leader. give her her girls!!!)

men and minors dni

you were the first person approached about sevika representing zaun in piltover's new council post-war.

you were a little concerned to find councilwoman shoola and three members of her personal guard on your front stoop-- and for just a moment you had a flash of anxiety that she was here looking for jinx or isha.

"councilwoman. hello." you say, still surprised. you've met the woman a few times before, both of you attending various re-building efforts around the undercity. she holds up a hand.

"please, dear, we've built a bookshelf together, you've seen me at my lowest. you can call me shoola."

"h-how can i help you counc-- shoola?" you ask. she smiles.

"i'm here regarding your wife."

you frown. "...is she in some kind of trouble?" you ask, already mentally planning how to worm sevika out of her trouble. the councilwoman chuckles.

"quite the opposite, actually. i'd like her to join the council... as an ambassador to the free nation of zaun." she says.

you nearly shit yourself at her words-- sevika's life work casually mentioned like it's just a sidenote. "the-- free?" you ask.

she smiles. "while the deaths of the other councilmembers in the war was a horrible loss, there are some issues i could never get my late colleagues to agree on. now, though... i've been given full authority to reorient the power structure of the council to avoid anymore kirraman's taking over-- and i've always been of the belief that zaun should be free."

"and w-what... you want to arrest jinx in exchange for it?" you ask.

shoola chuckles. "no."

"y-you want isha?" you ask. shoola laughs again.

"what could i want with a child? no!"

"so... what do you want?" you ask, your voice shaking as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"i just want your help talking sevika into the job. i know she can be... stubbo--?"

"bullheaded?" you guess as shoola searches for a kind word to describe sevika's stubbornness. she chuckles at your description of your wife and nods.

"here." she hands you a stack of papers. "i've outlined the full responsibilities of the job. as well as the benefits she will receive for serving. please. look it over and talk to her, would you?"

you do.

it's an excellent proposal.

as the undercity figures out how it wants to self govern, piltover will fund zaun's public infrastructure as if it's their own-- meaning that the undercity will, practically overnight, have access to things like clean water. and schools. and welfare. they will provide these services for up to fifteen years as zaun finds it's footing.

the position outlined for sevika in piltover's council is a way to assure piltover doesn't back out of their promises-- that somebody is there to call them out when they try to cut corners in helping the young nation of zaun find it's footing.

and, while your wife might miss the more physical aspects of her old work, you can see her chewing out some stingy old councilors for their greed in your minds eye, and you can't help but smile.

"what're you smilin' about?" sevika asks.

you jump and slam the folder in front of you closed, blinking up at your wife.

she's back from her meeting with ran, scar and jericho. the four of them have grown close in these past few months as they coordinate rebuilding efforts for various neighborhoods across zaun. you have to gulp, trying not to get dizzy with the possibilities of what sevika's job offer means for them as a team. as team zaun.

"h-how was your meeting?" you ask. sevika raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you and you huff. she sinks across the table from you, easily pulling the folder out of your grasp.

"meeting was fine. the elementary school bein' built in firelight's territory is almost ready to open. first school in zaun." she says with a smile. "now, what were you smiling at?"

"i was approached by councilwoman shoola this afternoon."

sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "did you two try to build a chair this time?" she teases. you groan and kick her shin, before tapping the folder in her hands.

"no. i was asked to convince my stubborn-ass, incredibly loyal, strong, beautiful, hard-fucking-headed wife to join the fucking council."

sevika blinks. "what?"

"they want you in the new council. serving as an ambassador. to the free nation of zaun, sevika."

sevika blinks again, and then she rips the file open, her silver eyes flying across the confidential text. "the fr-- the free nation of zaun?" she asks, her eyes flying up to yours to confirm. you grin and nod.

sevika flies out of her seat and crawls across the dining room table to reach you, tears flowing down her cheeks as she kisses you like her life depends on it.

you're there when shoola and sevika finally sit down to discuss the opportunity. shoola's the first piltoverian to not turn her nose up at the messy state of your small home-- she even grins at the sound of jinx and isha bickering from their bedroom. "you two have made a lovely home for yourselves, here." she says, sitting down at the table and jumping a bit when a toy squeaks under her bum. "i can almost see the love leaking out of the wallpaper."

"could be black mold." you whisper. sevika and shoola both sputter surprised laughs.

"sevika. have you considered my proposal?" shoola asks.

sevika sighs and nods. "i have a few conditions before i agree." she says.

this surprises you. as if the prospect of representing a free zaun isn't tempting enough, you saw the salary sevika's being offered. it's the kind of money that could buy you a house big enough that all four of you could have your own bathrooms.

(secretly, though, you hope you live in a tiny house forever. you like tripping over your family-- being within reaching distance at all times.)

"first. i'd like you to assign me the budget to employ three of my trusted confidants as advisors. i can give you their identities if you'd like, but i give you my word that they're good peo--"

"done." shoola cuts sevika off, scribbling a quick note in her journal before looking back up at the pair of you with a smile. "what else?" she asks.

you smile a bit. sevika blinks, then gulps. "jinx and her little friend ekko get a full ride to the university up top. they're incredibly gifted, and with a little proper education they could advance zaun--"

"you don't have to convince me, i remember how the war went. without them, we'd all be dead. i can arrange that."

"i don't want to leave zaun. i can't represent these people if i'm not living here. i'll need a car to get--"

"would you like a personal vehicle or a driver each morning and evening?" shoola asks.

sevika blinks. "a-a driver." she says, a little shocked.

"anything else?" shoola asks.

sevika nods. "o-one last thing." she reaches over to grab your hand. you have no idea what she could possibly want beyond what she's asked for-- she's taken care of her friends, her family, and her transport.

"anything." shoola says. you think the woman might mean it.

sevika looks down at her lap and sighs. "we... we never really got married." she says. you blink, not at all understanding why she's telling the councilwoman this. "i mean... we had a party and we exchanged vows," she says, a smile tugging at her lips. you squeeze her hand and her eyes flick up to yours, before shyly darting away like you guys haven't been married for a decade now. like you guys don't have two kids together. "but we never... nobody gets married in zaun. 's expensive. the trip up to the justice is too far. and..." sevika gulps, her voice getting shaky as she looks back up at you. "and you're the reason i've fought so hard for our home in the first place." she whispers.

tears start to well up in your eyes and you let out a shaky laugh. "what, 're you proposing to me again?" you ask. sevika snorts and shakes her head before turning to shoola. the woman's drying her own tears.

"will you arrange to have us married? officially?"

"i'd be honored." shoola agrees.

the wedding is small and intimate, you and sevika, jinx and isha, vi, ran, scar, jericho, and shoola.

the councilwoman took you to a beautiful little garden a few blocks away from the council, and she married you, officially, as the sun set and your girls threw handfuls of confetti into the sky.

your whole party marches through the streets of piltover and back to zaun for the afterparty, councilwoman shoola laughing happily as you introduce her to the zaunite tradition of barcrawling.

each bar you enter, jericho happily announces that you and sevika have been freshly married. sevika, being the new spokeswoman of zaun, is quite the celebrity now. all of this is to say, you spend the night drinking many free drinks, hugging many drunk strangers, and kissing your wife on request about a thousand times.

it's the best night of your life.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[zorbik-guligan]

Not really sure what incongruous means so I'll look it up after but it does feel like as i get older life gets more complex theres more things i understand now that sure i knew about them before but not in great detail but it feels like I've become so fucking complex as a person that if i tried to explain what i actually think and feel it would just overwhelm a person so i try and section myself off into pieces and just use different parts of me with different situations or people and it may just be because ive spent most of my time these past 2 almost 3 years now alone with nothing to do but think and figure myself out that when im asked what i think about something slightly personal its kinda hard to say it just got lost in my head somewhere and that whatever i think will change at a moments notice like i can bring up memories of lots of things and remember nostalgic times but i spent so long thinking about why i feel a certain way or what makes me feel a certain way in order to try and get a better hold of myself that ive kinda forgotten alot of my past like so many memories that i made are just gone because remembering them made me feel a way i dont want to feel like i remember realizing the beginning of 6th grade that i had completely forgotten 5th grade and the reason why was because that time i had was so nice yet not at the same time my brain just frogot because it didn't want a reminder of how good yet not something can be like great teachers who for the first time ever actually seemed to care as far as i could tell class mates who were generally friendly and occasionally checked on me if i seemed off yet i felt so alone cause nobody there really seemed like a real friend like the friends i had before who even when we were in deep trouble wouldn't rat me out and would stick with me who genuinely cared and missed me if i was sick getting older and not having anyone to socialize with for really formative years off my life has made understand those really old dudes who are nice and always up to make friends but just seem extra lonely for some reason despite knowing so many people i guess technically being that alone did hurt me but i kinda learned that im just not alone ever when im outside theres always some squirrels birds or plants nearby that make it more lively its why ive grown so fond of certain forested spots they are always lively and it feels like hanging out with all my friends its also why i enjoy making things like with metal or wood stone or even writing and painting those things feel alive in a way same with music and having time to think so much has made me reflect and realize that no day is the same and even when something changes something else stays the same or gos back to how it was in a weird cycle like growing but remembering where you were growing older for me anyways is like gaining more skills and more knowledge not just on the stuff around me but on myself too obviously people change sometimes pretty quickly too but getting older makes you learn more about yourself which duh that how life works but still it feels weird to be aware of it at 17 when it feels like i should still be trying to figure out my favorite youtuber or something not contemplate who i am as a person and what makes me feel the way i do but its a good kind of weird and theres always more to learn and find so i still have plenty of room to learn more about myself still not being able to really fully let a person know you kinda sucks but to be fair that is a rather special thing its also nice being able to put into words why i feel a certain way so that i can actually explain myself instead of just going quiet cause i dont know myself that well still kinda funny to know your own problems but not be able to jusy fix them when you know its a very deep problem even when it seems surface level and damn i got kinda personal there woops also just noticed that im shaking so might be overwhelmed remembering 5th grade which is probably why i frogot it or at least thought i did

anybody else feel that being human is like being a long-time syndicated cartoon character watching the world get more complex while your own design stays the same until youre incongruous with the reality around you??

[mwuaferrari]

I REALLY WANT TO KISS YOU - LANDO NORRIS

The paddock was nearly empty. Only faint lights illuminated a few tents, and a handful of mechanics were packing up the last tools of the night. Just two races left, and the season would be over. Although the championship hadn’t gone Lando’s way, the atmosphere wasn’t melancholy—it felt nostalgic. A blend of exhaustion, pride, and the inevitable “what ifs.”

You leaned against a metal railing, watching as Lando, a few meters away, chatted distractedly with one of his engineers. He was smiling, but you could sense there was something deeper beneath the surface, something he was working through quietly. When he finished the conversation, his eyes searched for you in the shadows. The moment he spotted you, he walked over with a half-smile that sent your heart racing.

Lando stopped a few steps away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and studying you intently.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice light but tinged with nervousness.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone playful, that familiar teasing lilt he used to deflect anything serious.

“I wanted to check on you, to make sure you were okay,” you admitted, glancing at him sideways.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“I know,” you said, taking a breath as you carefully chose your words. “But… Lando, you did something incredible this year, you know that? Everyone expected big things from the others, but you—you surprised everyone. You fought until the very end, and that’s what matters.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether you really meant it. When he found no hesitation in your expression, he sighed softly and smiled—this time, with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“Thank you. Really. I think I needed that.”

You looked at him, and despite his words, something in his demeanor made you want to comfort him. Without thinking too much, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Lando stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then let out a small laugh as he hugged you back, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder.

“This helps more than words,” he murmured against your hair.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t move far. His gaze lingered on yours, and something in his eyes had shifted—something warm that made your cheeks heat up.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

Lando blinked, then leaned against the railing beside you, a genuine, low laugh escaping his lips.

“I was just thinking about something really stupid.”

“What?” you pressed, curiosity evident in your voice.

He looked at you, biting his bottom lip as if debating whether to say it. Finally, with a shrug and a soft chuckle, he confessed, “I was thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your eyes widened as your heart sped up, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“And that seems stupid to you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

“A little,” he admitted, “but it’s also true.”

The air between you seemed to grow heavier, charged with a new kind of energy. You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or just teasing.

“So, what’s stopping you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Lando’s expression softened, his usual playful demeanor melting into something more serious as he leaned closer.

“Nothing, I guess,” he murmured.

And before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment, ensuring this was exactly what he wanted. When he felt you respond, his grip on your waist tightened slightly, the kiss deepening into something that felt like it had been building for a long time.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were slightly out of breath, wearing matching smiles that neither could suppress.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft and tinged with humor, “that felt a lot less stupid than I thought it would.”

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he replied, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “But I’m also the guy who just kissed you, so I must be doing something right.”

[gayeddieagenda]

❤️ 🎵 Number 9 if you’re still doing the prompts? thank you!! I hope you’re having a good day!

another scene prompt game! - 9: listening to the other’s heartbeat + ❤️ 🎵

--

“Huh,” Buck says.

Eddie knocks his ankle against Buck’s. “What?”

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” Buck says. He has his serious face on and that, more than anything, makes Eddie squint at him, suspicious. “When was the last time you went to the doctor?”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “I had a checkup a month ago, jackass.”

“Texas doctors?” Buck says skeptically. Eddie huffs at him. Buck adjusts his grip on Eddie’s arm, pressing his index and middle fingers more firmly into Eddie’s wrist. “It’s probably nothing. It’s just, I can’t find your pulse.”

Eddie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, Buck!”

“I’m being serious!” Buck tries another spot on Eddie’s wrist, then another, shaking his head both times: nothing. “You should definitely have a pulse.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, deadpan. “What if I’m already dead?”

Six months. Eddie waited six months to see Buck in person again. Buck had made a noise like a dying animal on the phone, when they realized that he was going to be in the first hour of a 48-hour shift when Eddie and Chris got in from Texas.

Then, when Bobby asked if Eddie wanted to be scheduled for the last 24 hours of the same shift or wait four more days until his first shift back, Eddie signed on for the earlier shift without thinking twice about it. It meant not waiting a second longer to be back where he belongs—at the 118, on the job. It also meant this: seeing Buck for the first time since…since Texas, since everything, surrounded by all their coworkers.

“Don’t worry,” Buck says. “I have something else I can try.”

Buck releases Eddie’s hand. Eddie draws his arm back to his body, unconsciously reaching his other hand up to grip his wrist where Buck’s hand had been holding him a second ago.

Buck gestures at Eddie’s neck. “Can I—”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want to say it,” Buck said. His voice was low and frustrated through the phone. “Not like this.”

“Sorry,” Eddie said, feeling furious, feeling lightheaded. Feeling alone, in a silent Texas house three sizes too big for him. “This is it. I’m here. You’re there. If you’re pissed at me, I’d rather you just tell me.”

Buck reaches for the collar of Eddie’s turnouts. He peels back the velcro strip covering the neck, then undoes the top snaps—one, two, three. He hooks two fingers of one hand on Eddie’s chin, tilting his head back. Sets two fingers of his other hand on Eddie’s neck, just below his jaw, in the divot just behind his trachea, just in front of the muscle.

It’s stupid. Eddie’s fine. He fell down, that’s all. He was rounding a corner to get back to the engine when a kid came sprinting around the other side, running at full force. She ran headfirst into his stomach and they both went sprawling on the grass. Buck caught up to them first, checking over the kid and giving her a sticker after telling her she should consider a career in wrestling. Eddie pushed himself up from the ground, angling to sneak back to the engine and drop off his gear. Buck caught his arm, giving him a where do you think you’re going? look.

So, now they’re here. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, parked in South Pasadena at two in the morning, Chimney’s classic rock radio station still playing quietly from the front seats. The kitchen fire that called them out was put out half an hour ago, but when the upstairs neighbor cracked his door to figure out what had brought a fire truck to his driveway, his cat bolted. Chim spotted her up a tree in the backyard—literally, a cat stuck in a tree. It doesn’t get much more stereotypical than that.

Chimney’s got it handled, apparently, though it’s been twenty minutes and he and the cat are both still in the tree. Eventually, he’s going to get the cat down or some new emergency will materialize from nothing and someone will come looking for Buck and Eddie—but for now, for a minute, they’re alone.

The pads of Buck’s fingers are gentle on the side of Eddie’s neck. His hands are warm. Buck presses in, just enough pressure on Eddie’s throat for him to feel it.

He’s looking Eddie in the eye while he touches him. Eddie looks back. He takes in a slow breath, feeling his throat expand under Buck’s hand. Watches Buck blink back at him. They’re so close like this, Eddie can see where Buck missed a spot shaving just below his sideburns, where Buck’s hair dried flat to his head when he had to pull on his helmet straight out of the shower. He can see where his eyes are crinkling at the corners, like he’s trying to hold back a smile.

“Nope,” Buck says. “Still nothing.”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says dryly. “Do you need to start CPR?”

“I’m sure I can think of something else before it comes to that.”

“I’m not taking off my pants for you to check my femoral.”

“I wasn’t going to do that, Eddie. We’re at work.”

Buck takes his hand off Eddie’s neck. Eddie misses it immediately.

He backs up a little, as far as he can get in the cramped quarters of the ambulance. He rests his hands on his hips, giving Eddie an assessing look.

“I’m not pissed at you,” Buck said, voice low. “That’s why I don’t want to have this conversation now.”

“When do you want to have it?” Eddie asked. He’s angry, and he’s picking a fight, and he can’t stop himself, when this is how he gets to talk to Buck now: in broken halves of conversations, eight hundred miles away. “When you visit in six months? When Chris graduates high school in four years?”

“Come on,” Buck said. “That’s not fair.”

“Then tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“Would you like my opinion?” Eddie asks.

“Pretty sure I’m the firefighter here, thanks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Didn’t realize.”

“Here,” Buck says.

His hands are back on Eddie’s jacket, undoing the rest of the snaps and opening his jacket. He hooks a hand in Eddie’s suspenders, pulling lightly at them, adjusting Eddie until he’s sitting on the edge of the gurney, knees between Buck’s legs. Eddie goes easily.

Buck places a hand on Eddie’s chest, above his heart.

They’re at work, Eddie reminds himself. It’s two in the morning and it’s Pasadena, it’s the distant sound of Chimney going here, kitty-kitty, and the low hum of the radio.

Buck glances at the ambulance doors. They left them open a crack, but all they can see through the gap is the empty street, cast in yellow and red from the streetlamps and the fire engine lights. No one’s looking for them.

Buck turns back to Eddie. He leans in in one movement, replacing his hand with his ear to Eddie’s chest.

It’s awkward, kind of. The ambulance isn’t exactly roomy and Buck is folded in at a weird angle to get his face to Eddie’s chest. Eddie knows he still smells like the kitchen fire, like smoke and burnt fish and sweat. Any second, someone’s going to realize they disappeared and come barging through the ambulance doors and into this, into the tableau that is Buck leaning on Eddie’s chest.

Eddie breathes, chest rising and falling. Buck moves with it.

He was scared to see Buck again. He can admit that now, with Buck in front of him, the way he couldn’t when he was still in El Paso.

There’s a conversation they’ve been waiting to have. They started it a month ago, on the phone, Buck in his loft and Eddie in the kitchen of his rented house in El Paso. By now, Eddie’s pretty sure he’s figured out where this conversation is going to end. He knows he’s not going to find out here, in the back of an ambulance in Pasadena.

They decided, by mutual agreement, that they wouldn’t touch it until after the shift. They kept their word. Instead, Buck’s been doing…this. Messing with Eddie. Sticking close to him. Touching him, under the barest pretense of medical necessity.

It—this, them—has been an idea in Eddie’s head for so long that he started to lose track of what it was, exactly, that he was waiting for. It doesn’t feel real, that Buck could say something on the phone and a month later Eddie could be in Los Angeles again, cashing checks they wrote when they were eight hundred miles apart.

“I’m not angry with you, Eddie,” Buck said, low, into a phone speaker in Los Angeles. Into Eddie’s ear, in an empty room in El Paso. “I’m in love with you.”

Buck’s head resting on Eddie’s chest is real.

It’s right here. It’s the easiest thing in the world, for Eddie to put his hand on the back of Buck’s neck, where the soft ends of his hair curl. For him to breathe in, slow, and feel the weight of Buck leaning on him.

“Yeah,” Buck says finally. His voice is quiet in the back of his throat. Eddie can feel it in his chest. “Found it.”

[mapiforpresident]

Forever

Leah x reader

~~~

The evening was calm, the world outside falling into a quiet hum as the lights in your living room flickered warmly. The two of you were curled up on the couch, just like you always were when the world slowed down enough for you to simply be together. Leah’s strong arms were wrapped around you, her fingers playing gently with your hair as you lay across her, your head resting on her chest.

You could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, a comforting sound that matched your own. Every so often, she’d let out a soft chuckle at the random movie you had playing in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention to the screen. The real focus was each other—just the closeness, the quiet, the love.

You tilted your head back, catching Leah’s gaze, and without a word, she leaned in. Her lips met yours softly at first, but that didn’t last long. Soon enough, you were tangled in each other, kissing deeply, fingers tracing the contours of each other’s faces, mouths moving in sync. You melted into her, the familiar warmth of her touch filling you in a way that nothing else ever could.

But just as you were losing yourself in the moment, Leah pulled back. You blinked, her thumb gently brushing across your lips as she looked down at you, her expression soft but serious.

“We should get married,” she said suddenly, her voice carrying an unexpected calmness. The words hung in the air between you, almost like a question, but also a statement—a suggestion that felt more like a possibility than just a passing thought.

You blinked, not sure if you had heard her right at first. “Wait, what?” you asked, your voice a little breathless from the kiss.

Leah smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “I mean it. We’ve been together for three years now, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. So... why not make it official?” Her thumb brushed over your cheek, and she added, “What do you think?”

The quiet that followed was almost deafening, the weight of her words sinking in. You had never really talked about marriage before. You’d been so content with just the two of you, building your life one day at a time, that it had never occurred to you how serious Leah was about it. But now, hearing it from her lips, everything clicked into place.

A grin tugged at your lips, and your heart swelled in your chest. You sat up slightly, just enough to look at her more directly. “Leah, you’re serious?”

Leah chuckled, running a hand through her blonde hair. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I don’t want to wait forever to make that official. But only if you want it too. No pressure.”

You took a moment to let her words sink in. You thought about everything the two of you had been through—how you’d supported each other through thick and thin, how your love had only grown stronger with time. It felt natural. Right, even. You had always known that Leah was the one, but hearing her say it aloud made your chest ache with a love so deep that it almost felt like you couldn’t contain it.

“I want it, too,” you whispered, a soft smile pulling at your lips as your hand gently cupped her face. “I can’t think of anything more perfect.”

Leah’s eyes lit up, and before you knew it, she was kissing you again—gentle, sweet, and full of promise. Her lips moved against yours as if sealing the new bond between you, the world outside seeming to fade away completely.

When she pulled back again, her face lit up with a grin so wide it made her eyes sparkle. “We’re going to make this work,” she said, her voice full of certainty. “We’ll figure it out together. I just— I just want you to know that I love you. So much.”

You smiled, brushing your forehead against hers, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. “I love you too, Leah. I always have.”

And in that quiet, cozy space between you, with nothing but the soft glow of the lamp and the sound of your synchronized breaths filling the air, it felt like the world had just shifted, rearranged itself into something even more beautiful than before. The idea of forever was suddenly real, and it was with her.

[sonrium]

That second point yanked Batman instantly and unwillingly by the throat to Phantom's side.

He couldn't speak out knowing the rest of the League wouldn't approve, so he let the discussion run its course, and Phantom was naturally denied.

But Batman is nothing if not thorough, and compiling DNA profiles would also help with contingencies. So Batman discretely reaches out after the meeting to give Phantom his personal permission as long as he provides the DNA samples and that Phantom understands that Batman cannot publicly defend him, but he will mitigate the consequences behind the scenes.

After another biting incident when Phantom is getting lectured by Superman:

"Phantom, you can't keep doing this. This is your last warning. Criminals or not, it's never okay to bite people just because you want to. Control yourself, or you might have to rethink your place in the Justice League."

Phantom staring at his feet and genuinely worried that he might get kicked out. He didn't think it was that big a deal.

Batman walks up and simply states. "He is controlling himself."

"Batman, you call that control? I'm trying to be understanding, but Phantom is biting criminals more than ever."

"Are they still breathing?"

"I don't see how-"

"Are their limbs still attached?"

"What are you-?"

Batman gives Superman a hard look to stop him mid question. "Acording to Constantine, ghosts from the Infinite Realms are creatures that should be avoided at all costs due to their extremely volatile nature. Generally, it's a death sentence to ever encounter one."

Superman turned to the child he'd been scolding, shocked that any of that could possibly be true about his colleague. The same colleague, who was so gentle he almost cried when he accidently killed a spider in the dining hall. "Is that true?"

Danny, glancing up but unable to meet Superman's eyes, "Yea-yeah. Intense violence is actually how most ghosts socialize. Regrowing limbs isn't a big deal for ghosts, so they tend to forget how fragile humans are."

Batman continues with his explanation, "In the Infinite Realms, ghosts have evolved to attack anything that moves as a defense due to how hostile the environment is. Everything from the plants to the very ground could attack at any moment. Their version of compassion is controlling their instincts before the killing blow. The fact that Phantom rarely attacks anybody is a testament to his constant and vigillent self-control."

Danny finally meets Superman's eyes and they are nothing but pools of liquid innocence and shame about his very being. "I'm sorry... I'm doing my best, but my ghost instincts are really hard to control, especially when emotions are high and we are carching bad guys, and I can't help but bite. But I promise, I will never let it go any farther than that."

Intense guilt washes over Superman. He knew how seriously Phantom took his promises. He had no idea he was asking Phantom to go against his very nature. Did Phantom have to hold himself back right now? Superman knew a thing or two about how scarily fragile human bodies were to someone like him. He couldn't imagine having instincts that screamed at him to attack anything that moved on top of that.

Batman turned to his old friend with a disapproving stare. "Maybe learn a thing or two before you judge our nonhuman members. I expected better from you."

Superman placed his hands on Phantom's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Do the best you can. We can figure out the rest together. Please forget everything I said earlier."

Danny with hope sparking in his eyes, "Are you sure? I know im not perfect, but I want to stay. I really like it here, and I really like helping people."

"Of course. I'll let the others know." Superman walks away down the hall, and out of sight.

Danny grinned, lifted his eyebrows, and nodded toward where Superman ran off to convey his thanks for the save.

Batman gave a quick nod and a tiny, barely there smile of his own. He spoke aloud for the one with superhearing that was definitely still listening, "I apologize for any offense you may have taken. Know that the sentiments of Superman are not shared by the rest of us."

Danny pulled the zip lock baggie out of his pocket and silently handed it to Batman with a grin. It had a napkin smeared with the blood of Danny's most recent biting victim labeled in Sharpie. Danny responded in a wobbly voice that did not match his mischivous grin, "Thanks." He added a sniffle for effect. "I needed to hear that. I'm really doing the best I can, but i guess people dont see it that way."

After this incident, Superman became Danny's biggest defender against the biting accusations.

Danny Phantom, who as far as the Justice League knew was a normal ghost, was presenting a pointpoint in front of the rest of the League. The presentation says, "Why I should be allowed to bite criminals: 1, because I am not human and cannot catch any of your filthy human diseases. 2, because it would allow us to compile DNA samples from the criminals of the world to compare with during crime scene investigation. 3, Fuck you."

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short part 3

Debating if this can actually still be called a short....

Masterpost to find earlier parts, or my other work.

Danny shudders underneath him and grips the front of Jason’s jacket with both hands. They are both about to make the kiss deeper, when Jason hears the sound of Bats surrounding them. 

Jason can recognize that they make for a weird picture. Jason, kissing some man no one else in the family knows, with the Joker’s dead body five feet away. But he just wants to groan at the interruption. He needs to take Danny back to a safe house so he can learn everything about him as soon as possible. 

Maybe figure out how exactly he killed the Joker while he’s at it. Not that the means change anything about the end point, but Jason is curious.  Because as much as Jason wanted to kill the Joker, planned to kill the Joker, would have if it had come down to it, if this night had ended a little differently.

 The Joker did always seem a little unkillable though. He had a way of coming back. Like a cockroach. Jason may have to make sure that they burn the body.

Jason pulls away from Danny before he could continue the kiss, causing a truly adorable pout. Jason chuckles lightly, stepping back and letting his arms fall to his sides. Batman jumps down from the fire escape he was lurking on. He lands directly behind Jason, with a growl of “Hood”, that Jason knew was both a question and a command. Jason ignored it and watched as Robin jumped down as well. 

Robin crouched next to the Joker and did his own assessment of the body. 

“Dead.” The announcement is not a surprise to anyone present. It still brings Jason joy to hear.

“Hood.” An even lower growl than before. Getting more gravelly, Jason is starting to push Bruce’s tolerance for his bullshit.

It’s not funny. It shouldn’t be funny. But Jason throws his head back and laughs. He laughs for a god ten seconds before he calms and glances behind him at Danny, smiling so wide his cheeks are starting to hurt. Danny gives a small, nervous chuckle when Jason turns to him, but he keeps glancing between him and Bruce. Clearly nervous about Batman’s reaction to the manslaughter.

Jason turns back to Bruce, and his voice comes out so chipper when he talks it elicits another chuckle from Danny.

“I think we should burn him!”

“Hood!” And this one is as exasperated as Batman will allow himself to get in costume. 

Jason saunters over the Robin, whispering at him conspiratorially “We should maybe do this full-vampire style. Chop him up into pieces and then burn him.”

“I can’t help but agree.” Robin mutters, kicking Joker lightly in the arm. Jason liked this kid before, but his affection was growing. Jason  put his arm around Robin in a quick side hug. 

Robin was not expecting it, which gave Jason a full second before he had to dart away from a knife, laughing. 

“Explain. Now.” Batman’s main focus is on Robin and Hood, but he is also crowding Danny, who looks like he is trying to sink into the wall.

“Hey, leave him alone.” Jason walks back over, quickly, hoping Robin will start with the body while he distracts Bruce. He has faith the kid is good for it.

“What is he doing here and what were you doing with him?”

“Batman, this is Danny.” Danny gives a short wave. “Danny here was startled by the Joker, who confronted him while he was very innocently minding his business. Danny then defended himself against him, and now the Joker is dead.”

Batman gave him a blank stare. “Danny killed the Joker.” It’s flat, but conveys his disbelief perfectly.

“Do you see any bullet holes?” 

“Hn.” Batman grunted, turning to look back at the body. Which Robin might have actually been about to get started on. Jason spares a thought for what they would have donw about all the blood

“Robin!” The shout is sharp, and Robin lowers his knife, despondently putting it back in its sheath. “Robin, bag him and get him ready for transport.”

Robin sighs, but starts doing as he was asked.

Batman turns back to Jason and Danny. “ What were you two doing when we arrived?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Look old man, I know kissing is not unfamiliar to you.” Batman grunts again. “But Danny, my new favorite person,” Jason takes Danny’s hand as Danny smiles at him. “Is my soulmate. Recently discovered, obviously. Just after he did what all of you refused to do for me, and by accident.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“I really didn’t mean to, Batman, I swear.” Danny is still holding Hood’s hand, squeezing it intermittently. Jason squeezes back every time. “Wait, what do you mean they refused to do for you?” Danny peers at the stoic faces of Batman and Robin, before nodding to himself. “Not the time.” 

“Hood, cave for debrief.”

Batman immediately started to turn around, but Jason scoffed. Jason could not believe the nerve actually, gaping a little at Bruce as he turned back around, before turning to look at Danny and then back at Bruce.

“ Hood, I understand the situation, but this is something that must be discussed.”

“B, you can’t be serious! He-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jason and Bruce both shift their gazes over to Danny. “I understand that meeting your soulmate in costume is probably not ideal. You don’t know me, and I’m not going to pretend you trust me yet.” Danny’s entire focus was on Hood.

“Go, talk things out with your group. My name is Danny Fenton. I’m sure you can find whatever you need on me with that. Find me later, okay?” Jason looked upset and it hurt Danny to already to see it.

“I’m okay with getting to know you in a mask if need be. Find my number, text me, call me. I can and will wait until you trust me.”

[lady-griffin]

Powder in Pretend Like It's the First Time

It’s my firm belief that while she may not have figured out everything (because honestly how could she), Powder did know that the Ekko she’s been spending time with wasn’t her Ekko, long before she saw the two different Ekkos.

Personally, I think it’s when Ekko showed her the crystal shards because I think her Ekko knows she still has the gemstones and if he wanted to make something with them... well he would’ve known she had them.

Plus a few other things –

She looked surprised by him lighting the incense for Vi, which I can’t believe is something her Ekko has never done; especially since it looked like she was offering the stick to him so he could light some himself when they first visited the altar.

Her slightly heartbroken face when she leaves the lab to start getting ready for the party.

But also, the way she looked at him when he was carving one of the little monkeys.

It’s a loving look, but also a sad one as well... it feels like she’s starting to develop feelings for this Ekko, while also missing her Ekko.

Because I can't imagine she isn't missing him, he's her best friend and the love of her life - as much as the two Ekkos are alike, it's still not her Ekko.

Finally, there’s her not being confused by Ekko asking if they can pretend like it’s the first time.

She has to know that's not her Ekko and maybe this is just the Timebomb slugs in my head, but when she was hurt and disappointed that he didn’t want to kiss her it felt more like – 'oh I read our friendship wrong and you’re not interested' kind of reaction rather than a 'my boyfriend and I haven’t kissed for days let alone anything else and now he just pulled away from me seriously are we breaking up' kind of reaction.

And honestly, what a weird experience for this girl; I mean it’s million times nicer than anything Jinx has experienced, but still, what a truly bizarre thing for her to go through.

But also talk about true love –

She trusts Ekko because it’s still Ekko, even though she doesn’t know exactly what they’re trying to do with the Z-Drive and also Ekko essentially body snatched her boyfriend.

She doesn’t confront him about any of it – which could just be because it’s one thing to think to yourself “that’s not my boyfriend” versus saying it out loud.

But again, just the way she looks at him. I'm obsessed!!

Seriously, I’m fascinated with all the little micro expressions she has when looking at our Ekko and yeah... I love these two genius idiots so goddamn much, no matter what universe or version of them.

[goingmerryfics]

How would Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and even Ace feel when they see their S/O wearing their clothes for the first time in the beginning of their relationship, like a shirt or a hat (if Luffy and Ace allow their s/o to wear it?)

S/O wearing their clothes for the first time - Luffy, Sanji, & Ace

Content: fluffy established relationship moments, they love you! Sanji is a perv but lovingly <3

Notes* hiiii so I can only do up to 3 characters in a request, and after thought I decided to go with these three :) I love Zoro but I couldn’t figure out what article of clothing to write about, so maybe part 2??

Luffy

If it were someone he didn’t know or wasn’t close to, Luffy would immediately feel like they were invading his personal space and demand that hat right back

Even with other crewmates, he only really lets Nami touch his hat and that’s only if need be

But when it comes to you, it’s different

He knows you’ll respect and keep it safe, but it’s a hard feeling to explain. He would trust his whole crew with his hat if need be, but he only wants you to have it

He doesn’t really understand the feeling, he just likes seeing you in it sometimes

Since his hat is so important to him, seeing his partner wear it would make him feel extremely happy that they recognize its meaning

It also solidifies the idea in his head that you’ll be at his side when he becomes the pirate king

For Luffy, love is about sharing his adventures and dreams. Seeing that hat on your head is the loudest declaration of love that he could ever know

Sanji

Sanji doesn’t have very many comfy clothes and he doesn’t have a hat you can wear, but there’s something about wearing his dress shirts to bed that’s extremely comfortable

Maybe it’s because they smell like his cologne, or because they’re baggy on you, but you always steal a clean one to shirt in

He loves it. 

He always ends up with a nosebleed when he sees your sleepy face in nothing but his shirt, draping past your thighs with just a small pair of shorts on under them

That view of your legs, how his shirt swallows you up

You could practically see the steam coming out of his nose while his face turns bright red, heated by the blush in his cheeks

He will definitely say a few pervy things without shame and Nami would probably have to shut him up

Ace

Ace is the one who puts the hat on your head more than you taking it to do so

He likes seeing you in something of his, and his hat is the one thing that he doesn’t mind sharing at all

If you can ignore the sweaty smell, you’re good. His Devil Fruit doesn’t help with that, being hot all the time and all

He makes a show out of it whenever he needs to protect you from anyone by taking off his hat and placing it on your head before diving into a fight

He’s had that hat ever since he set off, and he intends to wear it until the end of his journey. Seeing you in it as well just adds to his growing memories that he’s going to make along his journey

He doesn’t like it when you wear your own hats or hair pieces because he wants your head to be free just in case he feels the need to see you in his hat

It’s a symbol of their strong connection, and that you are truly part of his life, not just a passing moment

[theactualsunshinechild]

Seeing this post always immediately reminds me of a fun story from early on in my relationship that my partner and I affectionately refer to as

The Can Opener Incident

This was back in my college days. That semester I was living in a dorm that was more like a collection of small apartments on the very fringes of campus territory. My partner had come over to spend the night at my dormroom, and we were going about making some pasta in the little kitchenette. The pasta was already fully cooked and strained when we suddenly encountered a problem:

The canned pasta sauce I had bought was not a pop top, and rummaging around the kitchen for a can opener revealed that I had neglected to bring one.

Not one to settle for miserable, dry pasta on a cozy home date, I ran over to the dorm room next door and asked to borrow a can opener. They're a little startled to find someone knocking on their door at 9 PM, but they let me borrow it with no resistance. Upon bringing it back is when the problems truly began.

You see, all of my life I had used a can opener which you latched to the side of the can and twisted the knob to make the sharp ring cut into the top of the can vertically, parallel to the side of the can. This one looked similar, all the right parts were in the right places, so I gave it a shot... but nothing happened. My partner comes up and tells me I'm using it wrong, and I think to myself "oh, okay, so maybe he's used this kind of can opener before, I'll let him at it," and I hand it off to him.

The can opener my partner has used his whole life is the kind that you latch on to the TOP of the can, so instead of holding the handle at the side, you're holding it horizontally over the top of the can. I didn't know that kind of can opener even existed, so when he tried using this one his way, I looked at him like he was insane. This look quickly intensified as this method also didn't work. Things rapidly went downhill from there. He defensively explained the way his can opener at home worked, and I started pointing to the structure of the can opener and arguing why this one wouldn't work that way. We're a little frustrated, but it's nothing some pasta can't fix, so I propose I simply go over next door to the people who I borrowed the can opener from and ask them how to use it.

As I reached over to take it from him, he held it out of my reach.

"No! I'll figure it out myself!" He announced.

"What? Why? It's easier to just ask the owner," I argue, jumping around trying to get at the items.

"Because I can figure it out!"

Okay. Fine. I guess he wants to solve this like some kind of puzzle for enrichment. I give up and I wait. The fiddling begins. I'm standing there watching him try increasingly improbable methods of getting that thing to work over and over. The pasta is getting cold. He's testing methods that have already proven not to work, trying new methods that physically couldn't work, then trying the ones that have already failed us all over again. My stomach growls.

"We should really just ask," I grumble, hungry and frustrated.

"No, I've got this."

He does not fucking got this. I want my goddamn food and I do not have time for this puzzle solving.

"Give it here."

"No."

"I'm just gonna take it to the owners and ask them to show us how to use it, you can come with."

"No! I want to figure out out myself!!"

"And I want my food god fucking damn it!!"

This went on for a bit. The pasta was drying to the side of the pot and getting crusty. At some point during this yelling match I got so pissed off that I stormed out of my own apartment into the cold with no coat on.

'I need to make him see reason!' I thought to myself, making my way through the snow. One building over was where two of his friends were rooming together. I knock on their door, boiling with rage. It is 10 PM.

"Hey, can you come over? [Partner] is being completely unreasonable and obstinate over figuring out how a can opener we borrowed works and won't let me take it to the owner to ask. Please help me convince him to hand it over, I'm literally too short to wrestle it from him."

"Alright, let me grab my coat."

We head back over to my place to find my partner Still Messing Around with that godforsaken can opener.

"Let me see that for a second," says his friend, taking his coat off. I experienced a moment of relief, thinking to myself, 'Finally!' as my partner pouted for a second, but relinquished the can opener.

This peaceful glorious relief fizzled out into horror as his friend began to try to open the can the same way I had.

"That's weird. It really looks like it should work this way..." he mutters.

"Try it from the top, that's how my parents' works," my partner suggests.

"No no, that won't work, just give me a second to figure it out."

Oh my fucking god.

I stared blankly, watching them study the can opener and turn the can this way and that, both completely absorbed in finding the solution to this hour long problem. I was going to lose my fucking mind. Perhaps in that moment I really did. Shellshocked, I stood, wondering how it had come to this. I just wanted some fucking pasta and a relaxed night in, and instead I've gotten these goddamn STEM majors milling around in my kitchen at 10:25 PM arguing over how to use a can opener that isn't even mine. So I went and did what, in retrospect, I should have done ages ago: I went next door for help.

I can't imagine what my neighbor must have thought of me, showing up over an hour after borrowing their can opener, looking as if something inside of me had died, and, with a hint of desperation in my eyes, begging them tearfully to come next door and show us all how to use their can opener. Over an hour after borrowing it.

Well, whatever they thought of it all, they did oblige my pleas. Their arrival thankfully broke up the debate, and as all three of us watched intently as hawks over their shoulder, they cracked open that can of pasta for us.

Using it the exact same way I had tried at the start of it all.

It was just dull.

"I don't need a shopping list; with effort, I will remember that I need this item"

Okay but will you be able to remember that you already bought it? Because apparently I can't.

[azzifuddslover]

off the court

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

themes: jealousy, angst, pining

word count: 3.1k

tw: alcohol use, swearing

a/n: hii my lovely’s! i honestly dk how i feel about this chapter, but i hope u guys enjoy it regardless. also please ignore the shift from past to present tense 😭 i realized i fucked it up like mid way thru but oh well! the movies i mentioned are also so good GO WATCH EM. and if u cant tell i love blushing i find it so cutesy. ALSO ONE SHOT IDEAS PLEASEEEEE. anyway, enjoy and hope y’all have a good week!

CHAPTER THREE

paige has a problem. it wasn’t that her aim was off, causing her to miss shot after shot. it wasn’t that her coach was yelling at her to get her head in the game. no, it wasn’t any of that. it was the fact paige couldn’t stop thinking about the curly brunette, even if her life depended on it.

ever since practice a few days ago, when azzi’s body was flush against hers, azzi had owned paige’s mind. and since her head is elsewhere, she failed to focus on everything else, especially basketball.

“what’s wrong with you?” nika asks paige, confused as to why her game was off, which is extremely rare for her.

without basketball, paige had nothing. basketball gave paige life, ever since a young age. even after trying other sports, her heart was always set on basketball. so when paige’s game had been acting up, it made her teammates, as well as coaches, confused.

paige glances at nika, “what? nothing.”

nika gave paige a don’t bullshit me look, “paige, cmon. you’ve been missing shots all day. something’s gotta be up.”

paige didn’t, wouldn’t tell nika about paige’s tiny issue. “i don’t know. bad day, i guess.”

“well get your shit together. we need you for tomorrow’s game.”

paige looks over at azzi, who was on the opposite side of the gym with caroline, “don’t worry, i will.”

later that night, paige was already laying in bed when her phone buzzes. it was a text from aubrey, asking the team group chat if anyone wanted to hang.

dorka, paige’s roommate, was already quietly sleeping on the opposite side of the room. paige looks at the time, 9:41 pm; she figured hanging out with her friends wasn’t the worst idea.

paige soon arrives at aubrey’s dorm. she opens the door to find a variety of her teammates; nika was seated on aubrey’s bed along with aubrey, lou was on the floor, while azzi and caroline were on jana’s bed, who wasn’t present.

fuck. of course azzi would show up, despite it being late at night. it was as if azzi somehow knew paige had been thinking about her- appearing just to torment her.

the two met eyes, paige held eye contact a tad longer than she normally would. heat creeped up azzi’s neck.

since there wasn’t much room on either beds, paige slumps against the bed azzi was sitting on.

“so what were y’all doing before i came in?” paige questions her teammates.

“trying to decide on a movie, but nobody is agreeing,” nika replies, annoyance in her voice.

“i say we watch she’s the man, but everyone here doesn’t have good taste, so nobody agrees with me,” aubrey says, rolling her eyes.

paige turns her head up to azzi, “what was your suggestion?”

azzi was caught off guard by paige’s question, “uh, i said about time.”

“oh my god, i love that movie. i agree with azzi,” paige announces.

azzi was shocked, to say the least. she never imagined a world where paige would agree with her.

they settle on about time. nika grabbed a few snacks and passed them around, while lou brought a few drinks in from the tiny kitchen.

a couple minutes into the film, paige grew uncomfortable with her spot on the ground. azzi noticed it by the constant shifting she had been doing. azzi reaches down to tap paige’s shoulder.

“you can come up here if you’re uncomfortable,” azzi whispers so the others wouldn’t be disturbed, while softly patting the spot next to her on the bed.

paige notices that her and carol had already shifted down, making room for paige. her lips curled into a small smile.

without a second thought, paige lifts from the floor and gently sets herself next to azzi, thighs nearly touching.

“thanks,” paige whispers. azzi simply nodded her head.

throughout the movie, paige’s thigh would occasionally graze azzi’s, sending butterflies to her stomach. there was a spark between the two, surely azzi felt it too.

caroline passes a bag of popcorn over to azzi, who instantly begins consuming it.

“can i have some?” paige questions lightly so she didn’t cause distractions for the others.

“of course,” azzi smiles, placing the popcorn in the middle of them.

their hands would graze while both going for the popcorn, paige let her touch linger longer than she should. she knew better. but her secret azzi fudd obsession got the better of her.

“sorry,” paige mutters, pulling her hand away after embarrassment covered her features.

“i don’t mind,” azzi looks at paige, a soft expression on her face.

paige had always been beautiful to azzi, but in this lighting, in aubrey’s small dorm, sitting on the same bed, mere inches apart, paige looked unreal. her blonde hair was the perfect kind of messy, lips were light pink, eyes so blue that they were practically transparent. paige’s cheeks flush at azzi’s eyes solely focused on her.

“okay guys! i’m exhausted, i’ll see y’all tomorrow,” nika jumps up from her spot, causing heads to look over at her.

paige and azzi took their attention away from each other, despite it being the hardest thing paige had to do.

“yeah, i should go too,” azzi agrees, beginning to move off the bed.

“same,” paige says, also moving from her spot.

the three say their goodbyes before leaving out aubrey’s dorm door. during the short walk down the hallway, the girls discuss their excitement for the first game of the season. they came to the end of the hall, where they could go either left, right, or continue straight. nika headed straight, off to her room. paige was going left, while azzi was going right. but both didn’t make any hints to move yet.

paige leans against the wall, azzi mimics her by doing the same on the opposite wall. a small smile crept onto her lips.

“you ready for tomorrow’s game?” paige questions the younger girl.

“beyond ready,” azzi’s smile only grows. she’s been waiting for this moment since before she could remember; her very first game in college basketball.

“you better be. i’m definitely gonna need you,” paige says without thinking. her eyes widen at her use of i’m. “we, i mean.”

azzi’s cheeks redden at paige’s comment about her needing azzi. not the team- her, accident or not.

“are you ready? you seemed kinda distracted at practice,” azzi brings up.

“i’m fine,” paige says harsher than she meant.

not wanting to deal with paige’s attitude, azzi sighs, “alright. see you tomorrow.”

paige desperately wanted azzi to stay with her. she wanted to grab her by the hand and pull her close; but she knew she couldn’t do that.

“yeah, see ya.”

the next morning, paige immediately shuts down any azzi thoughts from the previous day. she needs to focus on the game. it was the first of the season, and she eagerly wanted to make it a good one.

she brushes her teeth, washes her face, dresses herself, as dorka did the same.

“ready for this, p?” dorka smiles, excitement buzzing off her tall frame.

“always,” she matches her smile.

the two girls grab their bags and head down to the dining hall to grab some breakfast. nika, aubrey, jana, lou, carol and azzi were already seated and eating away.

paige prepares her meal before taking the spot besides jana, directly across from none other than azzi. they quickly lock eyes before looking away equally as quickly.

the team discusses plays they wanted to run in the upcoming game, all participating and giving suggestions. they soon finish eating before heading down to the gym for some smaller workouts, to get somewhat warmed up.

paige was still struggling to make her shots that she’d normally be making. when azzi notices, she casually walks over.

“can i suggest something?” azzi asks.

paige looks over at her, “hm?”

azzi strolls closer to the older girl, close enough to where paige felt her breath on

the back of her neck.

“what are you doing?” paige asks, breathlessly.

azzi places her hand on paige’s, adjusting it to where she liked. she then moves her elbow, “fixing your form.”

once azzi was done, paige shoots the ball, and is surprised to see it actually go through the basket.

“thanks, i guess,” paige grins.

the two girls continue shooting, getting their reps in when the time came to begin actual warm ups.

the game was about to begin; paige, nika, aubrey, azzi and jana were the starting 5. azzi feels an intense amount of pressure to do well, since she’s the only freshmen starting tonight.

the five girls huddle together, wide grins on their smiles, beyond ready to get this season going. paige speaks words of encouragement to her teammates as they all get into position.

uconn was up by 31 points, azzi having 19 while paige has 21.

paige runs the ball up the court, eyeing each teammate of hers. she passes the ball over to nika, who throws it over to azzi. she effortlessly makes the open 3, causing loud roars from the uconn student section.

the team was on a 9-0 run in the third quarter when paige sprints near half court and collides with a member from the other team.

azzi watches it happen and rushes over a little too quickly, for someone who claimed to hate her. azzi appears in front of the older girl, who was lying on the floor face up, and gently places her hands on her knees.

“are you okay?” azzi asks, worry laced in her tone.

paige was silent for a moment, still dazed by the impact. but when she glanced up at the brunette, a sense of calm quickly washed over her.

“yeah,” she answers, grabbing azzi’s hands that were being held out to her.

their hands held onto one another’s a moment too long. their bodies were slightly touching; neither made any movements.

it wasn’t until coach auriemma yelled at them did either of the girls make a move. paige was substituted for ashlynn to rest, and eventually, azzi was also subbed out for caroline to give other players a chance to play, as they were dominating the opposing team.

azzi settles down next to paige, the only spot open on the bench. their thighs were full on touching since the seats were so tight.

azzi rests her elbows on her knees before turning to paige, “you sure you’re okay? that fall looked like it hurt.”

paige smiles at azzi’s worry, “why? do you care or something?” she teases.

azzi’s face lit up with red, “um, no. of course not.”

paige lets out a soft chuckle before playfully pushing the brunette’s face, who who responds with a wide grin, dimples and all.

paige matches her smile with one of her own. god. she was otherworldly.

“you’re so fucking pretty,” paige mumbles, barely audible for azzi to hear, while dropping her heads, wrapping her arms under.

“sorry, what’d you say?”

“nothing,” paige replies, definitely not repeating her words.

the game ends, the teams high five one another before heading to the locker rooms.

“guys, since we played so well today, we should definitely celebrate,” jana suggests.

“what are you thinking?” nika asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

“ted’s, of course,” she laughs, “is everyone good with 7?”

each team member agree to meet at ted’s, the bar most uconn students attended, around 7. paige was buzzing at the idea of a dirty shirley temple, desperately needing one to get her mind off someone.

paige showered, applied light makeup, and picked out a comfortable but nice outfit.

around 6:55, paige leaves her apartment with dorka at her side, heading to ted’s.

the bar was absolutely packed with uconn students as well as the women’s basketball team. nika was talking to the bartender, aubrey was laughing at something jana said, while azzi was throwing back a shot.

the air seemed to shift when paige’s gaze lands on the young brunette. her heart instantly quickens as she took in her outfit. a light purple tank top that fit her in all the right places, paired with jean shorts that were doing wonders for her ass. her curls were down, slightly messy but in the most beautiful way possible.

making eye contact with paige causes azzi’s breath to hitch. heat floods her cheeks as she remembers the moments between them from earlier today.

stepping closer to the bar, paige lowers herself into an open seat, directly across from azzi who was completely surrounded by teammates. dorka took the spot next to her while lou made herself over to the two girls.

“dorka! p!” lou greets them, clearly already drunk.

“hey lou lou,” dorka smiles at her friend.

paige waves over the bartender, “can i please have a dirty shirley temple?”

the bartender nods, immediately reaching for a glass. paige was dying for a drink in her hand to take her mind off everything and everyone.

the shirley burns her throat as she took several gulps, downing nearly half the glass.

“calm down there, p,” dorka laughs at paige’s urgency to consume the drink as fast as possible.

“just thirsty,” paige replies.

after finishing her second shirley temple is when she noticed a tall man talking to azzi. her azzi. her fists clench at her sides as she throws a glare their way.

the man then lowers himself into the open seat next to her while casually shifting close, making their faces mere inches apart. azzi fidgets with her fingers, suddenly nervous from the attention.

paige presses her lips in a line to hold back her growing anger that was screaming to come out. all she wanted to do was walk over there and take what’s hers.

paige orders several more drinks, shots, whatever she could to hopefully get rid of the scene in front of her.

when a piece of azzi’s hair falls in front of her face, the man reaches out and brushes it behind her ear. his hand lingers for a moment too long, only causing paige to become more aggravated.

azzi laughs at something he said and paige decides she’s had enough. although she was completely aware she shouldn’t be doing this, she was supposed to hate azzi, she couldn’t help herself. she clutches her drink tightly in her grasp, a idea trickling in her head, and marches over there.

azzi almost instantly spots the blonde moving towards her at a rapid pace. her eyes widen when paige accidentally trips, spilling her drink all over the man.

satisfaction covered paige’s features, proud of her doing.

“jesus fucking christ!” he yelps, quickly jumping up from his position next to azzi.

“i am so sorry,” paige pretends to be genuine and concerned, even though herself and azzi knew it was complete bullshit.

the man grabs napkins, desperately trying to pat himself down, but ultimately failing. he walks away without as much as a glance back at the curly brunette, who continues to remain silent.

“did you seriously have to do that?” azzi questions paige, annoyance on her face.

“it was an accident, azzi,” paige sighs.

“sure it was,” azzi mutters as she grips her drink.

“it was,” paige replies defensively.

paige allows herself to sit where the man once was, feeling the air grow electric with the two being so close. azzi looks almost shaken by their close proximity, her eyes roaming paige’s body.

“paigey!” nika slurs, suddenly grabbing paige’s shoulders.

paige turns to her friend who was beaming, “what’s up nik?”

“oh my goodness, you totally missed it…” nika rants on and on about the hot bartender who was totally checking her out.

“i’ll be back,” nika grins as she jogs off to talk with the bartender once again.

“at least she’s getting some action,” azzi says, rolling her eyes.

“oh my god, i am so sorry i ruined the two minute conversation you had with some idiot. if you’re so interested in him, then be my guest; go find the fucker.”

“maybe i will,” azzi bites out, getting up from her spot and taking off towards the crowd.

it shocks paige that azzi actually went through with it- disappoints her, too. did she genuinely like the guy?

regretting her words, paige follows azzi’s trail, quickly catching up to the freshmen. she grabs her arm, making her twist around to face her.

“please, wait,” paige slurs in her drunken state.

“what do you want?” azzi questions, desperate to know paige’s intentions.

“you,” paige whispers, so quietly azzi can barely make it out.

“speak up, paige,” azzi replies, annoyed.

“please don’t go after him.”

azzi’s eyes crinkle, “and why not? you’re not my keeper.”

paige rests her hands on either one of azzi’s hips, uncontrollably pulling the younger girl closer.

“i know. i know,” she whispers, “just stay. stay here with me.”

azzi was taken aback from paige’s soft tone and sweet words. it was unlike paige to be like this to azzi, so azzi pieced together she must be drunk out of her mind.

“you’re drunk, paige,” azzi says.

“i’m sober enough,” paige’s lips turn up as she moves her hands to azzi’s face.

with her face in her hands, paige rests her forehead against the curly brunette’s, while her gaze drops down to her full, pink lips.

“what are you doing, paige?”

paige closes her eyes, not wanting to think about everything wrong with what she was doing and how it’d be like tomorrow.

“i don’t know. fuck, i don’t know. i just want to be close to you,” she whispers.

azzi gently places her hands on paige’s waist, pulling the older girl impossibly closer.

“fuck, az,” paige mutters, “i can’t stop thinking about you.”

paige was all azzi could hear, despite the loud crowd and blasting music around her. and her words meant everything.

“no matter how hard i try, you’re always there. you with your perfect curls and cute ass dimples,” paige smiles, twisting with a singular curl with her finger.

“oh yeah?” azzi matches the grin.

“yeah,” paige says, gaze focused on her lips.

right as paige leans in, azzi suddenly jerks back, her eyes wide with panic.

“p- paige, no. you’re drunk. you’ll regret it tomorrow,” she stutters, frantically stepping out of paige’s touch.

paige reaches out for azzi’s frame, “no i won’t.”

practically tripping over herself, azzi rushes over to her previous seat with paige right on her heels. she grabs her belongings before giving a lone glance back at the blonde; she was breathing hard, hands slightly shaking, with a disappointed yet shameful expression on her face.

azzi turns away and is gone before paige had the time to blink.

“god fucking dammit,” paige mutters to herself, ashamed of her actions that caused azzi to run off.

paige finds an open spot at the bar and orders yet another round of shots, not caring about the concerned looks she was receiving from her teammates.

paige swallows shot after shot, trying to drown her sorrows and any lingering thoughts of azzi. of course she had to ruin whatever was happening between them. of course.

“paige, don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?” aubrey cautiously questions her friend.

paige drunkenly chuckles, “not even close,” throwing back another burning shot.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

hi!! just wanna say you are my fav gravity falls author and im so obsessed with your fics for stan 🙏🙏 could i please have a stan x fem!reader smut where stan just REALLY likes tits. like a LOT. you have full creative freedom to go wherever you want with this idea i just wholeheartedly believe stan is a tit man <3 thank u and plz never delete this account youre the coolest 💞

Stan Pines is obsessed with you and your breasts ♡ (headcanons + blurb)

author note: hii, angel!! thank you sm for this sweet message, i'm literally melting and giggling and smiling rn!!! i can't even tell you how much this made my day, you're so kind and your words honestly mean the world to me 🤍 

i had so much fun with this idea, so here’s something for you bc ur wish is my command! i hope it’s what u expected. and thank you for supporting me! ♡

I need this grumpy old man so bad, guys send me more asks bout him also comments and/or reblogs are always appreciated, kisses u💋

nsfw, fem reader

♡ Stan is absolutely shamelessly obsessed with tits. your tits, specifically. big, small, somewhere in between, it doesn’t matter! he’s a hungry fucking man. he fucking loves breasts. worships them. adores them. can’t keep his damn eyes (or hands, or mouth) off them. “you’re gonna kill me with these things, doll, fuckin’ hell, look at ‘em.”

♡ the first time you caught him staring, you were a little shy about it, but he didn’t even try to deny it. “what? they’re right there! whaddya want me to do, not look? it’s like puttin’ a steak in front of a starving man and tellin’ him not to eat!” and you made the mistake of saying, “you could touch them if you wanted to.”

♡ because now his hands are always on you. always. you’re trying to cook? his big hands are sliding up your shirt, squeezing, kneading, thumbs brushing over your nipples, he’s testing just how fast he can make that little gasp slip from your lips. and god, all of that is being done with that smug grin on his face. “what? i’m helpin’.” sure, Stan. sure

♡ I wanna develop idea about cooking more, so: as i said, Stan can’t keep his hands off you when you’re cooking. for him it’s just an excuse to get his hands on your body. expect him to come up behind you, press his broad chest into your back, let his hands rest in your waist as his lips ghost over your neck, muttering “damn, you look so pretty, baby, you sure you don’t wanna skip dinner and come straight to bed?” when he’s rubbing his growing bulge against you while you’re stirring the pot, literally humping you in the middle of the kitchen. It’s hard not to laugh at how desperate he is

♡ the type of man who’ll insist he’s innocent even when he’s shamelessly and obviously staring. you could be fully dressed, wearing the baggiest clothes known to man and this filthy old bastard is still eye-fucking you. “what? can’t help it, doll, you’re beautiful.” no shame. zero!

♡ of course Stan loves to bury his face in your chest. it’s his happy place there. his hands sliding up your sides as he presses his face between your breasts, groaning, “fuckin’ heaven, toots. yer like a damn pillow, but better, so soft, so warm.” while you let your fingers run through his hair. It’s more about being intimate and soft though

♡ “goddamn, look at these beauties. best fuckin’ view in the world, ain’t it?”

♡ he’s a sucker for leaving marks on your breasts. bite marks, hickeys, little bruises from his teeth and fingers

♡ uhh. . . hear me out, him stuffing dollar bills into your bra as a joke (or no). “figure they’re safer here than my wallet anyway.”

♡ Stan loves when you wear anything that lets him see your nipples, especially when they’re hard (from cold or because you’re horny?), he goes crazy when thin shirt or a dress hugs your body. “goddamn, sweetie, could stare at those for hours.”

♡ his guilty pleasure is watching you put lotion on after a shower. you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, smoothing the cream over your arms, shoulders and chest and that old man is drooling

♡ Stan is so domestic, he loves the way you look in the morning, your breasts barely covered by his tank top that you stole. you stretch, yawning, your nipples peeking through the thin fabric and he’s already pulling you back into bed. “don’t care what we had planned today, baby. yer stayin’ right here with me.”

♡ Stanley gets so distracted when you’re undressing in front of him. doesn’t matter if it’s casual or if you’re trying to tease him, once your top comes off, his eyes are immediately glued to you while his cock already twitching to life in his pants. “jesus christ, woman, yer tryin’ to kill me. c’mere and let me get my hands on ya.”

♡ and when he finally gets you laid out on the bed, his hands worshiping every inch of you, oh, he takes his sweet time. dragging his thumbs over the stiff peaks of your nubs, leaning down to wrap his lips around one, sucking gently before giving it a teasing bite. he’s grinning against your skin when you gasp his name, one hand slipping down to spread your thighs apart while he gets comfortable between them. “love when you make these sounds. what’d i do to deserve this, huh?”

♡ oh, his tongue too. it’s wet and warm, circling slow before he flicks the nub just to watch your back arch. his free hand squeezes your other breast, pinching and tugging lightly on the nipple. he groans from how heavenly you taste. “softest damn tits I’ve ever had my hands on. christ, baby, I love you so much.”

♡ if you let him, he’ll press his cock between your breasts, his hands squishing them together as he ruts into the softness, groaning like a goddamn mess. “fuck, baby— mhmm, your so fuckin’ soft, look at this, huh? takin’ me so good, atta girl.”

♡ more thoughts about breasts fuck. i personally think Stan would love it? because there’s something about the sight of his heavy cock sliding between your breasts, the way you press them together for him, making a perfect, soft little channel for him to fuck into like a needy old man he is. he gasps, praises you, worships you whole as he watches himself disappear between them, his tip slick and glistening with precum every time it peaks out

♡ “fuck, doll, keep squeezin’ ’em like that. jesus, yer gonna make me cum just from lookin’ at ya.” and he does, oh, he does. he spills his seed all over your chest. and when he’s finished, Stan isn’t shy about making a mess, watching his cum drip down your breasts

♡ when he’s drunk, Stan gets even more handsy than usual

♡ you get him worked up sometimes by accident. like, when you’re reaching for something high up on a shelf and your shirt rides up, giving him the perfect view of your waist, those soft curves that drive him absolutely crazy. Stan will mumble something like “god, babe—gimme a second, I gotta go fix somethin’ in the back room. . . you know how it is with my old bones.” but it’s all a damn lie because he just needs to take a breather after staring at your body for the last five minutes

♡ Stan absolutely loves when you’re riding him, leaning over with your tits pressed into his face. he doesn’t care if it’s just for a few seconds or longer, he wants to feel them on his lips. he’ll lift his head slightly to suck on your cute nipples or trail hot kisses down your cleavage, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes his hips up to meet you. “sh-shit, baby, lemme just. . .”

♡ you lean over the counter while talking to him, doesn’t matter if you’re talking about what’s for dinner or how the vending machine ate your dollar, his eyes are locked on your chest only, already undressing you in his mind. he’ll mutter something gruff like, “yeah, uh-huh”

♡ loves to make you squirm. Stan’s a teasing bastard and he knows exactly what he’s doing when he brushes his thumb over your sensitive nipple slowly, watching it pebble under his touch. “sensitive today, huh? what’s the matter, sweetheart? thought ya liked it when i played with these pretty little nubs of yours.” and then he pinches, just to hear you gasp and watch you press your thighs together 

♡ i swear, Stan will make excuses to get you on his lap, just so he can slide his hands under your clothes and play with you while you sit there all flustered, giggling silly. “ain’t no law against touchin’ my girl, is there? c’mon, lemme have my fun, been thinkin’ about these all damn day.”

♡ as I mentioned, he’s a sucker for when you’re on top, bouncing on his cock while his big hands squeeze your waist, holding you so tenderly in his arms despite how hard and rough he bucks his hips into you, his mouth is latched onto your nipples. the way your breasts move drives him insane

♡ during lazy, slow sex, Stan loves lying on his side with you pressed against him, one hand massaging your breast as he thrusts into you slowly from behind. his lips are at your ear, whispering filthy things about how soft and warm you feel

♡ but when it’s rough, he’s gripping your breasts so hard you’ll have finger-shaped bruises the next day, pinching your nipples just to watch you arch your back and tremble under him, “you like that, huh? that’s right, my good fucking girl,” and every word he says he punctuates with a thrust. “can’t get enough of me touchin’ you, can ya?”

♡ reminder: Stan doesn’t just love your breasts because they’re sexy, though, yeah, they are. he loves them because they’re yours. soft, warm, comforting, just like you. and if he can bury his face in them and forget about the rest of the world for a little while? that’s just the cherry on top! a nice bonus!

♡ bonus: little blurb 

sight of you in his suit jacket, oh god. that thing swallows you whole but it’s too big for you so it hangs off your shoulders, exposing your skin, letting him see your thighs as well. Stan’s jacket, smelling like cigars, is over you in a way that makes his throat go dry. and underneath that beautiful little bra you knew would make his head spin, it’s lace and soft cups hugging you in ways he wished his hands were right now. your cleavage drawing his attention like a magnet. no, it’s too goddamn much for Stan to handle

he’s slouched on the armchair, legs spread wide, trying to keep himself from losing control. his eyes latch onto the soft lace of your bra, the way it cups your tits just beautiful enough to tease him. he looks so needy already and you’ve barely touched him

“Jesus christ, doll.” sounds like he’s choking on his own breath. “yer doin’ this on purpose, parading around in my jacket, showin’ off these tits like some goddamn pin-up doll, huh.” his lips curl into a smirk

perfect, just exact reaction you waited. you bite your lip, stepping closer, swaying your hips for him. you play it coy, of course. shifting the jacket like it’s just slipping off, letting one strap of your bra peek out more. “what? this old thing?” you smile like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing

and then he’s got his hands on you in an instant, dragging you into his lap because he can’t stand another second of his pretty girl being out of reach. his palms feels rough as they grip your hips, tugging you down until your thighs straddle his.

“you tryin’ to kill me, toots? walkin’ around like that, wearin’ my jacket.”  

your knees settle on either side of him, and his hands waste no time sliding up your thighs, over your hips, and straight to your waist, holding you close to him because this man is always starved for physical contact. his thumbs dip under the edge of the jacket, brushing the bare skin just above your bra

“Staaanley,” you breathe, your lips hovering just above his. your hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“No, no, no, don’t you ‘stan’ me, pretty,” he mutters, and one of his hands slips behind your back to unclasp your bra with a flick of his fingers, the other cupping your breast like he’s been dying to touch you all day. “you don’t get to tease me like that, wearin’ this fuckin’ outfit, and then say my name like some innocent little thing. you know exactly what you’re doin’, don’tcha?”

his thumb brushes over your nipple and then his lips follow, placing wet and hot kisses along your breast, sucking gently before biting down to make you gasp.  

“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “wanna hear all those pretty little sounds you make, baby. fuck, you’ve got me harder than a goddamn rock.”  

he’s saying true because you feel the evidence of that pressing against your core, even through your panties. his free hand slides between your thighs, fingers pressing against the damp fabric and you whimper when he rubs slow circles over your needy clit.  

Stan grins as he pushes the lace aside. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. all this from me touchin’ your tits? jesus, doll, yer even dirtier than i thought.”

his fingers tease your wet entrance, rubbing over your folds before dipping inside, and your head falls against his shoulder, moaning as he pumps them slow and deep.  

“C’mon, baby,” Stanley brushes his lips over your ear as he fucks you with his fingers, his other hand still kneading your breast. “tell me who you belong to. say my name, and i’ll give you everything you want. everything. I’ll fuck you so good.”

you moan his name, digging your nails into his shoulders 

“Yes, that’s it,” his hand moves faster. “gonna make you scream for me, sweetheart. make sure you never forget who you belong to.”