#but jesus christ they look so good 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makeyoumine69 · 24 days ago

Note

Could you do Patrick being obsessed with his chubby s/o?

Do I Wanna Know?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Patrick Bateman x Chubby!Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: At first, it wasn't even an obsession. Patrick always told himself that you weren't his type, but at some point, everything went so wrong. Now, only the taste of forbidden fruit can satisfy his hunger.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, mutual pining, obsession, body worship, oral sex (69), unprotected p in v sex (reversed cowgirl), creampie, hair pulling, choking, spanking, mild degradation kink, dirty talk, swearing, pet names, Patrick is literally an awkward demon, implied murder, dark themes, implied masturbation and stalking.

𝐀/𝐍: Finally, I was in the mood to write after a long time, so I hope you like it. Thank you so much for sending me your request! I was inspired by this edit made by amazing @patrickbatemanstradwife, this song got stuck in my head. Crawlin' back to youuuu!🫠

Please follow my writing community or my side-blog to know when I update!💕

This was all so wrong.

Everything about you was wrong, but he couldn't help it. Every time he saw you in the office, he was ready to gnaw off his own hand. Maybe he was actually doing it just to stifle a low, throaty groan because you were giving him a boner just by walking around here in something tight.

And it was over for him.

Patrick could imagine these curvy hips and the arch of your ass. He dreamed about how it would feel to be inside you while you moaned loudly and miserably as he pounded into you with no mercy. It was just pure filth, pure madness. No shame, no bluff. He fully accepted the fact that he craved your thickness. If he could, he'd walk up to you in the narrow hallway leading to his office, bend you over a desk, and ignore the shocked stares of onlookers. He couldn't care less. He was about to lose his mind if he didn't sink his white teeth into your soft ass, hips, or torso, where he could imagine ribs ticking beneath his bite.

Jesus Christ.

Bateman could barely breathe standing next to the printing machine, pretending to wait for the document to print. In reality, he was watching—literally stalking—you as you strolled around, being nice and friendly as usual.

Holy fuck!

He probably should have locked himself in the nearest bathroom and jerked off. That might have saved him. But then Patrick remembered that he had already masturbated twice that morning, and his dick was still aching. His hand wasn't enough anymore. Actually, it never was, but now it was an entirely different tragedy.

"Good morning, Mr. Bateman," you popped up right next to him, like a rabbit from a hat. "How are you doing today?"

Oh, no, fuck no. It was the way you leaned on your clasped hands, making your breasts look delicious, and the V-cut of your blouse didn't seem to hide anything—the view was absolutely breathtaking. Patrick began to pray for salvation, even though he was an atheist.

The man gave you an awkward smile and nervously adjusted his tie. "I'm—ah—I'm great," he replied nonchalantly, as if he didn't want to say, "I want your tits in my mouth."

"How is your new workplace? I heard you got promoted." Patrick actually giggled. The red hue spreading across his face gave him an innocent look, like a little deer who wanted to be petted.

"It's nice, really nice," you grinned, bending a bit lower. You didn't realize your breasts were pressed together provocatively, and Bateman was about to cry and run away, thinking you were doing it on purpose to torture him. "Uh, maybe we can drink coffee sometime?"

Oh, God.

Did you really ask him out like that? So blatantly? Did he not mishear?

Your audacity always sent his ego through the roof because he couldn't understand how you could be that confident and brazen naturally. He was sure you weren't doing it on purpose; this was simply the way you had always been. He hated it so much, practically frying himself from jealousy.

"That's a really sweet offer, but I don't think I can find time off work." Bateman tapped the desk next to him. The printing machine had already spat out several forgotten documents next to it. Who would care about some pages when such a gorgeous woman was standing there? He was so close; he'd actually bury his face right between those big, luscious breasts. "Maybe next time."

The man almost choked on his tongue when he said it, but he didn't backtrack or try to look like he could change his mind, even when he noticed the way your face dropped a bit.

"Well," you replied, straightening up and casting a slightly disappointed glance at him. "Next time, I hope I'll be luckier. Have a nice day, Mr. Bateman."

You turned on your heels and strode away. He could have sworn his eyes were glued to the sway of your hips in those tight pants. Where did you buy them? At some local store for nerds?

Annoyed as hell, Bateman wanted nothing more than to flip the desk next to him and throw it across the room. He should have said yes. But that nudging sensation, probably a mix of fear and embarrassment, messed everything up again. However, he was so hard that he was sure it would hurt to walk like this if he didn't solve this problem.

Cursing under his breath, Patrick suddenly rushed around the desk and followed you down the hallway. He caught up with you at the elevators and slid inside one of them at the last second. He startled everyone inside, but he didn't care.

"Sorry, sorry," he muttered, moving through the crowd of irritated office workers until he found you standing next to the elevator wall. Your eyes wandered over the shining ceiling, and your face looked so sad that, for a second, he hated—really hated—himself for being such a jerk and upsetting you. "Hey."

You looked at him with wide eyes, blinking and processing the situation. "Hey," you repeated after him, totally confused. "Something's wrong?"

"Yes! Oh—I mean—no," Patrick chuckled as he finally pressed the button on the control panel, hoping the people around him would stop staring as if he were standing naked in the middle of the elevator. "Jean told me that one of my meetings got canceled, so I thought—" He paused and stood next to you, towering over you, but not staring down your neckline. "A cup of coffee would be nice."

"Really?"

"Yep," he replied smoothly, without arrogance or sass. "Actually, I know one really good place with the best coffee in the Upper West Side."

Later that day, the two of you ended up in his bedroom.

Just like that.

You hated yourself for letting this man win you over, but you couldn't resist him—his charm, his sweet voice, his enchanting manners. Everything about him screamed danger, but you also wanted to unravel and drown in his mystery. His skin was so soft and smooth that you thought you’d never tire of touching it, no matter how many years passed. You would still choose to be in his arms, kissing him as passionately as he was kissing you.

Breathless. Sloppy. Mouth open. Teeth clashing.

The king-sized bed suddenly started to feel small as Patrick was all over you, touching, squeezing, and teasing. He could never get enough; if he let you go, even for a second, you would slip through his fingers like sand. He’d never let that happen, so he held you tight, pressing you down with his heavy muscles. You could barely breathe. Your hands roamed along his broad back while he showered every inch of your body with feverish kisses. Your neck was covered in hickeys, your collarbone had visible bite marks, and your nipples were sore from being in his mouth for so long. In one swift motion, Bateman switched positions, putting you on top of him. He looked a bit embarrassed and lost when you drew near his lips to peck them, one by one, and then his protruding cheekbone.

After a short, shaky exhale, Patrick suddenly blurted out, "I want you to sit on my face—"

"What?" You retorted, genuinely surprised.

"Hold on, let me finish," he smirked, bouncing you slightly on his hips. The mere contact of his hard bulge beneath his white silk boxers against your laced, soaked panties caused you both to freeze for a moment. "I want you to sit on my face while I feed you my cock."

There was a short but awkward pause.

You barely held back your loud laughter, which you directed right at his flustered face. "What a creative way to suggest trying 69."

"We're not 'trying it,' sweetheart, " he crooned, tilting his head up to pull your lower lip with a loud, wet pop. "I'm going to eat your pussy until you gush all over my mouth, and I'm fucking sure you won't last long."

"Your arrogance will be your downfall one day."

Squinting his hazel eyes, Patrick slid both hands along your hips, rubbing the soft mounds and tracing invisible semi-circles on your skin. "Maybe."

Just one word—one simple word—that caused the fall.

You didn’t even notice how easily he repositioned you above his face, giving you access to his throbbing cock. It was already on fire, and the second you touched it, his hot flesh pushed up, risking tearing the fabric of his underwear apart. Meanwhile, Patrick placed his hands on your hips, holding you open and giving your pussy a brief, testing lick through your panties.

"Oh—fuck," you sighed, biting your lower lip with your eyes closed. His cock radiated so much heat that it could burn your hand at any second. "You're—uh—impressive..."

"Get yourself to work," he rasped, kneading your ass up to your hip bones. His mouth was already drooling and heating up at your sopping wet cunt. "While your mouth still functions."

What an asshole.

But you didn't say that out loud.

At one point, you wanted him to suffer and beg you to give him what he wanted, but your own lust overpowered you. It felt like smoldering lava coursing through your veins. His body reacted to every invisible line you drew across his hard length, just across the ridge.

Bateman moaned loudly and unashamedly. The echo vibrated against your taut clit, and you jolted your hips back to grind on his face. You tried to focus on removing his briefs, and when you finally did, his thick dick sprang free. It stood so fucking proud, begging for attention.

"Mmm—leaking already," you murmured before tasting him, catching the creamy drop and wrapping your hand around the base. Bateman groaned gutturally against your folds. His tongue toyed with your bud with illegal precision. You were barely holding back from falling apart. "Oh—God—yes," you gasped. Your hips bucked backward, provoking him. He spanked your ass, trying to tame your bratty behavior. "Hey!"

Smirking with your pussy juices covering his face, he spread your lower lips, catching your clit with his warm mouth for a brief moment. You quivered once again as his large palm landed on your burning ass cheek.

"Don't stray," the man hissed, sucking your clit in one more time. "Or I'll stop."

Nuh-uh.

Such silly things would never work on you. Did that foolish man really think he could blackmail you?

Without saying anything, you slowly reached for his tense balls and gave them a teasing squeeze. Oh well, that had an even greater effect than you intended. Bateman jerked his hips up a bit, literally trying to fuck your hand. The tip was red, swollen, and drenched in pre-cum.

He was far beyond playing such childish games. And he knew it. He was just trying to hide his weak position and how pathetically bad he wanted you, how badly he wanted this, how badly he wanted his cock to hit your fucking throat and have you dump your flavor on his face.

Not to mention that thicc ass of yours.

Holy fuck!

Patrick was addicted. He lost in his own game because he thought you accepted the rules, but you didn't.

The lewd, depraved sounds of your wet lips slipping up and down his cock and his strong tongue flickering around your clit filled his bedroom. Neither of you could hold back anymore. There was no dignity, no self-control, and no pangs of conscience.

Bateman shoved his finger inside you. His free hand settled on your hip, keeping you open. You didn't fall back, taking his dick deeper into your mouth. You helped with your hands, which were locked around it. You jacked him off rhythmically. You whimpered and cried from his girth. Your vision was blurred, but you wanted him to surrender first. You needed that like air. It would be his punishment for being so stubborn and arrogant and making stupid excuses about not having lunch or dinner with you.

Patrick’s lips, tongue, and fingers worked like an unstoppable force, one that would burst every piece of your body.

"Ah—shit," you cursed under your breath, biting your sticky lips. The half-transparent string of saliva mixed with his cum was hovering on your chin. "I'm think...I'm gonna cum!"

Your breathless, whiny sounds fueled his determination to discover how your clenching pussy would feel around his fingers. The second you let go, Bateman continued slurping at your cunt. Your wetness gushed around his face, but he kept eating you out and drinking every drop. The orgasm hit you so hard that you thought you’d choke on his dick, so you let go of it and clung to his muscular calves. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Patrick stopped only when you were completely spent—lumpy, lightheaded, and wrecked. "Jesus," he trailed off, tipping his head back onto the big white pillow. "You're a sweet one. I knew it. I fucking knew it."

You could barely think or talk, panting, as you were mere inches away from lying against his pulled-up legs. His dick was still rigid and throbbing with each hot breath you exhaled. You couldn't see his face, but he must have looked smug and proud—like he was thinking, "Look at me. I just made this bitch explode on my tongue." You wanted to say something to bring him back down to Earth, but...

To hell with talking.

Right now, you didn't want instructions, praise, or sweet nonsense. You just wanted his dick deep inside you until he spilled inside you. Yeah, you'd like that. The thought of being so full of his cum could make you climax again.

Just the thought.

You carefully got on your knees, still with your ass to his face and your legs open on either side of him. Driven by the lingering hunger inside your core that seemed like an endless, consuming black hole, you raised up a bit and positioned his cockhead right between your legs. You rubbed it barely sensibly over your slick pussy lips.

"Dirty girl," he rasped. His cheeks, neck, shoulders, and chest were red. He was a mess, but he didn't try to hide it. "You think you can handle it?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Patrick squinted, ducking his head down to watch you bend over and give him the most delicious, mouth-watering view: your ass, your plump thighs, and your sore, puffy cunt, swollen from his oral assault. It actually deserved to be taped and added to his porn collection.

But damn, the moment you aligned his dick with your soaked hole and began to guide it inside, you both stopped breathing. This man could probably be arrogant, since his dick—that beefy, hot flesh stretching you out and shuffling everything in your guts—was about to send you somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere you'd never come back from.

"Tight—ugh—fuck," Bateman said. His hands instantly found their way up to your thighs, squeezing and petting them to encourage you to ride him faster. "Tight like a fucking glove."

"Shut up," you snapped back, annoyed but excited. Your next orgasm was already there, in your lower region, where the tension seemed to never leave. "Do you think having a big dick makes you a likeable person?"

You turned around, bouncing on his hips. His shaft slid in and out of you smoothly. His balls were covered in a wicked cocktail of your liquids, and your audacity was the perfect addition to this debauchery.

"That’s right, honey," he replied in a low, ragged voice, an eloquent sign that he was close. "You like my cock—uhhh—you like me."

Then, he suddenly sat up and tugged on your hair, forcing you to arch toward his chest and change the angle of penetration, making it even deeper. It was more brutal, more demanding, and less human.

"Patrick, slow down," you said, though you hadn't expected to. Your pussy was literally on fire from the hard strokes he was giving you, even though you were on top. "Mmhm—you're gonna break me in half!"

But the man didn’t slow down. On the contrary, he sped up, yanking your head back even more and slapping your ass several times before resting one of his hands around your throat, choking you and squeezing the oxygen out of your aching lungs. Your eyes saw nothing but a blurry image of the white walls. The sound of your bodies slapping mixed with the squelching of your pussy around his cock each time he forced you down on it. Bateman wanted to engrave all of it in his mind.

He wanted to reminisce about it after murdering you one day.

"You want my cum? You want all of it, like a fucking slut?"

Your neck hurt from being in such an awkward position, but you were bold enough to gaze into his dark, crazy eyes. "Yes—ahhh—yessss," you gasped. His hand flew up to your face, and he put his thumb in your mouth. "Drown me in it!"

Bateman couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. "Filthy," he mumbled as he drove himself as deep as he could. His cockhead brushed against your cervix, and you clawed at his hand, leaving red marks on his perfectly tanned skin. "You fuck like a whore. Did you know that?"

His movements became more sloppy and frantic. His dick pulsed inside your overstimulated pussy. His breath was labored and uneven, just like yours. He came hard, but silently, as if he didn’t want even the walls of his bedroom to know how badly he wanted you. He was with a woman he never even supposed to fantasize about because she was not his type, yet here he was, shooting hot ropes of seed into your core until it streamed onto his pristine sheets.

Your next orgasms set in, and you thought you’d pass out. Maybe you really passed out because you were exhausted and overfucked. You blacked out right when Patrick put you on the bed and pressed you against his wet chest. You couldn't move your limbs, as if someone had pressed a button and shut you down. You could have sworn. It was the best sleep of your life because you had never been more satisfied.

You were the first one to wake up in the morning. You took some time just sitting there and admiring the view. Patrick looked so peaceful in his sleep, almost angelic. You had to make a conscious effort not to touch him or brush back the messy locks of his brown hair sparkling in the sunlight. You wished you could stay there forever, but...

There was always a "but" that would bring you back to reality like a bucket of cold water.

Sneakily and almost silently, you got up to find your clothes scattered around the room like junk. Piece by piece, you collected your outfit. A semblance of shame crept up inside your chest. Where would all of this lead you? Patrick was a vice president, and you hoped he wouldn't brag about having sex with you in his bedroom the next day.

Lost in disturbing thoughts, you didn't notice how you ended up in his kitchen. Everything looked sterile and cold. There was something eerie about the atmosphere, but you couldn't comprehend it. No matter how hungry or thirsty you were, you didn't dare touch anything. Instead, you got dressed and put your watch on your wrist, checking your reflection in its glimmering dial.

Meanwhile, Bateman was already awake. Frankly, he hadn’t been sleeping for very long—he pretended to be asleep even when he felt your piercing gaze examining his "sleepy" features. He knew you were in his living room, maybe even in his kitchen, and wondered if you would overstep the boundaries.

Would your curiosity be your demise?

With one practiced motion, Patrick pushed the blanket to the side, causing his briefs to fall to the floor. He stared at them for a while, but then decided to wrap himself in a sheet instead of putting on the used underwear.

Still, no sounds came from the kitchen, which intrigued him.

Bateman strolled out of the bedroom, not like a creep trying to startle you, but subtly approaching you until he finally saw you and what you were about to do. Unaware of his presence, your hand was already on the refrigerator door, ready to open it, when you suddenly heard his somewhat menacing voice.

"Don't," he warned, standing inches away from you. "Don't open it."

You gulped and locked eyes with him. "I... I just wanted some water."

"There was an issue with the electricity." The man paused and moved closer. His looming figure made you feel small, so you instinctively stepped back. "So, probably, all the food spoiled. I don't want the smell everywhere. I have some bottles of Evian in my bathroom, though.”

"Uh, since you mentioned the bathroom," you muttered, fiddling with your fingers awkwardly. You weren't sure why it was suddenly so difficult to look him in the eyes. "Can I use it?"

"Sure."

That was all he said before you headed towards the bathroom without hesitation. Only after hearing the door click shut did the man open the fridge to check on the decapitated head of some random blonde model. He couldn't remember her name, even though her head was sitting on one of the shelves in the fridge, next to food products, as if that were normal.

With an ugly grin, Bateman pressed a finger to his lips, kissing it lightly before placing it on the dead girl’s frozen, rotten mouth. "Sleep well, darling."

With that, he closed the fridge and whistled. His mind raced with ideas of what he could do to you in the bathroom right now. A shiny, big kitchen knife caught his attention, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine and through his groin. His cock was already getting hard.

Although the sex with you was good—the most delicious appetizer—now it was time for the main course, and Patrick knew he would enjoy it.

Every fucking second of it.

Thank you for the reading!🖤 [MAIN M-LIST]🪓[SHORT REQUESTS M-LIST]🪓[KO-FI]

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines

238 notes · View notes

milla-frenchy · 1 year ago

Text

The green flannel shirt

817 words | Joel Miller x fem reader Summary: Joel comes back home from work and finds you asleep wearing his shirt

Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap (reader in her early 20s, Joel in his late 40s), infidelity, twisted relationship, daddy kink, possessiveness, spanking, rough sex, oral (f), rimming, anal play, piv, creampie

a/n: same “couple”: Owned collection. Can be read alone, but I recommend to read the “Owned” ficlet first Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 and @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏 Mood board @aurorawritestoescape thank you so much baby it's beautiful ILY 🫶💕 (pic for mood only)

Masterlist | ao3

Your car was parked in the driveway when Joel came back home from work. His son’s car wasn’t.

He quickly entered the house and when he checked his son’s bedroom, his hand on the door, he saw you asleep in clothes that weren't yours.

You weren't wearing one of his son's t-shirts either. You were wearing Joel’s green and red flannel shirt, unbuttoned, and your panties. The roundness of your breasts was slightly visible between the two sides of the garment.

His cock twitched painfully in his pants. He looked at his watch. He had time.

He entered the bedroom, walked over to the bed and took off his t-shirt, letting it drop on the floor. He unzipped his jeans and quickly pulled out his hard cock, and spat in his hand before jerking it firmly two or three times. He just pulled his jeans down under his balls, before lying down between your thighs and spreading them firmly with his knees. He needed to fuck you, to take what was his.

“Daddy?” you said in a sleepy voice, awakened by his heavy body on yours, and his big hands surrounding your face.

“Hey, baby. Missed me?”

“Yes, daddy… I was waiting for you to come back.”

He pushed your panties to the side and breathed down your neck then nestled his cock in your entrance, pushing lightly to let your sleeping walls accept him.

“I love seeing you wearing my shirt. I love when you smell like me. ”

“Mmmm… me too.”

“You’re so tight, Jesus Christ. Always so fuckin’ tight for me. Even more when you’re barely awake, baby.”

He pushed a little more, and your body gave way to his fat cock, like it always did. He groaned as his shaft thrust in and bottomed out.

“Oh, fuck… I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

Soon, he was pounding you like you loved it: hard and deep. Filling your pussy like only he knew how. His hand came to squeeze one of your breasts, after roughly pulling aside his shirt. His jeans were rubbing roughly against your skin, adding another touch of desperation to your physical need. He grunted, feeling like he was almost ready to shoot his load between your delicate folds.

But it was too soon, he wanted more. Needed more.

He pulled out abruptly, grabbing your thighs and manhandled you so that you were lying on your stomach.

He spanked you and asked roughly, “Who’s your daddy?”

“You! You are”, you whimpered.

“Damn right”, he growled.

He was becoming more and more possessive of you. He just wanted to fuck you as many times as possible. And until you told him you wanted to stop, he wouldn't.

He quickly slid your panties down to your knees, just enough to be offered to him the way he wanted. Grabbing your hips, he pulled your hips up, diving his tongue in your cunt, then lapping from your folds to your ass. Swirling his tongue over your tight ring. He pressed against it, testing the resistance of your little hole. He wanted to fuck it but he wasn’t sure he had time to get you ready for his cock. Reluctantly, he moved back down slightly, licking your dripping pussy. Your face was buried in the pillow and your clenched fists gripped the sheets.

“Make me cum daddy, please”, you whined.

He smiled, as his nose was pressed against your perfect ass. You were so good for him. Always ready to take his cock. Always ready to be fucking ruined.

His tongue focused on your clit, just like he knew you needed it, and his thumb rubbed your ring. Unable to resist the tightest of your holes. You whined in the pillow and came on his tongue. Your boyfriend’s father tongue.

Quickly, he grabbed your hip with one hand before thrusting his cock deep, making you whimper against the bed. Finally, he was feeling the sensation he had been thinking about all day. All day he thought about you. About your holes.

Your tight pussy. You mouth which sucked his cock perfectly, until he spurted in your throat. Your ass, which he was the only one to fuck.

He wanted you for himself, and at the same time the taboo of your relationship was driving him crazy.

His thoughts became blurred, and now he couldn't think of anything at all. Just feeling your cunt swallowing him, and listening to your sweet “daddy, daddy, daddy.”

He was chasing his orgasm, railing you, his hands buried in the flesh of your hips.

“Daddy”, you whimpered.

“Say it again” he commanded, as he spanked you twice.

“Daddy…Daddy, please, fill me.”

He growled and pushed his thumb into your ring just before his cum filled your pussy. He stayed buried deep in your cunt until you milked his cock.

“The bed smelled like him. Now it's gonna smell like me.”

Same "couple": Owned collection

Thank you for reading 🙏 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️ Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates Tagging those who commented and rb. Please let me know if you wanna be removed ❤️

@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

@lumoverheaven @kilamonster @bbyanarchist @toxicanonymity @multiversed-daydreamer

@whirlwindrider29 @eloquentdreamer @ariundercovers @pascal-princess @axshadows

@mountainsandmayhem @bitchesuntitled @bbryles @atwjoannabridgerton @obscurexsorrows

@ghostofzion @starry-eyes-love @natophoneticalphabet555 @pedroswife69 @casa-boiardi

@mermaidgirl30 @jmillerispunk @pedge-page @littlevenicebitch69 @megangovier

@hornystan @604to647 @knoxviiies @joelmillerisapunk @navystandardheatingoilcap

@bootyliciousposts @hazzaismyreligion @msjarvis @bonezone44 @fruityreads

@magpiepills @bellsofthebooks @burninglovedreamsdepp @romanarose @neganwifey25-blog

@pattwtf @sheepdogchick3 @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @theoraekenslover

@sawymredfox @charethcutestory02 @morallyinept @amyspxnk

@ace-turned-confused @noxturnalpascal

1K notes · View notes

fuqnia · 6 months ago

Note

college AU! stan x fem bodied YN

stan and yn are reallyyy close friends, like REALLY close, to the point of kissing eachother sometimes. at this point, him and wendy are not a thing (unless you do poly and we could get some poly action, if not thats fine) and stan and YN like eachother romantically. stan knows he likes them but hasn't come to terms with it, while YN themselves are oblivious to their OWN crush on him because they don't understand their own feelings most the time.

can YN also be a brat (like maybe kind of stuck up and prissy) and also be flirty with people they're comfortable with?

that personality leads me to this: stan snapping and ends up fucking them (maybe confrontational? like, holds their cheeks and asks them if they're even aware how they make him feel, so fuzzy, but also so so so mad! (in a good way of course)

can i have themes of dom/sub (dom stan/sub YN), brat taming, light degradation with heavy praise, impact play?(if you're not comfortable with this one thats fine, i was just thinking maybe spanking of the ass, thighs, and clit), edging, orgasm control, dacryphilia, overstimulation, heavy teasing, and overall just mean but also super soft stan?

thankss (if this request makes you uncomfortable then thats okay)

Just Friends

stan marsh x fem!reader insert (college au)

(╥﹏╥) | [A/N] ah my first request ever! this is kinda long for a request, but i wanted to make it special. i'm so sorry for butchering dom/sub dynamics, i haven't really written that yet. and jesus christ i made stan talk alot in this, and i really highlighted how he would definitely wear tons of bracelets for some reason LMAO. again this was a challenge for me bcus i usually write stan kinda softish and quiet. thank u again <3 there's a scene where stan just goes on his phone during the middle of it and i almost died writing it was so funny to me

(╥﹏╥) | [CW] p in v, fingering, p eating, dom/sub dynamics, dacryphilia, edging, overstimulation assholeish stan and reader, cartman is cartman, characters are aged up!

The room was dimly lit, illuminated mostly by the soft glow of Stan’s TV screen as he sat cross-legged on the floor, completely immersed in his game. Faint sounds of gunfire and laughter from Cartman and Kenny filtered through his headset. Stan leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the controller tightly, his brows furrowed in concentration.

On the bed, you sighed loudly, barely glancing up from your phone as you continued scrolling through TikTok and Instagram. The endless feed of videos and posts did little to distract you from the heavy boredom pressing down on you.

You switched apps, opening Snapchat out of sheer desperation for something interesting. As you flipped through stories, your scrolling halted abruptly at one that made your stomach twist.

Bebe and Clyde were out on another date. The photo Bebe posted showed their hands intertwined across a table, captioned: “My fave person 💕.”

Your chest tightened, an uncomfortable heat settling there. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—it wasn’t like you were into Clyde or anything. Still, the jealousy gnawed at you, bitter and unshakable.

Shaking your head, you exited the app and glanced at Stan, who hadn’t once looked in your direction despite your exaggerated sighs. He was totally engrossed in his game, his headset cushioning his ears and his focus glued to the screen.

“Stan,” you called out, your voice edged with impatience.

No response. His lips twitched slightly, like he might’ve heard you, but he made no effort to acknowledge your call.

You huffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. If Stan wasn’t going to pay attention to you willingly, you’d have to force his hand. Sliding off the bed, you walked up behind him and bent down, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders. Without hesitation, you slid into his lap, grinning as his body stiffened in surprise.

“[Y/N]—what the hell dude?” Stan sputtered, almost dropping his controller as he glanced down at you.

Cartman’s voice blared through his headset. “STAN, YOU DUMBASS! MOVE! YOU JUST GOT US KILLED!”

Stan groaned loudly, hastily muting his mic before turning his full attention to you. “I’m in the middle of a game!” he said, his tone exasperated.

You tilted your head, a playful pout forming on your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m bored,” you said, looping your arms around his neck. “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”

Stan blinked, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. “Because I’m playing with Cartman and Kenny? You know—my friends?”

“Uh-huh,” you said, your voice dripping with faux innocence. “But I’m more important than Cartman and Kenny, aren’t I?”

Stan stared at you, clearly unsure how to respond. His hands hovered awkwardly near your waist, his usual confidence suddenly replaced by uncertainty. “You’re being weird,” he said finally, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you leaned closer, your face only inches from his. “Weird? You’re so dramatic.”

Before he could reply, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his, your chapstick leaving a faint, sweet taste behind as you kissed him. It wasn’t unusual for you and Stan to kiss—your friendship had always had an element of playfulness—but this time felt different. The way your lips lingered a moment longer, the way your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his hoodie...

You pulled back, giggling softly at the stunned look on his face.

Stan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as his grip on your hips firmed. His gaze burned with something intense, something unspoken that made your stomach flutter.

But then he exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reached up and unmuted his mic. “I’m back,” he said curtly, his tone clipped as he picked up his controller and resumed his game.

You blinked, taken aback by his reaction. He didn’t push you off, didn’t say anything else—just continued playing as if you weren’t still perched in his lap.

Cartman’s voice crackled through the headset. “About time, dude. You literally lost us the game because you were being a dumbass.”

Stan didn’t respond, his focus locked on the screen. His hands gripped the controller, his movements precise and deliberate, but you could feel the tension radiating from him.

You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his reaction, but he didn’t budge. His jaw was still tight, his eyes fixed on the screen, though you caught the faintest twitch of his lips when you leaned in close and whispered teasingly, “Am I distracting you?”

Stan’s lips pressed into a firmer line, his knuckles whitening on the controller. “You’re fine,” he said evenly, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. His blue eyes stayed locked on the screen, his jaw tight, clearly trying to pretend you weren’t there.

Before he could stop you, you reached up and slipped the headset off his head.

“[Y/N], don’t,” Stan muttered, his voice tense, but you ignored him, slipping the headset onto your own head and adjusting the mic with a sly smile.

“Hey, idiots!” you chirped into the mic.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cartman groaned immediately. “Why the hell are you here? Don’t you have something better to do, like annoying someone else or scamming free drinks with that dumb whore shit you pulll?”

“Cartman, don’t start,” Kenny chimed in, his tone amused. “She’s just here to make sure Stan doesn’t embarrass himself again.”

You laughed, leaning back in Stan’s lap and twirling the cord of the headset. “Aw, Kenny, you’re my favorite. Cartman’s just mad because he missed me.”

“I do not miss you,” Cartman snapped. “You’re like a human migraine. Stan, can you tell your ‘friend’ to fuck off so we can actually play?”

Stan muttered something under his breath, his hands hovering uselessly over the controller. “Give me the headset back, [Y/N].”

But you ignored him, turning your attention back to the game. “Eric, don’t lie. You love when I’m around. It makes your miserable little life less boring.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Cartman barked. “You’re just here to mess with us. And Kenny’s a simp for eating this up.”

“You’re right, I am,” Kenny said, laughing. “At least she’s fun. Unlike you, Cartman.”

“Fuck you, Kenny!” Cartman shot back. “Stan, seriously, can you control your fucking lap gremlin?”

Stan sighed heavily, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the headset off your head and slid it back on. His blue eyes bore into yours, his frustration clear. “Enough,” he said, his voice low and firm.

You blinked at him innocently, your lips twitching into a small smile. “What? I was just being nice.”

“Nobody buys that,” Stan muttered, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Not even you.”

“Come on, I’m always nice,” you teased, your grin widening as you tilted your head.

Stan stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes narrowing as though he were weighing his next move. Then, without a word, he unmuted his mic and picked up the controller again.

“I’m back,” he said flatly, his tone cold as he resumed playing.

“Thank God,” Cartman grumbled. “She’s insufferable. Get her out of here, Stan, or I’m rage-quitting.”

“She’s not that bad,” Kenny said with a laugh. “Honestly, she’s more entertaining than watching Stan suck at this game.”

Stan ignored them both, his eyes glued to the screen, though you noticed the way his grip on the controller tightened.

You stayed perched in Stan’s lap as he continued to play, his focus unwavering despite your presence. The faint sound of gunfire and Cartman’s incessant yelling filled the room, but your mind was elsewhere. Your fingers moved idly to his hair, combing through the strands and twisting them gently.

Stan’s bleached hair had grown out since you helped him with it, leaving a stark contrast between the blonde and his natural dark roots. You smiled faintly, remembering the day he let you bleach it in his bathroom. He’d been skeptical at first, grumbling about how “Cartman’s gonna call me a wannabe TikTok e-boy.”

But when you revealed the final result, the look of surprise on his face had been worth every moment.

“Holy shit,” he’d muttered, running a hand through the freshly bleached strands.

“See? Told you it’d look good dude,” you’d replied smugly. Then, on impulse, you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

That kiss had been casual, friendly. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your fingers stilled in Stan’s hair as the memory brought another one to the surface—the first time you’d kissed him. It was at a party, the two of you leaning against a wall in some corner, slightly buzzed from cheap vodka. Someone had said something stupid, and you’d both dissolved into laughter.

And then, without thinking, you’d leaned in and kissed him.

It hadn’t lasted long—just a brief press of lips, fueled by alcohol and laughter—but it had been enough to make your head spin. Stan hadn’t pulled away. If anything, he’d leaned in slightly, like he’d been waiting for it.

But the moment passed, and neither of you brought it up again.

Kissing Stan had become familiar since then. It was just... something you did. A casual thing. Or at least, that’s what you convinced yourself.

Your gaze shifted to his profile now, the faint concentration lines between his brows as he played. The glow from the screen lit up his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips. You couldn’t help but wonder: Did he ever think about those kisses? Did he feel the same pull you did, the strange comfort of it?

The thought made your chest tighten.

Do you like me?

The question lingered in your mind, unspoken and heavy. Stan had always been a constant in your life—steady, dependable, the one who tolerated your bratty tendencies without complaint. But did he like you?

And more importantly... did you like him?

Your fingers resumed their gentle movement in his hair, your heart beating a little faster as you struggled to untangle your thoughts. Kissing Stan didn’t feel like it should mean anything. But lately, you couldn’t stop wondering if it did.

“You okay dude?” Stan’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He didn’t look at you, his eyes still on the screen, but the concern in his voice was clear.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just... thinking.”

Stan nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’re quiet.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Guess I’m just tired.”

“Mm-hmm,” Stan muttered, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press further.

You leaned back slightly, watching him play, the weight of your thoughts settling heavily in your chest.

You shifted slightly in Stan’s lap, your fingers still playing with his hair when your phone buzzed on the bed. The sudden noise made you glance over, and Red’s name lit up the screen.

“Oh, hold on, it’s Red,” you said, slipping off Stan’s lap. He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes glued to the game.

You grabbed your phone, swiping to answer as you perched on the edge of Stan’s desk.

“Hey, Red!” you greeted, your voice instantly bright and flirty.

“About time,” Red said, her tone teasing. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’ve been off the grid? And don’t say it’s because you’re studying babe—I know better.”

You laughed, glancing at Stan out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, you know me. Always finding ways to entertain myself. I’m at Stan’s dorm right now.”

Red let out a dramatic gasp. “Stan? Again? Wow, you two might as well move in together at this point.”

Stan’s fingers faltered briefly on the controller, but he didn’t look away from the screen.

“Right? It’s like we’re married already,” you joked, leaning back and toying with the edge of Stan’s desk.

Red cackled. “God, you two are so weird. What’s he doing? Ignoring you like always?”

“Yup,” you said, your voice dripping with fake indignation. “He’s playing his stupid game. As usual.”

Stan adjusted his headset slightly, the earcups slipping off one ear now. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was listening.

“Honestly,” you continued, keeping your tone light, “it’s kind of tragic how bad he is at multitasking. Like, he can only focus on one thing at a time. I bet if I disappeared, he wouldn’t even notice until he lost the match.”

Red let out a snort. “Come on, [Y/N]. Give him some credit. He’s not that bad. And you’re always hanging around him anyway, so clearly he’s doing something right.”

“Eh,” you replied, smirking. “He’s tolerable. Most of the time.” You glanced at Stan again, noting the way his jaw tightened slightly.

“And?” Red prompted. “What about when he’s not tolerable?”

You grinned mischievously, the words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “When he’s not tolerable? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just trade him in for someone better.”

Stan froze. His hands stopped moving, and the room went silent except for the sound of Cartman and Kenny yelling through his headset.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Red asked, her voice curious but amused.

Before you could answer, Stan stood abruptly, pulling off his headset and letting it rest on the chair. He crossed the room in three long strides, his presence making the small dorm feel even smaller.

“Red, I’ll call you back,” you said quickly, hanging up before she could respond.

Stan loomed over you now, his blue eyes dark and unreadable. He reached past you and pressed the power button on his PS5, the room falling into silence as the screen went black.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice low but tight with frustration.

You blinked up at him, playing innocent even as your heart raced. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, [Y/N],” Stan said, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “That shit you said to Red. What the hell was that about?”

Stan stared down at you, his blue eyes sharp as he waited for an explanation. You leaned back slightly against the desk, tilting your head innocently as you blinked up at him.

“What?” you said, feigning confusion. “I was just talking to Red about how you’re my bestest friend in the whole world.” You clasped your hands together dramatically, flashing him a teasing grin. “She loves hearing about how much I adore you.”

Stan’s jaw clenched, his brows furrowing deeper. “Your ‘bestest friend,’ huh?” he repeated, his tone skeptical, edged with something darker. “Because that’s exactly how it sounded.”

You shrugged, letting out a playful laugh. “I mean, come on, Stan. Red knows you’re my favorite. I was just hyping you up, obviously.”

“Hyping me up?” His voice was low, incredulous. “You told her you’d trade me in for someone better.”

You waved a dismissive hand, still playing up your act. “Oh, that? That was just a joke. You know I didn’t mean it.”

Stan stepped closer, his hands braced on either side of you against the desk. The space between you disappeared, and his intense gaze locked onto yours. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy with tension. “Or do you just say shit for the fun of it?”

The teasing grin faltered on your lips for a split second before you forced it back into place. “Relax, Marsh,” you said lightly, though your pulse quickened under the weight of his stare. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

Stan’s head tilted slightly, his jaw tightening as he studied you. “Am I?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. “Because it’s starting to feel like you’re trying to get a rise out of me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let it show. “Me?” you said with mock innocence, batting your lashes. “Why would I ever do that?”

Stan didn’t answer right away. His eyes flickered down to your lips briefly before meeting your gaze again, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. His presence was overwhelming, and you suddenly became acutely aware of how close he was, how his body practically boxed you in against the desk.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered finally, his voice low and rough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. For once, the teasing remark you had ready in your head didn’t make it past your lips. The intensity in Stan’s eyes held you in place, your heart pounding in your chest as the air between you grew heavier.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and unrelenting, as you blinked up at Stan, trying to piece together what exactly had him so worked up. Sure, you’d teased him plenty of times before—this wasn’t new—but something about tonight was different. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was genuinely mad, and it caught you off guard.

“Stan,” you said, your voice softer now, though still carrying that teasing edge. “Why are you so mad? We’re friends. We do this all the time!”

Stan’s brows knit together, his jaw tightening as he took a slow breath. “Friends,” he repeated, his voice low and almost to himself, like he was testing how the word felt on his tongue. He leaned back slightly, straightening up, but his hands stayed braced on the desk, keeping you effectively trapped. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you asked, tilting your head in genuine confusion. “We joke around like this all the time. Why is it such a big deal tonight?”

Stan’s blue eyes flicked over your face, searching for something, but whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. He let out a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his bleached hair, his fingers catching in the grown-out roots. “Jesus Christ, [Y/N],” he muttered, his voice tight. “You can’t just—”

He stopped himself, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he visibly struggled to keep his cool. For a moment, he looked like he was going to let it go, like he was going to step back and walk away from whatever was eating at him. But then his gaze snapped back to yours, and you saw the flicker of something raw and unresolved in his eyes.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he said finally, his voice quiet but heavy, each word carefully measured.

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words hitting you like a freight train. “What I do to you?” you echoed, your brows furrowing as you tried to process what he was saying. “Stan, I—”

“You don’t get to act like this doesn’t mean something,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, though his voice never rose above a low murmur. “You don’t get to sit in my lap, kiss me whenever you feel like it, say the shit you just said to Red, and then turn around and call me your ‘bestest friend.’” He spat the last words with a bitterness that made your chest tighten.

“I thought we were just... I mean, that’s just how we are,” you stammered, the confusion in your voice genuine. “We always mess around like that. It’s not—”

“It’s not just messing around for me,” he cut in, his voice breaking slightly at the end. He took a step closer, closing the gap between you again, his hands moving to grip the edge of the desk on either side of you. “I don’t think you even understand what the fuck you’re doing to me, [Y/N]. How you make me feel.”

Your heart was racing now, the weight of his words sinking in but not fully connecting in your mind. “Stan,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“You make me feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind,” he said, his voice strained, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “You waltz in here, act like you own the place, and... fuck. You make me feel so much, and then you just brush it off like it’s nothing. Like it’s some fucking game.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You’d never seen Stan like this—so raw, so vulnerable—and it left you reeling. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to explain that you hadn’t meant to hurt him, that you hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

“I... I didn’t know,” you whispered finally, your voice barely audible.

Stan’s eyes were sharp and unwavering, his frustration palpable as he leaned closer, boxing you in against the desk. “You didn’t know?” he echoed, his voice low and edged with disbelief. “Really? So, what about all those times you kiss me out of nowhere? Like at that party last month, when you were drunk and decided to make me your personal fucking experiment.”

Your heart raced, and your lips parted to defend yourself, but he didn’t give you a chance. He pressed on, his tone growing sharper. “Or what about when you sat in my lap at Kenny’s place during movie night and kept playing with my hair? You acted like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean a damn thing, even though everyone was staring.”

“It’s just how I am,” you said defensively, your voice trembling as you tried to process the weight of his words. “You know that! I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just... it’s just fun.”

“Fun?” he repeated, his jaw tightening as he let out a bitter laugh. “Dude, do you even hear yourself? You sit here, playing with me like I’m some toy, and you call it fun? Like it doesn’t fuck me up every single time you do it?”

“I didn’t realize—” you began, but he cut you off again, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “Because you don’t think. You don’t stop for one goddamn second to think about how the shit you do might affect me.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The air between you was heavy, charged with a tension you couldn’t name, and for the first time, you didn’t know how to talk your way out of it.

Stan’s gaze softened just slightly, though the frustration in his eyes didn’t fade. “You can’t keep doing this, [Y/N],” he said quietly, his voice raw. “You can’t keep acting like this is nothing, like I’m nothing.”

Your chest tightened, and you felt your breath hitch as the gravity of his words sank in. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “I didn’t know you felt this way. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his blue eyes searching yours for something—an answer, an apology, a sign that you understood. But all he found was confusion and guilt, and it made his shoulders tense even more.

“I don’t think you even know what you want,” he said finally, his voice softer now but laced with frustration. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

The silence was suffocating, your chest tight with a mix of emotions you didn’t fully understand. Stan’s words hung heavy in the air, but something about them—something about the way he said you didn’t know what you wanted—set you off.

Your brows furrowed, and you straightened up, leaning closer to him, your voice sharp as you snapped, “Excuse me? You think you know me so well, Stan? That I don’t know what I want? Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t have a clue.”

Stan’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone low and simmering with barely restrained anger.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “It means you don’t get to stand there and act like you’ve got it all figured out while calling me out for being confused. Maybe you’re just pissed because you’re too scared to deal with your own feelings.”

Stan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his blue eyes darkening as he took a step closer to you. The tension between you crackled like a live wire, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something. Instead, he closed the distance in a single, deliberate motion, his hand gripping your wrist as he pulled you toward him.

“Stan—” you started, but the words were cut off as his other hand cupped the back of your head, dragging you into a searing kiss.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, overwhelming, and commanding, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that left you breathless. Your body instinctively leaned into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. His grip on you was firm, grounding, and you could feel the frustration and need pouring out of him in every movement.

Your heart raced, your head spinning as you pulled away from him. “Stan—”

“Stop,” Stan interrupted, his tone sharp as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the bed. “You don’t get to play dumb about this. Not anymore.”

Your back hit the mattress before you could say a word, his body towering over you as he leaned down, his bracelets clinking faintly with the movement. His bleached hair fell into his eyes, messy and slightly damp with sweat, and his tan skin glowed in the low light of the room. His hands framed your face, steady but firm, his thumbs brushing over your warm cheeks as his intense gaze locked onto yours.

“You’ve been screwing with my head for months,” he started, his voice low but taut with emotion. “Kissing me like it’s no big deal, running your hands all over me, batting your damn eyelashes like... like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.” His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your breath hitched, your lips parting to speak, but Stan didn’t give you the chance. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s ‘just you being you,’” he pressed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t get it, do you? How much you get to me.”

His lips crashed into yours, silencing whatever excuse or explanation was forming in your head. The kiss was heated, desperate, and when he pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his face inches from yours. A string of saliva broke between you as he spoke, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “You make me feel insane, [Y/N]. Like I don’t know which way is up.”

Your eyes widened as he cupped your cheek more firmly, his thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. His brow furrowed, and his voice softened, tinged with an almost hesitant vulnerability. “Have you even thought about it? What it’s like to be me? To deal with this—deal with you?”

You opened your mouth, unsure of what to say, but Stan wasn’t finished. He shook his head, running a hand through his messy bleached hair and laughing humorlessly. “You’re so fucking clueless. You act like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters to me.”

His words hit you hard, a swirl of emotions rising in your chest—guilt, confusion, and something deeper that you hadn’t yet put a name to. “Stan...” you started, your voice trembling, but he cut you off again, his hand moving to gently grip your jaw, keeping your attention fixed on him.

“You make me feel so good sometimes,” he admitted, his voice raw and quieter now, almost like it was a confession. “Like... like nothing else in the world matters. But then you turn around, and it’s like you’re trying to drive me insane.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. The intensity of his words, the sheer weight of his emotions—it was overwhelming. But there was no mistaking the honesty in his gaze, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

He sighed, his frustration ebbing slightly, replaced with something softer. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, shaking his head again, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You don’t even realize what you do to me.”

“I...” You trailed off, your voice barely a whisper, the words you wanted to say slipping through your grasp. You didn’t know how to explain what you felt—didn’t even know if you understood it yourself.

Stan gave a soft, almost exasperated laugh, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Of course you don’t,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of fondness and frustration. “You never do.”

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours as his breathing steadied, his hand still cradling your cheek. “But you’re gonna figure it out, [Y/N]. You’re gonna figure it out real soon.”

Before you could respond, Stan leaned in again, his lips pressing against yours with a raw urgency that caught you off guard. His hand on your cheek softened, but his other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. His bracelets clinked softly with the movement, grounding the moment in the quiet tension of the room.

His lips moved with an intensity that made your head spin, and he groaned low against your mouth, the sound sending heat coursing through you. But as his hand slid lower, you broke the kiss, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. Stan’s brows furrowed instantly, frustration flashing in his blue eyes as you sat back, a little too smug for his liking.

“What now?” he asked, his voice sharp but low, like he was already bracing himself for whatever nonsense you were about to pull.

You tilted your head, your fingers playing idly with the hem of his t-shirt. “Wow, Stan,” you started, your tone saccharine and laced with mockery. “I didn’t know you were so desperate. Did I mess up your game that badly?”

His jaw ticked, the muscle flexing as he let out a short, humorless laugh. “Shut up,” he muttered, shaking his head. His hands rested on his hips for a moment, his bracelets sliding down his forearms, before he leaned in, his expression darkening.

“No, seriously,” you continued, undeterred, your teasing grin widening. “Do I need to apologize to Cartman and Kenny? Tell them their carry bailed ‘cause you couldn’t handle a little distraction?”

Stan’s patience snapped. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, and before you could react, he yanked it over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. The motion left you momentarily stunned, blinking up at him as he loomed over you.

“Stan!” you gasped, more surprised than offended. “What the hell—”

“You wanted my attention?” he cut you off, his voice low, the edge in it sending a jolt through you. “Well, you’ve got it. So go ahead. Say whatever smart-ass thing you were about to.”

Your heart raced as his hands returned to your waist, his grip firm but not rough, pulling you closer. His expression was unreadable, a mix of annoyance, desire, and something deeper that made your stomach twist. The way his messy bleached hair framed his face, the soft flush on his tan skin, and the glint of his bracelets as he adjusted his grip—everything about him right now was so painfully, undeniably Stan, and it made your head spin.

You tried to think of something witty, something sharp, but the intensity in his gaze stole the words from your mouth. Sensing your hesitation, Stan let out a soft, dark chuckle, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

As if to emphasize his point, his hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but deliberate as his fingers grazed over the lace of your bra. His lips dipped to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that left you shivering. When his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point, you let out a soft moan, your nails digging into his arms.

“You think you’re so funny,” he muttered against your skin, his tone carrying just a hint of exasperation. “Always running that mouth, always pushing me. But when it comes down to it...”

Before you could respond, he pinched lightly at your side, just enough to make you gasp. The sound seemed to satisfy him, and his lips curved into a grin as he kissed his way down your neck. “You never know when to quit, do you?” he added, his voice softer now, almost like he was teasing himself more than you.

“I—” You tried to speak, but your voice faltered as his lips found the edge of your bra, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he pressed you back into the mattress, the weight of him anchoring you in place.

“You’re always so damn smug,” he continued, his tone quiet but sharp. His hand moved to cup your cheek again, tilting your head slightly so his lips hovered just over yours. “But you don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your heart racing from the heat in his words and the way his touch seemed to set your skin alight. “Stan...” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

“Shh,” he interrupted, brushing his thumb lightly over your bottom lip. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ve said enough.” His smirk softened slightly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression. “Now it’s my turn.”

Stan pulled his hand away from your mouth, his fingers brushing the strap of your bra as he met your gaze. His expression was sharp, almost unreadable, but there was something deliberate in the way his hand slid to your shoulder, gently pushing the strap down. He moved with an almost casual precision, like he wasn’t just savoring the moment but making damn sure you knew he was in control.

His lips found your neck again, his kisses slow and deliberate as the other strap slid down your arm. You shivered, the cool air against your skin making you hyperaware of every single touch, every bit of pressure from his hands. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he hesitated just long enough to send your heart racing.

“You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” he muttered near your ear, his voice low and full of teasing disbelief. “What happened to all the shit you were saying earlier?”

Your cheeks burned, and before you could retort, he unhooked the clasp with an ease that made your breath hitch. He let the lace fall away like it was nothing, his hands immediately cupping your chest. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, his touch surprisingly tender for a moment—until he gave a sharp, calculated pinch that made you gasp.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips twitching into a smirk as he watched your back arch instinctively. “That’s what I thought.”

His grip stayed firm, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks of your chest as his lips trailed along your jaw, hot and deliberate. “All that attitude,” he murmured, the words spilling against your skin. “And now? Not a damn word.”

The heat in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips when he pinched again, rolling your skin between his fingers with just enough pressure to have you squirming under him.

He chuckled at your reaction, the sound low and rough as his lips made their way down to your collarbone. “Does this feel good?” he asked, the mock sweetness in his tone making your stomach twist in the best way.

You tried to form words, but all you managed was a breathy moan. His smirk deepened, his blue eyes flashing with a mix of satisfaction and that familiar intensity that made your chest tighten.

His hands started to move, one sliding down your side with an almost lazy kind of purpose. His fingers brushed over your waist before dipping under the waistband of your panties. He paused there, just teasing the fabric, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin.

“Look at you,” he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk as his thumb toyed with the hemline. “All that confidence, all that fire—and now you’re just laying here, waiting for me to decide what happens next.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers dipped lower, brushing close enough to make your thighs tense. “Stan,” you whispered, your voice shaky, “please...”

His laugh was soft but laced with a kind of smug triumph that made your cheeks flush. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he let his fingers skim just a little closer to where you needed him. “See? You don’t always have to run your mouth.”

Your body arched toward him instinctively, the anticipation driving you mad, but his movements stayed deliberate, controlled. “Maybe you’re finally figuring out how this works,” he continued, his tone equal parts teasing and sharp. “Or maybe you’re just that desperate.”

Stan’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down with an almost lazy slowness. The fabric slid down your thighs, the cool air biting against your heated skin as he tossed them aside without a second thought. His movements were deliberate, but there was nothing showy about it—he just knew exactly what he was doing.

He shifted back, the bed creaking slightly as he knelt on the floor in front of you. The sight made your stomach flip—a mix of nervousness and something much hotter. Propped up on your elbows, you stared down at him, your breath catching as the full picture came into view.

His messy bleached hair framed his face, dark roots peeking through like a signature Stan move—half careless, half effort. His lips, swollen and pink from earlier, twitched faintly into a smirk that was both boyish and entirely too knowing. His band t-shirt clung to his chest, the faded logo stretching every time he breathed, and his gray sweatpants hung just low enough to show a hint of the waistband of his boxers. The bracelets circling his wrists—random, colorful, maybe from some flea market—clinked lightly as he moved, his hands sliding up your thighs.

Stan leaned in, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your inner thigh. The warm graze of his breath against you sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t stop the way your hips shifted forward, searching for more contact.

“Seriously?” you teased breathlessly, your voice cracking slightly but still laced with a hint of defiance. “You’re really gonna drag this out?”

His hands froze for a moment, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. His blue eyes burned, sharp with amusement, but there was a glint of something darker too—something that made your stomach twist. A slow, almost smug grin spread across his face.

“Still talking, huh?” he drawled, his voice low, edged with dry humor. “Bold of you, considering where you are right now.”

Before you could even think of a comeback, his fingers caught the lace of your panties and yanked them to the side with deliberate force. The motion left you exposed, and the cool air against your heated skin made you gasp.

Stan leaned in closer, his breath warm as it ghosted over your most sensitive spot. His gaze locked onto yours, and his smirk widened slightly, like he knew exactly how wrecked you were about to be.

“Guess I’ll have to shut you up,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. Then his mouth was on you.

The sensation sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure straight through you, your head tipping back against the bed as you let out a broken cry. His tongue moved slowly at first, tracing over you with an infuriating precision that made you squirm beneath him.

But when you tried to shift your hips, his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Don’t,” he said against your skin, his voice muffled but firm, sending vibrations through you. “You’re staying right where I want you.”

You whimpered, your nails digging into the sheets as his tongue worked you over. The wet heat of his mouth was relentless, alternating between gentle flicks and firm, lingering strokes that left you trembling. When he slid a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, your hips jerked against his hold despite yourself.

“Stan—fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your chest heaved.

He chuckled softly, his fingers curling inside you in a way that made your head spin. “That’s what I thought,” he said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

The mix of his teasing tone and his rough hands left you breathless, every nerve in your body alight. Just as the pleasure started to build, his thumb brushed over your clit, adding pressure in a way that had your thighs trembling.

You moaned loudly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming. And then his other hand moved sharply, pinching you directly on your clit.

“Shit—Stan!” you cried, your voice high and breaking as your body jerked from the sudden mix of pleasure and pain.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at you with that same infuriating smirk, his lips glistening, his blue eyes lit with mischief. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone mocking but light, as though this was all a joke to him. “You’ve got all the energy to sass me, but now you’re falling apart? That’s cute.”

His fingers stayed inside you, his movements unrelenting as he dragged you closer to the edge with maddening precision. Your hands fisted the sheets, your body arching toward him despite the overwhelming sensations.

“Stan, please—” you whimpered, your voice trembling as tears pooled in your eyes.

“‘Please,’” he mimicked softly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s new.” His teeth grazed your thigh in a brief nip, and you let out another sharp cry.

Stan’s bracelets clinked faintly as his grip on you tightened, his hands firm against your skin as he kept you pinned exactly where he wanted. The sight of him—his messy bleached hair, his sharp jawline, his flushed face—burned itself into your memory, a perfect mix of control and smug satisfaction.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to choke out, the words barely audible between gasps.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dipping into something darker, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. “I’m not stopping until I’ve got exactly what I want.”

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t even think of a response. His mouth returned to you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem as he pushed you higher and higher. The lingering sting of his pinch only heightened the sensations coursing through your body, leaving you a trembling mess.

Stan's tongue worked you with an intensity that left you breathless, each flick and swirl sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. When he added another finger, sliding it in with the same slow, deliberate motion as before, the stretch left you gasping.

"Stan—ah—I’m so close," you managed to whimper, your voice trembling as tears began to pool at the corners of your eyes. Your chest heaved, your body trembling as you clutched the sheets beneath you.

You sniffled, overwhelmed by the sensations, your head tipping back as your thighs quivered against his grip. "I’m—oh, God—Stan, I’m gonna come," you cried out, your voice cracking with desperation.

Stan’s mouth continued, his tongue teasing you with relentless precision while his fingers curled inside you, pushing you closer to the edge. You felt the pressure building, your entire body tensing as the release hovered just within reach.

And then he stopped.

Stan’s lips hovered over your inner thigh for a moment, his breath warm against your skin, before he pulled back entirely. His fingers left you aching and empty, and the absence was immediate and devastating. Your thighs trembled as you shifted, trying to seek out the friction you desperately needed, but Stan’s hands stopped you with a firm, grounding grip.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low and steady, with a soft edge of finality that left no room for argument.

Your eyes widened, tears slipping freely now, as you whimpered, “Stan, please… I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted calmly, leaning back and sitting on his heels as he looked at you with a mix of frustration and quiet amusement. “You’ll survive. Trust me.”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, every nerve in your body screaming for relief, but Stan only sighed softly, shaking his head. His messy, bleached hair fell into his eyes again, and he shoved it back carelessly before gripping the hem of his t-shirt.

Before you could say anything else, he tugged the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. The motion revealed the toned lines of his chest and the faint tan that trailed down to the waistband of his sweatpants. His silver chain glinted against his skin, catching the dim light, and you couldn’t help but stare.

Stan raised an eyebrow, catching your gaze as he rested his forearms on his knees, casual but commanding. “You’re staring,” he said softly, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to find your voice, but all that escaped was a soft whimper. Your hands clenched into the sheets beneath you, and the heat pooling in your stomach twisted painfully as you realized he had no intention of letting you off the hook.

“You’ll live,” Stan muttered again, his tone quiet but deliberate as he stood, giving you one last glance before turning toward his dresser. The lack of attention left you buzzing with frustration and need, but he didn’t seem to care—he was in complete control, and you were left to grapple with the fact that he intended to keep it that way.

Stan walked to his dresser with a lazy confidence, the kind that only made the heat pooling in your stomach worse. More of the hemline of his boxers showed now, and the muscles in his back shifted subtly as he grabbed his phone from the edge of the dresser. He scrolled aimlessly, his bracelets jangling faintly with each movement.

You stared, your breaths shallow, thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to calm the ache he’d left behind. He wasn’t even looking at you, completely unfazed, like he hadn’t just wrecked you moments ago. It made your chest twist—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to name.

“Stan,” you croaked, your voice cracking slightly, and he didn’t even flinch.

He scrolled for another beat, finally glancing over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow arching lazily. “What?” His tone was flat, indifferent, like you’d just interrupted him during an uneventful Tuesday.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You hated how small his lack of reaction made you feel, like the electric tension between you was entirely one-sided.

“I…” you started, but your gaze flicked down to his chest, to the light tan that lingered across his skin and the faint ridge of muscle beneath it. You swallowed hard, trying to piece together your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there— messy-haired, and so effortlessly unaffected—was enough to scramble everything in your head.

Stan sighed like you were being difficult and turned back to his dresser. His hand rifled through the top drawer, and when he pulled back, the foil wrapper of a condom glinted under the soft light.

Your stomach dropped, your body buzzing as he set the condom casually on the dresser, next to his phone. He leaned one arm against the edge, crossing his other hand over his chest, bracelets sliding slightly down his forearm as he glanced back at you.

“You gonna say something, or just keep staring like that?” he said finally, his lips quirking into a faint, cocky smirk.

Your cheeks burned, and you squirmed against the sheets, the ache between your legs sharpening as he stood there, fully in control. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, barely convincing even yourself.

“Right,” Stan said, dragging the word out as he looked back at his phone, tapping the screen lazily. “Sure seemed like it from here.”

The way he brushed you off, so casual and maddening, made the knot in your chest tighten. Your eyes darted to the condom on the dresser, and the implications made your head spin. “Why’d you—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip as frustration prickled at the back of your neck.

“Why’d I what?” Stan drawled, not even bothering to look up this time.

“Y-you…” you faltered again, unsure if it was the tension in your chest or the growing need burning through your veins that had you so tongue-tied.

Stan finally turned, leaning fully against the dresser now, his arms crossed as he looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. His bleached hair was a mess, dark roots peeking through as a few strands fell into his eyes. He shoved them back with one hand, his bracelets clinking faintly before crossing his arms again.

“You’ve been running your mouth all night,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he looked you over. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? Figures.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the heat in your cheeks spreading as you gripped the sheets tightly beneath you.

His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing. “C’mon, [Y/N], spit it out,” he said, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got all the answers.”

Your chest tightened, every nerve in your body buzzing as your lips parted again, but the words refused to form. The weight of his gaze, the way his tone was almost mocking but not cruel—it all left you reeling.

“I don’t know,” you whispered finally, the admission feeling heavier than it should.

Stan’s expression softened, just slightly, but his smirk didn’t fade. “Yeah, I got that much,” he said, his voice quieter now but still cutting. His sharp blue eyes lingered on you for a moment, reading you like an open book.

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise in your chest again as the knot of frustration and need twisted tighter. You glanced at the condom on the dresser again, and your voice broke as you murmured, “Why’d you grab that?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something closer to amusement. “Why do you think?” he said plainly, like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your stomach flipped, and you bit your lip hard enough to sting as your gaze dropped to your hands clenched in the sheets. The teasing tilt in his tone, the sheer audacity of his calmness, made your head spin.

He pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in a few slow, deliberate steps, stopping just short of the bed. His sharp gaze bore into you as he leaned down slightly, his bracelets sliding further down his arms.

“Say what you want, [Y/N],” he said softly, the teasing edge in his voice tempered by something quieter, something steadier. “Or don’t. Either way…” His eyes flicked to the condom, then back to you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I-...” you trailed off, your breath catching as you forced yourself to look at him. And in that moment, it hit you all at once, sharp and undeniable.

You liked him.

Not just liked him—you wanted him, craved him in a way that made your heart race and your stomach twist. It hit you all at once: the teasing, the flirting, the way you got jealous over nothing—it wasn’t friendly banter. It was so much more.

Stan leaned against the dresser, his bracelets jingling faintly as he shifted his weight. The condom in his hand hung lazily between two fingers, and his blue eyes locked onto yours with that sharp, assessing look he always gave when he was trying to figure you out. “You… what?” he asked, the slightest tilt of his head adding to the edge in his voice.

Your chest tightened, the words bubbling to the surface before you could stop them. “I want you to come back to the bed.”

Stan’s brows lifted, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He swung the condom lightly, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl. “Oh, yeah? And what exactly do you want if I do?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as heat crept up your neck. “I want to kiss you,” you admitted, your voice trembling but firm. “I need to.”

The smirk on Stan’s face faltered, replaced by something softer, more serious. He straightened slightly, the humor in his eyes fading as he stepped closer, the condom now forgotten at his side. “You need to kiss me,” he repeated, his tone lower, testing.

“Yes,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Stan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his lips quirking as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. He placed the condom on the bedside table and leaned down, his hands bracing on either side of you. His lips brushed yours, a soft, fleeting touch that left you breathless.

“You could’ve just said so earlier,” he muttered, and then his mouth pressed firmly against yours, stealing whatever response you might’ve had.

The kiss was different—no teasing smirks or playful jabs, just raw, unfiltered emotion. His hands cupped your face, tilting it slightly to deepen the kiss as his body pressed closer. You melted into him, your hands instinctively clutching at his bare shoulders as the heat between you grew.

Stan pulled back, his lips lingering just a breath away from yours, and his eyes searched yours like he was trying to piece together something important. “Do you even get what you’re doing to me?” he asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I wasn’t sure what I felt,” you said softly, the words stumbling out. “But I know now. I—I want this. I want you.”

Stan’s gaze flickered, something vulnerable slipping through his usual guarded expression. His jaw worked for a moment, like he was chewing over your words, and then he let out a quiet breath, his hand sliding to cradle your face. “No more of this back-and-forth shit,” he said, his voice firmer now. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it for real. None of your games. No bullshit.”

“No games,” you echoed, your voice trembling but certain.

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Good,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. His other hand settled on your waist, grounding you as he leaned in again, his forehead lightly bumping against yours. “Because I don’t think I can deal with you driving me up the wall anymore without this.”

Stan scooted back slightly, hooking his thumbs casually into the waistband of his sweatpants. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar mix of irritation and amusement flickering in his gaze as he tugged them down just enough to reveal snug black boxer briefs. The way they hugged his frame left little to the imagination, and your eyes instinctively dropped, wide and unblinking.

“Wow,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating up as you scrambled to deflect. “Really going for the bold look tonight, huh? What’s the occasion?”

Stan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a dry smirk. “Bold words coming from someone who keeps getting caught staring,” he shot back. His hands dropped to his hips, his stance casual, but the sharpness in his voice made your stomach flip.

“I wasn’t staring,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in a weak attempt to look unbothered.

His laugh was short and incredulous, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, sure. Totally convincing.” He shoved his sweatpants down the rest of the way with an almost careless motion, stepping out of them as they pooled at his feet. Now just in his boxer briefs, he took a slow step forward, looming over you with that same unimpressed look that made you squirm.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always running it, even when you’re caught red-handed.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could get a single word out, he was climbing onto the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly, the weight of his body leaving you pinned beneath him. The shift in dynamic was immediate, leaving you breathless as his blue eyes bore into yours, sharp and unrelenting.

“You think you’re funny?” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word sinking into the tension between you. His thumbs brushed dangerously close to your panties, the teasing touch sending a jolt through your already-overheated body. “Making little comments like that when you’re already soaked? What exactly are you trying to pull here?”

“I wasn’t—” you started defensively, but your words faltered when his fingers trailed up, pressing against the damp fabric of your panties with maddening precision.

“Wasn’t what?” he pressed, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice dipped lower, taking on a mocking edge that sent shivers down your spine. “Wasn’t wet? Wasn’t about to beg me? Careful, [Y/N]. You keep lying to my face, and I might just leave you like this all night.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively shifted your hips, trying to get more of his touch. But his grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you firmly in place. He pulled back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze, his smirk sharp and unforgiving.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his tone soft but cutting. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed himself back onto his heels, dragging his boxers down in one smooth motion. When he stood again, his cock stood hard and flushed, and the sight made your breath catch in your throat. Without thinking, your hand reached out to touch him, but he caught your wrist before you could get close.

“Seriously?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm that was so uniquely Stan. He shook his head, letting out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you think you get to do whatever you want? Cute.”

His free hand came up to grip your cheek, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to make your lips part slightly. “Look at me,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His tone was steady, but there was a flicker of frustration behind it, a heat that had your stomach twisting. “You’ve been pushing me all night, and now you’re just gonna sit there and wait until I’m good and ready. Got it?”

Before you could respond, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the condom, his movements deliberate. The soft crinkle of the wrapper made your thighs clench instinctively, but he caught the motion immediately, his eyes flicking down and then back up to yours with a faint smirk.

“You talk a big game,” he said, rolling the condom on with an unhurried precision that made your pulse race. “Guess we’ll see if you can actually handle it.”

He leaned back over you, his hands sliding deliberately up your sides before settling on your hips, his grip strong and grounding. His gaze stayed fixed on yours, his expression calm but charged with something unmistakably hungry.

“I—”

Stan cut you off, his hand pressing firmly but not harshly on the back of your head, guiding you down toward the mattress. “Don’t,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with exasperation. The motion wasn’t rough, but it carried no room for argument. He wasn’t playing around anymore.

You turned your head slightly, trying to catch his eye, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout as your manicured nails reached for his arm. “Stan,” you whined softly, dragging out his name in that teasing tone you knew got under his skin.

Instead of rising to your bait, he let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still at it. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar sarcastic bite. Without waiting for a response, his hands gripped your hips, shifting you until your head was down against the bed and your ass was up, fully exposed. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as if he wanted to draw out every second of the tension until it was unbearable.

Stan’s fingers skimmed lightly over your back, trailing down to the curve of your hips. His touch lingered, warm and steady, before his grip tightened enough to ground you. He leaned in just enough for his voice to reach your ears, low and steady, the faintest edge of a smirk in his tone.

“Look at you now,” he said, his words cutting through the thick air between you. “All that talk, and suddenly you don’t have much to say.”

His hands stayed firm on your hips as he lined himself up with you. The weight of his cock against your entrance made your breath hitch, and before you could brace yourself, he pushed forward in one smooth, deliberate motion. The stretch burned, sharp and overwhelming, and your gasp turned into a broken cry as he seated himself fully, leaving no space between you.

Stan didn’t move right away. He stayed buried inside, letting you feel every inch of him as his hands kept you still. The weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the way he held you—it was all-consuming. Tears pricked at your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

“You’re awful quiet,” he muttered after a moment, his voice low and thick, almost casual. “What happened to all that attitude, huh? Thought you had something smart to say.”

A choked whimper escaped you, and you turned your head slightly, trying to meet his gaze through your tear-blurred vision. Stan’s face was flushed, his messy bleached hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at you with a mix of irritation and smug satisfaction. That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, sharp and knowing, as if he could see right through you.

When you tried to shift your hips, seeking even the smallest bit of relief, his hands clamped down harder, holding you in place. “Uh-uh,” he said, his voice cutting through your quiet protests. “You don’t get to squirm your way out of this. You wanted me back here so bad, right? So take it.”

Your breath hitched again as you buried your face in the mattress, your muffled cries betraying how much you were feeling. “S-Stan…” you hiccupped, your voice trembling, barely able to form his name.

He leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back, his lips close to your ear. “Oh, now you’re playing the soft card?” he murmured, his tone dripping with mock pity. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You’ve been running your mouth all night, and now you’re gonna deal with what you started.”

As if to punctuate his words, he pulled back slightly and then thrust forward again, slow but deep, the motion stealing the air from your lungs. He didn’t let up, finding a deliberate rhythm that left you clawing at the sheets beneath you, every thrust making your body tremble.

“You know,” he said, his voice almost conversational despite the roughness of his movements, “you’re always so damn sure of yourself. Always pushing, always testing me.” He paused, his hips snapping forward harder, making you cry out. “But now? Now you’re not so cocky, are you?”

Tears slipped freely down your cheeks as you tried to keep up, your mind spinning from the overwhelming mix of sensations. When you tried to speak, to form even the smallest response, the words dissolved into broken moans, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Stan noticed, of course. He always noticed. “Aw, what’s wrong?” he teased, his voice softer now, but still carrying that playful edge. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips warm and teasing against your skin. “Too much for you already?”

You managed a shaky nod, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as your body trembled beneath him. His laugh was soft, almost cruel, as he trailed another kiss along your jawline. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with satisfaction. “Maybe now you’ll think twice before trying to mess with me.”

Despite the tears pooling in your eyes, your body betrayed you, rolling your hips back into him as best you could, chasing the pressure and the sensation. Stan let out a quiet groan at your reaction, his hands gripping your waist tighter.

“See?” he said, his tone shifting to something gentler but still laced with control. “You can be good when you really try.”

Stan’s movements faltered slightly, his hands gripping your hips as he took in the way your body responded to him. His lips quirked into a soft smirk, but his blue eyes betrayed something deeper—intensity mixed with that familiar, slightly sarcastic glint that was so him.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and husky. “You’re really losing it, aren’t you?”

You whimpered in response, unable to form words, your head pressed into the mattress. Stan leaned forward, his breath warm against your shoulder, and chuckled softly. It wasn’t mean—it was teasing, familiar, the same way he always had been, but now it carried the weight of everything happening between you.

“That good, huh?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to make your breath hitch. “All this, just from me?”

Your body clenched around him at his words, and his sharp intake of breath was proof he noticed. He paused, his hips pressed flush against you as his hand trailed up your back, coaxing a soft arch from your spine.

“Okay, okay,” he teased, his tone shifting, dripping with playful sarcasm now. “You don’t have to answer. You’re kind of... busy.” He punctuated his statement with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Stan groaned quietly, his head dipping closer to your ear. “Jesus, you’re soaking me,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges. “I didn’t think you could get any better, but here we are.”

His praise made your chest tighten, heat flooding through you as your mind spun. He caught the way your moans grew louder, how your body tensed with every soft word that slipped from his lips.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity, with that cocky-but-genuine air only Stan could pull off. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Your response was a broken whimper, your nails clawing at the sheets as you tried to ground yourself. Stan’s laughter was soft, almost affectionate, as his fingers trailed down your side, his other hand gripping your hip tightly to keep his rhythm steady.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice dropping. “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you? You’re fucking perfect.”

His words sent a shudder through you, and he felt it, his smirk widening as he leaned forward again. “I mean it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before biting down gently, making you gasp. “You’re driving me insane in the best way.”

You let out a choked sob, the intensity of his praise, his rhythm, and his control overwhelming you completely. Your legs trembled beneath you as your body clenched around him, and Stan groaned, his own composure slipping slightly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice hoarse now. “That’s it. Just like that. Keep doing that, baby. You’re perfect.”

His words pushed you closer to the edge, your mind hazy with arousal and emotion. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you gasped his name, your voice trembling as you tried to hold on.

“Stan,” you managed to whisper, your tone pleading and raw.

Stan’s pace faltered for a split second when he heard your shaky voice break through the heavy rhythm of your breathing. His blue eyes darted down to you, catching the way tears spilled down your cheeks, your lips trembling as you turned your head away from the pillow to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, voice thick with emotion as you sniffled, your body trembling beneath him.

Stan’s brows furrowed, his jaw clenching, though his movements didn’t let up. If anything, his pace grew more purposeful, his hips snapping into yours as his hands gripped your waist tightly, grounding you to him.

“Sorry?” he asked, his voice low, strained. “What are you apologizing for, huh?”

Tears streaked your flushed cheeks, your lips trembling as you gasped, “F-for earlier. For... everything.”

Stan let out a breathy laugh, the sound edged with something almost disbelieving, his forehead falling forward slightly as he leaned over you. “You’re apologizing now?” he asked, his tone teasing but not unkind, his words brushing against the shell of your ear as he kept moving. “Right when you’re about to come? Really convenient timing dude, don’t you think?”

You let out a choked sob, your body clenching around him as you struggled to keep your gaze locked with his. “I-I mean it,” you said, your voice breaking as your chest heaved, every nerve in your body alight.

Stan’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, his expression softening for a moment before his hands slid up your body, one moving to your face to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed away a stray tear as his eyes bore into yours, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle, “I know you mean it. But I’m not letting you off that easy.”

Your eyes widened, another soft cry escaping you as his thrusts grew deeper, hitting the perfect spot that had you unraveling. “S-Stan, I... I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off, his voice dropping even lower, his thumb tracing slow circles over your cheek. “I can feel it. You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?”

You nodded desperately, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your entire body tensed. Tears blurred your vision as you whimpered, “Please.”

Stan groaned softly, his gaze unwavering as he pressed a firm, almost possessive kiss to your lips. “Then come for me,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you focused on him. “Right now. I want to see you fall apart.”

And with his words ringing in your ears, you did.

Stan’s movements didn’t falter as he kept driving into you, his relentless rhythm drawing ragged whimpers and muffled cries from your lips. His hand stayed firm on your chin, holding your gaze as though daring you to look away. His messy, grown-out bleached hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, the pale locks contrasting sharply with his slightly tanned skin. The bracelets on his wrists—simple bands and one woven with multicolored threads—shifted and caught the light with every powerful thrust, his forearms flexing with the effort.

The sight of him was dizzying. His swollen lips parted slightly as his breaths came heavy, a sheen of sweat making his skin glisten under the warm dorm lighting. It was impossible not to stare, the sharp cut of his jawline and the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks making him look so effortlessly gorgeous, so thoroughly wrecked in the best way.

“God, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as his hips snapped against yours. His free hand slid from your hip to grip your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin to hold you steady. “I should be pissed at you right now, but—fuck—how am I supposed to stay mad when you’re like this?”

You tried to respond, your lips parting, but all that came out was a cracked moan as he hit just the right spot again. Gathering your nerve, you attempted to form words, the teasing edge in your tone still managing to peek through your overstimulated haze. “I-I was just gonna say—”

Stan cut you off immediately, his blue eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Nope. Not this time.” He shoved two fingers into your mouth without hesitation, the pads of his fingers pressing down on your tongue firmly enough to silence you. “You wanna say something? Too bad. You’re done talking.”

Your wide-eyed stare and muffled protests only spurred him on. His bracelets shifted again as he adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing across your cheek almost tenderly, contrasting the raw intensity in his movements. “God, you’re such a mess,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Look at you—tears running down your face, trying to act like you’ve got something smart to say. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Your moan around his fingers was muffled but unmistakably needy, your body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. The fire pooling in your stomach grew unbearable as Stan’s relentless pace brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Bet you love it,” he rasped, his head dipping closer as he brought his lips to your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hips slammed into yours again. “You can’t get enough, can you? Always pushing, always testing me. And now look where it’s gotten you.”

The warmth of his skin, the weight of his body pressing you down, the unrelenting heat in his gaze—it was overwhelming. You whimpered helplessly around his fingers, your eyes locking with his again, and Stan groaned low in his throat, the sight of you so thoroughly wrecked beneath him pushing him closer to the brink.

“You look so good like this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a growl. “Completely mine.”

His pace faltered slightly, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his bleached hair falling into his eyes. But he didn’t let up, his free hand sliding down to grip your thigh and pulling you even closer. “Keep looking at me,” he ordered, his voice hoarse but firm. “Don’t you dare look away.”

Stan’s thrusts slowed, his body trembling as he reached his peak. A guttural moan tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered, as his head tipped back, his bleached hair clinging to his damp skin. His grip on your thigh tightened for a moment before his movements stilled completely, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

For a few seconds, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the faint hum of the dorm room fan. Stan stayed still, his hands resting on your hips, holding you close as he caught his breath. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face flushed with exertion, and the weight of his release seemed to hit him all at once.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you, there was a flicker of something in his expression—hesitation, maybe even embarrassment. His gaze softened, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a faint, almost self-conscious chuckle, his hand brushing lightly over your waist as though grounding himself.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, more to himself than to you. His blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked almost abashed, his usual cocky demeanor stripped away entirely. “You… okay?”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you nodded, your lips parting to respond, but your voice came out in a whisper. “Yeah.”

Stan exhaled a quiet laugh, running a hand through his messy hair as he pulled back slightly, his movements careful, almost tentative. He reached out to the bedside table, grabbing a tissue and leaning back down to press a quick, soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he muttered, his voice still tinged with that uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I—I didn’t mean to get so…”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to shake off the unspoken thought. His cheeks were still faintly flushed, his bracelets clinking softly as he adjusted his grip on your waist to help steady you. The moment was quieter now, the intensity replaced with something gentler, almost uncertain.

Stan’s fingers brushed over your cheek lightly, his gaze searching yours. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brows furrowing slightly.

Your heart twisted at the softness in his voice, and you reached up to cover his hand with yours. “I’m okay, Stan,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Promise.”

He gave a small nod, his lips pressing into a faint smile, though the flicker of uncertainty didn’t entirely fade from his eyes. “Good,” he said again, softer this time. Then, after a beat, he added with a wry smirk, “You… really know how to make things complicated, don’t you?”

There was a teasing edge to his words, but his tone was light, almost affectionate. It felt like Stan was trying to bridge the intensity of the moment with something more familiar, something easier to grasp.

Stan exhaled deeply, his forehead briefly resting against your shoulder as he worked to collect himself. When he pulled back, he shifted off the bed, peeling off the condom and tying it off before tossing it into the trash can. His bleached hair was even messier now, sticking to his damp forehead, and the soft jingle of his bracelets filled the quiet room as he reached for a tissue to clean himself up.

You stretched out languidly, turning your head to shoot him a teasing smirk. “So… does this mean you’re not mad anymore?”

Stan froze mid-motion, his head snapping to look at you. The exasperation on his face was instant, though it was laced with amusement. “Don’t start,” he warned, narrowing his eyes but failing to suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You grinned wider, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I mean, you seemed really mad earlier. Like dude, I was kinda scared for a second,” you said, your voice dripping with playful mockery. “But now? I think you’re just a big softie.”

Stan rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath as he tossed the tissues into the trash with a flick of his wrist. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you how ‘soft’ I am,” he quipped, leaning over to lightly flick your forehead.

You pouted dramatically, rubbing the spot he’d flicked. “Abuse!” you teased, mock-gasping. “I’m gonna tell Red you’re bullying me.”

Stan shook his head, standing up to adjust his bracelets and reaching for his sweatpants. “You’re the worst,” he muttered with a laugh, grabbing the discarded blanket from the floor and tossing it over you. “Now shut up and go to sleep before you actually piss me off again.”

You laughed, pulling the blanket up to your chin as you watched him move around the room. The tension had completely dissolved, replaced with the kind of easy banter that seemed to define whatever the two of you had. Stan shook his head again, but you could see the faint grin on his face as he grabbed his phone off the dresser and flopped back down beside you.

i love red sm...

#south park x reader #south park x y/n #south park oneshot #stan marsh x reader #stan marsh x y/n #south park smut

158 notes · View notes

goldrose-star · 2 years ago

Note

Me rn:

AJ, walking into the gas station: "I am once again asking for you hand in marriage"

Darrell, done with AJ's bs: "Darlin', we are already married"

AJ: "So? Let's get married again"

Darrell: *annoyed/tired sigh*

Darrell in The Patron's outfit? 🤔😂🙈

Not bad! 👀💕

@solmints-messyocdiary

#oc ask game #ask game #darrell todd #oc: the patron #slasher oc #bluecoolr.art #digital art #oc art #CYLAS'S BIG BRAIN STRIKES AGAINNNNN #💕💕#<- !!! ahhh!!! yess!! 👀💕#omfg!! cy!! love that big brain of her's!#jesus christ! dar is looking so freaking good in the patron's outfit 😩💕#*screaming and kicking*#*biting biting biting at the bars of my cage*#ahhhh!!! no!! i'm not normal about this guy!!#you don't understand!! i need him carnally!! 😭👐#art i love #💖

20 notes · View notes

jadeylovesmarvelxo · 1 year ago

Text

18+ mdni, jealousy, enemies who fuck. Little bit of smut.

Part one here

💕

A slow pulsing rage fills Eddie as he watches Tom flirt with you for the second time this week. His hand tightens on the desk, eyes narrowed as Tom touches your shoulder and goofs around trying to make you laugh.

Were you seriously buying this shit? Surely this isn't something that you found cute right? When he can't take the sickening sight anymore, he turns to his fellow Hellfire members and rants about you.

"Look at this shit, jesus h Christ are they trying to make me bring up my lunch" when Gareth and Jeff start chuckling he gives them a withering look that silences them both.

"Who cares what those two are doing" Mike huffs exasperated, "We should be talking about the next campaign"

He reluctantly agrees but keeps an eye on you, jealousy gnawing at him. Even if he won't admit it.

💕

Eddie meets you at your usual spot under the bleachers, he's tense and barely interacting with you, just kisses you intensely, dragging moan after moan out of you.

"What's up with you?" You ask him when the two of you are finished making out, he ignores you and fishes in his jacket for a cigarette and his lighter.

"You sure that Tom won't be pissed you're missing out on him mooning over you. It's enough to make anyone nauseated" he retorts and you bite back a smirk. Ahh so there it is.

"Aww jealous Munson?" his eyes flash with annoyance, he scoffs and rolls his big brown eyes black. How can someone have such pretty eyes, it was another reason you couldn't stand him.

"I don't get jealous princess" yeah sure, you really believe him.

Then he's tugging down your jeans and panties and hitches you up so your legs are wrapped around his neck, his head is buried between your thighs and you jerk forward, hands in Eddie's hair as he takes his sweet time in making you come, teasing and bringing you to the edge then back again.

His eyes never leave yours and when the orgasm comes it's incredible and you cry out in pleasure. Eddie licks his lips and stands up, gently lowering you off him. "You coming to mine tonight? my uncle is working late" he murmurs and you nod, legs still shaky from the orgasm you just had.

He leans forward and whispers in your ear, "I'm going to make you come so many times you won't even remember Tom's name" you're breathless as he pulls away, and aching needs filling your lower stomach.

...

You're barely a few minutes into the trailer and Eddie has you both naked and you're on top of him, riding him so hard that the moans that leave his throat are sinful.

"Fuck, fuck you feel so good, so tight" he groans and you move faster, getting lost in the pleasure as it overtakes both of you.

When dawn breaks and the two of you riding the high of your final orgasms, you're utterly spent, legs like jelly and giddy.

"Well you certainly made good on your promise Munson" he grins cockily and traps you underneath him.

"Told you I would didn't I princess?" he moves to your lips and kisses you slowly, he pulls you closer and you sink into the kiss, then he pulls back and there's a moment between you, something different... His fingers trace over your cheek and your breath hitches.

Fuck. He clears his throat and moves away breaking the spell between you and you get up quickly, pulling on your clothes.

"Should really get home. My parents will freak out if they know I snuck out" Eddie nods and you rush out of the trailer, breathing heavily and a million thoughts running though your mind.

What the hell was that?

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #enemies to lovers

331 notes · View notes

eddieandbird · 11 months ago

Note

I JUST REALIZE I SEND THE REQUEST IN THE ANONIMOUS MODE, IM SO SORRY 😭😭 but here it is again

Hello! I don't see if you do angst or not, but if you do, i'd like to request a fight with Eddie in front of the Hellfire club, like they're in a D&D section and start to fight over any reason (you can choose) and the reader get's upset and get out of the room and the other's be like "😳...go talk to her, man" and the rest is whatever you think is better, thank you so so much, and sorry if my english is bad 🥺💕

no worries! i gave it my best shot, hope you like it -bird

Ditch—

You have an attitude during a Hellfire Club meeting

tags/warnings: fluff | hurt/comfort | 1.3k words | f!reader | arguments

———

If a single drop of water were to touch your skin right now, it would evaporate in seconds, or at least that’s how furious you felt at this moment. You’d been silently grinding your teeth and fiddling with your character’s figure on the table since Eddie started the session.

“Any day now, sweetheart. It’s your turn,” To you, it sounded like he was elongating your words just to taunt you.

“Skip my turn, nothing good’s happened yet,” You muttered, squeezing your figure tightly in your hand before dropping it back onto the table.

Eddie’s brows knitted together, disgust laced in his deep frown. “So you’re just going to leave the party vulnerable because we bore you, is that it?”

“Why not? Leaving people hanging isn’t completely off the table for our party, right? Or is that just towards me?” You folded your arms, unwavering from his intense glare.

“God, are you seriously throwing a fit right now? In front of everyone?” He leaned forward and spoke in a low tone as if that was going to conceal the argument with you from the other members.

“You know what you’re right. I am so sorry everyone, I’m just not in the mood for D&D tonight. So sorry I have to ditch you all,” You laid heavy emphasis on the word ‘ditch’ before getting up and pushing in your chair with a loud squeak.

The weight of your footsteps could be heard as you walked out of the auditorium. You left the rest of the Hellfire members in awe with your absence.

Dustin was the first to break the silence. “Damn… What the hell did you do, Eddie?”

“Zip it, Henderson,” Eddie snapped back, his eyes transfixed on the door. “Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?” He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a frustrated sigh, dropping his head on the table with a thud.

“That was some good drama, right there,” Gareth spoke in an amused tone.

“You’re not helping,” Eddie grumbled.

“Are you going to go after her?” Jeff asked, a slight hint of worry in his voice.

“Yeah, Eddie. You can’t let her storm off like that and not chase her. Trust me, it never ends well when I leave Max alone to ‘cool off’,” Lucas added, shaking his head.

Mike nodded “Yeah, El hates that too-”

“Okay! I get it! You guys are expert-level boyfriends or whatever,” Eddie’s eyes shot wide open with annoyance. “Just… give me a second to go find her, okay? Dustin’s in charge in the meantime,”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Mike exclaimed.

“Argue amongst yourselves for a minute, nerds!” Eddie yelled back, already in the process of slamming the door behind him.

Eddie stomped quickly down the hallway, eyes darting everywhere looking for you.

He turned the corner and his eyes widened slightly as he saw your hand disappearing into the girls restroom.

“Damnit..” he mumbled to himself.

He stood outside the door, debating whether he should barge in after you or not. Eventually, his head got the better of him and he pushed open the heavy door.

“Hey. We need to talk.”

“Eddie, get out, you’re not supposed to be in here,” You grumbled, not giving him a second glance.

You were focused on your reflection, carefully dabbing at your tears with a tissue to not ruin more of your makeup.

“Like I care about that,” He retorted.

You caught a glimpse of him in the mirror. He stood with his shoulder slumped, back against the bathroom stall. His intense dark eyes glaring at you with frustration.

“I’m not coming back to the session, you can just kill my character off now,” You said sternly.

“Can you just look at me for a second?” He pleaded, but you remained facing the mirror, trying to avoid even the slightest glance in his direction.

He sighed and took a few more steps into the bathroom, his hands shoved deep into pockets, knuckles turning white with how hard he was clenching his fists.

“Why are you so pissed at me?” He asked, his voice soft and lacking its usual bite.

“You seriously don’t know?” You looked bewildered. “You didn’t even notice that I’ve been avoiding you all day?”

Eddie winced as you took a step forward. “What? You weren’t just busy with school stuff?” He asked sheepishly, knowing he definitely did not notice anything off about today until Hellfire.

“You ditched me on our date yesterday, ring any bells?” You gestured wildly. “You left me at the movies by myself. I had to call my dad to pick me up. I was humiliated!”

Eddie's face dropped as he was hit with a wave of realization. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and let out a long sigh, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Oh, that's what this is about? I'm sorry, I really am, but you gotta know-" He took a small step towards you, his expression pained. "I had to help Dustin okay? It was a like a family emergency and it couldn't wait,"

Eddie needed to be vague for various reasons. He couldn’t possibly tell you about any of the crazy monsters he encountered that night or show you the huge scratch in his shoulder that was covered by his jacket. He could only pray that you bought it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and frowned deeply. You didn’t want to pry if it was about Dustin’s family, that wasn’t your place. His explanation did explain some things but not enough to satisfy you.

“You didn’t even call afterwards… We didn’t talk today,”

You shook your head, pacing in front of him as thoughts swirled in your mind. “You know, it’s totally fine if you changed your mind about me, if you don’t like me anymore, it’s whatever, but you didn’t have to lead me on like this,”

"Whoa, slow down." He quickly approached you again and firmly placed his hands on your shoulders, gently stopping your frantic movements.

He looked deep into your eyes, searching for any sign that he hadn’t hurt you completely.

"Look at me, okay? I never ‘changed my mind’ about you. I still like you a hell of a lot. And I definitely didn’t mean to leave you in the lurch like that," Eddie pleaded, his thumbs rubbing your skin.

“I’m just kind of a space cadet, you know? I’m impulsive and forgetful and I screw up… a lot,” He took your hand and pulled you toward him.

You pouted and reluctantly followed his tug, your eyes refusing to fall upon him.

“But know this: I do like you. And I know I’m not really good at this whole dating thing, but I wanna make it up to you okay? I don’t wanna end things on this note,” Eddie shook his head and brought your hand next to his face. He made sure you watched as he locked his fingers between yours. “You gonna let me make it up to you?”

You pursed your lips, wanting to refuse at first, but then you nodded.

“Fine,” You whispered.

A small smile appeared on his lips, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He brought your hands to his lips, placing a soft kiss on all eight of your knuckles.

"Thank god," he breathed against your skin, his exhale warm and shaky.

He looked at you with hopeful eyes, his grip on your hand still tight.

"We can do something after Hellfire, alright? Just you and me."

You crinkled your nose as you nodded even more enthusiastically this time.

“I’m looking forward to it, Munson,” You mused.

You turned around, now being the one to tug his arm and lead him out of the restroom.

“Hey, wait, what’s going on?” He asked, his old sneakers squeaking on the hallway floors as he followed you.

“Back to the session,”

“You’re still gonna play?” Eddie let go of your hand for a moment, pleasantly surprised.

“C’mon! The faster we get this done, the faster you can take me to get some food,” You whined, walking off without him.

“You got it, princess,” Eddie chuckled, clutching his swollen heart then sprinting after you.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie x reader #eddie munson fanfic

346 notes · View notes

slutoru1207 · 4 months ago

Note

(The anon that asked for hero!reade/goggless mark fic)

YOU GOT ME GRIPPING THE EDGE OF MY SEAT JESUS CHRIST YOU ARE SO FAST AND THE QUALITY OF YOUR WRITING????? UGHHHHHHHHH I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THE WAY YOU MAKE THAT PSYCHO TALK OH HE IS SUCH A LOVESICK PUPPY WITH RABIES!!!

Please reader who never even considered looking at Mark in more than a platonic way before just admiring him exclusively as a good colleague and then this motherfucker spawning out of nowhere destroying everything in his path and continuously confessing his love for her while she is JUST TRYING TO BASH HIS HEAD INTO THE WALL 😭

The evil delicious comedy of it all oh I just know he is the type to get so fucking turned on when she punches him hard enough to make him bleed

RABIES??? AHHAHA WHAT omg i just love your reactions omgggg you give me motivation to keep writing thank you 🥹💕💕

#mark x reader #invincible season 3 #invincible comic #mark grayson invincible #invincible smut #mark grayson x reader #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #invincible #invincible show #no goggles mark x reader #no googles mark #sinister invincible x reader #sinister invincible #sinister mark

61 notes · View notes

rafesteddy · 10 months ago

Text

Espresso or Coors? – Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 (Fluff – strong language, drug usage, and drinking)

Frat!Rafe x PianoBar!Reader

+18

🪄 soft!frat!rafe, swearing, name-calling, smoking, drinking, Rafe & reader’s POV

📖 Frat!Rafe gets talked into going to a dueling piano bar. He’s not happy about it but when he sees you in the alley, walking in for your shift, everything changes. From that point on he tries all night to get your attention 💕

✨Kelce: yo

Topper: that's her???

Kelce: look at his face

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I take a deep breath, collecting myself before burying my beer, quickly ordering another. Be cool.

Rafe: that obvious?

Kelce: very

Rafe’s POV:

“5th and main?” The Uber driver drones.

“Yup. Thanks, man,” Topper chirps, stepping into the back seat before me. The Uber XL fills with people, as many as possible. I slide into the back; some sorority girl instantly falls onto my lap. Her tanned body mashes against my white button-down, making me tug at my fabric to check if that shit was staining before throwing the fit I wanna throw.

“Top, you short on cash these days or what? Why couldn’t we get another van, asshole?”

“There’s another comin’. You coulda waited,” Topper sighs, half-listening, concentrating more on the girl sharing a seat with him. “Plus, it looks like you made out just fine,” he cracks up, watching the girl staring up at me, her sticky glossed lips pressing against my neck soon after. I pinch my eyes shut, focusing on anything but this. Yeah, I’m not drunk enough for this.

“It’s called the Dueling Keys. Tell her we’re going to Dueling Keeyyyss,” one of the girls slurs into her phone to a friend on the other line.

I groan and grumble, “I thought we were going to Copperhead. What the fuck, Thornton.”

Topper lifts his hands, pleading innocence. “That’s where we were going, bro. Ask the man.” He motions to the driver, who’s lost in his own world, tuning out the nightmare in the back of his van entirely.

“It’s across the street, Rafe. It’s a piano bar. We always start there because they have $3 Long Islands,” Cassie adds calmly, my favorite of the sisters, the only sober one in the group.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” I sigh, taking out my phone, making myself look busy.

“You smell so good, Rafey,” the drunk girl in my lap mutters as she plays with the top button of my shirt “sensually,” tugging it open before working on the next.

“That’s enough,” I sigh, resting my hand over the top of hers, giving it a little pat. “Thanks.”

We pull up to College Street, cool air replacing the thick, booze-ridden fog of the van. I walk out fast, putting space between me and the girls. I need some fuckin’ air, but they follow me. “I’m takin’ a piss,” I yell back at the two tagging close behind.

“You need help or-” One of them grins, making the other giggle and squeal. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

I walk to the end of the building, fading into the alley, resting my back against the cool brick wall, finally feeling peace. The other van rolls up; Kelce, steps out of the ride with a girl on each arm, thoroughly relishing this shit. I pluck a joint out from behind my ear, flicking my lighter a few times before it takes, ripping a hit. Thick smoke rolls in my mouth, pouring from my lips as I look out at the mess of college student coming in and out of bars.

“Thank you, Donnie,” my head turns in the opposite direction, catching sight of a woman walking toward the side door. She smiles at the security guard, her little heels clicking along the pavement, hair bouncing with every step.

“Babygirl,” the man booms merrily, making her beautiful eyes sparkle. “How are you doin’ this evening. You look as lovely as ever.”

“Thank you,” she smiles. Her spangly pink dress sways with every step as she goes up the steps ‘til she’s gone, disappearing into the bar.

“Hey, man… Does she work-”

“Stop right there,” the bouncer warns, taking a few steps closer. “I don’t need some drunk frat boy causin’ trouble in my alley. Get the fuck outta here,” he spits, looking back at me like I’m trash.

“Sorry. I’m just-”

“Smokin’ weed? Takin’ a piss? I heard it all, Chad. Y/N doesn’t want your messy ass.”

Well shit… I smile, ashing out the joint as I catch her.

“What are you smilin’ for, boy? Get! And pick that shit up. Do I look like your maid or somethin’?” He barks as he points to the joint on the ground, making me roll my eyes before picking it up.

“Have a nice night, Donnie,” I mumble, giving him the finger as I foot away.

My nerves start to rise, my night taking a turn. I double-check my shirt again for an orange stain, smoothing it out before adjusting my hat. She has to be a bartender, a cocktail waitress, maybe? I position myself away from the Delta Gammas, joining the group of boys in the back of the line.

We shuffle to the front, the music getting louder and louder as we get closer to the door. I pass a bouncer my ID, impatiently waiting to get inside. Luckily, I’m a head taller than most, surveying the scene, following the traffic flow from the entryway to the bar floor. Top flags me down, but I look past him; he and Kelce, lost in a sea of females. I wouldn’t stand a goddamn chance in there. Not if I want her to notice me.

Perfect. I slide into a booth with a group of my younger brothers, the four of them equally surprised that the kook trio got split. “A Coors, please. N’ you can start a tab for the table. Thanks,” I pass the cocktail waitress my card as my phone buzzes.

Topper: we good

I look down at the text message from Top, rolling my eyes.

Kelce: you bein a bitch for a reason or what

Rafe: ill tell you later

Kelce: so ur pissed

Rafe: I’m not fuckin pissed

Topper: you seem upset

Rafe: shut the duck up

Rafe: fuxk

Rafe: fuck

Kelce: how drunk are you 😂

Rafe: leave me alone alright. There’s a girl somewhere around here and she’s perfect and I don’t want these girls fucking it up for me

Topper: oh that’s great buddy

Kelce: congrats man

Rafe: keep them over there

Piano music fills the space around us, silencing the crowd before a swell of applause comes in it’s place. I look up from my beer, seeing the same beautiful girl from the alley behind the piano, canceling out all my previous assumptions. Fuck. I lift my drink to my lips, catching my hand shaking slightly. She leans into the microphone, her smile lighting up the room, drumming up further applause. “Dueling Keys, how are we feeling tonight?” She lets the cheering die down before starting again, introducing the man across from her, then herself.

Kelce: yo

Topper: that’s her???

Kelce: look at his face

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I take a deep breath, collecting myself before burying my beer, quickly ordering another. Be cool.

Rafe: that obvious?

Kelce: very

Topper: do the thing

Rafe: what thing?

The thing? Are you kidding me, Top. What thing?

Another group of ours walks into the pub, catching Topper and Kelce’s focus. I feel myself getting anxious and annoyed, wanting to get her attention in some way before anyone fucks this up for me.

Rafe: tell me the thing

Kelce: order a song cameron

Topper: $5 for a song and you can leave a tip

Rafe: how

Kelce: haven’t you done this before

Rafe: …

Kelce: grab a little thing from the middle write your name and the song

Rafe: any song?

Topper: idk the rules

Kelce: there’s rules.

Rafe: what are they??

Kelce: idk ive never done this before

Rafe: duck u both

Rafe: FUCK*

I take out my wallet, thumbing through my cash: $20, $50, $100. No… What do I do now? $20 isn’t enough. Or is it? $100, I’ll look like an ass. $50… $50. Yeah – Yeah. Shit.

I quickly stuff the cash into the envelope, looking down at the next obstacle. Name… Easy. Rafe. Song. I want it to be something she likes. Something she wants to sing. I don’t wanna be some “Chad, dick, douchebag” requesting Chainsmokers. I look up, so lost in my mind that I missed the first song. Jesus fuck. Pull it together, Rafe.

Topper: Cassie says she likes Sabrina Carpenter

Rafe: how does she know that

Topper: idk I asked who’s that and she said give me 2 minutes. She found her IG

Rafe: Tell her I love her and text me the yn’s @

Topper: Espresso

Rafe: I’m drinking coors

Toppers: its a song

Kelce: 😂

Rafe: thank you Cass

I scribble down the track’s title on the envelope, rising to my feet, heading straight for the front. “Hi, Rafey,” I dodge the sorority sister coming my way, swerving around a bar top table to avoid her, hastily stepping toward the stage.

“This next one’s for Nate,” y/n announces, squinting to get a better look at the chicken scratch handwritten left by one of my frat brothers. “What does this say, babe?” She asks kindly.

“Party in the USA,” he hollers over the crowd.

“Oh, well then. Miley, it is,” she croons as she rolls out her wrists, fingers quickly striking the keys. Her voice pours out of the speakers, sending goosebumps down my arms.

The vocals are so trained; so beautiful it’s like she wrote the song herself. I can tell she’s adding a little more to it, making it her own without effort. Amazi- “Put the envelope in the bowl and sit down,” an old lady scolds me, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

“S-Shit. Sorry,” I scramble. Taking the last couple steps to the fishbowl full of requests, my eyes not leaving y/n. Her gaze lifts as she looks for her partner, catching my eyes instead. I smile, and she smiles back.

So damn beautiful.

Fuck me.

“Sit,” the old lady hisses, jarring me out of my daze. I suck my teeth and smile at her before looking back at y/n; her attention already pulled away, making me feel like I could fight an old lady in public. Bitch.

I sit down with the boys again, just hoping she’ll pull my request right away so I can loosen up a little, sip on a beer while I listen to her perform. Finally, something goes my way. Y/n opens the little envelope, eyeing the cash inside, flashing it to her partner between her pretty little manicured fingers.

“50 bucks? They must really wanna hear that song, y/n.”

“I guess so,” she giggles delightedly as she flips the card over. “Ohhh… A man after my own heart. Rafe, this one for you.”

My name leaves her lips, making my stomach flip. Adrenaline courses through my veins as she looks out into the crowd, searching for me. The boys must have been pointing me out because she finds me quickly, giving me a little nod. This night couldn’t get any better. I don’t know this song. I’ve never heard this shit a day in my life, but I can tell you it’ll be playin’ on repeat after this. The crowd sings along with her, y/n feeding off their energy.

Her voice is the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard, so bubbly and sweet as she nails each note. The song is catchy, too… Nothin’ I’d ever listen to but she’s making me feel like I could. She is so fucking talented. Maybe she plans on recording her own shit one day.

The song closes out, and the crowd breaks into applause “Earth to Rafe. Rafe?” A girl screams at me, apparently battling for my attention. “We’re going to Copperhead. Close your tab.”

“I just ordered a beer,” I lie. “Just go. I’ll meet you. Yeah?”

“No… Come,” she pouts, holding out her arms, giving me grabby hands. Fuck that.

“Who are you?” I scoff.

“Who am I? Who am I?” She starts to go off, but Topper yanks her away. That was close. The masses finally leave, lifting a massive weight off my shoulders. I widen my thighs, relaxing into my seat a little more.

It’s a euphoric rotation: watching her play and sing, performing for the crowd with her witty conversations alone. She’s got a beautiful laugh and a beautiful personality. Everything about her is beautiful. She notices me. I know it… It’s like we’re the only two here, I swear.

Reader’s POV:

Rafe… Fuck, he’s handsome. He’s a frat, bro, for sure, but he didn’t leave with that crowd. He asked about me… I’m almost positive enlisting some help from the army of sorority sisters he showed up with. Rafe doesn’t strike me as a Sabrina Carpenter guy. You laugh to yourself, thinking about it, looking into the crowd as you meet his eyes for the nth time of the night.

All set, I couldn’t help perform for him. Sure, I was entertaining a crowd, but each movement, each smile, each love song was performed just for him. I wanted him to feel like he knew me better at the end of the night, and each little adlib between my co-performer and me gave him a little more of my story: a music major with big dreams of becoming a recording artist.

Now I want to know his story.

He’s only requested one song. The night’s almost over, two requests left in the bowl. Rafe pulls out a card, writing something before stuffing some cash inside. He stands up, walking your way, making it through the crowd a little easier than he did the first time; a little more confidence in his walk.

Your heart starts to race, hands trembling on the keys. You position yourself on the bench, leaning in a little closer. He hands it directly to you with a smile. The boys at his table hoop and holler, whistling for him, making your cheeks heat up, nervous butterflies swirling in your stomach that you don’t usually have on the stage. Oh my god.

He gives you a little more of him this time: Name – Rafe Cameron

Song – Dreams Fleetwood Mac

this is my favorite song 🙂

You open the envelope, taking out another $50, but the little message on the flap has you tucking it in your bra instead of tossing it away when you see his phone number. Rafe smiles from the booth when you return your eyes to his, happy you kept it, taking a sip from his cup when the boys at his table start razzing him about it all.

Dreams. Huh? Not what I expected. There’s something sweet about it, though. It’s not exactly something a frat boy would choose. Maybe there’s a story there. Maybe he’ll tell me tonight? You search for the sheet music on your iPad, setting it up as Rex riffs. “And, who’s the next one for, y/n,” he smiles over the baby grand.

“Rafe Cameron,” you smile, your coworker catching onto your crush fast.

“The Rafe Cameron. Huh? The high roller?”

“The high roller. Mhmm… quite the charmer,” you add.

“Is he free after the show?”

“Rex,” you chuckle breathily. “This one’s mine.” Rex laughs and rolls his eyes, continuing to play with you, the two of you going back and forth, duetting different songs you can both play by ear.

“Well, is he free after the set?” Rex repeats himself dramatically, making the crowd break out in applause. You turn to Rafe and smile.

“Are you free after the set?” You ask sweetly. The blonde smiles and nods, mouthing that he’s all yours. All mine…

You break out into song, playing Rafe’s request, the two of you dueling back and forth, filling the bar with music. You steal glances at Rafe between cords and runs, enjoying the moment, thinking about how nice it would be to have someone in the crowd every night—especially someone who looks at you like he does.

He’s perfect.

YN: Meet me out back? 💕 Are you hungry?

Rafe: on my way. Yeah. Anything you want, princess

Fuck. You bite your bottom lip, reading and rereading Rafe’s message. Princess… It’s just another thing I could get used to. You check yourself in the mirror one last time, slicking on a little lip gloss and fluffing your hair.

You walk through the practically empty bar to the side door, some patrons still hanging around, sipping martinis and beer. You push through the door, Donnie pulling it the rest of the way open per usual, his face hard as stone, not his normal self. “Are you okay?” You ask uneasily, cocking an eyebrow up at him. He simply nods in the other direction, gesturing to someone. Rafe Cameron…

“You know him, baby?” Donnie rasps, looking at you with nothing but concern in his eyes

“Mhmm, Don. This is Rafe. He’s my date-”

“You know he was gonna piss on the side of the building before I stopped him?” Donnie cautions you, making Rafe scoff and laugh weakly.

“He wouldn’t be the first,” you chuckle as you adjust your purse on your shoulder, stepping toward Rafe.

“And he was smokin’ dope.”

“It was a pre-roll, y/n. Just a little weed,” Rafe mumbles, doing his best not to laugh at the older man.

“Naughty boy,” you tease as you slide your arm around Rafe’s waist, giving him a side hug. Rafe wraps his strong arms around your shoulders, pulling you in the rest of the way, holding you close. You take in his rich cologne; the feeling of your body wrapped up in him. Rafe lowers himself, whispering in your ear, setting your heart ablaze.

“Why don’t we get outta here, Princess?”

#my library ᝰ.ᐟ #rafe one shot 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#rafe fluff #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #frat!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #college!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

176 notes · View notes

sillysillygoofygoose · 2 years ago

Text

Toji and His Plus-Size Baby

Headcanons!! (NSFW MDNI, mentions of body image issues 💕)

... For my babes with a lil xtra meat on 'em... me too, sweetheart, you fine as hell! 😘🤭)

During his "young and dumb days," Toji almost always dated and slept around with size 0 girls. He never really considered being with a bigger girl, only sweet talking the girls that moved in packs during 'ladies' night' at the bar he would frequent.

Toji just assumed they were what he preferred... why not? They're beautiful and young, but it doesn't really matter their build, as long as he's getting his dick sucked at the end of the night.

He didn't realize how much he loved bigger women until he met you. After spending his younger years fucking and flirting with teensy-tiny girls, he met you.

You're young, beautiful, and smoking fucking hot. Just his type.

Toji doesn't mind the size of your body at all. He doesn't even think twice. He knows you're the most gorgeous girl he's ever seen, and as far as he's concerned, your body only adds to that.

He was so confused the first time he saw you visibly insecure about the way your body looked.

"Doll, you've been gettin' ready for over an hour... just pick any dress, it'll look fine. I'm surprised they haven't given our reservations away." Toji sassed as he cracks open your bedroom door slightly, nosey to see what you're even up to, bending down to peek his head in.

"Aw, Jesus Christ, sweets..." The sight that meets Toji causes him to be slightly taken aback and mildly concerned. Dresses, pants, and shirts alike have been carelessly tossed about, the clutter tarnishing the previously spotless room. In the middle of the mess, the eye of the storm, there you sit on your knees, hand covering your pouty mouth.

"What happened, bub?" Toji sits down next to you, immediately moving to pull you onto his lap.

His muscles tense, heart panging as he feels you push him away, tears cascading down your round cheeks.

"Nothin' -hiccup - nothing looks good on me." You mutter out oh so quietly, embarrassed that a man as stoic and built as Toji is seeing you in one of your most personal fits.

Sharply inhaling, you quickly stand up, aggressively wiping your tears, stalking around your messied room almost maniacally. The anger of not feeling beautiful over takes your body, blood boiling inside your pulsing veins. You pick up and put down shirts, tugging them from their place, before angrily folding them.

"This makes me look fat... this dress gives me the figure of a fucking refrigerator. Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me, none of this shit looks good. Fucking hate it. Hate my body so fucking much." You huff and puff, fist clenching at your sides. You rush around your room, picking articles of clothing up, briefly displaying them to your beefy boyfriend, before throwing them right back on the ground. Speaking through gritted teeth, you're unsure if you're rambling to Toji or yourself.

"Hey, hey, pretty. Calm down okay, let's just take a deep breath." Toji's thick worker hands grab at your shoulders, forcing you to stop your anxious outburst. He rubs up and down your broader shoulders as you feel a nip of embarrassment, and disgust reach your system. Staring at your feet in shame, you let yourself regulate, closing your eyes as you grab onto the soft fabric of Toji's shirt.

"For the record, that dress is beautiful on you. It brings out your curves."

This man and your thighs. Unbreakable bond, let me tell you. His hands are always on the thickest part of your upper thigh. He loves the way his fingers leave small indents in the soft flesh. While you two are laying in bed, he always props one of your legs over his hip, pulling you as close as possible to him .

The extra bit of chub on your hips is something he could eat for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner. Toji loves doggy and missionary for this exact reason. He loves pulling on your hips, engulfing as much of your side in his hands as humanly possible.

Cuddling. Cuddling. Cuddling. Holy shit, he can't get enough. He thinks you were made for snuggling and being held at night. He loves to squish the fat on your thighs, hips and tummy, praising you when you whine for him to stop.

"C'mere pretty, get on top of me." Toji grabs for you body, rolling his eyes when you put up a fight.

"I'm gonna flatten you." You giggle out, settling on resting your head on his chest.

"Tch, yeah, right... You sayin' I'm not strong? Think I can't handle my girl?"

You sigh moving half of your body to rest on his. Toji's hand immediately flies to the dough of your ass, rubbing circles into the skin.

"Mmm, much better. Fuckin' perfect, sweets."

As much as he loves all of your body, his favorite part is the little pudgy part of your lower stomach. Whenever he's hugging you from behind, his hand's designated spot is your tummy. Thinks you're cutest when you're wearing a little cropped shirt and your tummy is just peaking out... my goodness 🥰

Is a little suspicious when you ask him to take you to the gym with him, but happily obliges. It's so much fun when you take an interest in his likings, but...

"This isn't because of that damn Victoria's Secret Angels comeback, right?" Toji glances at you through his peripheral vision as one of his hands commands the steering wheel, the other resting on your yoga-pant clad thigh.

"Huh?" You snort out, tilting your head in confusion.

"I like ya' goin' to the gym with me, just hope you know what a pretty girl you are. My pretty girl."

This man makes sure you're eating your meals. The two of you have a date night where you stay in and cook a recipe you picked together.

Toji often fantasizes about how your soft body would only get softer while pregnant. Your plump tits swelling up, your belly rounding. So beautiful.

He loves your body, whether you gain or lose weight, because he loves you. Plain and simple.

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

#fem reader #jjk x reader #size difference #age difference #jjk #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #jujustu kaisen #toji zenin #toji headcanons #toji x you #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro toji x reader #dilf toji #chubby reader

794 notes · View notes

milla-frenchy · 1 year ago

Text

A summer with the Millers - Part 2

2k9 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller

Summary: after that first evening with Tommy and Joel, you go back for more and finally get what you want

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Virginity loss, age gap (reader is 21, Tommy and Joel are in their late 30s, early 40s), eager reader, threesome MFM, slight degradation, dirty talk, praise kink, oral (f receiving), masturbation, fingering, piv, creampies

a/n: @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing 💕🫶 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

series masterlist | masterlist | ao3

Part 1

Joel smirked when he heard you asking for more.

You looked at Tommy. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he scratched his temple with his thumb, a cigarette between his fingers. Flashes from the night before jostled in your eyes, and you were more sure of yourself than ever. You wanted more.

Joel took another sip of his beer before saying: “You want more? You wanna feel our cocks in your pretty cunt? Is that right, sweetheart?”

He was direct and confident, and you liked that. You would need him again to convince Tommy.

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Looks like we made a good impression, making her cum 3 times, Tommy.”

Joel Miller wasn't the most modest of men, but he wasn't wrong. Yesterday was perfect, and they had already taught you a lot. And finally, you had Tommy. Not totally, but you were hoping to change that tonight.

“Where’s your dad, darlin’?” Tommy asked, without looking at his brother.

“He just left for work. He asked me if I had plans, I told him I was going out with some friends.”

“Some friends… yeah, right”, Joel chuckled before leaning against the dining room table, sipping his beer.

You moved closer to Tommy, feeling him hesitant. Running your fingers down his chest, over his t-shirt. Biting your lip.

“Did you like it, Tommy? What you did to me, yesterday?”

“Jesus, of course. I loved it, darlin’.”

“Do you want more, too? Do you wanna feel my tight pussy around your fat cock?”

“Shit, baby, you can’t…fuck. You really know what you want, don’t ya?”

“I do. And I want you to be the first one thrusting in.”

You smiled at him flirtily, then turned to Joel. No hesitation in his eyes.

“Do you wanna be the second one, Joel?”

“Fuck yeah. Course I do. No need to convince me, baby.”

He stood up and moved closer to you, until his body was against yours. He placed his hand on the back of your neck and leaned you against him, breathing in your hair as your nose was nestled in the crook of his neck. You felt safe with them.

“We’re gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Right, Tommy?”

Tommy didn't respond. He had stepped back, leaning against the wall. He took a drag of his cigarette and looked at you and Joel.

Joel grabbed your hips and spun you around so you were facing Tommy, Joel’s cock against your ass. Half hard, and you shivered.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start over with your guilt?”

“It’s not that easy, Joel.”

“It seemed really easy when she was licking your balls while you were jerking off.”

Joel grabbed your breasts in his hands, squeezing them through the fabric of your dress as you ground against his crotch. It was so good to feel him again, and you closed your eyes to enjoy the sensations. “I'm sure Tommy would love to jerk off between your tits, while my cock would sink in your throat. Right, Tommy?”

“Can’t you stop talking like that and let me think? She’s a virgin for christ’s sake. It’s not goddamn porn…”

“Last night seemed like porn to me”, added Joel, while he caressed your ass with his big hand, and admired the way you arched against him. “And really good porn, by the way. Don’t worry, baby. He plays the grumpy guy, but when he’ll see you all splayed on his bed, he’ll be dying to pop your cherry.”

“Tommy… You wouldn't want a stranger to take your best friend's daughter's virginity in the back of a car, would you? A boy, or a man of your age, who would hurt me, maybe? Better make sure it happens safely, don’t you think?”

Tommy shook his head and put out his cigarette in the ashtray. Then he slowly moved closer to you. Joel placed his hands on your hips again and held you against him. Tommy's gaze was fixed on you.

“You’re trouble, ain’t you?”

“I’m just a 21 year old girl and I wanna have fun on my summer vacation...” you pouted.

Joel chuckled. “She’s giving you a hard time, ain’t she?”

“She is. Always been a little brat, this one”, said Tommy. Eyes fixed on yours, he ran his index finger along your cheek. Seemed like he couldn’t resist your eyelashes and angelic smile.

“Ok. If that's what you want, baby, we’re gonna give it to ya. I ain’t gonna fight all summer. But!” he said, raising his index finger. “Your father will never know. You ain’t doing stupid shit in front of him. He can’t know. Are we clear?”

“Yes, of course, Tommy.”

“Are you on birth control?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about that.”

“Perfect! So we have an agreement. Let’s fill up that pussy” Joel said, his nose brushing your neck.

“Seriously, Joel? How romantic of you…”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Joel shrug. “It’s not exactly like she needs to be seduced. Can almost hear her dripping on the floor.”

Tommy leaned towards you, placing his hands on your cheeks and kissed you. His tongue searched for yours and you quickly gave it to him. Joel kissed your neck, pushing his cock against your ass, and your panties were really already soaked.

“We’re gonna go to my bedroom. Ain’t gonna take your virginity on a fucking table or the couch.”

Tommy took your hand and led you to his bedroom, Joel following behind you. You could feel his stare on your ass and you swung your hips. You heard him say “naughty little thing…”, chuckling.

A small lamp was bathing the bedroom in a dim red light. They didn't waste any time and undressed you. Removing your dress then panties. They covered you with kisses, caressing almost every inch of your skin.

“Lie down on the bed, darlin’”, Tommy asked.

You obeyed, putting your head on his pillow. Naked. The two men stood at the foot of the bed, still dressed. You felt desired, knowing how hard their cocks must be. You felt a little scared too. But the way the previous evening had gone made you think everything would be fine. You knew deep down that they would be perfect.

“Show me. Show me how you make yourself come, thinking about me.”

Your breathing quickened and you felt heat reach your cheeks. You slipped your hand between your thighs, and caressed your soaked folds.

“Open your pretty legs, sweetheart. Show us your little virgin cunt.”

You spread your legs, hoping that the dim light would allow them to see your wetness already leaking onto the sheets.

“You're soaked, baby. You want it so bad, fuck… yeah, just like that. Keep touching yourself. Jesus, that’s hot.”

You kept caressing your folds, sometimes your clit, until the sensations made you close your eyes.

“Don’t. Eyes open baby. Look at us.”

You opened your eyes and spread your thighs further apart, as your moans filled the room. Eager to show them how much you wanted them.

“Do you say my name when you finger yourself?”

“Y… yeah. I do.”

“Do it, then.”

Joel unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. Grabbed it with his big hand. You thought about how he brushed it against your folds the night before, until his cum drenched them. Until he made you cum against his shaft.

You moaned and whispered “Tommy,” not taking your eyes off Joel and it made him smile.

“Oh, baby girl…you're gonna moan my name tonight too, don’t worry.”

“Fuck… I gotta pump my cock. That’s so hot. Keep going, baby. Come on your fingers.”

You swirled your finger gently against your clit as you were looking at them jerking off, and when the orgasm made you arch your back, you moaned “Tommy”, eyes fixed on him that time.

“Fuck… ok. That’s one, sweetheart.”

The two men got undressed and lied down against you. You kissed them in turn, their hands roaming your body.

“You’re fucking hot, baby, you know that?”

Tommy’s tongue was buried in your mouth and you couldn’t respond.

“Lemme taste her on your fingers, sweetheart. I jerked off this morning, thinking about her.”

You pulled back from Tommy and said “Really? You jerked off thinking about… me and my pussy?”

“Course I did. Come on, lemme taste her again.”

You brought your fingers to his mouth and he licked them, eyes staring into yours.

“I could eat that pussy every day, you know.”

“Fuck, Joel…”

Tommy placed his hands on your hips and turned you towards Joel. You felt Tommy’s cock poke between your thighs and he lightly rolled his hips.

“Fuck, darlin’. Can’t believe you’ve got the nerves to be here. With us. Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck your thighs.”

“Yeah, by the end of the summer I wonder what part we won’t have fucked or licked.”

The idea gave you goosebumps. Joel really wanted to keep this going all summer and you loved that.

“Fuck I gotta stop or I ain't gonna last.”

“That would be too bad, Tommy, right? I’m not sure I could wait for you to be hard again. Your brother would have to be the first one fucking me…”

“You’re testing me, darlin’”, said Tommy. “But you know… your first time is tonight and I’m gonna be gentle. But once it’s done, I might be rougher next time we fuck.”

You barely had the time to smile and say “next time?!”, that Joel pushed you onto your back and slid his hand up to your pussy, pushing a finger into your soaking cunt and started to pump you gently. “Finger her with me, Tommy. Gotta stretch her before you fuck her.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when Tommy's finger joined Joel’s.

They worked you open and kissed your lips, cheeks and neck and you felt like you were in heaven. The lewd noises from your pussy left no doubt about your wetness.

“I’m gonna eat ya baby. Gonna make you come on my tongue. And then your crush will fuck you, ok? You want me to go down on you?”

“Yes, yes Joel, please.”

“That’s a good girl”, he praised you. Kissed your cheek and settled between your thighs.

Soon, his moans between your folds were the only thing you were hearing, while Tommy was sucking and licking your tits.

“You’re perfect, baby, you know that? Can’t wait to fuck you. To feel your cunt squeezing me.”

You were moaning too now, and could barely answer him. Joel’s tongue was buried deep in your core as his thumb gently stroked your clit.

“You’re gonna come, baby? My brother’s gonna make you come?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!” you whimpered.

You came on Joel’s tongue and he kept drinking all the wetness that was leaking out.

“That’s two, baby.” He smiled and brushed his mouth and chin with the back of his hand.

“Alright. You’re ready for me, darlin’?”

“Yeah. Need to feel you in me, Tommy. Please.”

“So polite. Not a little brat anymore, uh?”

“Our little brat wants that cock and she’s gonna be docile now, until her eager cunt is getting fucked.”

Their filthy mouths were driving you crazy. You loved being used and they just knew it.

Tommy settled between your thighs as Joel sat against the headboard, stroking your shoulder. The younger brother grabbed his cock and looked at you, as if to check that you were still ok. You nodded and he slid his tip into your entrance, but stopped when he quickly felt a resistance.

“You said you played with dildos?”

“Yeah but… more with my clit, and not really far in my pussy, you know…”

“Jesus, baby… ok, ok. Unless you want me to stop, I won’t stop now. Fuck it.”

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

He pushed lightly again and you spread your legs further, trying to make things easier.

“Let me in, baby”, he growled. “Let me in”. He seemed wrecked already. As if you were the one in charge. You felt strong and powerful and you loved the feeling. He pushed, his nose against your cheek and his hands around your neck while yours were on his hips.

You were afraid he would never fit in your tight cunt. You breathed slowly and deeply to calm your worry, and suddenly your body gave way and he thrust into you. You moaned and grimaced, digging your nails into his flesh.

“Shit, that’s fucking hot…” You opened your eyes to see Joel standing in front of the bed, slowly jerking off. You hadn't noticed that he had gotten up, too focused on Tommy who was finally giving you what you wanted.

“Yeah, look at me baby. Look at me. You’re ok.”

“She’s fuckin’ tight, Joel, fuck…”

“Course she’s tight. First cock she’s taking. You’re doing great, baby. Look what you’re doing to me? How hard you make me, when I’m watching you being fucked?”

You nodded, while looking at him fisting his cock.

The pain was gone and Tommy was filling you perfectly, grunting in your neck. Fucking your cunt slowly, to enjoy its tightness, or maybe to avoid coming too soon.

You ran your hands through his hair. The way his pelvis rubbed against you made another orgasm build.

“I want you to cum at the same time as me, Tommy. Will you do that?”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.”

You felt your body contract deep inside you, felt the heat. And you really wanted Tommy to come at the same time as you.

“How does it feel Tommy?”

“Feels good. So fucking good.”

“Yeah? You like fucking your best friend’s daughter?”

He felt his balls tightened and said “shit. You want my cum? You want me to fill you up?”

You didn’t respond right away, rubbing yourself against him more. Then you whispered in his ear “you said I was a slut, yesterday. Fill up your slut, Tommy.”

His cock pulsed inside you and for the first time, you felt hot cum filling your pussy. His jolts made you come and you felt weakness in your legs, while your eyes were seeing stars.

You and Tommy were struggling to calm down your breath, but the sound of Joel's wrist fisting his cock was obsessing you.

Tommy kissed you before rolling onto the bed next to you. You heard Joel say “that’s three.”

He moved closer to the bed, still jerking off. “Can I fuck you too baby? You think you can take me or it’s gonna be too much?”

You nodded. And as the day before, he said “words, baby.”

“I want you to fuck me. Wanna feel you too. Come lie between my thighs, please Joel.”

He knelt between your legs, and spread your folds with his thumbs. Watched his brother's cum flow onto the sheets. His cock twitched, precum making it glisten.

“Please, Joel”, you begged. His hand led his tip to your entrance. He sank in, slowly but didn’t stop. Said "fuck… there we go" through clenched teeth. He was slightly thicker than Tommy, and you felt your walls part as his shaft sank in until he bottomed out. He pulled back and spat on his cock, mixing his saliva with your wetness. You moaned when you watched him. He was hot, way too hot. They both were, and you already wanted more. Even if he was still between your folds. He lay back between your thighs, and kept his eyes fixed on yours, until his length was fully buried in you. Then he held your hands on each side of your head, and fucked you. He didn’t stop, and kept stretching you. But he was careful not to hurt you. You just knew he could be really rough, but he cared and respected you, your body, your first time. You could hear his cock, thrusting in your cunt, soaked with your wetness and his brother's cum.

“You were right, Tommy. So fuckin’ tight.”

“Yeah. Almost nutted when I sank in.”

“Can you imagine, fucking her if we both were 21? We wouldn’t even have the time to thrust our entire shaft before shooting our load.” They both laughed.

You didn't take your eyes off him. It was hard to believe that Tommy had just taken your virginity a few minutes ago, and that Joel was fucking you at that moment.

“Joel”, you murmured.

“Yeah, baby girl. Told ya you’d moan my name tonight.”

Tommy leaned over and kissed you. Then he took your chin between his fingers and said "come on, darlin’. Let my brother enjoy your little pussy clenching on him. I can see your pretty eyes rolling in the back of your head again. Cock dumb, huh?"

He looked at Joel and said “another one is coming. She’s fuckin’ gone.”

“I’m gonna come”, growled Joel. “Oh fuck, baby… gonna fill you too.” You couldn't even hear him anymore, as your body spasmed and you came one last time. Borderline overstimulated, you felt like your pussy was never going to stop squeezing his cock. He stayed buried in you a few minutes, trying to calm down. Then he rolled on his back and chuckled “4. 4 fucking times. Fuck.” Tommy laughed and lit a cigarette.

Summer was really about to begin.

***********

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Other virginity loss fic: After (qz!Joel)

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring @sheepdogchick3 @lizzie-cakes

@mcira @evolnoomym @pinkiec6-rubi @blackmetalamazon @missannwinchester

@schnarfer @theoraekenslover @charethcutestory02 @megangovier @casa-boiardi

@valentine-tx @shunsuisprettylittleflower @bonezone44 @perfectly-imperfect-me23 @corazondebeskar-reads

@sighofthetimez @pedgito @i-own-loki @604to647 @littlevenicebitch69

@pascalssbabyy

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #tlou #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #joel x reader x tommy #friends of juice collective #virginity loss

589 notes · View notes